FIVE times you dreamed and one time you woke. [just_muse_me]
ooc: This was done for the infamous smut meme for some of my favoritest RP buddies. This will be established RP history in John's CF verse as dreams. I hope you all enjoy ♥
John's been having weird dreams again. But not... the ones about Mitch. They're not scary dreams - well, not.. in a strictly traditional sense.
But they keep coming. There's been one for each day of the week now - the working week.
>>Monday [for Shawn; 413 words]
Shawn is pressing him up against the shower door in Gus' house, slim hands pressing over his lips. He wants to protest, say, I don't know... Rodney's right in the other room. Or, this is your best friend's house? Anything for this to feel less like his fault, less like...
Deft fingers work the zip of his jeans, palming his erection through boxer briefs. John's breathing hard against Shawn's hand, slumped against frosted glass as skilled fingers get him hard in seconds flat. There's no excuse for him letting this happen, but in a sick way the guilt fuels his hunger and his hips rock up to meet Shawn's grasp as he sucks two of the man's fingers into his mouth, eyes sliding shut as his temple thumps against the door.
The psychic's grin is pure evil and he makes short work of John's clothes, boxer briefs, jeans and belt hitting tile with a klunk. He bites back a groan against those invasive fingers - now that they're in they've made a home there.
Then suddenly, the fingers leave with a pop and John's left feeling.. oddly bereft. Shawn leans in for a kiss, but John doesn't want it - he's biting his lip, just barely managing not to cry out when saliva-slicked fingers glide over his cock.
"Shawn.." he hisses, eyeing the door with a deep fear and paranoia, but the younger man doesn't seem to care. He kisses John hard as he jacks him off, moaning 'Colonel' against roughly bitten lips and he thinks.. he thinks he could come on that sound alone. But Shawn's fingers sure don't hurt. They're slim and touch him just right; he's glad they're not kind. He doesn't deserve kind.
He comes at long last, a silent cry against Shawn's mouth, his eyes wide and watery. Spencer's are calculating, assessing. He shudders, sure the man must be reading him. And before he can think about gathering his wits to repay the favor, Shawn's wiping off John's cum on his thigh. It's a cold gesture and it shakes John to his core, the action marking his failure; his guilt.
And what makes him worse isn't the fact that he let this happen or even that he enjoyed it, but that.. when Spencer walks away, he's disappointed. John doesn't want this to end. And he'll answer for that far longer than this digression alone.
Shuddering, he pulls up his pants and gets back to the party.. and Rodney.
>>Tuesday [for Radek; 358 words]
Radek and he are flying a routine test on jumper 32, nothing special here. This day is wholly unextraordinary and John holds back a yawn, resting his feet on the arm of Zelenka's co-pilot chair. The Czech shoots him a look, but doesn't say a word, and John could get used to that. Sometimes he makes excuses to get Radek out of the lab just for the luxury of the man's silence. And.. it's oddly comforting, in a way.
He's been talking idly for a few moments, paying less attention to the words than he might pay to an automated response like breathing - he really is spending too much time with McKay.
"Tell me, Radek, are there any policies against ... sodomy in Prague?"
Woah, woah, woah, back up. What? But John's not in control here, merely an observer. A helpless, mortified observer.
"We have gay marriage, you know, Colonel." Radek looks only briefly shaken, shrugging as he returns to his scans. It surprises John, both the answer and the scientist's demeanor, but not for very long. He shrugs as well and rests his hands behind his head, watching the sky as autopilot cuts them swiftly across it.
He feels something warm against his side and it takes him a whole 30 seconds to realize it's Radek's hand. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as the man leans ever closer, one hand at the back of John's neck now. He's too stunned to stop it; take it further. Soft, unsure lips brush across his - the frame of the man's glasses pressing uncomfortably against his cheekbone, but he's already kissing back.
The smaller man fits comfortably on his lap and he can't spare a moment for thought, pulling Radek against him as the sky flies by. It's unlikely at best, impossible even, but clothes are lost and cries are heard, and they've been out an hour, easy.
Breathing hard, John buttons his BDUs, sprawled over the floor of the jumper, shirtless and sated. He leans up to give Radek that so familiar parting kiss when his comm crackles to life.
"Sheppard, Dr. Zelenka. Please report."
