Of the same kinds, class, or nature

My thread - dare me!

Here's my thread. :) I'm up for it, if everyone else is.

Here's me!

Because I am totally raisintorte's bitch, here's my thread. ;)

This looks like fun. Or possibly a funeral ;) Dare me.

I'm in!

...I'd say "dare" except that I don't have the time to write what people are going to ask me to write!

So, "truth" it is.

I'm a dingbat and didn't read the rules. *shamefaced*

...all right. I'm going to regret this. Dare me.

Never have I ever - I mean, dare! :) or truth, I don't care which.

(If anyone cares to respond, my fandoms = sg-1, sga, veronica mars, firefly, buffy, dune, sailor moon, and utena. and various others.)

John Sheppard never sees it coming. This time, he supposes, he really should have known better, because Jack Harkness, by his own admission, never stops looking for an opportunity. John's kind of wishing Rodney was around, because Rodney's good at pointing out when things are inopportune, and John's thinking that adjective applies right now, when they're stuck in an emergency escape pod with a leaky seal and no radio.

Jack's a little too close. A lot, actually, and John might never see it coming, but when it shows up he's pretty good at recognition. He licks dry lips. "Captain," he says, and it's a little rusty, but it's audible, at least.

Jack smiles, and Jesus, that grin hits him hard, tightens something in his belly that's already tense with adrenaline. It's kind of hard to breathe, and John can't even blame the lack of oxygen yet. He doesn't know what to blame, actually, because John Sheppard's had years of practice at keeping his gut reactions well in line. Harkness hasn't been around long, but he's been around enough for John to know it's better to keep a distance, because something about Jack gets under his skin faster than pretty much anyone he's ever met. Except maybe McKay. Well. Except McKay.

"Colonel," Jack replies. His eyes are very, very blue.

John stifles a shudder. He's not fooling Harkness; that grin slices white through the pod's half-light. John looks away, staring at the retreating space station, and hopes McKay gets the damn tractor beam or whateverthefuck working soon.

Jack is really, really close. "He'll get it working," Harkness says, and this time John can't lock it down fast enough; the puff of breath hits him right at the join of neck to shoulder, sending sly sparks down his spine. John shifts, restless. He's about to protest, to ask Harkness what the hell he's talking about, to pretend he doesn't know who Jack means, until he catches another look at those eyes. Jack might've said it, but John's not sure Jack believes it. Harkness is worried.

Except, and here's the weird thing, John thinks, shifting again. Jack's warm and the pod's getting colder and Jack's also kind of hot and John is human, and he drags his thoughts back on-topic. Except that John knows that it's one thing to be worried about your own survival and another to be worried about someone else's. John knows it, and if he had to bet, he'd bet that Harkness knows it too, and that right now, Harkness is more worried about John's survival than his own, which makes no kind of sense.

"Yeah," John says, for lack of anything else to say, because he doesn't know how to ask the questions he's thinking, but he does know McKay's the best there is. "He will."

Jack pulls back a fraction and just looks at John, and whatever Harkness sees, it makes him smile, close-mouthed and a little sad around the edges. "Well," he drawls, "if I'm reading this wrong, we're in for a few awkward hours, but I've always liked risks," and then, before John can so much as blink, Jack's kissing him.

It's been a long, long time since somebody's had his hand on John's neck and his mouth on John's with this kind of intent. It catches John unawares, slipping through the chinks even as he stiffens in shock, working its way in till suddenly his whole body just melts. He falls into the hot slide of tongue against tongue, the rasp of stubble against cheek and palm, the pressure of fingers against the back of his head, the sharp sting of teeth against lip, until he honestly can't breathe. He backs away, fighting for air, and it's a jolt of a different kind that the blue eyes looking at him, the wide, crooked mouth, slightly swollen and quirked at the corner - that it's not Rodney, after all.

"Look," John says, stumbling over the word, "it's not -"

"Hey." Jack cuts him off. "It's not you, it's me?" His tone is wry, but his eyes aren't laughing. John flushes and looks away, wrongfooted again, and reminds himself that this was why he'd avoided Harkness in the first place. "Look," Jack says abruptly, backing off a little. "I get it." There's an edge to his voice that makes John glance back over.