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Category:
1 through F › 24
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
7
Views:
1,780
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
The people, characters and show "24" do not belong to me and I do not make any money off of them/it.
For a Moment (Envy) - Day 1
Disclaimer: The people, characters and show do not belong to me and I do not make any money off of them/it.
Author's Notes: After day 1, Tony receives a request for contact from a lover he didn't think to see again. (Jack Bauer/Tony Almeida. Spoilers for S1.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Envy
Tony isn't all that surprised when he gets the text message from Jack, shortly before he's due to leave work. A time, a place, a room number. They'd done this before, though not after Jack went back to Teri. Even when Jack had been with Nina (quietly, discreetly, but he'd known about them, how could he not know?) there had been a few instances. The two of them, arriving somewhere that no one would look for them. Arriving separately, leaving separately, and saying nothing about it afterwards.
He goes. Against all sensible reason, the rational part of his mind is telling himself. It's only been a month since Jack left CTU, since Jack's wife was murdered. Jack is mourning, Jack is unstable... Jack isn't even talking to his daughter, the one he was willing to give his life for. She'd left him, pushed him away, and while Tony hadn't thought before now that it was possible to hate a little girl he'd hardly met, he hates Kim for what she's done to Jack, almost as much as he hates Nina. So he goes, because the tiniest corner of his mind, the part that likes to tell him that this is something more than it is, tells him that Jack doesn't have anyone else right now, anyone else left.
When he reaches the hotel, he goes in without speaking to anyone, up the stairs to the second floor, and knocks on the door for the room that had been in the text message. Jack answers, unshaven and rumpled, eyes bloodshot. Jack has been drinking, is still drinking, but that's usually how it starts, and Tony doesn't begrudge him that, not this time. Jack Bauer never gave up control. But sometimes, sometimes in certain, secret moments, he could be persuaded to set it aside.
He doesn't mention Nina, though he wants to. Doesn't bring up how she played them both, betrayed them both, though it still hurts him, burns like a fresh gunshot wound when he thinks about it. He'd loved her, more than he'll ever admit, and much more than he should have, even though he'd never completely trusted her. He knows now, knows too late why his intuition, his instinct had made him feel that way. But at the time, when she was his superior, when she was fucking his Jack (so silly, to think of Jack Bauer as belonging to anyone, but he can't help it) his mind had told him that it was only envy and resentment he felt, hatred that Jack could take Nina to Santa Barbara when there could never be anything like that for him. He doesn't mention Nina, though he wants to - wants to apologize to Jack for everything he did and didn't do that could have ended things differently, wants to reveal that Jack isn't the only one that was hurt that night. He doesn't say anything, because this is about Jack, like it almost always is, not Tony.
He locks the door behind him and reaches for Jack without saying anything, hand closing around the mostly empty mickey bottle of Jack Daniels and taking it from him, setting it on top of the rickety motel entertainment unit. Then he gives Jack something better to do with his mouth, pressing him up against the wall and tearing hungry, desperate kisses from him, their lips meeting in the first steps of life's oldest dance, kisses hard and rough and hot and wet, and Jack tastes like whisky and the cigarettes that Tony thought he'd given up long ago, whisky and cigarettes and desperate desire. His skin is rough from being unshaven, but Tony doesn't care, doesn't care about anything but the attempt to devour him with kisses, teeth scraping harder than Jack's stubble at his lips and tongue.
They don't need words, there's never been words between them when this happens, just Jack's mouth and his, hands tearing at each other's clothes to get to what they want. All Tony ever needs to get hard are Jack's kisses, wordlessly battling him for dominance, Jack's hands yanking at his clothes with such force that Tony has learned the hard way never to wear a tie around him, Jack's fingers curling around his aching cock.
They are in bed within minutes, both of them panting, sweaty, desperate, achingly hard. Jack goes on his hands and knees before him, like he almost always does, and Tony finds the small tube of lubricant in the pocket of his discarded pants (because Jack never brings any). He rocks two fingers, wet and slippery, into Jack's ass, and the way Jack shudders and curses and presses back against him drives him more wild than he'll ever admit, makes his cock twitch in anticipation, makes him ache to complete this. But he continues, because for these few moments he is in control, not Jack, watching Jack shudder, the patterns of old gunshot wounds and other, unknown scars on his back standing out almost prettily against his pale skin. Listening to Jack gasp and groan and curse and demand, because it's the only way Tony can do this and not feel completely used.
