Tenaciously, the shorter of the two men continued, "You don't see the way they look at each other when they hit the ramp after a mission goes FUBAR." He rinsed off his brush, hung it up to dry, and stepped aside. "They keep checking each other out to make sure everything's okay. You know?"
"They're friends, Norm, that's all. On the same team."
Norman wiped his glasses on the corner of his towel and slipped them onto his face. Using his hands, he quickly smoothed down his short hair. He was ready to go.
"I'm tellin' ya, Dave, those two are goin' at it like bunnies. I oughta know." He smirked at Dave and waggled his eyebrows. "You want scrambled eggs or fried?"
Dave sighed at his partner's quick change of subject, but refrained from making any further comment on Colonel O'Neill, and who he was or was not doing it with. "Scrambled. And give it wings, or we are gonna be so late!"
"What about that time O'Neill carried the doctor through to that Goa'uld pleasure palace? He looked like his dog had just died."
They were in Dave's car, heading up the mountain, and any fleeting hope that the sandy haired man had harbored that the subject was dropped had long since evaporated.
"It was his best friend who had died, you idiot!" he protested loudly, giving his lover a sideways glance but otherwise keeping his attention on the road.
"You know what I mean. I'm telling ya, it goes way deeper than mere friendship." Norman popped a stick of gum into his mouth and began chewing.
"You're insane," muttered Dave under his breath.
They signed in at the final checkpoint and got into the elevator. Norman hit the control pad for Level 28.
Dave stuffed his hands into his pockets, staring blankly at the closing doors. He just knew there was no way Norman was giving up on this conversation. The man could be like a terrier with an old shoe when he got started. Everyone on base thought he was so quiet.
Well, Dave could tell them a different story!
"Haven't you ever caught him checking out the doctor's ass?" asked Norman, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
Dave shrugged. When it came to SG-1, Dave spent too much of his time with them being blown half way across the room to notice anything like that. Of course, now that the subject had been raised, he doubted he'd be able to STOP looking.
Norman was on a roll. Ignoring his lover's silence, he continued, "He's always looking. And touching. He touches way more than normal."
"He's an affectionate guy?"
"Oh, c'mon, Dave, you're bound to have seen stuff." Like a spider finding a big, juicy fly trapped in its web, Norman moved in for the kill. "You work with them more than I do. Come on? Spill!"
Dave stood up a little straighter as the elevator reached its destination. The doors whooshed open, and they stepped into the corridor.
"Jeez, Norm, don't you have ANY respect for 'don't ask'?" Dave fervently hoped that his partner would drop this stupidity now that they were under the security camera's scrutiny, but no such luck.
"Not much. Spill."
With a sigh of frustration, Dave pulled Norman into the nearest storage room and closed the door.
"If I tell you something, then will you shut up about it?" he asked quietly.
Norman's answering grin nearly split his face in half.
With a big sigh and a roll of his eyes, Dave started, "Well, there was this one time in the infirmary?"
"One time?" Norman spluttered. "Dave, you spend 60% of your working life in there. If I didn't know better, I'd say you have the hots for one of Fraiser's nurses."
"Do you wanna hear this or not?"
"Sorry, go on." Norman leaned in and offered a small kiss of encouragement to his scowling lover.
Leaning back against the door, Dave took another deep breath and continued. "Anyhoo, there was this one time, when Doctor Jackson was in a coma, and the colonel was sitting by his bed. I was two beds over. I had a broken ankle and the pain meds had started t'wear off, and I don't think the colonel even remembered I was there. Frasier'd been examining me earlier and forgot to open the curtains again. So anyway, O'Neill was talkin' to the doctor, real low, like they tell you to do with coma victims."
Norman leaned in closer, eyes like saucers. "So what was he saying? Was he confessing his undying love? Telling Daniel what he was gonna do with him once he woke up? Talkin' dirty? What?"
"Actually, he was reciting the scores from hockey games the doctor had missed."
"The romantic fool," Norman drawled sarcastically.
"Norm, I really think you're projecting your own 'gayness' onto people around us. Next thing you'll be telling me you think General Hammond and Jacob Carter are an item."
