a Stargate SG-1 story

by dirty diana


Mad love to sffan for the beta. BDSM warning.

They are still arguing as they come down the ramp, still arguing in the locker room, still arguing in the infirmary as Janet examines Daniel and the rest of the team with an unhappy frown. They are still arguing in the elevator, up to the surface. No one who passes them in the Cheyenne Mountain corridors is stupid enough to try and intervene. Carter and Teal'c might attempt it. But they quickly realise that it is an argument without winners and losers. Only words, and sides.

The discussion breaks rhythm when they each get into their cars and drive away from the base.

It picks up again at Jack's front door.

Jack's voice is too loud, with the weight of a thousand near-misses piling up behind it. "You could have been killed."

"But I wasn't," Daniel says patiently. He has tried this argument already.

"This time," Jack says. He sits on the couch, with a heavy sigh. He is suddenly very tired. He is always this tired, when they come back through the gate. "Goddamit, Daniel, if you would just listen to me."

Daniel sits down beside him. "When are you going to recognise that sometimes I know what I'm doing, Jack?"

Jack's mouth curls. "When are you going to recognise that I'm the one who's fucking in charge?"

There is a heavy silence, dropped like bricks between them. Daniel is right next to Jack, watching him with blue eyes that are ice-cold in a still face. "I'm not one of your soldiers, Jack. I'm not Sam."

"That's obvious." Jack shakes his head, shakes off the image of Daniel going down, face-first in a field full of dirt. "For crying out loud. If you would just listen to me."

"Is that what you want? For me to behave like a good little boy?"

"For you to do what you're told," Jack says, with the sinking feeling that he's walked into enemy territory, too late to turn back.

"I could be. Good. Like one of your soldiers. Salute you in the morning. Call you sir. Is that what you want?" He is moving closer to Jack, as close as he can without touching. Enemy territory, no cover in sight.

"Daniel," Jack says, dangerously.

"Yes, sir?"

"Daniel, don't."

Daniel is almost in his lap now, breathing warmly on his neck. Daniel's voice is slow enough, quiet enough to make it clear that he is angry. And not in the mood for mercy. "But this is what you want," he whispers. "Isn't it, sir?"

"It's not like that," Jack says. But he is losing this argument. He always does.

"Tell me how it is, then. I can be good, Jack. I can so good, you have no idea how much. Just tell me what to do." His voice drops, barely distinguishable from the heavy sound of blood rushing inside Jack's own head. "Tell me."

"Daniel." Jack tries, not very hard, to push him away. "Stop it."

Daniel's mouth is suddenly very close to his. "Make me," he whispers. "Sir."

Jack lunges forward, attacking him with a rough and heavy kiss.

They tumble off the couch and onto the floor, in a hard crack of bone and wood that neither of them really notice.

"You drive me nuts," Jack mutters, into Daniel's ear. "God. So nuts. Sometimes I have half a mind..." The words trail off, as he finds them in his mouth and swallows them down.

"Only sometimes?" Daniel asks him.

Jack's hand strikes him full across the face, hard enough to hurt but gently enough to prove that Jack hasn't lost control.

Not yet.

"Dammit, Daniel. Shut up."

"Yes, sir," Daniel whispers.

Jack, despite himself, is pushing against Daniel, rocking against him, dizzy with the wet sound of Daniel's voice that's trapping heat inside his cock. "Sometimes I have half a mind to turn you over and teach you a lesson you'll remember."

"Why don't you?"

Jack freezes suddenly, studying his face. Daniel's expression is perfectly frozen, calm and unafraid. "Maybe I will," Jack answers slowly.

"Maybe you should."

"Daniel," Jack growls a warning in Daniel's ear. Because he knows himself well, he knows just what he is capable of, and sometimes he's not so sure that Daniel does.

Daniel's face is buried in the collar of Jack's shirt. "Five strokes," he murmurs. "Enough to make you feel better?"

"This isn't about me," Jack tells him.

"It's always about you."

A small knot of anger explodes inside him, beside the lust that won't subside, making him dig angry fingers into Daniel's arm. It will show. Marks on Daniel always show, his skin like a map, marking the slow fragmentation of Jack's own will. "If it was about me," he says, "you would get twenty."

