Rating: Tish, for knee-pit sex and voyeurism.

Disclaimer: not mine

For: hamnapkin

Prompt: say my name

Spoilers: "Black Light Attack!"

Pairing(s): Jack/Liz, Liz/Danny

Summary: Jack knows they're still making out.

Jack knows they're still making out. Liz and Danny. Despite his "confession", and despite his continuing friendship with both of them, they're still going at it behind his back. He's sure of it. He can detect the whiff of sexual contentment a mile off. Especially when it radiates from Liz Lemon, who rarely, if ever, experiences that particular brand of satisfaction. He might have missed it initially but he can't mistake it now that he knows what she's been up to behind closed doors.

He always knew Lemon could trump his lie, get Danny back, if she wished to. He just wasn't aware that she knew she could do this. Obviously, she does though. Obviously, Liz is very well aware that she has one thing going for her that he does not. As a woman, she possesses something that will always, always trump simple male camaraderie, no matter how robust it is. She has what Jack can never offer Danny. What she would call: her lady bits. Those lady bits, even if she isn't quite aware of how to put them to good use, give her a distinct advantage over him. And though he knows Liz rarely exploits her feminine wiles, Jack is certain she has some, hidden away somewhere, under layers of denim and geekdom.

He might even have glimpsed them. Once. Or twice. By pure accident.

Presumably, it took very little wielding of those wiles, very little convincing on her part, considering how taken with her Danny already seemed to be and how gullible he undoubtedly was. Jack had been unfortunate enough to hear firsthand just how appealing the new cast member found his boss, with all her weird little quirks. And while he might not entirely understand that appeal, Jack imagines that all Liz had to do was run a hand down the man's chest, give him a look with those mud-brown eyes, and persuade him that her boss was not actually in love with her, that it had all been a silly ruse on his part. He's positive Lemon could easily make that case, and in no time at all, she would have her goofy make-out buddy right back where she wanted him. In her arms. And who knew where else.

He keeps expecting to stumble upon them, making out in some secluded corner, Danny's silver-tinted hands and eager mouth all over her. Whenever he's around the two of them, he's always watching, he's always expecting one to give the other away with a little look, a lingering touch, a secret joke. He keeps barging into Liz's office unannounced or entering Danny's dressing room with the lightest of knocks and the smallest of pretexts. But Jack still hasn't caught them out. He knows he will. He knows what's going on. And it's just a matter of time before they can't hide it any longer, before it starts to show. The truth will come out. It has to.

For the good of the show, of course.

It happens when he's not actually expecting it. He's looking for Liz. And after being directed backstage by one of the teamsters, he finds her. In a barely-lit, private part of the wings. He hears her voice first. Then Danny's laugh. His footsteps immediately falter, then stop altogether. They are alone, on a level above where Jack is, a tall, black curtain falling from the rafters, hanging down between him and them. But through a gap in it, he can see her, perched on the hood of a bisected yellow cab, a prop from a new series of sketches she wrote for him. Danny is standing between her parted knees, still in his costume from rehearsal. Not that ridiculous ChiPs outfit that Lemon seems so enamored with. But this time, he is dressed in a dark blue suit, white shirt and burgundy and navy tie. The quintessential businessman. Though he still looks like a bit of a goofball to Jack, as he attempts to remove Liz's heels with a dumb, hopeful smile.

"Uh-uh," she says, stopping him. She awkwardly hooks one heel on the bumper bar of the cab, her other leg hanging down loosely, "Not the shoes, buddy. You know the deal."

Danny's dumb smile widens, Jack can see it from where he is. "You're so weird," he beams at her, "I so dig that about you."

Liz's eyes widen as she nods. "Yeah. I get that a lot."

Then he kisses her. Without warning, and with little finesse, it seems to Jack. He shrinks back against a prop wall, watching through the gap in the curtain as Liz's hands run up over his sleeves and Danny's move aimlessly over her little black dress. Jack wonders briefly whether she wore it for him, for this. It takes an actual reason to get Liz into a dress and heels. And it's not Christmas, or any holiday, in fact. She doesn't have a date that night, unless this counts as one to her, which it certainly shouldn't.

Jack can't think of a single reason why Liz came to work that day, not in her usual jeans and cardigan, but in something resembling what a woman with an inner sex-kitten might don for a day at the office. She looks nice. Even he can admit that. She looks…appealing. In a womanly way. And apparently, he's not the only one to think so. Danny's hands are moving down her thighs, down the outsides of her bare legs, grazing her feet before sliding up, hooking under her knees. As soon as he touches her there, Liz breaks their kiss with a sharp gasp. And his name.

"Hey…Liz?" he murmurs, pulling her closer, making her slide that little bit closer to him on the cab's shiny surface, "Can you do me a favor?"

