Rating: NC17. Slash. Daniel/Paul. PWP.

Spoilers/Warnings: None. Warnings for bad language and sex.

Summary: Daniel, Paul and a storeroom on sublevel 29. Do I need to draw a picture?

Notes | Disclaimer

I watched Paul as he continued his discourse about personnel allotments and budget freezes and the myriad of bureaucratic details that were essential to the smooth continuation of the SGC. These discussions were necessary, of course, but personally I found them drier than the sands of Abydos and far less palatable. It's strange; in a lot of ways the military is eerily like academia, at least in the functional mechanics. I'd spent enough time in faculty meetings during my relatively brief-and ultimately cataclysmic-professorial career to recognize the similarities: TA assignments, budgetary restrictions, the inevitable squabbling over the plumb Tuesday/Thursday course schedules versus the less desirable Monday/Wednesday/Friday slots, replete with the accompanying power plays and rank pulling. Sure, there might be a few more zeros attached at the end of the sums involved and the combatants might be dressed in fatigues in lieu of ratty tweed, but in the end, the military was just another hierarchical, and lamentably patriarchal social structure. And the coffee still sucked.

Of course, there were some unexpected perks, one of which was seated next to me at the briefing room table outlining with painstaking precision the JCS' position regarding the current proposal for an off world scientific colony. I have to admit, I do enjoy watching Paul in action. He's so very different from the military types that surround me on a daily basis. He's the consummate politician; polished, articulate and urbane. Sleek and perfectly poised from the tips of his perfectly coiffed hair to the ends of his neatly manicured fingers. Always in control, always so wonderfully self-contained.

At least that is the image he presents to the world. I, however, know differently. I've seen what he's like behind closed doors, when he's free of public scrutiny and can put aside his requisite façade of diligent, dutiful officer and let himself go. I've seen the man beneath the uniform, quite literally, in fact. I've seen him naked and writhing, his face flushed and tense with exertion and the need for release. I've seen him gasp and moan in pleasure, heard him sob my name as he thrusts deep inside me and comes with all the intensity of a sonic boom. I've seen him spread out beneath me as I fuck him senseless, grinding into him, pushing his body further up the length of the bed as his hands twist in the rumpled bedclothes and he wraps his legs more tightly around my back and bucks wildly up against me.

Sex is the great equalizer; rank, privilege, wealth all fall by the wayside when you're caught up in a good fuck. That's what I love most about really good sex, the sheer intensity of it all. I love surrendering myself to the moment, just giving in to the thrill of sensation and driving need. No past, no future, no thought. Its one of the reasons that Paul and I are so well matched, I think. When it comes to sex, Paul doesn't know the meaning of the word inhibited. He'll try anything once; in fact he probably already had by the time I got around to suggesting it in the first place.

That first time came as a hell of a shock. It was right after that foothold incident when those alien body doubles made their little foray into the SGC and managed to take over the mountain as their first stop in taking over the planet, the over-achieving fucks that they were. It had been a nasty, ugly mess and the JCS had mandated all kinds of new security protocols in the hope of avoiding such alien "incursions" in the future. It was also more than a little freaky. One minute, I'm in the infirmary getting a post-mission physical, the next I'm hanging from the ceiling in some kind of strange harness and then suddenly I'm falling and landing flat on my ass and an oh so unrepentant Jack is grinning down at me with an "oops!" on his smirking lips.

We'd all been a little dazed in the aftermath, confused and befuddled and even mildly embarrassed at how easily the aliens had gained control of a top-secret military facility. Let's face it; as "Earth's first line of defense" we'd pretty much dropped the ball on this one. That is the only excuse I can come up with for my rather sluggish reaction to Paul's own little foray into my office in the wee hours of the morning. He'd walked in the door, closed and locked it firmly behind him, and in two purposeful strides was standing beside my desk. I'd stood in an odd mixture of surprise and decorum and then he took me by the shoulders and kissed me.

Kissed me is perhaps a rather mild term for what he did. Devoured comes closer to the reality. Utterly consumed in a frenzy of passion could work as well. I was so shocked by the sudden pressure of his lips upon mine that I believe I went a bit slack jawed, which naturally provided him the perfect opening to slide his tongue smoothly into my mouth.

