What Did You Expect?  

                                                                                                                                               By:  bugchicklv   



CATEGORY:  Alternate Universe, Humor

WARNINGS:  Sexual Situations, Language, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Spanking, Rimming, Masturbation and slight power play


AUTHOR’S NOTES:  I can't do community links with WebTV (not that I have figured out how to do it anyway), but for any of my flist who might be interested in reading more of this AU team (SG-15: Col. Dave Dixon {ADAM!}, Lt. Col. John Sheppard {newly promoted on SGA}, Dr. Rodney McKay, and Martouf {the otherwise dead Tok'ra}), please do a search for the sg_15 community. I HIGHLY recommend the fics there, and not just cause MOST of my friends have written one (Ooooh! This makes my second one!). ALL of them ROCK and some are so ruttin' HI-larious I STILL find myself ROTFLMAO reading them MONTHS later!





They tried everything they could think of to degrease the grill so that John could cook the steaks. It was obvious that no one had used it in years.

"Well," Daniel said, "Jack was the last one to host a barbeque."

"Ah, that explains it," stated Sam.

"Explains what?" asked Mitchell.

Teal'c responded: "I believe that Colonel Carter is referring to the condition of the cooking device."

"An unhealthy method of preparing food. Do you realize you'll release toxic and carcinogenic materials into your atmosphere?" asked Martouf.

"Yeah, ain't it great?!" countered
Dixon. "HEY! I got an idea!" he exclaimed.

SG-1 looked on in surprise as Sheppard, McKay, and Martouf simultaneously hit the deck, covering their heads with their arms.

Dixon shook his head and growled, "Buncha pansies," as he ambled off into his garage.

McKay lifted his head to peek around and asked, "Where'd he go? And does anyone know if he carries any grenades when he's out of uniform?"

"I have a feeling he's always got grenades," answered Sheppard.

Satisfied that no explosion was forthcoming, they got to their feet and dusted themselves off.

"Oh. My. God!" stated a shocked McKay.

Both teams turned around to see
Dixon emerge from his garage, a cigar hanging from his mouth, wearing a flame thrower.

"Another little gift from Jack. Said I might need it someday; looks like he was right!"

Dixon then activated the device and aimed the stream of fire at the grill, where it rested against a bush following Martouf's last scrubbing attempt.

After a few moments, the bush was burned to dust and atop that dust lie one completely degreased shiny grill.

Dixon sauntered over, picked it up with a pair of tongs and laid it back on the barbeque.

"Never did like that bush anyhow," he stated and took a long drag on his cigar.

Both McKay and Sheppard snickered; Martouf smiled.

Mitchell turned to the rest of SG-15 and said, "Life with you guys must be like riding a roller coaster: Scary as HELL, but you can't wait to go 'round again!"





"He looks so proud of himself," commented a confused Daniel.

"Should we say something?" asked Sam


Teal'c answered: "It would most likely hurt Colonel Sheppard's feelngs and instill self doubt in his abilities toward future culinary endeavors."

"And this would be a bad thing...because?" questioned Mitchell.

"Pretty boy's a might tetchy when it comes to stuff like that. Pouts alot. 'Sides, it can't be THAT bad, right?"
Dixon responded.

Martouf looked at him as if he had grown another head (and not a particularly useful one, at that), and muttered a Tok'ra blessing that he was a vegetarian.

Dixon grabbed his plate and boldly approached the seriously smoking BBQ grill in order to sample John's handiwork. McKay cringed, but plopped one of the crunchy black steaks on the plate...an apology clearly written on his face.

Dixon whipped out his bowie knife and stabbed it into the middle of the steak. Then, he began gnawing on it a little. "Tastes a bit like beef jerky," he commented, and strode over to the table.

The rest of them (minus Martouf, still grateful he did't eat meat...well, that kind anyway) dutifully, if reluctantly, lined up for their portions. They also returned to the table, but all were so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Rodney, who was sitting next to John (and who wanted to continue having a sex life) ate a piece of his steak with a wooden smile plastered on his face.

"Delithouth," he told his partner, mouth full of food.

John smiled like he had just been chosen Miss SGC and tore into his own. McKay took that moment to turn his head and unobtrusively spit the half masticated meat into his napkin.

Sam leaned over to Daniel and whispered, "Mine is still smoking."

Daniel grimaced and continued trying to cut into his. He was only marginally successful, but the piece was finally cut free only to fly off his plate and hit Teal'c in the chest.


"I believe now is a good time to begin the sacred
Jaffa fast," he mentioned.

"Which one?" asked a confused Martouf.

"The one I just started," came the reply.

Mitchell, much more successful at cutting his, began choking on the bite sized morsel. Thankfully, Carolyn showed up at that exact moment and was able to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him so that SG-1 wasn't short a team member once again.

"Better late than never," she quipped.

For a moment, Sheppard looked ready to cry. Instead he shrugged, swallowed his mouthful and said, "I guess I did overcook them a little. But Rodney kept going on about E. Coli or somesuch, so I just wanted to be sure. I hope I don't get my "Guy Card" revoked because I can't grill well.

Dixon, still gnawing on his meat like a junkyard dog, piped in with, "Well, if ya didn't get it yanked when you started sleeping with your know-it-all girlfriend there, ya never will."

Rodney looked at him with something akin to contempt and sneered, "Gee, thanks."

Still coughing, Mitchell looked around confused. "What?" he asked.

Sam couldn't help it; she started giggling.

Daniel was more helpful: "You mean you didn't know? They've been a couple for quite a while."

Both John and Rodney smiled prettily.

A thoughtful, "Huh," was all Mitchell could manage. He turned to
Dixon and asked, "HOW can you still eat that?"

"Ain't bad," he answered. "Meat is meat. Hell, not everybody can be a GOURmet cook like me."

"Riiiiiiight," offered Mitchell.

Martouf came to his defense with: "No, really. He is an excellent chef. We never have to worry about taking many of those military issue pre-packaged foods with us on missions. David is quite adept at meal preparation," he continued adoringly.

Mitchell and Carolyn turned to each other and both silently mouthed, "David???"

Mouth still full of steak,
Dixon said, "Yep. It's all in the spices."

"I always thought that a woman's way into a man's heart was through his stomach," Sam stated. "Honestly, I would have thought you'd find some lovely local girl to cook for you."

Dixon smirked and responded, "Quickest way into a warm bed and a woman's knickers is to cook her the best meal she's ever had. She'll be beggin' ya to bed her before she's done with the appetizer."

