[ God but it feels good to turn John loose. Those hands tugging at the cloth of his shirt, that approving noise. Poe hisses at the grind, then the hand on his half-erect penis through the cloth. He bites John's lower lip. Loosens his grip and runs his tongue over the spot. It's a favorite trick, the rough and the sweet. ]
Take your pants off.
[ They're still there, half-way down John's legs, now nothing but in the way. ] Then undress me, Sheppard.
[ He runs his hands through John's hair, looking the man dead in the eyes. ] Please.
[As if John could deny those eyes. He wants nothing more than to satisfy Poe. To earn his pleasure, and his praise. John's happiest when he's working, and now he has a job to do.
His hands fall away from Poe's crotch, but only so he can shove his pants down to his ankles and kick them off.
Then comes the moment he's been waiting for.
John's eyes stay on Poe's eyes as he grabs at the hem of his shirt, and pulling it up over Poe's head and soon as he lifts his arms, Poe's necklace catching in the collar before dropping back down onto his chest.
He can't help but lean down and kiss a line down Poe's throat to the centre of his chest, following the line of the chain all the way to the washer sitting squarely between Poe's pecs. John loves the story of that washer. It appeals to the romantic in him. Reminds him that there's always love, even at war. Something that's easy to forget, when you're knee-deep in blood and regret.
His fingers play at the buckle of Poe's belt, flicking it open with just his thumb, and yanking it free of the loops with one pull. Practice makes perfect.
He mouths at the corner of Poe's lips hungrily, more than a little greedy as he sinks his fingers into the meat of Poe's hips, edging his pants down his ass, and taking his time doing it. Savouring the reveal. Taking advantage of Poe's generousity.]
[ That's part of the reason Poe wears the ring, that reminder, that bit of hope. There aren't that many people who know what it is. Either they haven't seen it or they don't have the courage or curiosity to ask.
Poe is fine with that. It might be the gift he plans to give the right partner some time down the line, but right now--right now it's a tether, a private link to the mother the New Republic recognized as a true hero. The pilot who saved more lives than she ever would have admitted to, herself.
He doesn't think he's in love with John Sheppard--he doesn't think this is what love feels like. It's a different kind of affection, the kind of love where broken pieces match up well enough to maybe rub the sharp edges away from either side. Still broken. Less painfully so.
He gives John the reward of a moan as his belt whips free of the loops, turns his head to present ear and throat as John works his pants down slowly. He's going to have to dip into those pockets before they move to the bed--he brought a local lubricant, something that makes the skin tingle, and he's not about to waste the chance to use it.
Poe grips John's wrists tightly, not pulling, not pushing, just hanging on, hard enough to leave the possibility of a bruise. With a ghost of amusement: ] Taking your time.
[John squeezes Poe's ass with both hands, and takes his time with that too. He's the one Poe's been making to wait, after all. Has been chomping at the bit ever since Poe reined him in.
When he's had his fill of skin, he drops Poe's pants and boxers down around his ankles, and bends down to pick them up.
Eye-level with Poe's cock, he can't help biting his lip. Hard. There's a lot. Some might say too much, but John's always been a believer in the saying 'go big or go home'. Length he can give or take, but thickness? His eyes dart from Poe's cock, to his face, and back again. John swallows.
Can he get away with it? It's worth a shot.
At the very least, he'll get a lick in, all the way from the root to tip. And since he likes to live dangerously, he gives that a suck too. Poe can't blame him from wanting a taste.]
[ Goosebumps roll up Poe's back along with the sensation. Poe sinks his hands into John's hair and tugs softly, then moves his hands to the tops of John's ears and pulls a little less softly. ]
Nuh-uh.
[ Even if he's getting hard from the attention. Even if it would be easy to let John have what he wants. That isn't what this is about. Yeah, it's going to end up with both of them getting their fill, but right now, it's not about letting John do things his way. ] Left hand pocket. My left.
[ Hey, the guy is down there, he might as well get the lube out. ]
[John nearly chokes when Poe pulls him back by his ears, which are very sensitive, and also attached to his goddamn head. He narrows his eyes, somewhere between pouty and rebellious, but it's hard to concentrate on Poe's face with his dick getting hard just inches away.
John's not used to not being in charge, and he keeps forgetting the shots aren't his to call. Would already be doing things his way, on his terms, if Poe weren't constantly reminding him.
Frustrated. Excited. Annoyed. Aroused. Scared. He's all of those emotions, and more. The polar opposite of the sex John's used to having. Simple and safe, with so many layers of protection between him and the other person, that nothing short of teeth can hurt him.
He's half expecting a condom when he reaches into Poe's pocket, but pulls out lubricant instead. He's surprised to see it. Knowing Poe thought that far ahead, that this really was pre-meditated, and not just a spur of the moment decision on a rough night makes John's chest tight, his breath skipping, desire knifing him so violently in the gut he's almost dizzy.]
