stock: typewriter

Fic :: Far Too Young

Title :: Far Too Young
Rating ::FR21
Prompt :: #5 Rough
Pairing :: Buffy/mini!Jack
Disclaimer :: I do not own these characters and no profit is being made from the use of them.

Note :: Special thanks to kaylashay81for the super fast beta. You so very much rock!
Synopsis :: Jonathan ‘Jack’ O’Neill had run three weeks after his graduation and headed west, toward the sunny beaches of southern California and a thankless job at Helen’s Kitchen. Written for the 50 smutlets. 
Far Too Young
He had run just three weeks after graduation. Run from Daniel’s understanding and Carter’s sympathy. Run from Teal’c’s silence and the constant surveillance. He slipped past his nighttime watch and was out of Colorado by sunrise, bank accounts emptied into his pockets, fake ID in one hand and a bus ticket west in the other. Jonathan had stepped off that bus into the Los Angeles smog, the real and the persona of Colonel Jack O’Neill left long behind him.
His worn sneakers had carried him across the crowded streets, through the bad parts of the city and into worse. His belongings slung low on his back and the urge to find shelter warred with the need for food as his steps slowed with the faint scent of burnt eggs. His nose wrinkled and he glanced to his left and arched a brow at the beaten down diner. The setting sun glinted off the dirty glass as his stride came to a standstill and he caught sight of the red and white Help Wanted sign. His lips dipped in a self-deprecating way as he pulled open the glass door, ignoring the cheerful jingle of little bells and entered Helen’s Kitchen.
Three weeks had passed since that, what some would call—though not Jonathan—fateful, moment. Three weeks to get a cramped one-room apartment and begin to build calluses on a used boxing bag. Three weeks of watching runaways, johns with their ‘girlfriends’ and druggies set themselves up in booths and pretend they liked their lives as he fed them, cleaned their tables and gathered their meager tips. He could afford better, he could look for better work but that would lead to questions. Questions better off left unasked and more problems than answers. So Jonathan settled into the routine, welcomed the simplicity of it.
Three weeks and one day passed before his routine changed enough for him to notice. Not that change was necessarily a good thing. In fact this change was more of a distraction than a blessing. A distraction that was put in a small, blonde, cheerleader shaped packaged that had a more haunted gaze than Danny after the day that wasn’t with Sha’re. Her name was Anne and she usually kept up with the flow of customers. Ignoring the roughnecks that smacked her ass but Jonathan would watch her slow, fingers flexing around her pen and eyes flashing in way that reminded him of Carter. His stomach always twisted with that comparison and he’d shove it back. Anne was too young to be of any interest to him—far too young.
And that was the mantra chanting over and over in his head as her mouth pushed more forcefully against his own, teeth pulling at his lower lip before her tongue darted out to sooth that bit of abused flesh. Anne’s hands pulled at the rough cotton of his work shirt, lifted it to trace fingertips across his slowly developing six-pack as he stepped forward, guiding her until the backs of her knees brushed the edge of his mattress and she laid down with him spilling over her.
Jonathan blinked and shook his head, dark eyes narrowing on her reddening cheeks and he lifted a hand, traced the slope of one with his thumb. Hazel eyes darkened in pain with his actions and one of her hands slipped upward, fingers trailing through the light sprinkling of chest hair to dig peach colored nails into his flesh, just above his heart. The other hand left his side to grasp the back of his neck and pulled him down, whispered against his mouth. “You don’t love me.”
The certainty and desperation in her tone stumbled him a moment as the hand at the back of his neck urged him closer. Their mouths met again, her teeth nearly bruising as a nimble tongue slipped past his lips to give his chase as the hand leaving half-moons in his chest released to snake around his back and she molded them chest to thigh. The checkered material of their uniforms made a scuffling sound as he felt nearly every curve that’d been distracting him for weeks up close and personal.
Her thighs spread, welcoming him to slide between them and his hips fell forward, legs cushioned by the mattress. Jonathan braced his arms, pulled himself up and back, suppressed the urgency of his own actions. She blinked up at him, confused by the sudden and intense eye contact, contact Jonathan had steadily avoided since meeting her and reached for him.