Paul is an amazing kisser. Such a skilled and clever tongue, so enthusiastic and unrestrained. I couldn't help but melt against him, subsumed by the intensity of that fervent kiss. My arms went about his shoulders, pulling him closer, a moan escaping my lips as I clung to him, desperate and hungry for more.

In hindsight, it shouldn't have come as that much of a surprise. I'd seen the speculative looks he'd shot me on previous occasions, felt the underlying heat of his gaze. It wasn't as if I hadn't received charged glances before, because I had. I'd even given them a time or two myself. I guess what surprised me the most was that he would actually have the cojones to act upon what those heated looks were proposing and then to actually do so within the walls of the SGC, no less. I was impressed and more than a little aroused, not only by the courage it must have taken for him to act but also from the illicit thrill of doing it at the SGC, right smack in the middle of a testosterone fuelled no-homo zone.

Sex in public and semi-public places had always been a kink of mine. I knew all the best spots in the stacks of the university library and I knew from personal experience that the tables where they kept the microfilm readers were at the perfect height for all kinds of mischief of the XXX variety. I got off on the danger, the risk of getting caught in a compromising position in full public view. I never did. Get caught, that is, but the possibility added another level of intensity to an already volatile act.

The thrill from the potential danger, the suddenness of Paul's actions and the obvious skill that he brought to the embrace all conspired to decimate any hesitations I had about surrendering before the amazing onslaught of Paul's lips and tongue. Not that I had any objections, not really anyway, well, beyond the inevitable one that the current locale wasn't the most comfortable for the things my treacherous and hormone drenched imagination were conjuring in my mind. Lets face it; concrete isn't exactly shag friendly. But given the sensations that were racing along my nerve endings I wasn't going to complain. Right then, my body was burning with enough heat to sizzle on contact.

I felt Paul's hands shift on my body, tracing a path from my shoulders, down my back to the waistband of my trousers where they began to tug on the cotton tee shirt, trying desperately to burrow beneath and access skin. It was an excellent idea and I found myself following suit before the thought consciously registered in my mind. After a few frantic pulls, his shirt was loose and now my hands were free to roam and explore the warm, sweat dewed skin. I could feel the play of taut muscles beneath my splayed hands and the way he shivered as I ghosted my fingertips along his spine, mirroring the movement of his hands on my body. It felt incredible, but still it wasn't enough.

I broke the kiss, eliciting a growl from Paul. Huh. Paul growled; who knew? I was learning all kinds of interesting things about this man that I hadn't even suspected before he walked into my office and locked the door behind him. The sound transformed into a moan, however, as I kissed along his throat, nuzzling his pulse points, feeling his blood pounding beneath my questing tongue. It was then I felt his hands on my belt, pulling on the buckle with perhaps more force than necessary, but given the urgency of the moment, I wasn't about to quibble. Paul, I realized, was just full of good ideas today and I was more than willing to follow his lead. Belts were freed, zippers and buttons released, trousers and underwear duly dispatched with the kind of ruthless efficiency that came from military training, desperate need, or in this case, the propitious combination of the two.

Moments later, we both managed to reach our targets. I felt his hand wrap itself around my dick, just as my fingers brushed along the head of his cock. We both moaned at the sensation and I gasped as well when I felt my ass make a cheek to concrete interface. I'd been so caught up in that incredible kiss and the urge to touch skin that I hadn't even realized that Paul had been carefully maneuvering me towards a wall. I felt my back pressed against the cold, unyielding surface as another, infinitely warm, though also hard surface moved against my front. Paul was grinding against me, his hand pumping my dick, his lips stealing my breath away, searing me, devouring me. I bucked up against him, my hand echoing his, my moans of pleasure swallowed by that talented, demanding mouth. We were close now and I knew we couldn't last much longer. I was right. I felt Paul suddenly stiffen and he buried his face in my shoulder gasping my name and his climax against my sweat slickened neck. I felt him pour himself against my belly, the warm, sticky fluid spurting between us, making out bodies even more slippery. It was all too intense, too erotic, too illicit. With a sobbing breath, I felt myself coming as well. I bit down hard on my lip and hid my face against his throat and I trembled and quivered with release.

