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the-bi-space-ace · 8 months

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Jack O'Neill & Why Stargate SG-1 is the Best Show in the World

Listen. I have been fully obsessed with Stargate SG-1 lately and it has made me realize a lot of things about media these days so... strap in. I'm about to detail for you one of the major reasons that you should watch this show.

Thank you to @concentratedbastardenergy for watching it with me every night and to @floundrickthewayfarer for listening to me ramble about it as I make my way through all 10 seasons.

Under the cut because it gets long (:

This will be focused primarily on one of the show's main characters: Colonel Jack O'Neill.

I'll start by saying that I am only on Season 6 so this is probably not entirely all encompassing but it is what I have picked up on from Jack since beginning this show.

Jack is a career military man with the United States Air Force. He has fought in wars, was held as a prisoner of war, and now leads SG-1 to explore the galaxy and defend earth against threats.

In order to really understand Jack we have to delve into a very important life event that has shaped who he is today. Jack was married to a woman named Sara but eventually their marriage fell apart which is what initially led him to go on the very first mission through the Stargate. The reason that his and Sara's marriage fell apart is that their son, Charlie, died in a very unfortunate accident when he unintentionally shot himself with Jack's unattended pistol. They rushed him to the hospital but he didn't make it, causing Jack to fall into a deep depression. Him and Sara couldn't reconcile with each other, Jack couldn't deal with his emotions, so they ended up getting a divorce.

This is important to really understand Jack and to understand why the way his character is now is so damn important. The spot he is in when he first begins this journey in Stargate SG-1 is very reflective of this event. I think it's important that Jack's story begins with losing everything he had.

First, let's take the average media image of a man like Jack O'Neill and compare it to what we see in SG-1. Typically we'd see a career military man in media today and he'd be the rugged, stoic, standoffish, tough-guy persona who can't talk about his feelings or express an emotion without a mass amount of prompting. Usually we see this type of character be not only closed off emotionally but also physically (unless it is with their romantic partner, typically.) This type of character would be your average tough guy who doesn't know how to process or express an emotion let alone ever do something utterly “humiliating” like hug someone or cry. The only person you will ever see them affectionate with is usually their partner and, occasionally, their children.

This is not at all reflective of Jack O'Neill.

Jack has been through unimaginable pain. He has lost a part of his life that he can never get back and it absolutely kills him inside. Despite how devastating this is he doesn't just hide the pain away forever. Sure, he keeps it close to his chest and he isn't talking about it 24/7, but he does process it with people he loves. He allows himself to feel it, to express that he feels it, to show that he feels it with his facial expressions and with his words. He is immediately connected to any child that needs help and it shows all over him. He was meant to be a father and that was taken from him and he feels like it is his fault. But it doesn't turn him callous. He expresses that fatherly attribute by taking care of his loved ones, children or otherwise.

Jack has deep friendships. He forms bonds with people and not only holds those relationships dear but also shows how much he loves them. He is a touchy person, believe it or not. He was outwardly in love with his wife, Sara, and was very physically affectionate with her. He is also physically affectionate with his friends. He touches them and hugs them and holds them when they cry and he doesn't act like those things are shameful. There are plenty of times when he ruffles Daniel’s hair, or gives Teal’c a good pat on the back, or hugs Sam. Jack has close, affectionate, relationships with the men and women in his life. He doesn't hesitate to give them affectionate pats on the back, hugs, touch their hair or faces, and he holds them when they need to be held. He is there for them emotionally and physically. Because he wants to support them and this is how he knows how to do that. He never treats these moments like they are out of his comfort zone or weird (which is something I see a lot from media nowadays.) He treats it as friendship, companionship, and his responsibility. He loves them. He makes sure they always know that he does.

There is a very charged moment where Daniel literally has Jack held at gunpoint, and is not in a great state of mind and after Jack talks him down Daniel starts to absolutely break down in front of him. He’s scared, he’s ill, he’s hurting. What does Jack do? He makes sure he’s safe and not hurt then Jack holds him and lets him cry. Because as a friend and a leader what else are you supposed to do when someone you love is breaking down? You hold them. You tell them it’s going to be okay. He helps because it is not only what he should do, it is what he wants to do. In an episode I watched not too long ago he hugs Sam so tight and for so long and the scene never becomes weird or tense or awkward because they clearly love each other, just like all of these characters do, and Jack is scared and cold and simply needs a hug. He is a compelling character because he is aware of his responsibility and duty but has such a commitment to also being their friend.