His gaze dropped to trace over those flushed cheeks and dipped lower to catch sight of a now abraded chin. His day old stubble had marred the smooth skin that surrounded her mouth. A mouth that was red and swollen, lips slightly parted with her breath coming in quick pants as she watched him study her. He ignored his baser urges and asked, his voice more strangled than he’d have liked, “Do you want this?”
Anne’s eyes widened and her lower lip was pulled into her mouth, teeth leaving faint impressions in her skin as she drew it out. Her actions left it full and wet as she swallowed her first answer and continued to stare up at him. Jonathan’s fingers push their way into her hair, dislodging the haphazard ponytail and her eyes fluttered close with the movement, back arching. Her breasts straining against the cheap material that made up their uniforms and he swallowed his own groan as his eyes dropped from her mouth to the top of that uniform. The first few buttons had been undone as soon as they had closed the diner’s doors that night and the bit of tanned fleshed now exposed dried his throat as he ground out. “Anne.”
His brows drew low at the small dip of her lips with her ‘name’ and he promised himself that if things progressed he would avoid calling her that at all costs. Hazel eyes opened suddenly, far too large, far too young for the hard edge they’ve acquired in her short life.
He swallowed, “Do you…”
Her hips thrust upward, rocking against him and pressing the zipper of his slacks into his erection. She caught his neck and pulled him down, showing far too much strength for her petite frame as her answer was a hot burst air against his mouth, “Yes.”
His weight settled over her with enough force to dip the cheap mattress beneath them as he ate at her mouth and Anne dropped her hands from the back of his neck to grip his shirt and tugged it upward. Smooth hands, free of calluses, traced their way up his back and her fingers splayed over his shoulders, nails digging in as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and sucked on it as he had watched her do just moments before.
A low sound vibrated up from her throat and Jonathan pulled back, released her lip with an audible pop and her hands freed themselves from his back to finish removing him of his shirt. The bottom edge caught his chin, jerked his head back and he snorted in faint amusement at their lack of finesse but Anne was already sitting forward, warm mouth pressed to his bare chest and her teeth settled over a blunt nipple. Tongue flicking out, teasing the smooth skin before her hands settled on his hips and urged him up and off the bed.
She dropped her legs over the side, her calves brushing his as she traced the line of warm skin above his slacks. Her fingers dipping to work at releasing the metal clasp of his belt before she pulled the leather free of his pants, jerking his hips forward with the movement. It struck the floor behind him with dull thud.
Pushing him back a step, Anne slid from the bed and to her knees forcing Jonathan’s brows to pull together as she tugged his pants down, past his hips and then her fingers dipped into the elastic waist of his boxers. He focused on the crown of blonde, her bowed shoulders and the fact that he felt as if he was letting a seventeen-year-old kid debase herself at his feet. He stepped back, out of her reach and stumbled with his pants and boxers around his ankles.
Her hands caught his hips again, steadied him and he watched that aged gaze rise to meet his, confused. “What’s wrong?”
She suddenly winced, eyes darkening, becoming wounded and he bit back the urge to answer with ‘everything’ and instead fell to his knees in front of her. Caught either side of her face and pulled her forward, their mouths met. Soft, intimate and he shuddered as her hands settled around his dick and he caught one of her wrists, pulled back so that they were once again meeting eye to eye. “Slow it down a bit.”
She blinked, startled. “You don’t…”
He laughed, “I do.” Frowning at the dip in his voice he shook his head and tried again, “I do but—”
She cut him off, mouth covering his and tongue easing past his lips, pushed against his own with enough skill to stall his protests as she released him and lifted those hands to grasp his shoulders and pull him flush against her. His neck dipped to accommodate for the height difference and he toed off his sneakers, nudging them away as he grasped her hips and came to the realization that their uniforms were a hell of a lot more uncomfortable feeling from the outside. He struggled through the small hardship as the intensity between them heightened and the tension in his shoulders began to ease as his ability for higher thought processes slipped away.
He lost the feel of her, missed it as she pulled pack and his eyes opened, found Anne with her fingers making quick work of the small buttons holding the top of her uniform closed. Her shoulders rolled and she freed her upper half to his perusal as the swell of her hips stopped the rough material from revealing all of her to him. The simple white bra she wore managed to look a hell of a lot sexier than any lace he’d seen in a long time.
