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campylobacterTITLE: "Bookends, or Six Ways 'Til Sunday"
AUTHOR: campylobacter
CATEGORY/PAIRING: Daniel/Vala
RATING: NC-17/Adult to PG-13/Teen, depending on the chapter
STATUS: complete
SEASON/SPOILERS: post-Continuum
ARCHIVE: Permission granted; drop me a URL if, for some reason, you aren't afraid to archive it -- I'll link to it from my blog.
GENRE: humor; romance: het, first time
WARNING: Implied bisexuality; language: f-bombs, the c-word... YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Don't act like you're hurt and wank at me.
SERIES: none
WORD COUNT: 13,182
DISCLAIMER: Stargate: SG-1 characters belong to MGM; any others are fictitious scenery and resemble your mom.
SUMMARY/SYNOPSIS/PREMISE: After an unexpected guest drops by, Daniel's apartment is never the same again. (The Home Crasher Trope meets archaeo-linguistics and pirate-goddess sexual mayhem, in that point of character development after Continuum.) Only enough plot to sustain the slap-slap-kiss porn.
Chapter 1/10: The Front Door Rattles (PG-13/Teen) [1137 words]
Late one Friday night, I'm transliterating Sanskrit and underlining potential Ancient cognates in the Rig Veda when the front door rattles and opens with a slam. Just as quickly, it slams shut.
I vault over the couch and draw my gun on the intruder, who'd already slumped against the door. Teal'c would've been proud it took about ten seconds, except...
"Hi, Daniel," Vala gasps between heaving breaths. Strands of dark, damp hair cling to her face; her clothing's grimy with dirt and blood. "Mind if I... stop by for a bit?"
"What the--? How did you--? Vala?" I set aside my weapon and kneel to examine her injuries.
She swats away the hand I extend toward her brow. "Soon as... catch my breath... I'll explain." She wipes sweat and gore from her face with the sleeve of her torn jacket.
"Can you stand?" I try to soothe her, lifting her to her feet. "We need to get you medical attention."
"Daniel, no," she protests while squirming out of my grasp. "It's not my blood."
Okay, that's not necessarily reassuring. I usher her into the den with a sweeping gesture. She takes a few more breaths, shuffles into the room, and falls heavily on the couch, directly on top of my book. I bring her a glass of water, which she drains in nearly one gulp after her breathing normalizes.
"You've books everywhere," she comments, pulling the book from under her. She squints at the text. "DEH-vah NAAH-gah-ree script, right?"
"Devanagari, yes." I snatch away the book. "Before we discuss the finer points of alphabetic recognition because of my brilliant tutelage, you have a version of truth to relay from which I must extrapolate a fuller version of truth." I wait with my arms crossed, hoping to prevent her from changing the subject.
Vala scowls, still managing charm despite her disarray, and looks at the ceiling. "Very well: Bored. Young Marines. Offer to go 'bar-hopping'. Chilly motorbike ride. Motorbike tavern. Abandoned in favor of young prostitutes. Ugly fat man. Horrid, inferior beer. Groping hands. Fighting. Property damage. Ugly fat man's ugly friends. Escape. Pursuit. Evasion. GPS device." She tosses a possibly stolen electronic gadget on the books piled on my coffee table.
"The melodrama in your elocutionary style undermines the concision of your plot, Vala Mal Doran." Teal'c might've given me the eyebrow for my dry imitation.
"I thank you for such unconditional hospitality, Daniel Jackson," she responds in kind. "To compound my humiliation, I must also beg cash of you to hire a conveyance back to base."
Her reckless combination of resourcefulness and vulnerability astounds me. "It's still a long hike up the mountain after a taxi lets you off at the highway gate."
"Fine then, no taxi. Which finger is it you Tau'ri use to 'hitch-hike'?" She gestures gratuitously, then pockets the locator and rises to leave.
"Ah ah ah!" I stay her departure by gripping her shoulders. "That's just asking for more trouble."
She holds out her palm. "Cash?"
"Soap. Go wash up." I turn her in the direction of the bathroom. "Unless you'd rather wake Sam or call Colonel Mitchell to drive you back at two-thirty in the morning, you can use the couch tonight and return to base tomorrow after I get my truck from the repair shop."
"Hmm... this evening's turning out better than it began." Her voice does that sultry... thing, and she looks over her shoulder with heavy eyelids while leaning back into my arms with a slow, unambiguous shimmy that goes straight to my cock.
Jackson, ya fell right into that one. And just your luck, while wearing sweatpants.