"And now we come to the heart of the matter. OF COURSE you would learn to cook in order to satisfy your prodigous libido," Rodney sneered.

"Hey! Never heard you complain when it kept us outta our tents on some of those off-world missions," he countered.

"We are indeed grateful," Martouf offered, still smiling at him adoringly.

"We sure are," John snickered. "You do snore pretty loudly, Colonel."

Marouf quickly denied it. "No, he does not."

Dixon pointed his now empty knife at Sheppard and said (around a gigantic mouthful), "You oughta listen to the snake."

"He should know," Rodney commented snidely.

The Colonel smiled leacherously and waggled his eyebrows. "Willin' is willin'," he said and smacked Martouf on his behind as he stood to clear some of the plates. "I gotta rep to keep and a nickname to live up to."

Everyone else snickered and once again, Mitchell found himself asking, "What?"

Dixon is a famous Intergalactic Ho," Sam answered.

"Vala make take offense to that," Daniel said with a smile.

""Intergalactic Ho"? God, and I thought I had it bad with "Shaft"," said Mitchell.

Riotous laughter erupted. Mitchell looked around in amazement and joined the laughter. "I don't think I have ever had a better time of almost dying."

"HA! We have great parties of our own...Shaft," promised Sam.

"Indeed," said Teal'c with what ACTUALLY appeared to be a REAL smile. "The festivities celebrating your All Hallows Eve are always my favorite."

Daniel blushed furiously and buried his head in his hands. "Please, no body glitter, halos, or AC/DC this year," he muttered. "I don't think I will ever live down that table dance."

Again, the people at the table were overcome with laughter. All but Mitchell, who the reference was lost on; but he was momentarily lost in the wickedly delicious imagery Daniel just provided. He missed Sam and Carolyn getting up to start conspiring to plan this year's bash.

Mitchell shook his head to clear the naughty thoughts and placed his napkin on his lap in order to hide his "Angel Daniel" inspired arousal.

Yeah, he thought. I think I am going to like it here!





McKay and Sheppard finished straightening and cleaning Dixon's garage so that they had room to set up the poker table.

"Here," Sheppard said as he tried to hand Rodney yet another gigantic and heavy power tool.

"The closet's full, John," Rodney complained. "I don't think anything else will fit in there."

Just then,
Dixon entered carrying a huge cooler. "There'd be more room if you two'd come out," he snickered.

"While I do not care who knows, nor what they might think of, my sexual orientation, John is very serious about his career. And, I might add, as long as the policy is 'Don't ask; don't tell,' we won't be telling."

John chuckled, "Well, it is a career. I am not always so sure about the 'serious' part."

"Yes, well, anyway...you are certainly not one to talk, Colonel," McKay countered.

"See, that's the difference between you and me: I ain't...fairy. Me? I am a sexual opportunist. My plough ain't too picky 'bout where it's worked, 'cept the field's gotta be pretty...if ya know what I mean," he said with a leer at Sam and another waggle of his brows. "So, bar is open. I got 3 kinds of beers here...and some o' them fruity things for the girls."

Carolyn gave him an odd look as both she and Sam bent down to pick up cans of beer.

"Speak for yourself, Sir," said Sam as she flicked out her switchblade, stabbed the side of the can, put it to her mouth, popped the top and shotgunned it in less than 3 seconds flat. She belched loudly when she finished.

Dixon nodded and smiled appreciatively.

Rodney peered into the cooler. "Did you get any of the apple ones? You know I like those," he whined.

"Hey, get me a watermelon one," yelled John from across the garage.

"See? For the girls,"
Dixon smirked.

"Ha ha, Sir," came Sheppard's reply. "Has anybody seen
Jackson?" he asked.

Teal'c emerged from the kitchen where he had just finished the dishes. "Indeed, I nave not. I do not believe I saw him in the dining room as well."

"Nor the Master Bedroom," offered Martouf.


"...at least...not...earlier.
I could always go look again of course," Martouf sputtered as he hurried away blushing.

Dixon's beer hid his grin.

Sam glared at the Colonel. "You are lucky that I like you, SIR."

"What, you jealous? Have at him Sammikins. I think the snake prefers you anyway."

"Lantash and I...we have...a history," she said defensively and shotgunned another beer.

"Ah, yes. I do believe I read that mission report after I noticed an anomoly during your last physical," commented Carolyn, who also finished her beer.

"You know, you could always join us next time. Satisfy all interested parties,"
Dixon suggested.

"In your dreams, Sir."

Yep. A couple of 'em," he replied and loosed an emormous belch. It was Sam's turn to nod and smile appreciatively at the outburst.

No one seemed to acknowledge Teal'c's "He is not the only one to fantasize such." Most likely all were in shock, and didn't KNOW what to say.

So, like Martouf, Sam blushed and muttered: "I think I'll go help Martouf look for Daniel," as she hurried into the house.

Carolyn moved a little closer to Teal'c as she chugged another beer and then stated, "It appears that Colonel Mitchell is also unaccounted for."

*appreciative eyebrow* Then he handed her yet another beer and answered, "Indeed."

"Really?" John asked as he perked up and looked significantly at Rodney.

Sam and Martouf re-entered the garage.

"No sign of him anywhere in the house," she offered. I also tried his cell phone. No answer and I didn't hear it ring."

Martouf chimed in with: "His automobile is still parked out front. I do not believe that he has departed."

Dixon chuckled at the "departed".

As if on the same wavelength as the Colonel, Carolyn commented, "Well, at least he is not injured or dead, else I would have gotten a call."

"You sure about that?" He asked snidely. "What's he up to now...5?"

"6," Sam replied. "I think. I killed him last time," she ended perkily.

Carolyn choked on her beer. Teal'c thoughtfully pounded on her back.

"Well, not ME per se. RepliCarter did," she amended.

"Oh, Ok then. Well, are there any secret rooms that we don't know about, Colonel?" Carolyn asked jokingly.

"Only secret room he's likely to have would probably be furnished singularly with an enormous bed and have various whips, chains, handcuffs and other bondage paraphenalia," McKay smirked snidely.

"Ain't there,"
Dixon muttered behind his beer.

The way that everyone's neck snapped as they turned to look at him would most likely keep Dr. Lam busy with whiplash treatments for a month.

Dixon finished his beer, belched loudly again and rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on! Don't look so surprised...it's me! OF COURSE I would have a room like that. It just ain't in the house. But they...HE...ain't there. And I've got the only key."

Snickering at the faux pas, John asked, "Are we going to play or what?"

