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It was a week after the whole Honduras debacle, and Daniel wished he could say he was healing up nicely, but he still hurt everywhere—and was trying not to show it. He squirmed uncomfortably on Jack’s couch, trying to surreptitiously adjust his laptop so it wouldn’t bother his bad leg.
“I can see you, you know,” Jack said from the kitchen. “You shouldn’t be working.”
“Yeah, well the text on the device from P3X-567 that Sam’s been drooling over isn’t gonna translate itself,” he said, making another failed attempt to position the computer somewhere less painful.
“Forget the device on P3 whatever.” Jack held up a second beer in offer to Daniel and he shook his head. He filled a glass of water for him instead, setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. “You have leave. Can it not just wait till you’re better?”
“And when’s that gonna be?” Daniel griped. "I can’t afford any downtime with the Goa’uld breathing down our necks and you know that. Plus I’ve always been a slow healer...I’d miss weeks of school at a time from just the common cold. Luckily, it wasn’t like they actually taught anything during those weeks.”
Jack plopped down next to him, giving him a pitying once over. “Yeah, yeah, fine. Like anyone could change your mind about anything.” He flicked his bottle cap into the fireplace. “Anything I can do to help?” he asked.
“Dunno.” Daniel said, feeling a little pouty, a little pushy. “You gonna kiss it and make it better?” he asked idly, his attention focused on his laptop.
“As matter of fact…”
“I was kidding, Jack.”
“And I wasn’t. Come on. Show me your boo boos.” He angled his body to face Daniel, letting the timber of his voice drop into his throat as he brushed an errant lick of hair behind Daniel's ear. “Show me where it hurts.”
Daniel’s breath caught. He glanced over at Jack, then slowly, without breaking eye contact, unbuttoned the plaid shirt he was wearing with his good hand, top to bottom. Pulled it down past the bad shoulder. The white tank he had on underneath hid the bulk of bruises on his chest, but his right shoulder had taken the brunt of it—mottled purple and green, still sore as hell after a week back home.
“Jesus Christ,” Jack hissed. He ran featherlight fingertips over the bruise. “I should have killed them twice. “
Daniel inhaled sharply through his nose at the touch, too gentle and not gentle enough. “Yeah, as hot as it is you literally murdering five guys to save me, they're still people, no matter what they did to me. You couldn't have gone for the legs or something?”
“They were about to kill you.” Jack rubbed his thumb ever-so-lightly against the bruised shoulder, then pressed the thumb in experimentally against an edge of muscle as Daniel hissed. “I'd been trampling through the jungle for 20 hours with a guy I hate as a guide trying to find you, just hoping to find you alive. No idea if I would. He kissed Daniel’s shoulder, the softest slide of lips. “Don't ask me to be sorry. I'm not.” He nuzzled in close to Daniel’s ear, took the earlobe between his teeth, trailed lips down to his neck.
“Guhhh, Jack.” Daniel’s head lolled forward. “When I said ‘kiss it better’ I didn’t think you’d take it literally."
“I’m a literal kind of guy,” Jack said, smiling against Daniel's warm, abused skin. He trailed soft knuckles over Daniel’s breastbone and downwards, thumb brushing a nipple over the cotton fabric, continuing down over his abs, hand coming to rest over the zippered seam of his pants.
“I can’t—” Daniel gritted out, straining against the warring impulses inside him. “I can’t right now. The leg.”
“Who said you had to do anything?” Jack spoke against his neck. At some point he’d managed to set Daniel’s laptop aside on the other side of him. Sneaky bastard.
“If you turn me on anymore, something’s gonna hurt,” Daniel complained, head falling back against the couch. “You can’t blow me—my leg always shakes. You can’t fuck me—”
“You leg always shakes.” Jack laughed softly against the side of Daniel’s face. “We don’t have to do anything, Daniel. I’m just trying to take your mind off things for a second.”
Daniel rotated to face Jack as best he could, getting his forehead pressed against the temple of his murderous-overprotective-inappropriate-times-for-sex boyfriend. “I wish I could,” he said. His voice broke, a small sound in the back of his throat almost like a sob escaping him. “I hurt everywhere.”
“I know, baby.” Jack had gotten his arms around him and was just holding him close against his chest. “You get beat up, roughed up, thrown, kicked, choked, dragged, drugged, and otherwise messed up more than anyone I know. I’m surprised you’re still alive.” He paused, brow creasing. “Actually, sometimes, you aren’t.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Gonna try to keep you alive this time,” Jack whispered against his hair.
“Sam said when you left the SGC, you said, ‘I’m going after Daniel.’ Bill was a hostage too, ya know.”
“And I rescued him, too.”
“You gonna kiss his boo boos better, too?”
Jack wrinkled his nose. “I’m gonna pretend I didn't hear that.”
“Jack?” The sound came out muffled, Daniel had buried himself somewhere in Jack's neck.
“Yes, darlin’?” Jack said, trailing his lips against the silky strands of Daniel's hair.
Daniel sighed. “Get me some ibuprofen. Then tuck me into bed,” he said, admitting defeat.
Jack shifted, bringing Daniel’s face to his. “Thought you’d never ask,” he said. He kissed his forehead, one of his eyelids as Daniel closed them, sighing again. Kissed his lips sweetly, tenderly, just a touch of heat in it, a promise for later. Then he kissed his shoulder where the bruising was the deepest—soft, just a little wet, light as a feather. Daniel’s muscles contracted underneath, aching, a light throb, as if the tender tissue, the broken blood vessels, the broken parts of him—were trying to get closer to Jack, striving to press into him, through him, get inside, to repair themselves through his touch.
He gave Daniel his signature squeeze on the back of his neck before getting up to go grab the pills. Daniel kept his eyes closed and his head back against the couch cushions, feeling like deadweight, like he could almost fall asleep here. Let Jack manhandle him into bed and tuck him in. Let him make a fuss; let him take care of him. He smiled just a little. My knight in shining armor and my nursemaid, he thought wryly.
It was alright, for now. He was loved and cared for. The bruises would heal in time.