Attitude Adjustment
by zoodenizen

**Author's Notes**

The first time I knew I wanted him was after we ("we" being Jonah and Carlin) had kept our miserable corner of the planet from blowing sky high. I'd looked down through the thick, cloying steam and seen his scruffy, dirty, beautiful face glistening from the heat and exertion. He was looking up at me, eyes flashing with defiance and my dick went hard.

I reached out a hand, carefully schooling my features into the bland, meaningless look that I'd perfected after countless days of listening to Thera prattle on about engines and gears and increased efficiency. She was my friend, my only friend, and it wouldn't do to piss her off and if she'd known what I really thought about all that shit she was so obsessive about, well... I may not have known who my parents were, but I knew that they didn't raise no fool. So, I listened politely, encouraged when necessary and pasted on an insipid look of attentiveness.

The very look that I used when I reached out to Carlin for the first time. He locked those piercing blue eyes on me and for a brief, fanciful moment I felt like he could see right into my soul, that he knew everything I was trying to hide.

And then he reached up and grabbed my hand. His grip was strong, maybe a little too strong, but I could take it. I could take anything he dished out and match him. I very nearly responded to the barely leashed violence in his movements by yanking him up, but curbed the impulse at the last moment because, if he wasn't ready for it, we'd have wound up chest to chest and I knew myself well enough to know that it wouldn't have stopped with a little full on body contact.

I'd have taken those full, pouty lips in the fiercest, hungriest kiss he'd ever known.

And, if he hadn't decked me, I'd have had him on the floor, naked and writhing, inside of five minutes.

So, I didn't jerk him upright and our bodies didn't press up close together and we didn't kiss or wind up naked on the floor...not then anyway, but I didn't forget it -- or him.

***

I dreamt about him that night. One of those sticky, sweaty dreams that wake you up in the middle of the night panting and hard, his name on the tip of your tongue. The desperate urge to climb out of my bed and crawl into his was so strong that I had the blanket in my hand and a very clear picture of him sprawled out on the sheets, warm and dazed from sleep as I licked my way up his chest from navel to neck before I came to my senses.

I looked around, rather furtively, to see whether I'd disturbed anyone else's sleep with my restless movements. Nobody seemed to be moving, not even Thera, who was curled up in the bed next to me, dead to the world.

I flopped back down and tried to calm my rapid breathing and the pounding of my heart. I didn't even try to will my dick into submission. It was hard enough to pound nails with and wasn't going down without a fight.

Besides, if I couldn't have the real thing, I had no problem getting off to visions of a phantom brunette with the bluest eyes I'd ever seen.

Closing my eyes and settling into a more comfortable position on the bed, I took myself in hand, literally. I stroked a hand over myself from base to tip and back a couple times, warming up. Not that I wasn't hot enough already, but a guy likes a little foreplay before getting to the good stuff -- makes the payoff all that much sweeter. Even if we are just taking about a solitary hand-job.

Tightening my grip, eyes still closed, I saw him on his hands and knees above me. He was naked, but a blanket covered him from his waist down, preventing me from seeing all of him. Apparently, my imagination was only prepared to stretch so far, but that was OK. What I'd seen was hot enough for tonight.

Mind focusing back where it belonged, I bit back a moan as he leaned in and our naked bodies came into contact. I saw his eyes, wild and dilated with lust as powerful as my own, and then he ducked his head, lips pressing against my collarbone and then moving lower to take a nipple in the wet warmth of his mouth.

My hips bucked up off the bed, my hand pumping harder and faster with every pull on my tit with the teeth and tongue of my fantasy lover. He didn't stay there long (I was too close to the edge to draw this out as long as I could have). He began to slide lower, licking and nibbling at my skin as he went.

He didn't stop anywhere to linger, just moved unerringly down to the part of me that was most in need of his attention. He licked a stripe up one side of my dick and down the other and then, after one last glance up at me, so I could see how much this was turning him on, he swallowed me whole and I had to bite my lip almost clean through to keep from screaming. And that was all he wrote. My hips came up off the bed and I barely managed to cup my left hand over my dick to spare the blanket covering me before I was coming harder than I could ever remember coming before.

