Fic: Age Is Irrelevant
Title:Age is Irrelevant Author:EtherealFlaim Fandom:Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles Pairing:Derek Reese/John Connor Raiting:FRAO Prompt:He was young, it usually didn't take much Kink:Coming without being touched Warnings:Slash, Exhibitionism, Masturbation (detail), Threesome (brief, fantasy) Notes:Spoilers for TSCC Season 2; Mildly AU (I had to tweak the timeline a bit); ~6.4k words; Written for rounds_of_kink Round 11 Day 3 Disclaimer:I do not own TSCC or the rights to any of the characters. I'm just having a little bit of non-profit fun =) Summary:After being thrust into the future, John comes into this own as a man... and catches Derek's eye.
The smell of electricity was overpowering as Derek rounded the corner. His keen sense of smell reassured him that there was no significant amount of charred flesh, so he proceeded with more caution than he might have if he thought a human might've been being fried.
"Got one! Got one!" A voice rang out down the hall. It sounded a little too excited for Derek's taste.
Derek looked toward the shout and jogged a few steps to see what the man had found. Sure enough, there was a kid standing in the middle of the tunnel with his hands in the air. For a split second, Derek could have sworn it was his brother, but the features were too soft, the hair wasn't quite right, and he looked far too young. He finally decided that the resemblance was due to the jacket the boy was wearing, which was indeed Kyle's.
"Stand down," Derek commanded quietly, as if it weren't really an order at all but a friend's voice calming a dangerous situation. "Look in his eyes. He's got about as much metal in him as you do."
Derek stepped forward and took inventory of the youth standing before him in little more than his brother's dirty jacket. He tried to stifle a smile, but didn't succeed too wholly much.
The kid stepped forward as if he recognized Derek too. "Derek," the boy said, his face splitting in a grin shaded with what Derek recognized all too clearly as relief.
The smile faded from Derek's face. He sensed something wrong about this situation, and it wasn't the static that was still palpable amidst the stagnant dust particles floating around them. The kid clearly knew who he was, and that unnerved him. In like fashion, the smile fled the young man's face.
"John..." The kid breathed, as if his own name should have been obvious to everyone present. "J-John Connor."
The name meant absolutely nothing to him. And that was the most unnerving part about it; Derek may not have the best memory of anyone around, but there were two kinds of faces he always remembered: those he'd shot at, and those who'd been shooting with him. There were usually names associated with the latter, and a visceral impulse to draw the nearest firearm and empty it into the offending face usually accompanied the former. This kid's face was registered as neither.
"I know a lot of people, kid. Don't know you." Derek watched the boy react, still on guard. Nothing about his manner indicated danger. "Anybody heard the name 'John Connor?'" Derek asked over his shoulder, querying the small contingent of men who'd gathered around before turning his back on the boy. When there was no suicide lunge, no twitch of fingers toward a knife, no change in the boy's breathing or anything else to indicate malicious intent, Derek turned his full attention back to the practically naked teen with some amount of relief.
"Well, you know what..." he said, with a cajoling smile, "I think you're going to be famous. My brother's back and you're wearing his coat." Derek's eyes slid off the boy's and over his shoulder to those of his brother, stifling that faint nagging recognition and locking it away with everything else that wasn't vital to his survival. In the silence that followed, Derek was almost sure that he could smell relief pouring out of John Connor's pores as the young man turned around and watched as Kyle and Allison strode into the chamber. Derek filed this away for later use as well, and decided that they'd stood in one place for quite enough time. He stepped forward and surprised the boy by slipping the jacket off his shoulders and tossing it to Kyle. By the time the kid had registered what had happened, Derek had already tossed a dirty blanket over the boy's head.