>>Wednesday [for Ronon; 938 words]
Ronon Dex is not a man John ever wanted to cross. Not in any, serious way. Sure, they fight and chase each other around like thirteen-year-olds, but John would never actively try to get Ronon mad. True, it's less because he values his own skin and more out of respect for the other man, but still. He never expected this.
Ronon slams a fighting stick against John's shoulders, pinning him quickly; efficiently. John's stick clatters to the floor with an echo of his last hope. He hates losing to Ronon sometimes, no matter how freaking inevitable it is.
"Hey - buddy - back off, I'm fragile," he jokes, and it's a bad one. They both know it, but John's wearing that nervous little smile over the brave-face, and he knows Ronon can see right through.
"That isn't what I've heard," the man all but growls, pressing John ever harder into the wall. He feels like his head is gonna pop off.
"Ronon! Back off!" John struggled, trying to push against the taller man, but he was an immovable force.
"Word around is... you fucked Keller." John starts at that, eyes registering genuine surprise.
"Who said that?"
"Does it matter?"
John bites his lip. "No."
"Is it true, Sheppard?" Those fucking scary, alien eyes are so close - bearing him down and stripping him of everything he's ever known.
"Yeah, okay. It's true." What the fuck? Not the time to lie, John! Not the fucking time.
He doesn't even see the blow coming before it's pulled, and he winces, Ronon's fist hovering over his face.
"What are you gonna do about it, tough guy?" he demands, managing to knock Ronon back a step, the stick finally dropping out of the man's hands.
"Did you even want her?" It's not the question he's expecting and he's left blinking as Ronon grabs John's belt buckle. His breath leaves him in an instant like he's been pinned, his eyes wide and lost. The world feels cold without his pants. Ronon merely shakes his head, spinning John and pushing him against the wall again - John thinks he might freeze to death, his cheek flush with the wall as he hears Ronon's pants hit the floor.
"What are you doing?" But it's not nearly as loud as he'd thought, and Ronon either doesn't hear him... or doesn't care.
Ronon's hand drifts between his legs, shoving his underwear down his legs and wrapping a solid hand around John's limp cock - to his utter humiliation, it stirs to life. He'd certainly be lying if he said he'd never thought of this. Sweaty days in the sparring room, Ronon fucking him dry... no cares but his own prerogative. It wasn't a usual fantasy, it only came up when he felt.. like there was nothing left for him.
Maybe Ronon could fuck it back into him.
"I didn't fuck Keller," he says suddenly, but Ronon's definitely not listening now, dreds falling over John's shoulder as he leans his broad forehead against the Colonel's back.
He struggles again and the hand leaves, grabbing his hip roughly as it pushes him hard, squashing him against the wall - not a care for John's comfort. He's getting off on that, and he can tell Ronon is too if the hardness against the back of his thigh is any clue.
He has no doubt Ronon's cock is as big as the rest of him. He has even less doubt that this is going to hurt.
Two strong, spit-soaked fingers breach him and his body's fighting it, but he wants more. His breaths are coming in sharp pants, his nose crushed so he can only use one nostril. Breathing doesn't seem important when those fingers begin to move. They're stretching and it's almost clinical in nature. Little shooting stabs of pain hit John behind the eyes as he fights to keep control over himself, at least to stay conscious.
It's too fucking soon and Ronon's cock is pressing against him, not asking. None of this has been about a question, or Keller... merely this; anger, and this one answer. The question doesn't matter when Ronon is half inside him and he's whimpering because he wants the hurt, but it does hurt. It hurts so fucking good he can feel tears tracking down his face.
Ronon presses a thick hand against Sheppard's shoulder for leverage, starting up a slow rhythm paced to kill him. He thinks the lightheadedness is due to his failure to take a deep enough breath, but he can't be sure. Can't be sure of anything but Ronon, filling him, and animal grunts against his back.
John can't stay breathing and he can't stay hard, but he doesn't want this to end and when Ronon's all the way in, grumbling angry, dark thoughts aloud, John doesn't think it ever will. Ronon leans back and slams into the leaner man and that's all it takes; he's grabbing John around the middle until he really can't breath, riding his orgasm over a rib or two.
Sheppard thinks he's going to snap.
Ronon's done with him and he slams him against the wall, getting himself together while John clutches his spinning head, gasping for air and maybe some of that hope.
