(There's a pretty graphic picture down further on this page that inspired this entire flight of fancy in the first place - so if you're squeamish about that sort of thing - you may not want to read any farther . . . just a friendly warning.)

Have you ever had one of those completely non-rational moments when you swear you left your brain in a jar by the sink before you left the house? Well I'm smack in the middle of one and I'm wondering how the hell I got here and what the hell I was thinking. I better start from the beginning, make sure I get all the details right first.

Daniel and I are together. Hard as that may be to believe, considering the last, oh, four years . . . but we are. Thicker than thieves, he and I. We talk in this completely warped shorthand that nobody - and I mean that literally - nobody else understands. They think we're fighting. We're just leaving out all the unnecessary bits and getting down to the crux of the matter . . . whatever that is at the time. So there's always been this - I dunno - chemistry I guess you could call it, going on between me and him.

Everyone thought it would be Carter that I'd end up with, and I gotta tell ya, the thought of that just really doesn't suck on any level, ya know? Carter's just . . . there's not even a word for what that woman is . . . smart - way too smart sometimes, funny, kind, sexy as the day is long, beautiful to look at no matter what the situation. She is just an absolutely magnificent woman. Had a huge honkin' crush on her for the longest time. Then she got possessed by that weird alien thing that stuck her in the computer . . . and all I could think about while I was waiting for her to wake up in the infirmary was, "I'm glad it wasn't Daniel." Lemme tell ya something - thoughts like that rolling around in a forty-something-year-old heterosexual brain will damn near cause an aneurysm.

I freaked. I mean, I had a complete meltdown over the fact that I was, in all probability, in love with my very MALE, very STRAIGHT friend and co-worker. And I can be a cruel, ruthless bastard when I've got a mind to - and that's exactly what I did. It's no wonder he opted for the glowy existence on the higher plane . . . if for no other reason than to just get the hell away from me. Stuck me with that twerpy little bastard, Jonas. I'm still not over that, by the way. I mean, he earned his place at the SGC - tried to make amends every which way he could - but on a personal level . . . I would've just as soon shot him as looked at him.

So Daniel gets back - all blue robes and major brain fart . . . doesn't know me. Hit me like a punch to the gut. When I first turned around and saw him, it was everything I could do not to run to him and wrap my arms around him so tight I'd crack ribs. I managed to squeak out a "Daniel?" Even I heard my voice waver when I said his name. He had no clue who any of us were. Thought maybe he'd had something going on with Sam apparently. He told me later that he knew it was someone - one of the three of us - that he'd been in love with because of the crush of emotion he felt when he saw us - he just couldn't pin point which one. I swallowed a slice of guilt so big it threatened to choke me when he let that one slip. He was in love with me and I was treating him like something I wanted to scrape off the bottom of my boot. Damn.

We get him back to the SGC, get him functioning on a few cylinders again - get a few missions under our belt - and I can't stand it anymore. I've got to tell him how I'm feeling or I'm gonna explode . . . so I pick the weekend he's decided to move off-base. Offer him the use of my truck, tell him he's buying the beer and pizza as payment - you know, the usual stuff. We get him moved - I really did save a lot of his stuff . . . damn the luck - and by about midnight I'm the only survivor left. We're both practically out on our feet and when I turn to tell him that I'm bunking at his house that night, he's just staring at me . . . all blue eyes and shocked expression. He says, "You. It was you."

I was tired and sore and I'd pretty much shut my brain off an hour ago, so I wasn't exactly on the same wavelength - and he launches himself at me and we land in the middle of the sofa. Lays a kiss on me - I swear to God I could feel my toenails grow. Next thing I know, we're rolling around on the floor, bumping into boxes that are striddled every damn where, trying to suck each other's lungs out . . . and I just . . . caved. Told him everything - right there - sprawled in a pile of packing peanuts, I bared my soul and fessed up to every single thought and emotion I'd had for him. He just . . . listened. Laid out on top of me, his hands on both sides of my face for the whole sorry explanation, just lay there and listened like he was drinking in every word I had to say.