"Wrap up in that, we'll find you some proper clothes later," Derek said. What he didn't say was that there were more than enough sets of fatigues left behind by kids who were no older than the one standing in front of him, all of whom were rotting in shallow graves or no graves at all topside... casualties of a war none of them should have been fighting in in the first place. He looked over at his brother brother who was staring at his jacket skeptically and holding it at arm's length, fanning an imaginary scent from his nose while the Connor boy wrestled his head out of the blanket. Derek let his brother see that he wanted to laugh, but stopped short of actually doing so. He was in charge here, he couldn't let the men around him see the slightest crack in his solid exterior. They saw Kyle as the emotional one, the light-hearted one, the funny one, the one who could fight all day and find the only glimmer of light in a bad situation... they knew Derek to be the cold, devious, sardonic one who could lodge a bullet in your brain before you saw his hand move. This fate was, of course, reserved for traitors or anyone else who jeopardized their safety, and they all knew they could count on it. The men worked best this way, as some if them responded better to one style of leadership when the rest preferred the other. The brothers presented a unified front to their men at all times, and were rapidly gaining clout with the other rebel groups because of the loyalty and respect the pair commanded.
Derek took a step forward and around John Connor, tossing a scrub grenade into the room from which the acrid smell was issuing. "Fall back, men. We've stayed here too long."
He followed the men a quarter mile down the hallway before he heard the muffled detonation of the grenade. He was lucky it hadn't gone off in his hands, he thought grimly. It shouldn't have taken that long to detonate, and when the fuses started to go bad there was no telling which way they'd go. He knew his men would think he was simply collapsing another tunnel on the perimeter to close off yet another possible way for machines to get them, but in reality he knew that when there was a TDE breach, the machines could smell it from a mile away just like he could. Somebody had spent an incredible amount of energy to send this boy through time, which meant that there was probably metal after him anyway. He didn't like that thought any more than he liked that the Connor boy had seemed to recognize him, but it least it would mean that the kid was on the right side.
Up ahead, he could hear his brother quizzing the Connor boy about the machines, judgement day and the resistance, getting a feel for what the kid knew and deciding for himself if the youth could be trusted. To everyone else, it sounded like joking and banter, but Derek knew Kyle better than that. The war had changed all of them, for better or for worse.
Over the next few months, Derek saw very little of John, and only thought about him when the slightly pained realizations struck him that Kyle was also more absent than usual. Something about the kid had intrigued his brother, and he had taken the boy under his wing. Kyle would return to the dingy room they shared with three other men-all deeply trusted advisors to the pair-late at night after taking extra shifts on watch with the Connor boy. Derek didn't talk to his brother much about it for fear of showing the jealousy he wouldn't even admit to himself that he was feeling, but from the spurious conversations they did have he knew they were talking strategy, discussing the war, and honing the young man's tactical skills. Derek couldn't help but notice that what had been a scrappy but yet somehow well-fed boy (at least by post J-day standards, he thought) was developing rapidly into a lithe, muscular soldier. As John had less and less to learn from the Kyle, Derek began to see him around at mess and in the tunnels more often. It wasn't long before the boy started to pick up on the unabashed staring and returned it in kind. Derek let himself believe he was simply sizing the boy up, or at most admiring his brother's handiwork, instead of admitting to himself that there was something about the boy that he could not tear his eyes away from. More than that, there were times alone in his cot where he couldn't tear his thoughts away from John Connor. It was like the boy was calling out to him, like someone had created the young man out of everything that attracted the seasoned soldier. It had been far too long since he'd laid with a woman and even longer since he'd laid with a man, but something about Connor's eyes, his hands, his lightning intellect, the way he was still scanning the room even when all outward signs painted him the picture of ease and carelessness... something drew Derek to him, and the thought both terrified and entranced him.
But Derek had gotten used to watching from afar. He'd been doing it for far too long now. In the post-apocalypse in which they were living, mundane things like modesty, romance, and even homophobia were all forgotten. He watched appreciatively as the more attractive men on base changed or showered and openly admired the exposed arms and bare chests that wandered around from time to time. Before he and his brother had been elevated to command status he had even taken a few of them into his bed, along with some of the more attractive women who passed through. But none of that was appropriate anymore, so he simply watched and was watched in return.