[ Poe kneels, carefully, bringing himself eye to eye with John. He smooths his thumbs over John's eyelids, forcing the man to close his eyes, so Poe can kiss one eyelid, then the other, then his lips, just the brush of mouth on mouth. ]
Yes, I did.
[ There's so much in John's words. The surprise. It breaks Poe's heart a little bit, for reasons he can't quite name. As though someone wouldn't think through a night with John. As though it's a novel experience.
Poe makes a silent note to do this again, to think it through again, to show somehow that he did so.
He kisses John more firmly, gripping his upper arms to guide John back to his feet. He takes the little tube from John, twisting off the cap, smearing a generous dose of the gel across John's fingertips. ] I've been thinking about this for, oh, a week or so.
[ Another kiss. He takes John's wrist and pulls the man's hand down to touch Poe's dick. ] Give or take.
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.]
[ Poe gives him a blank look for a second. Then enlightenment dawns. And he cracks the fuck up. He puts his hand on the back of John's head, pulling them together until their foreheads touch, still laughing. ]
Give or take a week, John. Give or take a week.
[ He laughs into another kiss, suddenly enamored of this man in an entirely different way. There's a strange sweetness to John's reluctance to say one way or the other, miscommunication or no. He pulls John close enough that they can feel each others' erections. ] You're going to take it, and you're going to like it.
[John's painfully embarrassed, cringing at himself, but then Poe has such a laugh. How has John never noticed? Thinking back on all the time they've spent together, in the hangar, cockpit, around town, Poe doesn't really laugh that often, and it's a damn crime. John will make Poe laugh each and every day, if it means he gets to hear it.
Poe's laughter is sweet on his lips, John inhales it deep into his lungs. Stores it inside of himself for later, for an emergency. When oxygen isn't enough of a reason to keep breathing.
John should never have let Poe in. He screwed up. Big time.
Because he was fine without this, before. At least that's what he told himself. Now he's desperate for the next kiss, desperate for the next shared breath, desperate for this man to touch him, to want him, to be inside of him.
John shudders, because Poe knows him, somehow. Knows what he wants, even though John doesn't know how to ask. Is afraid to. He'll take it from Poe, and he'll like it too damn much. More than he should.
Forehead to forehead, his nose brushes against Poe's nose, and he thinks back to the Pegasus Galaxy. It's a taste of home. Right here, right now, is the first time he hasn't missed it.]
Okay.
[In the end, his submission comes down to a single word.]
[ He takes the lube from John. Puts a hand to John's hip, turns him gently so John's back is to him. Poe slicks his fingers with the lube, traces them from the top of John's ass down between his cheeks until he brushes John's hole. He runs his finger gently along the outer edge, then penetrates, slicking his fingers against John's inner walls.
Poe tosses the little lube tube onto John's bed, just in case they need it. He kisses the back of John's neck along the hairline, down to his shoulder blades, tonguing down further until he's at the small of John's back and seems like he might, might just lick his way down John's ass.
Then he's straightening up, arm around John's waist, dick pressed gently against John's cheeks.
It's odd, to feel this kind of ownership of a man he's known for so little time. It's odd to feel that ownership when they're so new to this kind of intimacy. Poe isn't used to it. He's used to easy sex, friendly sex, sex without commitment. This feels like a pact made, somehow, but he doesn't have it in him to be afraid of that just now.
[John doesn't argue. He's on cruise-control while his brain lags, easily directed by the pilot. Still hung up on the press of Poe's fingers inside of him, and those kisses scattered from his neck to his ass like so many stars in a constellation.
He's been with men before. Men in college. Men in bars. Men in the military. Men at war. John prefers women, because who doesn't, but there have always been men. Men are quicker, easier, and more casual than women. Men don't ask what he's thinking or feeling. Men don't tell. Men fuck him and forget him, and John forgets them, too.
Then there's Poe, who is unequivocally a man, by the press of his dick against John's ass, and the thick of his forearm across John's ribs, heavy on top of him when John climbs onto the bed, on his hands and knees, but unlike any man he's ever been with.
Unlike any person John's ever been with, in that he pushes John, like no one dares push him, and asks more of John than he's ever willingly offered. And John can't help but give it to him.
John's belly moves with the depth of his breathing as he prepares himself, mentally accepting what's coming, surrendering, like he's been wanting to surrender since Poe looked at him in the doorway to his apartment with dark, clear eyes, that know what they want.
[ Poe has no idea, the effect he's having. What he knows is that he likes this version of John, this charming and vulnerable man he's never seen outside of this room. He knows that seeing this vulnerability is fragile and precious and something he'll think about when he's trying to fall asleep.
He's not sure what to feel about that, thinking of someone while he falls asleep.