His head lowered so that he could trace her collarbone with his mouth and a hand rose to cup a cotton covered breast and his back bowed. Tongue tasting her tanned skin as he flattened his hand over her breast, palmed it before he flexed his fingers around the soft flesh. A breathy gasped came from above him and he repeated the action before his free hand rose to push away the cotton covering her neglected breast and he settled his mouth over it. Tongue swirling around the areola before he flicked the puckering tip.  
Her hands found their way into his hair as her back arched, offering Jonathan more of herself and he turned his head, brought his teeth into the side of her breast and then pulled back. Wrapped his hands around her shoulders and stood, tugging Anne to her feet. Her eyes were heavy lidded as she pushed at the uniform bunched at her waist and let it spill to the floor and Jonathan paused to watch as she bent at her hips, nearly folding herself in half, to untie and remove her sneakers and socks.
He blinked, shook his head and followed her example by stepping out of his slacks and boxers before pulling off his socks. Small hands wrapped around his biceps and spun—see threw—him onto his bed before he found himself with an arm full of nude Anne. Finely shaped calves were crowding his hips as she settled herself over his erection and the dampness between her thighs was rocked against his shaft as she used that talented mouth and tongue against the skin of his throat.
He palmed her hips and shuddered as she latched onto a sensitive bit of flesh just below his jugular and worked at it. Her jaw tensed as she timed her mouth and tongue with the rocking of her hips and he grunted as the warmth building just bellow his gut forced him to spin them and shift his upper body so that he could fumble with the milk crate beside his bed. The box of condoms he had bought on a whim—shortly after Anne started at Helen’s—was nestled in the corner and he straightened, saw that Anne watched him intently as he tore the thin cardboard and shook out the bit of foil.
Tossing the rest of the box to the floor, he grasped a corner between his teeth and tugged it back, freeing the rubber and Anne reached up. Took it from him and then proceeded to roll it down his shaft with far too much finesse for someone her age—he shoved the thought and Anne back. Caught one of her knees with his hand and urged her open.
She spread her thighs, welcomed him between them for the second time that night and this time Jonathan eased his way forward, inside and swallowed a groan as her warmth enveloped him. The heat, the tightness of it brought forth a light sheen of sweat between his shoulder blades as he forced himself to slow down.
He pulled the knee he held closer, hooked it over his hip and she slipped her free leg around his opposite calf. The smoothness of her skin rubbed over him as he rocked his hips forward, created an easy friction between them. This steady movement built at the warmth in his gut, pushed it outward and brought her breath in harsh pants, the heat of it misting against his chest as her hands caught his sides, nails scraping over his back.
She shifted beneath him, constantly moving, arching and bending that small, lithe body in ways that were impressive even to him. Her hand cupped his biceps, fingers flexing as he hit a rhythm she particularly liked and he swallowed the urge to say, whisper or grunt her name—remembering the look on her face the first time.
Instead he grasped the back of the knee of the leg draped over his hip, pulled it higher, deepening his angle and promptly lost his rhythm. Hips jerking and in only a few more thrusts he spilled himself into the condom and released her leg to catch his upper body on his elbows as his arm’s lost their ability to support him.
His body shuddered over hers and he slowly opened his eyes, saw her hazel gaze staring up at him from the cradle of his arms and winced. “Sorry…I’m usually…” his shoulders sagged, “Just, sorry.”
Her hands freed themselves of his biceps and yanked him down, forced him to settle his weight completely over her as she pulled him into a sloppy kiss, filled with more tongue than skill but it managed to get her message across just fine—shut up.
Another pair of socks made their way into the duffle that lay across his bed and he shook his head, turning back toward the beat-up dresser and more clothes to be stuffed away. Three weeks had passed, three weeks where he and Buffy—another shake of his head—had begun a tentative friendship peppered with hormonal teenage sex. A friendship, or more precisely his libido, had urged him to follow her into Family Home and then into a hell dimension. Where Buffy had proceeded to kick the crap out of anything not remotely human and with his and Lily’s help lead the rest of the kids to freedom.
With deft movements he tugged open a drawer and hefted out a pile of shirts and made his way back to his bed. He shoved them in on top of the socks and stiffened, shoulder dropping as he felt a shift and spun, eyes narrowing on the closed door of his apartment. Buffy was with Lily, helping the other girl to adjust to life alone since she seemed unwilling to head to Sunnydale with them. His lips thinned and then his instincts were justly rewarded as the door vibrated with a heavy knock.