He is still a person who very much needs and wants to have close relationships and be physically affectionate and when he starts healing from his son’s death he doesn't deny himself those things. He forms those close relationships and he is outwardly loving. It doesn't take away his pain but it does help him feel like a person again, even after all of the tragedy he's experienced.

He doesn't have shame in being afraid or asking for help or crying. One of my favorite Jack scenes so far is with a young boy who says: "Mother says boys from your planet do not cry." And do you want to know what Jack's immediate response is? "That's not true." He goes on to say that crying is good for you. Crying is a natural response and it is not bad or shameful. This man is correcting a nasty thing we tell young boys and he is doing it by admitting that he himself feels emotions strongly and cries and so should this little boy. By the end of the episode he reminds the young boy that it is okay to be sad when you have to say goodbye to a new friend and that he will miss him just as much as this boy will miss Jack. He's healing parts of himself by making sure this kid doesn't grow up with the 'boys don't cry' bullshit that so many people grow up with.

He is shown to have good judgment and protectiveness and has a strong sense of morality tied to his respect for people and their autonomy. In one episode Jack fights back against the government invading another planet and exploiting its native people for a natural resource after they were denied access to it because of destructive and wasteful methods of extraction. He is outwardly angry about the decision to deceive the native people of this planet and he reminds the watcher of all the times we, throughout history and still to this day, have done this and continue to do it even though it is wrong.

The last episode I want to talk about is Abyss an episode in season six where Jack is being tortured for information and sees his dead (ascended??) friend, Daniel. Jack wants Daniel to do something to save him, something that Daniel apparently can not do despite having the power to do so. BUT he does want Jack to ascend. They end up getting into an argument where Daniel is trying to convince Jack that he is a good person. He is worthy of getting out of this. He is able to save himself. Jack swears, up and down, that if he their roles were reversed nothing would have stopped him from destroying everything in his path, taking down everyone who was hurting Daniel and not stopping until every last one of them were dead whether or not they were responsible for that suffering. He'd fight tooth and nail and hurt whoever he had to in order to save Daniel, there is not a single doubt in his mind. Daniel tells Jack that he is a better man than that, that he'd weigh options that weren't killing everyone around them. That Jack wouldn't burn the world down to save him, wouldn't cause that much suffering, and that Jack is fundamentally good. When Jack responds it is to tell Daniel that he's wrong. That everything that Daniel thinks about him, that he's good and kind and he'd find another way to help, is wrong. This moment, although it may seem unrelated, sticks out to me because this is the impact Jack has on people. Daniel sees the good in Jack. He knows Jack would come for him, that he'd support him, that he'd do everything in his power to help. Daniel sees in Jack what Jack always fails to see in himself. They have such a powerful bond, even in moments when they argue. Daniel doesn't doubt Jack's intentions, he doesn't doubt that Jack would come for him, he doesn't ever doubt him like Jack doubts himself. This trust is so indicative of the man that Jack is, of the way he impacts other people's lives, of the way he represents humanity and love and kindness and pain. And the love and respect Jack shows to other people directly impacts the way other people see him.

With the combination of everything above it would be typical to have this character or other characters question his masculinity and challenge it, perhaps even claim they are too emotional to be in charge, but when it comes to Jack this is not the case. All of those attributes are why people say he is a good leader and that he deserves to be in charge. He is shown as strong and dependable and loyal and logical. He is tough. But he is also sensitive, affectionate, and funny. He uses humor to cope and isn't afraid to admit when he's scared or sad. Jack is the king of micro-expressions but I can explicitly tell how he is feeling even with my own challenges with reading expressions.

Today's tv shows tend to shy away from this type of character and want to put a man like Jack into a box. The military man with a tragic past who scowls at everything and hasn't hugged someone in 25 years and doesn't have a close relationship with someone who isn't a romantic interest. I think that does such a disservice to this type of person. I've been missing something from TV shows today and I think Stargate SG-1 has shown me exactly what that is. It's characters who love each other and who show it and say it every single episode. It's story lines that challenge and develop each character past their stereotypes. It is storytelling where I don't have to guess what they're thinking or feeling because it is explicitly written on their face and in their body language. It is a plot that doesn't feel flat or reused. It is fun moments tossed in next to heart-wrenching ones. It is moral dilemmas and fights between characters that get resolved in a satisfying way. It is love and sacrifice and such curiosity and wonder for the world.