We stood there for several long moments, the wall the only thing keeping us in a semblance of verticality. I finally lifted my head from Paul's shoulder and gazed up at him. his expression was...enigmatic. And then he smiled. It was a warm, bright grin, almost wolfish and clearly denoting satisfaction, but then he had every reason to feel quite smug right then. He'd taken a gamble and it had paid off. Well, I'd never claimed to be sweet and innocent and Paul had just learned how far I was from that popular-and wholly ungrounded-assumption. He'd been the first one, the only one, to see beyond the façade, the first to recognize the carnality that was always so much a part of myself, yet all too often ignored and sublimated in my quest for knowledge. I guess he recognized something of himself within me. You see, even then I understood that Paul and I were alike in a lot of ways. We shared the same kind of restless hunger, possessed that same tightly coiled desire that lurked beneath a carefully constructed veneer of control and cool professionalism, quiescent until someone came along and sparked it to life.

We looked at each other and understanding passed between us without a single word being uttered and then we dressed ourselves as quickly and carefully as possible. Paul stepped away from me for a moment, but then returned. He ran his knuckles along my cheek in an unexpectedly gentle touch. I leaned into it, feeling the warmth and the tenderness of his eyes upon me and then he leaned forward and kissed me once again. It was a lover's kiss, sweet and full of promise and longing. He released my lips and cupped my cheek one last time before turning to leave. He unlocked the door and pulled it open and then paused in the doorway to look back one last time, his eyes and his smile like a caress. And then he was gone.

And that was how it began.

From then on, we fell into a kind of pattern whenever Paul came to the SGC, which was fairly often, what, between the regular quarterly visits and the crisis situations that arose all too frequently in the chaotic environment of the SGC. Paul would come to the base, as perfectly turned out as always, impeccably coiffed, buffed and polished, the model soldier-diplomat carrying out meetings with General Hammond and his senior staff. But underneath that cool façade, Paul would be planning messy, sticky, nasty sex with me in illicit locales. We would meet as casual acquaintances in the hallways of the SGC, exchanging demure smiles and manly handshakes. We'd sit across from one another in the briefing room, the two of us forming a perfect study in professional decorum for anyone who happened to be observing. And then later, after the meetings were over and the exchanges of pleasantries and platitudes was done, we would meet again, sometimes off base in a seedy hotel off the highway but more often than not in a darkened storeroom on the 29th floor. There would be no words exchanged during those encounters, just the collision of flesh, the touch of hands on flesh and the eerily disembodied sounds of moans and gasps and groans floating through the darkness.

Sometimes we would meet in the commissary over a cup of coffee, sharing inconsequential chatter, the way a pair of associates might, killing time, escaping boredom more than exchanging any kind of meaningful dialogue. The conversations were usually banal and utterly forgettable; discussions of the weather, recent movies that neither of us had actually had the time to see, maybe a little bit of whatever hot gossip was making the rounds of the SGC. Nothing significant or personal, nothing that might suggest that there was anything between us beyond professionalism and grudging respect.

I always rather liked these little têtes à têtes in the commissary. They fed my taste for illicit thrills, sitting here so calmly in the midst of a crowd of SGC personnel, playing at friends even as we smoldered at one another across the table, sharing charged glances burning glances and secretive little smiles and the occasional double entendre. Sometimes out knees would bump beneath the table, but there was nothing wrong with that. It was all quite seemly and appropriate and fraught with enough sexual tension to make a hooker blush. We were a little island of seething lust in the midst of the oblivious sea of onlookers, flaunting the inane hypocrisy of "don't ask, don't tell" to anyone with eyes to see, but they never did. Hiding in plain sight.

I admit I get a real kick out of this and I know Paul did too, though he would never admit to it in a million years. Paul liked to play the demure, reserved officer, all steely-eyed control and resolute calm. It's a brilliant façade and he plays the part to perfection, but I know him better than that. I know what he craved the most was the complete and utter loss of control, to be swept away by an irresistible and unstoppable wave of carnality. No thought, just pure sensation. How do I know this? Because Paul and I are too much alike in that regard. The only difference is I've learned when to surrender up my control and yield to my own carnal impulses. Paul needs to get in touch with his inner slut more often and I think I am just the man to help him make contact.

