Help Me Rhonda
folder
Stargate: SG-1 › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
3,419
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Stargate: SG-1 › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
3,419
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Stargate: SG1, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Since You Been Gone I've Been Out Doing-In My Head
Since You Been Gone I've Been Out Doing-In My Head
When he woke up in her bed early the next morning, his first thought was to get the fuck outta there, but his hangover was so pervasive, so persistent, so persuasive, he decided he had to remain where he was. Rhonda, whose name he couldn't remember, sweetly fed him tall glasses of cool water and more extra strength Tylenol than the maximum suggested dose. When he could stand without keeling over she helped him to the bathroom, gave him her toothbrush and washed him, standing naked with him in the shower, the hot water pounding down on the back of his neck as she soaped his body like a child.
But he wasn't a child and when she began to wash his genitals, well, even hungover, Jack's cock knew what to do. It had been a long time since he'd had shower sex and even longer since he'd fucked a stranger in the shower with a hangover. But she was willing and so was he, so he pushed her up against the tiled wall and took her from behind, the water beating down on him as he bore down on her, the feel of her tightness more than enough to convince him that sticking around was a good thing.
After the shower they returned to bed, spent, and when he awoke midday, she was already awake and cooking something that smelled delicious. He looked around her modest bedroom for his clothes and found, instead, some men's grey sweats, his own clothes nowhere in sight. When he appeared in her kitchen wearing them, she eyed him up and down, approvingly. “Your clothes are almost ready, Jack,” she said, pointing to a top and bottom mounted washer dryer combination, his clothes visible, tumbling, through the glass of the dryer.
They ate. Jack complimented her on the food. When they were finished, she shooed him from the kitchen, telling him to relax, and watch some TV, while she washed up. In her tiny livingroom he searched for something that would remind him of her name, eventually finding her name tag from the bar. He slammed the heel of his hand into his forehead as the events of the previous day unspooled in his memory, until he couldn't take it any longer. When she found him, he was seated on her sofa. head in hands. “Jack?” she said, concerned. He looked up at her, standing there with his newly washed clothes, folded perfectly, waiting for him. He felt rotten. More than rotten.
He stood. “These mine?” he asked. When she nodded, he took them from her. “Thank you, Rhonda,” he said, watching her smile. She was a pretty woman, sweet body, but... “I gotta go, honey,” he said, unself-consciously stripping out of the grey sweatpants, pulling his boxers on, reaching for his khakis. In moments he was re-dressed in his own clothes, his socks toasty from the dryer. He moved toward the door, remembering suddenly the last time he'd seen it. He turned to face her, hovering behind him. “I...” He found himself at a loss for words. He knew he should say something, ask for her number, at least, but he didn't want it, and from his lack of speech, Rhonda knew it too.
“It's okay, Jack,” she said softly, sadly. “I knew what I was getting into.”
“You did?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah,” she said. “You're in love with her, aren't you?”
He looked at the barmaid, who seemed to understand him better than he did himself. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her he'd stay with her. He wanted to go back to her bedroom and fuck her again, just to make the hurt go away one more time. Instead he shook his head, dropping his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”
“Tell her,” Rhonda said.
“She got married ... last night,” he said, and suddenly it all became clear to her. She reached for him, putting her arms around his stiff frame, his head bowed.
“I'm so sorry, Jack,” she said, her hand on his neck, in his spiky, grey hair.
He let her hold him a minute more, before he raised himself from her embrace, looking down into her eyes. “Yeah, well...” He gave her a small smile. “I gotta go,” he said again. She released him, dragging her hands on his arms, not wanting to lose contact with him, until it was absolutely necessary.
“Will I see you again?” she asked, wishing she had the strength not to voice the question.
“Maybe,” he said, watching her expression drop. “Yeah, probably,” he said, trying to lighten the blow.
She nodded and released him completely. He turned and opened her door. He left without turning back, tears burgeoning in her eyes.
When he came home, twilight just beginning to darken the corners of his rooms, the message light was blinking. “Jack! Call me immediately!” It was Daniel. “Jack! Where are you?” That was Daniel too. “Where the fuck are you?” Daniel again. “You're not answering your cellphone, Jack. I need to talk to you right away. It's important.” Daniel... was that number four? Jack took out his cell. Six missed calls. What the fuck?
He hit the one-button call-back number for Daniel. It rang once, before a breathless Doctor Jackson answered. “Jack!”
“Yeah, Daniel,” he drawled. “How was the wedding?”
“I've been trying to call you...”
“I noticed,” Jack interrupted.
“Would you please shut up?”
“No need to be snippy, Danny-boy,” Jack said, enjoying annoying the hell out of his favorite archaeologist.
“Jack!” The younger man sounded incredibly exasperated.
“Yes, Daniel,” Jack said, casually, as if he had all the time in the world.
“You're an asshole, you know that, Jack?” Daniel said tersely.
“But you love me anyway, huh, Danny?” There was silence on the other end of the phone. Jack waited. He knew Daniel was there, because he could hear him breathing, fuming, really, and it gave him great solace to know that at least something was still right with the world. He could still reduce the great Doctor Daniel Jackson to a fit of pique in seconds flat.
Finally the archaeologist ventured to speak again. “You asked about the wedding, Jack?”
“Uh huh,” the older man said, sitting down, crossing his legs. He didn't really want to know how beautiful Sam had been in her fancy dress, nor how lovely the ceremony was, or what Jacob said to that asshole Shanahan when he gave her away. He didn't want to know what they served at the reception, nor what Daniel said when he offered the toast, but he knew Daniel was dying to tell him, so he decided to indulge his friend, in as true an act of friendship as he was capable of, and listen to whatever Daniel wanted to tell him. He got comfortable, slipping off his shoes, waiting.
