Director - Pie, Producer - Pepe, Creative Consultant - BJ, Assistant to the Writer – AnnO. Filmed in glorious Technicolor. Thanks Guys! Couldn’t do it without you.

Skin.

Soft, warm, smooth and with a dusting of fine hairs beneath my fingers.

An energy you can feel through the square inch that I press my fingertips against, like a low thrumming, constant and reassuring. It resonates with life and my body responds like a harmonic echo. There is an unquestionable strength beneath this skin; it transmits itself through my hand and into my consciousness and tells me that this is a force of nature.

I turn my wrist ever so slightly and bring my palm to lie flat against that deliciously warm vitality, to experience more. I let the sensation fill me, ground me and make me whole again.

Muscle and bone. Planes of hardness that speak of the power in this body, dormant for now, but waiting – a potential, a promise.

A spine is surely a simple collection of vertebrae and tissue? Yet this is so much more than a biological phenomenon. I press my hand closer to its heat, hungry for it, wanting no air to come between my skin and this perfect expression of energy.

The length of this spine, its subtle curves and hollows in a linear parallel invite my hand to follow their path beneath the fabric. I slide my cool palm lower, collecting the warmth, accepting the power that pulses there. My hand rests on the gentle rise at the base of the spine, my fingers idly stroking. At my assured touch, the skin tenses and rises into goose bumps, their texture roughening the progress of my skin on his, making my fingers drag where they had previously slid.

I rub my thumb in a lazy arc, eliciting a response from this body as the minute hairs rise beneath my touch. Easily, I slip my middle finger into the dip where the spine bows and this back swells to become two tight, smooth curves, defining the shadowed path that lies between.

A tension that was always underlying my touch now makes itself overwhelmingly obvious. Obvious enough to rouse me from my contemplation and bring me fully awake.

Oh my fucking God.

The solid, iron hard back in front of me is one I have seen enough of over the past few years to know very well indeed. A back that could take the weight of the world upon it and still have room to spare. A back that has strength enough to share when I think I have none to carry on with. It's a back that I get paid to follow and is my pleasure to watch whenever I can; a secret pleasure, one that should never have become known.

Jack's back.

Jack's back, how it looks when he is about to disobey an order or make some withering comment or when he is about to shoot something. It looks prepared, coiled... it looks dangerous.

I know I should take my hand away, make some lame joke or think of a reasonable excuse for feeling up my CO. But it's as if I'm in one of those dreams – where you scream and scream, but no noise comes out.

I have my finger between the cheeks of Jack's ass, and have had for some seconds now and I cannot seem to move it.

How the fuck did this happen?

I remember accepting the invitation for a Sunday afternoon beer and a game on the TV. It is rare enough these days that I looked momentarily stunned when Jack asked. I remember driving over. It was hot; I had the windows down. I remember that Jack answered the door in cut-offs and T-shirt and that he looked good... achingly good. I jumped at his offer of cold beer to cover my lack of composure. We sat down on the sofa, switched on the game and... and....

I fell asleep. I lay my head back tucked up beside Jack, the warmth of him seeping into me, making the day even hotter and fell asleep.

Damn it all! A result of the beer, the heat and the end of a bitch of a week at the base.

I fell asleep... and I dreamed.

I dreamed of Jack. I dreamed my lips on his neck, I dreamed my hands on his skin, and I dreamed love, eloquent in his eyes as he let me map his body with mine.

And then I... then I woke and he was there. In my drowsy state, I reached out and claimed what had so recently been mine in my dreams; so vivid I could still taste him on my lips. His back was right in front of me, within arms length. He was leaned forward, on the edge of the sofa, his attention on the game. A glimpse of exposed skin where his cut-offs and t-shirt had parted company, inviting me to touch.

So I touched.

In the seconds between opening my eyes and actually being awake, I touched him, as I have wanted to for months. Intimately. Passionately. With love.

What the fuck am I gonna do now?

He is frozen with horror and shock rolls off him in an almost tangible wave. His shoulders are rigid, his neck is tense and his whole posture screams of his discomfort.