Right now he's sitting there across from me, back ramrod straight, the very embodiment of an officer and a gentleman. He's nattering on about something from the morning's budgetary discussion. I confess I didn't pay attention the first time around and I have no desire to do so for the repeat. He's so damned poised, so controlled. Its precisely at moments like these that the urge to strip him of his control becomes damned near overwhelming. I want to see him surrender to desire, I want to hear him beg. I want to make him scream. And with that thought, comes a sudden inspiration..

"Paul," I say, keeping my voice low and even.

He stops in mid-flow, responsive as always to that tone of voice. Its downright Pavlovian. Whenever I speak in that soft measured tone, Paul stops whatever he's doing or saying and listens. If he were a German Shepherd, his ears would have pricked upward. It's a bit of a power trip that I can do that to him with just my voice and I feel a sudden frisson of heat spearing my groin. Its funny, but now that I think on it, it also works on Jack. Maybe it's a result of basic training; after being yelled at incessantly, when someone speaks to them in a soft, gentle voice it captures their attention purely from the sheer novelty of it.

"I need to get back to my office, but I'd really like to hear more about this. Would you maybe, want to continue this discussion on the way?"

I hold his gaze, letting him read the hunger that I know is reflected there. I continue watching him, even as my hand snakes out and grabs two pats of butter wrapped in foil. His eyes widen in sudden realization and I offer him a warm smile as I smoothly pocket the packets of butter. I feel that frisson of electricity race through my body once more at this seemingly casual action and the sheer wantonness underlying it. I keep my hand in my in pocket over my prize, both to reassure myself its there but also to help me maintain my semblance of calm. Another illicit act being carried out in full view of the personnel of the SGC. Some part of me is terrified that everyone has seen and has divined my purpose, even as the more coolly rational part tells me that no one has seen or even begins to suspect what I have planned. I feel my hunger crank up a notch in anticipation as the heat of arousal and the adrenalin buzz of danger merge and spark.

"Well?" I ask Paul, the barest hint of challenge in my voice and in my gaze.

Paul swallows. I can see his Adam's apple bob with the movement and his eyes remain riveted on my face. And then he smiles. It's a pleasant smile edged with something darker and more intense.

"Of course, Dr. Jackson. It would be my pleasure."

I rise, as does he and he follows me from the commissary. We fall into step, side by side and he once again picks up the thread of the abandoned conversation. I can't help but admire his calm, but it also makes me more determined than ever to smash right through that wall of reserve. We enter the elevator car, currently occupied by a pair of airmen and a lab tech. Instead of pushing the button for sublevel 23-the floor where my office resides-I hit the button for sublevel 29. No one else in the car seems to notice or even car. No one, except Paul, of course, who is watching me avidly.

I settle back at his side and watch the numbers flicker and dim marking our descent. By the time we reach sublevel 29 we are the sole occupants of the car. The doors open and we exit, once again, falling into step beside one another. There is no need for direction; we both know precisely where we're headed: the storeroom. Our storeroom.

We both knew this was an incredibly foolish thing to do, having sex on base. We knew it the first time we did it; we knew it every subsequent time we went at it, falling on one another like sex-starved maniacs. We also knew we would keep right on doing it until we either got caught or grew weary of one another. It wasn't that I had anything against less risky and more conventional locales. Hey, I enjoy a nice soft bed the same as the next horny bastard, but it wasn't always feasible. All too often Paul's visits were too brief or too tense to allow us the luxury of an evening or even a few hours together. Going off base wasn't always possible, so we made do with what time and resources we had at our disposal. Carpe diem. A half hour here or there for a quick bump and grind, a down and dirty blow job or hand job. Frantic, desperate kisses, frenzied groping hands, fingers and teeth sinking into soft skin and firm muscle. It was never enough, of course, but sometimes it was all circumstances would allow for and it was far, far better than nothing at all.

Today we weren't as rushed as on other occasions. This was an official quarterly meeting and not a crisis situation. Unless something unexpected came up, we would probably have the night together before Paul had to return to the Pentagon and submit his report to the JCS. But the possibility of a night of hot sex did nothing to lessen the desire. In truth, it just fired my hunger all the more. I saw him so rarely, the periods of separation were so protracted that every time we met was almost like the first time. Paul walked into the room and it was like a current of electricity had been shot straight to my groin. Abstinence wasn't something I practiced, it was something I endured, usually with bad grace, bad language and regular encounters with my right hand. When the possibility of actual sex appeared, my dick was always more than ready to rise to the occasion. And I knew it was exactly the same for Paul.