Flopping back, limp as a wet noodle, when it was over I once again worked to regulate my breathing and heart-rate and figured that if I came that hard from a simple fantasy of the man touching me, actually being fucked by him would probably kill me.

But, what a way to go!

***

Never being one to shame easily, I had no problem looking him in the eye over our little tête-à-tête the next day. I wanted him to know that I lusted after him because I needed to know how he'd react. Would he be disgusted? Uninterested? Or would his hunger match mine? Could we slip away together and explore each other's bodies in intimate detail, maybe act out last night's fantasy?

Oh, and the naked mining? Well, let's just say that there was definitely some drilling, but it didn't involve power tools. Unless you consider Carlin's dick a "power tool". (Which I do, and so would you if you'd ever...but, you won't, so there's no sense in my rubbing it in, is there?)

***

Now, with all this talk of power tools and hard bodies, I wouldn't blame you for thinking it was all about lust. It's what I thought at first, too. After all, I'd been going steady with my right hand for as long as I could remember.

(Remember what I said about Thera being my only friend? I wasn't exaggerating. Hitching my wagon to the teacher's pet had been a guaranteed way to ensure that nobody, but nobody, would give me the time of day, let alone a little mutual stress relief. And before you say it, can you picture me with Thera? Perky, eager to please, clingy Thera? She'd have had us married with three kids before I'd even finished undressing her.)

So, Thera was out -- way, way out, so far out she wasn't even a glimmer of a notion. Everyone else was out, by their own choice. Leaving Rosie palm and her five daughters. Is it any wonder that Carlin would ring my bell so hard (no pun intended) that I was ready to explode at just the sight of him?

I'd noticed him before I noticed him, if you get what I mean. I'd felt his body against mine long before slick skin slid against slick skin as heated bodies drove themselves to the heights of pleasure...

Where was I?

Oh, yeah, noticing Carlin. The unconscious mind is a wonderful, terrible thing. I'm pretty sure, with the benefit of hindsight, that my over-reaction to Carlin's defense of Kegan was one part jealousy and one part sublimation. I got to feel his weight on mine, hold him against me for a too brief moment...got to punish him for defending that bitch when he should have been on my side, by my side. With me, the way it was supposed to be.

Later, when we were once again in our right minds, I had to wonder why I'd glommed onto Carter, but had kept my distance from Daniel. It certainly wasn't about any desire to act out forbidden feelings for my 2IC, that's for sure. Carter's one hell of a soldier and a decent friend, but I'm about as attracted to her as I am to Kinsey.

Daniel probably had it all figured out within seconds of getting his mind unscrambled. He's really good at the emotional stuff, for a guy anyway. Me, I'd happily live without ever exploring my feelings. But, this time, it felt too important to leave it be and I couldn't ask Daniel because I needed to know what I was feeling before I confronted him with what we'd done while believing we were someone else. What if it had nothing to do with Jack and Daniel? If so, then I'd want to simply pretend it didn't happen and hopefully so would Daniel.

It took me close to a month to sort it all out, and it probably would have taken longer if not for Daniel... But I'm getting ahead of myself.

I had noticed Carlin, right from the beginning, but kept my distance until excessive testosterone and adrenaline brought it out with a vengeance.

Things started moving pretty quickly once Carlin and Thera (Carter and Daniel?) put their heads together and started questioning every little thing. Somewhere deep inside I must have known that learning the truth would mean I would never have the chance to satisfy my hunger for Carlin. So, I did my best to slow them down without alienating them completely. I know I frustrated the shit out of them, but deep down, in that place the mind fuck couldn't touch, they remembered how to deal with Jack acting the dumb grunt and sucked it up like they always did.

When the memories started to come back, despite everything I did to prevent them, I knew it was now or never. So, when Thera was busy elsewhere, I asked Carlin to meet me after hours in a place where we wouldn't be disturbed. I could see in his eyes that he understood what I wanted, what would happen if he met me. He hesitated for less than a second before saying one little word: "Yes."

