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FIC: Just Like We Do (NC-17)
Title: Just Like We Do
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unamaga and schneestern
Pairing: John Sheppard/Joe Flanigan
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~3,450 words
Notes: Anyone who has seen Jules and I interact knows that we have no shame, so I'm not offering any excuses for this. There are none. Also, there is really no plot; we just wanted Joe and John to have sex. Er, Happy December!
Jules: JOE AND JOHN HAVING SEX
Jules: can we go back to that?
Mel: OK YES
Mel: ...John's gonna secretly watch all of Joe’s movies
Jules: and jerk off to them
Mel: gJIAPG
Jules: YOU KNOW HE WOULD!
Due to a series of completely unforeseeable and very strange events, John Sheppard is sitting in Joe Flanigan’s living room at four o’clock in the morning. He has the sound down low-low-low, so Joe won't hear from the bedroom, and he’s watching an episode of Cupid, catching his breath at the way Joe looks so young.
And without really thinking about it his hand just finds its way down to his dick and he presses down, just trying to get some relief, never even realizing how hard he is. It isn't just about the way Joe looks either, which admittedly is pretty hot in a creepy sort of finding yourself hot way, but also because Joe's just in the next room and, god, because he looks so young on the screen, so innocent in that movie; he looks like someone John has never been and he is fascinated by that.
John had kept his hair short until he was twenty-two, regulation buzz cut. Joe had obviously never been too happy with short hair, never had to listen to an officer bark at him to cut his damn bangs, and - yeah, it's messed up, but John kind of gets off on the floppy, overgrown look of Joe’s hair when he was young, a retroactive fuck you to every bastard who ever came at him with shears and a grin.
And John realizes, sudden flash of it, he wants to fuck Joe, wants to come all over his hair just to prove a point. It sparks through him like electricity and he bucks up against his hand, groaning in the half-darkness of the living room with the TV the only light, desperately hoping he didn't just wake Joe. He bites his lip, hard, but keeps working his dick with his hand anyway, like he has no power over himself anymore.
He’s got his eyes closed, the scene playing on in his head; Joe’s wider, softer eyes staring up at him, stripes of John's come over his defined cheeks and red mouth.
That’s why he doesn't notice the floorboards creek, a life of military training deserting him.
-
Joe wakes up thirsty, like he’s just run miles. When he swings his feet out of the bed he can feel his shirt sticking to him uncomfortably. He pulls it off, throws it in the general direction of the hamper and blindly pads out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. He ponders whether he should turn on the light and risk waking John – John fucking Sheppard who is in his apartment and real (Joe’s still slightly baffled by that) – when he notices the light in the living room, TV flickering unevenly.
He walks toward it slowly, trying to make no noise, but of course the floorboard on the threshold creaks. He stands stock still, but nothing happens.
He can see the back of John's head from here, a slightly better-trimmed mop of black hair. John’s watching something of Joe’s and Joe is embarrassed when he realizes he doesn't know which show or movie it is. A few steps closer and he hears it: soft little noises, panting, the soft scrape of clothing against skin.
There’s something unmistakable about the sounds - quieter than Joe’s own, no doubt an ingrained habit from years of close quarters and no privacy, but still, Joe recognizes the hitch in John's moan that means his thumb's just slid over the slit, the slight jerk of John's whole body that means he's so close, so close, that it’s almost too good.
Joe hesitates; he knows he shouldn't be watching this, that he should turn the fuck around and leave John alone. But something about the way John keeps looking at the TV screen makes Joe pause and reconsider. It's funny because most of the scenes in this show happen to feature him (and why the hell does he still not remember the title?) and why anyone would jerk off to that is totally beyond him – except maybe it’s not.
All of a sudden Joe gets it, and without thinking twice he leans down next to John, hands on his shoulders, making him jump and he says in his ear, here, let me .
John looks at him with big eyes, shock freezing him in place, so Joe slides over the back of the couch, right next to John and takes John’s cock in his own hand, never losing eye contact.
He still knows how to touch, how to tease, even though it's backwards and John has a scar on his hip that keeps distracting him. His fingers swipe over the head on autopilot, familiar shape of John's cock making them comfortable and sure; his thumb finds the sensitive spot on the underside quickly, presses (a fingerprint, mine, the same) into it until John throws his head back against the arm of the couch and shudders hard.