"Yep. Ante up people. Texas Hold'em,"
Dixon called as he dealt the hands.

"Sooooo," Sam purred, sliding closer to him--beer and knife in hand. "Tell me more about this room..."





"You have reached Doctor Daniel Jackson. Please leave a message after the tone."

"HEY! Where'd you go? We're about to start the game. And you're missing out on the beer...BELLLLLCH!"

"Yep, you're right; Sam called," Daniel said, voice low and husky as he threw the phone over his shoulder.

"Told 'ya," Mitchell replied as he snatched Daniel's sweaty naked body back to his own and kissed him passionately.

"She'll probably call again," Daniel muttered, his mouth full of Mitchell's tongue and his hands full of tight, hard, naked ass.

Mitchell broke the kiss: "Let her. Besides, I reckon
Dixon won't squeal," he murmured as his tongue swept down Daniel's tightly muscled torso. Then, his mouth busied itself with swallowing his hard throbbing cock.

Daniel's eyes rolled back and he silently, yet heartily, agreed.

Mitchell sat up suddenly and asked, "How DID you find out about this room, and how'd you finagle the key outta

Smiling naughtily, Daniel pointed at the ceiling where a red light glowed low and looked seedy.

"We're on tape."

Mitchell grinned, flipped the giggling archeologist on his stomach and spanked his ass. Hard. Daniel yelped but didn't complain.

"Awwwwww. Here, lemme kiss that better..."





AUTOR’S NOTES:  Partially inspired by Jayne and the "tape scene" in Jaynestown. Shout out to Lunachickk (you'll only understand if you read HER SG-15 fic).

I am particularly proud of this one, for some odd reason!


                                                          * *

Some kinks involve wax. Others include vinyl, toes...even chickens.

Sam's was bandaids.

So, wanting to fuck her so badly, he'd consented to doing anything she desired.

Chained to his bed,
Dixon would yelp each time she'd strip off one of those 56 bandaids. Each one got her hotter, and each one left him with a little less hair on his torso and thighs.

The mother of all bandages, though, was affixed right over his tattoo. That one, THERE. He'd been off-world for a while and let the pubic hair grow back out of laziness.
Dixon never got around to re-shaving it.

With a devilish gleam in her drunken eye, a deliciously naked Sam crawled up his body to sit across his thighs. Their sweat stung his newly denuded skin, but he had NEVER been so horny. And that was saying something.

"Are you ready?" she asked huskily.

He braced himself in the cuffs, focused on the phallic shaped lamp across the room and nodded.

Sam knelt up, grabbed one end of that bandaid and yanked mightily. When he rose off the bed she was ready, and let his momentum impale her.

With a wicked laugh she rode them both to explosive orgasms.

Several hours later, a curious
Dixon asked about her unusual fetish. Come to find out, Mark had given her a pink Barbie car for her 12th Birthday and she beat him up for it. The bandaid torture she inflicted afterwards was a surprisingly satisfying bonus.





Here in Atlantis, it just didn't seem to matter.

Yeah, Sheppard got an occasional ribbing from
Dixon, and there were snickers from some of the Marines. But for the most part, no one in the Pegasus Galaxy cared that he was sleeping with Dr. McKay. The International Contingent took it all in stride as another part of their lives.

There were heartfelt congratulations and some back slapping on the day that John proposed. You could hear Rodney's squeal from just about anywhere on Atlantis.

Dixon smiled from where he was bedding some random woman and said quietly, "About fucking time."

That next week was just about the most enjoyable ever imagined for the quirky Doctor's staff. No arguments, no declarations of superior intellect, no snark--it was heaven.

At the end of the month the Gateroom was overflowing with friends and comrads. SG-1 even came to bear witness, just as happy for them as the rest. Daniel's smile might have been a little hollow, though. Everyone knew how much he missed Jack and how sad he was that this was not their fate. Mitchell took his hand as if to soothe him; he knew he was the rebound, the replacement. But he didn't mind.

The gate itself was decorated with garlands of exotic flowers, handwoven and picked from the mainland. Weir even thoughtfully activated it so that they would be able to say their vows before the device that had brought them to each other.

Martouf graciously agreed to officiate the ceremony, the Tok'ra having no convictions against such unions, and stood before them smiling. He was proud to do this, and to be a part of their lives.

John's breath caught in his throat when first Beckett, and then his intended with Sam (proudly defiant by wearing her uniform) on his arm, started up the ramp. The love of his life stopped beside him and Sam kissed her friend's cheek then took her seat with the rest of SG-1.

Rodney handed his bouquet of matching flowers to
Carson, then tugged on the hem of his suit jacket. He had tears in his eyes as he repeated the words that Martouf spoke.

John beamed at him, happier than he had ever been in his life as he said the words that declared his eternal love and undying devotion.

Hastily, he turned to his best man though, when Martouf asked if there was a ring. He hadn't thougth of that! With a smirk
Dixon held out his pinky where the silver grenade ring rested. The relieved man yanked it off, but smile at his C.O., his friend, in thanks. Dixon winked.

Once Martouf had declared them joined the entire room erupted in cheers and applause. It really was the best day ever.

Rodney awoke when he felt John kissing him. He thought he tasted tears.

"Have that dream again?" he asked.

John nodded and choked out, "Mitchell was there this time--to console Daniel."

Rodney sighed and pulled the messy haired Lt. Colonel's head to rest on his shoulder where he tried to soothe him. They were overnighting at
Dixon's after the BBQ; and the couch, while big enough for them both, was not all that comfortable. Rodney shifted to pull him in more tightly.

"Never gonna happen, you know," he told him. "No matter what we want. Bastion of Democracy, Defendee of Human Rights, Liberator of Oppressed Peoples world and universe-wide dictating what YOU can and cannot do with YOUR heart and YOUR body. Ironic, isn't it?"

John sighed and replied with his trademark sarcasm: "'Land of the Free', my ass."





The conference room was in chaos; everyone, it seemed, was yelling at the top of their lungs.

Luckily, Dr. Carson Beckett strolled by on his way to the infirmary and heard the ruckus.

"What in BLOODY hell is going on here?" he shouted above the din, finally halting the argument going on between SG-15, SG-1, Dr. Weir and Dr. Zalenka.

"Thank you
Carson," Elizabeth said sweetly, then turned on her teams with a frown. "I don't care which one of you does it, just get to the planet and get the information or get the ZPM. With this Ori threat, Earth and the SGC need that device more than ever. That is, after all, the whole reason General O'Neill agreed to let SG-1 come here."