I push her away and walk into my bedroom, which I have no intention whatsoever of her ever, ever seeing. Whatsoever. "I might have some clean walk-of-shame clothing for you to borrow if bar muck and blood kill your buzz," I call back to her.
"Is clothing really mandatory?" I hear her unzipping an article of clothing right there in the hallway.
I preempt her disrobing by hurling a towel at her, followed by a spare t-shirt and, um, sweatpants.
While she showers, I secure my gun and check the front door for damage. A wide streak of stubborn, smeared grime mars the interior surface; it takes more environmentally friendly cleaning solution to remove than I'd estimated. A makeshift pick crafted from a wire cork cage protrudes from the exterior lock. While performing a meticulous extraction, I thank circumstance that my truck isn't here for her to hot-wire. As an extra precaution, I walk the perimeter of the apartment building.
When I return, the rush of water from the shower is silent, and the bathroom light's off.
I find Vala on my bed, lying on her belly, bare feet in the air, perusing Noam Chomsky's Syntactic Structures. She looks up as I approach. "Walls of books, books in your bathroom, books on your nightstand, books on your bed, books on top of books. Your home's a veritable library of congress."
"CON-gress," I clarify, emphasizing the first syllable instead of the last. "And, and... couch!" I point the direction with maybe more vehemence than necessary.
She makes a moue, tosses back her wet hair, grabs the book and slithers off the bed. She takes two steps — "Oof!" — and falls to the floor in mid-flounce.
"Hey, careful." I pick up my Chomsky. "That's a first edition."
Vala stands, letting the borrowed pants drop to her ankles. "How do you expect me to walk in these? They're too loose and far too long."
I am neither looking at her bare legs nor the way my t-shirt barely covers other parts, and rummage through my dresser for an old pair of running shorts.
She's already exited and is in the den, long legs stretched on tiptoe, raiding my bookshelves. "You must have pornography around here somewhere."
I throw the shorts at her. "Don't even think about disturbing me until I've had my morning coffee. I'll be sleeping with my gun." I return to my room.
"Don't fire it too soon, darling."
I slam the door. If I ignore her, not getting the last word doesn't matter.
Wait, shit.
The book I was reading is still out there. Okay. There are several hundred more in this room, some of which I haven't re-read.
It's about an hour later when I wake, having dozed to the reliably soporific chapter on apophatic formal doctrine from the tedious Gibson translation of Husserl's Ideen (the original German would've kept me awake) when the scent of unfiltered tobacco stings my nose.
I leave my eyeglasses and stumble back into the den to discover Vala and my elderly next-door neighbor sharing an obscenely thick cigar while they're playing cards around the coffee table — without having cleared off my books.
Next:
Chapter 2/10: You're Trashing My Place (PG-13/Teen) [1181 words]
Following Chapters:
Chapter 3/10: A Point of Resistance (NC-17/Adult) [1109 words]
Chapter 4/10: Two Doorposts Beneath a Lintel (R/Mature) [1220 words]
Chapter 5/10: How She Wears My Name (NC-17/Adult) [1358 words]
Chapter 6/10: The Precarious Bed (NC-17/Adult) [1496 words]
Chapter 7/10: Something Simple (NC-17/Adult) [1149 words]
Chapter 8/10: Choke and Throttle (PG-13/Teen) [1189 words]
Chapter 9/10: Dining on the Spoils (PG-13/Teen) [1306 words]
Chapter 10/10: 100% Down (NC-17/Adult) [2099 words]
Entire "Bookends" story on 1 page at Google Docs
NOTES: Props to my awesome beta-readers![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif)
magnavox_23 and hummingfly67 for patiently putting up with my glacial prima donna writing process.
I don't so much stand on the shoulders of giants as I grovel in their shadows:
Stow Away (also archived on AllDanielFic)
by Lisa Michellelmichelle599
"Bookends" was inspired by Lisa Michelle's treasure trove of trope; my favorite aspect of "Stow Away" is how a man with an advanced degree in philology was so distracted, he couldn't finish a crossword puzzle over the weekend. Plus: chicken!
eurydice, after
by synecdochic
synecdochic's virtuosic execution of technobabble as a tactic to delay ejaculation stands as the first (and best) use of linguistics jargon in 'Gate fanfic. This angsty, porny tour-de-force unequivocally captures character while describing a rather startling sexual practice.
AUTHOR: campylobacter
CATEGORY/PAIRING: Daniel/Vala
RATING: NC-17/Adult to PG-13/Teen, depending on the chapter
STATUS: complete
SEASON/SPOILERS: post-Continuum
ARCHIVE: Permission granted; drop me a URL if, for some reason, you aren't afraid to archive it -- I'll link to it from my blog.