Joe looks at him then, the guy who looks just like him but isn't, lying there on the couch, open and flushed all over, dick curving out of his pants and fitting comfortably into Joe’s hand.
It should be ridiculous, weird, but it's just hot and Joe leans in, mouths at John's neck, sucks a bruise into the soft skin. John makes a noise, bucks up into Joe’s hand and comes, warm, wet over Joe’s hand.
John only takes a second to recover - the fight or flight instinct that Joe knows is down there somewhere making it hard for him to take his time - and then Joe finds himself on his back staring up at his own ceiling with John Sheppard’s fingers making quick work of his pajama pants and John Sheppard’s mouth sliding down his bare stomach to meet the head of his cock.
It takes Joe a moment to realize that the whispered oh gods are coming from his mouth and then John's hand curls around his dick, strokes it a few times like he's trying to get a feel for it. Joe’s hands hover over John's head, unsure whether to touch or not. And then John's mouth wraps around the head of Joe’s cock, sucks hard and that's that.
Joe holds on to John's hair like his life depends on it.
John sucks cock like he's got somewhere to be: fast and hard and skillful. It’s the kind of blowjob Joe’s never really gotten used to, the kind you get when you find a kid in a bar and fuck his mouth in the bathroom - a means to an end, no pleasure in the act. He cups his hand around the back of John's neck, mumbling, slow, slower, and guiding John into aching, long strokes, watching with something hot curling in his gut when the switch suddenly flips behind John's eyes and he gets it.
A minute later, Joe’s cursing himself for ever thinking slow is better, because John's got a wicked streak a mile wide - Joe knows this - and he's taking his precious time, making sure Joe can see each time his upper lip curls back over the head.
Joe watches the way John seems to be a completely different man now, lips curving into a wicked smile every time his mouth slides down on Joe’s cock making him groan. He's gonna beg for it soon, he knows it and John does too apparently, because he slides his hand down, cups Joe’s balls and strokes them, a slow, soft rhythm that makes Joe want to cry. Then his hand slips farther behind, teasing at that, oh god, sensitive place right behind Joe’s balls and yeah, now he's definitely begging.
John pulls off – fucking bastard – and flicks just the tip of his pointed tongue over the head, laughing when Joe curses and fists his fingers in the couch cushions.
C'mon, c'mon, please, Joe chants, and doesn't even realize that his legs are falling open as far as they can go until John's lips skate down the vein along the underside of his cock, pressing a chaste kiss to his balls, and a finger nudges into him, suddenly saliva-wet. Oh, fuck, Joe gets out, tongue heavy in his mouth, and he jerks down on that finger, trying to get it deeper, wanting more, now, now.
Shhhh, John says, slowly sliding a second finger in next to the first and he's smirking, that bastard – but then Joe notices the look in his eyes, wonder and something else and he has to take a deep breath to keep from coming right the fuck then, when John twists his fingers up a bit, crooks them just right as he slides them out and back in again.
Joe scrabbles to get his nails in his own arm, the pinprick of pain calming him just enough that he can mumble out, do you - do you do this? To yourself? Do you like it? he thinks, and the way John carefully lowers those awed eyes and nips at the inside of Joe’s thigh answers that question (no, I’ve never).
And Joe realizes he wants to show John, wants him to feel this.
C’mere, he says, waits for John to crawl up his body and then takes his mouth in a kiss, wet and intense and god, they hadn't even kissed yet, he realizes now, and it sends a thrill through him.
John kisses like he means it, dedication and want, tongue tangling with Joe’s like they've been doing this all their lives. Joe trails a hand down John's body, too many clothes between them, too little skin. He wraps his hand around John's cock, feels him jerk, still sensitive, but he's getting hard again so Joe spits into his palm and starts stroking him.
When Joe looks back up at John's face, there's a flush across the bridge of John's nose that wasn't there before, a shaky sort of anticipation that paints the bow of John's lower lip red where his teeth have sunk into it. He clearly wants to say something, tongue peeking out in some incongruously adorable expression of concentration, but Joe knows like he knows the inside of John's mouth, the back of John's thighs.
Let me, he whispers, and drags John down into another kiss while he helps John out of his pants. It’s a little awkward this way, John trying to get out of his clothes and Joe hindering him more than helping. But when the pants and boxers and the shirt finally hit the ground and John settles back down, it's perfect.