"Whoa! Don't ever GO there, okay? That's just? wrong!"
The sound of approaching footsteps forced the men to opposite sides of a shelving unit. They were busily looking over stationery supplies when the storeroom door banged open, and Daniel Jackson strolled in, his nose buried in an old, dusty tome.
Glancing up in surprise at seeing the two men intently examining the Biros, he smiled at them and closed his book.
Shoving it under one arm, he said, "Oh! Mornin', guys. Um. Can you point me to the Number Two pencils?"
Norman smiled back, handing the doctor a box of 200. "Here ya go, Doc."
Dave stared at his lover, almost daring him to say something stupid. Miraculously, Norman just continued to grin foolishly, until Daniel backed out of the storeroom, looking for all the world like a man who had almost stepped into the Twilight Zone.
When the door closed, Dave let out a breath he hadn't even been aware he was holding. "OK, enough of this. I have work to do. You have work to do." He tugged open the door and glowered menacingly at his lover as he felt the other man's hand brush his ass in passing.
As they walked up the corridor, Norman playfully tried to wrestle a red Biro from Dave's grip. Not paying attention to where they were going, the two men almost barreled right into Colonel O'Neill, coming from the other direction.
"Oh, hey, Siler, Carter's lookin' for ya in her lab," said O'Neill, slipping between the two men.
Dave's spine snapped a little straighter as he stepped aside to let his CO pass. "Thank you, sir," he mumbled.
O'Neill turned at the last minute and nodded at Norman. "I think General Hammond was looking for you, Walter. He's in the briefing room. Said something about running a diagnostic because Chevron six is a little sticky. His words, not mine."
As O'Neill continued on his way, Siler chuckled. "You'd think, after seven years, he'd get your fuckin' name right."
Norman shrugged, following in his lover's wake. "You know what? I think I prefer Walter anyway. So, as I was saying -- like bunnies, mark my words."
Jack pushed open the storage room door and stuck his head inside. It was dark in there, and appeared to be deserted.
"Daniel, you in here?" he hissed.
A moment later, an arm appeared, dragging Jack inside the room. The door closed with a soft snick. He found himself pressed against the closed door, being kissed to within an inch of his life by a very horny archaeologist.
"Thank God, it's you," Daniel murmured against his neck, "I thought it was Dave and Norman coming back."
"Norman?" Jack gasped, "Who the hell is Norman?"
"Norman Harriman?" Daniel nibbled Jack's earlobe between words. "Master Sergeant Harriman?"
Jack tipped his head back to allow Daniel better access as he nuzzled his way down onto Jack's throat. "Chevron guy?"
Pulling aside the neck of his black tee shirt, Daniel sucked hard on the exposed flesh. "Uh-huh. That's the one."
Jack moaned and arched his back, pressing his groin hard against Daniel's. "Seven years!"
"What's seven years?"
"Seven years, I've been calling him Walter, and he's never called me on it once."
Daniel smiled against the warm, salty skin and licked a wet trail back up to his original target. Against Jack's ear, he breathed, "Who gives a shit, Jack? Come on, I've only got ten minutes before I have to give a presentation to General Hammond. Can we cut the cackle and get to the good stuff?"
"Good stuff?" Jack croaked.
Daniel dropped to his knees, running his hands down Jack's sides and then across his belly.
"Oh, yeah, *that* good stuff," Jack whispered with a gasp.
Daniel fumbled with Jack's belt and then the buttons of his fly. Looking down into the sparkling eyes just visible in the dim strip of light seeping out from under the door, Jack felt his heart begin to race. He dug his fingers deep into Daniel's thick hair. "Why not? After all, half the base thinks we've been goin' at it like bunnies anyway."
"Bunnies, huh?" Daniel grinned, slipping his hand inside Jack's pants. "Then this must be what? A carrot?"
"Christonacrutch!" Jack's head impacted with the door, but he barely felt it. He'd apologize to Chevron Guy later.
***Notes: This fic came about due to people spotting in one episode, that the guy who had always been called Walter by Jack, was wearing a uniform with the name Norman on it. This brought about much speculation in the fandom, and this is my take on it.