We got naked after that and got down to some serious exploratory sex - neither of us had been with another guy. I mean, I was so straight they could've used me as a ruler - but for Daniel . . . I would have offered it up on a platter if he wanted me to. And I think I pretty much did. Christ, it was hot - so unbelievably erotic and sexual - downright pornographic at times. We got off on each other - got off on being guys - got off on the sheer forbidden nature of the whole thing. I think I sprained my dick that weekend, I really do. I couldn't walk the next day - could barely talk - wanted nothing more than to spend every single second with Daniel letting him take from this sorry old carcass any and every thing he could. And let me tell you - that boy has a sexual appetite like I've never seen. He's a fucking sex party on skates, that guy. And the nastier the better with him. Loves it when I talk dirty - and he's no shy virgin either - got a mouth on him that'd make a sailor blush. I love every single word.

I have discovered that my hot, sticky, sexy, nasty lover is also the biggest romantic on this or any other planet, so for as much as we act like a couple of crazed weasels, we've also got a pretty high sap quotient. Told ya - he's got me six ways of Sunday.

But the most remarkable thing, and the thing that's in my brain whenever I'm with him, is how much he trusts me. Sara didn't trust me like this - not that I ever gave her reason to trust me - I could barely tell her where I went for months at a time other than, "I've got a mission." But with Daniel, it's like he's constantly putting himself on a ledge backwards, then throwing his arms out and falling - knowing I'll be there to catch him. And he's right - that's exactly the way it is. At no time is it more apparent than when we're in bed - he just completely lets go, emotionally, physically . . . doesn't hold anything back. Never afraid to tell me his fantasies or if he wants to experiment with something new - he knows he's safe with me on every conceivable level . . . body, mind, soul, heart, spirit.

Last night was one hell of a night for both of us. I'd gotten this new camera from my sister to hook up to my telescope. She said I should "photograph my dreams of space flight." If she only knew . . . anyway, it's this digital thing, must have cost her a fortune. So I'm futzing around with this and Daniel gets this look in his eyes - this dangerous, erotic look and I'm thinking 'uh oh.' We go into the bedroom, I've got the camera which he's ordered me to bring, and he starts digging around in his closet. Pulls out this white silk scarf - I do not know what or why Daniel owns half the things he does - and then he goes and gets this white towel.

He tells me to get undressed and when he comes back, he's not only got the towel, he's got this shoe string, too. We get the camera set up and pointed at the bed - even I knew that was going to happen - but then, he tells me to take my belt, hook it closed and then push it up his arms so they're trapped behind him, tie the scarf around his eyes and gag him with the towel. I cannot believe what it is I'm hearing, but just looking at Daniel - he looked so completely turned on by the idea I couldn't very well say no. I agree and start yanking my belt out of my jeans that are lying on the floor and when I look back, he's got the shoe string tied around himself so his balls are separated and tight in their sac and the rest of the string he's got rigged as a cock ring. It took every ounce of control I possessed not to just give a grunt and come right there.

He turns around, puts his arms behind him and I slide the belt up just a little above his elbows so that if he wanted to, all he'd have to do would be to bring his arms together just a tiny bit and the thing would slide right off. He sits down on the bed, I tie the scarf around his eyes, not tight, and he tells me all he wants me to do is lick his balls until he comes, and then just as the last drop oozes out of him - these are his words - as the last drop oozes out and he's all clenched up, shoot the picture.

I double check everything, make sure the camera's set and ready, get that cable release dohickey hooked up to the shutter so I can be well away from the thing and still fire it off. Daniel's just laying there in all these mussed white sheets, writhing and totally getting off on the experience - just loving the shit out of being open, vulnerable and exposed like that. So I lean down and lick one tight nut and he damn near comes unhinged. I know Daniel's got probably the world's most sensitive balls - he loves it when I play with them, but this is . . . he goes absolutely insane over every lick. He's laying there, humping air, having a nearly religious experience, and all I'm doing is tonguing his balls.

Imagine every sexual fantasy you've ever had in your entire life wrapped and packaged in one of the most beautiful human bodies you've ever seen - and it's yours to do with as you want - and it's laying there with legs spread and genitals presented just for you. Yeah. This was my afternoon photo shoot.

So I take a few shots of me giving Daniel's nuts a tongue bath, and a few without me in the frame, and every click of the shutter practically sends him into orbit. I can tell when he's ready and he's making the most incredible moaning noises deep, deep in his throat and then he just - lets rip. There's come all over his chest and stomach and he's clenching up so hard I'm afraid he's literally gonna pull a muscle in his back or his stomach or something . . . and I wait until just the right moment and 'click.' Got it captured forever on CD now. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen - Daniel in that state is . . . perfect.

