Introductions 4
by
Angelise
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“It’s okay, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Fierce, demanding kisses left a trail of heat and moisture from his chest to his belly and down to his groin. Jethro moaned as the emotional agony of his most recent case temporarily loosened its hold on his heart and mind.
“Oh god, I need---”
Words failed him and his eyes helplessly shuttered closed when the first touch of scorching hot breath caressed his erection. His lungs expanded and held, holding precious air hostage while he anxiously anticipated the simple contact that would feed the restless hunger surging through his veins.
“Jack, please. Your mouth, I need---”
Jethro carded his fingers through the tousled strands of hair brushing against his groin. Tightening his grip, he guided the mouth that was torturing him to the one spot that wept with unbearable need.
“Please, Jack. I love you. I need you. Suc---”
“THAT’S IT!”
Sharp teeth viciously marked the skin of his underbelly, shocking Jethro out of his most cherished fantasy. He took a moment to give thanks that the teeth hadn’t attacked more vulnerable flesh, but that brief respite ended when his shaft was jerked up hard and twisted. Stars exploded behind his eyeballs as excruciating pain set every nerve ending in his body on fire.
“You fucking faggot. How dare you keep calling me by HIS name!”
His balls were next in line to suffer the brunt of his lapse in control; and if Jethro thought the pain was bad before, what followed was pure agony. The long, tapered fingernails of his wife dug into his scrotal sac, piercing the tender flesh while at the same time attempting to flatten both his testicles against his perineum. The entire known universe imploded inside his brain, its demise serenaded by Jethro’s roar of pain and Melissa’s scream of outrage.
“Get OUT of this bed. Get OUT of this house. AND . . . get OUT of my life,” his wife of six months yelled, her shrill, high-pitch voice threatening to shatter the glass windows of their bedroom. “Get your queer ass out of here, Jethro, and be thankful I don’t tell my daddy about this little charade of yours. God, I can’t believe I fell for your pathetic act.”
Melissa’s foot connected with his ass, and Jethro went off the edge of the bed, slamming his face and his bruised penis into the unyielding surface of the room’s hardwood flooring. “FUCK!” he yelped and quickly rolled to his side while groaning and cupping his abused genitals. Forcing his eyes open, he located his ranting wife and instinctively scooted away from the insane jealousy he could read in her eyes.
“You want fuck? I’ll give you fuck.” Melissa stalked Jethro across the room. “I’ll give you a fucking divorce so that you can go fuck whoever the hell this bastard Jack is.”
Jethro attempted to scramble to his feet but before he could do so, Melissa again kicked him in the ass. This time Jethro didn’t roll with the punch. Instead, he grabbed his wife’s foot and expertly brought her down. Ignoring the pain in his balls, he straddled Melissa’s waist and captured her flying fists. One connected with his mouth before he could pin them over her head, and he grinned victoriously when drops of blood from his spilt lip stained her too perfect features. When one fat droplet hit her open mouth dead center, Melissa went ballistic, and it was all Jethro could do to keep the bucking redhead pinned to the floor.
Obscenities aimed at him and at Jack bounced off the walls and the ceiling, and still Jethro held his peace. He could have ranted and raved right back at his wife but that wouldn’t have solved their problems, nor would it save their marriage -- a marriage that had been a mistake from the very beginning.
Closing his eyes, Jethro brought to mind Jack’s face and even though it galled him to the max, he knew he had been wrong to ignore the man’s advice. He should never have married Melissa. Hiding from his problems in the arms of a person he could never love with his entire heart was not the answer. Three lives, four if he counted Jack’s, had been ruined because of his refusal to deal with his homosexuality. If he had listened to Jack, had embraced the love, the life that had been freely offered to him by the older man, maybe his track record of failed relationships would have halted at two.
Unfortunately ‘what ifs’ were no longer an option for Jethro. Jack had made it crystal clear at their last meeting that his offer was a one time deal. Until Jethro came to grips with the truth of his sexuality, Jack had no interest whatsoever in pursuing a relationship with him. According to Ducky, Jack had loved and lost two very important people in his life, and Jethro’s rejection had been the last straw, turning the Air Force Colonel into a very embittered man.