John’s cock slides against Joe’s in an excruciating way, slick skin on skin. John holds himself like he's afraid he's going to impose on Joe, like he might do something wrong, until Joe just pulls him down, warm, hard body against his, and they kiss again, desperate now, both of them with one single thing in mind.
He can’t help the way his fingers wander down John's spine - tracing the familiar lines, the unfamiliar skin stretched over them, mottled with invisible bruises and old cuts - and follow the curve of John's ass. John seems to be taking liberties, too, twining his hands in Joe’s hair, fingers tightening and relaxing rhythmically whenever Joe’s thumb spreads him open a little more, slow and careful and gentle.
Joe can feels John's cock against his own, feels the way John's hips shift ever so slightly, the tip of his cock trailing wetly over Joe’s stomach. John’s making noises again, this time softer and a little less desperate than before, but only a little. His mouth is inches from Joe’s ear, tickling against his neck in a way that feels a whole lot more intimate than the finger Joe’s sliding into John's ass, deliberate and easy.
A whimper, John's muscles tensing unconsciously under Joe’s hands, and Joe whispers, Shh, shh, relax, kissing the blooming bruise on John's neck from earlier.
The push eases, and all Joe can think about is the lifetime of orders John's been on the receiving end of, whether or not it's really that simple; if I tell you to come, will you? he thinks, just as the pad of his finger bumps across John's prostate.
John mewls, bucks against Joe’s body and Joe’s sure John actually has to concentrate on letting go like this, not used to the slow build-up, the burn inside. Joe crooks his finger again, touches that sweet spot inside John again just right and turns his head in time to catch the noises John makes with his open mouth. They kiss, matching the slow rhythm of Joe’s finger sliding in and out of John's ass.
Stop thinking, Joe whispers and slips a second finger in.
Stop talking, John counters in a weak imitation of his usual snark, but he's obviously trying, so Joe has to give him points. He finds that bump again and presses hard, rubbing in a slow, sure circle until John actually keens, his body trembling against Joe’s helplessly.
And it's...sexy, yeah, that's the word, it's hot how John falls apart and Joe thinks, I did this, I did, like it really matters. He feels John rub against him, needy, hard cock, looking for any kind of friction and Joe’s pretty sure they need to do something or he's gonna come too, without actually being touched. He slips his fingers out, pulls and pushes at John's hips until he's in a good enough position.
Slow and easy, Joe mumbles against John's temple, a promise and a reminder for himself. Then he takes his cock in his own hand, and actually has to pause for a second to get his bearings, not come like a school boy from the simple touch alone.
The look in John's eyes helps a little, because he doesn't look calm anymore, or wondering - he looks like a skittish cat, off like a shot at any wrong move. Joe reaches up with his free hand and hooks his palm around the back of John's neck, pulling him into a comfortable, slick kiss; he uses the reprieve to think, remembering his first time dry with a guy and how it ached and stung and he thought he was tearing apart.
Bedroom, he murmurs into John's mouth, and doesn't give him time to process before he's manhandling them both down the hallway at double speed.
To John's credit he seems to get exactly what Joe means and they tumble into the bedroom without bumping into any walls. Spread out on a bed, John looks like one of those kitschy paintings of naked men Rachel keeps in her hallway and Joe has to look away before he just jerks off and comes all over John's smooth, toned stomach.
Joe, John says, misinterpreting Joe’s behavior – or maybe knowing exactly what is going on. Joe blinks, looks at John like he sees him for the very first time. Then he leans over, his cock brushing over John's navel, and fumbles around in the drawer of the bedside table for a bit before he finds the lube.
With John on his back, the angle's a little easier to get without Joe breaking his wrist. Three slick fingers are in knuckle-deep before John even seems to register the fact that Joe’s working him open again, and maybe John likes the sting of it in a way that Joe never has - his threshold is so much higher that way - because he just lets his knees fall open all the way, feet bottoms flat on the sides of Joe’s thighs.
He’s quiet again, though, whatever bubble they'd been in on the couch broken during the trip to the bed, and his eyes are closed to block everything out.
No, Joe says firmly, leaning down and rubbing the flat of his tongue against the sweet spot just under the crown of John's cock; just as he thought, John's eyes fly open and find his. Better, he whispers staring John down, willing him to stay in this moment to enjoy this, with him. He spreads his fingers, slowly crooks them inside John and watches as his mouth falls open, hips bucking up, fucking himself open on Joe’s fingers.
