Title: Wild Boys
Series: Stargate SG-1
E-mail address: firstname.lastname@example.org
Category: Slash Angst Action/Adventure Hurt/Comfort
Date: September 2001 - September 2003
Disclaimers: Don't own these characters, MGM, Showtime and the rest do. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
Warnings: may contain slash, H/C, violence, m/m hanky panky, sex scenes, drug use, nudity, coarse language, horror, dodgy research, adult themes, general silliness, etc.
Spoilers: Season Three
Summary: Jack and Daniel go native.
Notes: Ever had one of those stories where every time you open up the file, the bloody phone rings?
Jack ran his hand over Daniel's soft bare skin, his finger firmly drawing a pattern between his shoulder blades, swirling lines in thick and clotted ochre paint.
Jack was already striped in paint, a ritual welcome into the tribe, Daniel had said. He'd felt silly. Now he'd been directed to apply the paint to Daniel and he no longer felt so foolish. He was rather enjoying himself, except for when the elders scolded him for being too free form. There was a set way of doing these things, apparently.
"Why me?" Jack asked.
"Why you?" Daniel's lips pursed, thinking of all the possible answers to that question.
"Why am I the one painting you?" Jack asked from behind him.
"Oh. I think they recognise a...connection between us."
"They probably think it's paternal," Daniel teased.
"Hey," Jack poked him in the shoulder. "I'm not that much older than you."
"What ever you say, Colonel Sanders."
Daniel was grinning widely now, imagining Jack's scowl behind him.
"Hey," was Jack's sole retort. "What do you mean they see a connection? I thought we were being discrete."
"Oh yeah," Daniel mused. Like this was keeping a low profile, pretending their relationship was solely a professional one. A primitive planet, with just Jack and Daniel stranded on it as fate would have it, with Jack slowly applying body paint to a semi nude Dr Jackson all in the name of anthropology and cultural relations. Never mind the crowd of villagers, there might as well be no one around for miles for the way Jack attended to his task.
"Perhaps they see more clearly, more simply here. At home, people see what they want to see. Some people think we're friends, some people think we hate each other. I'm pretty sure Dr Fraiser knows. I've no idea if Teal'c knows and Sam is too busy wanting you to see that I want you, too." His voice dropped, soft with need.
Jack brushed his palm over the back of Daniel's neck, giving a slight squeeze, and Daniel smiled, eyes closed, happy. He'd learnt to read Jack pretty well and he knew that this was Jack shorthand for "I appreciate your sexual desire for me and I value your friendship and I reciprocate same." With Jack, such emotions were expressed with a look or a pat on the shoulder, a touch of his hand.
Jack's finger smeared down Daniel's spine. Daniel made a soft purring noise, still with his head bent forward and his eyes closed.
"Enjoying this?" Jack smiled.
"Mmm," Daniel mumbled.
Jack smiled again. This was Daniel shorthand for "I'm getting hard." He rubbed his hand over Daniel's shoulder, smudging some of his work and not really caring. He was making a promise to take care of that situation should the opportunity present itself. Daniel purred again.
Jack could have done him there and then, if not for the crowd of onlookers, and a large part of him still wanted to anyway, to hell what the locals might have made of it. Like Daniel, he was pretty sure the locals knew what the score was. Sure, he could play the Great White God's protector, but anybody with eyes could see it was more than that, much more.
Scary as they were, Jack was beginning to love these folks, almost as much as Daniel did, maybe even more so. They'd found them, kept them safe and they'd saved Daniel, and for that Jack would do almost anything for them. He'd even strip himself half naked and paint himself red and dance around a fire, if he thought it would make them happy, because he owed them, he owed them big.
Back in the bottom of that pit, he'd thought it had been all over, that the Jack magic had finally run out.
"Daniel, Daniel," Jack patted his dying friend's face with a damp hand. "Daniel, time to wake up now and earn your pay. I'm surrounded by hostiles and I don't speak their language."
