Territory (Jack/Cam) Adult
Written for the porn battle at oxoniensis.
Pairing: Jack/Cam
Rating: Adult
Prompt: 'territory'
He thinks this might be about territory. This slow sliding of hard thigh against hip, this wet drag of mouth against lips and jaw. They're on Cam's deck, late at night, the deep, sharp taste of beer still in their mouths, and Jack O'Neill is kissing him with determination. And something that might be a little jealous, a little regretful, and a lot demanding.
Jack's hands are tangled in Cam's hair, lightly, and Cam has to marvel a bit how this man can direct, and keep you firmly in hand, with just the barest touch. Jack kisses the same way he speaks and gestures, the same way he does everything: deliberately. His mouth isn't an absent-minded touch, or a smear of eager bites wanting sex. His mouth presses slowly, specifically against Cam's lips, shallowly at first. Cam has to admit he's a bit over-eager when it happens. He hadn't expected this when O'Neill had shown up at his door earlier with a six-pack of Heineken; dark, piercing eyes; and a litany of demands about how 'his' team was doing.
Jack opens his mouth a bit, and Cam feels the quick, wet hint of his tongue. He crowds closer, pressing Jack back further against the deck railing and easing his thigh into the other man's crotch. O'Neill's legs slide apart, letting Cam lean forward. Cam tries to kiss Jack senseless.
Jack slows him with one warm, bare touch. One hand against the side of his head, fingers sliding over the shorn side of his scalp, and Cam eases up. The long, lean fingers press just there... and Cam tilts his head slowly, hesitating, letting Jack move in and fuse their mouths together in his own good time. It's deep, wet and punctuated by the long, slow slide of silky tongue. And it screams of ownership and territory, and none of it has to do with how many stars Jack wears on his collar.
Jack's hands slide down and under Cam's shirt, and the rough drag of palm against his tense, smooth back sends his hard cock into a hot ache. Cam clears his throat. It comes out more like a moan. Jack's mouth moves to Cam's neck with a slow, strong suck that leaves wet patches of skin cooling in the night air. Cam grabs handfuls of Jack's over-large shirt and hitches it up, sliding his palms over the smooth, narrow waist, fingers digging down under the waistband of Jack's jeans until he can feel the sharp point of Jack's hips and then the slope of his ass, and the soft, silky random hair there.
O'Neill falters just a touch, breath huffing out against Cam's jaw, and Cam is suddenly and almost inexplicably consumed with the urge to grab this man around the waist, lift him up against the deck railing and fuck him until neither of them knows up from down, left from right. It's a heady thought, one that makes him press further between Jack's legs, hip grinding against the hard erection there; and Cam tightens his embrace, lifts... and O'Neill sucks in a breath as he's dragged up on his toes. Cam hesitates there, just for a moment, and Jack's arms tighten around his shoulders, fingers curling into his T-shirt.
It's an ambiguous moment, and Cam can't quite stop himself from feeling a little powerful, and turned. the fuck. on.
He lowers O'Neill to his feet again, and Jack's grip eases on Cam’s shirt. His breath is deep and hard. Cam slides one palm lightly into the silver hair. Jack doesn't move, and that's exactly what Cam wants. He moves slowly in to give his kiss, and their eyes meet and hold briefly. It's all about what belongs to Jack and what belongs to Cam. And Cam thinks that SG-1 will always belong to Jack, but maybe--maybe--there's a good possibility that Jack can belong to him...
Pairing: Jack/Cam
Rating: Adult
Prompt: 'territory'
He thinks this might be about territory. This slow sliding of hard thigh against hip, this wet drag of mouth against lips and jaw. They're on Cam's deck, late at night, the deep, sharp taste of beer still in their mouths, and Jack O'Neill is kissing him with determination. And something that might be a little jealous, a little regretful, and a lot demanding.
Jack's hands are tangled in Cam's hair, lightly, and Cam has to marvel a bit how this man can direct, and keep you firmly in hand, with just the barest touch. Jack kisses the same way he speaks and gestures, the same way he does everything: deliberately. His mouth isn't an absent-minded touch, or a smear of eager bites wanting sex. His mouth presses slowly, specifically against Cam's lips, shallowly at first. Cam has to admit he's a bit over-eager when it happens. He hadn't expected this when O'Neill had shown up at his door earlier with a six-pack of Heineken; dark, piercing eyes; and a litany of demands about how 'his' team was doing.
Jack opens his mouth a bit, and Cam feels the quick, wet hint of his tongue. He crowds closer, pressing Jack back further against the deck railing and easing his thigh into the other man's crotch. O'Neill's legs slide apart, letting Cam lean forward. Cam tries to kiss Jack senseless.
Jack slows him with one warm, bare touch. One hand against the side of his head, fingers sliding over the shorn side of his scalp, and Cam eases up. The long, lean fingers press just there... and Cam tilts his head slowly, hesitating, letting Jack move in and fuse their mouths together in his own good time. It's deep, wet and punctuated by the long, slow slide of silky tongue. And it screams of ownership and territory, and none of it has to do with how many stars Jack wears on his collar.
Jack's hands slide down and under Cam's shirt, and the rough drag of palm against his tense, smooth back sends his hard cock into a hot ache. Cam clears his throat. It comes out more like a moan. Jack's mouth moves to Cam's neck with a slow, strong suck that leaves wet patches of skin cooling in the night air. Cam grabs handfuls of Jack's over-large shirt and hitches it up, sliding his palms over the smooth, narrow waist, fingers digging down under the waistband of Jack's jeans until he can feel the sharp point of Jack's hips and then the slope of his ass, and the soft, silky random hair there.
O'Neill falters just a touch, breath huffing out against Cam's jaw, and Cam is suddenly and almost inexplicably consumed with the urge to grab this man around the waist, lift him up against the deck railing and fuck him until neither of them knows up from down, left from right. It's a heady thought, one that makes him press further between Jack's legs, hip grinding against the hard erection there; and Cam tightens his embrace, lifts... and O'Neill sucks in a breath as he's dragged up on his toes. Cam hesitates there, just for a moment, and Jack's arms tighten around his shoulders, fingers curling into his T-shirt.
It's an ambiguous moment, and Cam can't quite stop himself from feeling a little powerful, and turned. the fuck. on.
He lowers O'Neill to his feet again, and Jack's grip eases on Cam’s shirt. His breath is deep and hard. Cam slides one palm lightly into the silver hair. Jack doesn't move, and that's exactly what Cam wants. He moves slowly in to give his kiss, and their eyes meet and hold briefly. It's all about what belongs to Jack and what belongs to Cam. And Cam thinks that SG-1 will always belong to Jack, but maybe--maybe--there's a good possibility that Jack can belong to him...