Talk to me, Joe says and regrets that it sounds more than an order than he wanted it to.
He's glad when John hesitates, like he's thinking it over and then he says, harder, I need to feel this, please, Joe, please, and maybe it's the way his name rolls over John's tongue but Joe inhales sharply and slicks himself up, fast and quick, lines his dick up against Joe’s hole and then just pushes in, so slowly it makes his eyes sting.
John’s face is blank when Joe can see clearly again, a familiar mask drawn over the tight lines around his eyes, the thinned slash of his red mouth. But Joe’s been in that head, knows this body as well as anyone can, and when he slides his hand up between them, tracing the shell of John's ear with a ghost-light touch at the same time his knees push under John's ass and angle him up, John moans and shudders again, undone.
Joe’s breathing harshly, but he keeps pushing in, tight heat squeezing around his dick. He never takes his eyes off John's face, watches the way emotions roll over it now, strokes John's cheek slowly. Finally, when he's all the way inside, hips snug against John’s ass he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes against the strain of not moving, trying to give John time to adjust.
He leans in as best he can without shifting his hips, and even though the tension on his lower back is murder, he presses his lips to John's ear and whispers, My cock is in your ass, John, because John needs to remember who's doing this to him. Feels good, doesn't it? I know. I love it too. Next time, you can fuck me.
And that, finally, does it.
John comes to life under him, like someone who gasps in the first mouthful of air after drowning. His hands slide around Joe’s hips and he crosses his legs behind Joe. John looks at him for a long moment, contemplatively, like he's trying to solve a puzzle and then he says, yeah, next time, and slowly starts to rock against Joe.
Joe grins, bubble of warmth growing in his chest, and sits back on his heels again, pushing John forward towards the pillows so he's propped up without losing contact between them.
Alright? Joe asks, and John doesn't bother answering, raising his arms above his head and holding onto the spindly headboard for leverage when Joe starts thrusting in earnest, every shallow push pressing the head of his cock against John's prostate deliberately.
John throws his head back, arches up, pushing back against Joe’s thrusts with a fluid motion that makes Joe’s hips stutter and lets him think he was made for this – irrational though it’s true, because John was made for this, wanton and open, and Joe wants everything of him, everything at once.
After that there's not much finesse to it anymore; Joe fucks into John, intent on drawing all the little sounds from John, making him gasp, beg, fall apart under his fingers.
You don't need me to touch you, Joe says thickly, and it's not even close to being a question; you're gonna come on my cock, John, just like this. Give it to me, and John practically shouts, louder than Joe’s ever heard him be, dick twitching and spurting against his flat belly.
Joe watches the way John looks – face open and raw, sweaty– and he completely loses it. Drives into John hard and fast, hips snapping forward. John’s ass is so tight around him, still so tight from his orgasm and Joe blindly fucks into him unable to do much else.
What sets him off in the end is John's hand, soft and sure against his hole, thumb circling over the sensitive skin there – let go, Joe, he says and finally, Joe does.
They slump against each other, shaky, stuttering breaths puffing out between their mouths, and this is so not what Joe expected when he went to get a drink, but when John slides a sweaty hand into his damp hair and tugs him down to rest his cheek against John's familiar shoulder, he figures the show's writers got that right at least - he never sees it coming.
Jules: \o/
Mel: DUDE. that was EPIC.
Learn Something New, tiny McKay/Sheppard follow-up, PG-13
Authors:
unamaga and schneesternPairing: John Sheppard/Joe Flanigan
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~3,450 words
Notes: Anyone who has seen Jules and I interact knows that we have no shame, so I'm not offering any excuses for this. There are none. Also, there is really no plot; we just wanted Joe and John to have sex. Er, Happy December!
Jules: JOE AND JOHN HAVING SEX
Jules: can we go back to that?
Mel: OK YES
Mel: ...John's gonna secretly watch all of Joe’s movies
Jules: and jerk off to them
Mel: gJIAPG
Jules: YOU KNOW HE WOULD!
Due to a series of completely unforeseeable and very strange events, John Sheppard is sitting in Joe Flanigan’s living room at four o’clock in the morning. He has the sound down low-low-low, so Joe won't hear from the bedroom, and he’s watching an episode of Cupid, catching his breath at the way Joe looks so young.
