Habitual by Cowardly Lion

Jack O'Neill strode confidently down the hallway, past the closed doors of the classrooms. The muffled voices of nuns and acolytes teaching important lessons to bored teenagers drifted past him, catalogued as background noise and dismissed.  Expected.  Insignificant.  Not impacting his mission here.  Straightening his wimple, he settled his black outer veil evenly over the white under veil taking the same care in adjusting his tunic, coif and scapular.  His hard black shoes tapped rhythmically as he moved quickly to the main office  - the office where he would find his quarry. 
 
There it was.  A regular door, like all the others he had passed, mostly wood with the top half paned in pebbled glass.  However, this door wasn't numbered like the others.  This door had a name plate.  Gold letters etched into utilitarian black plastic proclaimed this to be the lair of the beast.  Father Harold Maybourne.
 
Jack politely rapped twice on the door then walked in. Hmmmm...not quite the lair of the beast.  More like the outer vestibule.  This was definitely a working office with not one but two desks and several filing cabinets. There was a door directly across from him and a door to the left.  In front of him stood the tallest Catholic schoolgirl he had ever seen. 
 
Then he realized that despite the hard black shoes, navy knee socks, short grey plaid skirt, white blouse and navy half-tie, this was no schoolgirl.  This was one of the most handsome men Jack had ever laid eyes on.  At least six feet tall and strongly built, he looked as though he could put up quite a fight if he decided to.  But big blue eyes blinking myopically from behind round wire rimmed glasses gave him an air of tranquility.  Under his tunic, Jack's naughty parts were beginning to stir with wicked thoughts of their own.  Inwardly he sighed, regretting his decision to go commando today.
 
Jack peered suspiciously at the young man.  "You're way too old to be a student. Who are you?"
 
Wide blue eyes full of angelic innocence met his.  A delicate pink tongue darted out to moisten the plump lower lip. "Oh, I'm Daniel, The Plucky Orphan Boy."
 
Jack's eyebrows lifted wimple-ward.  "Plucky Orphan Boy?  You gotta be thirty if you're a day."
 
"Thirty five, actually, but I came here after my parents died when I was eight."  He shrugged. "The nickname just kind of stuck. I do the office work for the church and the school so that Father Maybourne can concentrate on his priestly duties.  And you are?"
 
"Sister Mary Wenceslaus," he rattled off his cover ID, adding, "but you can call me Sister Jack."  Irritated when Daniel continued to stare at him with no comment, Jack snapped, "What's the matter?  You never see a nun that had to shave before?"
 
"No."  Daniel tilted his head, eyebrows lurching as he considered the question. "Well, yes - but Sister Joseph of Arimathea was in her late eighties and had had a full mustache for quite some time.  She was beginning to sprout a matching goatee when she passed away last year."
 
"Oookay." Jack ran a doubting glance over Daniel.  Sure he seemed sweet and innocent, but that would be the perfect front to hide what was really going on around here - what he had been sent on this covert op to discover.  Without getting specific, he let Daniel know about his clandestine purpose. Maybe the young man would let something slip. "I'm here on a secret mission to ferret out the truth after rumors reached His Grace Archbishop Hammond about wrong-doing among the faithful here. The transgressor is one of the clergy."
 
Daniel drew breath, hesitated, then asked, "Ummm...if you're a man, how come you're not a monk? Or a priest? Or a friar?  or an Abbot?  or - "
 
"Aht!" Jack held up one finger to stop the list. "Because except for Father Maybourne, this is a convent order, not a monastic one.  I needed to blend in. Speaking of which," he wiggled a hand at Daniel, "what's up with the outfit?"
 
Daniel looked puzzled for a moment as though he had forgotten what he was wearing, then his expression brightened.  "Oh!  Well, you see, Father Harry depends on me too much to let me leave so I've had to get my secondary education through online and correspondence schools. It's taken a while, but I've received doctorates in archeology, anthropology, and philology from -"
 
"- Texas Bob's Correspondence School and Rodeo?" interrupted Jack sarcastically.
 
"No, from Harvard, Yale and Cambridge, actually," corrected Daniel.  "They were quite helpful. Something about my placing higher on the entrance exams than any human being in recorded history."
 
"Whoa!" Jack was impressed.
 