I'm convinced I didn't know what the found family trope really was until I watched this show. I'm glad that a show made in the late 90s created a character so authentic and well rounded that he feels like a real person and not a flat caricature. A man who had every opportunity to turn into someone closed off and callous that instead decided that the way out of the darkness was love. I think we need more 'Jack O'Neill's in this world. We’d be better off for it.

#stargate sg1 #jack o'neill #spoilers btw #I mean this show came out in 1997 but imma say spoilers anyway #this isn't a full deep dive into his character bc I simply have not learned everything #but as a person who grew up in a family that did not touch very often I am very drawn to characters like Jack who touch quite a bit #Jack is a beautiful character #he has seen so much tragedy and heartache #the writers could have made him such a stereotype #but they decided he was going to actually use all of that love that he had inside of him #that he could have close friendships #that he didn't lose the fatherly instinct within him it just simply... shifted a bit to accommodate his new life #someone so broken on the inside who gets hit with pain all the time and still loves so damn deeply it hurts to watch #let a man like Jack be outwardly affectionate #let him be scared #let him cry #let him learn to heal #because he is a person and he deserves a full spectrum of emotions and reactions and experiences #I brought this up with my partner and had a whole rant about it because I love what they did with Jack's character #and there is still so much to say but alas I will hush now #I'm sorry I've ranted so much I can't help it he is wonderful #Watch Stargate SG-1 #Stargate Analysis

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writing-good-vibes · 2 months

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another lonely valentine's day

💗 happy valentine's day !! 💗 what better way to celebrate than to make our favourite babygirl suffer? this takes place in an au where the accident never happened, and corey is still working towards his college dreams by mowing lawns, having affairs and babysitting.

WARNING for corey cunningham x roger allen relationship, age difference, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, smut (non-penetrative and oral sex), angst from a guy who is upset that his married boyfriend doesn't love him, some mildly stalkerish behaviour, and some arguable hurt/comfort. 4.5K word count.

🎀 very cute dividers by @/gigittamic 🎀

taglist: @slutforstabbings @ethanhoewke @voxmortuus (just let me know if you want to be added or removed !!)

"Corey?"

Corey sighs and checks the time. It had only been ten minutes since he put Jeremy to bed.

"Corey?!" Jeremy calls again, louder this time, his voice high and lifting at the end of his name. It grates on Corey's nerves.

"What is it now, Jeremy?"

"I'm thirsty!"

"You've just had a glass of milk."

"I want another one!"

They had a deal -- since Jeremy had gotten in so much trouble for his silly prank last Halloween and Corey had very generously done some self-serving damage control -- that Corey would let Jeremy do whatever he wanted (within some reason, as negotiable on the night, but usually involving too much energy for Corey's liking), and stay up as late as he wanted after he went to bed, in exchange for leaving Corey alone for the rest of the night. And if he didn't, Corey would tell Mr Allen just how much of a little shit Jeremy had been for him. It was a system that worked, even if it meant telling a couple of white lies about the evening's activities.

Jeremy was always a brat, it must have been coded directly into his DNA, but he'd been extra irritating before going to bed tonight. He tended to talk Corey's ear off anyway, asking personal questions that Corey would always lie in response to whether he strictly speaking needed to or not, and tonight he had extra ammunition.

"Don't you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"Why not? It's because you're so ugly, isn't it."

"No, I just don't have one. I could if I wanted to."

"No you couldn't. Girls don't like boys who are ugly and poor. That's why you're bossing me around on Valentine's Day."

The back of Corey's neck itched. Sure, that's why he was spending his Valentine's Day babysitting the brattiest kid he'd ever met. Because no one wants to go out with him. Not because Jeremy's dad says "Jump," and Corey asks "How high?"

He shuts Jeremy up by letting him watch a playthrough on youtube of some horror videogame that one of Corey's friends back in high school would talk about nonstop. Turns out the game is way less scary when some hunk just talks over it, and although some of the music starts to freak him out a little, Corey surprises himself when he laughs along with Jeremy at most of the scares, even at the rabbit.

