And once I realized there was no way to have Jack be in charge of the SGC, even for, like, ONE DAY during the necessary time period, well... I refuse to waste even one of my precious, precious 1300 words on Landry. *sulks*
Thanks to starglyph, l_jade, and emeraldsword for their suggestions to inspire the last few, incomplete months.
And coincidentally, emeraldsword, January might fit your bill.
Title: Circadian Rhythms: A series of 13 drabbles
Author: muck_a_luck, posting in brainofck
Summary: "Because Homeworld Security, as represented by the SGC and the Atlantis mission, is the gayest organization in the Western hemisphere, that's why." What if the employees of this organization decided to protest Don't Ask, Don't Tell?
Content/warnings: Hmmmm. Toys. Light bondage. Medical play. Schmoop. Partner betrayal. Spanking. Bananas. Felger. Kavanagh. (*squicks self*) Nothing too bad, though. It's only pictures, right?
Words: 1,300 - 13 perfect drabbles
Disclaimer: If anybody is planning a script like this for SG-1, I'm certainly not going to claim any rights to it. However, I'd be delighted to work in a co-writing/consulting/first-reader/advis
Archive rights: Absolutely none. My journals only. muck_a_luck and brainofck
The Matrix: Months. The Matrix is located here.
Beta: The extraordinary and wonderful green_grrl.
"Because Homeworld Security, the SGC and the Atlantis mission, are the gayest organizations in two galaxies, that's why. We should be taking a leadership role in getting rid of the stupid policy."
"You're never going to get anyone to agree to this."
"No, I plan to get everyone to agree to this."
The photographer looked skeptical.
The General just grinned.
"I'll line 'em up for you, Lieutenant. You just go and take the pictures. This is the reason you signed up to be a journalist in the Air Force, right?"
"Whatever you say, General."
General O'Neill grinned again.
"Are you sure, Major?"
"Yes, sir. I volunteered."
She interrupted before the Colonel could talk Major Lorne out of it.
"I wanted to do a shot offworld, with a Gate behind you..."
"Too dangerous in Pegasus."
"Sir, maybe a 'jumper?"
Sheppard took Lorne's gear off piece-by-piece. Lorne's BDUs puddled over his boots, contrasting perfectly with Sheppard's tac vest.
In the end January was a shot from the outside of the 'jumper's canopy, Lorne's dick in his hand, head back, eyes shut. Sheppard's own palm pressing into a bulge in his pants.
The inset: Lorne, on his knees, unbuttoning Sheppard's fly.
Jack eyed the rose-petals skeptically.
"I'm not losing you to some pointless stunt. If somebody walks in here..." Daniel argued.
"Nobody's going to walk in," Jack replied, voice surprisingly gentle.
"I'm not going to be able to relax enough to simulate post-coital bliss."
"Then let's not simulate it. "
February was a rumpled, flushed, bare-chested Daniel, rose petals in his hair, cheek resting on crossed forearms. His head was tilted, as he turned toward Jack, draped over him, his chin on Daniel's shoulder.
The inset: Jack on his back, laughing as a grinning Daniel wrestled his way on top.
"I don't know what I was thinking," Harriman worried. It was 0200. No teams arriving or departing for six hours.
Teal'c offered a sweet, reassuring smile. The General had warned her he never smiled.
"You were thinking of the injustice this system visits upon your friends and colleagues when they follow their hearts into the arms of true love."
Harriman blinked up at the big man.
"Right," he breathed. His body relaxed some.
March was Teal'c and Walter, chest-to-chest, gazing deeply into each other's eyes with the yearning of two souls separated by time and fate.
The inset: their kiss.
She sat in the canteen, thinking through the next set of shots. It was busy. There was a gaggle of scientists at one table, Daniel and his linguists loudly debating a new text at another.
The General sat in the corner, surveying his domain, eating a banana.
Daniel, continuing his debate, suddenly seemed to lose his train of thought, eyes caught by Jack and his fruit.
Jack smiled around its suggestive diameter.
Daniel shook his head, stuttering his way back into the conversation.
April was Jack and his banana.
The inset: Felger's face, and his expression of total, gaping lust.