Oh my fucking God.

He's going to kill me.

Or at least do some pretty serious damage.

In a tiny and perverse corner of my mind, there is a little voice saying that it was worth it. Worth it because it feels amazing to have my skin on his, his pulse so close to mine.

I have imagined what his body would feel like under my hand; the freedom I would have as a lover to touch, to possess. I knew he had fine hairs on his lower back, softer than the ones on his chest. Months of idly strolling past him in the shower have paid dividends for my fantasy sex life. Always on my way into the shower though, because then I would have to stay in there until everyone else had left and run the water so cold, my lips would go blue, just so I could come out without disgracing myself.

So this is my last minute on Earth then.

I can't complain.

Well, I could, but it wouldn't do any good.

I have to say that the last four years have been some of the most fulfilling of my life. Ironic really, that I could find a kind of serenity with Jack, Teal'c and Sam after losing a family I had only just begun to know. How dysfunctional is that? But it suited me. I had stability, friendship and purpose. Of course I also had the world's most dangerous job, a missing wife and loneliness in spades full. So not what you might call a ‘happily ever after', but more than I'd had for a lot of my life.

And I had Jack.

My best friend and the object of my desire for a long time now.

But mostly my best friend.

I couldn't tell you when like became love. It's something I've thought about a lot, trying to define the day that I knew I was in love with Jack. It just happened so incrementally, day by day, week by week, that I never noticed it. There was no ‘Eureka' moment, more a sort of ‘Well D'uh!' So I never had time to analyse it or angst about it or question it. It was just there. Like breathing. I guess it was there all along to some extent, but I'm not going to touch that.

I never freaked out about it.

Like Jack is right now.

I moisten my lips and prepare to say something... anything to resolve this impasse. But what can I say? ‘Jack, you seem to have your ass on my hand, kindly remove it?' Too glib. ‘Sorry, I thought you were someone else?' Too clichéd. ‘Think I dropped my popcorn down here somewhere?'

Fucking hell – come on, think!

I could try the truth. ‘Jack, I was dreaming that we were getting down and dirty in my office at the mountain?' ‘Jack I was wondering if you might consider throwing up the whole straight thing and doing me at your earliest opportunity?' ‘Look, I know nothing about gay sex, Jack, but I learn fast and if you're willing I'd have us up to speed by chapter three of this book I've heard of.' Or how about, ‘Jack, I've been in love with you for months. If you want to hit me, go ahead, it can't be any worse than how I've been feeling, knowing I can never have you.'

It seems that time is up.

Jack is turning, oh-so-slowly towards me. As I sit stupidly awaiting my fate, I can feel his movement transmitted down through his spine as the muscles stretch to accommodate his changing posture.

I try to stop the instinctive wince that affixes itself to my face as Jack's eyes finally settle on me. Too late I realise that it looks like I'm smiling at him. I close my eyes and await the inevitable... and wait... and wait....

I crack open one eye and am astonished to see Jack's warm brown eyes gazing at me with a puzzled amusement. I open my other eye quickly to verify... -... yes; it's definitely puzzled amusement. Nothing homicidal lurking there at the moment.

So, not going to die today? But probably will tomorrow, when he tells the guys on the base that I had a dirty dream and thought Jack was Miss Right Now. Oh, yes, can't wait for the testosterone-fuelled hilarity at my expense – because we're all healthy, normal guys and behaving like a fag is just a big joke, right? Just a laugh, right?

Right.

He's not saying anything though, which is a pity because I've tried once already and failed piteously to make any sound at all.

Valiantly I try again. I know my lips are working, Jack's eyes are drawn to their movement and his face takes on an expectant look.

"Sorry," I blurt. Well, that was definitely worth waiting for. Bet Jack wishes he had a linguistics PhD.

"For?"

Suddenly, I regain the use of my arm and slowly withdraw my hand from the back of Jack's cut-offs. Intelligently, I wiggle my fingers at him in explanation. He makes an ‘ah, yes' face.