"I still think I should do it," Daniel suggested once again.

Sam agreed, wholeheartedly, nodding with an enormous grin.

"Yeah, I'm tired of wearing leather," Mitchell offered. "I'm with
Jackson doin' it too."

"Nuh-uh. Sorry. This here's MY turf,"
Dixon growled as he snatched the unlit cigar from his mouth. "If anybody's goin' in, it'll be one of my girls."

"Thank you...I think," Rodney told the big man. "After all, we ARE more familiar with the inhabitants of this planet and THIS GALAXY, for that matter."

"This is WHY I should do it. They're more likely to recognize one of you," Daniel said with a huff.

"Perhaps I should be the one to infiltrate the establishment and ascertain the whereabouts of the ZPM," Teal'c offered with his eyebrow arched precariously.

"Uh. No. Thank you for your generosity," started Dr. Weir, "but you have a very...intimidating demeanor. Our contact suggested someone with a more...inviting, suggestive approach would be more successful."

"As you wish," the
Jaffa responded, bowing slightly in acquiescence.

"I would like to volunteer," Martouf suggested shyly.

"No!" came the simultaneous response from most everyone in the room.

Dixon appeared to consider his request, but said what everyone else was thinking: "You just ain't got it in ya to pull off this operation Marty. Tend to be just a tad bit too...nice. And trusting. Liable to end up the man's plaything. Can't let that happen," he added placing a hand on his shoulder.

When he realized most of the room's inhabitants were staring at him,
Dixon cleared his throat and finished gruffly, "Besides, the snake might scare him off. Never know when 'Tash'll snap and demand to be heard."

"I only do that when I am continuously ignored or dismissed," the Tok'ra voice boomed.

Dr. Weir leaned over to
Carson and whispered, "That still never ceases to unnerve me."

Dr. Zalenka, who no one was sure why he was even there, suggested: "Why don't we choose by who is the most appealing, the most attractive?"

With a grin
Dixon immediately responded, "Cause I ain't doin' it. Nobody'd buy it anyway."

Snidely, McKay shot back, "Why not? By now I am sure rumors of your fame have reached even THAT planet."

"Woman, don't make me hurt you. Shep'll get mad and then I gotta beat him down too. And he likes that too much. I can't play act anyway; I gotta lead the mission. I'm sure somebody's got a dress that'll fit ya, Doc."

"I do!" offered Sam with a girlish giggle. "Black strappy little number. Doubt the shoes'll fit though."

Mitchell looked at her, confused. "What in the world did you bring that for? 'ESSENTIAL items' was the order."

"Riiiiiight. Like your whip, sir?"

Daniel turned bright red and Mitchell shut up very quickly.

Dixon looked ready to start drooling at any moment, so to spare him John finally spoke. With a roll of his eyes he said:

"OK, look. I'm pretty. I’m fit. I look good in anything. Or nothing, for that matter. And I always look like I just got out of bed. No one can resist my plethora of charms," he smirked.

Not one person could argue his points. A couple of them knew first hand how well his "charms" worked--Rodney being the latest and most serious.

With a smile
Elizabeth stated, "Well, I guess that settles it. John, you have an hour to prepare."

Lt. Colonel John Sheppard was going undercover in an alien bar as a prostitute.

They desperately needed that ZPM.

* *

45 minutes later, Daniel and Sam stepped back to admire their handiwork.

"Glad you kept the glitter," Sam told her friend.

"Yeah, well, I promised
Cam a replay of Halloween since I can't find the tape. What I can remember of it anyway."

She giggled, "I don't have it...but I wish I did!"

"Alright you two. How do I look?"

"Delicious," they both responded, and then laughed.

"Well, I'm glad you wore the dress, Carter. Don’t think I could pull it off the way you do."

Sam smiled at John and then physically turned him to look at his own reflection. He whistled appreciatively.

"Wait'll Rodney gets a look at this."

John's "charms" were displayed well in those skin tight shiny black pants. The two sizes too small purple silk shirt was only buttoned in the middle, showing off his pecs and his rock-hard abs. His hair, ever looking like he'd just had sex, was sticking up everywhere, the tips glistening with touches of glitter. Glitter also adorned his chest and arms as the muscles bulged out beneath the tight short sleeves. Sam had artfully applied mascara and a touch of jet black eyeliner, enhancing those baby blues into even more seductive bedroom eyes.

Delicious, indeed.

In the gate room, the rest of the teams were waiting to provide assistance and back-up for the man in case things went pear-shaped. And this was SG-15...things ALWAYS went pear-shaped. All were in casually stylish clothes but carried plenty of weaponry, concealed strategically.

When John sauntered in, no one could speak.

Zalenka, Martouf and Teal'c stared in shock.

Daniel and Sam beamed with pride.

The rest gawked appreciatively, with Liz, Rodney, Beckett,
Dixon, and Mitchell practically salivating.

John rolled his eyes and said, "You guys better be on the ball. There's no room in these pants for a gun."

"That's NOT a gun?" squeaked Mitchell as he eyed the man's crotch.

"And you people wonder why I love him," commented the very happy Dr. McKay with a dreamy sigh.

Afraid to say anything else for fear of beating Rodney and dragging Sheppard back to his own room, screwing the mission (and John) --
Dixon cleared his throat and ordered everyone to the awaiting puddle jumper.

Once on the planet and settled comfortably in the raucous bar,
Dixon nodded to the informant, the bartender, who brought one of the men seated at the bar a very large drink. He then pointed to John sitting apart from the rest, all alone.

Turning to thank the buyer for his generosity, the man paused holding his drink aloft in a toast. His eyes widened and he smiled lecherously. Slapping down some money on the bar, he jumped up off the stool and walking over the casually lounging Sheppard.

"Gotcha," he murmured into the button mic. John toasted the bartender, who had gone to considerable trouble. It was his information on the smuggler's habits and proclivities that made their entire mission possible.

The bar was actually the Pegasus Galaxy's version of Studio 54 and it was hard to hear the conversation over the music, but the waiting teams caught snatches of it.

“…Seat taken?”

Not if…pay.”


“…afford it?”


The man, whose name John ascertained to be Willy (which everyone snickered at) drew up the seat right between Johns thighs.

“This guy won’t even see it coming,” Sam remarked.

“You’re up Carter,”
Dixon said with a nod.

The beautiful woman stood, adjusted the very short hemline to cover her thigh holster and straightened her shoulders, throwing her breasts forward. The Lt. Col. Then grabbed the drink she had waiting and weaved her way over to the table.