"Please don't make me beg today," Jack gasps, finally, and that's close enough to begging that it's all Tony can handle. He pulls his fingers away, fumbling to add more lube to his aching erection, and then moves to kneel behind him and bury that cock in Jack in a few hard thrusts. He hates this with women, but he can't get enough of Jack, the way his muscles shudder and squeeze his cock as he takes him, the way he cries out with every breath, his ass rocking back against him, pushing Tony's cock hard and deep inside him. The way he goes wild when Tony reaches around to curl his fingers around the straining shaft of his erection and stroke him (which he has to do, or else he comes much faster than Jack) bucking back against him as if he's the one fucking Tony. He has to push Jack's sweat-streaked shoulders down into the mattress, to keep him in place with one hand and his weight, as if he's taking this by force, though he knows Jack could throw him off in a second.
He tries not to think, not to wonder if they'll ever do this again, because nothing is ever certain with Jack. But he's here now, and for these few moments Jack isn't anyone's but his, and their voices mingle in breathless cries of pleasure, his hips colliding almost painfully with Jack's firm ass with the force of his thrusts. It's been so long since they've done this, and that desperation makes it even hotter, the pleasure and sensation and emotion (that he'll never admit to) building fast and uncontrollable. Jack's reactions, the way he moves and shudders and cries out underneath him, the heat and hardness of his cock in Tony's hand are almost more fulfilling than his own satisfaction, and when Jack comes, shuddering around him and leaving his pleasure in hot sticky ropes in Tony's hand, that's all he can handle. His hand moves from Jack's shoulders to clench almost painfully tight on his hip, holding him in place as he bucks hard into him one last time, crying out his name despite himself, climaxing hot and deep inside him.
For a long moment he doesn't pull away, lost to the rush of pleasure, the oblivion of orgasm, not thinking about dead wives or ex girlfriends or anything else besides Jack. Then he forces himself to move before Jack does, pulling away and dropping wearily to the mattress beside him, wiping his hand on the edge of the cheap motel blanket. In a moment, Jack will disappear off to the bathroom, like he always does, clean himself up and leave without a word. It hurt like hell, the first time he did it, but Tony's used to it by now, used to Jack needing to be in control of this insanity that happens between them.
This time though, Jack doesn't move, and it takes Tony a few minutes to realize that his shoulders are shaking silently. Gently, timidly, he reaches for Jack, certain that the man will jerk from his touch at any moment, but this time Jack lets him, and curls into Tony's arms, burying his face in his shoulder, sobbing silently as Tony's hands stroke his hair, his shaking back.
Tony knows it won't last. But for this moment, he closes his eyes and lets his face rest against Jack's honey coloured hair, letting himself believe that there is more to this affair than just fucking.
~~fin~~
Author's Notes: After day 1, Tony receives a request for contact from a lover he didn't think to see again. (Jack Bauer/Tony Almeida. Spoilers for S1.)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Envy
Tony isn't all that surprised when he gets the text message from Jack, shortly before he's due to leave work. A time, a place, a room number. They'd done this before, though not after Jack went back to Teri. Even when Jack had been with Nina (quietly, discreetly, but he'd known about them, how could he not know?) there had been a few instances. The two of them, arriving somewhere that no one would look for them. Arriving separately, leaving separately, and saying nothing about it afterwards.
He goes. Against all sensible reason, the rational part of his mind is telling himself. It's only been a month since Jack left CTU, since Jack's wife was murdered. Jack is mourning, Jack is unstable... Jack isn't even talking to his daughter, the one he was willing to give his life for. She'd left him, pushed him away, and while Tony hadn't thought before now that it was possible to hate a little girl he'd hardly met, he hates Kim for what she's done to Jack, almost as much as he hates Nina. So he goes, because the tiniest corner of his mind, the part that likes to tell him that this is something more than it is, tells him that Jack doesn't have anyone else right now, anyone else left.
When he reaches the hotel, he goes in without speaking to anyone, up the stairs to the second floor, and knocks on the door for the room that had been in the text message. Jack answers, unshaven and rumpled, eyes bloodshot. Jack has been drinking, is still drinking, but that's usually how it starts, and Tony doesn't begrudge him that, not this time. Jack Bauer never gave up control. But sometimes, sometimes in certain, secret moments, he could be persuaded to set it aside.
He doesn't mention Nina, though he wants to. Doesn't bring up how she played them both, betrayed them both, though it still hurts him, burns like a fresh gunshot wound when he thinks about it. He'd loved her, more than he'll ever admit, and much more than he should have, even though he'd never completely trusted her. He knows now, knows too late why his intuition, his instinct had made him feel that way. But at the time, when she was his superior, when she was fucking his Jack (so silly, to think of Jack Bauer as belonging to anyone, but he can't help it) his mind had told him that it was only envy and resentment he felt, hatred that Jack could take Nina to Santa Barbara when there could never be anything like that for him. He doesn't mention Nina, though he wants to - wants to apologize to Jack for everything he did and didn't do that could have ended things differently, wants to reveal that Jack isn't the only one that was hurt that night. He doesn't say anything, because this is about Jack, like it almost always is, not Tony.