I place the offending hand on my lap, then instantly snatch it away again in case he thinks I'm feeling myself up with the fingers that I have so recently had feeling him up.

As if catching up with the rest of my wretchedness, I blush in a way I know looks deeply unattractive on me. I've experienced that blush before in more restrooms that I care to remember as I have sought somewhere to hide after making an ass of myself.

Dying here.

"I should go," I murmur.

"Why?" Jack smiles at me. A wide, knowing smile. The evil bastard is enjoying my mortification.

"Oh, you know, the whole terminal embarrassment thing," I say as breezily as I can and I go to stand up.

Just when I think my life can't get any worse... it fucking well does.

As I prepare to straighten to my full height, it becomes massively apparent that I have an erection that no amount of ignoring it will wither. I do the only thing I can, other than whimper, and pretend I haven't noticed.

I stuff my feet into my sneakers without tying them and pick up my keys without a word or a glance at Jack. I know that if I look at him, I'm done for; I'll try to start explaining and make it all worse than ever. I start to shuffle to the door, my hard on and my footwear making me look even more ridiculous.

"I can help you with that," Jack says quietly, before I can make it half way across the room.

"No problem, I've got it," I insist, gratefully kneeling to tie my sneakers.

"Not your laces, Daniel," Jack says patiently.

Oh! I stumble back to my feet.

"That," he gestures with a nod at my bulging jeans.

I knew it would be a mistake to look at him.

I just stand there and stare, mouth wide open and unable to do anything else. I'm a blushing, bulging, gaping mess. Way to go, Jackson! My seduction skills are coming on apace – how can anyone resist?

After a pause, during which he presumably realises exactly what an idiot I am, Jack gets off the sofa with a soft, "Oh, for crying out loud, Daniel." He strides over to me, takes my hand, leads me back to the sofa, and deposits me on it. With a minimum of fuss, he kneels astride my thighs, takes off my glasses, throws them over his shoulder, then gently holds my face as he comprehensively kisses away any vestiges of intelligence that had hung on until then.

When he comes up for air, he's smiling that smile again. "You okay?" he asks gently.

In the first considered response I've managed all afternoon, I place a hand behind his neck, pull him in and kiss that cocky grin right off his smug face.

Apparently this was the correct approach. Jack slides hungry, skin-seeking hands down my sides and under my t-shirt, tracing light paths that ripple all the way to my groin, making me twitch and groan.

Kissing him even harder has his hands moving to my pants. I open my eyes into his. I think his are saying ‘Yes?' I try to make mine say ‘Please', but I fear it might have come across as ‘Do it now or die horribly'. I feel Jack's grin re-emerging beneath my lips as he quickly reaches between us, pops the buttons on my jeans and releases my poor, not nearly abused enough cock. His hand is assured and strong as he runs fingers over my super-heated skin and takes me in a firm grip.

I take advantage of him growling into my mouth and slip my tongue tentatively between his lips. Once again I have guessed correctly and he starts a long, slow glide on my dick. Reassured, I push into his mouth more forcefully, rasping my tongue against his and stroking the roof of his mouth with short, needy laps.

He suddenly pulls back and looks at me delightedly, before slipping from my lap onto the floor and in one deliberate, confident move he takes my cock between his lips and sucks gently on the head.

I try to warn him, try to pull away from him, but he grasps my hips in large, capable hands and engulfs my dick with his hot mouth.

Oh my fucking God! He's going to... he wants me to... I'm going to....

Oh

My

Fucking

God.

When I finally open my eyes, I'm most surprised not to find myself sitting amid rubble. Surely the house just spontaneously collapsed? Didn't something large and tactical just hit us? Sure as hell felt like it to me.

Jack has that smile on his face again. "C'mon," he mutters, "We're not done yet." He takes my hand and drags my unresisting carcass after him towards the bedroom.

"Yet?" I echo, brainlessly.

"Nope," he assures me, not even looking over his shoulder. "Not by a long stretch. Ask me again in a year or ten... twenty might be better."

I was right.

Jack is going to kill me.

What a way to go.

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