After traipsing back upstairs with another glass of milk, warm this time, Corey leaves Jeremy with a warning not to bother him again. Our deal, remember?

"What are you doing on Valentine's day?"

"Nothing," Corey replies, much too quickly. He can hear Mr Allen stifle a chuckle on the other end of the phone. Corey's cheeks burn, "Um, I mean, I don't have any plans, yet." Yet. As if they're lining up round the block to take Corey out and he just hasn't decided who's worth his time. "Why?"

"Well, Theresa and I were wondering if you'd be able to babysit Jeremy for a few hours?"

Corey bites his lips so hard he can taste blood. He soothes it with his tongue, "Sure, no problem." He kicks himself later for being such a sucker.

Mrs Allen is flustered when he arrives, putting the final touches of lipstick and perfume on while she explains the usual ground rules. Corey knows the drill. She looks beautiful, with her hair loose and curly around her shoulders and red flowers on her dress. He tries to imagine his own momma getting dressed up for a date, but he struggles to remember Momma and Ronald ever going anywhere without him. They hadn't even had a honeymoon.

Corey hovers awkwardly, trying to keep out of the way as Mrs Allen buzzes around, from the mirror to the coat stand by the door. While she puts her coat on, Corey's eyes wander as Mr Allen comes downstairs in a pressed suit. He waves at the older man, who gives him a wink that dangerously toes the line of 'friendly', before he disappears towards the kitchen.

"Oh!" Mrs Allen starts, before lowering her voice. "There's a box of chocolates in the kitchen for you, Corey. Roger put them on top of the fridge so Jeremy wouldn't see them; a little treat for you after he goes to bed."

Corey checks the time again. He hasn't heard a peep from Jeremy for a while, which is a good sign.

But the TV isn't holding his attention tonight like it normally does, and even though the Allens always tell him he can use their Netflix, he just can't settle on a movie.

Instead he scrolls through Roger's profile for a while, looking at his watch list and what he's been currently watching, what's been recommended to him and his most popular categories. Corey makes mental notes of where their tastes are similar and where they differ, thinks of how he can subtly integrate all of this into a conversation, to show just how interesting he is, how compatible they are.

His rumbling stomach puts an end to his media-stalking for now. Momma had made meatloaf for dinner, as grainy and bland as always, and Corey hadn't been able to stomach much of it. Not with the butterflies fluttering in his gut as he watched the clock, desperate to get out of the house a soon as possible tonight.

He lets a movie start playing, some 90's thriller than everyone in his American Lit. class used to rave about, before pulling himself off the couch and wandering into the kitchen.

The Allens' fridge is always fully stocked. Fruit and vegetables in the crisper, health foods that Corey's never even heard of before, branded candy and juice and condiments fill the door, cuts of meat that they probably actually knew how to cook instead of turning them to rubber or relying on boxes of lean cuisine. They even have an ice maker. There's a couple of bottles of Heineken -- because Roger only drinks Heineken in the house -- at the very front. It feels like a trick, Corey takes one anyway.

On top of the fridge, amongst juice boxes and tin that could be cookies but Corey guesses might be their sewing kit, is a red, heart-shaped box of chocolates. Just like Mrs Allen promised. Corey holds it in his hands, rubs his thumb against the satiny pink ribbon that wraps around it.

In middle school, Corey had gotten a Valentine's candygram one year. He walked into homeroom and found the pink paper heart and a cherry flavoured dumdum sat conspicuously on his desk.

There was a chorus of hushed giggles from behind him. Over his shoulder he sees Kelly and her friends, whispering. Whispering made Corey nervous. Then, Kelly waves at him shyly, a knowing smile on her face. He waved back, face burning.

He ate the lollipop over lunch, and folded the pink paper heart and put it in his pocket, carried it around with him all week. Sometimes he'd take it out to look at it, reading the message over and over and over again -- Be my Valentine?

Momma found the heart when she collected his laundry at the end of the week, emptying out his pockets onto the kitchen table, picking up the pink paper heart with her probing fingers.

Corey didn't hear the end of it for weeks.