Well somehow we manage to get over that one. Had a bit of cleaning up to do - I shot all over the bed frame and floor, Daniel managed to completely plaster the sheet with a huge shot of come, but after we'd calmed down and stopped fucking each other stupid, we managed to shower and go get a meal put together. And I think that's when my brain decided to go on vacation for awhile.

The phone rings and I take the call while Daniel's in the bathroom. It's an old service buddy of mine - met him during Desert Storm and we ended up getting posted together for awhile back stateside. He's calling me because he's gonna be in town the next day and would I like to meet up and grab a beer? I think this is the moment my brain slipped out of my ear and took up residence in the jar I was talking about before. I said sure. Love to. Look forward to it, even.

Vinnie Maluchi was never a danger to my absolutely frantic heterosexuality - I was fully aware he was gay, and it basically had nothing to do with me, so what the hell did it matter? He was the best shot in Special Forces - next to me, of course - and he was one crazy ass pilot who could fly your tail out of anything the other side threw at you. I was glad as hell he was on our team. What I didn't know until the night he shipped out for reassignment was . . . he was nuts about me. Told me in no uncertain terms, said he thought I was worth the wait and kissed me until I saw spots in front of my eyes. That kiss stayed with me all these years . . . and now . . .

Here he is calling me at about nineteen thirty hours, I've just been completely fucked senseless by the most extraordinary creature to ever grace God's universe . . . and I'm agreeing to go meet up with a guy who wanted my ass back when my ass was actually worth having. Like Daniel isn't enough for any ten men . . . women . . . people . . . whatever - I gotta go chase a memory? But in the back of my mind, it's there . . . that damnable adrenaline rush that comes from having your ego stroked. This is dangerous and stupid and I know it . . . I know it perfectly well.

Daniel comes out of the john, asks who the call was from, and I tell him it was an old Air Force buddy who's gonna be in town. He makes sure I've agreed to go meet up with him, then he gathers up his computer and his notes and heads for his "office" in the back of his house. Tells me to keep the noise down so he can get his report done and then we can get back to screwing like bunnies. No sweat. Not a problem. Nothing untoward going on here whatsodamnever . . . let's just move along.

And now it is 'tomorrow night' and here I am, sitting across the table from Vinnie. The years have been oh so kind to the guy. That jet black hair has a few touches of grey, there's a couple laugh lines and some wrinkles around his grass green eyes - but he's lost none of the looks he used to have back in the day - and he's looking at me like I'm the antipasto course. He's making all the right conversation, doing that subtle nosing around to see if I've got a 'little woman' waiting for me back home. And I can hear my mouth saying, "no, no little woman," but I can't get my brain to engage in this conversation because it's currently residing on Daniel's kitchen counter in a fucking mason jar!

It doesn't take long until the touching starts - first just a brief glancing stroke of my wrist or forearm . . . and I'm not doing a goddamned thing to stop him. He's getting bolder, leaning in close, looking in my eyes, seeing if he's getting his signals right. There should be a big, flashing red sign saying "NO TRESPASSING - PRIVATE PROPERTY OF DANIEL JACKSON PHD SQUARED" but there's not. I don't know what he sees, but he's not seeing any kind of stop sign.

I laugh and shake my head. I can't believe he still calls me 'Ace.' And that's when it hits me - no one calls me Ace because I'm not that person any more. I stopped being him on Abydos, when this floppy-haired geek stepped in front of me and saved my life . . . and then took my heart.

There's heat in his eyes now - he's pretty sure he's won the game. He damn near has because I've discovered I really love male/male sex and having a nice, big dick stuffed up my ass pretty much does it for me these days - in a howling, black-out, can't-move-a-muscle-for-hours kind of way.

"Ya know before, when you asked me about 'the little woman?' I should probably mention that were you to call him that, he'd knock your ass into next week." About fucking time I got some sparkage going on upstairs. What the hell was I thinking? Considering letting this guy fuck me? Jesus - what is wrong with me? I can be one sorry bastard . . .

I nod as understanding hits. This is what it is for him . . . just rolls in the hay with men he finds attractive. No strings - no attachments - no connection. Just traveling from fuck to fuck. God, he must be so incredibly lonely.

"Maybe not," I tell him. "But I know what I would be missing if I did this - and there's nothing worth that. Nothing." I know I'm not the one who's missing out on anything - he is. Poor bastard. I know he won't wake up alone tomorrow morning - I also know he won't wake up loved.