tefnut: (Peaceful)
[personal profile] tefnut
Bloody hell. It's not quite two o'clock in the morning, and I should know better than still being awake that late when I've come down with a cold, but I was caught, no, hooked and trapped by a fanfic.
Two Sides of the Coin, by Dith
Jack/Daniel slash. Wonderful descriptions, a full-blown story with two detailed settings and a great set of original characters. Don't believe Dith when she says that sex is only a small part of the story. Technically it's true, but it's mind-blowingly good sex. The kisses were wonderful. I wouldn't be able to take much more of it. Beware, though, that it dives into the idea of non-con. Some parts squicked me.

Dith explores a darker side of Daniel, and goes to the end of her logic. I tend to agree with her analysis, as it is, and this aspect of Daniel fascinates me. The scary thing is how I could relate to him in some parts of the story. The parts that involved killing people. Not that I would do it, of course -- but I was with him in the story, holding the blade. It felt creepy.
It's also a demonstration of Dith's writing skills.
I only doubt that Jack, after the first time, would act like he did. Accept it, I mean.


I loved the descriptions of Jack and Daniel. I'll quote my favourite one here and leave it at that:

There's a statue, can't remember if it was Roman or Greek - art was not my specialty - of a boxer. He wasn't a young man either; his profile was battered, his hair a little too long, his hands wrapped in boxing bandages. His body was sculpted perfection, all the muscles of the belly, back and legs defined, including that little dip-shaped muscle over the side of the pelvis that is only defined on the most athletic of men.

Jack looked nothing like the Boxer.

His hair was short and liberally gray; the skin of his arms and thighs was starting to be a little loose over the muscles, the way an older man's is. His belly was even, dare I say it, a little soft. The hollows around his neck stood out and his shoulders, those magnificent sloping shoulders, drooped forward a little and gave away how tired he was. His hands drooped between his knees, too; one of his knuckles was scraped. His commando tan stopped at the neck and the arms; the skin of his torso and most of his legs had a golden cast but was still paler, and on his chest the skin was sprinkled liberally with gray, curly hair.

He looked ridiculous.

He was breathtaking.


Try to go to sleep after that...

September 2015

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