Daniel groaned, groggily opening his eyes, blinking once or twice, and wincing in terrible pain.
"I know, I know," Jack soothed him, rubbing his cheek softly. "But we're in deep shit, Daniel, and I need you. Please."
Daniel gasped, bit down on his pain and listened to the chattering up above him. After several long moments of Daniel going white with the effort, sweating and gasping, he managed to reply faintly, just loud enough to earn a shocked silence.
"Some sort of...dialect," he managed to gasp out to Jack, explaining with those few words that he knew the Earth variant, or at least, a few passing words, enough to impress. He uttered something more, god only knew what, then passed out, the effort just too much for him.
Jack stroked Daniel's forehead, proud of him, loving him more in this moment than he ever thought possible. "You did good, kid," he murmured, as the tribe sent several members scurrying down the walls towards them. Whether it was to help them or finish them off, Jack didn't much care. He just knew they'd tried their best, he'd tried it Daniel's way, and if he had to go down firing, well, he'd had a good innings, for a career soldier.
Daniel was carried away, high over head, the swarming brown bodies coming between Jack and Daniel, blocking Jack's view as Daniel was carried off out of sight.
"Hey!" Jack tried to object, but it was no use. He was outnumbered and he had no choice but to be carried along by his own throng of escorts. Well, he had one other choice: he could shoot his way out but that wouldn't do Daniel any good so he stayed his hand, resting it over the trigger, just in case.
Jack feigned an injured ankle as he was marched along the pig track. Nothing too incapacitating, just an excuse to try and hang back, to try and find a way out, but there were too many of the creepy skeleton painted tribesmen and they kept pushing and shoving him to keep in line and keep up.
Ahead they carried Daniel between them, and Jack knew in his heart he couldn't leave Daniel, not when he kept seeing and having to step over the splotches of blood Daniel was leaving on the trail. The tribesmen pushed him harder and Jack grabbed at branches, as though stumbling, tearing off leaves, a signal to whoever might follow that they were still alive, for now.
Of all the boneheaded...Jack muttered to himself internally as the natives pushed him along the path, if you wanted to call this crawl hole through the jungle a path. This was the worst case scenario he'd always had festering up in the back of his mind. It wasn't the only one, and there were probably worse worst case scenarios that he could think of, if he really tried, but this was getting about as bad as he ever wanted it to get. They were stranded off world, in the captivity of hostiles and Daniel was very seriously injured. Jack had seen men killed from less and if Daniel didn't get proper medical treatment and soon he was going to die, if it wasn't already too late.
The stupid little bastard. If he'd only listened to Jack and not gone storming off like some jilted teenager. Jack had always worried about Daniel walking off the edge of a cliff somewhere. He didn't think it was possible to be as situationally unaware as Daniel was and to still be alive, but somehow Daniel had managed it - up until today in any case. For Daniel, it was all about discovery. Watching where he put his feet, well, that was Jack's job.
Ah, there was the kick, the first sharp pang of guilt. Because Jack had fucked up today. He'd fucked up badly. He'd been so mad at Daniel he hadn't been watching. He'd taken his eyes off the ball for a moment and now look, they were in shit up to their eyeballs. This is why they have those regulations, he reminded himself again, bitterly. If he hadn't been having what could only be described as a lover's tiff with Daniel then none of this would have happened. Daniel would have never have dared to walk away from Jack like that...though, he was talking about Daniel here. Maybe whether or not he'd been sleeping with Daniel had no bearing on how well Daniel could follow his orders. In fact, sometimes, he'd thought it had given him a certain amount of leverage over Daniel in the past. A kind of 'do this for me now and I'll make it up to you later' unspoken agreement between them that he just couldn't pull off with anyone else.
It didn't matter anyway, what was done was done. If he managed to survive this and had to answer formally for the supreme cockup that was this mission, it would probably all come out: the fact that he and Daniel had been at odds lately, then he'd be under oath to explain why...
Oh yeah, he could just see General Hammond's face turning ever deepening shades of magenta as the truth came out, out being the operative word here.
