Disclaimer: Not mine. So not mine.

Spoilers: Vague, up through season 7.

Warnings: m/m pairing. Vague sexual references.

Rating: R

Notes: This is all Louisa's fault. (I don't care if this is realistic or not, damnit...) The title is Depeche Mode's fault.

Pairing: Pete/Daniel, Sam/Pete

Unfaithfully Pursuing the Policy of Truth

by Ana Lyssie Cotton

He really hadn't meant to do this. Really. He'd tried to resist the lure of the man in his bed. But it was like an irresistable force meeting an object at rest. Or something like that. He was sure his girlfriend could tell him, she seemed to know all about those physcis-y type things.

On some level, Pete Shanahan felt like he was betraying something special. On another, he felt that this worked out.

Sam Carter used him, he used Sam Carter.

It was a win-win situation, either way he looked at it.

The man in his bed stirred and sleepy blue eyes gazed at him myopically.

It was the look that had nailed him to the wall in the infirmary, the first time they'd actually met. Sam had just told him everything about her little secret project, then had run off. And Dr. Daniel Jackson had wandered in, trying to be helpful.

Oh, he'd been helpful, all right. One look out of those blue eyes and Pete had found his brain splattered to the four winds more effectively than that chick with the energy device had done it.

"Hi. I'm Daniel."

"Pete." The handshake had been a mere formality after the assessing look. A confirmation of what they'd both recognized in that moment.

"So. Sam tells me you're a cop."

The conversation hadn't gotten any less inane since then. But, of course, he wasn't fucking Daniel for his conversation. Neither was the other man fucking him for the companionship. They both knew this was only momentary. A fleeting affair before they moved on to others. It didn't even hurt. Not the way it had when his ex-wife found him in bed with the plumber.

Although perhaps that had simply been embarrassment.

He remembered using his wife as sympathy-fodder, to get Sam into bed. It had worked, too. Not that she wasn't a fun and attractive woman, of course. But on some level she just wasn't... there. Not for him, at least.

It had taken him weeks of seeing all of them together to finally nail down what bothered him.

By then, he'd shared Daniel's bed half a dozen times. And so it really hadn't mattered (other than a slight flash of sadness, maybe a little jealousy) that Samantha Carter was in love with Jack O'Neill, and probably would never let him go. She probably didn't even realize it. Pete had heard her talking to Janet, once, before the lovely Dr. Frasier had died analysing deep space radar telemetry.

"I've let him go."

"And Pete?"

"I think I can be happy with him."

Three lines, and he'd known how deeply she lied to herself. Her unconscious movements around Jack O'Neill proved that she might never let him go.

Whether that was healthy wasn't something that really bothered Pete.

He had Daniel Jackson, for now. And he had Sam Carter. At some point he was going to have to give them both up. But until them, he was perfectly willing to satisfy every urge he felt.

And then some.