"Don't fucking touch her, Sheppard." And John's never seen him move so fast, it's an extraordinary sight.
"Same time tomorrow then?" Ronon doesn't even turn.
"Fuck you, Sheppard."
"I guess so, yeah." But Ronon's really gone this time and there's no room for banter. John sweeps up his broken hope and tucks it safely into a pocket of his BDUs.
>>Thursday [for Lorne; 543 words]
There's something about that spark in Major Lorne's eyes when he's taking an order from John; it goes right through him. The man's clearly not ..bent, not even close. But there's something there. Something he's afraid to deny. Maybe it's just the attention he can't pass up, that small, tinny voice in the back of his head rasps, sounding oddly like McKay before his first cup of coffee: prehistoric.
But every time John entertains an errant thought about Evan Lorne, well.. he's never disappointed. The man on his knees, sucking him down like a good soldier. The Major pressed facefirst into John's shower stall, legs shaking under the spray, the dull echo of their dogtags the only sound left to echo. Even Lorne's hopeful face and doe eyes when he gives John that painting - more significant than he'll ever know - touches him somehow; he can't not be effected.
It's why he really shouldn't be surprised at his own voice when he asks Major Lorne.. for a favor.
Lorne's mouth is everything he'd thought it would be - velvet and heaven and neverfuckingending. But it isn't what he wants. It is what he wants, but.. so completely.. not. He bucks into Evan's mouth, a sadistic sort of pleasure shooting through him as the man struggles to keep his lips around John - he has to pull away to lapse into a brief coughing fit, and his look when he brings a hand up to wipe precum from his lip; that stricken, humiliated look. John could swear it's sex. Sex in its pure, unadulterated form splayed over Evan's face for his consumption.
"Sir?" he prompts in that small, bewildered voice that sounds almost frightened, and so far away. John doesn't want this anymore, not like this. So he grabs Lorne by the wrist, pulling them flush. It's Lorne who kisses him, long and deep and obliging; obedient. It turns John on and he hates it, biting into Lorne's lips until he can taste the other man's blood, and it's strangely satisfying.
He pulls away from the kiss before he can analyze it, turning Evan's face away from him, lips settling over his pulse point as he grabs the Major's dick. He's whimpering now, his face flushed as he leans against John, bucking imperceptibly into his CO's hand. John bites him, hard, hoping vindictively it might leave a mark as he pumps the Major hard and slick, bumping their hips together until he's sure he's worn bruises in Evan's (surprisingly) durable skin.
"Sir." It's not a question, but a whine, a beg for more and it's nearly John's undoing as he turns their lips in another harsh kiss. He leans in close to Lorne's ear, stilling his hand staccato; sudden. Evan crys out at the loss of friction.
"Major," he hisses, lips brushing the shell. "I want to fuck you until you don't know your own name."
The tremor that hits Evan then travels up John's spine and he's groaning softly, nipping into Lorne's earlobe. "Yes, sir." The words stroke him in ways he's never explored; ways that disturb him, and he's coming over Lorne's cock and hip, biting the man - somewhere, anywhere - before he's pulling away.
"But I won't."
>>Friday [for Daniel; 605 words]
"I thought you were more of a pear man." And it's a ridiculous comment. But then again, Daniel is ridiculous and John doesn't think he cares anymore.
"So did I?" But it couldn't fucking matter less. John knows what he is, and he's not saying it outloud. So Jackson can have his fruit jokes and ..whatever the fuck else gets him off.
"Well, then, you won't mind if I do.. this." Daniel gropes him; actually fucking gropes him. And John's not getting angry or laughing it off, he's just fucking rolling his eyes. What kind of reaction is that?
"I'm not some cool alien gizmo you can feel up, man." He grabs Jackson's hand, gently, pushing it away. "Hands off."
Jackson's only getting in his face, invading his territory until he wants to kill him. It's a little thing at first and then, suddenly, Daniel's lips are against his and John's not sure which way is up.
"So that's how it is now? You're his now?" Daniel's hand goes for John's wrist and he smacks it away, kissing back before he has to answer.
"Don't, belong.. to him." I want to. Do I?