Fuck it, Daniel. Why couldn't the little shit just keep it in the bedroom like it was supposed to be?
No more than Jack could pretend he wasn't frantic with worry over Daniel, much more than he should be, he supposed. Fuck, if that little bastard with the spear behind him jabbed him forward with it one more time he was going to...do nothing because it'd get them both killed and he needed to see how this was going to play out. There was a chance, just a chance, that one of them could get out of this alive.
After a long forced march through the jungle they'd come to a hacked out clearing and inside the clearing was a fort. Well, to Jack it looked for all the world like a fort, exactly like those ones in all those old westerns, only circular, rather than square. The hunting party was hustled inside and the large King Kong like gates closed ominously behind them, which Jack did not like, not one bit. It meant there was something that obviously needed to be kept out, or in. Daniel was vanished into one daub hut amongst a throng of chattering spectators. Jack was dragged off, struggling against his captors, to another structure on the other side of the compound.
They threw him in the hut and barred the door with a large stone, seemingly hewn especially for the purpose and rolled into position, and all the screaming and pounding did nothing except make his throat burn and his fists sore. For a building constructed almost entirely of mud and dried vegetation, the stupid little hut was a surprisingly sturdy prison, and of course the thieving little bastards had already souvenired his knife and his P-90 and the rest of his gear so he was down to his finger nails and harsh language. He felt about the dark interior but it was entirely empty, not so much as a stick to dig with.
He heard the screaming come again from the other end of the compound, real gutteral screaming. They were hurting him, and badly, the little fuckers.
"Daniel!" He pounded at the door again but it was no use. He sank down in the darkness and eventually the village grew quiet and Daniel wasn't screaming any more. Jack huddled up, resting his forehead on his knees, exhausted, knowing the sort of shape Daniel had been in before they'd gotten their filthy little hands on him. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and tried not to think about it.
He'd lost track of the time, sitting here in the dark. He guessed maybe two days had passed, but that was only a rough estimate. He usually had a pretty good internal clock, but that was set to earth time, and he couldn't remember how long the days and nights lasted here for the life of him. All he knew was that he was tired, he was hungry and he was very much fed up with the whole situation. Stuck here in the dark, sitting on a dirt floor, it reminded him of past times, times he didn't want to dwell on, but the memories would surge up, a muscle memory of being tired and sore and kept in the dark like this and he hated it and he couldn't make the memories go away. It even smelt and sounded the same: sweaty bodies moving outside, stinking smoke from cooking fires, the sudden bursts of laughter.
The heavy stone which guarded the doorway was dragged aside and under spearpoint a bowl of...something was pushed towards him. Jack took the bowl and nodded to his captors as they watched. He sniffed it experimentally. Okay, shouldn't have done that. It turned his achingly empty stomach. He dipped a finger in and tasted it. He wondered if it was poisoned or safe to eat, but then he decided he was too hungry to care. They were human and it seemed to have been scooped out of a communal pot, so how bad could it be? He smeared a portion onto his fingers and licked at it. Meat, there was meat in this grey-brown glop. For one hideous moment he thought it might be Daniel.
He dug out a scrap of meat from the glutinous stew, glaring at it suspiciously. He sniffed at it, he prodded at it and then, under the amused supervision of his captors, he touched his tongue to it. It didn't taste like Daniel. Not that he knew what Daniel tasted like, well, he did, but not like this and he was pretty sure Daniel didn't taste like week old chicken or if he did it was horribly ironic.
Deciding that keeping his strength up was the main priority now, he swallowed it, trying not to chew to prolong the flavour, and managed a twisted smile for his audience. They murmured amongst themselves and shut him in his adobe prison again.
Jack settled down against the wall and shovelled his weird tasting dinner down as fast as it would go, wishing he had something to chase it down with. Daniel had taken him once, and only once, to an authentic Chinese restaurant in Colorado Springs. A little too authentic for Jack's American palate. Whatever he'd just eaten now tasted like something he'd accidentally eaten then. He had no idea. Daniel had ordered the entire meal in whatever local dialect the waiter had spoken and when Jack had asked him what the hell had been set before them on steaming plates Daniel had just smiled that smartarse smile of his and dared Jack to eat it, with only a twinkle in his eyes.