***

At the time, I couldn't remember being an awkward teenager, waiting for the head cheerleader to meet me under the bleachers after school, knowing what was going to happen (or at least what I hoped would happen) and scared to death because I didn't want to embarrass myself or disappoint her. But, looking back on that night, I was experiencing those same doubts and insecurities, the same sweaty palms and restless, nervous energy.

But, no cheerleader could take my breath the way He can. No one could arouse me as much and in as many ways as He can. No matter what his name is.

Although, the barely there, fuzzy vest-thing he wore as Carlin was a hell of a lot sexier than the flannel shirts Daniel's usually wearing when he's off-base.

I heard him coming before I saw him, not that he was making a lot of noise, he wasn't, it was just that I was so keyed up, all senses on alert, waiting for him. When he appeared, slipping out of the shadows and into the quiet, semi-private corner that I'd staked out for us, my brain shorted out.

All I could think was how much I wanted him, how much I needed him, and that this was probably going to be my one and only night with him.

It broke my heart, but I was too busy eating him alive with my eyes and devising strategies to strip him as quickly as possible to recognize it.

Carlin didn't seem to be bothered by nerves or misgivings, but Daniel's like that. Once he makes up his mind, he pursues his goal with single-minded focus. And, although you wouldn't think it from casual acquaintance (he seems so open and emotional), he's every bit as skilled at hiding his feelings as I am.

Never give your enemy a weakness he can exploit; I learned that lesson in Iraq, Daniel learned it while being passed around between foster homes and schools. Some days I alternate between the burning desire to gut his grandfather with a rusty butter knife and the equally violent need to hunt down everyone who ever hurt him and teach them what real pain is.

But, that was all stuff Jack knew. Jonah might have had his suspicions, but all he, I saw was a beautiful man coming to me out of the gloom, eyes hungry and full of dark promises.

Suddenly, I wasn't nervous anymore. I couldn't be bothered with nerves, not when he was right there in front of me, waiting -- my invitation, my show.

I stood there for an endless moment, frozen by indecision. Not about whether or not I should, but by what I wanted to do first. Did I want to kiss him? Or did I just want to touch him, glide my hand along skin that I knew would be as smooth as silk? Or did I want to simply strip him naked and look my fill at his body.

He must have seen the frustrated indecision in my eyes or maybe it was my body language that clued him in. Maybe he still remembered what made Jack O'Neill, and therefore Jonah, tick.

Whatever the reason, he closed the distance between us and took the decision out of my hands.

And maybe that was what I really wanted all along.

That first touch of flesh to flesh wasn't gentle. Carlin crushed his lips against mine in a kiss that was all about hunger and need. As soon as his mouth covered mine all uncertainty fled. It didn't matter. For the first time in my life I felt alive, free. Here and now we could do anything and everything and we would -- by the time we returned to our separate beds in the wee hours of the morning we would know every inch of each other's bodies.

If this was all I'd have I intended to make it something we would never, could never, forget -- no matter how many times they sucked our memories away.

I hadn't been wrong about his skin; it did feel like warm silk as I ran callused fingertips over his shoulders and arms. It wasn't enough.

I slipped my hand under the bottom of his vest, gripping his waist. If I'd had any breath left I would have lost it then. Touching him like this while our tongues fought for dominance was incredibly intimate, incredibly real.

I made a sound low in my throat that caused him to jerk his hips, pressing his hard cock into mine. I tightened my hold on him, hard enough to bruise I was sure, and then he was pushing the jacket off my shoulders. I let it fall and decided he had the right idea, though, how I was going to get his vest off without releasing his mouth was beyond me.

He solved that problem by pulling his lips away from mine. We both took a moment to suck some air into oxygen starved lungs and then he was kissing his way down my neck to the edge of my shirt. He made a soft sound of disappointment when he encountered fabric instead of skin and it was my turn to arch into him.

I was in serious danger of coming in my pants and that was the last thing I wanted. Desperate hands shoved at Carlin's vest and he made a similar attempt to remove my shirt. We kept getting in each other's way, so, after several frustrating moments, we separated, by mutual, unspoken agreement, and stripped out of our clothes.