Daniel exploits the weakness to smash their lips together again, grabbing John around the waist. He lets out a muffled complaint as the doctor's hands climb up and under his t-shirt, short nails scraping over his abs. "Then he won't mind..."
John wants to argue, throw Jackson off, and he could. He knows that he could, easily, without a thought.. but he's not moving, and they're still kissing and both of those hypnotic hands are on his chest now...
"Stop," he tries, the word distorted by another kiss, one he returns wholly this time - without hesitation as he feels Daniel begin on the snap of his pants. "Stop," he says, this time firmer as he pushes Daniel's hands away from his waist; dropping to his knees in one fell-swoop.
"John, I don't --" John doesn't care as he's yanking down Jackson's pants and underthings, a cool hand cupping the man's balls as he looks up for a reaction.
Daniel bites into a full lip, reaching behind him for some sort of support, the heel of his hand pressing against a desk nearby. He looks lost, and John doesn't want him to be found again.
"You don't want this? Fuck off." And with that he's swallowing Daniel whole, working the man into the back of his throat while lean fingers tease his sac.
Jackson's cries are stilted and husky and John will do just about anything to have them continue. "Too. This is too --"
John still doesn't care, working his throat against the head, expert tongue wrapping around the vein to never let go. He wants Jackson to fuck his mouth, but he don't think he will - he doesn't seem like the type. So he focuses all his energy on taking as much as he can at once, fucking his mouth on Daniel's cock, riding a dangerous edge with his gag reflex every time he takes it too far. He loves those moments most, when his airflow is blocked and he has no choice but to keep swallowing. He can't feel rejected this way only filled and .. unexpectedly right. This feels right.
It's a scary right.
After an eon, Daniel comes into his mouth and John spits immediately, climbing back up the man's body to kiss him harshly, pressing Daniel back into the desk.
"He's mine," John snaps as if it matters as the dream fades away and all he hears are soft chuckles and a musing about oranges and fail-safes.
>>Saturday
John's eyes snap open, a careless hand over his taut and warm stomach as he smacks his lips against morning dry-mouth. Waking alone has never left him feeling so empty as this week. His eyes flick over familiar surroundings and it's then he realizes: he's not in his quarters. Which can only mean..
He's not alone after all.
Muse: Colonel John Sheppard
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 2951 words in total
3rd person; [ jmm:4.6.1]
John's been having weird dreams again. But not... the ones about Mitch. They're not scary dreams - well, not.. in a strictly traditional sense.
But they keep coming. There's been one for each day of the week now - the working week.
>>Monday [for Shawn; 413 words]
Shawn is pressing him up against the shower door in Gus' house, slim hands pressing over his lips. He wants to protest, say, I don't know... Rodney's right in the other room. Or, this is your best friend's house? Anything for this to feel less like his fault, less like...
Deft fingers work the zip of his jeans, palming his erection through boxer briefs. John's breathing hard against Shawn's hand, slumped against frosted glass as skilled fingers get him hard in seconds flat. There's no excuse for him letting this happen, but in a sick way the guilt fuels his hunger and his hips rock up to meet Shawn's grasp as he sucks two of the man's fingers into his mouth, eyes sliding shut as his temple thumps against the door.
The psychic's grin is pure evil and he makes short work of John's clothes, boxer briefs, jeans and belt hitting tile with a klunk. He bites back a groan against those invasive fingers - now that they're in they've made a home there.
Then suddenly, the fingers leave with a pop and John's left feeling.. oddly bereft. Shawn leans in for a kiss, but John doesn't want it - he's biting his lip, just barely managing not to cry out when saliva-slicked fingers glide over his cock.
"Shawn.." he hisses, eyeing the door with a deep fear and paranoia, but the younger man doesn't seem to care. He kisses John hard as he jacks him off, moaning 'Colonel' against roughly bitten lips and he thinks.. he thinks he could come on that sound alone. But Shawn's fingers sure don't hurt. They're slim and touch him just right; he's glad they're not kind. He doesn't deserve kind.
He comes at long last, a silent cry against Shawn's mouth, his eyes wide and watery. Spencer's are calculating, assessing. He shudders, sure the man must be reading him. And before he can think about gathering his wits to repay the favor, Shawn's wiping off John's cum on his thigh. It's a cold gesture and it shakes John to his core, the action marking his failure; his guilt.
