Tasty Little Valentine

by The Grrrl

Title: Tasty Little Valentine

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

Summary: Valentine's Day with Jack and Daniel. Total fluff.

Notes: A response to Fra's 1000 word Valentine's Day Challenge. Thanks so much to Fra and Sarah for beta'ing.

"Shouldn't we be doing something more romantic than this?" Daniel asks. "It is Valentine's Day, you know."

I frown at him. "Are you trying to tell me this isn't romantic?"

"Jack, we're painting a room."

"But it's the bedroom."

"Exactly!" Daniel shakes the paint roller in my general direction, spraying droplets of Anjou Pear all around. "We can't even sleep in here tonight. It'll be all," he waves a hand, "stinky."

"So, we'll go back to your place," I tell him before continuing with my sweeping brushstrokes.

"Oh, right, Jack. We'll hitch up the dogsled."

I look out the window at the swirling snow. "Okay. Maybe not. So we'll sleep in the guest bedroom."

"You're kidding, right?"

Eyeing my handiwork, I add the final touches, and ask, "You don't think we could both fit in that bed?"

He doesn't answer.

"Now who's not being very romantic?"

Daniel sighs. "Jack, last I checked, we were two fully grown—" He stops in mid-sentence.


He's looking past me at my wall, which is has the initials D.J. + J. O. painted inside of a large heart with an arrow through it. "Make that one fully grown man," he finishes.


I thought we'd never get out of the damn Lowes.

"Wow," Daniel said, staring.

"Yeah, Wow," I repeated.

Daniel reached out, hesitantly, then dropped his arm. "Who knew paint came in so many different colors?"

We were standing in front of the great wall of paint swatches. It was worse than a fucking rainbow. "How about a nice, basic white?" I asked hopefully.

"Which shade of white? Eggshell, Antique White, Cool White, Ivory, Off-White, Ocean Mist, Nantucket Cream, Ecru—"

"Ecru? Isn't that a bird?" I asked.

Daniel just shook his head. "How about green. A green green. Do you like green?"

"Do you?"

Daniel peered over his glasses at me, like I was being a pain in the ass on purpose. "Jack, it's your room," he explained.

"Our room," I said, correcting him.

That took him by surprise. "Oh." He looked down, then at the wall, and then back at me. I saw a hint of a smile. "Oh. Jack," he said, nudging me with his shoulder. "That's really nice."

As if he doesn't spend as much time in there as me. More so, if you count Sunday mornings, when I can't pry him out of bed with a crowbar

"Damn right I'm nice," I told him. "Green it is then. I like green." I began perusing the many shades of green. Giving up, I closed my eyes, waved a finger in the air and tapped the board. "Here, how about this one," I said, opening my eyes. "Anjou Pear."

Daniel thought it over, then nodded. "Pears are good."


His hands slide around my waist as he bites the back of my neck. I stop in mid-stroke. "Yes, Daniel?"

"Just keep painting, Jack. I really want to get this painting over with," he says, even though his hands are busy with my pants.

I make one more pass with the roller, but my arm isn't working right. It's those hands of his, the way he's touching me—either that or the paint fumes are making me dizzy. "Daniel, I—what are you doing?" Like I have to ask. My pants fall to my ankles and he hooks his fingers under my briefs, pulling them off as he slides down to his knees.

"Keep painting."

"Painting. See, I'm painting, okay? Painting. And panting. " A feeble push of the roller is all I manage because his hands are on my ass, spreading my cheeks, then his god damn tongue is right there and oh fuck it's good. The roller slides from my hand and tumbles to the floor, leaving a streak of pale green on my knee. "Daniel, I'm not painting anymore," I confess.

He just laughs and licks me again. Then he spins me around by the hips. I stumble and fall back against the wall as he swallows my dick.

"I think—I think we'll have to do this wall over," I manage to say before losing the ability to speak altogether.

I wind up with paint in my hair and on my shirt and my arms like I'm some kind of green alien monster. Afterwards Daniel generously allows me to nap on the dropcloth while he paints over the O'Neill-size smear on the wall.


"Jack, what happened? Did the power go out?" Daniel asks. He's fresh out of the shower, wearing only a towel wrapped around his hips. The firelight does nice things to his almost-naked body as he gets closer. "What are you doing?"

"Never let it be said, my tasty little Valentine, that Jack O'Neill is not a romantic."

Daniel takes in the bounty before him, spread out on a blanket in front of the fireplace. A plate of ham sandwiches, some pickles, a bowl of olives , cheese, a couple of apples and oranges. For dessert, half-full box of mallomars. In other words, anything I could find in the kitchen that was actually edible. But I do have a bottle of champagne chilling in a make-shift tupperware ice bucket.

"Jack," Daniel says, laughing, "It's so you." He kneels down and I get a generous, sloppy kiss. He smells irresistibly sweet and soapy-clean. "Oh—oh, wait, I almost forgot." He stands up again, but the towel gets left behind in my hands as he trots away and now that's a pretty sight.

He brings me a small white box tied with string. Also a pretty sight.

"Looks promising," I say as I untie the string. Inside are two heart-shaped raspberry tarts. "Sweet." I'm genuinely touched. I love raspberries. And Daniel. Not in that order.

He flops down next to me, leaning his big naked body right up against mine. "Yes, you are, " he says. He takes a tart out of the box. "Mmm. Dessert first."

My hand slides up along his sweet thigh. "Oh, absolutely."

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