Jack leant forward, willing his stomach to digest whatever shit he'd just shoved in it. Fuck, but he missed Daniel. He'd never realised before how just having Daniel nearby, just close enough to reach out and touch in the dark, made the worst kind of captivity bearable.
There was a lot of noise outside. Feeding time at the zoo, he guessed. He hoped he wasn't next on the menu. The horrible image of the old witch fattening up Hansel and Gretel suddenly sprang into his mind. Man, had he really read Charlie such gruesome stuff as bedtime stories? No wonder the little tyke had always been crawling into their bed with nightmares.
The sudden pang of loss hit him again and he really began to hate sitting here in the dark. There was nothing between him and his memories and he couldn't think of a damn one that wasn't a kick in the guts. He'd do anything for a safe, warm bed to crawl into himself right now.
After a few days he started to receive visitors, or rather, they crept in, unable to help themselves. He was new and different, pale skinned, silver haired and dressed oddly and curiosity got the better of his captors and they used any excuse to gather around and touch his skin and tug at his hair. Jack did his best to endure it, waiting for his moment, but for now he was watching. He was a long, long way from the gate and outnumbered by limber young men who knew the lay of the land much better than he did. And he still didn't know if Daniel was alive or dead. He tried asking them, but they just laughed at him, finding his speech funny, and his charades had them rolling in the aisles. They just gathered around him and fondled him like a favoured pet, playing with his dog tags, which they'd let him keep, turning them over and over until he got cranky one day and snatched them back. They left his tags well alone after that.
It must have been well over a week, enough time for him to recognise most of his captors by sight. They'd suddenly flung back the stone and dragged him out blinking in the brilliant sunlight, amidst much chattering and pawing, and herded him over to a hut that occupied a prominent central position within the village. Jack didn't like this at all and he resisted, so he was half thrown, half shoved through the narrow doorway to land in a sprawl on the dusty floor within.
This apparently penitent position drew murmurs of approval and nodding from the elders Jack could smell sitting around him, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light once again he found himself staring up into the bemused smile of one Dr Daniel Jackson.
"Hey, Jack," Daniel greeted him casually, as if they'd just run into each other on the streets of Colorado Springs.
"Daniel," was all Jack could manage, stunned. He'd been so sure that he would never see Daniel alive again.
Slowly the shock wore off and he flung himself forward, crushing Daniel in his arms. "Oh, god, you're alive. I thought I'd lost you," he breathed with raw emotion.
Then Jack managed to recover himself and drew back, annoyance replacing joy. "I thought you were dead. Shouldn't you be dead?"
"They healed me, Jack. They have this medicine, made from some leaves like what we found on P3X-593, that they chewed up and rubbed on the skin, with a whole lot of ritual animalist shamanism thrown in. It stopped the bleeding, see?" He pulled up his shirt to reveal the puckering scar of the exit wound on his midriff.
Jack nodded his approval at the miracle drug, the healing wound and the midriff.
"So while I've been imprisoned you've been visiting with the folks here," Jack remarked and Daniel winced at the first sting of Jack's sarcasm.
"I didn't know where you were, and I was quite insensible for several days as they poured some sort of raw opiate down my throat. Apparently my ravings in several languages really impressed them. That's why they healed me."
"And why would that be?" Jack asked, losing track of Daniel's thoughts again.
"They think I'm a god, Jack." Daniel beamed up at him smugly. "Apparently there's a local legend about a bearded, white skinned, blue eyed god. Rather like Quetzalcoatl, though I can't find any other trace of a definitive Aztec influence in this culture..."
Well, they certainly had the description down pat: Daniel was indeed sun bleached and pale skinned under his tan, bearded after nearly two weeks in the wilderness and as for the blue eyes, well, that went without saying. Few beings in the universe could resist those blue eyes boring into you, not even self professed gods.