We turn the corner and the door to the storeroom was in sight. The corridors were deserted, as they normally were at this time of the day. This part of the facility got very little traffic except at night when the cleaning crews passed through, and this particular stretch of the corridor was something of a blind spot in the surveillance system. Unless someone was expressly looking for something, they'd never even notice our passage.

I open the door and ushered Paul inside. We have about an hour before the next round of meetings, and I fully intended to take advantage of every single minute available to us. I follow Paul into the hushed stillness beyond and firmly close and lock the door behind us. Before Paul could even open his mouth to speak, I grab his arm and swing him back, slamming him hard up against the door, making him grunt softly in surprise. Taking advantage of his shock, I press up against him, taking his mouth in a fervent kiss. Paul moans in response, wrapping his arms about me, pulling our bodies closer.

Yes, this was the way I like it, arousal so intense it shades into pain, pleasure dancing along my nerve endings like electricity, sparking and flaring and feeding upon itself. Raw and carnal and primal. Lust, pure and simple. Paul's body surging beneath my own, lean and wiry, firmly packed muscle, testing, challenging. I can feel his erection hot and hard as he humps against my thigh, seeking relief. It's tempting to continue like this, rubbing together like a pair of cats in heat, racing towards sweaty, smelly completion, but I have other things in mind.

I pull away and Paul groans in disappointment. I chuckle at the sound, at the barely contained need. I dive in for one more greedy kiss. "Patience," I whisper in his ear as I withdrew. I grab his earlobe between my teeth tugging sharply on the sensitive flesh, causing Paul to shiver in pleasure before schooling his body to stillness in preparation for whatever I have planned next. I smile against his neck in satisfaction. Paul does submissive so very well. I draw my tongue down the side of his throat in one long stroke, tasting the salt of sweat on his skin and the faintest hint of stubble near his jaw. He shivers again.

I yearn to strip him bare, to feel every inch of skin exposed to my questing tongue and hands, but I know that was foolish even by my somewhat reckless standards. I pull his shirt free from his waistband, sliding my hands beneath and up along his sleekly muscled back to feel the way the muscles tensed and relaxed beneath my palms. I move my hands down his sides and up the smooth expanse of his chest, silently counting the ribs traced by my fingertips until I reach his nipples. I can see them in my mind's eye, the dark, pebbled flesh, so sensitive to the touch. I give one of them a twist, eliciting a groan of sharp pleasure from Paul. 'Oh yes, you love that, don't you?' I think smugly to myself as I repeat the action, and am rewarded with a second, louder groan in response. I pull my hands down his chest once more, letting the blunt tips of my fingernails dig into his skin as I claw my way down to his waistband once more. Once there, I sink to my knees before him and set myself to the task of unbuckling his belt. It is a bit of a challenge to do this in the near pitch darkness of the storeroom, but then again, I've had quite a lot of practice at it. I make short work of the belt and the trousers, tugging them and the cotton boxers down lean, muscled thighs.

With the barriers now removed, the scent of Paul's arousal fills my nostrils, sharp and pungent and musky. I bury my nose in the springy hair of his groan, breathing in his scent, reveling in it. I move my nose over, bumping against the taut flesh of his balls, then upwards towards his cock, standing hard and proud. I lick my way up the length of his erection, this time eliciting a sob as Paul struggles to maintain control and not come too soon. I smile again in the darkness, admiring his control even as I plan to obliterate it and blow it to dust.

I feel his cock thickening in my mouth and I take him a little deeper, pull him closer to the brink without letting him drop over the precipice. Not yet. I have something else in store. Placing one hand on his hip to hold him steady, I let the other slide down his thigh before reaching into my pocket to fish out one of the packets of butter I stashed there before leaving the commissary. The butter has softened nicely from the heat of my body and I somewhat awkwardly open the edges of the foil wrapping to expose the butter to the open air. I dip one finger inside, coating it as thoroughly as possible, then move my hand towards Paul's opening. I relax my throat and take Paul to the root, and at that precise moment, I slip my greased finger inside the entrance to his body. Paul's gasping becomes a full-blown moan. I stop at the first joint, giving Paul a moment to become accustomed to the sensation of being breached before sliding the finger deeper into the tight channel, moving it in and out of his body.