Poe settles in behind John, rolls his hips to rub his erection across John's crack. Deeper. Guiding his dick into John's hole with one hand, giving the spot another light fingertip touch before he penetrates.
Then he's leaning over John's shoulder, his hand still slick with lube, taking John's cock in hand and gliding his grip from root to tip along with the slow rhythm of his hips. He kisses John's back, one scar, then another.
It seems important, to touch those places. That's where Poe would want to be touched. Each little bit of contact telling him (telling John) that those places don't mean he's broken. Poe feels broken often enough, feels it more and more acutely the longer he's trapped in Riverview. The longer he's away from his purpose, his war. Sometimes he wakes up in the night afraid that he's got nothing left but scars.
He thrusts hard, goes soft again, then hard, then harder. Intervals of gentleness punctuated and slowly replaced by a rough, hard fucking. ]
[The initial penetration makes John's head spin, with just enough pain to make John almost come when Poe's hips press flush against his ass. He sags beneath him, only held up by Poe's strong arm around his waist. It's been a while for John. His body is conflicted, at first. Tight, and defiant. Then Poe sinks in, all the way in, his hand working John's dick, and John's body yields with a shudder Poe will feel.
Sweat drips from John's brow onto the bed, stinging his eyes. His breathing is sharp and vocalized, only as deep as the space between their bodies, and forced out of him with every thrust. He's already moved onto his forearms, fingers twisting up in the sheets, knuckles white with strain.
John falls apart with every slam of Poe's hips, slave to the friction of skin against skin, the raw heat and hardness of Poe's dick scraping inside of him, hitting deep in the way John loves, so deep the emptiness of inside of him is filled, if only for a heartbeat.
Poe builds him back up with every kiss, gentle, and searing against his sensitized skin. John's never been kissed like that, while being fucked like this. More than anything, that's what has his knees buckling, his spine softening, his breathing becoming softer, and more pitched.
John could get used to it, would like to get used to it, to this, if Poe would give him the chance.]
[ He slows again, dick starting to throb with stimulation, a heartbeat pulse that makes it hard not to bust right there.
Not yet.
Poe is not a selfish partner. He's not going to come if his other half hasn't. So he takes his time, each thrust slow and hard, his necklace swinging, brushing John's back whenever Poe leans in for a kiss.
He can feel the shivers, the lurches, the way John is going loose against him and Poe likes it. He loves it, he's grateful for it. John needs this. He needs it as much as Poe needed him to say no when they were here before. Poe tightens his free arm across John's stomach, pushing that much deeper with each plunge.
He rolls his thumb over the head of John's dick, pressing harder than there's any need to, intending to hurt, but only a little. He's gotten good reactions to that kind of treatment so far. With his mouth against John's spine: ]
Do you like that?
[ One hard thrust to accompany the words, pushing hard enough to shift John forward a fraction on the sheets. ]
[That first night in his bedroom, only a week ago, John had fantasized about this. What it would feel like for Poe to push him down, and split him open. Fuck him raw.
Raw. John registers the lack of condom in a haze, caught between the roll of Poe's hips, and Poe's hand on his dick. If he concentrates, he can feel the difference. The intensity of friction. The tug and pull of Poe's skin against his skin, the texture of Poe's dick, uninhibited by latex. His mind strays to the scenario of Poe coming, if he'll pull out and do it on his back, or inside of him. That would be a first, something John's never allowed anyone else, and he can't bring himself to enforce that boundary. To say no. To want to say no.
Maybe that will make the difference between him feeling together, or alone, after all this. When Poe goes, and John is left with a sore body, and sweaty sheets he'll change in the morning.
Poe's voice, and the squeeze around his dick, bring John back. The thrust, harder, deeper, striking that hot button inside of John that makes the room spin, his shoulders going down, and his hips lift up, pulls a noise from his throat. High, and thready. Nothing anyone would expect from a commander of men, who has won countless battles, waged multiple wars, and killed more than any man ought to.
John turns his face into the sheets, dizzy with a shame that makes his dick twitch, and hole spasm in cringing response. The best he can muster to answer Poe's question is a nod.]
[ It's permission granted. Poe moves his hand from around John's waist up to John's shoulder, so he's pulling on him, dragging him deeper as Poe picks up the pace again, each forward thrust hunting that spot that made John whine.
Poe's attention to John's cock changes, too, a prick of nails at the base sliding up to a gentle squeeze and the circling of Poe's fingertips against the head.
He felt that physical response, that moment that came after John's helpless sound. Poe wants to hear that sound again, feel John's cock move under his palm. He's building, starting to slide into that heat-blind place where the world narrows to nothing but the physical, everything else forgotten for one long breath of suspended pleasure.
[John grits his teeth, but it doesn't stop the noise of his laboured breathing, the way his breath hitches, goes higher, vocalizes, with every slap of skin against skin.