Her dark eyes slide up to his, a little wary. "What?"

"I…I don't wanna play any more games with you," he says earnestly, hands on her knees, spread round his hips. "I just want it to be me and you this time. Is that…okay?"

Jack almost snorts from his hidden location. Because this guy is too much. It's no wonder he ended up at her beck and call again. It's no wonder he ended up as her little scrump-nugget in the first place. He might make a half-decent alpha-male wingman but he obviously has no real clue what he's doing when it comes to the fairer sex. No woman would fall for that lame puppy dog act, and certainly not Liz Lemon. Anyone with even a modicum of experience and a middling IQ could see right through it. That whole sweet and innocent routine went out of style in the fifties. Which is why Jack is shocked when Liz just nods and replies:

"Sure, okay. Just you and me."

"So, could you…" Danny pauses, kissing her lips once, lightly, "call me by my real name?"

Liz licks her lips, scrunches her brow. "…What?"

In the wings, comprehension starts to dawn on Jack, before it seemingly dawns on her.

"My real name," Danny repeats.

She cocks her head. "But…Danny's your real name."

"No, it's not," he reminds her, "That's my stage name, it was given to me. Remember?"

Liz lifts her chin, mouth falling open, then she nods a few times slowly. "Ri-i-ight…You're real name is-"

"I know it would be totally weird if there was something between you guys," Danny adds hastily, "But you said there isn't."

"There isn't," Liz insists immediately. "There absolutely isn't. Anything. Between me and…"

"Jack."

"Exactly. Him."

"Never has been. That's what you said."

Liz shakes her head. "And never will be. Believe me."

"So?" he asks her, all hopeful and puppy-like.

Jack shuffles closer, finding a better position where can read her face more clearly but where the shadows make him completely undetectable. Not that he should really be witnessing this at all. If anything, he should be putting a stop to it. As her boss, and his boss, he would be perfectly within his rights to interrupt them. He could stop this at any time. Like now, for instance. And her face would go red with shame and Danny's mouth start stuttering excuses. And it would be over. Just like that. Hopefully, for good this time. But something – something selfish and curious – stops him from doing it. It might be the way Liz slides her hand down Danny's chest. Or the way she unbuttons his jacket and starts fiddling with the tip of his tie.

"It's just…I don't think of you as Jack," she says softly. "I think of him…as Jack."

"But I am Jack."

"I know you are."

"It would be like me calling you 'Lemon'," he points out, "just because Jack does it."

"Well-"

There is something not right with this logic, and Jack sees that thought pass across her face, but Liz doesn't voice the obvious. She tilts her head, starts to open her mouth on another objection, but Danny slips a finger under her knee, does something to the tender skin there that makes Liz immediately bite her tongue and whimper pathetically.

"I'll do the knee thing," he says in a teasing voice, "if you try."

"Okay," she acquiesces, suddenly breathless and defenseless. "Do the knee thing. And I'll try…"

"Cool," Danny grins, then captures her lips in a kiss that makes her lean in, makes her lips follow his for more.

As they continue to make-out on the hood of the cab, Jack narrows his eyes, squinting at the fingers moving underneath one of Liz's knees. Obviously, Danny has located a very powerful erogenous zone on her body. Because with every stroke and circle and press, she smiles against his mouth and tips her head, allowing him deeper, offering him more. She even throws her head back when he breaks from her mouth, his lips continuing down her neck. Liz is all but writhing on the car, just from the purposeful ministrations he is applying to one knee. And privately, Jack can't help but be a little impressed. He wonders whether this erogenous zone exists on all women, how he could possibly have overlooked it all these years. Or whether it's a sexual quirk unique only to Liz Lemon.

He swiftly loses some of the respect Danny was conjuring up with his bizarre but seemingly effective seduction of her knee when he sees Liz arch her back just slightly, breasts protruding shyly but wantingly. Danny's mouth continues it's descent, laying light, ineffectual kisses on the pale mounds that heave with breath above the neckline of her black dress. But, like the callow Canadian hick he still is, he confines his attentions to that area alone when Jack can see her body silently begging for him to go just that little bit lower. He knows that movement in a woman, knows exactly what it suggests. That arch of the back, however demure, can only mean one thing. And that is, simply put: more. More contact, more sensation, and more specifically, it means nipple stimulation, dear Lord, just a little of it.

Which Jack must admit, he also finds somewhat curious. He never thought Liz would have particularly sensitive breasts. Not that he sits around pondering such things. But from what he's observed, in a rather odd way, she always seemed slightly detached from her own…endowments. Obviously though, she is not. Obviously, he was wrong and Liz likes a man's touch on her endowments as much as the next woman. Unfortunately Danny seems utterly unaware of this. Liz is possibly unaware herself that this is the signal she is giving off, that this is what she is wanting. In fact, the only one receiving her unconscious signal is Jack - and not the Jack she is currently making out with.