And what makes him worse isn't the fact that he let this happen or even that he enjoyed it, but that.. when Spencer walks away, he's disappointed. John doesn't want this to end. And he'll answer for that far longer than this digression alone.
Shuddering, he pulls up his pants and gets back to the party.. and Rodney.
>>Tuesday [for Radek; 358 words]
Radek and he are flying a routine test on jumper 32, nothing special here. This day is wholly unextraordinary and John holds back a yawn, resting his feet on the arm of Zelenka's co-pilot chair. The Czech shoots him a look, but doesn't say a word, and John could get used to that. Sometimes he makes excuses to get Radek out of the lab just for the luxury of the man's silence. And.. it's oddly comforting, in a way.
He's been talking idly for a few moments, paying less attention to the words than he might pay to an automated response like breathing - he really is spending too much time with McKay.
"Tell me, Radek, are there any policies against ... sodomy in Prague?"
Woah, woah, woah, back up. What? But John's not in control here, merely an observer. A helpless, mortified observer.
"We have gay marriage, you know, Colonel." Radek looks only briefly shaken, shrugging as he returns to his scans. It surprises John, both the answer and the scientist's demeanor, but not for very long. He shrugs as well and rests his hands behind his head, watching the sky as autopilot cuts them swiftly across it.
He feels something warm against his side and it takes him a whole 30 seconds to realize it's Radek's hand. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as the man leans ever closer, one hand at the back of John's neck now. He's too stunned to stop it; take it further. Soft, unsure lips brush across his - the frame of the man's glasses pressing uncomfortably against his cheekbone, but he's already kissing back.
The smaller man fits comfortably on his lap and he can't spare a moment for thought, pulling Radek against him as the sky flies by. It's unlikely at best, impossible even, but clothes are lost and cries are heard, and they've been out an hour, easy.
Breathing hard, John buttons his BDUs, sprawled over the floor of the jumper, shirtless and sated. He leans up to give Radek that so familiar parting kiss when his comm crackles to life.
"Sheppard, Dr. Zelenka. Please report."
>>Wednesday [for Ronon; 938 words]
Ronon Dex is not a man John ever wanted to cross. Not in any, serious way. Sure, they fight and chase each other around like thirteen-year-olds, but John would never actively try to get Ronon mad. True, it's less because he values his own skin and more out of respect for the other man, but still. He never expected this.
Ronon slams a fighting stick against John's shoulders, pinning him quickly; efficiently. John's stick clatters to the floor with an echo of his last hope. He hates losing to Ronon sometimes, no matter how freaking inevitable it is.
"Hey - buddy - back off, I'm fragile," he jokes, and it's a bad one. They both know it, but John's wearing that nervous little smile over the brave-face, and he knows Ronon can see right through.
"That isn't what I've heard," the man all but growls, pressing John ever harder into the wall. He feels like his head is gonna pop off.
"Ronon! Back off!" John struggled, trying to push against the taller man, but he was an immovable force.
"Word around is... you fucked Keller." John starts at that, eyes registering genuine surprise.
"Who said that?"
"Does it matter?"
John bites his lip. "No."
"Is it true, Sheppard?" Those fucking scary, alien eyes are so close - bearing him down and stripping him of everything he's ever known.
"Yeah, okay. It's true." What the fuck? Not the time to lie, John! Not the fucking time.
He doesn't even see the blow coming before it's pulled, and he winces, Ronon's fist hovering over his face.
"What are you gonna do about it, tough guy?" he demands, managing to knock Ronon back a step, the stick finally dropping out of the man's hands.
"Did you even want her?" It's not the question he's expecting and he's left blinking as Ronon grabs John's belt buckle. His breath leaves him in an instant like he's been pinned, his eyes wide and lost. The world feels cold without his pants. Ronon merely shakes his head, spinning John and pushing him against the wall again - John thinks he might freeze to death, his cheek flush with the wall as he hears Ronon's pants hit the floor.
"What are you doing?" But it's not nearly as loud as he'd thought, and Ronon either doesn't hear him... or doesn't care.
Ronon's hand drifts between his legs, shoving his underwear down his legs and wrapping a solid hand around John's limp cock - to his utter humiliation, it stirs to life. He'd certainly be lying if he said he'd never thought of this. Sweaty days in the sparring room, Ronon fucking him dry... no cares but his own prerogative. It wasn't a usual fantasy, it only came up when he felt.. like there was nothing left for him.