There's a gift tag pre-attached at the bow on his Valentine's chocolates and Corey flips it open, expecting a list of the candies that are inside, but that isn't it. It's a message, handwritten in black biro in neat print-capitals. The words start to swim in Corey's vision, merging into an inky pool until he pushes his glasses up to wipe at his eyes, trying to hide his tears from an invisible audience. He isn't fooling anyone, because his lip starts wobbling instead.

He brings the candy back into the living room with him, along with his beer and sits criss-crossed on the couch, then rips the ribbon off in one go.

Corey sinks half the box before he can stop himself.

The rest he tries to savour, rolling each chocolate in his mouth, letting them melt on his tongue until he can figure out the flavoured centre while he watches his movie. The truffles are his favourites, then the pralines, followed by caramels, vanilla cream and pecan clusters, then finally the strawberry ones come last.

Between eating, he drinks his beer like a palate cleanser, finishing it only to go get the other bottle from the fridge. Two beers down, Corey can feel the buzz under his skin, in his tear-pink cheeks, and the relief of tension leaving his unsettled self.

If he takes the candy box home, Momma would ask too many questions that he didn't want to answer -- that he didn't even want to think about -- so he throws the empty tray in the trash can in the Allens' kitchen and chews a stick of bubblegum to cover the alcohol on his breath. It wasn't fool proof, but it was the most he could do.

Upstairs, Corey listens for movement from Jeremy's room. The hallway is dark, lit only by the lamps downstairs glowing up through the spiral of the staircase. Corey circles the warm light, never quite letting it catch him, as he dips into Jeremey's room to turn his TV off, then continues on to the master bedroom.

It's dark in there too, as Corey stands in the doorway. The bed is made neatly, sheets tucked cleanly under the mattress but rumpled in places where someone had sat down to pull on a stocking or tie a shoelace. He looks around familiarly, at the contemporary beige art on the walls and at the framed family pictures on the dresser, goes through the jackets and dresses that line the closet, and the messy draws full of almost designer sweaters and workout clothes and underwear. Mrs Allen's expensive lotion sits on the nightstand, next to where Corey always discards his glasses.

Laying in their bed, on Mr Allen's side, Corey looks up into the darkness. His cheeks are wet and getting wetter, and he rolls onto his front, muffles his sniffling in Mr Allen's pillow and breathing deeply the faint, shouldn't-be-comforting scent of the older man's cologne. Dark and woody, but classic in a way that compliments the rich floral perfume Corey always smells on Mrs Allen's pillow.

Part of him hopes Roger will know, hopes he'll feel the dampness there on his pillow while he tries to sleep, hopes he'll catch the taste of salt, and know exactly what he'd driven Corey to.

It's long-past midnight by the time Mr and Mrs Allen get home.

Corey hovers awkwardly by the door while Mrs Allen kicks out of her heels, hangs her coat on the stand, her conversation slower now as she thanks him again for babysitting. Corey preferred her like this, when she no longer had to worry about making their 7:30 reservation, or whether Jeremy was ready for bed before they left. When she isn't so tense, it made it a lot harder for Corey to interpret her tension as something else, something worse.

She counts his money out for him, but as he zips his coat up and prepares to cycle back home in the cold, Mr Allen stops him.

"Hold on, Corey, I'll give you a ride." The first words he'd spoken directly to Corey all night.

"Oh, no," Corey insists, hesitating anyway. "It's okay, really. I don't want to --"

"It's no trouble. We wouldn't want you out alone at this time. Unless you've got a secret black belt you haven't mentioned?"

Corey laughs, his real boyish laugh that Mr Allen likes so much.

Mrs Allen leans up, whispers something in her husbands ear, a perfectly French-manicured hand patting his chest once. Corey averts his eyes.

Then, Corey and Mr Allen are stood outside in the biting February air.

"Did you enjoy your night?" Corey asks as they pull out of the driveway. He rubs his cold hands together in his lap.

Roger turns the heater on high. "We did, thanks."

"What was the restaurant like?" He doesn't normally ask questions, doesn't normally like to know the answers, but he's feeling just a little vindictive tonight. Curious, too.

Roger catches his eye through the rear-view mirror. He smirks. "It was nice. We've been wanting to try it out for a while, actually. We don't go out as much as we should anymore."