"That's very nice for you," Jack cut him off. "But you have seen 'The Man Who Would Be King', haven't you, Daniel?" Jack inquired, somewhat testily.
Daniel's eyes burned cold for a moment with that steely Teutonic temper of his that surfaced every so often. "I know, Jack, but I wasn't in any state to dispute the point and I thought living the lie was better than dying. I've been trying to learn their languages and customs so I don't make any mistakes. As far as I can tell, they believe I'm some sort of prophet or shaman of some importance because I travel with a bodyguard." Daniel's eyes twinkled with amusement. "That would be you."
"Bodyguard is it now?" Jack muttered sourly.
"It's considered a great honour," Daniel nodded earnestly, strongly resisting the urge to hum a few bars of the old Whitney tune, because he knew Jack could still kill him with his bare hands. "Only the best warriors would be chosen to protect a man of my knowledge. This is a pre-literate society, Jack. Everything known is by way of oral history and the keepers of that knowledge are as precious, maybe even more precious than food, warmth, shelter, anything. Do you understand, Jack?"
"And you think you can fake it?"
"Yes. I told them I'm a traveller, here to learn their ways and teach them mine."
"And they bought that?"
Daniel nodded. "It's only a slight twist of the truth,"
"Except that whole godhood thing."
They glared at each other, then melted into happiness at each other's survival, realising they'd fallen into their usual bickering, the bitterness of the last few months now suddenly behind them.
Daniel drank in Jack with his eyes and Jack gave him the smile that had melted many a heart.
"Daniel," he murmured again, relieved and comforted to find his friend alive, against all logic.
Daniel proceeded to introduce Jack to the assembled elders and prized warriors, which was how they ended up being inducted into the tribe in this silly ritual of paint, smoke and drums. Jack was beginning to think he'd followed Daniel to some daft new age camp for really tragic middle aged white guys.
They followed the procession lead by flickering flaming torch light down to the river, where, with much prompting, they were made to wade out to their waists in the cold muddy depths, then to have water vigorously splashed over them by overly enthusiastic assistants to their initiation.
Jack squinted at Daniel in between suffering handfuls of water in the face.
"Is this safe?"
"You've had all your shots, right?" Daniel answered back, not the answer Jack wanted, and he grimaced.
Then they were being dragged out and congratulated upon their dunking while being patted down with dry dirt.
Jack nodded sourly, showing his consternation at this alarming aboriginal rite being inflicted upon his person. Daniel knew that look. Jack would make him pay for this for months, if not years.
Daniel glanced about him, mustering his thoughts.
"This probably means we've been welcomed to the tribe, blessed, or we've just gotten married."
"Well, it is about time you made an honest man of me," Daniel continued in the same serious academic tones.
Jack looked at him for a long second, then realised Daniel was yanking his chain.
His eyes narrowed. Oh yeah, Daniel was going to pay for this one for a long, long while.
Once the solemn ritual was over it was time for the knees up, which meant roast beast, campfire and the local moonshine, which Jack only wet his lips with, and that was enough to have him rocking backwards.
Jack had sat, watching everything and everyone, making headcounts of all the warriors, allowing a spear and a club for each to estimate the armoury, then he started calculating the chances of getting Daniel over that wall before they were speared to death were slim to none. They were also in hostile territory and Jack had no weapons, so Jack decided to stay put for a while. Besides, Daniel seemed to be enjoying himself. He'd picked up a limited fluency in the local lingo and was happily chatting away, about nothing classified, Jack hoped.
As the party wound down Jack tugged at Daniel and Daniel, taking the hint and stood at last, a little unsteady on his feet because unlike Jack he hadn't been faking his imbibing, and he led Jack to a little hut that he announced was home sweet home.
"Sweet," Jack commented, ducking as he crossed over the threshold. "And how did we manage to acquire this prime real estate?" Jack asked, glancing about the somewhat shabby and messy interior.