When I remove my finger, Paul's moan is tinged with disappointment. I use the momentary respite to coat two more fingers with the remaining butter, then return to my ministrations, now sliding two fingers into Paul's anus, twisting them and hooking them to loosen the muscle as much as possible before adding a third.

By now Paul is moaning almost continuously and I set a ruthless pace, plunging my three fingers deep within his ass while I take his dick as far down my throat as far as I can. Paul is writhing and gasping, snapping his hips back and forth seeking out the dual stimulation to its fullest. I drive my fingers deep and hit his prostate making him sob. I pull them out and then plunge them inwards again at the same angle, striking the sweet spot again. Paul is babbling now, his voice soft and low and barely discernible, save for one word: please.

You asked for, you got it, Paul.

I quicken the pace, letting his frenzied need take me over and then he's coming, warm salty fluid filling my mouth as his ass clenches tightly around my fingers and his hips buck sharply. I suck him dry, swallowing his essence like fine wine as he leans heavily against me, his knees threatening to buckle beneath his weight. I stand, letting him collapse against me as I kiss him fiercely, thrusting my tongue deep within his mouth so that he can taste himself on my tongue. He responds as ravenously as always, matching my fervor, his tongue tangling erotically with my own in mimicry of some of our more athletic games.

I release his mouth and he nuzzles against my throat. "Daniel," I hear him whisper in a husky post-coital voice that sends another thread of heat to my groin. "That was incredible," he said between soft kisses planted along my jaw line.

"We're not done yet," I reply, my tongue tracing the curve of his ear, To illustrate the point, I press my hips against his, rubbing my still hard cock against his now flaccid one.

Paul's breath warms the skin of my neck. "What do you want, Daniel?"

I lean forward and kiss him hard on the mouth. "I want to fuck you. Now."

Even though I couldn't see him in the inky darkness, I could well imagine the look of surprise on his face. We'd done a lot of things in this storeroom, any one of which could have earned him a dishonorable discharge and could have gotten me booted out of the program as a potential security threat, but that was one we'd never tried. Too dangerous, too extreme, and so terribly, terribly hard to resist. It was a reckless proposition, even coming from me, but that was precisely what made it so damned attractive. A full on fuck in the SGC. My cock twitches at the prospect. I held my breath.

Suddenly I feel Paul's mouth on mine, demanding and brusque. When he finally releases me, gasping for air he leaned close and whispered a single word in my ear: "Yes."

I turn him around so that he is facing the door, his head pillowed against his folder arms, his legs spread wide. I run my hands beneath his shirt once more, feeling the damp, sweaty skin of his back and the supple curve of his back. I let my fingers slide down his sides and roam covetously along his flanks before moving to caress his upturned ass. Paul has a great ass: firm, rounded and perfectly maintained by a strict regimen of exercise and intense sex. I lean over and place a soft kiss at the base of his spine, sliding my tongue towards the cleft of his ass before letting it slide between the cheeks from the top all the way to his balls. Mmm. Hot buttered ass. Yum.

I hear Paul hiss in pleasure as my tongue circles his entrance before flickering inside. I tongue fuck him with slow, sure strokes as Paul moans and trembles beneath my touch.

"Daniel," he groans, his voice hoarse and strained with a mixture of lust and desperation.

I rise up and then lean across his back feeling the warmth of his body beneath my own. I nibble my way along his throat, nipping the skin sharply enough to make him tremble but not enough to break the skin. I flick my tongue into his ear and blow softly. He shivers.

"Do you want this, Paul?" I purr in his ear.

"Yesss," he moans in response.

"Are you sure?" I ask as I let my hand drift down to wrap around his dick, now half hard. I stroke him with rough, hard movements.

"Do you want this?" I ask again as I jerk him off.

"God, yes."

"What do you want Paul?" I ask as I stroke him with ruthless efficiency. OK, so it's a shitty thing to do. Sue me.

"Fuck me," he gasps between gritted teeth.

"What did you say Paul?"

"Fuck me, fuck me you son of a bitch!"

