Gigi Sinclair

Paul wondered if there was any way he could get the Pentagon to pay him to watch Daniel eat sushi. He doubted it. The cheap bastards wouldn't even shell out for a decent hotel room when he went to Colorado Springs.

Which was, among other reasons, why Daniel and Colonel O'Neill had come to Washington to meet with the funding committee. Paul had prepared the paperwork, but he told his bosses the new budget would be more likely to get approval if the people who made the decisions spoke with the front-line SGC personnel in person. Nothing like a little chat with the heroes themselves to loosen the purse strings, Paul had said. The fact that he got to see Daniel for three days was a bonus.

After a long day of meetings, O'Neill had gone to meet up with some old Air Force buddies, and Paul had asked where Daniel wanted to go for dinner.

"I'm tired, Paul," Daniel replied, yawning to prove it. "Could we get some takeout?"

"What would you like?" There was a decent pizza place a few blocks from the Pentagon, and he knew of a good Chinese restaurant near the Washington Monument.

Daniel smiled. "I'm on vacation. Let's go for something a little more exotic."

Paul had expected that to mean something bizarre, and he was about to grab the Yellow Pages to look up Tibetan barbecue or Yemeni yak stew restaurants, of which he was sure there were at least a few in Washington, when Daniel said, "Let's get some sushi."

It had been a long time since Paul had gone to the Susumu Sushi and Sashimi Bar, but Daniel clearly knew his way around the fukusa and the futo-maki. He ordered a large platter with an expertise that would have amazed Paul even if he hadn't already been amazed by just about everything Daniel did.

When they got back to Paul's townhouse, Daniel arranged the rolls and the sauces on Paul's Neiman Marcus china. Paul stuck to the blander choices, the California rolls and a fried tofu and rice thing Daniel called inari, but Daniel was more adventurous, downing squid and octopus and something he called unagi, talking excitedly about his discoveries on P8W-7T1, where the inhabitants were apparently related to the Maoris of New Zealand.

Paul, who had made a career out of pretending to listen, nodded and made appropriate noises without hearing a word Daniel was saying. He was too distracted by the way Daniel's long fingers worked the chopsticks, the way the wood disappeared into his mouth and was pulled out again, the way Daniel's tongue licked at a remaining streak of wasabi.

"Don't you think so, Paul?"

"Absolutely," Paul replied smoothly, just as he did when the Joint Chiefs of Staff caught him fantasizing about Daniel instead of listening to a long list of complaints about the SGC.

"Good." Daniel smiled, and Paul felt a twinge of guilt he never had with the Joint Chiefs. To make up for it, he pointed at a bright red jelly-like substance wrapped in seaweed on Daniel's plate.

"That looks good."

He should have known better. Daniel being Daniel, he naturally said, "Want to try some?"

Paul tried to sound like a worldly, Harvard-educated diplomat, and not like a small town-born hick, when he said, "What is it?"

"Ikura. Salmon roe."

"Ah." Paul swallowed. Daniel dextrously picked up the roll with the chopsticks.

"Here." He held out the chopsticks to Paul, who swallowed again. Well, he thought, he'd gagged back his share of caviar. Summoning his courage, Paul reached for the chopsticks. Daniel looked at him over the tops of his glasses, and said, in a voice Paul could only describe as sultry, "Let me."

Paul blinked. Shifting forward on the chair, Daniel extended the chopsticks to Paul. Paul's heart hammered, but he opened his mouth and Daniel slid the roll into Paul's mouth.

It wasn't the worst thing Paul had ever tasted. That distinction still went to the beef Wellington he'd been served in the home of a prominent Republican senator, one whom Paul suspected knew of his Democratic leanings. Paul bit off part of the roll and swallowed the jelly-like fish eggs. It was worth it to see the smile on Daniel's face, and the expression Daniel had when he put the rest of the roll into his own mouth.

"This one's kappa-maki," Daniel said, indicating a green-filled roll. "Cucumber."

Paul smiled hesitantly. "That sounds good."

Daniel grinned back and fed Paul the crunchy cucumber roll, which Paul much preferred to the roe. They shared a few more rolls, Paul still unsure where this was going. You could never tell with Daniel, and Paul had been fooled into thinking he was flirting before. But one man's flirting was Daniel's being a good friend, and Paul wasn't about to make any unfixable mistakes.

When Daniel stood and came around to kneel at Paul's side of the table, though, Paul thought he was fairly justified in saying, "Daniel?"

"Paul." Laying down the chopsticks, Daniel picked up the last piece of sushi, one of the crab and avocado California rolls Paul liked best. His eyes never moving from Paul's, Daniel lifted the roll to Paul's lips. Paul bit into it, leaving a streak of avocado on Daniel's fingers. Well, Paul thought, here goes. Lifting Daniel's hand to his mouth, Paul carefully licked off the avocado. Daniel blinked and bit his lip, but he didn't seem repulsed, so Paul took another chance and gave the rest of the roll to Daniel.

The feel of Daniel's lips against his fingers was electric. Entirely of its own accord, and that was the story Paul was sticking to, his other hand came up and stroked through Daniel's thick dark hair. Paul's own hair was thinning considerably, a fact of which he was painfully aware when Daniel's hand mirrored his action. Paul could feel Daniel's throat constrict as he swallowed the sushi, then Daniel moved his hands to Paul's thighs and leaned in to kiss him. Daniel, Paul was pleased to notice, tasted much better than the salmon roe. He was, Paul thought almost giddily, as he put his arms around Daniel and drew him closer, even better than the California roll.

***

"Wow." Daniel recovered his linguistic abilities within seconds of completion, but then Paul would have expected nothing less from him. "That was…amazing."

Paul rolled over, still not sure whether this was really Daniel lying on his Pier One sheets, in his Pottery Barn-furnished bedroom, in his house with the view, if you got onto the roof and really craned your neck, of the Mall.

"We should get sushi more often," Daniel smiled, a little shyly.

Paul, who liked to think he knew enough not to question a good thing when it fell into his lap, reached for Daniel's hand. "Next time," he replied, letting his tongue slide over Daniel's fingers, "Let's have fried chicken." Or Nepalese barbecue, if that was what Daniel wanted. Paul was easy, and he was more than happy to demonstrate that quality to Daniel, as many times and in as many ways as possible.