"I just watched a movie," Corey says with a shrug, like it's no big deal. Like it's how he was going to be spending his Valentine's day anyway. "One that my friends at college always recommend, but I never get time to watch movies. Momma -- my mom -- she's always so picky about movies." Corey can hear himself start to ramble, clutching at the straws of interest. "And Jeremy was okay tonight," he lies, then changes his mind. "Well, he said I don't have a girlfriend because I'm ugly. But he didn't get up after he went to bed."

Roger sighs, "Ignore him, you know what he's like. Theresa coddles him, but he's a little terror sometimes, same as any other boy. And besides, you know that's not true -- you're not ugly." His hand leaves the wheel and lands on Corey's thigh.

The younger man hums, suppresses how utterly pleased he feels at being told that. You're not ugly, and god if Corey won't be thinking about that for who-knows how long. He doesn't say anything when Roger takes a right turn, heading for the long route back to Corey's side of town.

A stupid, sappy old love song comes on the radio. Corey reaches out to change the channel, settling on WURG, where Willy the Kid is hosting the Anti-Valentines show till late. Heartbroken love songs for all those unlucky enough to be without action tonight.

"You liked the chocolates?" Roger says. It ends in a question mark, but Corey hears a period.

"Yeah, I ate the whole box." He did like them. They were perfect and thoughtful and he's so very, very grateful because he shouldn't expect anything at all.

They pull into the empty lot of the Dollar General and Roger turns the car off, letting the sudden silence -- the stillness of the night -- settle over them. A distant streetlight casts a sickly orange light into the car, the light and shadows chiselling Roger's features deeper, more stern. Corey chews his lip until he tastes blood.

Still, it's Corey's hands that wander first. Because he's been so lonely, waiting all night long for Roger's attention. Looking after Roger's son and drinking Roger's beer and eating Roger's cheap Valentine's present, while Roger was at an expensive restaurant, eating his $80 steak, with his wife who deserves so much better. Corey doesn't though.

And Roger, not for the first time, thinks What the fuck am I doing? when his lips meet Corey's through the darkness. The younger man tastes of bubblegum and beer, but beneath that he can taste those damn chocolates. The taste suits him; sweet and boyish, a little bit cheap.

Any lingering thoughts of Theresa, of how it shouldn't take more than half an hour to drive to Corey's house and back, of how she's waiting for him with a promise -- whispered in his ear as he picked his car keys up off the the table by the door -- are quickly replaced with thoughts of them getting caught, of one of Haddonfield's finest driving by and seeing them, of a sharp tap on the window that makes Corey look up, mouth open and eyes wide and looking every bit the pretty boy he is, of talking their way out of a night in the cells for public indecency because This isn't what it looks like Officer, I swear!

And then Corey's pulling away, twisting himself around in the passenger seat so he can lean down, and Roger can't really make himself think of anything else but the way Corey is so obliging. Undoing Roger's belt, his fly, Corey pulls the older man's boxers down low enough to free his cock, slapping heavy against his toned stomach; Corey presses a wet, pouty kiss to his tip. "I missed you."

"You did?"

Corey nods, wrapping his hand around Roger's length, his fingertips just about touching. "So fucking much."

Another kiss, kittenish licks, Corey's soft hand stroking him slowly, working him like Roger isn't already rock hard for him. Roger closes his eyes, lets himself enjoy Corey's ministrations, learnt precisely by what Roger -- and Roger alone -- likes. They shouldn't be taking their time, however Roger is downright incapable of stopping Corey's hand as it smears his own precum down his shaft, slicking the younger man's movements, but not enough to take away the hint of hot and heavy friction that keeps Roger on the edge.

"I'll make it up to you, hm?" Roger manages, and Corey finally goes down on him, mouth wet and warm and always welcoming, as if to say, Go ahead.

With a sharp inhale, Roger starts, "I'll take you out somewhere. Somewhere nice. I know a restaurant that you'll love, where they do the best desserts you've ever had in your life. You'd like that, right?"

Corey hums in agreement; the vibration makes Roger throb even harder, pulsing against the soft roof of his mouth.

Roger always sounds so sure of his words, so assertive in his thoughts. It makes Corey believe him all the more, makes him want to nod and agree to whatever it is Roger tells him he thinks. Like how he always says Corey was such a tease, all those weekends he'd take his shirt off to mow the lawn, skin glistening with sweat right where Roger could see him. And how Corey had known exactly what he was doing with his wide-eyed virgin routine, as though Roger could have ever said no to him. And that Corey's so easy, so eager, so desperate. That Corey will always say yes.