GENRE: humor; romance: het, first time
WARNING: Implied bisexuality; language: f-bombs, the c-word... YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Don't act like you're hurt and wank at me.
SERIES: none
WORD COUNT: 13,182
DISCLAIMER: Stargate: SG-1 characters belong to MGM; any others are fictitious scenery and resemble your mom.
SUMMARY/SYNOPSIS/PREMISE: After an unexpected guest drops by, Daniel's apartment is never the same again. (The Home Crasher Trope meets archaeo-linguistics and pirate-goddess sexual mayhem, in that point of character development after Continuum.) Only enough plot to sustain the slap-slap-kiss porn.
Chapter 1/10: The Front Door Rattles (PG-13/Teen) [1137 words]
Late one Friday night, I'm transliterating Sanskrit and underlining potential Ancient cognates in the Rig Veda when the front door rattles and opens with a slam. Just as quickly, it slams shut.
I vault over the couch and draw my gun on the intruder, who'd already slumped against the door. Teal'c would've been proud it took about ten seconds, except...
"Hi, Daniel," Vala gasps between heaving breaths. Strands of dark, damp hair cling to her face; her clothing's grimy with dirt and blood. "Mind if I... stop by for a bit?"
"What the--? How did you--? Vala?" I set aside my weapon and kneel to examine her injuries.
She swats away the hand I extend toward her brow. "Soon as... catch my breath... I'll explain." She wipes sweat and gore from her face with the sleeve of her torn jacket.
"Can you stand?" I try to soothe her, lifting her to her feet. "We need to get you medical attention."
"Daniel, no," she protests while squirming out of my grasp. "It's not my blood."
Okay, that's not necessarily reassuring. I usher her into the den with a sweeping gesture. She takes a few more breaths, shuffles into the room, and falls heavily on the couch, directly on top of my book. I bring her a glass of water, which she drains in nearly one gulp after her breathing normalizes.
"You've books everywhere," she comments, pulling the book from under her. She squints at the text. "DEH-vah NAAH-gah-ree script, right?"
"Devanagari, yes." I snatch away the book. "Before we discuss the finer points of alphabetic recognition because of my brilliant tutelage, you have a version of truth to relay from which I must extrapolate a fuller version of truth." I wait with my arms crossed, hoping to prevent her from changing the subject.
Vala scowls, still managing charm despite her disarray, and looks at the ceiling. "Very well: Bored. Young Marines. Offer to go 'bar-hopping'. Chilly motorbike ride. Motorbike tavern. Abandoned in favor of young prostitutes. Ugly fat man. Horrid, inferior beer. Groping hands. Fighting. Property damage. Ugly fat man's ugly friends. Escape. Pursuit. Evasion. GPS device." She tosses a possibly stolen electronic gadget on the books piled on my coffee table.
"The melodrama in your elocutionary style undermines the concision of your plot, Vala Mal Doran." Teal'c might've given me the eyebrow for my dry imitation.
"I thank you for such unconditional hospitality, Daniel Jackson," she responds in kind. "To compound my humiliation, I must also beg cash of you to hire a conveyance back to base."
Her reckless combination of resourcefulness and vulnerability astounds me. "It's still a long hike up the mountain after a taxi lets you off at the highway gate."
"Fine then, no taxi. Which finger is it you Tau'ri use to 'hitch-hike'?" She gestures gratuitously, then pockets the locator and rises to leave.
"Ah ah ah!" I stay her departure by gripping her shoulders. "That's just asking for more trouble."
She holds out her palm. "Cash?"
"Soap. Go wash up." I turn her in the direction of the bathroom. "Unless you'd rather wake Sam or call Colonel Mitchell to drive you back at two-thirty in the morning, you can use the couch tonight and return to base tomorrow after I get my truck from the repair shop."
"Hmm... this evening's turning out better than it began." Her voice does that sultry... thing, and she looks over her shoulder with heavy eyelids while leaning back into my arms with a slow, unambiguous shimmy that goes straight to my cock.
Jackson, ya fell right into that one. And just your luck, while wearing sweatpants.
I push her away and walk into my bedroom, which I have no intention whatsoever of her ever, ever seeing. Whatsoever. "I might have some clean walk-of-shame clothing for you to borrow if bar muck and blood kill your buzz," I call back to her.
"Is clothing really mandatory?" I hear her unzipping an article of clothing right there in the hallway.
I preempt her disrobing by hurling a towel at her, followed by a spare t-shirt and, um, sweatpants.
