cupidsbow (cupidsbow) wrote,

Slash Fic: Guilty Pleasure

I wrote this ages ago, and it was published in a zine called ConSensual.

Admittedly, it isn't one of my best (although I didn't realise it at the time). I was suffering from a really bad burnout when I wrote it. Like horrifically, life-changingly bad! "Guilty Pleasure" was the last bit of fiction (of any stripe) that I wrote for over a year. In fact, at one stage I even hit the point where I thought I'd never write fiction again.

Fortunately, I've been churning the stuff out lately--both the fanfic and 'real' fics. The quality of them is OK too. I still have a way to go before I'm as technically proficient as my favourite writers (*mope*). But, on the bright side, that gives me something to aim for!

Anyway, that's why I've decided to post this fic, rather than leave it dead and buried. "Guilty Pleasure" marked a huge watershed in my life, and so I feel quite unreasonably sentimental about it.

Title: Guilty Pleasure
Author: cupidsbow
Pairing: J/D, Stargate: SG1, First Time
Rating: R (some non-con het)
Length: 3,400 words
For: chaosmanor because this was ConSensual ;)
Disclaimer: SG1 belong to MGM. I don't have permission to play with their pretty, pretty wormholes.
Summary: Daniel has a close encounter of the Goauld kind.

Notes: This is another of my early slash stories, and I wrote it during a period of extreme burnout. It isn’t one of my best efforts.


Guilty Pleasure

Daniel knew that he was asleep and dreaming something forbidden. Something he would feel dirty and guilty for having dreamt when he woke up tomorrow and remembered it all with a clear and rational mind. But he was deep enough under that the slight frisson of guilt that edged through the blanket of sleep just added to his pleasure.

Sharé was leaning over him, her hair trailing down his naked chest. He breathed in the smell of her and it was just as he remembered from so long ago, when they had last shared a bed together.

He was not on a bed now.

For some inexplicable dream-reason he was strapped down on a narrow platform and Sharé was slowly cutting away his clothes with a cold knife. In real life such a moment would be fearful rather than erotic, but in the dream it was utterly seductive. The feel of his skin being slowly laid bare, inch by inch, had him aching for her skin on his. Daniel could see the occasional glint of the knife's blade in the firelight as her hands moved over him. It was distracting, so he closed his eyes the better to savour Sharé's touch. It had been so long. So damned long. The feel of her deft movements were making his skin prickle with arousal.

When the clothes were finally gone and his naked skin was laid out before her, Sharé tested his bonds. They were firm. Daniel couldn't move.

She and Daniel had never played this game in life. Daniel wondered why. Just lying here knowing that her eyes were drifting over him made his breath catch. He was so ready for this. It had been months since the last time she had visited his dreams.

Her tongue drifted over his skin slowly. Daniel could feel the heat inside him step up a notch and it was all he could do to keep his eyes closed. He wanted to save seeing the look of love in Sharé's face until just before he came. Otherwise the dream would be over much too soon. And he was so close to being able to let her spirit go now that there might never be another dream, another chance to see that look.

"Sharé," he said. "I love you so much."

She didn't answer, her tongue continuing to swirl down towards his stomach. Around, straight, around, a curve; it was a pattern. Daniel concentrated on it, hoping that it was her symbol for love. But, no, it wasn't that. Something else then. He ran through the words he knew best in her language. Not his name. Not the marriage symbol. Maybe it was an instruction. Maybe this dream-Sharé was a little bit...kinky. Daniel sure hoped so. He concentrated on her moving tongue again.

Suddenly Daniel's heart clumped in his chest and he felt the sweat on his skin turn cold. He recognised that shape and it was no symbol of love. Though it was a symbol he had seen before. Many, many times before. Too many times for him to have gotten it wrong. But he had to be wrong. Because if he was right, then it wasn't Sharé who had him tied down.

Daniel's eyes popped open and he couldn't close them again, couldn't turn his head, couldn't look away. Because the dream had him now, had him caught inside its strange, inevitable logic. And he knew what was coming. Knew it, but couldn't look away. This was the bad thing he had sensed, reaching out for him.

Sharé moved slowly into his field of view, hair hanging in front of her eyes. Slowly. So slowly. The slow motion you only get in nightmares. Because it couldn't get here; the moment when he saw her eyes could never get here. If it did he'd go insane. Because this wasn't Sharé... was the one who had stolen her from him.