Derek was asleep-or allowing himself to be as close to sleep as he dared-when the raucous sounds of the warning system rang out. Adrenaline replaced his blood in microseconds as he flew from his bed, feet barely touching the floor as he gathered a pair of pistols and a shotgun and ran from the room. Kyle and Jonas, one of their best soldiers and close counsel, had just departed two days previously to take supplies and extend an invitation to a nearby group of resistance fighters led by Sylar Ewing. There was to be a meeting to set up a network for coordinating movements and sharing information the following month, and Ewing was well respected. Somewhere in the depths of his consciousness, Derek knew or feared that the klaxon heralded their arrival amidst metal, blood, bullets and death, but he took some small measure of solace from this-there would have been no alarm if they had all been dead.
In the scant two minutes it took Derek to sprint to the southwest entrance tunnel, it was all over. He had heard two explosions and ceaseless gunfire as he ran, knowing that the men he'd trained and who he trusted with his life were up there doing everything they could to bring the returning party in safely, but as much as he might trust them with his own life, he was the only one he trusted with Kyle's.
He stood panting beside the scraps of corrugated metal and construction debris which shadowed the doorway, and watched with dismay as three bodies were dragged across the threshold. The sky above was now deathly silent, thin red tendrils of sunrise only hinting at their presence on the skyline. He couldn't help but think how much that particular shade of red reminded him of blood as he knelt down next to the closest body. It was Jonas, and there was a piece of sharpened steel glistening in his throat. The amount of blood pooling beneath the man told Derek that there was nothing any of them could do. He would grieve later, when he was not being watched by dozens of men he'd trained and who looked up to him as something of a god. He stepped over Jonas' lifeless body and slowly looked down at the other two. The third man would be fine, his broken leg was already being splinted by a medic; it was the man lying unconscious between them that caused his heart to skip a beat. Kyle was lying on the ground with a small pool of blood gathering around his waist, but-Derek breathed a sigh of relief-he was breathing. Derek silently knelt over his brother and set about properly bandaging the gash in his brother's side, knowing but not caring that the men around him would remain there silently watching until he saw fit to give them instructions. When he had finished bandaging his brother's chest, he picked him up and began to walk down the corridor, toward their bunks. As he walked, he instructed the two men nearest him to find a place to bury Jonas. He left the rest of them standing there in the dim light of morning, watching him silently retreat into the tunnel with his brother.
John walked slowly down the tunnel toward Derek and Kyle's cots. His hands were still bloody and covered with dirt from burying Jonas, but he was barely aware of it. He turned the last corner and stepped into the dimly lit dead-end corridor which served as the sleeping place for five-no, make that four men, he corrected himself sadly. When he was not banished from the room or acknowledged at all, John moved slowly to Kyle's bedside and sat down on the cold ground next to it, eyes moving slowly between the unconscious form of his father and the inscrutable face of his uncle.
"I don't think I will ever get used to burying people," John said to nobody in particular, his voice barely a whisper. "I didn't think I could make it when it was Charley, and I didn't think I'd manage with Jonas either."
John's instinct proved correct; Derek seemed to snap out of his trance. "It never gets any easier," the man said. Derek seemed abruptly to come to the realization that John had been one of the ones he'd sent to bury Jonas and shook his head apologetically. "You shouldn't have had to do that. You're still too young to be burying people."
"Oh shut up," John said with a calculated hint of scorn. "You know as well as I do that I'm just as capable as anyone here, and more than some." He knew that he could be shot for mouthing off to Derek like that, but he also knew that his uncle needed it. "Age is irrelevant."
Derek simply looked down at his hands and said nothing.
"How old were you when you first fired a gun? When you first saw one of your friends gunned down in front of you? If you were any older than I am now I'll give up rations for a week."
The corner of Derek's mouth twitched upward briefly before returning to the sullen frown it had been wearing since Kyle's return. "Keep your rations, kid."
Kyle's existence was a haze of pain with brief unremembered and unintelligible mutterings occasionally breaking the monotony. Neither the pain nor the meaningless voices had a meter to them; he could just as easily have been lying there awake for hours, days, or weeks. The only thing that registered out of the haze was the briefest mention of food, at which he realized just how hungry he was.
Kyle groaned. "Rations? You know, I could reeeally use something to eat right now..." He tried to move himself into a sitting position but collapsed back onto his cot when every muscle in his body protested. "What the fuck happened to me?"
