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1. Sex pollen
John wasn’t sure why Dr Jackson was showing him round the SGC; for one thing, he was only
going to be there for three days before they left for another galaxy, which hadn’t stopped being both kind of freaky
and very cool, and for another, surely Jackson had better things to do with his time. Unless he thought John had a chance
in hell of convincing O’Neill to let him come to Pegasus with them, which John thought was really a little overly optimistic,
since he hadn’t even been able to convince O’Neill that *he* shouldn’t be going.
He had even less
idea why O’Neill was with them, because even if Jackson didn’t have anything better to do, O’Neill was a
general and definitely did.
Plus, he was making John extremely nervous, something that wasn’t helped by the fact
that John was ninety percent sure the reason O’Neill wasn’t allowing Jackson to come with them was at least partly
because another galaxy was kind of far to go for a date.
Which was more than he wanted to know about the man. Either
of the men, actually. He had enough trouble keeping his own secrets, without needing to keep other people’s as well.
Especially when O’Neill was leaning so close to Jackson that John couldn’t even see daylight between their
bodies, and Jackson didn’t seem inclined to move away, just swiping his access card and saying, “And this is one
of our botany labs, where we bring samples from off-world for initial testing…”
It was hot, even for a
greenhouse. Hot, and also empty, the kind of empty that meant people had left in a hurry, plant pots over-turned, a lab stool
on its side, mugs of coffee abandoned on lab benches.
“Um,” he said intelligently. There was some kind
of pollen floating in the air, faintly pink in color, which was disturbing on a number of levels, and only became more disturbing
when Jackson said, “Oh, not again,” right before John gave into the overwhelming urge to jump his kind-of CO in
the middle of a military base, not at all surprised when he felt Jackson pressing up against him to kiss O’Neill with
a lot of tongue.
Twenty minutes later, watching O’Neill’s hand stroke his own cock as Jackson lazily fucked
John against the lab bench, he finally got enough of his brain back to ask, “Um, is this going to be, you know…”
O’Neill
waved his free hand absently, his eyes on Jackson’s hand on John’s cock. “Don’t worry. Happens all
the time here.”
“Oh,” John said faintly, though it came out as more of a groan when Jackson pushed
into him exceptionally hard. “Great.”
2. Aliens make them do it
John was pretty sure he’d
been drunk when he’d agreed to this. Even without knowing they were going to end up – like this – there
was no other explanation. Unless he’d had a head wound, which, frankly, wasn’t outside the realm of possibility.
“They’re a peaceful people. Very focused on their rituals,” Jackson had said – John definitely
remembered that part. “Very knowledgeable about the Ancients, and I really want to consult with them once more before
we leave for Atlantis.”
Maybe that’s why he agreed – he’d only been promoted two days ago and
the warm feeling he got from being included in any ‘we’ that referred to Atlantis had clearly impaired his judgment.
“Landry’s refusing to let me go without military escort, and all the off-world qualified airmen are, well,
off-world,” Jackson had said. “It’ll only be a couple of hours.”
It wasn’t until they’d
been standing in the gate room and O’Neill had walked in, dressed in off-world gear, that Jackson had said, “Oh
yeah, and they consider Jack the official ambassador for our planet, they won’t talk to us without him.”
“Great,”
John had said faintly under the sound of the gate activating, and hoped fervently that O’Neill’s grin hadn’t
meant he knew why the tips of John’s ears were turning red.
*
“This,” John hissed in Jackson’s
ear, which wasn’t difficult since Jackson had him pressed down on the stone table and was holding his wrists above his
head with one hand, “Is the kind of thing you might like to mention in the mission briefing.”
Jackson paused
in licking John’s nipple, which wasn’t turning him on *at all*, just like O’Neill’s moans as John
stroked his cock wasn’t doing anything for John, and said, “They haven’t actually required us to undertake
this ritual before.”
“Oh great,” John said dryly. “Just my luck to come along on their highest
holy day.” He had more to say on the subject, but Jackson chose that moment to climb onto the table and push his cock
into John’s ass, so John was kind of occupied with coming incredibly hard, and then with blowing O’Neill to really
disturbing applause from their alien audience, and forgot that he’d wanted to complain until he was stumbling back to
the stargate on wobbly legs, at which point it seemed kind of late to bother.