It was the Goauld thing that wore Sharé's face.

He knew it. He'd known it from the start. It was the guilty thing he'd known was hiding in the dream. And now he would pay for ignoring it. Because you couldn't really stop the moment. Not even in a dream. Especially not in a dream.

Her head inched forward, while the cold sweat lathered him. In a sickening kind of counterpoint to his fear, his dick was throbbing for her hand. Desperate for it now. Now! Before he knew for sure it wasn't her. While it could still be his Sharé.

Then she moved her head just that way that he remembered, a graceful little tilt to her neck. And he let out a sob of relief because it was her after all. Sharé. His Sharé. It had all been a trick of the dream. A guilty little trick his mind had played on him.

"Sharé!" Daniel said.

"Shh," she said, and she finally put her hand on him, as though she could tell that his body was thrumming like a live wire that needed to be grounded. Her hand felt cool and soft and had him right on the edge within a couple of breaths. The adrenalin high of his abandoned fear channelled down into his libido.

Then, just as he was about to hit the point of no return, she gripped him hard and lifted her eyes so that he could see the love. See it as he came for her.

And he looked into her eyes. Looked and nearly came anyway. The guilt and desire lifting him right up out of his body into a level of dark pleasure he'd never known before. But he didn't come; couldn't come. Because he had known. Of course he had known. How could he not have known?

Known that it was the Other one. Playing with him.

"You will forget Sharé," said the Goauld. "But you will never forget my touch."

Daniel knew that she was right. Knew already, just from the feel of her hand sliding over him. Knew it would be indelibly printed on his nerve endings because he'd never felt anything like this. His skin was crawling with each hated touch. But that was part of it, wasn't it? Because this was the truth now. Here, inside his own skull, was the truth he could never admit to while awake. The secret curiosity of wanting to know what it would be like with this not-Sharé; her sweet, beloved face masking the devil inside. But it was more than that. Sharé's face was just the excuse, the polite fiction that his brain had used to wrap this dream up in. Because it was more about the Goauld than about her. More about its power and his helplessness and the fact that it had chosen him to play this sadistic game with. That somehow the fascination was actually mutual. He knew all that. Here on the edge of everything, he couldn't pretend to himself any more.

He also knew that if he came - when he came - it would taint him forever. Etch the guilt under his skin so that it was always there. Because there were some guilty fantasies that were too much of a betrayal to be transcended.

Enjoying the Other's touch would be such a betrayal. Not of his dear Sharé, who would forgive him this dark side of his curiosity. A betrayal of himself, because this was everything he despised.

Daniel groaned. He couldn't bear it. Couldn't bear the feeling of so much pent up grief and guilt and lust inside him. It had to end. This dream had to be over. But there was only one way to end it and he just couldn't. Couldn't wake up, couldn't come, couldn't stop.

But she could.

Daniel heard his voice whisper, "Please," as her hand stopped and fell away. His heart was beating in his ears like gunfire.

"No," he said. "No, no, no, no. Finish it. I can't stand it."

But she was picking up her staff and leaving him. Lifting the flap of the pavilion and going out into the dark.

It was only then that Daniel realised that the pulse in his head wasn't his. It really was gunfire. And suddenly he knew why.

Jack was here.

Jack had come to rescue him and it was going to be OK now because Jack would take care of everything. Jack would take one look at the stupid situation Daniel had gotten himself into and make some wisecrack. And Daniel would feel like a complete prat, but that was OK. If he had to choose between being a prat for Jack and this guilty betrayal at the hands of the Other, he'd choose Jack every time.

There was another burst of gunfire. It was close now, and coming closer. Then it was right outside the pavilion, and Jack was yelling, "I'll take this one." A moment later a gun muzzle was pushing up the tent flap, followed by Jack, looking cautious and grim.

"Over here, Jack. It's OK. The Goauld left a few minutes ago," said Daniel, with relief. "I'm so glad you guys are here. You have no idea what she was going to do to me!"

"Actually," said Jack, getting a sudden eyeful of the situation, "I think I've got a pretty good idea how this party was meant to play out."

Daniel looked down at this naked and still erect body. "God, get me out of this damn thing, before anyone else..."

The sound of Tealc calling to Jack shut off the flow of words.