He moved away from the bed and towards the door, pausing at the dresser to grab the baseball bat tucked there. A weapon Buffy heartily approved since it worked against the undead—Christ vampires were real—as well as living would-be robbers. Keeping the arm holding his bat hidden behind the wall, Jonathan grasped the handle and pulled the door open. It wedged itself after only three inches and he rolled his eyes, giving it another yank only to still, those eyes going wide with the sight of Daniel and Teal’c standing on his doorstep.
“What the hell do you want?”
Daniel’s brows rose high enough to be seen over his glasses. “Well, we-ah-we were wondering what you were doing?” A quick glance took in the room behind Jonathan and his lips dipped. “What are you doing Jack?”
“Jon,” and with that quick correction his only invitation, he spun and made his way back into the one-bedroom apartment, leaving the door open. Tossing the bat onto the bed beside his duffle he moved back to the dresser and the third drawer’s contents.
“You’re moving?”
His gaze flicked upward to see Daniel still frowning at him and Teal’c watching him with interest. He snorted and stuffed several pairs of jeans into the bag before answering, “Astute observation.”
“Jack…” the glare stumbled him and Daniel quickly amended, “Jon, what are you doing? Why did you run?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” He paused and straightened, met Danny’s confused gaze head-on. “What did I have in Colorado that was so damn special? What was keeping me there? You? Teal’c? The Air Force?” He laughed, a humorless sound, “Yeah sure you betcha.”
“Jon—” A hand was raised to stop Daniel’s protest and the linguist shook his head, trudged onward, “We were there. You blocked us out. Ignored us. Ignored all my attempts to—”
“Pity me?” He sighed, “For Christ’s sake Daniel you couldn’t look me straight in the eye the last few times we hung out. The awkward silences between us wasn’t enough of a clue…” He trailed off realizing he sounded like a wounded boyfriend and shuddered. Pausing a moment, he regrouped and stated, “I needed a fresh start.”
Daniel shook his head. “We could have helped you.”

“And how would that have been a fresh start? Asking the Air Force for help? You?” He sat on the bed. “I needed to do this on my own.”
“And what is it that you are doing, O’Neill?”
His lips quirked with Teal’c’s obvious question. “I have no idea.”
Daniel’s shoulders sagged. “Then stop and let us help you.”
“No way in hell.”
“Why not?” The linguist’s voice rose in frustration.
“’Cause then I’d have to stay in touch out of obligation rather than an actually wanting to and I do want to Danny. Once I’m settled and ready.”
His best friend’s lips thinned as he stated, “But you’re not ready yet.”
“Not by a long shot.”
There was a pause before Teal’c interrupted he and Daniel’s moment with a relevant and nicely timed question. “Do you require help in packing, O’Neill?”
He looked over at the now much, much larger man and grinned. “Sure and then you can help me pack up Buffy too.”
Teal’c’s brow rose with the name drop but it was Daniel that asked, “Buffy?”
He laughed. “Long story but she is one of the things in my life making sense at the moment.” He paused, frowned at Daniel. “Well, not all the time making sense. She tends to ramble worse than you and about things I know even less about.”
Daniel’s brows slopped upward. “So we’ll get to meet this Buffy?”
“You can meet her now,” his voice rose and he turned toward the opened door of his apartment, “She’s standing right outside and has been for the last minute or so.”
A petite blonde came to lean against the doorframe and her eyes narrowed on Jonathan. “One day soon you’ll tell me how you do that.”
The words were more statement than question and an enigmatic smile spilled across Jonathan’s face and Daniel stilled, quietly shocked by the familiarity of that look. His stomach knotted as he realized just who he had almost pushed away, pushed completely out of his life—his best friend. Mentally shaking himself he came back to the conversation going on around him during his mini-epiphany and saw Teal’c introducing himself and Buffy complimenting the cowboy hat that hid the mark of Apophis.
Stepping forward he joined the friendly greetings and didn’t miss the fact that Jack—Jon—placed himself beside Buffy with a casual arm around her shoulders and that she leaned slightly into him. A smile spilled across his face with a snarkish comment from Buffy to Jon and he grinned, suddenly at ease with the knowledge that his friend might just have found something in this life worth hanging onto.
The End.
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