But there's a special sound when Poe fucks him just right. Hard enough, deep enough, that John loses control. Spasms. His toes curling, and fingers clenching, lean muscle twisting and arching in fits against the mattress. Something like a whimper, if Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard could be accused of whimpering.
The truth is, John could come without Poe's hand on his dick, the additional touch is almost too much, he's already so sensitive, his nerves sparking like overloaded circuitry, but he's glad it's there. So Poe doesn't know he can, that just being fucked is enough to get him off. More than enough.
John is close. Too close to pretend he's not. It's hard to hide how he's feeling, when Poe is surrounding him. Already inside of his body. Mind. Heart. Looking down at John, seeing him, hearing him, feeling him, when he can't guard himself, and can't be anything but what he is.
A man so lonely, and so broken, that the best sex is sex that consumes him, fills him, and destroys him, because to feel anything, John has to feel everything.
Another pitched, strangled cry, close to a sob,when Poe's dick punches the right spot, every inch of John's body trembling, and slippery with sweat, his hair wetted darkly to his forehead and temples. He reaches blindly behind himself, grabbing for Poe's thigh, finding it and sinking his fingers in, nails cutting into Poe's skin.
John doesn't like to beg, but he will, over and over, if that's what it takes. He's that kind of desperate, like a dying man, fighting against and yearning for release. One push away from the edge. Of darkness, or bliss.
[ That grip on his thigh sends a shock of pleasure through Poe strong enough that he almost loses his grip. He digs his nails in to John's shoulder in reply. He can feel the whipcrack tension of John's body, the readiness, and he drives forward, pushing hard, back arching as he comes.
It's damn good. It's amazing. It's like breaking free from the grip of gravity, that one tensile moment of shooting from heaviness into the stars. He lets go of John's cock, instead wrapping his arm around John's lower belly, pinning him hard against Poe's thighs, muscles straining, the strain itself an electric hum of sensation that keeps Poe hanging on even after the nova glow starts to fade. ]
[Poe comes, and John comes too. Vocally. Violently. At the same time. That's a first. He'll marvel later, when he has the brain capacity. Right now, he's gone. Blissed out. Not thinking. Just feeling. Free from self-hate, self-doubt and self-consciousness.
All there is, is Poe. His trembling body. His orgasm, and the hot spill of him inside. The smell of his sweat. His breath. His heartbeat against John's back.
John's never came harder. Never been so boneless as he is now, held up almost entirely by Poe's arm, as he slumps down against the mattress, his neck soft and shoulders rounded. He's never been fucked like that before, not while he was sober.
Not by anyone who means anything, or everything, to him.
John closes his eyes, imprinting the feeling of togetherness into his mind, while it's still fresh. So he can fall asleep with it, after Poe leaves. He doesn't want to forget this. Doesn't think he could, even if he tried.
It's possible Poe's ruined him, if there's anything left to be ruined.
His hand slides down Poe's sweaty thigh, but doesn't leave.
Then, because John can't help himself. Too weak to resist. Even if he already knows the answer.]
[ Poe eases out, loosening his grip on John slowly, breaking the connection nice and easy. Then he curls forward, stretching his sweat-soaked stomach and chest out along John's back, his mother's ring tumbling forward to dangle next to John's ear. ]
Mmkay.
[ Poe rolls sideways, tugs John with him and pins himself between John and the wall on a bed that's really not big enough for two adult men. He runs the tip of his nose back and forth along the edge of John's hairline, humming softly under his breath. ]
[Poe accepts before John can punish himself for asking. There's a moment of emptiness when Poe pulls out of him, but then Poe is wrapping him up, fitting against him, barricading himself in against the wall.
There's a blinding moment of comfort, of wordless understanding, and being understood, knowing that Poe keeps his back to the wall, too. That it's easy and natural for him to sleep facing the door, ready for anyone, and anything, that comes through.
John's forgotten what it feels like to lie in bed together with someone. Not fooling. Not fucking. Just lying. Chest to back. John's not used to being the inner spoon, but right now, it's all he's ever wanted to be.
Poe's necklace falls over his shoulder, cool against his skin, in contrast to the warmth of Poe's breath, the washer catching light, glinting through his eyelashes.]
Thanks.
[He doesn't know what else to say, how else to express what it means. Isn't sure he wants Poe to know, even if he could. John hasn't asked anyone to stay since the day his ex-wife left him, for all her extremely legitimate reasons.
He'd asked her, right before she walked down the steps of their house, the house they bought together, a fixer-upper that neither of them really had the time or inclination to fix, and climbed into the taxi, on her way to Washington, DC to follow her dreams, with just a carry on, and no excess baggage.
John already knew the answer to his profoundly selfish question by the way she held her head high, proud, and determined, stronger than he'll ever be, even before she opened her perfectly lipsticked mouth to say no.
