a Stargate SG-1 story
by dirty diana
A little game of kick-the-woobie. For kelly girl. A companion story to "Only Mercy".
Daniel heals fast. He always has. He will wonder later if these Jaffa know that, if it shows in something on his face. Or if there is something else that is evident in the lines of his eyes and mouth, some weakness, some soft part of him that leaks to the outside. He will wonder later if that's why, when the punches rain down and he falls to the floor and can't breathe. He tastes blood, and it's his own. He tastes fear, and that is his too, sharp and stinging.
He is tied, and he can't raise his hands to cover his face and defend himself. Not that he would. He has learned a lot of things, in his time with the SGC. How to be quiet, when to stand still.
How to shut up and take it, he thinks, but that's not his voice, that's Jack's voice in his head, and he doesn't know why. Jack isn't here. Jack is always here. He wonders what he's going to do, the day that Jack does not come for him.
It's the last clear thought in his muddled head, before the blackness comes down.
They will make him take two weeks off. It is less than Jack would like, but as much as Daniel will agree to. He sneaks a pile of journals and books home, or he thinks that he sneaks them but suspects that Jack knows. Daniel will curl his aching body on the couch, immerse himself in the latest in archaeological research, and pretend that he doesn't know that he almost died. Again.
Daniel heals fast, but more slowly than he did when he was young. It fascinates him now to watch the bruises turn, across the pale taut skin of his ribs, blue purple green, as many different shades as there are days in the week. He considers the deep cuts on his mouth and cheek, and wonders if this time they might scar instead of fade. He wonders if he will be different then, if the changes on the outside will mark changes on the inside. If wearing your battle scars where people can see them is all that it takes, all it takes to be a soldier.
It is always late when Jack comes by, too late for Daniel to pretend that he wasn't waiting up. He will kiss Jack, and at first Jack won't kiss him back. Jack will barely touch him, when Daniel moves into his arms like a planet orbiting its sun. Jack is afraid to hurt him.
Daniel is afraid of something else.
He pulls Jack in, with hungry mouth and hands. He will push his hands underneath Jack's shirt, rubbing their bodies together, daring Jack to push him away.
He doesn't usually say that out loud.
He moans in pleasure, and then he moans in pain as Jack's fingers grip his hipbone, digging hard, holding on. They will tumble onto the bed together, one restless knot. Jack's arms swallow him whole, Jack's skin is hot and safe.
When Jack pushes, Daniel pushes back, with sharp relentless fingers. He dips his mouth to just below Jack's collarbone and runs his teeth along the skin. Jack arches his back, allows himself to be marked. When Daniel pushes, Jack pushes back, strong hands and arms that drive him into the mattress and hold him down. Daniel moans, breath half caught in his throat, he spreads his legs and lets Jack in.
He will say Jack's name when he comes, cock spurting hard against Jack's hand. Jack's arms, around him, Jack's breath hot on the back of his neck, hushing him gently. Jack isn't here.
Jack is always here.
Daniel heals fast, and that's why they won't matter, the fresh bruises that he'll have in the morning. New bruises to mix with the old, symbols painted on his skin to mark the only things that he knows for sure.