"Anyway, part of being an anthropologist involves studying a different cultures, living among them, learning their ways. Since I can't really leave Father Maybourne, the best I can do is try to study the local culture which in this case means the school. This week, I thought I would try the native style of dress.  It's kind of liberating, actually." 
 
Jack thought of the habit that he sometimes wore as part of his work as a undercover operative for the Archbishop.  Except for the wimple, it wasn't too bad.  He did prefer monks' robes, though. No hat, er, headcovering. "Yeah, I guess I know what you mean."  He eyed the young man thoughtfully, sizing him up, making a quick decision of character and trustworthiness based on their brief interactions.  Jack's instincts were good and he relied on them now.  He could trust this young man fully.

"I need your help.  The word on the street is that Father Maybourne is profiting from the sale of illicit goods." Jack pulled two cards from his pocket.  One was about the size of a business card, the other about the size of a half sheet of paper. "Have you seen either of these items around here?" 
 
The smaller card had a picture of Satan with the international symbol for no - a red circle with a diagonal line through it - across his face.  Fancy golden lettering proclaimed "Get Out Of Hell Free!"  Fine print, nearly invisible in shiny silver letters, stated "Limited time offer, good for one sin only. Must recite novena. Offer void where prohibited by Vatican II. Cost varies according to transgression. Ask to see our price list!  Special discounts for repeat customers!"
 
Daniel nodded.  "That looks familiar."
 
Jack showed him the other card.  Small squares were arranged five columns across and five rows down. Inside each square was a minor sin or transgression.  The center square was solid.  Bold font across the top and bottom proclaimed "Confessional Bingo!  The More You Sin - The More You Win!  $5 per card.  No refunds.  Must faithfully perform all penance as required by the Holy Father."
 
"That looks familiar too."  Worried blue eyes met Jack's brown ones.  "I didn't think it was right for Father Harry to sell those, but I didn't want to make trouble for him.  Besides, he always said that if it weren't for him the church would have made me leave long ago.  I thought there was something odd, but I was too afraid to do anything, tell anyone.  This is the only home I've ever known.  Now, I'll be tossed out anyway."
 
"You didn't do anything," Jack assured him. The poor guy looked so upset, Jack had to fight the urge to give him a full body hug, with extra back patting.  Purely platonic of course.  To comfort and console. 
 
"Exactly," nodded Daniel.  "Sin of omission." Moving with exquisite care, Daniel picked up a ruler from the desk, his long elegant fingers holding it lightly.  He pressed it into Jack's palm.  Jack felt his hand wrap around it without conscious effort on his part.
 
"I'm sorry, Sister Jack." Daniel looked up from under thick lashes, blue eyes blinking rapidly. "I've been a bad bad young man. I deserve to be punished." His pearly white teeth nibbled his full lower lip in trepidation as he turned his back to Jack and leaned forward slightly. Reaching behind him with both hands, Daniel flipped up the hem of his grey plaid skirt, putting his demure white panties on display.
 
"Oh, my God," whimpered Jack as he stared at the smooth white cotton stretched tautly over the buttocks, "I'm going straight to Hell for this."  He clutched the ruler, its edges digging grooves into his palm. "Straight to Hell.  There's an express elevator with my name on it," he croaked, his throat suddenly dry. There was a stirring under the tunic as desires of the flesh ran rampant through his sinful bits. 
 
Daniel gracefully bent forward to a ninety degree angle, the muscles in his strong thighs rippling under his smooth golden skin.  Still waiting for a response, he peered over his shoulder at Jack, his big blue eyes questioning the delay. As he shifted restlessly, one navy blue knee high sock slipped a fraction of an inch down the bunched muscles of his calf.  His navy blue half-tie hung under his throat, swaying gently.  "Jack?" he whispered wistfully, eyebrows raised in inquiry and invitation. "Jack?" he repeated louder as his clenched fists flicked the hem of his skirt for emphasis. 
 
"JACK!"  
 
With a snort, Jack jerked awake, shouting "SMACK THOSE PANTIES!", his right hand flailing in a spanking motion as he fell off the sofa. "OOF!"
 
Arms akimbo, Daniel stood by the coffee table, glaring down at him. "You've been having that "Sister Jack: Undercover Nun" dream again, haven't you?"
 
