Rating: adults only
Spoilers: nope
Summary: angry make up sex in public ;)
Archive: Please! Tell me too so I can come and gloat
Notes: Happy Birthday, Nin. I had something else planned, but its amazing how rarely the minks get with the schedule! 

"Fuck you too!" Daniel's low, dangerous growl was worse than the shouting.

I've clenched his fists until my nails dug deep into the soft flesh of my palm. I know I'm probably pale from anger, but hopefully nobody will notice, or indeed even care. I just want to turn around and…

"We'll talk later."

The snarl behind me is my only response. Straightening my back like a good little soldier, I stride into the room, nodding demure, professional greetings to familiar faces. I dare not turn around. Either Daniel was playing the professional, pleasurable professor, or he was savaging some poor unfortunate.

Or most likely, both. He knows how to verbally lacerate someone until they were bleeding on the floor, metaphorically speaking, and the recipient of this temper couldn't pinpoint exactly what was said to them that was so insulting. Normally, I find it hilarious, the perfect antidote to hour after tedious hours of smiling, and nodding, and playing nice with the idiots. Tonight though, the mere thought of it grates my already shredded nerves until I feel actual pain.

I push all thoughts of him out of my mind and force myself to begin circling the room, smiling and making polite chit chat with bureaucrats and politicians and their vapid, empty partners and guests. I'm running on autopilot, not thinking and not needing to. I never had to work at being the sparkling, empty star. I did it on instinct; a conspiratorial smile, a light laugh, a slight tilt in body language or posture. Again and again, around the room like a bastardized waltz. They – my bosses – always insist I come to these things, make nice, smooze and smile and sell my soul to the lowest bidder.

I try not to admit even to myself how much I hate it.

I nod and try to look appropriately impressed as some woman tells me proudly how her son was just accepted into Harvard law, probably following in daddy dearest's footsteps, whoever daddy may be. But my attention is caught by a familiar voice. I look up and see Daniel, locked in conversation with some Senator and his gaggle of flunkies.

He's still angry. I can tell from the way his poker face is slipping to reveal his complete and abject boredom. He's probably mentally cataloguing all the places he'd rather be – at home, in his office, offworld, in prison, with the Goauld, dead. Anywhere but here. I excuse myself from the woman, who just smiles and continues talking to the more appreciative parents in her audience, and wander over to insert myself on the periphery of Daniel's circle.

"…of course, I was still just a freshman myself, but I found that course to be most interesting," the Senator was saying. "I remember writing up my final paper, thinking that maybe I'd like to add archeology to my degree." He chuckled like one confident that his audience would get the joke. They'd better; he's paying them enough. "Not that I'd ever give up law, of course." I take a tiny sip of my drink to avoid having to fake the laugh. 

Daniel is trying, I'll give him that. "What did you write your final paper on, Senator?"

He smiles at Daniel broadly. "I wrote it on the works of Wallace Budge, Doctor. Are you familiar with his work?"

For a second there, I'm sure the wine glass in his hand is going to shatter. "Unfortunately."

I do my job and intervene. "Excuse me, Senator, but I'm afraid I need to speak to Dr Jackson a moment, sir."

The Senator seems to realize he's playing with fire, and waves us away with a gesture. "Of course, of course…"

I tune him out as I attach myself to Daniel's side and gently but firmly steer him towards one of the doorways that exits out onto the small, overly manicured gardens. This close, I can smell his aftershave, a distinct smell that seems to go straight for the hindbrain. It's a smell that has very particular associations for me, but I force myself to focus on damage control as I lead him clear of the small group of smokers and deeper into the shadowy darkness of the gardens.

"I wasn't going to rip his head off." Daniel quiet voice sounds petulant.

"I wasn't going to take the chance." I hazard a smile, but Daniel just looks at me coldly. The fairy lights strung along the path catch the angles of his face, giving him an almost demonic expression. I sigh and scrub my face with my hands. Daniel pissed off is annoying enough, but I should have known he wouldn't just let the subject drop. The bastard could probably hold a grudge until Judgement day.

"Is this later?" He asks a few seconds later. I frown, momentarily confused. "You said we'd talk later. Is this later, or are you just going to freeze me out some more?"

"Daniel…"

He snorts and takes a step closer. "Don't ‘Daniel' me, Paul." His mimicry of my voice is spot-on. "Don't even think it. I might not be one of you privileged good old boys, but that doesn't excuse the way you've treated me."

I feel like slapping someone – maybe myself. "For fucks' sake," I hiss out. I so rarely allow myself the luxury of swearing, but it feels right. "I said I'm sorry, and I meant it."

"You lectured me like I was ten years old," he snarled, right up in my face. "I know the risks, I know what's at stake. You're not the only one with everything on the line here."

I'm right there, snarling back in an undertone. I want to yell and scream, but the sounds of the party behind us is an all too tangible reminder of where we are. "I know that. Don't ever think I don't. But…"

His voice is full of contempt. "Always a ‘but.'"