He opened his left eye with a great deal of effort and stared quizzically at his brother. "What? No food? Okay, well fine. At least help me sit up." Kyle knew his brother was about to protest, but he held up his hand to stop him. Sure enough, Derek closed his mouth mid-breath and moved over to help his brother up. Kyle did his best to pretend that he wasn't hurting all over as he leaned against the cold concrete, but was pretty sure it was evident anyway. "Anybody going to tell me why I'm lying in my bunk with the two of you sitting here when clearly at least one of us should be on watch?"
Derek looked at him with a mix of incredulity and fear. "You don't remember?" he asked.
Kyle looked down at himself, sized up the bandage wrapped around his chest, and laughed. It was a short laugh, because it hurt, but it was a laugh. "Well, clearly I tried to break up a bar fight between metal and skin. I really should stop doing that."
Derek shook his head, allowing the smallest of smiles to appear atop the concern etched on his face. "What of Ewing and his camp?" he asked, clearly afraid of what the answer would be.
Kyle was still trying to piece together his memory of the past few days when John's quiet voice answered the question instead.
"It was an ambush," John guessed. "Somehow, the machines knew we were going to be going to Ewing's camp and took that opportunity to cripple both us and them."
Derek looked at John harshly. "How could you possibly know that?"
Kyle watched this exchange with some amusement. The boy shrugged before replying "Because it's what I would do if I were them."
Before Derek could berate the boy any more, Kyle spoke back up. "No, he's right, Derek. We had just finished bringing in the last of our men through the last entrance when the machines attacked. All at once, at each of the entrances we'd used to get in. Ewing, Jonas, and I were forcibly dragged from there by a few men through one of the few entries that wasn't swarming with metal. By that point, the entire bunker was gone... there was nothing we could do, so we ran. How many of us made it back?"
When neither John nor Derek responded, Kyle shook his head sadly. "That bad, eh?"
Derek nodded. "You were pretty far gone when you got close enough for us to bring you back in. We didn't see Ewing."
Kyle's face was an impenetrable mask of stone as the news sank in. "And Jonas?"
John answered this time. "He's dead. They're all dead."
Kyle felt light headed. He closed his eyes and let his chin fall to rest on his chest. After a few seconds of silence, he spoke. "On second thought, I'm not so hungry. I want to sleep," and with that he rolled himself back down to the cot and slipped quickly off into unconsciousness.
As his brother slipped off to sleep, it struck Derek just how much the Connor boy had changed since he found him all-but-naked in a far corner of the tunnel network. He kept thinking of the boy as a kid, but the past few months had aged him many years and made him into an adult.
Derek watched as John brushed his hand over the top of his head, where the old unkempt brown hair was now closely cropped, covering neither the smooth, unscarred skin of his face nor the bright, piercing blue-green eyes that had so long remained hidden behind it.
Derek's eyes slowly traced the curve of the young man's neck, across his broad-shouldered back only thinly covered by an ancient fatigue T-shirt which masked little of the hard muscle beneath.
Derek was still watching him when John stood to leave, and met his gaze steadily when John turned to face him and nod goodbye.
He was still thinking how strikingly familiar that handsome form was as it turned and strode confidently around the corner and away.
As the months dragged on, Derek began to notice that John, too, was watching him out of the corner of his eye... and it was happening more and more often. When John thought he was asleep, or looking the other way, when he was peeling off his shirt or doing pull-ups on the water pipe outside mess. At first the looks were that of admiration and respect. Derek appreciated that, and took to spending more time with the boy. His brother had honed the boy's skill at tactics and planning to a fine point, and John had proven himself to be an invaluable asset and a trusted advisor... but his fighting skills and his killer instinct were in desperate need of sharpening.