He locks the door behind him and reaches for Jack without saying anything, hand closing around the mostly empty mickey bottle of Jack Daniels and taking it from him, setting it on top of the rickety motel entertainment unit. Then he gives Jack something better to do with his mouth, pressing him up against the wall and tearing hungry, desperate kisses from him, their lips meeting in the first steps of life's oldest dance, kisses hard and rough and hot and wet, and Jack tastes like whisky and the cigarettes that Tony thought he'd given up long ago, whisky and cigarettes and desperate desire. His skin is rough from being unshaven, but Tony doesn't care, doesn't care about anything but the attempt to devour him with kisses, teeth scraping harder than Jack's stubble at his lips and tongue.
They don't need words, there's never been words between them when this happens, just Jack's mouth and his, hands tearing at each other's clothes to get to what they want. All Tony ever needs to get hard are Jack's kisses, wordlessly battling him for dominance, Jack's hands yanking at his clothes with such force that Tony has learned the hard way never to wear a tie around him, Jack's fingers curling around his aching cock.
They are in bed within minutes, both of them panting, sweaty, desperate, achingly hard. Jack goes on his hands and knees before him, like he almost always does, and Tony finds the small tube of lubricant in the pocket of his discarded pants (because Jack never brings any). He rocks two fingers, wet and slippery, into Jack's ass, and the way Jack shudders and curses and presses back against him drives him more wild than he'll ever admit, makes his cock twitch in anticipation, makes him ache to complete this. But he continues, because for these few moments he is in control, not Jack, watching Jack shudder, the patterns of old gunshot wounds and other, unknown scars on his back standing out almost prettily against his pale skin. Listening to Jack gasp and groan and curse and demand, because it's the only way Tony can do this and not feel completely used.
"Please don't make me beg today," Jack gasps, finally, and that's close enough to begging that it's all Tony can handle. He pulls his fingers away, fumbling to add more lube to his aching erection, and then moves to kneel behind him and bury that cock in Jack in a few hard thrusts. He hates this with women, but he can't get enough of Jack, the way his muscles shudder and squeeze his cock as he takes him, the way he cries out with every breath, his ass rocking back against him, pushing Tony's cock hard and deep inside him. The way he goes wild when Tony reaches around to curl his fingers around the straining shaft of his erection and stroke him (which he has to do, or else he comes much faster than Jack) bucking back against him as if he's the one fucking Tony. He has to push Jack's sweat-streaked shoulders down into the mattress, to keep him in place with one hand and his weight, as if he's taking this by force, though he knows Jack could throw him off in a second.
He tries not to think, not to wonder if they'll ever do this again, because nothing is ever certain with Jack. But he's here now, and for these few moments Jack isn't anyone's but his, and their voices mingle in breathless cries of pleasure, his hips colliding almost painfully with Jack's firm ass with the force of his thrusts. It's been so long since they've done this, and that desperation makes it even hotter, the pleasure and sensation and emotion (that he'll never admit to) building fast and uncontrollable. Jack's reactions, the way he moves and shudders and cries out underneath him, the heat and hardness of his cock in Tony's hand are almost more fulfilling than his own satisfaction, and when Jack comes, shuddering around him and leaving his pleasure in hot sticky ropes in Tony's hand, that's all he can handle. His hand moves from Jack's shoulders to clench almost painfully tight on his hip, holding him in place as he bucks hard into him one last time, crying out his name despite himself, climaxing hot and deep inside him.
For a long moment he doesn't pull away, lost to the rush of pleasure, the oblivion of orgasm, not thinking about dead wives or ex girlfriends or anything else besides Jack. Then he forces himself to move before Jack does, pulling away and dropping wearily to the mattress beside him, wiping his hand on the edge of the cheap motel blanket. In a moment, Jack will disappear off to the bathroom, like he always does, clean himself up and leave without a word. It hurt like hell, the first time he did it, but Tony's used to it by now, used to Jack needing to be in control of this insanity that happens between them.
This time though, Jack doesn't move, and it takes Tony a few minutes to realize that his shoulders are shaking silently. Gently, timidly, he reaches for Jack, certain that the man will jerk from his touch at any moment, but this time Jack lets him, and curls into Tony's arms, burying his face in his shoulder, sobbing silently as Tony's hands stroke his hair, his shaking back.
Tony knows it won't last. But for this moment, he closes his eyes and lets his face rest against Jack's honey coloured hair, letting himself believe that there is more to this affair than just fucking.
~~fin~~