Radek was kind of cute, with his petite figure and unruly hair. And he had a beautiful, blue glass dildo.
"This is pretty personal. You can't say this was a just contribution to the cause."
He shrugged in that philosophical European way he had.
She shot from above. He twisted his body to see it moving in and out.
May captured the arch of the neck and the tilt of the head, and the darker blue threads that wrapped around the girth of the toy.
The inset: A perfect profile, the toy in his hole, his fist pumping his cock.
"I've always wanted to try this," Lorne declared, drawing a spiral under Parrish's left shoulder blade.
She sat with them most of the day, in the intimate space of Parrish's quarters. Lorne applied the paste in intricate whimsical patterns.
"How much longer?" Parrish whined. But it was an empty protest. He lay on the towels, sprawled in a relaxed puddle, basking in the attention and the quiet.
June was a tight shot of Lorne's hands, moving lovingly over the newly dyed skin of Parrish's ass.
The inset: A full shot of Parrish's back and legs, covered in his lover's marks.
She found the link to SendSpace in her e-mail. She didn't recognize the return address and assumed it was bogus anyway.
The zip file contained a series of digital photos of two men in a cramped space, hands all over each other, seemingly trying to eat each other alive.
July was Gen. O'Neill and Lt. Col. Sheppard, in Class A's, crushed together in an SGC supply closet, resting forehead to forehead, staring into each other's eyes, panting into each other's mouths.
The inset: Hands joined in a tight double grip around their two dicks, slick fluid all over their hands.
"I don't get how this is gay, if I'm the only one in the picture..."
"Trust me on this, Sergeant."
"Seems like cheating."
"Every skin mag needs a centerfold."
August was Sergeant Siler, shirt undone to show a bare chest, pants riding low, a couple of buttons undone, just to show how his treasure trail was going somewhere. She posed him leaning in the entry of the workshop, big wrench slung over his shoulder, staring deep into the camera lens.
The inset: Siler arched back over the workbench, holding the wrench with both hands and rubbing off wantonly.
She slipped into the ready room just as the showers were coming on.
It had been a tough few days for Major Davis. His duties didn't usually take him off world, and this diplomatic mission had gone very much awry. Only the quick action of Col. Reynolds kept it from being a complete disaster.
The comradely joking in the showers calmed to quiet, soothing murmurs.
September was Paul Davis receiving the careful attentions of all of SG-3, as they thoroughly soaped him from head to toe.
The inset: Two strong, possessive hands, fingers splayed in the suds across his chest.
"Lieutenant, I find the fetish for medical restraints frankly quite ... I mean ..."
Dr. Beckett trailed off into shocked silence as he pulled back the curtain.
Sheppard lay helpless, flimsy hospital gown falling open across his naked body. Chuck was perched on top of him. Their mouths were sealed together as if their kiss would save the entire galaxy from the Wraith.
"You were saying, Doctor?" she asked.
October had a bit of a mad scientist feel, as Beckett pushed Sheppard's thighs apart with latex-clad hands, and Chuck, dressed in mask and surgical gown, applied clamps to defenseless nipples.
Rodney stormed into Sheppard's quarters.
"Are you insane? What the hell was this, Sheppard? Some sort of professional self-destruction?"
Sheppard turned to his physicist in surprise.
"Oh, don’t give me that look! If the information is on a computer I can get it. Do you think some photographer can keep me out of her files? Please."
"And I note, your penchant for bonking everyone with a heartbeat is in clear evidence."
"Hey! Just two..."
November was Sheppard over Rodney's lap, a sharp handprint visible on an abused buttcheek.
The inset: Brutal hands binding a hard cock in leather and steel.
The civilians were in morning attire, the military personnel in Class As. It was incredibly hard to get them to behave for the formal shot.
Then it was a free-for-all.
December was a panoramic view of the crowded Gateroom. Sheppard and O'Neill standing proudly at the top of the ramp, arms around their men. Though Sheppard stood a bit awkwardly. Siler had Kavanagh dipped back, fist around his pony tail, tongue down his throat; Reynolds had his hand down Davis' pants; Caldwell's face was buried in Zelenka's crotch. Groping, necking and disheveled formal wear were universal.
Inset: The formal shot.
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