A week. [If John sounds mystified, it's because he is. It's mind-boggling, really. A week to mull it over, and Poe still thinks this is a good idea. Still wants him. If John had a week to think sleeping with him over, he would've packed his bags and taken the next flight to the farthest place away from himself.
He doesn't open his eyes until they standing, because he doesn't want to lose the memory of those kisses, and how soft they were. Tender. Like maybe he's something delicate. It should both him more than it does, to be seen as anything but unstoppable. Anything less than resilient.
But behind closed doors, naked, he's just John Sheppard. Commander of no one. Without his gear, and his guns, he's not so big. Just fragile as anyone else made of flesh and bone. Moreso, if his heart is brought into the equation.
Which it is. Kicking and screaming. Against his better judgement.
John slicks the length of Poe's dick, hard as a rock beneath his fingertips. He shivers, tongue darting out over his lower lip, working the lube into the skin, until he's wet with it. Glossy. If John could take a picture, he would.
Then Poe pops the question, the other question and his brow shoots up in surprise. John's not used to be asked so bluntly. He's never really been asked before, it always just... happened. Having to put words to what he wants, to ask for it, he can already feel his throat getting tight, heat sweeping from ear to ear across his nose and cheekbones.]
What? I, uh- I'm not picky, I mean, I guess if I had to choose- what do you want to do? You're the one who's had a week to think it over- Hell, I don't know! [His voice raising at least an octave. John gets pitchy when he's put on the spot. He does know, he just doesn't want to say it.]
no subject
He doesn't open his eyes until they standing, because he doesn't want to lose the memory of those kisses, and how soft they were. Tender. Like maybe he's something delicate. It should both him more than it does, to be seen as anything but unstoppable. Anything less than resilient.
But behind closed doors, naked, he's just John Sheppard. Commander of no one. Without his gear, and his guns, he's not so big. Just fragile as anyone else made of flesh and bone. Moreso, if his heart is brought into the equation.
Which it is. Kicking and screaming. Against his better judgement.
John slicks the length of Poe's dick, hard as a rock beneath his fingertips. He shivers, tongue darting out over his lower lip, working the lube into the skin, until he's wet with it. Glossy. If John could take a picture, he would.
Then Poe pops the question, the other question and his brow shoots up in surprise. John's not used to be asked so bluntly. He's never really been asked before, it always just... happened. Having to put words to what he wants, to ask for it, he can already feel his throat getting tight, heat sweeping from ear to ear across his nose and cheekbones.]
What? I, uh- I'm not picky, I mean, I guess if I had to choose- what do you want to do? You're the one who's had a week to think it over- Hell, I don't know! [His voice raising at least an octave. John gets pitchy when he's put on the spot. He does know, he just doesn't want to say it.]