Once naked, I took a moment to just look at him, to take in lightly tanned, sweat-sheened skin, endless legs, well defined abs, and a strong, nearly hairless chest. He was gorgeous and I wondered what exactly he saw in me. I was a few years past my prime, grey-haired and wrinkled in places that I didn't used to be. But, he didn't seem to agree with my assessment of my very limited attributes, if the hunger in his eyes or the way he reached out to run his hand along my chest was any indication.

That hand traced patterns across my skin, moving along my collar-bone and then down my breast bone in a manner that was almost reverent. Our eyes locked for a moment and I knew that he needed this, needed me with the same intensity as I needed him. There was something deeper here, something more than simple lust.

But lust was all we could have. And he knew it, too.

Moment of connection over, his hand resumed its journey. His thumb ghosted over my belly button and then his fingers swept along my dick in a feather-light touch that had me aching for more.

I grabbed him then, pulling our bodies into perfect alignment and the feel of his skin against mine was better than any fantasy.

Our mouths met in another kiss and then we were sinking to the floor, onto the pallet I'd made of discarded blankets while waiting for him.

Tearing my lips away from his I began to work my way down his chest, licking and sucking a trail similar to the one he'd used on me earlier, but I wasn't hampered by clothing of any kind and made my way down to his nipple. When I sucked it into my mouth, it was already stiff with arousal. When I started to play with it with my tongue he moaned low in his throat and dug his hands into my hips.

I had to move then and thrust up against him, rubbing my leaking dick over his body. His hands moved lower, one long finger slipping between the crack of my ass and stroking in rhythm with my own thrusts. I reached under the blankets and grabbed the tube of hand lotion that I'd stashed there. Carlin looked at the tube, a question in his eyes and I dropped it onto his chest.

He didn't hesitate or argue, grabbed the tube with one hand and the back of my head with the other to pull me into another deep, wet kiss and rolled us until he was on top. Without hesitation, I spread my legs and he settled in between my thighs, never breaking our kiss. Breathless and lost in the taste and feel of him, I was almost surprised when I felt the first touch of a slippery digit against my hole.

I hooked my legs over his shoulders, a display of flexibility that I would have been amazed at if I hadn't been far to focused on his mouth and hands and dick, and willed my muscles to relax. (I might not have been aware of what to do, but my body obviously did. Thank whatever god or gods watch out for horny colonels and their lovers.) His finger slipped into me, slowly, and I felt the pleasure, starting where his finger stroked me internally and sliding outward through every inch of my body. That first finger was quickly joined by a second, then a third, and the burn of almost pain only added to the pleasure.

I pushed into the invaders, begging like the slut I was at the moment, and might have felt shame in that if it had been anyone else, if he hadn't been whispering filthy promises into my ear, if I hadn't known deep in the core of my being that this was where we were meant to be -- not rutting in a dark corner, but simply together, a part of each other.

I told him that it had to be now, I couldn't wait anymore, and he gasped out his excited agreement.

Then, he was in me, sliding deeper millimeter by millimeter and I arched up into him, biting back my instinctive cry of pleasure before I could give us away. Someday we'd have to do this when we didn't have to worry about putting on a free show or waking the neighbors.

Carlin bit into my shoulder to stifle his own cry once he'd buried himself balls deep inside of me and I didn't care. I liked the idea of being owned by him, of us owning each other. In fact, I planned on adding my own mark to him. He was mine now and I wanted everyone to know it.

And then he started to move. Our bodies quickly found a rhythm, like we'd been doing this for years, and our mouths met yet again, but this time it was less about kissing and more about swallowing each other's moans and gasping cries. He shifted his angle and nailed my prostate, causing me to howl and see stars and then I was coming, my whole awareness tunneling down to his dick moving inside me and the spasms of my body as I exploded all over his chest and mine.

My whole body had tightened like I'd been tasered before going limp and boneless and I felt him, through an orgasmic haze, thrust once, twice more and then drive himself deep into me, so deep I felt sure I could taste his dick and then it was his turn to come.

When it was over we lay there in each other's arms gasping for air, various body fluids cooling into a sticky glue-like substance and all I could think about was: when could we do it again?