"Or we could go to a bar. Shoot some pool, have some beers, catch the game. We could have a boys night." He grabs Corey's hair, applying a pressure that is more a suggestion -- more, deeper, please -- than a command.

"And then back to the hotel. Somewhere we can get room service, of course, I know you love that. And I'll take such good care of you. You know that, don't you, baby?"

Roger's getting close and he knows it, especially when Corey swallows, his throat tight and hot and clenching around Roger's cock and he's almost --

He pulls Corey off him, a thin trail of saliva dripping from his plush lip to Roger's spit-shiny head, and watches as the younger man wipes the rest of the drool from his chin with the back of his hand.

"I think you feel guilty," Corey says, voice level and surprisingly measured. There's no elaboration on what Roger should be feeling guilty about, just Corey's wide eyes and swollen lips, and Roger's left to fill in the blank space that Corey leaves behind.

Guilty about making me babysit. Guilty about driving me home. Guilty about doing this with me and then going home to sleep with your wife too.

The list goes on and on and on, and Roger tightens his grip in Corey's hair while he thinks, feeling the smooth, waxy strands twisted between his fingers. Corey will fuss over it in the rear-view mirror on the way home, combing his own fingers through those locks, back into his neat side-part, and Roger will watch him for too long, wishing he could see Corey's hair in it's full glory, not just sex-mused but his natural, bouncing cherub curls, more often.

Roger's hand is still in Corey's hair but he doesn't move, just waits to be told what to do.

"Get in the back."

It's only marginally less cramped in the back seat and darker still, the warm orange glow of the streetlight even fainter as Roger pulls Corey into his lap, lets him burrow into his neck while Roger slips a hand between his legs, palms the growing bulge over rough denim. Corey keens into it eagerly, legs twitching as he tries to keep himself from clamping his thighs around Roger's hand and humping it.

When his whines get louder, a strong hand grabs the back of Corey's knee, moving him to straddle Roger's trim hips, makes sure he's settled before teasing the zipper of Corey's jeans down, once again feeling that hard swell in his underwear.

There's a growing damp patch on the white cotton, sticking it to the leaking pink head of Corey's cock. Roger thumbs the wetness, smearing it through the fabric over Corey's burning skin, and Corey doesn't want to wait. He desperately pulls at the elastic of his briefs, pulls them down and hisses with relief when his dick springs free, resting against the pudge on his lower stomach, leaving a streak of precum on his auburnish happy trail.

Roger clasps one large hand around the both of them and Corey moans like it hurts; he grips tight, squeezing just right to press at the sensitive spot beneath his tip every time Corey's length slides against his.

Corey bucks in Roger's grasp, enough that Roger doesn't even have to stroke them anymore, just holds them still and grinds up against Corey's needy frotting. The developing rhythm is less co-ordinated than Corey can usually manage when he's on top, but the newness of the sensation, the way he can never quiet repeat the same motion or hit the same spot twice is maddening.

With all their clothes still on though, it's almost like it was back then, back when the most they did was dry hump on the couch while a football game played forgotten in the background. And it's not fair, Corey thinks. This is it? This is all he gets?

Roger once told him, "More is just never enough for you, is it, baby?", and although Corey had been kind of preoccupied at the time, the thought had burrowed it's way into his mind, repeated on a loop in Roger's low voice while Corey twiddled his thumbs in class the next day. Momma always told him something similar, when she'd decide he was being ungrateful over something or nothing -- it was always nothing -- that she didn't know what more Corey could want. A roof over his head, food on the table, his mother's love, always. Did he not already have enough? What more could Corey want? Boxed chocolates, empty promises and messy back-seat fumblings.

Roger is proven right. It's Valentine's day and Corey wants more.

"That's it, good boy. Feels good doesn't it?"

As Roger's hand slips further down the back of Corey's jeans, beneath his underwear, Corey catches his wrist, slowing the movement of his hips but not pausing, and tries to direct Roger's fingers closer to where he wants them.

Roger pulls back, resumes simply palming Corey's peachy ass. "Not tonight," he says firmly, and Corey makes a dissatisfied noise against the crisp white cotton of Roger's shirt.

"Please?"