While she showers, I secure my gun and check the front door for damage. A wide streak of stubborn, smeared grime mars the interior surface; it takes more environmentally friendly cleaning solution to remove than I'd estimated. A makeshift pick crafted from a wire cork cage protrudes from the exterior lock. While performing a meticulous extraction, I thank circumstance that my truck isn't here for her to hot-wire. As an extra precaution, I walk the perimeter of the apartment building.
When I return, the rush of water from the shower is silent, and the bathroom light's off.
I find Vala on my bed, lying on her belly, bare feet in the air, perusing Noam Chomsky's Syntactic Structures. She looks up as I approach. "Walls of books, books in your bathroom, books on your nightstand, books on your bed, books on top of books. Your home's a veritable library of congress."
"CON-gress," I clarify, emphasizing the first syllable instead of the last. "And, and... couch!" I point the direction with maybe more vehemence than necessary.
She makes a moue, tosses back her wet hair, grabs the book and slithers off the bed. She takes two steps — "Oof!" — and falls to the floor in mid-flounce.
"Hey, careful." I pick up my Chomsky. "That's a first edition."
Vala stands, letting the borrowed pants drop to her ankles. "How do you expect me to walk in these? They're too loose and far too long."
I am neither looking at her bare legs nor the way my t-shirt barely covers other parts, and rummage through my dresser for an old pair of running shorts.
She's already exited and is in the den, long legs stretched on tiptoe, raiding my bookshelves. "You must have pornography around here somewhere."
I throw the shorts at her. "Don't even think about disturbing me until I've had my morning coffee. I'll be sleeping with my gun." I return to my room.
"Don't fire it too soon, darling."
I slam the door. If I ignore her, not getting the last word doesn't matter.
Wait, shit.
The book I was reading is still out there. Okay. There are several hundred more in this room, some of which I haven't re-read.
It's about an hour later when I wake, having dozed to the reliably soporific chapter on apophatic formal doctrine from the tedious Gibson translation of Husserl's Ideen (the original German would've kept me awake) when the scent of unfiltered tobacco stings my nose.
I leave my eyeglasses and stumble back into the den to discover Vala and my elderly next-door neighbor sharing an obscenely thick cigar while they're playing cards around the coffee table — without having cleared off my books.
Next:
Chapter 2/10: You're Trashing My Place (PG-13/Teen) [1181 words]
Following Chapters:
Chapter 3/10: A Point of Resistance (NC-17/Adult) [1109 words]
Chapter 4/10: Two Doorposts Beneath a Lintel (R/Mature) [1220 words]
Chapter 5/10: How She Wears My Name (NC-17/Adult) [1358 words]
Chapter 6/10: The Precarious Bed (NC-17/Adult) [1496 words]
Chapter 7/10: Something Simple (NC-17/Adult) [1149 words]
Chapter 8/10: Choke and Throttle (PG-13/Teen) [1189 words]
Chapter 9/10: Dining on the Spoils (PG-13/Teen) [1306 words]
Chapter 10/10: 100% Down (NC-17/Adult) [2099 words]
Entire "Bookends" story on 1 page at Google Docs
NOTES: Props to my awesome beta-readers
magnavox_23 and hummingfly67 for patiently putting up with my glacial prima donna writing process.I don't so much stand on the shoulders of giants as I grovel in their shadows:
Stow Away (also archived on AllDanielFic)
by Lisa Michelle
lmichelle599 "Bookends" was inspired by Lisa Michelle's treasure trove of trope; my favorite aspect of "Stow Away" is how a man with an advanced degree in philology was so distracted, he couldn't finish a crossword puzzle over the weekend. Plus: chicken!
eurydice, after
by synecdochic
synecdochic's virtuosic execution of technobabble as a tactic to delay ejaculation stands as the first (and best) use of linguistics jargon in 'Gate fanfic. This angsty, porny tour-de-force unequivocally captures character while describing a rather startling sexual practice.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-15 01:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-15 04:06 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-15 07:08 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-15 07:53 pm (UTC)I frakking HATE abandoned WIPs, too. Wouldn't read 'em in The X-Files fandom, and they drive me crazy for Stargate, too.
I just got tired of wrestling with LJ's clunky interface in uploading all 10 chapters. The rest will be up tonight, if you don't mind your FList looking like I'm spamming you with 5 consecutive entries.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-16 12:23 am (UTC)Awww. . . thanks for your kind words. I'll try to catch up with this story, but like it so far. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2009-12-16 09:07 am (UTC)I have lots of plotbunnies for Stargate slash fic, but Daniel/Vala keep interrupting me to the point I have a backlog of D/V to finish and post. :-p They're too much fun!
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