Drabbles I wrote some time ago...
My first actual slash, and first cross-over posted anywhere. Hope ya like it.
I promise to finish the serie...
Rupert Giles listened to the lecture with bored expression.
He knew more about this particular artifact than the speaker did, but it probably wasn't a good idea to tell that inscriptions on it were written in demon language.
Very bad idea, actually.
He started to watch the crowd of other listeners, all of them immersed in lecture.
Daniel Jackson looked around, bored beyond belief.
He could explain to the speaker that the artifact he was talking about didn't come from that particular region of Egypt... It didn't come from Earth, to be exact.
Wonder what reactions would he get.
He chuckled to himself.
Giles turned around to the sound of soft laugh and met amused stare of younger man with sand-coloured hair.
Daniel smiled slowly in response.
Maybe this conference wasn't a complete waste of time, after all...
Rupert Giles was asked this question few times, most of it long time ago, when nobody actually called him Giles like they do now. No one called him Rupert either.
Can you fuck a man while he has his glasses on?
Daniel Jackson was asked this question only once, but he knows well that the answer is yes.
But without glasses it's definitely more pleasant.
That is why two pair of spectacles are currently occupaying space on the night table.
Glasses aren't the only things that were abandoned today.
Tweed jacket is probably still on the floor of hotel's corridor, that is if clean service hadn't found it.
Another jacket, black one, lays on the floor in the room.
White shirt will share that fate in a moment, unbuttoned by strong and slender fingers and thrown away.
Daniel's fingers travel lower, brushing strong muscles of other man's arm, lower, caressing his chest, lower...
Giles feels the salty taste of his skin and remembers.
All that was abandoned, all that was forgotten, all that what was gone since Ripper was gone.
Everything since then was about duty, about destiny, about sacrifice.
Now all the caution is abandoned too, sense of duty lays on the corridor's floor, with the tweed jacket, his armour against feelings.
Now is about passion.
Third time lucky
Mornings are always awkward.
It's like a Murphy's law.
No matter how good you felt the night before, no matter what wild thing you did, and how you both enjoyed it, in the bright light of day everything looks...
You listen to his steady and peaceful breath and wonder how come a scholar in tweed jacket can have such strong and shaped body.
Your fingers follow soft trace of light hair on his belly and you find another scar, and wonder again how he got them.
You look at his closed eyes and remember had they darkened in the mist of passion and how he looked at you when his cock was in your mouth.
You hear his breath change and his muscles tense under your fingers, and you wonder if he would have a good grace to talk, or even to say goodbye.
Mornings are all the same.
You wake from pleasant dream you had, only to find empty place next to you, and cold that matches your heart.
This time though, this time it's...
You open your eyes and catch the gaze of his, dark blue, like stormy sky. You smile, and the answering smile lights the room.
You feel his hand on your stomach and you remember feel of his lips there, sensual, caring, but oh so passionate.
You remember his fingers caressing you with almost cruel gentleness, touching you they way you forgot you can be touched, discovering your true nature all over again.
You've found it amazing, how easily you could play his bodu, how responsive he was, how affectionate.
You see the longing in his eyes and you know they're reflecting your own.
And you know that something changed this night, for better or worse.
It's all different now.