Fingernails clawing at his hands brought Jethro’s attention back to his current problem, and he carefully lifted himself off of his wife’s body, making sure he kept hold of her arms until the very last second. Braced with his back against the wall, Jethro watched Melissa scramble to her feet and stomp around the room screaming obscenities at him. Finally she ran out of steam verbally and with a lethal glare aimed in his direction, yanked a suitcase out of the closet and began to fill it erratically, not with her clothes but with his.
Getting gingerly to his feet, Jethro walked across the room and rescued his favorite shirt from the red-tipped talons shredding it to pieces. “I’m sorry, Melissa,” he said softly, gathering the petite woman in his arms. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“Bullshit.”
“Melissa, I’m ser--”
“BULLSHIT!”
Melissa ripped free of his embrace and slapped the hell out of him. “You were a faggot the day we met. Hell, you called me Jack the first time we made love. THE VERY FIRST TIME, you asshole!”
Jethro rubbed his bruised jaw, unable to believe he had done what Melissa claimed he did. Yes, he had wanted Jack, both physically and emotionally, but those feelings were firmly locked away the day of his marriage and had only recently resurfaced because his control had been seriously threatened due to the case he was currently investigating.
Five year-old, Chloe McAdams, the daughter of a naval commander, had been kidnapped, abused and beaten to death. All cases involving children affected Jethro deeply. This one was troubling him more so than the others simply because, despite his team’s best efforts, the sick bastard that had murdered Chloe was still at large and according to Stan, was more than likely planning another kidnapping. No matter how hard he tried, Jethro just couldn’t seem to get the image of Chloe’s mutilated body out of his head, and his failure in catching her murderer was starting to affect every aspect of his life.
“Melissa, you don’t understand. I---”
“I understand perfectly. You’re as queer as a three dollar bill, and it’s this Jack you want sucking your dick, not the woman you pledged to love, honor and respect.”
Jethro reached for his wife again and got a punch in the gut instead. “What the hell was that for?”
“What the hell? What the HELL?” Melissa drew back her hand but at the last minute dropped it to her side and assumed a defeated posture. “Get out, Jethro. Just please get out of my sight.”
Jethro silently stared at his soon to be ex-wife for several moments. Her tears should have upset him, set his conscious on a major guilt trip but they didn’t. This time around, he felt . . . Jethro rubbed at his chest in confusion. He felt absolutely nothing. It was if he was dead inside, completely dead inside.
Pausing at the door, Jethro looked back at Melissa and apologized one last time. “I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.”
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Jethro slowly unfolded himself from the corner of the darkened garage he had been sitting in for the last couple of hours. “Shit. Who in the hell can that be?” he asked his ever faithful companion, which sadly just happened to be the unfinished skeleton of the boat he was building by hand. Receiving no answer, Jethro kicked aside the empty whiskey bottle that were obstructing his path to whoever it was pounding on his garage door at 3am in the morning.
A hair-mussed, wrinkle-clothed Ducky was discovered standing on his doorstep, shielding a yawn that was threatening to split his face in half.
“What in God’s name are you doing here?” Jethro spit out as he turned on the overhead light.
“Melissa called,” Ducky offered in explanation. “Told me to come get you.” The bespectacled ME took a seat on Jethro’s workbench and ran a hand through his hair. “Could you enlighten me as to the reason why your wife would do such a thing?”
Jethro slammed the door shut and grabbed another bottle of whiskey on the way back to his corner. “Seems my brain doesn’t know the difference between the woman I married and the man I rejected.”
“Oh my.”
“You can say that again.”
Jethro resumed his seat and took a large swig of whiskey before looking up and catching Ducky's eye. “According to Melissa, I’ve been calling her Jack from day one.”
Sighing heavily, Ducky took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. “You, my friend, are in deep shit,” he replied with a rueful grin on his face.