And without really thinking about it his hand just finds its way down to his dick and he presses down, just trying to get some relief, never even realizing how hard he is. It isn't just about the way Joe looks either, which admittedly is pretty hot in a creepy sort of finding yourself hot way, but also because Joe's just in the next room and, god, because he looks so young on the screen, so innocent in that movie; he looks like someone John has never been and he is fascinated by that.
John had kept his hair short until he was twenty-two, regulation buzz cut. Joe had obviously never been too happy with short hair, never had to listen to an officer bark at him to cut his damn bangs, and - yeah, it's messed up, but John kind of gets off on the floppy, overgrown look of Joe’s hair when he was young, a retroactive fuck you to every bastard who ever came at him with shears and a grin.
And John realizes, sudden flash of it, he wants to fuck Joe, wants to come all over his hair just to prove a point. It sparks through him like electricity and he bucks up against his hand, groaning in the half-darkness of the living room with the TV the only light, desperately hoping he didn't just wake Joe. He bites his lip, hard, but keeps working his dick with his hand anyway, like he has no power over himself anymore.
He’s got his eyes closed, the scene playing on in his head; Joe’s wider, softer eyes staring up at him, stripes of John's come over his defined cheeks and red mouth.
That’s why he doesn't notice the floorboards creek, a life of military training deserting him.
-
Joe wakes up thirsty, like he’s just run miles. When he swings his feet out of the bed he can feel his shirt sticking to him uncomfortably. He pulls it off, throws it in the general direction of the hamper and blindly pads out of the bedroom and towards the kitchen. He ponders whether he should turn on the light and risk waking John – John fucking Sheppard who is in his apartment and real (Joe’s still slightly baffled by that) – when he notices the light in the living room, TV flickering unevenly.
He walks toward it slowly, trying to make no noise, but of course the floorboard on the threshold creaks. He stands stock still, but nothing happens.
He can see the back of John's head from here, a slightly better-trimmed mop of black hair. John’s watching something of Joe’s and Joe is embarrassed when he realizes he doesn't know which show or movie it is. A few steps closer and he hears it: soft little noises, panting, the soft scrape of clothing against skin.
There’s something unmistakable about the sounds - quieter than Joe’s own, no doubt an ingrained habit from years of close quarters and no privacy, but still, Joe recognizes the hitch in John's moan that means his thumb's just slid over the slit, the slight jerk of John's whole body that means he's so close, so close, that it’s almost too good.
Joe hesitates; he knows he shouldn't be watching this, that he should turn the fuck around and leave John alone. But something about the way John keeps looking at the TV screen makes Joe pause and reconsider. It's funny because most of the scenes in this show happen to feature him (and why the hell does he still not remember the title?) and why anyone would jerk off to that is totally beyond him – except maybe it’s not.
All of a sudden Joe gets it, and without thinking twice he leans down next to John, hands on his shoulders, making him jump and he says in his ear, here, let me .
John looks at him with big eyes, shock freezing him in place, so Joe slides over the back of the couch, right next to John and takes John’s cock in his own hand, never losing eye contact.
He still knows how to touch, how to tease, even though it's backwards and John has a scar on his hip that keeps distracting him. His fingers swipe over the head on autopilot, familiar shape of John's cock making them comfortable and sure; his thumb finds the sensitive spot on the underside quickly, presses (a fingerprint, mine, the same) into it until John throws his head back against the arm of the couch and shudders hard.
Joe looks at him then, the guy who looks just like him but isn't, lying there on the couch, open and flushed all over, dick curving out of his pants and fitting comfortably into Joe’s hand.
It should be ridiculous, weird, but it's just hot and Joe leans in, mouths at John's neck, sucks a bruise into the soft skin. John makes a noise, bucks up into Joe’s hand and comes, warm, wet over Joe’s hand.
John only takes a second to recover - the fight or flight instinct that Joe knows is down there somewhere making it hard for him to take his time - and then Joe finds himself on his back staring up at his own ceiling with John Sheppard’s fingers making quick work of his pajama pants and John Sheppard’s mouth sliding down his bare stomach to meet the head of his cock.
It takes Joe a moment to realize that the whispered oh gods are coming from his mouth and then John's hand curls around his dick, strokes it a few times like he's trying to get a feel for it. Joe’s hands hover over John's head, unsure whether to touch or not. And then John's mouth wraps around the head of Joe’s cock, sucks hard and that's that.
Joe holds on to John's hair like his life depends on it.