Ah. Now that was what I was waiting for. I slow the motion of my hand on Paul's cock, lightening the touch. Paul growls in annoyance.

I chuckle then bite down hard on his shoulder. "Patience," I remind him not even trying to hide the smirk in my voice. I reach down and fumble slightly at the buckle of my belt, pulling it free before tugging open the buttons of my BDU trousers, pushing both the trousers and my boxers down my hips. I can't entirely suppress the sigh of relief at finally freeing my aching dick from the cloth that imprisoned it.

I reach into my pocket to retrieve the remaining packet of butter, hastily opening the foil and scooping out the contents. I slather the butter on my cock making it slick.

I lean down again, draping myself across Paul's back. "Are you ready?" I ask, though I already know the answer.

"Yes, goddammit!" he grates out between clenched teeth. "Will you do it already!"

Anything you say, Paul.

I spread his ass cheeks and then position my dick at his opening. I push in slowly, the head popping through the loosened muscle with relative ease. I hold still for a second to let Paul acclimate, but he's having none of it. He pushes himself back on my cock. Hard.

"Shit! Paul!" I hiss at him through my own clenched teeth.

"Fuck me! Now!"

"Well, how can I say no when you ask so sweetly?" I quip before matching deed to word, pushing in hard and deep.

I set a brutal rhythm, knowing there is no way I can last and moreover knowing that Paul will stand for nothing less. I reach around him with my butter covered hand and grasp his erection, now as hard and aching as my own, and stroke him in time with the movement of my cock up his ass. I pound into him and Paul is pushing back to meet me, his cheeks slamming back against my balls, adding further stimulation. More fuel for the conflagration.

I press my body close to his, wrapping my free arm around his chest as we move together. I can already feel the exquisite tightening in my balls that signals the impending arrival of climax. I kiss the back of his neck and whisper in his ear. "Slut," I call him drawing out the sibilant sound.

"Yessss," he responds his voice low and raw as he shoves his ass backwards then pushes forward into my fist.

I thrust into him again. Once, twice, thrice and then I'm coming. I bite his shoulder again, muffling my cries against his sweat slickened skin as I pour myself into his willing body. I hear a muffled sound and then I feel Paul's own climax spurting and covering my hand. I continue thrusting inside him and fisting his cock until his erection is spent and he sags against the wall. I collapse against his back and the two of us hold each other in what can only be described as a semblance of verticality while we wait to regain control of our breathing and frantic heartbeats. I nuzzled against the sweat damp hair at Paul's nape, placing soft kisses along the back of his neck as I slowly returned to myself.

After several minutes, I finally felt steady enough to stand on my own two legs more or less. I let go of Paul, dropping one last kiss on the top of his head, before pushing myself off the wall and beginning to put my clothes into some kind of order. Next to me, I could hear Paul doing the same. Naturally it was easier to get undressed in the dark, than to get dressed once more, but we always managed. I was in better shape since I only had to worry about my trousers, a tee shirt and a utility shirt. Relatively few buttons to fuss with, thankfully, and besides, no one ever expected me to look regulation. If I ever showed up with all my buttons done properly, they'd probably start looking for a pod under my desk or pronounce me a zatarc or something.

I heard Paul curse softly under his breath; no doubt he was having some difficulty getting his clothes straightened out. But as I have every faith in his ability to get dressed all by himself, I let him be.

Finally after enough time elapsed and the cursing died down, I asked Paul if he were ready to go. He grunted an affirmative and I opened the door and stepped out into the hallway, squinting my eyes against the comparatively bright light of the corridor. The coast was clear. Paul joined me and we made our way back to the elevators, conversing casually about the agenda for the afternoon meeting. I flicked a glance at my watch. Thirteen minutes until the meeting began. Perfect.

When the elevator arrived we slipped inside and I nodded a greeting to Sergeant Siler and a pair of techs who were already ensconced within the car. I glanced over at Paul and smiled, and he smiled back at me. We turned and faced forward and rode the elevator up to the briefing room, just a pair of colleagues on our way to a meeting. Nothing to see. Nothing to suspect. And no one was the wiser. Another illicit assignation flawlessly carried out in the inner sanctum of the SGC, right under the collective noses of the military.

 I smile to myself. Life can be very, very good indeed.