As she got there, she feigned to trip and ‘fell’ against Willy’s back, setting the drink next to his on the table. As she made her apologies, she grabbed the other drink and stepped into the crowd.

“She’s good,” Martouf commented with pride.

With an appreciative smile,
Dixon responded, “Yes, she is.” He then watched her retreating backside sway in time with the music as she drank from her glass and pretended to mingle for a few moments.

The rest of the contingent did their best to listen to the conversation that continued.


…can fall…me anytime.”


Yes…-ness before…-sure…during?”

Said it…name your…anything.”

Definitely…your place. Finish…drink.”

The man gulped down his drink, this one laced with a sedative and a drug that would make him more talkative, and the pair rose to leave the bar.

“Let’s be alert boys and girls,” Mitchell admonished the teams as they rose to surreptitiously follow. Sam scrambled to fall in line behind them.

John and Willy walked for a short distance, and then entered a disreputable looking hostel, of sorts.

“Whew, all those stairs just to get to the top floor,” John said to alert the others to his location.

Ain’t nothin’ compared to the work-out you’re gonna get,” the man muttered lasciviously. With that, the team heard the door shunt firmly.

Lewd and suggestive sounds followed and since John wasn’t speaking, the team inferred that Willy had his mouth otherwise occupied.

And then, as things are prone to do with SG-15, something went wrong. The mic got muffled. Evidently, they had forgotten to plan for having the shirt taken OFF and buried beneath a pile of clothing. Either that or they never thought the mark would still be standing at this point.

“We’ve got to go in,” Rodney whispered frantically, clutching at

“That is inadvisable. There has been no mention of the ZPM and we can’t be certain Col. Sheppard has determined the location of the device,” reasoned Martouf.

“Agreed. Let’s give him more time,” commanded

A few seconds later, Sam giggled and suggested lewdly, “Looking like that I’d give him all the time in the world.” Shocked at her own outburst, she slapped a hand over her mouth.

The teams looked at her, confused.

She dropped her hand a purred, “What? Oh COME ON. If we all had the chance we’d tag team him till he begged us to stop…or for more.”

Horrified at what she’d just said, she looked at Rodney and apologized. Then her legs gave way and she looked ready to faint.

“Oh God. She picked up the wrong drink,” Rodney said looking at
Dixon. “We REALLY have to go in now.”

Coulda swore I did it right. Of course, with John looking like sex on legs I might have…please? Someone shut me up.”

Dixon unwrapped a cigar, bit the end off and lit it, then shoved it in her mouth. “That comes out, you’re toast,” he growled. “Carter, stay here. We’re going in. And we’ll beat it outta Willy if we gotta. Can you still aim?” he asked the sprawling woman who looked way to sexy with her skirt hiked up and the cigar between her lips.

Drawing her weapon from beneath her dress she set the laser sight dead on his forehead, then nodded.
Dixon grabbed her hand and moved the gun to aim at the window he hoped belonged to the room they were in.

“Alright, Teal’c you and Rodney guard the front door. Jackson, Martouf—circle ‘round to the back and make sure there aren’t any other exits. Mitchell, you’re with me. Let’s go people.”

Everyone took up their positions and announced their readiness to
Dixon via headset. Sam mumbled something around the cigar.

Outside the door to the only room on the top floor, the two team leaders waited, listening. When they heard a sharp crack and the subsequent muffled squeal they busted in, weapons drawn.

And burst out laughing.

Because there was Willy, chained to the wall, naked, a pair of ratty boxers stuffed in his mouth.

John stood, shirtless and shoeless in front of him, with a cat-o-nine tails in one hand and the ZPM at his feet.

“He made me KISS him,” he spat and then struck the man again.

* *

Later, after drugging the man with something they HOPED would fuzzy up his memory, the team walked back to the puddle jumper. That is, all except Sam, who was trying desperately to kiss Mitchell as he carried her.

Daniel laughed at his aggrieved sigh. Mitchell set her down on weak legs and turned to
Dixon, “Reckon you wanna take over for a spell?”

Nawwwww, he’d let me take over…like last time,” she said lewdly, shoving the half smoked cigar back into her mouth, mortified.

Everyone but Martouf snickered at that.
Dixon hooked his thumbs in his belt loops and looked for al the world as if he was contemplating giving her another go. Teal’c shoved his staff at Mitchell, wrapped Carter’s arm around his neck and hefted her over his shoulder.

“Wow. What a view!” she commented as her face hovered around the level of his ass.

Teal’c quirked his eyebrow, then he took back his weapon and strode purposefully toward the ship…one had placed provocatively on her bottom.

* *

“What do you mean ‘It doesn’t work’?” screamed Rodney.

Zalenka crossed his arms and said, “It’s depleted. Didn’t any of you bother to check it before bringing it back?” he asked.

They looked at each other sheepishly, except Sam who could barely keep her eyes open. Her hand, however, was neatly tucked into Teal’c’s waistband.

“No,” she offered with a slur. “It never occurred to me to check the remaining power level.”

“Well, at least some of us had fun,” Rodney threw snidely at John.

“Speak for yourself,” he responded in kind, wiping his mouth for the thousandth time tonight.

Dejectedly, the team dispersed. John ran to catch up to an irritated Rodney and wrapped an arm around his waist. With a sigh, the doctor laid his head on the other man's shoulder and steered him towards his room.

“Pointless fucking mission,”
Dixon grumbled to the empty room, his hands in his pants as he drew some items from his crotch. “Didn’t even get to use a grenade."

And he hoped the next mission they went on would be more fruitful. Or at least a little bloody.


                                                          * *

“Good God!
All of you? How in the bloody hell did ALL of you contract this?” a shocked Dr. Beckett asked the people in the room as he slapped closed another medical file.

Scratching themselves continuously, SG-1 and SG-15 looked at each other guiltily.

“Well, uh,
Carson. We can…well we think that…we surmised that it was transmitted…sexually,” offered a furiously blushing McKay who was unsure yet what they were suffering from.

“What?” Dr Weir exclaimed. It was impossible to say if she was appalled or just jealous.

“The aliens made us do it,” whined Dr. Jackson, who was not new to this experience. “I think.”

Quirking her brow,
Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the desk, then stated, “Oh. This is gonna be good.”

* * * * * *

“Ok, how is it that the entire galaxy…two as a matter of fact…speaks English—EXCEPT for THIS planet?” an irritated Dr. Rodney McKay complained as he watched Dr. Daniel Jackson attempt to communicate with the aliens.