John sucks cock like he's got somewhere to be: fast and hard and skillful. It’s the kind of blowjob Joe’s never really gotten used to, the kind you get when you find a kid in a bar and fuck his mouth in the bathroom - a means to an end, no pleasure in the act. He cups his hand around the back of John's neck, mumbling, slow, slower, and guiding John into aching, long strokes, watching with something hot curling in his gut when the switch suddenly flips behind John's eyes and he gets it.
A minute later, Joe’s cursing himself for ever thinking slow is better, because John's got a wicked streak a mile wide - Joe knows this - and he's taking his precious time, making sure Joe can see each time his upper lip curls back over the head.
Joe watches the way John seems to be a completely different man now, lips curving into a wicked smile every time his mouth slides down on Joe’s cock making him groan. He's gonna beg for it soon, he knows it and John does too apparently, because he slides his hand down, cups Joe’s balls and strokes them, a slow, soft rhythm that makes Joe want to cry. Then his hand slips farther behind, teasing at that, oh god, sensitive place right behind Joe’s balls and yeah, now he's definitely begging.
John pulls off – fucking bastard – and flicks just the tip of his pointed tongue over the head, laughing when Joe curses and fists his fingers in the couch cushions.
C'mon, c'mon, please, Joe chants, and doesn't even realize that his legs are falling open as far as they can go until John's lips skate down the vein along the underside of his cock, pressing a chaste kiss to his balls, and a finger nudges into him, suddenly saliva-wet. Oh, fuck, Joe gets out, tongue heavy in his mouth, and he jerks down on that finger, trying to get it deeper, wanting more, now, now.
Shhhh, John says, slowly sliding a second finger in next to the first and he's smirking, that bastard – but then Joe notices the look in his eyes, wonder and something else and he has to take a deep breath to keep from coming right the fuck then, when John twists his fingers up a bit, crooks them just right as he slides them out and back in again.
Joe scrabbles to get his nails in his own arm, the pinprick of pain calming him just enough that he can mumble out, do you - do you do this? To yourself? Do you like it? he thinks, and the way John carefully lowers those awed eyes and nips at the inside of Joe’s thigh answers that question (no, I’ve never).
And Joe realizes he wants to show John, wants him to feel this.
C’mere, he says, waits for John to crawl up his body and then takes his mouth in a kiss, wet and intense and god, they hadn't even kissed yet, he realizes now, and it sends a thrill through him.
John kisses like he means it, dedication and want, tongue tangling with Joe’s like they've been doing this all their lives. Joe trails a hand down John's body, too many clothes between them, too little skin. He wraps his hand around John's cock, feels him jerk, still sensitive, but he's getting hard again so Joe spits into his palm and starts stroking him.
When Joe looks back up at John's face, there's a flush across the bridge of John's nose that wasn't there before, a shaky sort of anticipation that paints the bow of John's lower lip red where his teeth have sunk into it. He clearly wants to say something, tongue peeking out in some incongruously adorable expression of concentration, but Joe knows like he knows the inside of John's mouth, the back of John's thighs.
Let me, he whispers, and drags John down into another kiss while he helps John out of his pants. It’s a little awkward this way, John trying to get out of his clothes and Joe hindering him more than helping. But when the pants and boxers and the shirt finally hit the ground and John settles back down, it's perfect.
John’s cock slides against Joe’s in an excruciating way, slick skin on skin. John holds himself like he's afraid he's going to impose on Joe, like he might do something wrong, until Joe just pulls him down, warm, hard body against his, and they kiss again, desperate now, both of them with one single thing in mind.
He can’t help the way his fingers wander down John's spine - tracing the familiar lines, the unfamiliar skin stretched over them, mottled with invisible bruises and old cuts - and follow the curve of John's ass. John seems to be taking liberties, too, twining his hands in Joe’s hair, fingers tightening and relaxing rhythmically whenever Joe’s thumb spreads him open a little more, slow and careful and gentle.
Joe can feels John's cock against his own, feels the way John's hips shift ever so slightly, the tip of his cock trailing wetly over Joe’s stomach. John’s making noises again, this time softer and a little less desperate than before, but only a little. His mouth is inches from Joe’s ear, tickling against his neck in a way that feels a whole lot more intimate than the finger Joe’s sliding into John's ass, deliberate and easy.
