"On the Day Before" (Sheppard/Beckett)
Title: On the Day Before
Words: 728
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John/Carson
Spoilers: none
Written for: amireal's "How the heck did I get that bruise" day challenge.
Summary: John made a small choking sound. He’d done that? He grabbed Carson’s arm and dragged him near the door, as much privacy as they’d get in a one-room hut. “Are you saying that I did that?”
"On the Day Before"
by Waldo.
The village leaders led them back to the guest-hut as quickly as the slippery trail would allow them to move safely. The sudden thunderstorm had caught them all off-guard as they’d made their way back from the cotton fields and by the time they’d gotten to the hut, they were all soaked and chilly.
Mareesa, the chief’s wife, had begun a roaring fire in the middle of the room and even the rain that came in through the smoke-hole wasn’t able to dampen it.
Once they arrived, she ducked out - taking Teyla with her to dry off in private - leaving the Lantean men to hang their clothes to dry in the warmth of the fire and to dry themselves by it as well.
Rodney hopped around trying to get his squishy boots off as quickly as possible and Ronon shook out his hair like a dog.
John and Carson stripped off their field jackets and t-shirts and hung them on pegs near the piles of fur that would serve as their beds that evening. As Carson turned to hang his pants up, John noticed the livid purple mark where Carson’s neck and shoulder met. “Hey, how the heck did you get that bruise?” Everyone had moved back to the village as fast as they could, but he didn’t notice anyone - especially Carson - slipping in the mud.
Carson turned back to him, his eyebrows drawn together. “What?”
John tipped Carson’s head to the side, examining the purple welt. By now Ronon and Rodney had stopped in their tracks, also turning to see how Carson had gotten a bruise on his neck. “What’d you do?” John asked as he traced the border of the mark. It was a rough diamond shape, longer than it was tall, deep red and purple against Carson’s pale skin.
Carson turned and gave John an incredulous look. John had a feeling he shouldn’t have asked, but Carson was injured and that wasn’t sitting well with him. “Seriously, what happened?”
“Looks kind of like a hickey,” Rodney put in from where he was struggling out of his clinging pants.
Carson shot John a ‘what he said,’ look, before moving back over to the fire to warm up.
John made a small choking sound. He’d done that? He grabbed Carson’s arm and dragged him near the door, as much privacy as they’d get in a one-room hut. “Are you saying that I did that?”
Carson chuckled, glancing over to see that Ronon and Rodney were studiously looking at the floor and each other, trying not to eavesdrop. “You were a wee bit enthusiastic last night.”
John coughed to cover up a much less manly sound. “I bit you?” Even as he asked, he had a sudden flash of memory - not only visual memory, but the taste and feel and sounds - of sucking deeply on the flesh that had been between his teeth as he came. He remembered keeping enough control that he wouldn’t break the skin, but he’d let himself go enough to truly enjoy the way Carson gasped and thrashed under him as he worried the pinched skin and sinew with his tongue and teeth.
Carson grinned. “I don’t mind.” He rested one hand gently on John’s shoulder, “When I turn my head I can feel it. Just a little, just enough to remember how good it felt to have you inside me and your mouth on me and your arms around me… I have no regrets about it. I hadn’t intended to show it off to the world, but I’d honestly forgotten about it until you said something.”
John flushed and suddenly found himself grateful that he was still in his wet, cold, uncomfortable pants. Although as much as they were clinging, turning around really wasn’t going to be an option for a while. He shrugged fatalistically. He’d done it to himself, starting the conversation and all. Hell, he’d started it by apparently biting his partner the night before. He wasn’t sure he’d ever done that before. In a military world of community showers he’d never wanted marks he’d have to explain, so he’d been careful not to leave any on anyone else.
He reached over to trace it again, the mark warmer than the rest of Carson’s skin. “I'm sorry.”
Carson just winked at him on his way over to the fire. “I’m not.”
Words: 728
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: John/Carson
Spoilers: none
Written for: amireal's "How the heck did I get that bruise" day challenge.
Summary: John made a small choking sound. He’d done that? He grabbed Carson’s arm and dragged him near the door, as much privacy as they’d get in a one-room hut. “Are you saying that I did that?”
"On the Day Before"
by Waldo.
The village leaders led them back to the guest-hut as quickly as the slippery trail would allow them to move safely. The sudden thunderstorm had caught them all off-guard as they’d made their way back from the cotton fields and by the time they’d gotten to the hut, they were all soaked and chilly.
Mareesa, the chief’s wife, had begun a roaring fire in the middle of the room and even the rain that came in through the smoke-hole wasn’t able to dampen it.
Once they arrived, she ducked out - taking Teyla with her to dry off in private - leaving the Lantean men to hang their clothes to dry in the warmth of the fire and to dry themselves by it as well.
Rodney hopped around trying to get his squishy boots off as quickly as possible and Ronon shook out his hair like a dog.
John and Carson stripped off their field jackets and t-shirts and hung them on pegs near the piles of fur that would serve as their beds that evening. As Carson turned to hang his pants up, John noticed the livid purple mark where Carson’s neck and shoulder met. “Hey, how the heck did you get that bruise?” Everyone had moved back to the village as fast as they could, but he didn’t notice anyone - especially Carson - slipping in the mud.
Carson turned back to him, his eyebrows drawn together. “What?”
John tipped Carson’s head to the side, examining the purple welt. By now Ronon and Rodney had stopped in their tracks, also turning to see how Carson had gotten a bruise on his neck. “What’d you do?” John asked as he traced the border of the mark. It was a rough diamond shape, longer than it was tall, deep red and purple against Carson’s pale skin.
Carson turned and gave John an incredulous look. John had a feeling he shouldn’t have asked, but Carson was injured and that wasn’t sitting well with him. “Seriously, what happened?”
“Looks kind of like a hickey,” Rodney put in from where he was struggling out of his clinging pants.
Carson shot John a ‘what he said,’ look, before moving back over to the fire to warm up.
John made a small choking sound. He’d done that? He grabbed Carson’s arm and dragged him near the door, as much privacy as they’d get in a one-room hut. “Are you saying that I did that?”
Carson chuckled, glancing over to see that Ronon and Rodney were studiously looking at the floor and each other, trying not to eavesdrop. “You were a wee bit enthusiastic last night.”
John coughed to cover up a much less manly sound. “I bit you?” Even as he asked, he had a sudden flash of memory - not only visual memory, but the taste and feel and sounds - of sucking deeply on the flesh that had been between his teeth as he came. He remembered keeping enough control that he wouldn’t break the skin, but he’d let himself go enough to truly enjoy the way Carson gasped and thrashed under him as he worried the pinched skin and sinew with his tongue and teeth.
Carson grinned. “I don’t mind.” He rested one hand gently on John’s shoulder, “When I turn my head I can feel it. Just a little, just enough to remember how good it felt to have you inside me and your mouth on me and your arms around me… I have no regrets about it. I hadn’t intended to show it off to the world, but I’d honestly forgotten about it until you said something.”
John flushed and suddenly found himself grateful that he was still in his wet, cold, uncomfortable pants. Although as much as they were clinging, turning around really wasn’t going to be an option for a while. He shrugged fatalistically. He’d done it to himself, starting the conversation and all. Hell, he’d started it by apparently biting his partner the night before. He wasn’t sure he’d ever done that before. In a military world of community showers he’d never wanted marks he’d have to explain, so he’d been careful not to leave any on anyone else.
He reached over to trace it again, the mark warmer than the rest of Carson’s skin. “I'm sorry.”
Carson just winked at him on his way over to the fire. “I’m not.”