He regrets asking then, and he's never asked since. Not in so many words, anyway. Sometimes he'll pull the person back down, convince them to stay just a little longer, with a kiss, or his lips on their neck, back, between their legs, anything not to be alone when the buzz wears off, and the world regains all its sharp edges.
He tugs Poe's arms closer around himself, up to his chest.]
[ Poe lets John maneuver until he seems comfortable, just shifting enough that he can wriggle his other arm until John's head rests against his bicep. They're that close. It feels good.
It's been a while, been a long time now since Poe spent a night with someone. He usually stays. He almost always stays unless his partner seems to want him out. He doesn't like to fuck and run. It's too intimate an act, as far as he's concerned, to not take the time to value the experience afterwards. ]
Good. [ There's a laugh in the word. ] Well, gosh.
[ He bites the back of John's neck, not hard, just enough for the man to feel teeth. ] Those noises you were making said it was a little better than that.
[John likes the warmth of Poe’s arm beneath his cheek. Even turns his head to kiss it. It’s a nice bicep.
He’s still buzzing with post-orgasm bliss. His skin tingling and sensitive. Poe bites him, and John almost jumps. There’s an immediate reaction of goosebumps pebbling his skin, the baby hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end.
But it’s the comment that earns the elbow thrown back into Poe’s kidney, just hard enough to prove a point. Payback for the embarrassed burn in John’s ears.]
Hey! What happens in Vegas, Vegas being sex, stays in Vegas! Whaddya want, a five-star review?
Ow? [ It didn't actually hurt enough to make him react but there we are. ] Is five stars a high rating, because that's not very many stars.
[ Look it's not, okay. Poe chuckles and rests his chin on John's shoulder.
Yeah, he knows he's good. He would chalk it up to practice, but it's more than that. It's empathy. It's attentiveness, it's a keen eye and ear for the way his partner's body responds.
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no subject
Take your pants off.
[ They're still there, half-way down John's legs, now nothing but in the way. ] Then undress me, Sheppard.
[ He runs his hands through John's hair, looking the man dead in the eyes. ] Please.
no subject
His hands fall away from Poe's crotch, but only so he can shove his pants down to his ankles and kick them off.
Then comes the moment he's been waiting for.
John's eyes stay on Poe's eyes as he grabs at the hem of his shirt, and pulling it up over Poe's head and soon as he lifts his arms, Poe's necklace catching in the collar before dropping back down onto his chest.
He can't help but lean down and kiss a line down Poe's throat to the centre of his chest, following the line of the chain all the way to the washer sitting squarely between Poe's pecs. John loves the story of that washer. It appeals to the romantic in him. Reminds him that there's always love, even at war. Something that's easy to forget, when you're knee-deep in blood and regret.
His fingers play at the buckle of Poe's belt, flicking it open with just his thumb, and yanking it free of the loops with one pull. Practice makes perfect.
He mouths at the corner of Poe's lips hungrily, more than a little greedy as he sinks his fingers into the meat of Poe's hips, edging his pants down his ass, and taking his time doing it. Savouring the reveal. Taking advantage of Poe's generousity.]
no subject
Poe is fine with that. It might be the gift he plans to give the right partner some time down the line, but right now--right now it's a tether, a private link to the mother the New Republic recognized as a true hero. The pilot who saved more lives than she ever would have admitted to, herself.
He doesn't think he's in love with John Sheppard--he doesn't think this is what love feels like. It's a different kind of affection, the kind of love where broken pieces match up well enough to maybe rub the sharp edges away from either side. Still broken. Less painfully so.
He gives John the reward of a moan as his belt whips free of the loops, turns his head to present ear and throat as John works his pants down slowly. He's going to have to dip into those pockets before they move to the bed--he brought a local lubricant, something that makes the skin tingle, and he's not about to waste the chance to use it.
Poe grips John's wrists tightly, not pulling, not pushing, just hanging on, hard enough to leave the possibility of a bruise. With a ghost of amusement: ] Taking your time.
[ He doesn't sound bothered in the least. ]
no subject
[John squeezes Poe's ass with both hands, and takes his time with that too. He's the one Poe's been making to wait, after all. Has been chomping at the bit ever since Poe reined him in.
When he's had his fill of skin, he drops Poe's pants and boxers down around his ankles, and bends down to pick them up.
Eye-level with Poe's cock, he can't help biting his lip. Hard. There's a lot. Some might say too much, but John's always been a believer in the saying 'go big or go home'. Length he can give or take, but thickness? His eyes dart from Poe's cock, to his face, and back again. John swallows.
Can he get away with it? It's worth a shot.
At the very least, he'll get a lick in, all the way from the root to tip. And since he likes to live dangerously, he gives that a suck too. Poe can't blame him from wanting a taste.]
no subject
Nuh-uh.