***

We didn't get the chance to do it again. Not for a long time. My fault I'm afraid. We fell asleep wrapped around each other, woke far too late in the night to safely go again, and went back to our separate, lonely, cold beds. Then, events overtook us and before we knew it we were back at the SGC, confused as hell, while Hammond hovered over us in fatherly concern and Janet showed her love with sharp needles and total silence about any signs of unacceptable, to the USAF, sex acts.

We had a shitload of refugees to deal with before we could get away and by then I was Colonel Jack O'Neill, and all that entailed, once again.

I panicked. I couldn't be with a man, never mind that Daniel wasn't the first guy I'd been attracted to (he wasn't even the first guy I'd acted on that attraction with); I'd made the decision when I joined the service to abide by the rules and not do anything that would get me discharged -- and that meant no fucking men. It wasn't hard; flying meant a hell of a lot more to me than sex and I liked women just fine, more than liked, so don't think Sara was camouflage or an attempt at a "normal" life. I loved her or I wouldn't have married her because I had too much respect for her, and myself, to do otherwise.

So, no men, which wasn't a problem -- until Daniel, who had a way of steamrollering over all my good intentions (or bad intentions, if you listen to Daniel).

Of course, there was no reason to believe that Daniel was even interested. He might have been as hot for it as I was, but he'd been married. So had I but...what I felt for Sara paled in comparison to what he felt for Sha're. But then again, he'd certainly known what he was doing, so he couldn't have been without experience with men, but he was the curious type, so maybe he'd done some experimenting and decided it wasn't for him. Except he'd been as eager as me that night, but he'd not been himself...

And my head was going to explode if I kept running around in mental circles like that.

Right around there was the point when I turned into G.I. Jerk-off and I'm surprised that Daniel let me get away with it for as long as he did.

He tells me he was being considerate. Personally, I think he was as scared shitless as I was and just as confused about what the right thing to do was.

Whatever the reasons, he showed up on my doorstep one night, five weeks after we got back, with a bottle of scotch and a confession. I always knew he had balls of steel.

We didn't drink much of the scotch, I wasn't so much repressed as I was pissed at being able to look but not touch. Daniel's presence at my door, with gifts and the same look on his face as he'd worn when he'd come to find out why I'd flipped my lid back during that undercover op to catch those NID bastards, was all the information I needed to come to the right conclusion.

I'd become every bit as good at reading Daniel as he was at reading me.

I hated fighting with Daniel, hated losing the closeness we shared. He was the best friend I could ever remember having and I'd learned to confide in him. I missed that, so I didn't even try to cover my feelings with a tough act -- no telling him to get lost or acting like I didn't have a clue or a problem.

It was one of the best decisions I ever made.

Three hours later and the scotch was down by only a couple shots and Daniel and I had come to an understanding. By which I mean we were naked in my bed recovering from our first sexual encounter as Jack and Daniel.

It was by no means our last; it wasn't even our last that night.

And did I mention that he'd shown up the night we were sent off-base for a well deserved, long over due week off?

I know I've mentioned the fact that he's smart -- a fucking genius.

And even Thor knew better than to interrupt that vacation at the pond with no fish, but plenty of naked recreation.

***

In fairy tales, the handsome prince sweeps the beautiful princess off her feet and they ride off into the sunset to live happily ever after. Sex happens off-screen, after they're properly wed, if it happens at all. (These are the kinds of stories where children are grown in the garden or brought by a stork, after all.) My life has been relatively surreal over the past few years and God knows I've made enough jokes about the land of Oz to sound like I believe I'm living in a fairy story, but I've never believed it was anything other than cold, hard reality.

Until the first time he told me he loved me. He may be a handsome prince, but I'm no beautiful princess and there was very definitely sex (although any children will still have to be brought by the stork), so it wasn't like the bedtime stories your mother read to you every night. It was the kind of fairy tale you'd expect with a hardass flyboy and a relentless archeologist as the romantic leads.

It was, at the risk of sounding ridiculously sappy, a fucking dream come true and it's only gotten better over time. So, the next time you see me staring off into space with a goofy grin on my face you'll know who I'm thinking about and the next time I show up to collect my archeologist at the end of a long day you'll know not to stand in my way.

I've got a Happily Ever After to complete.

The End

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