A whimper, John's muscles tensing unconsciously under Joe’s hands, and Joe whispers, Shh, shh, relax, kissing the blooming bruise on John's neck from earlier.
The push eases, and all Joe can think about is the lifetime of orders John's been on the receiving end of, whether or not it's really that simple; if I tell you to come, will you? he thinks, just as the pad of his finger bumps across John's prostate.
John mewls, bucks against Joe’s body and Joe’s sure John actually has to concentrate on letting go like this, not used to the slow build-up, the burn inside. Joe crooks his finger again, touches that sweet spot inside John again just right and turns his head in time to catch the noises John makes with his open mouth. They kiss, matching the slow rhythm of Joe’s finger sliding in and out of John's ass.
Stop thinking, Joe whispers and slips a second finger in.
Stop talking, John counters in a weak imitation of his usual snark, but he's obviously trying, so Joe has to give him points. He finds that bump again and presses hard, rubbing in a slow, sure circle until John actually keens, his body trembling against Joe’s helplessly.
And it's...sexy, yeah, that's the word, it's hot how John falls apart and Joe thinks, I did this, I did, like it really matters. He feels John rub against him, needy, hard cock, looking for any kind of friction and Joe’s pretty sure they need to do something or he's gonna come too, without actually being touched. He slips his fingers out, pulls and pushes at John's hips until he's in a good enough position.
Slow and easy, Joe mumbles against John's temple, a promise and a reminder for himself. Then he takes his cock in his own hand, and actually has to pause for a second to get his bearings, not come like a school boy from the simple touch alone.
The look in John's eyes helps a little, because he doesn't look calm anymore, or wondering - he looks like a skittish cat, off like a shot at any wrong move. Joe reaches up with his free hand and hooks his palm around the back of John's neck, pulling him into a comfortable, slick kiss; he uses the reprieve to think, remembering his first time dry with a guy and how it ached and stung and he thought he was tearing apart.
Bedroom, he murmurs into John's mouth, and doesn't give him time to process before he's manhandling them both down the hallway at double speed.
To John's credit he seems to get exactly what Joe means and they tumble into the bedroom without bumping into any walls. Spread out on a bed, John looks like one of those kitschy paintings of naked men Rachel keeps in her hallway and Joe has to look away before he just jerks off and comes all over John's smooth, toned stomach.
Joe, John says, misinterpreting Joe’s behavior – or maybe knowing exactly what is going on. Joe blinks, looks at John like he sees him for the very first time. Then he leans over, his cock brushing over John's navel, and fumbles around in the drawer of the bedside table for a bit before he finds the lube.
With John on his back, the angle's a little easier to get without Joe breaking his wrist. Three slick fingers are in knuckle-deep before John even seems to register the fact that Joe’s working him open again, and maybe John likes the sting of it in a way that Joe never has - his threshold is so much higher that way - because he just lets his knees fall open all the way, feet bottoms flat on the sides of Joe’s thighs.
He’s quiet again, though, whatever bubble they'd been in on the couch broken during the trip to the bed, and his eyes are closed to block everything out.
No, Joe says firmly, leaning down and rubbing the flat of his tongue against the sweet spot just under the crown of John's cock; just as he thought, John's eyes fly open and find his. Better, he whispers staring John down, willing him to stay in this moment to enjoy this, with him. He spreads his fingers, slowly crooks them inside John and watches as his mouth falls open, hips bucking up, fucking himself open on Joe’s fingers.
Talk to me, Joe says and regrets that it sounds more than an order than he wanted it to.
He's glad when John hesitates, like he's thinking it over and then he says, harder, I need to feel this, please, Joe, please, and maybe it's the way his name rolls over John's tongue but Joe inhales sharply and slicks himself up, fast and quick, lines his dick up against Joe’s hole and then just pushes in, so slowly it makes his eyes sting.
John’s face is blank when Joe can see clearly again, a familiar mask drawn over the tight lines around his eyes, the thinned slash of his red mouth. But Joe’s been in that head, knows this body as well as anyone can, and when he slides his hand up between them, tracing the shell of John's ear with a ghost-light touch at the same time his knees push under John's ass and angle him up, John moans and shudders again, undone.
Joe’s breathing harshly, but he keeps pushing in, tight heat squeezing around his dick. He never takes his eyes off John's face, watches the way emotions roll over it now, strokes John's cheek slowly. Finally, when he's all the way inside, hips snug against John’s ass he takes a deep breath, closes his eyes against the strain of not moving, trying to give John time to adjust.