Derek enjoyed training John. The kid was incredibly sharp and learned quickly, but he was always just a little bit too impatient. To train in reflex and patience, Derek and John would stand absolutely still facing one another in the darkest corner they could find for hours on end, each trying to catch the other in a moment of weakness. Derek usually was the one smacking John upside the head with a wooden stick or swatting the boy's leg with it, but sometimes John was able to react fast enough to counter and even more rarely was able to score a bruise or two on Derek. To train in weapons, they took extra shifts at watch. Derek would bring an arsenal with him in a tattered duffel bag, not letting John see what was inside until they had spotted something. John quickly became adept at picking up any gun, rifle, laser, launcher, pistol, revolver, or shotgun Derek could throw at him and using it to inflict serious damage while wasting a minimum of ammunition. Derek taught him ways to maximize leverage against a machine in hand-to-hand combat-not that such a fight was ever fair... but it could occasionally be survivable-to either occupy it enough for long enough that everyone else can escape or to safely get thrown far enough and just hard enough that it might deem you no longer a threat. Derek was never disappointed by John's ability to recognize nuance and to accept criticism. Occasionally the anger or frustration would win out, but the kid never argued.
When Kyle and John returned to the base after another difficult meeting with another cache of resistance fighters, Kyle approached Derek and pulled him aside.
"Derek... I know you and Connor have been training a lot, and he's been a bigger help to our safety than just about anyone else here." Kyle raised his eyebrows and waited for Derek to acknowledge him. Derek did not.
"I think you know what I'm suggesting. He helped bury the man's body for fuck's sake! I don't know about you, but I'd want him around if the machines came knocking. God knows, the concrete floor he has for a bed now has gotta put a few kinks in him in the morning. The bed has been emp-" Kyle was cut off by a curt nod from Derek.
"Fine," Derek said, "But you can take the heat for it. There are a lot of guys here who've shed more blood than Connor has." Derek turned on his heel and walked away. He knew his brother would figure out that something was up, but hoped he wouldn't get exactly what. They both knew John deserved it, but somehow moving him into Jonas' space made it real. And, Derek thought to himself, it means that he's important enough to us to become a target. The thought sobered him, and he vented his frustration by checking on the watch. They weren't doing anything wrong, but he yelled at them anyway and felt better as he climbed back down the ladder and walked toward mess.
When John walked up to his new quarters and stood staring down at the empty cot which had belonged to the man he buried what seemed like aeons ago, Derek saw that the kid was just as apprehensive about his move as Derek himself was. Parts of his better judgment were at war with one another about the Connor kid. A very loud part was ecstatic-and not a little horny-at the thought of the muscular young man sleeping mere feet away... but an equally compelling voice was encouraging caution. Derek had only broached the subject of the boy's past on a few occasions, and was angrily rebuffed on all of them. Something about the kid's past bothered him, and the paranoid whispers that had kept him alive and kicking for so long were quick to remind him that there was no real assurance that the boy wouldn't stab him or snap his neck while he slept, now oh-so-close. It would be so easy now that nobody would suspect him, and he would be able to walk off base without the slightest bit of resistance, back to whatever metal abomination was responsible for coordinating such sympathizers.
Derek shook his head to distract himself from such thoughts. So far they hadn't suffered any serious losses from skin loyal to metal, but the stories and the few encounters he'd had with such people had made him wary.
The muffled thump of a small pile of clothing being dropped next to the cot jarred him from his reverie, followed quickly by a plastic skittering sound as a makeshift toothbrush slipped out of the mess and onto the hard concrete. Derek chuckled humorlessly at the statement there... in humanity's prime, machine-run factories pumped out molded plastic toothbrushes and minted silver coins and carved porcelain crap pots... but now, toothpaste was a vague memory, loyalty was the only currency that mattered, you had to risk your neck just to take a shit, and those same machines were hell-bent on wiping out every last thinking organism left.
He laid back on his cot and stared at the dimly lit ceiling. It really was rather ironic.
Derek was in a foul mood as he climbed down the ladder from watch. Spending seven hours topside with two of the hottest guys under your command and the single most beautiful woman ever to hold a gun would do that to a man. Especially one who couldn't act on it. He pounded the ground with his boots a bit more heavily than he normally would, trying to calm himself down. The two guys didn't have a clue, he knew, but Jesse could tell, and she purposefully tormented him about it. Oh, she never said anything, of course, but she would lay back and stare across her breasts at him with a knowing smirk on her face that only made him want to fuck her senseless even more.