Jack shuddered, the shook all over like a dog, trying to fling off the last vestiges of the dream.  "I'm going straight to Hell to for that." He scrubbed his palms over his face, trying to wake all the way up. "There's an express - "
 
"- elevator with your name on it," Daniel's voice was devoid of any sympathy. "You've mentioned that. Several times now." Still looming over him, Daniel folded his arms across his chest, "I cannot tell you how deeply it disturbs me that you have me dressed up like a schoolgirl in this dream of yours."
 
"Hey!" Jack sat up, cross-legged on the floor resting his back against the couch. "It's not my fault I spent my adolescence at Our Lady of Hope Catholic School." A quick glance at the television confirmed that he'd missed the Saturday afternoon hockey game, dammit.  "Who won?"
 
"What?" Daniel looked confused.
 
"The game." Jack pointed toward the television where some random movie was playing. "Who won?"
 
"Oh. I'm not sure.  I flipped channels during the commercial and forgot to go back."
 
Great. Not only did he miss the game, he didn't know who won. An image from his dream drifted through his forebrain.  Maybe this day wasn't a total loss.  He squinted up at Daniel.  "Did you keep that skirt you got on P4R-9J2?"
 
"It's a kilt and of course I kept it.  We all did. The Relorans presented them to SG-1 as part of the ritual ceremony of unity between our peoples. Why?"
 
"Sweet!" Jack rubbed his hands together excitedly as he rolled up from his sitting position to stand next to Daniel.  "I feel a sin coming on!" he announced with a leer. "You can roll the waistband up a few times to shorten it.  We'll get some tube socks, though we probably can't get any in navy, then – "
 
"Hold it!" Daniel flashed his palms outward to stop the flow of words. "I'm telling you right now that that's not going to happen."
 
"Oh come on," wheedled Jack, "it'll be fun."
 
"I refuse to prance around like a schoolgirl so that you can relive some adolescent fantasy."
 
"Fine!" pouted Jack, pausing for a moment. "How about you wear the kilt put a bandana on your head, bend me over and talk dirty to me in Latin?"
 
Daniel looked horrified.  "You want to get poked by a nun? You," he declared flatly, "are not a well man." 
 
"Hey!" Jack let his hurt show through. "I played along with your 'Heinrich Schliemann discovers Troy' scenario."
 
Daniel flushed, a small half-smile briefly lighting his face. "That was different. You're asking me to act like a girl."
 
"So?  In your little fantasy, I wasn't even a person – I was Troy, for crying out loud. You excavated me!"
 
Daniel raised his chin defensively. "You loved it when I breached the gates to the city."
 
Jack mock-punched him in the shoulder then winked. "Nobody delves like you, Dr. Jackson."
 
Daniel sighed. "Okay," he relented, "you have a point. BUT –" he looked forcefully at Jack "I'll go for the nun, not the schoolgirl.  I'll wear the kilt, my hiking boots and socks, and my bandana."
 
Jack perked up. "Nothing else?"
 
"Nothing else," confirmed Daniel. "Wait! I take that back.  I'm bringing a ruler."
 
Jack's pulse quickened.  "I've been all kinds of bad, Daniel.  I'm a dirty, dirty boy and I need correction."
 
"Not Daniel. Call me…" he pursed his lips thoughtfully "Sister Mary Butch the Righteous."
 
Jack could feel a tingling begin in his groin.
 
Daniel, moved casually into Jack's personal space as he continued laying out the premise. "The living room is the school auditorium. Everyone is there - students, faculty, hell, even the janitor and the cafeteria ladies are watching." 
 
He leaned closer, the heat of his body radiating through Jack, making him fever-hot.  Jack's cock was as hard as it could get, trapped as it was in his jeans, throbbing in concert with thumping of his heart. 
 
"I'm going to bend you over the couch," Daniel's voice low and sultry, full of wicked promise and the will to deliver, "put your ass on display as I smack it-" Jack gasped as Daniel reached behind him and lightly hit his ass cheek before squeezing it firmly and pulling Jack into him, pressing his hard cock against Jack. " - again and again with the ruler And then..."  His breath was warm and moist, murmuring wonderful things - filthy, suggestive, inventive things - into Jack's eager ear, finishing with. "...and the whole school can see the dirty boy take his punishment. "
 
"Unh!" Jack grabbed his dick and squeezed. He'd need to pace himself for the long fun-filled night ahead of them.  
 
Smirking, Daniel pulled away and winked at him.  "Race you to the bedroom to change!" he shouted as he fled down the hallway. 
 
Let the games begin, thought Jack as he gave chase.
 
 
Finis