He leans in as best he can without shifting his hips, and even though the tension on his lower back is murder, he presses his lips to John's ear and whispers, My cock is in your ass, John, because John needs to remember who's doing this to him. Feels good, doesn't it? I know. I love it too. Next time, you can fuck me.
And that, finally, does it.
John comes to life under him, like someone who gasps in the first mouthful of air after drowning. His hands slide around Joe’s hips and he crosses his legs behind Joe. John looks at him for a long moment, contemplatively, like he's trying to solve a puzzle and then he says, yeah, next time, and slowly starts to rock against Joe.
Joe grins, bubble of warmth growing in his chest, and sits back on his heels again, pushing John forward towards the pillows so he's propped up without losing contact between them.
Alright? Joe asks, and John doesn't bother answering, raising his arms above his head and holding onto the spindly headboard for leverage when Joe starts thrusting in earnest, every shallow push pressing the head of his cock against John's prostate deliberately.
John throws his head back, arches up, pushing back against Joe’s thrusts with a fluid motion that makes Joe’s hips stutter and lets him think he was made for this – irrational though it’s true, because John was made for this, wanton and open, and Joe wants everything of him, everything at once.
After that there's not much finesse to it anymore; Joe fucks into John, intent on drawing all the little sounds from John, making him gasp, beg, fall apart under his fingers.
You don't need me to touch you, Joe says thickly, and it's not even close to being a question; you're gonna come on my cock, John, just like this. Give it to me, and John practically shouts, louder than Joe’s ever heard him be, dick twitching and spurting against his flat belly.
Joe watches the way John looks – face open and raw, sweaty– and he completely loses it. Drives into John hard and fast, hips snapping forward. John’s ass is so tight around him, still so tight from his orgasm and Joe blindly fucks into him unable to do much else.
What sets him off in the end is John's hand, soft and sure against his hole, thumb circling over the sensitive skin there – let go, Joe, he says and finally, Joe does.
They slump against each other, shaky, stuttering breaths puffing out between their mouths, and this is so not what Joe expected when he went to get a drink, but when John slides a sweaty hand into his damp hair and tugs him down to rest his cheek against John's familiar shoulder, he figures the show's writers got that right at least - he never sees it coming.
Jules: \o/
Mel: DUDE. that was EPIC.
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There is so much hot in this fic I can't even deal.
He’s got his eyes closed, the scene playing on in his head; Joe’s wider, softer eyes staring up at him, stripes of John's come over his defined cheeks and red mouth.
if I tell you to come, will you? he thinks
Etc, etc. I want to quote the whole fic at you, basically. :)
Just one teeny, tiny thing: It sparks through him like electricity and he bucks up against his hand, groaning in the half-darkness of the living room with the TV the only light, desperately hoping he didn't just wake John. I'm pretty sure it's Joe that's sleeping in the next room.
But yeah, I pretty much love this with the burning fire of a thousand suns.
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glad you liked it, though. :D
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By all means, don't feel the need to make excuses on my part, at least. *dead from guh*
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*melts*
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And that last line=LOLZ!!!
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I think I need to go sit outside in the snowbank to cool off...
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;D
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Are they gonna get the chance to have John come all over Joe's hair? Pleaseohplease?
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If anyone needs me, I'll be in the shower. A very long, very cold shower...
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also, the most appropriate icon EVER.
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HOT LIKE FLYING DIRECTLY INTO THE SUN.
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No, really, who needs shame when we can have porn? And hot, awesome porn at that. WIN.
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OMG.
This is so so hot and your writing is SO sharp and clear and GORGEOUS as always and ungh. I am going to go die of hot now.
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Isn't it COMPLETELY hot though? Maybe there will be a sequel, because CLEARLY we still need to write John coming all over Joe's hair. Clearly.
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Glad you liked it!
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My love for this can be seen FROM SPACE. Jesus.
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'Scuze me. I gotta go, um. Bunk. Now.
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glad you liked it, honey!
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Oh god that's... mmm. I love that. Oh and the last line and the WHOLE THING OMG.
\o/
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GOOD LORD, WOMAN. JUST. GOD. I think I blushed from my head to my toes and...*flails incoherently* God, that's just so filthy hot in all the best ways.
*FLAILS MOAR*
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