Maybe Ronon could fuck it back into him.
"I didn't fuck Keller," he says suddenly, but Ronon's definitely not listening now, dreds falling over John's shoulder as he leans his broad forehead against the Colonel's back.
He struggles again and the hand leaves, grabbing his hip roughly as it pushes him hard, squashing him against the wall - not a care for John's comfort. He's getting off on that, and he can tell Ronon is too if the hardness against the back of his thigh is any clue.
He has no doubt Ronon's cock is as big as the rest of him. He has even less doubt that this is going to hurt.
Two strong, spit-soaked fingers breach him and his body's fighting it, but he wants more. His breaths are coming in sharp pants, his nose crushed so he can only use one nostril. Breathing doesn't seem important when those fingers begin to move. They're stretching and it's almost clinical in nature. Little shooting stabs of pain hit John behind the eyes as he fights to keep control over himself, at least to stay conscious.
It's too fucking soon and Ronon's cock is pressing against him, not asking. None of this has been about a question, or Keller... merely this; anger, and this one answer. The question doesn't matter when Ronon is half inside him and he's whimpering because he wants the hurt, but it does hurt. It hurts so fucking good he can feel tears tracking down his face.
Ronon presses a thick hand against Sheppard's shoulder for leverage, starting up a slow rhythm paced to kill him. He thinks the lightheadedness is due to his failure to take a deep enough breath, but he can't be sure. Can't be sure of anything but Ronon, filling him, and animal grunts against his back.
John can't stay breathing and he can't stay hard, but he doesn't want this to end and when Ronon's all the way in, grumbling angry, dark thoughts aloud, John doesn't think it ever will. Ronon leans back and slams into the leaner man and that's all it takes; he's grabbing John around the middle until he really can't breath, riding his orgasm over a rib or two.
Sheppard thinks he's going to snap.
Ronon's done with him and he slams him against the wall, getting himself together while John clutches his spinning head, gasping for air and maybe some of that hope.
"Don't fucking touch her, Sheppard." And John's never seen him move so fast, it's an extraordinary sight.
"Same time tomorrow then?" Ronon doesn't even turn.
"Fuck you, Sheppard."
"I guess so, yeah." But Ronon's really gone this time and there's no room for banter. John sweeps up his broken hope and tucks it safely into a pocket of his BDUs.
>>Thursday [for Lorne; 543 words]
There's something about that spark in Major Lorne's eyes when he's taking an order from John; it goes right through him. The man's clearly not ..bent, not even close. But there's something there. Something he's afraid to deny. Maybe it's just the attention he can't pass up, that small, tinny voice in the back of his head rasps, sounding oddly like McKay before his first cup of coffee: prehistoric.
But every time John entertains an errant thought about Evan Lorne, well.. he's never disappointed. The man on his knees, sucking him down like a good soldier. The Major pressed facefirst into John's shower stall, legs shaking under the spray, the dull echo of their dogtags the only sound left to echo. Even Lorne's hopeful face and doe eyes when he gives John that painting - more significant than he'll ever know - touches him somehow; he can't not be effected.
It's why he really shouldn't be surprised at his own voice when he asks Major Lorne.. for a favor.
Lorne's mouth is everything he'd thought it would be - velvet and heaven and neverfuckingending. But it isn't what he wants. It is what he wants, but.. so completely.. not. He bucks into Evan's mouth, a sadistic sort of pleasure shooting through him as the man struggles to keep his lips around John - he has to pull away to lapse into a brief coughing fit, and his look when he brings a hand up to wipe precum from his lip; that stricken, humiliated look. John could swear it's sex. Sex in its pure, unadulterated form splayed over Evan's face for his consumption.
"Sir?" he prompts in that small, bewildered voice that sounds almost frightened, and so far away. John doesn't want this anymore, not like this. So he grabs Lorne by the wrist, pulling them flush. It's Lorne who kisses him, long and deep and obliging; obedient. It turns John on and he hates it, biting into Lorne's lips until he can taste the other man's blood, and it's strangely satisfying.