He was still sort of relieved when Jackson
got attached to Vala mal Doran and couldn’t come to Atlantis after all.
3. Amnesia
He woke up with
a mild headache, a view of someone else’s t-shirt clad stomach, and no memory of… well, anything. Even with no
memory, he was pretty sure that wasn’t usual for him, so he ignored the way everything wavered when he moved and sat
up.
Since all that told him was that he was in a room with no windows, no obvious door and two unconscious men lying
very close to each other, wearing similar outfits to his but sadly still unfamiliar, he wasn’t entirely sure it had
been worth the effort.
On the other hand, having made it once, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to persuade
himself to make it again, so he shuffled over to lean against the wall and wait for his two companions to wake up, in the
hope that they’d know more than he did.
They didn’t, though that didn’t stop the younger one from
spouting off a stream of theories, ranging from them being medical experiments (yeah, really hoping not) to them being robots
(disturbing, but kind of cool, even though he felt pretty human), until the older man pulled two pieces of metal from under
his shirt and said, “Huh. I think this is my name. Jack.”
His name turned out to be John, and the younger
man’s to be Daniel. “Jackson,” Daniel said, reading the rest of the metal.
“Like, Jack’s
son?” John asked. They didn’t *look* they were related.
Daniel and Jack looked at each other and shook
their heads simultaneously. “I really hope not,” Daniel said. “Or we have a really screwed up father-son
relationship.”
John wished, very hard, for a door to spontaneously appear in the wall, and tried not to be disappointed
when nothing happened. “Oh,” he said stupidly.
“Yeah,” Jack said distractedly. He was already
moving towards Daniel, and the look he was giving him definitely wasn’t the kind of look a father gave his son. John
wished *really* hard for the door, or even for whoever had shut them in here to put in an appearance, then, when both of those
failed to happen, closed his eyes and thought seriously about covering his ears.
He was kind of glad he hadn’t
when Jack sighed exasperatedly and said, “For heaven’s sake, John. Get the hell over here.”
The touch
of Jack’s hands on his body was the first familiar thing since he’d woken up, and it was easy to fall into the
press of hands and mouths and cocks.
When he woke up in the infirmary with all his memories back and the two days they’d
spent in captivity missing instead, he ached in places that felt very familiar. He gave the situation a few seconds’
consideration, then pulled the pillow over his face and groaned.
4. Drunk… kinda
“I can see
why Jackson needs his virtue protecting,” John said, shifting Jackson’s arm across his shoulder – the man
was heavy when he was drunk, “I just don’t see why I’m helping you do it.”
“Buck up,
Sheppard,” O’Neill said from Jackson’s other side, steering them left again before they could wander into
oncoming traffic. Washington at 2230 on a Friday night was plenty busy enough for the road to be a dangerous place, and John
really didn’t want his headstone to read that he’d been run over by a tourist bus while accompanying Jackson and
O’Neill to brief the President about the stargate program. Rodney would never let him forget it, for one thing, even
if he was dead, and anyway, it would need a ridiculously wide headstone to fit it all on. “The hotel’s only a
few blocks from here.”
John resisted pointing out that they could get a cab; the fewer people who got extended
exposure to two Air Force officers still in their dress uniforms being groped – John moved Jackson’s hand off
his ass again – by a half-naked and wholly inebriated archeologist, the better, even if it did mean walking through
Washington in February without a coat.
“You know, I never have to do this kind of thing with my team,”
John grumbled, even though it wasn’t strictly true; Teyla never drank on missions, but if there was something illegal
being smoked, he could guarantee she’d end up joining in, while Ronon was just a lightweight, inexplicably, and Rodney
hadn’t yet learned to say no to a pretty girl with a serving jug. John still couldn’t wrap his head round the
fact that *he* was the responsible one.
“I get your mission reports,” O’Neill pointed out, making
it clear what he thought of John’s claim. He grunted, and Jackson’s weight swayed towards John again. “Sorry.
Daniel, I appreciate the thought, but two blocks from the White House is not the place to be trying to feel me up. At least
wait until we get back to the hotel.”