"Oh, it's like VIP quarters, I expect. I am a visiting dignitary, after all."
"So, they really think you're a god, huh?" Jack started up again.
"Shaman, actually, might be closer to the mark. A travelling mystic, if you will."
"Uh huh. And just exactly how are you going to impress upon them that you are indeed who you say you are? Or do I have to remind you of what happened to Jonas, never mind Connery and Caine."
"Well, you've got your thunderstick, Jack. Automatic weapons always impress people without gunpowder, even the Asgard."
"In case you haven't noticed, Daniel, they're the ones with my thundersticks, not me." Jack rolled his eyebrows as he emphasised Daniel's ridiculous terminology, but Jack's sarcasm almost always rolled off Daniel like water off the proverbial duck's back, and Daniel was completely oblivious to it now as he had ever been.
Daniel had flopped down on the straw pallet that did for a bed, head spinning, pretending to ignore Jack. Jack without weapons was the safest option for the present: Daniel just wasn’t up to dealing with one of Jack’s little diplomatic incidents right now.
Jack knelt down beside Daniel, carefully poking and prodding at the still healing entrance and exit wounds. Daniel winced and huffed but as far as Jack could see they were healing nicely: no puss, no muss.
Daniel said nothing. To comment on his injury might lead to discussion about how he'd acquired his red badge and Daniel just didn't want to go there. He'd do anything to avoid discussing what had gone before. It was over, done, they'd moved on and that was enough.
Funny, watching Jack kneeling before him, touching him so gently, you'd never think anything had changed between them, yet everything had changed.
Things just hadn't been the same since Sha're had died. Before it had just been a simple case of buddy breathing, just something to get through the nights, at least, that's what they'd told themselves. Just a bit of comfort between two friends caught in extraordinary circumstances, nothing special.
Then suddenly Daniel's wife had died and it was almost as if her last thought had been to push Daniel into Jack's care, because she'd known, she'd always known.
Suddenly Daniel was single, and grieving, and the whole question of whether this was just something to pass the time, or something more, something serious, it had spun them both out, but Jack most of all. Suddenly, he was the only person in Daniel's life, in Daniel's heart. Suddenly Jack wasn't sure he could take the responsibility. Suddenly Jack was having to answer fundamental questions about himself, and who he thought he was, and what he wanted. Suddenly, Jack had gotten gun shy.
Jealousies had spiked as they'd tried to pull away from the intensities of their feelings, slights had been exaggerated, silences became long and drawn out. The whole thing had just blown out of control, all because Jack was now Daniel's lover, Daniel’s only one, not his bit on the side. All because it was suddenly very, very serious.
They were willing to die for each other, but to admit that this was anything more than a couple of friends jerking each other off, it raised all the really hard questions and to Daniel's eyes, Jack seemed to have backed off.
Except now, right now, Jack was wholly focused on Daniel again, but a close shave tended to do that.
He grabbed Daniel by his t-shirt and planted a searing and grinding kiss on him. None of the teasing little nibbles he indulged in when they were alone together on Jack's couch. This was a demanding kiss to punish Daniel for putting him through hell, for scaring him like that, to tell him how much he'd missed him.
Daniel moaned and opened up to him and Jack held him tighter. The next kiss was just as forceful but the third was warm and soft and they parted slightly, brushing noses and cheeks.
"Hey," Jack breathed.
"Hey,' Daniel repeated.
"Missed you," Jack admitted.
"Yeah," Daniel agreed.
They fell back against the pile of bedding in the corner together. It reminded
Jack of his first apartment, basic on the amenities and comforts. Clothes were
wriggled out of and tossed aside. After a lot of licking and touching, Daniel
was beneath him and Jack was inside Daniel, slipping slowly in and out, holding
him tight, wrapped around him, his cheek grazing over Daniel’s shoulders.
It felt so good, so perfect, and Jack felt like he was home. So long as he
had Daniel in his arms the rest of the universe could go to hell, at least