“There are many worlds that do not speak the language of the Tau’ri,” Teal’c offered.

Martouf nodded sagely, his travels extensive.

“Still, it seems like Rodney’s got a point,” Lt. Colonel John Sheppard stated. “Good thing Dr. Jackson and the rest of SG-1 weren’t ordered back yet.”

Sam snickered as Daniel threw up his hands in frustration. “Evidently, they aren’t proficient in ‘Geek’.”

Ain’t that the pot callin’ the kettle black?”
Dixon said snidely.

“Bite me, Sir,” the Lt. Col. countered.

“Where? And can I rip off the bandage later?”

“That’s my kink, Sir.”

Teal’c arched his eyebrow at this information.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt your foreplay, but Daniel’s on his way back,” Mitchell announced.

“It appears as though they want us to follow them. And something about a ritual…or ceremony—I’m not really sure,” the linguist told them in hushed tones.

“What kind of ritual?” Martouf asked, concerned it might be sacrificial—with them being the sacrifice.

Because the aliens were all VERY primitive looking. Beautiful to a fault, each of them, built like brick shit-houses, tan and lean. And what they wore did little to hide their private parts. In fact, the women were bare-breasted. And they looked to be the epitome of warriors; warriors out on a hunt.

“I guess we’ll find out when we get there,” Daniel said with a shrug.

“Colonel? Is this necessary? If we can’t communicate do you really think we’ll be able to explain why we’re here?” asked Sheppard.

Dixon, ever the horn-dog, could only stare at the breasts. “Oh, we’re goin’. Jackson’ll figure it out,” he said falling in behind the awaiting group. The rest of the SG team members followed suit.

When they arrived at their destination the teams could only gawk. Inside the stone building were dozens of naked warriors, men and women, who were engaged in bathing themselves…and each other. Because in the center of the room there was an inviting pool, which shimmered and was bordered by lush foliage that spilled out over the edge into the water.

The warrior leader pointed to
Dixon and then the pool.

“It would appear that they wish for us to do the same as they are,” Teal’c said, his eyebrow crawling up to his hairline.

Happy to shed the stifling clothes since the room was steaming hot and they were filthy from mucking through a swamp to get here, Rodney pronounced, “Well, when in Rome…” and began undressing.

Hesitantly the others followed suit while a bewildered Martouf mumbled, “Confusing. Many places named ‘
Rome’ in the realm of the Tau’ri.”

While several of the members stood around uncomfortably in their underwear, the natives brought them food and drink. Curiously neither
Dixon nor Mitchell wore any, and what Teal’c had on left little to the imagination. A very BIG imagination.

Sam, in matching bra and panties, snatched the proffered cup and downed it swiftly—trying hard not to gawk at her teammates. When she finished she belched loudly and one of the natives laughed and rushed to hand her another.

Suddenly, everyone was very thirsty as anything seemed better than just standing around and none of them were certain they wanted to be the first in the pool.

Rodney, Mitchell,
Dixon and Sheppard drank from their cups deeply, following Sam’s lead. Daniel hesitantly took a sip then pronounced the beer to be similar to what the Ancient Egyptians gave the pyramid builders and downed his in appreciation. As he drank from a second, he said, “Or was it the Goa’uld?” Evidently his thinking was becoming very muddled. Shrugging off the confusion and toasting to Mitchell’s “that was very…historical, Jackson,” Daniel finished off another one.

Once the whole room appeared to be laughing and in good spirits, communication difficulties were forgotten, especially in the comradery of prodigious amounts of strong drink. Forgotten, as was the purpose of their mission.

The warrior leader pointed to the pool again, smiling. When no one responded he took Martouf, who did not appear to be intoxicated, by the hand and pulled him into the water. With nimble fingers he quickly divested the Tok’ra of the rest of his clothing then took a sponge and bathed the man’s chest. It was a very erotic image, to say the least. After that, many more warriors came forward to lead a member into the awaiting bath.

When a particularly beautiful woman attempted to draw John with her, Rodney lunged and grabbed his hand instead. Firmly he pulled his lover into the water and growled, “My job.”

What happened next was anyone’s guess.

* * * *

Several hours later
Dixon rolled over slightly and lifted his head off of its very comfortable pillow. A pillow that now appeared to be a breast. A breast belonging to one Lt. Col. Carter.

“Please, don’t move, Sir,” John groaned in complaint since his head seem to be resting on his C. O.’s naked crotch.

The big man did anyway attempting to make sense of the scene.

A collective groan could be heard and a dressed Teal’c and Martouf watched the naked group struggle. From their seats by the wall, both men smiled.

“It was an interesting ceremony,” the
Jaffa announced. “One must surmise that it was some sort of fertility rite.”

“You two weren’t affected by the drink…or the atmosphere?” asked Daniel as he sat up, groping for his glasses. When he got a handful of Sheppard’s cock, he decided he didn’t need them.
“I’m thinkin’ you owe him dinner now,
Jackson,” Dixon quipped.

Daniel sneered at him and shook his head in disbelief at the situation.

“The steam was naught but a combination of incense and water vapor,” Martouf offered. “But the drink was very powerful. I fear all of us succumbed to its…effects. They just happened to wear off more quickly for Teal’c and me.

“God, I hurt everywhere,” Shep complained. “And I mean EVERYWHERE,” he added grabbing his crotch.

“So do I,” stated a confused Mitchell. “What the hell kind of galaxy IS this?”

Oh dear. What did we DO?” whined Rodney.

Quitcher bitchin’ people,”
Dixon barked. “Looks like Carter got her wish,” he continued, grumbling.

“You’re only pissed because you don’t remember any of it either,” Sam snapped at the Colonel.

“Throws off his count,” snickered John.

“Nah…gonna settle on 5 new notches. Nice even, round number. Round, kinda like Mitchell’s ass,” he added with an appreciative glance.

“5 is an ODD number, Sir,” the new SGC member shot back. “And I’m betting you owe us ALL dinner.”

Instead of being chastised, the leader looked inordinately pleased with himself.

Slowly and obviously hung over, the team untangled their limbs and dressed…trying their damnedest not to look at each other.

As they gathered at the gate, filthy again and tired, that’s when they noticed the itch.

* * * *

“So, you mean to tell me these people DELIBERATELY got you drunk and MADE you have sex with them…and each other?” Weir squeaked.

Yep, she was jealous.