John pretended he hadn’t heard the end of that over Jackson’s
mumblings about a beautiful woman who’d wanted to take him back to her place and… Okay, he was pretending he hadn’t
heard that as well. Manhandling Jackson was bad enough, without trying to do it with a hard-on.
*
“There
you go, buddy,” O’Neill said, dropping Jackson bodily onto his double bed. John breathed a sigh of relief when
Jackson’s eyes drifted closed.
“Shouldn’t we undress him?” he asked, then realized how *that*
sounded, and added, “I mean, I think that’s his only suit.”
O’Neill shrugged. “We’ll
call housekeeping before we head out. Unless you want to get him naked, in which case, don’t let me stop you.”
John
felt himself flush, which was really starting to get old when it came to O’Neill. “No, I just thought…”
He gave up and sat down on the edge of the bed, out of reach of Jackson if he woke up and got amorous again. “Give me
five minutes, sir, and I’ll go back to my room.”
O’Neill looked at him for a moment, then came to
stand close to John. “Stay here if you like,” he said casually. His hands dropped to John’s shoulders, then
smoothed up to rest against his neck, and John swallowed hard. O’Neill was just the right height to put the evidence
of the effects of Jackson’s groping at John’s eye level, and he didn’t have that much self control, not
after eight hours of briefings and a couple of drinks.
“What the hell,” he muttered, and reached for O’Neill’s
zipper.
He was on his back under O’Neill, two of O’Neill’s fingers pushing into his ass, when Jackson,
next to him, blinked and said, surprisingly sober, “Oh. You started without me.”
“Didn’t get
very far,” O’Neill commented, and Jackson made a little sound of agreement before pushing himself up and kissing
O’Neill hard. Which was fine with John, really, especially when Jackson finally achieved his apparent objective for
the evening and got his hand round John’s cock.
5. Trapped off-world
“Well,” John said,
feeling compelled to say something. Unfortunately, nothing presented itself, so he ended up saying, “This is different,”
somewhat lamely.
O’Neill and Jackson looked at each other and shrugged. “Not so much,” O’Neill
said.
Well, of course not. Nothing was different for SG-1, they’d been at this for over a decade, but while John
did occasionally get stuck off-world with a gate that wouldn’t dial, he didn’t often manage it while naked after
a surprise attack from a clothing dematerialization beam that he was sure Rodney would love.
Oddly, it didn’t
help that O’Neill and Jackson were naked as well. This was the last time he agreed when Carter suggested he accompany
O’Neill and Jackson to a supposedly harmless planet to show them Pegasus while Lorne took Mitchell and Vala to another
supposedly harmless planet.
Knowing his luck, Lorne would come home with a ZPM while John had to be rescued naked.
At least Lorne could be bribed from putting pictures on the city servers, unlike John’s team.
“Check in’s
due in three hours,” he said, poking at the dead DHD. “We can request a rescue when Carter dials in to find out
why I haven’t brought you back yet.”
“Sounds good,” O’Neill said, sounding distracted,
and John turned round to find that he and Jackson had apparently decided to make good use of three hours of naked time with
nothing else to do, by letting Jackson back him up against a tree and get on his knees to suck his cock.
Which, John’s
body reminded him forcefully, was a very good thing to be on the receiving end of.
“Sheppard?” O’Neill
said, his eyes still closed. “I assume you’re not standing over there because you’re shocked at what we
get up to, since you’ve been up in it with us before.” Jackson made a completely undignified snorting sound round
O’Neill’s cock that made O’Neill shudder. “So why not skip over the agonizing about whether this is
appropriate part and get over here so I can jerk you off.” He opened his eyes and looked straight at John. “Unless
you want to wait for Daniel to fuck you.”
Actually, now he’d said it, John kind of did – his body
remembered what Jackson’s cock felt like inside him, Jackson’s hand warm on his dick – but they had three
hours, minimum, and he could probably have both, even if he wasn’t that young anymore. Plus, it would be kind of rude
to turn down O’Neill’s offer.
He felt compelled to register… something… though, and said, “This
kind of thing never happened before I joined the SGC,” right before O’Neill’s mouth closed over his, and
O’Neill’s hand closed round his cock.
Though maybe, all things considered, that wasn’t too much of
a bad thing.
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