The Thong Story
a Stargate SG-1 story
by dirty diana
You're wondering what possessed me to write a story about a thong. The answer is that it is all Kelly Girl's fault. She sent me a screen cap from season four where Daniel has on light coloured pants and skimpy dark coloured undies, and then basically dared me to work that visual into a story. Or maybe I dared myself. If it somehow turned into an ode to Daniel's ass, I have no idea how that happened. Mad props to the lovely Inalasahl for the beta.
Daniel jumps, surprised by the sound of Jack's voice. He is half-dressed in running shoes and jogging pants, standing in front of his locker, searching for something inside. "Jack," he answers distractedly. "I didn't hear you come in."
"Sometimes I sneak up on people. I have special training." Jack sits down heavily on the wooden bench. He's wrapped in a towel, still damp and warm from the shower. "You going for a workout?"
"Just got done. Should you be working out?" Jack asks him.
Daniel glances down at his left wrist, taped up from the sprain he got on the last mission that has him on stand down for two weeks. "I'm just going on the treadmill. To clear my head." He glances back inside his cluttered locker, bending down.
Jack lets out a long low whistle. "Hey there." He tugs at the waistband of Daniel's pants, where a sliver of purple material has been exposed. "What are you wearing under there, Danny-boy?"
"Nothing." Daniel blushes, and tries, unsuccessfully, to push the colonel's hand away.
Jack ignores him. "Daniel. Is that a thong?"
"Jack." He steps out of reach, glancing around to make sure that the locker room is empty. It is. It's one in the morning, the usual bustling noises of the base dimmed down to a low machine hum. Jack has only stayed because he had come through the gate only a few hours earlier, still wired from three days spent off-world. Daniel, he knows, is still here because Daniel thinks he doesn't need sleep. Jack can practically smell the coffee that he knows is brewing in Daniel's office, waiting for his return to whatever work is keeping him up this late.
Still blushing, Daniel finally pulls his spare t-shirt out of the locker. "Shut up, Jack."
"United States Government not paying you enough? You pick up a job on the side, making some extra money?"
Daniel glares at him, as he tugs the shirt down over his head. "It was clean. I haven't done my laundry."
"You've had four days off. You didn't have time to do your laundry?"
"No. I'm in the middle of translating that artefact from 739. It's kinda odd, the root is Sumerian, but the..."
"Gotcha," Jack interrupts quickly. "No time for laundry. That doesn't explain why you own a thong."
"Oh." Daniel is sitting down, knotting the laces on his running shoes. "That's sort of a long story."
"But there is a story."
Daniel glances at Jack, starting to smile. "Yes, there's a story."
Jack stares back at him innocently, recognising the smile but pretending not to. "Are there strippers in the story?"
"Huh," he says. "Four days off with no time to do your laundry. Underwear that I don't recognise. You know, Daniel, some people might jump to conclusions."
"Then aren't we lucky that you're not some people," Daniel tells him lightly, aiming his towel directly at Jack's head. Jack ducks the snap and winks, and Daniel disappears into the gym.
Daniel leaves the mountain at five am, then goes home and sleeps for eleven and a half hours. Whites and then darks go into the washing machine when he wakes up, and then he picks up the telephone to place a call.
"Jack, do you have plans for dinner?"
"Daniel," Jack is flirting, much more awake than Daniel is, "are you asking me out?"
"No. I'm cooking, though."
"Good enough. I'll be right over."
"Bring dessert," Daniel tells him before he hangs up.
He lets Jack in forty-five minutes later, in jeans and his bomber jacket, bearing a package of chocolate ice-cream. "Hey, something smells good."
Daniel slaps Jack's hand as it reaches into the pan. "It's not ready yet."
Jack moves in close behind him, one arms curling around him, and tucks his fingers in the waistband of his Dockers, and finds the elastic of 100% cotton boxer shorts.
"Jack," Daniel murmurs in amusement. "Can that wait till after dinner?"
"Just a routine underwear check, Danny boy." Jack releases the fabric and lets the waist snap back into place. He can hear Daniel smiling.
"Is that a military thing?"
"Sure," Jack answers easily, leaning in to speak into Daniel's ear. "I had an old drill sergeant in basic, that used to put his hand down my pants at every roll call. Sergeant Pervert, we called him. He..."
Daniel has turned his head slightly, the better to judge if his lover was kidding, then rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove. "Jack."
Jack changes the subject. "You took it off."
"I took...oh." Daniel frowns, as Jack's hand trails over the smooth curve of his ass. "Yeah. I did my laundry."
"Kicked your lover out, huh?"
"Yeah," Daniel's light tone matches his. "I made her take the fire escape."
"Her, huh." Jack's broad hands slip around his waist. "It's not Lieutenant Chu, is it? Because I'd have to have her transferred. And then killed."
"No. Why would it be Maggie?"
"First of all, because she insists that you call her Maggie. And second, because she's always looking at your ass." Her and half the SGC, Jack thinks, and then decides not to go there.
"She does not."
"She does too."
"She does. I've seen her. And I know what Daniel-Ass-Watching looks like. I wrote the book on it. Daniel-Ass-Watching 101."
"Huh," Daniel says as he stirs the frying pan.
Jack grins, taking his cue. "Daniel-Ass-Watching has gotten me through some pretty boring briefings. You know, when you're up there with your laser pointer, talking away about stuff, blah blah blah, I'm practicing my ass-watching skills. The size of Daniel's ass. The shape of Daniel's ass." Jack squeezes hard, punctuating his sentence. "The circumference of Daniel's ass."
"Circumference?" Daniel repeats in amusement.