“Precisely” answered a contrite Dr. McKay who wasn’t entirely sure about having sex with the aliens…but didn’t want to split hairs at this point.

Quickly, the rest of the team nodded in agreement—desperately wanting her to believe it was the truth.

Secretly hoping it wasn’t.

Little did they know
Dixon was planning a repeat performance next hiatus for all interested parties…and he figured they all pretty much were--one way or another. He continued mentally figuring out how big to make the addition to the secret sex room. And how to invite Carolyn, of course. After all, the woman had nice tits and a firm ass. Completely ignoring any of the conversation going on in the room, the Colonel licked his lips in anticipation.

Struggling not to scratch the teams went off to their quarters. They were just glad Weir forgot to ask about the actual purpose, and subsequent failure, of the mission.

A few hours later Beckett practically skipped over to see Dr. Zalenka. He too, was feeling a bit left out and definitely jealous;
Carson was determined to get Dixon into bed…he just hadn’t figured out how yet.

“Look at what I found,” he said with a laugh and handed the test results to the other man. “Turns out the beer was indeed stronger, but it was also fermented with a natural substance resembling Rohypnol.”

Rohyp—you mean Roofies?” Zalenka asked astonished but with a grin.

“Indeed. Oh, and everyone is only suffering from a bad case of poison ivy.”

Evidently, that was one of the plants in the ‘lush foliage’ and no one noticed. But with all those naked bodies, they really couldn’t be blamed.

On his way back to the infirmary,
Dixon stopped Carson in the hall and asked for something to relieve the itching. With a smile the amiable doctor told the Colonel to follow him.

As Dr. Beckett rubbed calamine lotion on the big man’s broadly muscled back,
Dixon asked: “So, you ever had to milk a prostate?”

Carson saw his chance.

* * * *

Back on the alien planet the warriors sat around laughing.

“Can you believe they thought we wanted them to have SEX?” one asked.

They had congregated after the fiasco and sat drinking the same beer. Obviously, years of ingestion had built their tolerance to the chemical effects…and generations of exposure had rendered them immune to the itchy plant.

“It was a pleasurable show, if nothing else. My mate and I found it stimulating to watch,” offered one.

“As did I. Maybe we could ask them to come back?” suggested another.

“Definitely. I wonder if they’d do it again for us,” still another perked up to ask.

“At any rate, I think we should figure out a better way of telling visitors that they are unclean and that they have an odor,” the leader offered with a sigh.

“Agreed,” they all chimed.

“I mean, couldn’t they tell how dirty they were and how unacceptable that would be to appear in front of the council like that?”

“Maybe that is just how they do things where they are from,” stated one of the females

“Remind me not to go there,” the leader quipped.





AUTHOR’S NOTES:  100% PWP; absolutely NO PLOT so don't bother looking for one. Betaed by or_mabinogi and noneofyours. When I wrote What Did You Expect Part 4 several of my flisters voiced disappointment over the fact that it ended before the good smut. Well, here you go guys—I rewrote the first bit and added a goodly sized amount of pr0n. The red-ribbon was also a long-ago challenge from sunnyluvsmcshep. Dedicated to trikakeep and little5150d for their part in keeping me online; I hope they like it.


                                                          * *


"You have reached Doctor Daniel Jackson. Please leave a message after the tone."

"HEY! Where'd you go? We're about to start the game. And you're missing out on the beer...BELLLLLCH!"

Daniel threw the phone over his shoulder and said with his voice low and husky, "Yep, you're right; Sam called."

"Told ya," Mitchell replied as he snatched Daniel's sweaty, naked body back to his own and kissed him passionately.

"She'll probably call again," Daniel muttered, his mouth full of Mitchell's tongue and his hands full of tight, hard, naked ass.

Mitchell broke the kiss but continued to stare at the moist lips in front of him. "Let her. Besides, I reckon
Dixon won't squeal," he murmured, dipping his head to sweep his tongue down Daniel's tightly muscled torso. Reaching the springy curls he opened his mouth wide and busied himself with swallowing Jackson’s hard, throbbing cock.

Daniel's eyes rolled back in his head and he silently, yet heartily, agreed.

Mitchell sat up suddenly and asked him, "How DID you find out about this secret room? And how'd you finagle the key outta

Smiling naughtily, Daniel pointed at the ceiling where a red light glowed dimly and looked almost seedy.

"We're being filmed."

Mitchell grinned, flipped the laughing archeologist onto his stomach and spanked his ass, hard. Daniel yelped but didn't complain.

Smirking, Mitchell drawled, "Awwwwww. Here, lemme kiss that better."

Daniel reached back and grabbed Mitchell’s chin, keeping the other man from kissing his buttocks. Pursing his lips he whined, “But I was a bad boy, Colonel. Don’t you think I was a bad boy for letting someone watch us? Don’t bad boys need discipline?” he asked, pouting sexily over his shoulder.

Mitchell licked his own lips greedily and swallowed hard, nodding once to show his agreement.

Daniel smiled predatorily, but turned his head, tucking it face-down into the pillow. Mitchell watched, unable to speak, as Daniel arched his back, placing his ass up further in the air and giving him more access to his smooth, supple skin. Cameron leaned onto one elbow and palmed the firm muscle, kneading and massaging the soft flesh. Then he drew his hand back and smacked him, hard, once again. Daniel flinched, but restrained his cry of surprise. Instead he pushed up his behind giving Mitchell even more access.

The Lieutenant Colonel didn’t disappoint his lover. Three quick, sharp slaps to each buttock were followed by a gentle palm caressing the reddened skin, soothing the sting with feather-light touches. Daniel purred his satisfaction and Mitchell watched as the man’s breathing became more shallow and rapid.

Mitchell enjoyed the sight of the glowing skin, reveled in the heat emanating off of it, and could feel his own cock harden even more as Daniel whimpered in need. So he smacked him thrice more.

Throwing his head back and rising onto all fours Daniel growled, barking, “Again!”

Not one to deny Daniel anything, Cameron sat up and did as he was ordered. He changed hands to use a fresh palm and spanked him again, twice, in rapid succession.

But in the midst of delivering three follow-up slaps he realized that Daniel hadn’t asked for the additional punishment…he had demanded it.

Cameron finished up with two very hard whacks and quickly pushed him over, pressing on Daniel’s hips to force his burning ass cheeks into the cool sheets on the other side of the bed. Daniel was panting and his cock was rock hard, the tip dribbling pre-come; but Mitchell didn’t touch it, or him. He just sat there on his heels and watched as Daniel grew ever more frustrated, squirming in the sheets, practically begging for release.

