The Pants were Tight
By Gumnut
Mar 2004

The pants were tight, restricting, but they did fit him. The fact they were black was a given and he felt slightly uncomfortable as it was a colour he rarely chose to wear.

He tucked the red shirt into his waistband and did up the zipper, turning to appraise himself in the mirror. Hmm, not bad. Black boots, tight black leather clad legs, slim waist, dashing red shirt with a scrap of silver hair to finish the image off. Hmm. Lobbing the heavy leather jacket onto his shoulder, he struck a pose. Oh, God, O'Neill, you look ridiculous. But it didn't stop a smile from creeping up one side of his face.

Grabbing his keys and his wallet, he stuffed them in a pocket. Why he was doing this, he didn't know. Part of him was going woohoo, the other was a little worried for his sanity.

But it was too late now. The arrangements had been made, and there was no way he was going to get out of this without some serious pie on his face.

So he forced himself out the front door and onto the footpath.

He couldn't see them, but he knew the neighbours were watching. Two minutes after his appearance on the sidewalk, Mrs McLeod, two houses down the street on the other side, suddenly decided it was a great time to cut her front lawn.

Jack didn't even want to acknowledge the head that butted up over the fence two houses in the other direction, on his side. He was well aware of young Claire’s longstanding affection for him.

He rubbed a hand across his thigh. Damn the leather was that old, it felt soft.

There was a crash in the shrubbery to his right and he vehemently started wishing his ride would hurry up and turn up.

The echo of a motor bounced between the houses heralding his friend's entrance long before the motorbike appeared at the end of the street.

He eyeballed the rider who was clad in similar black leather, the tight material outlining a definitely different shape to the one his own leather was hugging.

A visor flicked up and a pair of eyes traced his leather skins up and down before handing him a helmet. Oh, god, make it obvious why don't you. He glared back, shoving the colonel to the fore, obvious in his own way that they should get going before an ambulance was called for young Hoo one house over to the west. He'd seen her fall in that rose bush before.

He didn't need to say anything, his reprimand rather clear, so he climbed on the bike, wrapping his hands around a waist and, he had to admit to himself, clinging on for dear life.

"You ready?"

"Yep."

The engine was gunned and they tore off down the street.

And all Jack could think was, 'Daniel, if you tell Carter about these bike lessons, your coffee machine is toast.'

**********
FIN.