“Old man, you certainly have a way with words.”
Ducky brushed aside Jethro’s sarcasm with a wave of his glasses. “Speaking of old men, does Melissa’s father know about this new state of affairs?”
“Oh I’m sure daddy dearest will soon know every sordid detail of my unbelievable duplicity.” Jethro examined the label on his bottle of whiskey and contemplated the hell Senator Grant could make of his life. Not that he cared. His life was pretty much in the toilet at the moment with no hope of getting any better.
Closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the wall behind him, Jethro allowed himself a second to wallow in the misery currently swamping his heart. His emotions were a mess, and the only consolation he could find was in the memory of his brief encounter with Jack O’Neill.
Forgetting his audience, Jethro set the bottle of whiskey aside and wrapped his arms around himself, imagining it was Jack hugging him, Jack touching him, Jack loving him with his searing mouth and talented hands. Jethro was caught by surprise when his body reacted violently to the images playing in his mind. Without thinking, he dropped a hand between his legs, desperately seeking the comfort of another hand -- one that had touched him with extreme gentleness and had for a brief time eased the torment that had plagued him for years.
The name of his almost lover shattered the silence at the same moment his body spilled its release, both in the form of tears and ejaculate. Suddenly remembering where he was, Jethro hung his head and hoped the astute pair of eyes watching him did not see his tears.
“Sorry, Ducky,” he mumbled. “Forgot I wasn’t alone.”
Jethro swiped at his cheeks before looking over at his friend. “What with this case I’m working, Melissa, Jack, my control’s not what it should be.”
“You’re human, Jethro. Not to mention, you are my friend. Don’t be embarrassed to show your emotions in front of me.” Ducky lifted the hand that was still holding his glasses. “Besides, I wasn’t wearing my spectacles. Didn’t see a single thing.”
The older man shared a smile with Jethro, a smile that clearly indicated he understood what Jethro was going through. “Thanks, Duck.”
“No problem.”
Pushing the whiskey bottle away with his foot, Jethro closed his eyes again and took several deep cleansing breaths. For the first time in his life he decided he would ignore his brain and listen to his heart, instead. It told him to embrace his feelings, to accept who he really was. It also told him to get off his butt and go find Jack as quickly as possible, preferably naked and in bed and ready to fuck Jethro into orgasmic heaven.
The image of a bare-ass Jack tied to a bed completely at his mercy had Jethro grinning from ear to ear. He was on the verge of pleading with Ducky for Jack’s address when a torn scrap of paper appeared magically before his eyes.
“Jack will probably kill me for giving you this, but your emotional health is worth the risk of an untimely death.”
Jethro squinted at the piece of paper, moving it close then holding it at arm’s length. The chicken scratch that passed for Ducky's handwriting remained out of focus no matter where he held the paper.
“Jethro, you really need to consider having your eyes examined,” Ducky suggested.
“Nothing wrong with my eyesight. Not enough light in here, that’s all.” Jethro ignored the roll of the eyes that greeted his response, holding up the piece of paper, instead. “What is it?”
“Jack’s home address.”
Dropping his gaze to the cement floor between his feet, Jethro clutched the paper to his chest and whispered a question he wasn’t sure he wanted answered. “Do you think . . . do you think Jack would give a born-again gay a second chance?”
Comforting hands gripped his shoulders and assisted him to his feet.
“Go to him, Jethro. Apologize for being an ass, and I am almost sure Jack will forgive you. Of course, I must warn you of his love for saying ‘I told you so.’ Jack has no shame when it comes to this and will, no doubt, go out of his way to remind you of your error in judgment.”
Jethro collected his suitcase and followed Ducky out of the garage. “As long as he does it while we’re naked and tangled in the semen-soaked sheets, I don’t care.”
“Too much information, Jethro. Way too much information.”
End of chapter 4
Author's Chapter Notes:
Jethro is rudely awakened to the truth
Chapter End Notes:
This was written mid-second season. Please remember this when you read the history I created for Jethro. It does not gel with what we know now.