[ Even if he's getting hard from the attention. Even if it would be easy to let John have what he wants. That isn't what this is about. Yeah, it's going to end up with both of them getting their fill, but right now, it's not about letting John do things his way. ] Left hand pocket. My left.
[ Hey, the guy is down there, he might as well get the lube out. ]
no subject
He narrows his eyes, somewhere between pouty and rebellious, but it's hard to concentrate on Poe's face with his dick getting hard just inches away.
John's not used to not being in charge, and he keeps forgetting the shots aren't his to call. Would already be doing things his way, on his terms, if Poe weren't constantly reminding him.
Frustrated. Excited. Annoyed. Aroused. Scared. He's all of those emotions, and more. The polar opposite of the sex John's used to having. Simple and safe, with so many layers of protection between him and the other person, that nothing short of teeth can hurt him.
He's half expecting a condom when he reaches into Poe's pocket, but pulls out lubricant instead. He's surprised to see it. Knowing Poe thought that far ahead, that this really was pre-meditated, and not just a spur of the moment decision on a rough night makes John's chest tight, his breath skipping, desire knifing him so violently in the gut he's almost dizzy.]
You... really thought this through.
no subject
Yes, I did.
[ There's so much in John's words. The surprise. It breaks Poe's heart a little bit, for reasons he can't quite name. As though someone wouldn't think through a night with John. As though it's a novel experience.
Poe makes a silent note to do this again, to think it through again, to show somehow that he did so.
He kisses John more firmly, gripping his upper arms to guide John back to his feet. He takes the little tube from John, twisting off the cap, smearing a generous dose of the gel across John's fingertips. ] I've been thinking about this for, oh, a week or so.
[ Another kiss. He takes John's wrist and pulls the man's hand down to touch Poe's dick. ] Give or take.
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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.]
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Give or take a week, John. Give or take a week.
[ He laughs into another kiss, suddenly enamored of this man in an entirely different way. There's a strange sweetness to John's reluctance to say one way or the other, miscommunication or no. He pulls John close enough that they can feel each others' erections. ] You're going to take it, and you're going to like it.
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[John's painfully embarrassed, cringing at himself, but then Poe has such a laugh. How has John never noticed? Thinking back on all the time they've spent together, in the hangar, cockpit, around town, Poe doesn't really laugh that often, and it's a damn crime. John will make Poe laugh each and every day, if it means he gets to hear it.
Poe's laughter is sweet on his lips, John inhales it deep into his lungs. Stores it inside of himself for later, for an emergency. When oxygen isn't enough of a reason to keep breathing.
John should never have let Poe in. He screwed up. Big time.
Because he was fine without this, before. At least that's what he told himself. Now he's desperate for the next kiss, desperate for the next shared breath, desperate for this man to touch him, to want him, to be inside of him.
John shudders, because Poe knows him, somehow. Knows what he wants, even though John doesn't know how to ask. Is afraid to. He'll take it from Poe, and he'll like it too damn much. More than he should.
Forehead to forehead, his nose brushes against Poe's nose, and he thinks back to the Pegasus Galaxy. It's a taste of home. Right here, right now, is the first time he hasn't missed it.]
Okay.
[In the end, his submission comes down to a single word.]
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Poe tosses the little lube tube onto John's bed, just in case they need it. He kisses the back of John's neck along the hairline, down to his shoulder blades, tonguing down further until he's at the small of John's back and seems like he might, might just lick his way down John's ass.
Then he's straightening up, arm around John's waist, dick pressed gently against John's cheeks.
It's odd, to feel this kind of ownership of a man he's known for so little time. It's odd to feel that ownership when they're so new to this kind of intimacy. Poe isn't used to it. He's used to easy sex, friendly sex, sex without commitment. This feels like a pact made, somehow, but he doesn't have it in him to be afraid of that just now.
Later, later it will scare him. ]
Bed.
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He's been with men before. Men in college. Men in bars. Men in the military. Men at war. John prefers women, because who doesn't, but there have always been men. Men are quicker, easier, and more casual than women. Men don't ask what he's thinking or feeling. Men don't tell. Men fuck him and forget him, and John forgets them, too.
Then there's Poe, who is unequivocally a man, by the press of his dick against John's ass, and the thick of his forearm across John's ribs, heavy on top of him when John climbs onto the bed, on his hands and knees, but unlike any man he's ever been with.
Unlike any person John's ever been with, in that he pushes John, like no one dares push him, and asks more of John than he's ever willingly offered. And John can't help but give it to him.
John's belly moves with the depth of his breathing as he prepares himself, mentally accepting what's coming, surrendering, like he's been wanting to surrender since Poe looked at him in the doorway to his apartment with dark, clear eyes, that know what they want.
Eyes that want him.]
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He's not sure what to feel about that, thinking of someone while he falls asleep.