“Yes, my archeologist was a bad, bad boy. But I don’t think I’m gonna let him off the hook just yet,” Cameron said with a haughty smirk, taunting the other man.

Daniel froze at the possessive term and tone of Mitchell’s voice. “Your archeologist?” he asked, incredulous.

“Yep, mine,” Cameron declared, staking his claim.

Rising gracefully and protecting his sore buttocks by lifting himself onto his hands and knees before his lover, Daniel slowly crept forward. When his lips were within an inch of Mitchell’s he feigned as if to kiss him, but pulled off so that only their noses rubbed once, twice. He then raised his hand, and with his palm resting on the Lieutenant Colonel’s chest he forcefully shoved him over onto his back.

Straddling Cameron, Daniel ran his hands down the sweaty torso. “Your archeologist?” he asked again twisting the other man’s nipples, one eyebrow raised in imitation of Teal’c. Daniel shook his head in mock disappointment and scolded him saying, “That’s very greedy of you. I think maybe you need to be punished.”

Mitchell smirked and rolled his eyes. “I can take anything you think you can dish out,
Jackson,” he taunted and twisted to lie on his stomach.

Daniel slid down the other man’s body; resting gently on his own heels he helped Cameron onto his hands and knees, caressing and fondling the ass cheeks in front of him with both palms.

His voice was velvety smooth and lower than Cameron had ever heard it when Daniel crooned, “You know, I also have a PhD in Linguistics…the root of that word being ‘lingua’, meaning ‘tongue’.”

“Oh yeah? I…I think I already knew that,” Mitchell answered, slightly confused.

Smiling as he ran his hands over the small of Cameron’s back and down his hips Daniel told him, “Well, I know how much you like to hear me talk, but let me show you how well I can really use my tongue.”

Daniel ran his fingers down the crease and spread Cameron’s buttocks, blowing his hot breath on the puckered opening he found there. He watched, fascinated, as the muscle spasmed and he smiled--he could see Mitchell’s thighs begin to quiver as he reacted involuntarily; smiled because he could tell Mitchell was unsure of what was to come. And he knew the other man was holding his breath in anticipation.

Tucking his head down between his lover’s legs, Daniel licked from Cameron’s scrotum to just above the crack of his ass with a gentle stroke of his wet tongue. He shifted his head and kissed the two little dimples, one on each side of Cameron’s spine. Then he went in the opposite direction, starting at the base of his spine and licking downward, his tongue flat and wide.

Mitchell’s hands fisted in the sheets as his dick grew harder, throbbing painfully. He clenched his buttocks involuntarily when Daniel licked him for the second time, but Daniel was ready. With strong hands he pried the muscles apart, allowing his talented tongue to circle and lave the tender flesh.

“Oh, please…Daniel…FUCK!” Cameron cried, exhaling sharply, and pushing back slightly.

Daniel drew back and spit once, forcefully, thoroughly coating the area with saliva, and then dove back between the taut cheeks. He licked up the wetness, and then spit again, this time stiffening his tongue, firmly flicking it and trying to work Mitchell open.

At this point Cameron was babbling incoherently but
Jackson caught the occasional “Oh, fuck yeah,” and “Don’t you dare fucking stop.” Spreading the flesh even more, Daniel darted his tongue in and out, alternately probing and licking the over-sensitive skin until Cameron was opened slightly and was completely yielding. Mitchell helped Daniel by setting up a rhythm and riding his lover’s tongue; and Jackson rewarded him by crooking that firm, moist muscle ever so slightly each time it entered without meeting any resistance.

Daniel, enjoying the nonsense that flowed unchecked from Mitchell’s lips, decided to tease him just a little more. So he pulled back and then began alternating his technique between a fluttering tongue that barely tickled, and wrapping his lips around the puckered skin, sucking hard.

The sensation was driving Cameron crazy. His arms were shaking and sweat dripped from his forehead. With a wild abandon he cried out desperately, “Daniel!”

Obliging his partner, Daniel grabbed Mitchell’s ass tightly in his palms and pulled him onto his tongue, driving in deeply over and over. He licked in circles, tongue buried as far in as he could, until he felt Cameron’s muscles tighten around him.

And with a howl that he was sure could be heard all the way into the house, Mitchell climaxed harder than he had in years. His hot come shot out in long translucent arcs to coat the sheets beneath him.

Cameron fought to catch his breath, and he marveled at the fact that Daniel didn’t even have to touch his cock to bring him off like that. He shook his head and collapsed face-first onto the bed while Daniel smiled, proud of his talents. Then
Jackson turned to face the camera.

“Hey, Dave? I hope that you'll enjoy that as much as he did. Hell--who am I kidding? Of course you will.”

* *

“Holy fucking---oh hell yeah, Jackson; did I ever,” Dixon swore, panting and swallowing hard as his own ejaculate spurted out hot and sticky all over his hand. He set the remote control on the bed by his hip, and then he reached behind him for the box of tissues so he could clean himself off.

He twisted quickly in surprise when he felt not rough cheap cardboard, but smooth, soft, naked skin. “What the--?”
Dixon exclaimed, his mouth hanging open.

“I came to borrow your DVD player. Rodney did something to ours,” John complained.
Dixon’s breath caught when he noticed John had a ruby red ribbon tied around his throat, and was wearing nothing else but an enticingly unbuttoned trench coat.

He gave Sheppard a questioning glance and then waggled his eyebrows suggestively as he wiped his hand on the bed sheet, “Wanna stay and play?”

Apologizing sincerely John said, “Sorry Colonel. It’s McKay’s birthday.”

“Oh,” the other man replied, disappointed. Hiding it well though, he disconnected the power cord from the wall, and handed the machine to his second in command.

“Do you want your disc?” John asked, surprised since he hadn’t really thought
Dixon would loan it to him. When he wasn’t trying to blow shit up, the man lived and breathed both sex and porn--so John wasn’t sure how Dixon would survive without it.

He was even more surprised when the Colonel told him, “Nah, you keep it. Consider it a gift for your girlfriend’s birthday.”

“Thank you, Sir,” he answered, stuttering. He smiled sincerely and turned, walking swiftly back to his quarters.

“Yeah, you’re welcome,”
Dixon called after Sheppard as he pulled out the VCR remote and turned that machine on.

And as the lithe forms of Jackson and Mitchell graced the screen once more,
Dixon began a slow, strong tug on his cock yet again.

“Good thing I have a back-up copy.”



                                                                                 ** The End **


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