He pulls away from the kiss before he can analyze it, turning Evan's face away from him, lips settling over his pulse point as he grabs the Major's dick. He's whimpering now, his face flushed as he leans against John, bucking imperceptibly into his CO's hand. John bites him, hard, hoping vindictively it might leave a mark as he pumps the Major hard and slick, bumping their hips together until he's sure he's worn bruises in Evan's (surprisingly) durable skin.
"Sir." It's not a question, but a whine, a beg for more and it's nearly John's undoing as he turns their lips in another harsh kiss. He leans in close to Lorne's ear, stilling his hand staccato; sudden. Evan crys out at the loss of friction.
"Major," he hisses, lips brushing the shell. "I want to fuck you until you don't know your own name."
The tremor that hits Evan then travels up John's spine and he's groaning softly, nipping into Lorne's earlobe. "Yes, sir." The words stroke him in ways he's never explored; ways that disturb him, and he's coming over Lorne's cock and hip, biting the man - somewhere, anywhere - before he's pulling away.
"But I won't."
>>Friday [for Daniel; 605 words]
"I thought you were more of a pear man." And it's a ridiculous comment. But then again, Daniel is ridiculous and John doesn't think he cares anymore.
"So did I?" But it couldn't fucking matter less. John knows what he is, and he's not saying it outloud. So Jackson can have his fruit jokes and ..whatever the fuck else gets him off.
"Well, then, you won't mind if I do.. this." Daniel gropes him; actually fucking gropes him. And John's not getting angry or laughing it off, he's just fucking rolling his eyes. What kind of reaction is that?
"I'm not some cool alien gizmo you can feel up, man." He grabs Jackson's hand, gently, pushing it away. "Hands off."
Jackson's only getting in his face, invading his territory until he wants to kill him. It's a little thing at first and then, suddenly, Daniel's lips are against his and John's not sure which way is up.
"So that's how it is now? You're his now?" Daniel's hand goes for John's wrist and he smacks it away, kissing back before he has to answer.
"Don't, belong.. to him." I want to. Do I?
Daniel exploits the weakness to smash their lips together again, grabbing John around the waist. He lets out a muffled complaint as the doctor's hands climb up and under his t-shirt, short nails scraping over his abs. "Then he won't mind..."
John wants to argue, throw Jackson off, and he could. He knows that he could, easily, without a thought.. but he's not moving, and they're still kissing and both of those hypnotic hands are on his chest now...
"Stop," he tries, the word distorted by another kiss, one he returns wholly this time - without hesitation as he feels Daniel begin on the snap of his pants. "Stop," he says, this time firmer as he pushes Daniel's hands away from his waist; dropping to his knees in one fell-swoop.
"John, I don't --" John doesn't care as he's yanking down Jackson's pants and underthings, a cool hand cupping the man's balls as he looks up for a reaction.
Daniel bites into a full lip, reaching behind him for some sort of support, the heel of his hand pressing against a desk nearby. He looks lost, and John doesn't want him to be found again.
"You don't want this? Fuck off." And with that he's swallowing Daniel whole, working the man into the back of his throat while lean fingers tease his sac.
Jackson's cries are stilted and husky and John will do just about anything to have them continue. "Too. This is too --"
John still doesn't care, working his throat against the head, expert tongue wrapping around the vein to never let go. He wants Jackson to fuck his mouth, but he don't think he will - he doesn't seem like the type. So he focuses all his energy on taking as much as he can at once, fucking his mouth on Daniel's cock, riding a dangerous edge with his gag reflex every time he takes it too far. He loves those moments most, when his airflow is blocked and he has no choice but to keep swallowing. He can't feel rejected this way only filled and .. unexpectedly right. This feels right.
It's a scary right.
After an eon, Daniel comes into his mouth and John spits immediately, climbing back up the man's body to kiss him harshly, pressing Daniel back into the desk.
"He's mine," John snaps as if it matters as the dream fades away and all he hears are soft chuckles and a musing about oranges and fail-safes.
>>Saturday
John's eyes snap open, a careless hand over his taut and warm stomach as he smacks his lips against morning dry-mouth. Waking alone has never left him feeling so empty as this week. His eyes flick over familiar surroundings and it's then he realizes: he's not in his quarters. Which can only mean..
He's not alone after all.
Muse: Colonel John Sheppard
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 2951 words in total
3rd person; [ jmm:4.6.1]