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Lying flat on his stomach, exhausted, chest heaving, Daniel waited for the post-lovemaking moment he adored the most. He clenched his fingers on the soft cotton of the pillow beneath his head and waited, a sharp tingle of expectation running through his body like unchecked wildfire.
Soon.
Any second.
He swallowed. His throat was dry, the result of the cries ripped from him as they'd loved. A trickle of sweat ran down his forehead, heroically hurdled his cheekbone and ended up wetting the pillowcase. If he'd been lying on his back, the sweat would have pooled at the base of his throat and Jack would have lapped it right up – a cat that got the cream. Jack could be a smug bastard.
But Daniel was lying on his front and Jack was above him, his breath warming and wetting the back of Daniel's neck. He was gasping, struggling to regain his equilibrium and on every exhalation of breath, Daniel heard the whisper of his name. It made him shiver in delight.
Daniel's body was totally spent but the tremors of anticipation stopped him from drifting into badly-needed sleep. He wanted the moment that was to come so fucking badly. He craved it, longed for it, especially those cold, lonely nights when they couldn't be together. Washington was a world away from the Springs. Their life as a couple was feast and famine. They were either half a continent apart or together for the short time they could snatch between duty at the SGC and the Pentagon. Daniel was torn in two when they couldn't be together. He was only ever whole when he could touch, feel, breathe Jack.
He lived for those moments.
Daniel shifted, easing the ache in his lower back a little. He smiled. He'd carry that pain for a while. It felt good. It felt real.
And then he sensed Jack getting ready to move, saw those strong arms flex and he began to finally relax because …
Warmth, comfort, security, love. That's what the blanket of Jack's body meant to Daniel. All those things and so much more. He couldn't ask to be held because that's not who he was. He wouldn't demand that of Jack because they made no demands on each other, in bed or out of it. But Daniel knew that Jack knew, and that's why he never had to ask.
Jack settled onto Daniel's back, breathing out in deep, happy satisfaction as he did so. His soft package nestled between Daniel's ass cheeks, the crinkled rasp of pubic hair against sensitized skin creating a marvelous frisson of remembered intensity of feeling. He placed gentle kisses against Daniel's shoulder and Daniel could feel the smile that accompanied them. Jack placed his hands over Daniel's and twined their fingers, tensing and then releasing – reassurance and thankfulness combined. Every movement, every gesture said, Mine.
Daniel sighed happily, his body starting to give into the draw of sleep.
“Best Christmas present ever,” Daniel whispered hoarsely, smiling.
“Oh, I can do much better than that. Give me an hour or so. I'll prove it.” More kisses, gentle and playful.
“An hour?”
“I'm always optimistic, and you're so just so fucking hot.” Jack thrust a little against Daniel's ass, a promise, a memory.
Daniel breathed out in quiet joy. They had forty-eight hours of this. With luck, they'd hardly get out of Jack's bed before Daniel had to fly out of D.C. And tomorrow was Christmas Day. He'd placed a box under the tree with Jack's name on it. It was a small box but it held a big hope of future happiness. It didn't contain a wedding ring; there was a time for marriage and now wasn't it, not while their sense of duty pulled them in two painfully different directions. There was no grandiose festive proposal on the cards. It was a ring though. Jack had spotted it in a jewelery store during a short vacation they'd managed to take together in New York. Said it reminded him of a ring has dad wore. His mom had bought it as Christmas gift back when they were courting. They were the happiest, closest, most together couple Jack had ever come across. He would understand the white gold promise that nestled amid the black velvet.
Daniel felt his eyelids begin to flutter. He was losing the battle to stay awake.
“I'm going to sleep now,” he whispered.
“S'okay. So am I.”
“One hour.” The words slurred.
“Count on it, baby.”