"Ten," Daniel answers. He is writhing slowly underneath Jack, subdued but not still.

"I don't want to hurt you," Jack says.

Daniel doesn't even bother to answer.

Jack's shaking fingers undo the belt buckle at Daniel's waist, releasing his belt and unbuttoning his pants. He pulls the jeans, down, exposing Daniel's smooth bare skin, hips and cock and ass, as Jack rolls him over so that he is face down on the floor.

Then he stands up, and takes the leather belt in his hand, by the buckle end.


He counts out loud.

Two. Three.

He tries to hold some of the power, some of the hard anger, out of his hands. He tries hard, because he knows that Daniel will never ask him to stop.

Four. Five.

Daniel's body is perfectly motionless. Every stroke that hits his skin echoes across the room, and reverberates back through Jack, a flash like lightning, white hot and ice cold. Jack feels every stroke inside him, but still they seem to bounce cleanly off Daniel's body.

Jack's next stroke is harder.

Six. Seven.

If Daniel cried out, that's all it would take. Jack would stop. But Daniel never makes any noise at all.



He is losing count, as he struggles to concentrate. His fingers are nearly numb, digging into the leather.


The room is fading in front of Jack's eyes, into a blur of movement and lightning. He wants to hear Daniel make noise, any kind of noise.

He can't hold his hand steady.

Ten, and the belt drops out of his hand, onto the floor. Jack collapses beside Daniel, and gently strokes the exposed skin, red and raised. "Are you okay?" he asks him softly.

Daniel turns his head to look at him. He doesn't answer. Only up close can Jack see that Daniel is trembling.

He would say that he is sorry, but sorry will only leave more inside him for next time. More for Daniel to force him to take back.

"Roll over," he orders.

Daniel turns, onto his back, with only one low moan of pain.

He takes hold of Daniel between his fingers, hot and pulsingly hard. He strokes. This isn't the way that Daniel likes it, this is too rough and too hard and too fast. This isn't the way that Daniel likes it, but he will come soon and fast, gasping as his body turns to liquid in Jack's arms.

Jack leans into him, and presses his mouth to Daniel's ear.

"Use your mouth," he says.

Daniel hesitates. He is still shaking, beneath an orgasm that hasn't let him go.

"Now," Jack tells him.

Daniel moves slowly, down the length of him. His fingers fumble at the zipper of Jack's jeans. Then takes hold of Jack's cock, achingly hard. He takes Jack greedily into his mouth, and begins to suck. Jack's breath catches inside his throat, as the sparks of heat travel up his spine.

Jack holds onto him, pushing his cock further into Daniel's mouth, feeling Daniel react and take him deeper. He can't help watching this show, watching Daniel suck him off. Jack moans low, his fingers stroking the back of Daniel's neck. He's holding on by a thin thread, as Daniel's wet mouth slides up and down his cock, Daniel's fingers holding hot and firm at the base.

Jack closes his eyes, and sees white. Then he comes, spurting hard, over and over until there is nothing left.

Daniel pulls away, licking his lips. He crawls up, to rest against Jack's body.

Neither of them can stop shaking.

"I'm sorry," Daniel says quietly.

"For what?" Jack asks him roughly. "For being yourself?"

Daniel shrugs with his whole body, inside Jack's arms. "I'm sorry," he repeats.

"I thought you were dead for sure this time." Jack says this later, much later. He's watching Daniel get dressed, wet from Jack's own shower.

If Daniel is in pain, he doesn't show it. But Daniel never would. "I know," he says.

"You don't have to go."

Daniel looks at him, eyes dark and cool. He hates this conversation, and it shows. And that's why Jack makes him have it, almost every time. "Yes, I do."

"No one will know the difference," Jack says, as if he doesn't know that's not what this is about. Not what Daniel is so scared of.

"I have to go, Jack." Daniel's voice is soft, with one whispered sigh.

When Daniel leaves, he closes the door with a bang. He can never get out fast enough.

Jack can never make him stay.