"Yeah, circumference. It's the distance from your..."
Daniel interrupts his train of thought by leaning backwards, grinding his ass deliberately against Jack's hips. "So would you say that's the first thing that you noticed about me?"
"Now you're fishing," Jack scolds him.
"I know," Daniel answers patiently. "Well? First thing?"
"No. I'd say the first thing I noticed is that you talk a lot. Then I noticed your ass."
"I gotta tell you, Daniel, it was pretty much just the ass."
"I see." Without warning Daniel drops the spatula and turns around to kiss him. His body, pressed hard against Jack's, is warm and solid, reminding Jack that it's been almost two weeks. Daniel's mouth tastes salty sweet against his, bearing traces of a smile.
"What about dinner?" Jack asks him.
Daniel turns down the stove and places a lid on the pan. "It'll be at least half-an-hour till dinner."
"Oh," Jack says, and then they're kissing again, all the way to the couch like teenagers.
Daniel pushes Jack onto a reclining position on the couch, crawling on top of him. He kisses him forcefully, their tongues meeting with wet warm pressure, welcoming and hungry.
Jack's hands cling to Daniel's ass, his fingers pressing hard in tight flesh as he brings their hips together. They intertwine, grinding together, mouths and hips and thighs. Daniel is pleasantly heavy on top of him, his growing hard-on pressed against Jack's thigh.
With his good hand, Daniel undoes the fly of Jack's jeans and reaches inside. Jack groans as Daniel's long fingers slide over his cock. He loosens his grip on Daniel's body, and his hand slides upwards to undo the buttons on his shirt. Daniel's skin is hot, and smooth all over.
Jack arches his back, angling for more, more touch, more heat, more Daniel. Daniel's mouth, pressed against his, whispers his name.
"Jack." His strokes are long and smooth, watching Jack balanced on the edge, knowing exactly how to keep him there.
"Danny," Jack groans out, over and over, and then he comes, wet and sticky over Daniel's fingers. Then they're kissing again, the taste of Daniel's mouth sparking against the tremors that still shake Jack's body.
"Ow," Daniel says, as Jack takes control and rolls them both over, Daniel's left arm landing uncomfortably underneath him.
"Sorry," Jack says, and grabs his hand, applying hard kisses to the base of his palm.
"Jack." His eyes make slits of deep amusement. "What are you doing?"
"Kissing it to make it better."
"Ah. Is that working?"
"You tell me."
"Hmmmn." He frowns. "Well, I think it is, actually. But suddenly I'm feeling a bit achy somewhere else..."
"A bit lower down."
"I see." Jack pushes aside the fabric of his open shirt, his mouth moving across Daniel's left nipple, making circles with his tongue. "Like there?"
"A bit lower than that."
Jack kisses the curve of his throat, delicate and pale. "How about there?"
"Jack, is it a bit difficult to fly a plane when you don't know up from down?"
"Wrong way," Daniel murmurs gently into his hair.
"Huh." Jack moves again, and his mouth meets the soft fuzzed skin below Daniel's belly button.
"You're getting warmer."
"Something sure is." Abruptly Jack has stopped teasing, his hands hot on Daniel's fly, slipping the zipper down and pulling the pants away.
Daniel is never in a hurry, something that it has taken Jack months to get used to. Jack tries to go at his speed, but can never quite make it, something in Daniel's touch always urging him forward. Faster.
Daniel's cock is swollen and full in his hand, and slick at the tip. Jack draws his tongue up the base, eliciting a whispered moan.
Jack glances upwards at the sound, just in time to watch as Daniel closes his eyes. He's beautiful like that. Jack thinks that every time.
Jack opens his mouth, taking Daniel inside him, his tongue sliding wetly downwards and tasting salt. Jack reaches for his hand as Daniel jerks his hips, thrusting inside Jack's mouth. Loose fingers tangle together, telling him to be still. Jack's other hand moves underneath him, across hot skin, finding the space between Daniel's thighs and spreading it wider. One finger presses lightly inside him, just the tip. Daniel moans, a low deep noise in the back of his throat, as Jack takes in more of him, rhythm faster but not too fast. Slower, then faster again, and then Daniel jerks upwards again and groans hard.
"Love you," Daniel whispers, as he twines his fingers in Jack's spiky hair, and comes with a whimper.
Jack swallows down the bitter salty taste, watching as Daniel catches his breath. He crawls across his sticky sweaty body to whisper in his ear, "You say that to Lieutenant Chu?"
"All the time," Daniel answers. Then he murmurs something underneath his breath, all short clipped syllables and consonants that come from the back of his throat.
"And the English translation?" Jack asks.
"It's an ancient Egyptian proverb. It means, he who wishes to build a well must first look for water."
"And the English translation?"
"It means that if you want to know something, Jack, you should just ask me."
"Okay." Jack says, watching Daniel yawn and stretch taut muscles against him. "Well, I'll remember that. I'll remember it for later, in case I ever want to ask you anything."
Jack sniffs the air dramatically. "Is something burning?"
Daniel mutters another foreign expression, something definitely not about wells, and jumps up. He dashes, mostly naked, into the kitchen, running his hands under the sink and lifting the cover from the frying pan.
"Not much of a cook, are you, Danny?" Jack calls after him.
"You're not here for the cooking," Daniel calls back. "You're here because you like my ass."
"Well, yeah." Jack's bare feet make a padded sound on Daniel's parquet floor, as he follows him into the kitchen. "So when are you going to tell me the story?"
Long lashes blink at him innocently. "Story?"
"Yeah, the one about the strippers."
Daniel's deadpan expression doesn't change. "Later," he promises. "If you're good."