Poe settles in behind John, rolls his hips to rub his erection across John's crack. Deeper. Guiding his dick into John's hole with one hand, giving the spot another light fingertip touch before he penetrates.
Then he's leaning over John's shoulder, his hand still slick with lube, taking John's cock in hand and gliding his grip from root to tip along with the slow rhythm of his hips. He kisses John's back, one scar, then another.
It seems important, to touch those places. That's where Poe would want to be touched. Each little bit of contact telling him (telling John) that those places don't mean he's broken. Poe feels broken often enough, feels it more and more acutely the longer he's trapped in Riverview. The longer he's away from his purpose, his war. Sometimes he wakes up in the night afraid that he's got nothing left but scars.
He thrusts hard, goes soft again, then hard, then harder. Intervals of gentleness punctuated and slowly replaced by a rough, hard fucking. ]
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Sweat drips from John's brow onto the bed, stinging his eyes. His breathing is sharp and vocalized, only as deep as the space between their bodies, and forced out of him with every thrust. He's already moved onto his forearms, fingers twisting up in the sheets, knuckles white with strain.
John falls apart with every slam of Poe's hips, slave to the friction of skin against skin, the raw heat and hardness of Poe's dick scraping inside of him, hitting deep in the way John loves, so deep the emptiness of inside of him is filled, if only for a heartbeat.
Poe builds him back up with every kiss, gentle, and searing against his sensitized skin. John's never been kissed like that, while being fucked like this. More than anything, that's what has his knees buckling, his spine softening, his breathing becoming softer, and more pitched.
John could get used to it, would like to get used to it, to this, if Poe would give him the chance.]
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Not yet.
Poe is not a selfish partner. He's not going to come if his other half hasn't. So he takes his time, each thrust slow and hard, his necklace swinging, brushing John's back whenever Poe leans in for a kiss.
He can feel the shivers, the lurches, the way John is going loose against him and Poe likes it. He loves it, he's grateful for it. John needs this. He needs it as much as Poe needed him to say no when they were here before. Poe tightens his free arm across John's stomach, pushing that much deeper with each plunge.
He rolls his thumb over the head of John's dick, pressing harder than there's any need to, intending to hurt, but only a little. He's gotten good reactions to that kind of treatment so far. With his mouth against John's spine: ]
Do you like that?
[ One hard thrust to accompany the words, pushing hard enough to shift John forward a fraction on the sheets. ]
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Raw. John registers the lack of condom in a haze, caught between the roll of Poe's hips, and Poe's hand on his dick. If he concentrates, he can feel the difference. The intensity of friction. The tug and pull of Poe's skin against his skin, the texture of Poe's dick, uninhibited by latex. His mind strays to the scenario of Poe coming, if he'll pull out and do it on his back, or inside of him. That would be a first, something John's never allowed anyone else, and he can't bring himself to enforce that boundary. To say no. To want to say no.
Maybe that will make the difference between him feeling together, or alone, after all this. When Poe goes, and John is left with a sore body, and sweaty sheets he'll change in the morning.
Poe's voice, and the squeeze around his dick, bring John back. The thrust, harder, deeper, striking that hot button inside of John that makes the room spin, his shoulders going down, and his hips lift up, pulls a noise from his throat. High, and thready. Nothing anyone would expect from a commander of men, who has won countless battles, waged multiple wars, and killed more than any man ought to.
John turns his face into the sheets, dizzy with a shame that makes his dick twitch, and hole spasm in cringing response. The best he can muster to answer Poe's question is a nod.]
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Poe's attention to John's cock changes, too, a prick of nails at the base sliding up to a gentle squeeze and the circling of Poe's fingertips against the head.
He felt that physical response, that moment that came after John's helpless sound. Poe wants to hear that sound again, feel John's cock move under his palm. He's building, starting to slide into that heat-blind place where the world narrows to nothing but the physical, everything else forgotten for one long breath of suspended pleasure.
Not yet, Dameron.
Not before John. ]
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But there's a special sound when Poe fucks him just right. Hard enough, deep enough, that John loses control. Spasms. His toes curling, and fingers clenching, lean muscle twisting and arching in fits against the mattress. Something like a whimper, if Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard could be accused of whimpering.
The truth is, John could come without Poe's hand on his dick, the additional touch is almost too much, he's already so sensitive, his nerves sparking like overloaded circuitry, but he's glad it's there. So Poe doesn't know he can, that just being fucked is enough to get him off. More than enough.
John is close. Too close to pretend he's not. It's hard to hide how he's feeling, when Poe is surrounding him. Already inside of his body. Mind. Heart. Looking down at John, seeing him, hearing him, feeling him, when he can't guard himself, and can't be anything but what he is.
A man so lonely, and so broken, that the best sex is sex that consumes him, fills him, and destroys him, because to feel anything, John has to feel everything.