When he made it to mess, he barely noticed what it was that he was eating, he just wolfed it down and stormed out, back to his cot. Only one other person in mess noticed, of course... Derek eating alone and not speaking a word to anyone was more or less his style. But Kyle had known him for long enough to recognize when the fighter was fuming over something or other and followed him out of mess.
When Kyle reached their shared quarters, he found his brother staring at the ceiling, obviously still in a bad mood. Kyle walked over to the side of his brother's cot and stood staring down at him.
"If looks could kill, I have a feeling we'd be short a hand or two down here. What's up, Derek?" Kyle asked, trying to keep a serious face. Part of him was always amused when Derek was furious, but the more rational part knew that if he was angry, there might be a very good reason for it, and that didn't usually turn out well.
"Jesse." Derek answered curtly, not making eye contact with his brother. "She's being a tease again."
Kyle almost laughed, but managed to simply smile instead. He kicked his brother's cot jovially. "Oh, is that all? I thought it was something serious."
Derek turned his head slightly and glared up at the barely concealed grin on Kyle's face and reached out a hand to slug his leg. "I haven't slept in more than a day, just leave me alone. I'm going to sleep, and then I'm going to run. Come get me if I'm actually needed," and with that he rolled over and tried to sleep. Kyle knew when he was being dismissed, and while he normally would've protested, he knew Derek had a sore spot-or was it a soft spot?-for the Australian submarine captain. Something had happened between them on a mission a few months earlier, and after they finished recovering in the infirmary Derek hadn't really been the same. Kyle was at something of a loss to explain it, but never pressed the subject.
Derek finished up his shower and grabbed the towel off the wall and strode off toward his bunk. He was still toweling off his hair as he turned the corner, and when the flung the now soggy piece of cloth toward his bunk, he noticed John staring at him from where he lay on his cot. Derek smirked mischievously. He hadn't really expected anyone to be here when he returned... obviously the Connor boy was skipping his dinner or had already eaten, as they would both be heading topside soon for watch and weapons training. Derek stood there for a second, pretending not to notice that he'd seen Connor admiring his still-wet form, and walked slowly past Connor's cot toward his own. When he got there, he faced away from the boy and slowly toweled himself the rest of the way dry, knowing that his muscles were rippling under the scarred skin of his back in a way that John would find unable to resist. Instead of lying on his own cot when he finished, however, he rolled gracefully onto Kyle's cot-conveniently, the cot right next to John's. He could see out of the corner of his eye that the boy was thoroughly enjoying this, and was now openly staring at the show of Derek's naked form.
Derek looked up at the ceiling and closed his eyes. As slowly a he could manage, he traced the fingers of his left hand from the stubble of his face across the taut muscle of his shoulders and down his chest, pausing to brush his nipples with the calloused pad of his thumb. He didn't have to have his eyes open to know that John would still be watching him, riveted by the sight of the older man caressing his body like this. His hand continued its descent, slowly passing over the chiseled abdomen, enjoying the heat he felt there before he let his fingers trace the thin line of dark hair the rest of the way down. His skilled fingers skated across the short-cropped hair above his slowly swelling erection and brushed it softly, tracing its length before lightly taking his still partially pliable cock into his hand.
Three slow strokes later he was fully erect, fighting his libido to keep his rhythm slow. As he drew his hand upward toward his chest, he let the inside of his calloused forefinger brush past the smooth heat of the sensitive tip, twisting slowly and letting the ridge of his palm make the return trip, breathing deeply at the almost unbearable friction he felt. Derek continued to stroke himself slowly, forcing himself to feel every brush and every twist, every throb and every pulse. When the pain in his cock was almost unbearable, he distracted himself from the pain by gently caressing his balls, which were fleeing the heat of his body as best they knew how. When the pain in his cock had retreated again into pulsating pleasure, Derek went back to slowly, methodically stroking the sex organ between his legs which was now pointed accusingly at the ceiling.
Derek slid his free hand slowly up to his mouth and penetrated it with his fore- and middle finger, wetting them thoroughly with saliva. When he was confident they were well lubricated, he removed his glistening fingers from his mouth and slid them both roughly into his waiting ass. Derek bit back the gasp of pleasure at the intrusion, and tasted the irony tang of blood as his teeth broke the skin of his inner lip. He plunged his fingers in deeper, pounding them roughly against his prostate to the same slow rhythm of his other, stroking hand.
