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With love to all the kissing fests and memes that paved the way ...

Jack/Daniel Kissathon

No rules, no schedule, no sign-ups, just kisses!

first kisses dirty kisses hot kisses reunion kisses old-married-couple kisses chaste kisses aggressive kisses soft-touch-of-lips kisses porntastic kisses stolen kisses rough kisses sweet kisses private kisses tonsil-sucking kisses soft kisses sweaty kisses shmoopy kisses shower kisses tender kisses angsty kisses loooong kisses surprise kisses public kisses last kisses

Here's the list of ficlets.

Kiss it and make it all better (1)

Date: 2007-11-18 05:10 am (UTC)
From: [identity profile] seanchaidh.livejournal.com
Despite Daniel’s best protests, he wasn’t allowed to play. It wasn’t the first time he’d had the damn shoulder pop out – if you wanted dramatics, they should’ve been there when he’d fallen on that dig back when he was twenty-three with the head of the shoulder dangling somewhere past his armpit. That was bad, and so was the three week recovery and the disappointment of being sent home early.

His arm wasn’t bad, per se. Sure, sometimes it slipped out but it was so rare years had gone by since his last incident. Each time, he’d forget what he was doing and move the wrong way, and out it would go. Pain, sure, but he was also able to pop it back in with a few winces and a lot of cursing.

Jack had been impressed.

And despite his assurance that it would just take a day and he’d be fine, Janet Fraiser had put her foot down, rather decidedly, and banned him from off-world missions for a week. She’d been threatening to keep him from his office, but Daniel had pointed out his bad arm was his left one, and he could type with one hand just fine, thank you very much.

He was man enough to know a draw when he saw one, so with his arm in a sling – just temporary, dammit, but the SGC did have a supply of very nice ones that would’ve made his first recovery a lot easier – he saw SG-1 head up the ramp into the wormhole, just a routine mission but one where an archaeologist really wasn’t needed. Ironic they didn’t need one now when he was hurt, but did need one when he had fun things to explore.

Jack had promised to make it up to him when they got back. A quick whisper in Daniel’s ear when he’d gone to see SG-1 gearing up, Jack’s eyes glinting in the light. Something promising, for sure.

At least he had things to occupy himself while they were gone, the translations and artifact analysis that normally would have waited until they had a down period and after the mission reports were done. So with the Stargate closed, Daniel retreated to his office and buried himself with his work. He had enough to last for the two days SG-1 would be gone.

This is, until Janet came by and saw him shuffling papers with both hands. “That’s not what I had in mind when I told you to rest.”

Caught red-handed but not all that worried about the effect on the joint – he’d done more and the exercise made the strained tendons feel better anyway, Daniel had quickly set the papers down and offered his most innocent look. No luck this time. With a good twenty-four hours left before his team was due to return, Daniel was booted home with a chauffeur and told to take it easy before Fraiser gave him a matching pair of shoulders.

Good thing he’d emailed himself a few things to work on. His plants needed watering, too.

But truth be told, his shoulder did ache a little bit – he’d never confess that to Jack, who’d snark about old age and compare his own aching knees. The painkillers Fraiser had put into his pocket didn’t really help with his discomfort, but a hot shower certainly helped, and he did prefer his own showerhead versus the ones on base. That helped, and so did the liniment Jack had also brought over, the red hot cinnamon kind that hid the smell of menthol. It also smelled like Jack.

He took a nap, and surprised himself by sleeping through the afternoon. He woke as the low-lying sun shone golden light into his living room, reminding him there was a day he’d been wasting. His shoulder felt better, but he wasn’t about to do a cartwheel. Still moving the slow pace of the recently injured, he found his slippers and shuffled to put on the coffee.

His mind was on other things as he filled the percolator with one hand – tricky but doable – and flipped the switch. He had to check the email and see if anyone from work had something to say on the latest projects being undertaken, and just as he headed for the computer sitting on the kitchen table, he heard a knock on the door. A second later, there was a key in the lock, and Jack opened the door.


January 2012


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