Jack moved back to the tent flap and called out, "It's OK, I've got him. You guys hold the fort out there; we'll be out in a bit."

"Thanks," said Daniel. "I can really do without Carter and Tealc seeing me like this."

"Yeah, well, this ain't exactly in my job description either," said Jack.

He walked over to the platform and laid a hand on one of the straps holding Daniel in place.

"Just cut them," said Daniel impatiently.

"Doesn't look like there are any booby-traps," said Jack, reaching for his knife.
"That's reassuring," said Daniel, a bit faintly. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I guess you had other things on your... mind," said Jack, and cut through the straps.

Daniel's arms fell down limply. He tried to move them, but the circulation had been cut off for too long, and they were like leaden lumps. He hadn't even noticed that while the Goauld had been touching him.

Jack moved down to the straps holding Daniel's feet. He severed the bindings with two quick swipes of the knife.

"Where's your gear?" Jack asked.

"Over there," said Daniel, nodding his head towards the mess of rags that had once been his clothes.

Jack picked up a piece of a sleeve and nudged the rest of the pile with his foot. "Just great," he said, dropping the rag back onto the ground.

"Just cut a hole in a blanket or something and I'll wear it like a poncho," Daniel said. "Assuming I ever get circulation back." He tried lifting his left arm. It flopped about clumsily.

Jack walked over to a cloth covered table in the corner of the tent. He started pushing jars and platters onto the floor.

"This ought to do it," he said, pulling the tablecloth off the table. "It won't be real warm, but it'll cover you up at least."

Daniel lifted a foot plaintively, "I can't even feel my toes."

"So start moving around," said Jack, slitting a head-hole in the cloth with his knife. "Lying there isn't helping the situation."

"OK," said Daniel, and attempted to sit up. Little black dots started to swim across his vision.

"Um... Jack," he said. "I seem to have a problem."

"What?" asked Jack, with an edge of irritation.

"I think," said Daniel, trying another sit-up, "that she might have drugged me a bit."

"What do you mean, a bit?" asked Jack. "Either she did, or..." Jack lunged forward to catch Daniel before he fell off the platform.

Daniel hooked a numb arm around Jack's shoulder and rested his head against Jack's chest.

"Easy there," said Jack, and hoisted him back onto the platform.

"God this is a weird dream," said Daniel. "I wish I'd come already so that it would end." He leant back a bit, so that he could see Jack's face. "Although I have to admit," he said with a weak grin, "that I'm kinda surprised you're in it, Jack. I never figured you for one of my secret erotic fantasies."

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Daniel became hyper-aware of Jack's hands on his bare skin. And of the fact that he was still as hard as a rock.

Jack blinked at him. Which was so Jack, but so undream-like. In any half decent erotic dream, Jack would have taken that as his cue to kiss him. Daniel sighed. Goddamn half-baked, weird-arsed, meandering, stupid dream. What the hell was his brain thinking? Why couldn't it just get to the point so that he could wake up already?

"Daniel..." said Jack.

Daniel leant forward and pressed his lips against Jack's. Jack went statue-still for a moment, and then pulled away.

Daniel wondered where this masochistic sexual urge was coming from. Having a dream about being almost raped by a Goauld and then rejected by Jack was a pretty mind-boggling combination for his mind to have conjured up.

That slow-mo thing was happening again. Jack's eyes were half closed in an elongated blink, and Daniel just knew that once this frozen moment was over, Jack was going to do the enraged homophobia thing. But he couldn't look away, and part of him wanted to see the expression in Jack's eyes change. That moment when they flickered from friendship to hate.

And there it was. There. That half hidden glint in Jack's almost lidded eyes. A naked flash of... of what? Not hate, after all. Not hate...

...Love? Damnit, it sure looked like love. Jack's eyes were burning neon-bright; burning for him. And, boy, that just took the biscuit, really, in the weird dream stakes. Daniel's skin was prickling all over in goose-bumps, except in those two places where he burned under Jack's touch. If Jack even breathed on him right now, he was going to come. But suddenly he didn't want to and he clamped down on it. Because suddenly there was a chance that this dream would finally get off its arse and get really, really good.

Then the moment was over. Jack's eyes blinked open in normal-time. And the love was gone; hidden as though it had never been.

"Daniel," said Jack. "This isn't a dream." And he started to step away.