Roger chuckles, "No, Corey." Still firm, but letting Corey down gently. "I know you want to play, but we can't. Not tonight."

"But I really want to, really badly," Corey pleads, scattering kisses up Roger's neck. It's not often Corey has to do the convincing. Rutting harder to prove his point, leaning back so Roger can see that playful little smile on his lips that always get him going, "And it's Valenti --"

"Corey," and it's a warning this time, given in a tone that Corey's never heard Roger use on him before. It's a tone he'd heard him use with Jeremy, though.

Corey shuts his mouth instantly, which is what he's always done best, and tries to ignore how his cheeks burn. The way his skin itches makes him want to scream.

After being told off, he can't bring himself to look back at Roger's disappointed face, so Corey looks down at their cocks instead, both wet with spit and precum, which is somehow less awkward. The spark in his gut rekindles slightly at the sight of Roger's dick, smaller than his by less than a half inch but big enough to knock the breath out of him, rubbing against his own.

Roger's hand has resumed stroking them together -- quickly, efficiently, like he's doing them both a favour.

A loud squeak breaks through the near-silence when Corey reaches out to brace himself against the window, his hand slipping in the condensation made up mostly of his own panting breaths. Another time, perhaps, it would have made him laugh, and his breathy laugh would have made Roger laugh and then --

Roger comes hard in his hand because he really can't let his shirt get dirty, and Corey follows with a shuddering groan, a half-word that could have been anything -- Fuck, Roger, Sorry -- warbles out with it.

"It's okay," Roger answers. "You're okay."

Corey licks Roger's hand clean, sucking the mess from his fingers. Tongue working between each digit till they're soaking wet. Tentative, playful nips at fingertips, biting just barely at his knuckles, never hard enough to leave a mark. No evidence gets left behind.

Feeling each ridge of Corey's teeth, Roger remembers the look on Corey's face from earlier, how his cheeks burned and he shrunk in on himself, making himself small and docile. If Corey bit down hard right now, sinking straight to the bone, then Roger would probably deserve it.

"Happy Valentine's Day," Corey whispers, lips brushing Roger's wet fingertips. Even in the quiet of the car, Corey's voice is smaller than it deserves to be. His big, brown eyes are glazy when they meet Roger's cold blues.

Roger stays quiet, feeling the warmth of Corey's heavy breath between them. In, out, in, out. He holds Corey's flushed face in his wet hand, strokes his thumb softly against his cheek, feels the barely-there stubble under his palm, watches Corey's eyes flutter shut, his lip twitch with the hint of a smile, his brow crease, fat teardrops well under his lashes until they spill down his cheeks.

"Let's get you home, hm?"

Mr Allen drops him off right outside his house -- "You're coming to do the gardening tomorrow, right?" -- and watches as Corey climbs out of the car and up the front porch steps. Joan lurks at the window, the curtains twitching closed once Corey gets to the door.

With one hand on the door handle, Corey turns to wave. Mr Allen is mostly shadowed in the driver's seat, but Corey half-smiles at him anyway, still looking even as Momma pulls him into the house by his scruff for being home so late.

As Corey lies in his bed, he stares up at the darkness of the ceiling. Or maybe his eyes are just closed because his fingers, slippery with the lotion from his nightstand, are shoved down his underwear. The gift tag from his chocolates -- For my Good Boy, ❤ R -- burns a hole beneath his pillow.

#corey cunningham x roger allen #💗💌 corey's love letters 💌💗#corey cunningham #i am a sweet tooth corey truther #corey baby that married man doesnt love you !!!!!!!#and they're such a cliche 🙄 fooling around with the babysitter ?? derivative #but i will never give corey a break #and thats a bona fide anna promise 😎#canon divergence my beloved !! they need more time together to make each other worse and ruin their lives even harder #some bonuses for the dedicated readers who also read my tags:#the game playthrough corey and jeremy watch is for f/naf #corey defo had a f/naf stan friend at school who would explain all the lore as it happened. like early days f/naf #corey watched his friend go through the trenches of the 1 - 4 timeline #the 90s movie that corey watches is the tal/ented mr rip/ley #the chocolates are russell stover. i added the pink bow though because 🎀aesthetic🎀#you know that gif of jude law in Wilde 1997 ?? yeah that one.#cunningallen

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