In the wings, he wags his head back and forth at the senseless waste of it all.

When Danny continues to ignore the needs of her breasts, Liz leans forward, wrapping her arms about his shoulders, pressing them against him and sighing his name. The wrong name. The fake one. The one he didn't wish to hear. He immediately stops, withdrawing his fingers from her leg.

Liz frowns and slumps. "Sorry. It just came out. I couldn't help it."

"It's okay," Danny mumbles, hanging his head like a dejected schoolboy. "I guess it's just too weird for you…"

"No-no," she insists, shaking her head, "it's really not. I can say it. Of course I can say it. Jack. See? Jack, Jack, Jack. It's just a name, it's no big deal. I can say his name. I mean, your name- the name. It's easy. Watch." She leans back, palms on the cab, ducking her head to catch his gaze. When he looks up, she gives a confident nod. "Jack."

Danny smiles.

So she says it again, with an easy shrug. "Jack."

Danny bobs his head happily. "That's me."

"Yes," she says, patting his chest a few times, "Yes, it is. You are…Jack."

Danny curls his hand around her knee, the one he wasn't fingering before, the one Jack can't see from his hiding place. And he does something to it to impel her give out an orgasmic giggle, eyes snapping shut.

Her head lolls on her neck for a moment. "Oh my God, yes..."

Danny leans in, kissing her and whispering, "Say my name."

"Uh…" Liz breathes a moment, her voice brimming with uncertain lust when she answers, "Jack."

In the wings, Jack feels a little zing race through him, a warm feeling pool in his gut. A purely physical reaction, he tells himself. Pavlovian. It's his name. That is all. It has absolutely nothing to do with the woman sighing it in pleasure. To another man. Also named Jack. Which he completely forgot about.

He sees Liz lift her head, an expression of vague confusion passing over her eyes, before Danny blocks her from his view by kissing her. Jack wonders what that look, that fragile confusion might have meant. But he is distracted from the train of thought by Liz breaking their kiss, her hands clawing at Danny's jacket, her open mouth pressing against his shoulder as she struggles for breath. Danny's hand is still working her, in fact he's now molesting both knees at the same time, kissing her hair and neck randomly as he draws moan after sigh after whimper from her throat. Each one filled out with just one word, one name.

"Jack…Jack…Jack…Jack…Jack…Jack…Jack…JackJackJack-"

Danny steps back all of a sudden, causing Liz to nearly topple forward. Slipping down off the fake cab, she catches herself, feet landing on the ground, one high heel after the other. She blinks at him, druggy and disheveled.

"Sorry," Danny mumbles, not looking at her, "I'm sorry, Liz. But…that just got weird."

She frowns, incredulous. "You're…kidding me…right?"

"I know I-" He steps closer to her, pulls her skirt down over her knees then meets her flustered gaze. "I'm really sorry," he apologizes again, "but…wow. Too weird." Danny shakes his head before turning abruptly and leaving Liz, stunned, wide-eyed and alone in the middle of the raised platform.

Jack shifts quietly in the darkness, watching as the other man exits via the stage and not the walkway he's been skulking in the whole time. And when his eyes return to Liz, she has leant back, her butt on the edge of the cab, her back slouched and her eyes cast at the floor. She makes a face as she scratches the back of her knee in irritation. Then she shakes her head slowly, muttering under her breath:

"Jack Donaghy…"

It's low, but he hears his own name, hears the tone she employs. She doesn't speak it with any hint of the affection he knows she does hold for him. Nor is there any trace of the longing that pervaded her voice just a few moments prior. Longing he is not sure whether to own or not. Liz mutters his name in much the same way that he remembers muttering hers just a few weeks before, when Danny abandoned him at a hockey game to go enjoy her womanly wiles.

She mutters it as if the name itself is a constant affliction. A curse. One that might have been escapable at some, much earlier time. But now there's no point in even trying. The curse has taken hold. And not just on her. It has it's insidious tentacles weaved about the both of them, through their hearts, into their minds and around their lives. And there is not a single thing either of them can do about that. They are in it together. With no mercy in sight.

Though as far as Jack is concerned, there is a tiny silver lining to be seen here. Which is that he no longer has to prepare himself for the unexpected sight of Liz and her secret workplace boyfriend making out in some secluded corner. He no longer has to periodically invade their personal space or study their interaction with a suspicious gaze. He no longer has to wonder about Liz's thin lips or her tongue girth or how she might utilize either. And he no longer has to imagine invisible hand and mouth markings all over her body.

Because after this little incident, Jack is pretty damn sure that Liz and Danny will not be making out again.

Ever.

END.