Something Special

by The Grrrl

Title: Something Special

Author: The Grrrl

Author's email: thegrrrl2002@gmail.com

Author's URL: http://thegrrrl2002.slashcity.org/

Archive: Ask first.

Fandom: Stargate SG-1

Pairing: Jack/Daniel

Rating: PG

Category: First Time, AU

Summary: The somewhat awkward beginning of a beautiful relationship. Response FNF Challenge #38: New Beginnings

Notes: A little AU ficlet, my first AU ever! Just a scene that has been lurking in mind for a while, and that I haven't been able to shoehorn into a fic. So I'm using it here, instead. Just a quicky, no beta, although I'm sure there should be.

I try not to stare when he first comes in, but when he gets to the counter to order, I put my coffee down and twist around in my chair to get a good look. He's bending down, examining the pastry selections, and damn, I have an eyeful when that leather jacket rides up. Gorgeous ass, snugly encased in a pair of worn out jeans. I'm just about to turn around, because I don't want to be too obvious, when I heard a girl's high pitched giggle. A giggle. He's actually making the surly, overly-pierced twenty-something who lurks behind the counter giggle. The very same girl who always seems to be heartily offended whenever I try and buy a cup. I just have to turn around again and watch. He's leaning over the counter now, commenting on something as he opens his wallet, and she's smiling back at him. If I'm not mistaken she's actually batting her eyes.

Of course, who can blame her. He's so very striking—tall and lean, a surprisingly young face under that spiky grey hair. It's the reason why this particular coffee shop has become my regular hang-out, even though there is a perfectly good one that is closer to campus. I've given up on trying to convince myself that it's because this one is quieter, better for grading papers. I figure hey, if it brightens up my day to surreptitiously watch a good-looking guy drink his coffee, then what's the harm in that? So I've become a regular, sitting at the long bar stretching across the windowed storefront, keeping an eye out for the gray-haired man in the leather jacket.

He turns from the counter, coffee cup in hand, so I face the window again, casually flipping through today's newspaper. Not that I'm reading it or anything. There's a rustling close to me, and I freeze. To my absolute delight he's taking the seat right next to me, rolling a small piece of luggage with him. I notice it has the name of a major airline embossed on it. He must be a pilot, I conclude, mostly because he would look so good in uniform. He certainly has a pilot-y look about him. I watch out of the corner of my eye as he settles into the seat, placing his coffee and what looks to be a chocolate cappuccino brownie in front of him. My fantasy man at least has good taste in pastries. He slips his coat off, sips from his coffee, and I'm getting eyestrain from trying to look without looking.

"Excuse me, are you done with this?" He taps on a section of the newspaper my elbow is resting on.

His voice is rich and deep, and incredibly sexy. I know I'm being ridiculous, in a teenage schoolboy crush kind of way, but I'm enjoying myself too much to care. "Oh, sure, yeah, go ahead," I tell him, lifting my arm so he can remove it. It gives me an excuse to look directly at him. He has very soft, warm brown eyes, and they crinkle at the corners when he gives me a little smile and thanks me.

He's so polite. I could fall in love with this guy.

He begins to read the paper, and I just sit there, staring out the window, sipping my coffee and trying desperately to think of something to say. My mind is a complete blank. I've never been any good at small talk. Never mind the fact that the odds are that he's straight. Nevertheless, I can't bear to let such an opportunity slip away but I just can't think of a darn thing. I'm about to open my mouth and say something inane about the weather when I hear him make a disgusted sound. I look at him curiously.

"Damn Bears." He pushes the paper aside in disgust.

"That's football, right?" Now is that brilliant or what?

He looks amused though. "Yup. Football. Bad football." He raises his cup to his lips. "Not a sports kind of guy, huh?" he asks before taking a sip.

I shake my head, feeling sheepish. "No, not really. Actually, uh," I gesture to the section of the paper in front of me, "I'm more of a theater kind of guy, you know?"

Damn. Why don't I just paste a pink triangle on my forehead and have done with it?

But he only nods. "I like theater stuff, too. Opera. I really like opera." He leans back as he tells me this, and I can see a little swirl of chest hair at the open collar of his shirt. It's gray, just like the hair on his head.

"Oh, really? Opera?" I say, utterly intrigued. "I haven't really—I like it, though. I've never been, but I hear the university group really mounts a great performance."

As soon as it's out of my mouth I cringe. I can't believe I said that. My face feels hot and I'm sure I'm blushing. He looks like he's trying very hard no to laugh, so I lift my cup to gulp down cold coffee out of sheer embarrassment.

He leans over and says, "Well, I've always said, there's nothing quite like a well-mounted performance."

I snort into my cup, spilling coffee all over the place.

"Sorry—I'm so sorry," he says, laughing out loud as he reaches for some napkins. "I shouldn't have—"

I'm staring at him as the coffee drips from the counter onto my lap, because he's got such a charming, mischievous and yet guilty expression on his face. "No, really, it's all right," I tell him. I think I can watch his face forever.

"Your pants are—wait—" He points to my lap, starts to pat my thigh with a napkin. But then he stops, pulling his hand back. "Here—maybe you should" he hands me the napkin. "I wasn't trying to cop a feel, honest."

"That's okay, you could, really, I wouldn't mind," I tell him as I dab at my leg. "Honest." The coffee stain is standing out nicely on my khaki pants, but I scarcely notice it, because now he's the one looking a little shy and embarrassed and it's just so sweet.

Taking a deep breath, I go for broke and ask, "How would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Or a drink at least? Or coffee, we can have coffee, oh, wait, we already are having coffee—how about a drink after coffee? Maybe a movie? Bowling?"

By time I'm done he's got a big smile on his face, but he's not laughing at me. I know that because his eyes are warm and affectionate and he seems genuinely touched. "Yes," he says.

"Yes?" I ask, prompting for clarification.

"Yes to everything." He touches my arm, giving it a little squeeze, and my body tingles just from that one small touch.

"Great." I smile at him. "Oh, hey, my name is Daniel."

He reaches out and shakes my outstretched hand. "Jack."

Our hands stay clasped for a long moment. And I'm convinced that this is the start of something special.

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