As his fingers simultaneously probed his depths and twisted him closer and closer to the edge, he thought back to earlier in the day, remembering how Jesse had been teasing him, imagining that he was lying here on this cot, roughly thrusting into her, cruelly smashing his lips against hers, enjoying every moan and gasp he could wrench from between her beautiful lips. Slowly, he sped up the rhythm, imagining that John was watching them the way he was now, except bare naked and stroking himself as he watched. Derek watched with his mind's eye as the young man stood over his thrusting form, burying a finger wet with saliva roughly in his ass. He felt his body shiver involuntarily as the pleasure registered itself and responded in kind by taking the speed of his strokes up a notch and making his rhythm instead syncopated and random. His fantasy progressed quickly, the single slick finger followed soon by a second and then a third finger... now he was gasping for real, as he thought of John's hard cock slipping into him, matching the rhythm with which he was fucking Jesse. Like Derek's fingers were doing outside the fantasy, John's rock-hard dick was pressing itself roughly against his sensitive prostate as the thick organ was drawn in and out. Derek watched as his imaginary fingers went to work on Jesse, bringing her to climax again and again as he rode John's cock and continued to pound himself into her. When his dream-Jesse was spent, he felt his body spasm as he imagined his still-hard cock slipping gently out of her and finding warm sanctuary in the wet recesses of John's eager mouth.
Derek felt himself reaching the edge, and slowed his strokes down to keep him on the precipice.
Derek cracked one eye open and saw that John was still lying on his cot, jaw slack, eyes flitting back and forth between Derek's left hand, slowly keeping him on the edge, and his right hand, roving along his chest tracing the ridges between his abs and absently pinching and twisting his nipples. Derek couldn't help the smirk that drew itself across his face as his mischievous mind decided what to do next, swiftly deciding on a terribly evil plan and carrying himself to his feet before John could even react.
Derek swung his leg over John's cot and knelt with one knee on each side of the boy's slender hips. Still stroking slowly with his left hand, he braced himself inches above the irregularly breathing young man.
"I see you watching me, Connor," he breathed. "What, do you want in on the action? You want to suck me off?" Derek watched John's eyes roll briefly up into his skull at the thought of it. Derek moved closer, halving the distance between their lips. "You want to fuck me?" he asked, registering John's twitch as he said fuck as if he'd been struck. "Or would you just prefer me to come," he paused, seeing John's eyes widen, "all over you."
With the final words breathed so close to the boy's face, Derek felt before he heard the sharp intake of breath, followed rapidly by intense convulsions which shook the handsome form beneath him for nearly a minute. He's so young, Derek thought. It usually doesn't take much. As John's shudders subsided, Derek looked down at the fatigue pants the boy was wearing and snickered.
"Looks like you're going to have to do laundry," he said. "I guess you won't mind if I make it a little more dirty, will you?"
John's eyes flew open at the words and he stared down at Derek's expert fingers, drawing, twisting, stroking himself in a fast, syncopated rhythm, quickly carrying the fighter over the edge and into oblivion. Derek somehow managed to keep himself suspended on his hand and knees as the orgasm shook his body from head to toe, clenching and unclenching his muscles in a symphony of pleasure as seed poured out of him in ropes, decorating John's chest and soaking his still-bulging fatigue pants even more. When Derek was finished, he stood up and cleaned the last bit of cum off the tip of his cock and licking it off his finger, not wanting to stop the torment. He looked down at the prone form of John Connor who, sure enough, was still watching him.
"What're you doing lying there, Connor?" he barked. "We're supposed to be on watch in ten minutes. Get up and clean yourself off, I don't want to see you topside looking like that," he sneered. Derek bent closer to John and quietly added "The machines will be able to smell you a mile off."
And with that, Derek grabbed his change of clothes from the bed and strode out of the room, feeling John's hungry gaze on his ass the entire way out.
Comments, concrit, words of appreciation and encouragement are all most welcome!