Pool Party

by

 Ruffle

Click for details and warnings

DISCLAIMER: Stargate Sg-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Pool Party

I’m sitting in General Hammond’s backyard anxiously scanning the pool for signs of a certain absent archaeologist.  Daniel dove under moments ago, and I guess it’s second nature for me to make sure he surfaces safely.  It’s not so easy to switch off CO mode, at least when it comes to SG-1’s accident-prone Dr. Jackson.

This little underwater excavation seems to be taking longer than - ah, there he is.  I settle back in the lounge chair as Daniel erupts from the depths.  Water cascades over his slick hair into a miniature waterfall past the little grottos formed by his ears down the sturdy cliff of his neck onto his shoulders’ broad beach.  Laughing, he tosses his head back as he bobs up and down treading water.  Who would’ve guessed a desert rat would enjoy swimming so much?

A couple of strong strokes carry him to the pool’s edge, where he reaches up and effortlessly hoists himself out.  All those push-ups are paying off nicely in increased upper body strength.  Watching honed biceps flex and relax, I recall the feel of his arms holding me, comforting and warm.  His forearms glisten with wet trails crisscrossing through the fine hair.  Rivulets of water stream down the smooth muscled back, soaking into his trunks.  Contrary to their name, the baggies stretch tight across the firm curves of his butt as he bends to pick up a towel.

Sipping my spiked lemonade, I see I’m not the only one admiring the view.  Amused, I watch the women gravitate toward him like a cluster of satellites revolving around a sun.  Oblivious to the more than friendly aspect of their interest, Daniel smiles and chats as a drop runs across his cheek to kiss the corner of his mouth and flow over his lush lower lip.  I’m treated to a brief glimpse of spiky lashes before he rubs the towel over his face.

More than one male glance is surreptitiously cast his way as well, but the military men keep their distance, having more sense than to approach him here at the general’s house.  I can’t fault their good taste.

Water beads tantalizingly in the hollow of his throat and highlights his sculpted chest and taut abs.  Twin streams caress the slim hips showing above his low-slung waistband.  A droplet zigzags its way downward on an exploratory search, dipping into his navel before following the trail of hair leading south to the promising territory hidden from view.

The long-legged board shorts also cover the strong thighs, but I let memory of that splayed-in-welcome expanse guide me to the exposed skin of surprisingly shapely knees.  A watery shine accents the dusting of light golden hairs along his legs.  The angled planes of his ankles sweep neatly into long bare feet, elegant and vulnerable.  Water pools around them, lapping at his toes as if to show off the privilege of touch and taste of which others can only dream.

Stretching in contentment, I take another sip of my drink.  Flirt all you like, ladies.  I’m the lucky colonel who gets to take this bathing beauty home.

***

The day’s heat has drifted into cool darkness by the time we’re dry and snug in bed.  I’m dizzily luxuriating in retracing with my tongue every trickle of water I watched sluice across his body earlier.  The captivating combination of giggles and moans emanating from Daniel translates his enthusiasm for the night’s program as well.

I brush my hand across his groin, letting my fingers curl around his swiftly hardening shaft.  When he reaches to reciprocate, I waggle my eyebrows in a patented O’Neill wicked grin.

“That’s one thing none of the women at the pool party today would be able to give you.”

“Ja-ack.”  He chokes on a laugh as his hand tightens around my cock.  “You are so bad.”

“And you, Dr. Jackson, are so good.”  Oh yeah, his long, talented fingers always feel so right.

“You know those women are friends, that’s all.  You always think every woman I meet wants to sleep with me.”

“And you always think none of them do.”

“Doesn’t matter what they want.  I only want to make love with you, Jack.”

God, how does he do that?  I swear my cock leaps in his hand at the words.  Gently I unwrap his fingers and push him back onto the pillows.  I continue to stroke him with one hand as my other slides between those invitingly splayed legs.  I watch the arch of his neck as I prepare him, his gasping mouth and clenching hands.  I don’t know why it’s so important that I know he’s mine alone, but it is.  Daniel is mine.  Mine to care for.  Mine to cherish.  Mine to love.  As I’m his.

I enter him, thrusting in rhythm to my continued stroking of his cock.  I hear myself murmuring his name over and over, the only word I can manage, but I don’t need to verbalize more.  Each thrust, each stroke is a declaration of my feeling.  Daniel responds in kind as he shudders and calls my name, spraying his feeling across my hand and body, drawing my response in turn as I pour myself into him, pooling our hearts and bodies and lives.

I know the Daniel Jackson the world sees is a beautiful man.  But the Daniel Jackson I get to see - wet with the sweat of our lovemaking, sated eyes lit with fierce love and joy, strong arms trembling around me in the aftermath of our exertion - is even more beautiful.

And I’m the lucky colonel who gets him.

THE END