Faster than thought, Daniel's suddenly un-numbed hands wrapped tightly around Jack. "Sure it is," he said. "Otherwise I wouldn't be able to do this," and he pulled Jack in for another kiss.

Except Jack wouldn't bend, wouldn't close the small distance between them, wouldn't let himself be kissed. And that worked as no amount of persuasion could; for just a moment Daniel doubted that this was a dream after all. But then he saw desire flicker again deep in Jack's eyes, and that was all the encouragement he needed. His body was screaming at him to do something right the fuck now! So he melted against Jack, let his body do the talking. His legs couldn't hold his weight yet, but he only slid an inch or so down Jack's body before Jack's hands were tightening on his skin, one sure hand gripping Daniel's waist, the other finding a hold on his butt.

Daniel's mouth had ended up next to Jack's neck and he took a tentative lick. Jack's breath hitched. So Daniel pulled out all the stops and went straight for the jugular, biting and sucking at the soft skin beneath Jack's beard line.

"Daniel?" said Jack, "Wait..."

"Touch me!" Daniel demanded, and clenched the muscles beneath Jack's hand.

And suddenly Jack was with the program, all cylinders firing, and the damn dream finally looked like it was going to kick serious butt; Daniel hoped it was his.

Jack was all over him; smelling him, touching him, rubbing their bodies together. And that was great as far as Daniel was concerned, at least as a start, although his dick was complaining that it was all a bit unfocussed. It didn't get a chance to complain for long, because Jack seemed to feel the same way about the focus issue. He was suddenly focussing very intently indeed. With his lips. On Daniel's skin. Given Daniel's convenient nakedness, there was a hell of a lot of focus required. Jack was definately up to the challenge.

It was so good! Daniel moaned a breathy, gasping moan. And that seemed to trigger some new wildness in Jack, because he lost focus again and started pushing and fumbling, his hands everywhere and nowhere, but not on Daniel's skin enough. Not nearly enough anymore. Except there was suddenly more skin than there had been a moment ago. Jack's shirt was open, and his restless hands were fumbling with the buttons on his pants. Then his pants were at his knees and Daniel could see Jack's erection, smooth and curved and blood-red. And hard. Right there, just an inch from his own. A centimetre. A breath.

Then they were touching, all along, up and down, Jack's mouth on his mouth, Jack's fist in his hair, pulling at him, pulling him closer. He could taste Jack's sweat, hot and salty on his lips, his tongue a sudden captive, a hard nipple against his own, the scratch of Jack's hair on his chest. He was so giddy, so close. Jack was breathing on him, and he was breathing in Jack, Jack's smell like a sudden, sharp jab behind his right ear, inside his head. And Jack's hand was gripping his arse, gripping, gripping, their hips moving and crushing, pleasure, pain. It was close, looming over Daniel's body like Everest...

...Jack's skin under his clawing hands... was right there...

...his dick hot and sore and desperate...

...right on top of him...

...Jack biting him, kissing him, saying his name... a fucking avalanche!

It spiked through him, and he came on Jack, sobbing on his shoulder. And then Jack clutched him one more time, held him hard, and was right there with him, riding the avalanche. Coming with him. And because it was a dream, a good dream, the best dream Daniel had ever had, he let his mouth open and let it fall out of him.

"I love you."

"God Danny," said Jack, his knees buckling, sprawling them both on the ground.

"I do," said Daniel. "I wish this wasn't just a dream."

Jack rested his face against Daniel's cheek.

"This isn't a dream, Danny," said Jack. "You really were kidnapped by the Goauld. You really did kiss me stupid. This really did happen!"

Daniel stared at Jack, wondering what to believe, what was real. The world didn't feel any more real than it had a moment ago. Then again, if it was true that he had been drugged, the world could seem to have a polka dot sky and horizontal trees and still be quite real. Daniel's mind struggled with the problem, and then gave up. There was no way to find reality inside his own head. But he could think of another way to discover the truth. This had started with a dream, so everything would depend on where he was when he woke up. Which required being asleep again.

With that thought Jack's face faded away and the world went dark. Daniel embraced it, let it take him.

Soon he was back in the strange nowhere place of unconsciousness, vaguely aware of a swirl of guilt, sated lust and confusion. And he waited there, impatiently sleeping.

Waiting for the dream to end.
Tags: fiction, sg1
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