Another pitched, strangled cry, close to a sob,when Poe's dick punches the right spot, every inch of John's body trembling, and slippery with sweat, his hair wetted darkly to his forehead and temples. He reaches blindly behind himself, grabbing for Poe's thigh, finding it and sinking his fingers in, nails cutting into Poe's skin.
John doesn't like to beg, but he will, over and over, if that's what it takes. He's that kind of desperate, like a dying man, fighting against and yearning for release. One push away from the edge. Of darkness, or bliss.
This is some combination of the two.]
Poe-
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It's damn good. It's amazing. It's like breaking free from the grip of gravity, that one tensile moment of shooting from heaviness into the stars. He lets go of John's cock, instead wrapping his arm around John's lower belly, pinning him hard against Poe's thighs, muscles straining, the strain itself an electric hum of sensation that keeps Poe hanging on even after the nova glow starts to fade. ]
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All there is, is Poe. His trembling body. His orgasm, and the hot spill of him inside. The smell of his sweat. His breath. His heartbeat against John's back.
John's never came harder. Never been so boneless as he is now, held up almost entirely by Poe's arm, as he slumps down against the mattress, his neck soft and shoulders rounded. He's never been fucked like that before, not while he was sober.
Not by anyone who means anything, or everything, to him.
John closes his eyes, imprinting the feeling of togetherness into his mind, while it's still fresh. So he can fall asleep with it, after Poe leaves. He doesn't want to forget this. Doesn't think he could, even if he tried.
It's possible Poe's ruined him, if there's anything left to be ruined.
His hand slides down Poe's sweaty thigh, but doesn't leave.
Then, because John can't help himself. Too weak to resist. Even if he already knows the answer.]
Don't go.
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Mmkay.
[ Poe rolls sideways, tugs John with him and pins himself between John and the wall on a bed that's really not big enough for two adult men. He runs the tip of his nose back and forth along the edge of John's hairline, humming softly under his breath. ]
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There's a blinding moment of comfort, of wordless understanding, and being understood, knowing that Poe keeps his back to the wall, too. That it's easy and natural for him to sleep facing the door, ready for anyone, and anything, that comes through.
John's forgotten what it feels like to lie in bed together with someone. Not fooling. Not fucking. Just lying. Chest to back. John's not used to being the inner spoon, but right now, it's all he's ever wanted to be.
Poe's necklace falls over his shoulder, cool against his skin, in contrast to the warmth of Poe's breath, the washer catching light, glinting through his eyelashes.]
Thanks.
[He doesn't know what else to say, how else to express what it means. Isn't sure he wants Poe to know, even if he could. John hasn't asked anyone to stay since the day his ex-wife left him, for all her extremely legitimate reasons.
He'd asked her, right before she walked down the steps of their house, the house they bought together, a fixer-upper that neither of them really had the time or inclination to fix, and climbed into the taxi, on her way to Washington, DC to follow her dreams, with just a carry on, and no excess baggage.
John already knew the answer to his profoundly selfish question by the way she held her head high, proud, and determined, stronger than he'll ever be, even before she opened her perfectly lipsticked mouth to say no.
He regrets asking then, and he's never asked since. Not in so many words, anyway. Sometimes he'll pull the person back down, convince them to stay just a little longer, with a kiss, or his lips on their neck, back, between their legs, anything not to be alone when the buzz wears off, and the world regains all its sharp edges.
He tugs Poe's arms closer around himself, up to his chest.]
That was... good.
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It's been a while, been a long time now since Poe spent a night with someone. He usually stays. He almost always stays unless his partner seems to want him out. He doesn't like to fuck and run. It's too intimate an act, as far as he's concerned, to not take the time to value the experience afterwards. ]
Good. [ There's a laugh in the word. ] Well, gosh.
[ He bites the back of John's neck, not hard, just enough for the man to feel teeth. ] Those noises you were making said it was a little better than that.
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He’s still buzzing with post-orgasm bliss. His skin tingling and sensitive. Poe bites him, and John almost jumps. There’s an immediate reaction of goosebumps pebbling his skin, the baby hairs at the nape of his neck standing on end.
But it’s the comment that earns the elbow thrown back into Poe’s kidney, just hard enough to prove a point. Payback for the embarrassed burn in John’s ears.]
Hey! What happens in Vegas, Vegas being sex, stays in Vegas! Whaddya want, a five-star review?
[John huffs, resettling back against Poe.]
Give me a break. You already know you’re good.
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[ Look it's not, okay. Poe chuckles and rests his chin on John's shoulder.
Yeah, he knows he's good. He would chalk it up to practice, but it's more than that. It's empathy. It's attentiveness, it's a keen eye and ear for the way his partner's body responds.
Poe sighs, satisfied, comfortable. ] It was good.
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