banned books

Title: Banned Books
Author: busaikko
Fandom/Pairing: Stargate: SG-1, Jack/Daniel
Summary: short bit written for the IJ Porn Battle. Um. It's about books. Banned ones.

"These are the banned books," Daniel says of the towering stacks on his worktable, and he raises his eyebrows while slitting his eyes. He looks like an Asgard when he does that, Jack thinks: the whole expression drips with aggravating intellectual superiority.

"Well, Daniel," Jack whips back, because, yeah, that had been the whole deal struck with the Sacred Sisterhood Convent of Holiness on P3T-15N. They let SG1 have the dirty Ancient books locked away in the basement in return for — kiwi fruit, or Advil, or something. "Are they any good?"

"You tell me," Daniel says, turning away to hunch over a scroll. "The ones on the right are technical manuals, heresies in the middle, and sex guides on the left." He flashes Jack a look over the rims of his glasses. "You can look at the pictures."

"Fathu tis," Jack says through a tight smile. He doesn't remember much from the Ancient repository, but he tries to learn fuck you whenever he encounters a new language. Daniel ignores him. Jack picks up the first book, flips through it, puts it down. He tries the second and third, which ought to have been banned for being dull.

The fourth book, though, has detailed colour plates of some of the most acrobatic positions Jack's ever seen. He wonders if the Ancients had a special flexibility gene. He's not sure his body was ever capable of bending like that. He sure as hell couldn't now. He turns the book upside down to try and distract himself from the fact that he's getting turned on. Whoo-hoo, gotta love that Ancient porn.

"You're ambitious," Daniel says, peering over Jack's shoulder, and Jack fumbles the book. He hadn't even noticed Daniel moving. Daniel's hand holds the book steady. Jack's ears start to burn. "So." He gives Jack another challenging look. "What did you like about this one? The realistic art? The guy who rolls himself up like a hoop and — oh, dear."

"This guy looks kind of like you." Jack jabs a finger down on a man with an eyebrow malfunction, who is arching up off a platform as he fucks another man. "Kind of. . . myopic."

"It's not the same thing as blind, you know," Daniel says, and shuts the book. "I'd do that. If you asked. Fathu tis," Daniel adds. He's always been a quick learner.

"Yeah?" Jack's chin jerks sideways; his eyes don't move, resting fixed on Daniel's. "Read me like a book, do you?" His jacket's unbuttoned; he shrugs it off and slings it over Daniel's chair. He's not wearing a belt. Neither is Daniel. Daniel puts his hands on him, touching his shoulder and his waist and sliding his palm down the outside seam of Jack's trousers, as if he's looking for something, as if he's lost and too stubborn to ask for directions.

Then Daniel pushes Jack back against the wall, moving Jack's hands up and pressing them there to hold his weight. Daniel disappears for a moment, accompanied by desk-rummaging sounds, and then he's back. He undoes Jack's trousers and shoves them down with his boxers, and kicks Jack's feet wide like a police officer hyped up on fear and adrenaline.

It's not foreplay kind of sex; Jack hadn't imagined it would be. One of Daniel's hands spreads Jack's ass and the other guides his dick straight to the point. Daniel leans, and he's an irresistable force, pushing into Jack, pushing Jack into the wall, and Daniel doesn't stop, he just keeps pushing, and God wasn't that just like him? He just had to push until Jack shoved back.

And just like that they are fucking hard, or fighting, Jack's not sure, there's some kind of argument being carried out on his skin. Daniel's hands. Daniel's strong, sure hands leaving heat pooling in bruises but never going where they'd do the most good.

"Can you come from this?" Daniel asks, and that's just fucking stupid.

"Sure, Daniel," Jack says, fingers curling to keep his sweat-slick palms from sliding. It's hard to sound properly sarcastic when Daniel's fucking a highway right into the pleasure centre of his brain. "You've been reading too much porn."

"We'll have to experiment," Daniel says, and groans, and comes. Jack tries not to think that that was anything other than a coincidence.

"Anytime now," he says, aiming for nonchalant, hoping he doesn't sound wrecked. He probably does. Daniel pulls out and it kind of hurts, but then Daniel turns him around and wraps one of those talented hands hot around Jack's dick and Jack is gone. He can feel his back sliding down the wall because he's gone flying free, off up and out of his body, and it's all he can do to remember that he needs to breathe. He's staring at Daniel's knees because blinking is beyond him. He wonders if ascension felt like this. He could stay like this. Maybe forever.

Daniel's moving, cleaning up, getting dressed. He squats down and shakes Jack's shoulder, and Jack rolls his head and gives Daniel his best drunken grin.

"Well, now we know why those books got banned, don't we?" Daniel says brightly, and hauls Jack up into a kiss that Jack is too slow to follow, following with a slap on his bare ass. "Wake up and go get me dinner, I'm starving."

"Okey-dokey," Jack says, his knees cracking loudly as he hauls his pants and underpants up. He looks at his hands on his zipper and not at Daniel. "So. We — us. This?"

"Maybe," Daniel says. "Who knows. You're still a dick, though."

"Well, then, everything's sunshine and roses." Jack dares looking back once, from the doorway. Daniel already has his nose in one of the books. So, maybe. Maybe is good enough to go on.

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