“She left him at the altar, Jack,” Daniel said quietly.
When he woke up in her bed early the next morning, his first thought was to get the fuck outta there, but his hangover was so pervasive, so persistent, so persuasive, he decided he had to remain where he was. Rhonda, whose name he couldn't remember, sweetly fed him tall glasses of cool water and more extra strength Tylenol than the maximum suggested dose. When he could stand without keeling over she helped him to the bathroom, gave him her toothbrush and washed him, standing naked with him in the shower, the hot water pounding down on the back of his neck as she soaped his body like a child.
But he wasn't a child and when she began to wash his genitals, well, even hungover, Jack's cock knew what to do. It had been a long time since he'd had shower sex and even longer since he'd fucked a stranger in the shower with a hangover. But she was willing and so was he, so he pushed her up against the tiled wall and took her from behind, the water beating down on him as he bore down on her, the feel of her tightness more than enough to convince him that sticking around was a good thing.
After the shower they returned to bed, spent, and when he awoke midday, she was already awake and cooking something that smelled delicious. He looked around her modest bedroom for his clothes and found, instead, some men's grey sweats, his own clothes nowhere in sight. When he appeared in her kitchen wearing them, she eyed him up and down, approvingly. “Your clothes are almost ready, Jack,” she said, pointing to a top and bottom mounted washer dryer combination, his clothes visible, tumbling, through the glass of the dryer.
They ate. Jack complimented her on the food. When they were finished, she shooed him from the kitchen, telling him to relax, and watch some TV, while she washed up. In her tiny livingroom he searched for something that would remind him of her name, eventually finding her name tag from the bar. He slammed the heel of his hand into his forehead as the events of the previous day unspooled in his memory, until he couldn't take it any longer. When she found him, he was seated on her sofa. head in hands. “Jack?” she said, concerned. He looked up at her, standing there with his newly washed clothes, folded perfectly, waiting for him. He felt rotten. More than rotten.
He stood. “These mine?” he asked. When she nodded, he took them from her. “Thank you, Rhonda,” he said, watching her smile. She was a pretty woman, sweet body, but... “I gotta go, honey,” he said, unself-consciously stripping out of the grey sweatpants, pulling his boxers on, reaching for his khakis. In moments he was re-dressed in his own clothes, his socks toasty from the dryer. He moved toward the door, remembering suddenly the last time he'd seen it. He turned to face her, hovering behind him. “I...” He found himself at a loss for words. He knew he should say something, ask for her number, at least, but he didn't want it, and from his lack of speech, Rhonda knew it too.
“It's okay, Jack,” she said softly, sadly. “I knew what I was getting into.”
“You did?” he asked, surprised.
“Yeah,” she said. “You're in love with her, aren't you?”
He looked at the barmaid, who seemed to understand him better than he did himself. He wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her he'd stay with her. He wanted to go back to her bedroom and fuck her again, just to make the hurt go away one more time. Instead he shook his head, dropping his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”
“Tell her,” Rhonda said.
“She got married ... last night,” he said, and suddenly it all became clear to her. She reached for him, putting her arms around his stiff frame, his head bowed.
“I'm so sorry, Jack,” she said, her hand on his neck, in his spiky, grey hair.
He let her hold him a minute more, before he raised himself from her embrace, looking down into her eyes. “Yeah, well...” He gave her a small smile. “I gotta go,” he said again. She released him, dragging her hands on his arms, not wanting to lose contact with him, until it was absolutely necessary.
“Will I see you again?” she asked, wishing she had the strength not to voice the question.
“Maybe,” he said, watching her expression drop. “Yeah, probably,” he said, trying to lighten the blow.
She nodded and released him completely. He turned and opened her door. He left without turning back, tears burgeoning in her eyes.
When he came home, twilight just beginning to darken the corners of his rooms, the message light was blinking. “Jack! Call me immediately!” It was Daniel. “Jack! Where are you?” That was Daniel too. “Where the fuck are you?” Daniel again. “You're not answering your cellphone, Jack. I need to talk to you right away. It's important.” Daniel... was that number four? Jack took out his cell. Six missed calls. What the fuck?
He hit the one-button call-back number for Daniel. It rang once, before a breathless Doctor Jackson answered. “Jack!”
“Yeah, Daniel,” he drawled. “How was the wedding?”
“I've been trying to call you...”
“I noticed,” Jack interrupted.
“Would you please shut up?”
“No need to be snippy, Danny-boy,” Jack said, enjoying annoying the hell out of his favorite archaeologist.
“Jack!” The younger man sounded incredibly exasperated.
“Yes, Daniel,” Jack said, casually, as if he had all the time in the world.
“You're an asshole, you know that, Jack?” Daniel said tersely.
“But you love me anyway, huh, Danny?” There was silence on the other end of the phone. Jack waited. He knew Daniel was there, because he could hear him breathing, fuming, really, and it gave him great solace to know that at least something was still right with the world. He could still reduce the great Doctor Daniel Jackson to a fit of pique in seconds flat.
Finally the archaeologist ventured to speak again. “You asked about the wedding, Jack?”
“Uh huh,” the older man said, sitting down, crossing his legs. He didn't really want to know how beautiful Sam had been in her fancy dress, nor how lovely the ceremony was, or what Jacob said to that asshole Shanahan when he gave her away. He didn't want to know what they served at the reception, nor what Daniel said when he offered the toast, but he knew Daniel was dying to tell him, so he decided to indulge his friend, in as true an act of friendship as he was capable of, and listen to whatever Daniel wanted to tell him. He got comfortable, slipping off his shoes, waiting.
“She left him at the altar, Jack,” Daniel said quietly.