I turn and take a few steps up the path to cool my temper, the gravel crunching quietly underfoot. Spinning on the spot, I turn back to face him. "Yes, I lectured you. And I'm sorry about that. But what I said still stands." I walk back until I'm right in his face. "You piss one of these guys off, and they will hunt you down. They're vengeful, petty, small-minded bastards who think nothing of using ever resource their position allows them to make good on a personal vendetta." I sneer at him. "And you've got to admit, between the two of us, there's enough dirt to bury us both six feet under."

He doesn't back down. "I know that. Fucking hell, Paul, why don't you trust me?"

"I do. I trust you. I don't trust them."

"Fuck ‘em," he snapped back. I don't have time to blink as he reaches over, grabs me by the ears, pulls me forward and kisses me.

I moan, remember where I am, and wrench myself backwards. "Daniel!" I hiss.

He doesn't answer me. Instead, he walks forward, grabbing me by the lapels of my jacket to force me back with him. He steers us to a tiny patch of grass under the shade of a small tree, away from the twinkling little lights of the path. Here, his face seems to be composed purely of shadows, a black wraith descending to kiss me again. His mouth is hot and demanding on mine, and I can't help but open myself up to him. I moan again as he gently bites my bottom lip. He pulls back to replace his mouth with a single finger, laid gently across my lips.

"Shh, Paul." There's a note of wicked humour in his voice. "We must be discreet, after all." I snarl and bite his finger as he throws my own words back at me. Bastard. "Can you keep quiet, Paul?" His tone is become more vindictive. "Can you keep a secret this big right under their noses?" His body is against mine, pushing me even deeper into the shadows until my calves bang against what feels like a low bench. He presses in and flicks his tongue against my earlobe. "Can you keep yourself from screaming when I make you come, right here and now?"

Faster than lightning, his fingers are attacking the fly of my pants. I try to grab his wrists, but he twists out of my grip. "No. My turn to dictate terms." The sound of the zipper seems louder than the chirp of the insects and the distant hum of traffic and conversation.

There is a shuffle in front of me, and then the feel of evening summer air as he pulls my underwear down to my knees. "Daniel," I hiss. My traitorous hands are resting on his shoulders, and I know I should push him away, but before I can move his mouth is on me.

I bit my lip hard to keep from groaning out loud. His mouth is hot and wet and working. He's not trying for finesse or style, but pure speed. I dig my fingers into the hard muscle of his shoulder and concentrate simply on keeping quiet. My half-hard dick is growing rapidly under his ministrations, and he switches tactics, bobbing his head up and down its length. I close my eyes and let myself go under in a sea of touch and sound and smell – the slight graze of his teeth, the distant sound of the party and the little huffs of breath from Daniel, the delicate perfume of the flowers mingling with the spicy scent of his aftershave.

A voice, closer and louder, jerks me back into full awareness. I hear the crunch of gravel under shoes, approaching our hidden nook. I tighten my grip on his shoulders, and he slows. I hold my breath, shivering slightly at the dichotomy of cooling sweat and warm puffs of air on my dick. I exhale slowly as the voice and the footsteps pass us by without pausing and move off into the night.

I try to push Daniel away, but he pushes back, lunging forward to swallow my dick in one long, smooth movement. I curve over him in my struggle not to make a sound. A tiny whimper escapes my lips, and I feel his mouth pull back and into a smile.

"Bastard," I hiss.

In response, he reaches around and drags a finger down between my cheeks and gently flicks my balls. I screw my eyes closed and screw the material of his jacket up into my fist as he licks, scrapes, sucks and makes me come.

I pant quietly, shivering with the aftershocks as he quickly cleans me with long strokes of his tongue. I release his jacket and spread my hands across his shoulders for balance as he deftly pulls my pants back up and refastens them. I lean back and begin to tuck my shirt back in as he slowly gets to his feet.

"That's your idea of discretion?"

He sounds smug, like he always does when he sucks me off. "We didn't get caught." In an instant, my anger fades away, and I reach over in the darkness to pull him close. He tastes of me, and I slowly lick his mouth clean, forgetting where we are for a moment just so I can simply cherish the man in my arms

"This time," I tell him sadly when we finally break apart. "We didn't get caught this time."

"That's all that matters," he tells me, his voice strange and tight. "Right here, right now. Who knows what might happen tomorrow."

I feel a prickle behind my eyes as I realize what he's talking about. I run my hands over the lines of his shoulders and arms, smoothing the rumpled material. He's alluding to a conversation I don't ever want to have. "We could sleep in. It is Friday night."

I feel him turn his head to look over his shoulder, back towards the party. "Do you think they'd notice if we just slipped away?"

I laugh, the loudest noise I'd made since stepping into the garden. "I don't think we can go back in there looking like this, anyway."

His hand slips into mine. I resist the urge to giggle as we steal off into the night.