Porn Battle
First pimping, then porn. That's how this is going to work. *g*
oxoniensis is hosting The Porn Battle on her LJ. There are over 2,400 prompts from fandoms I've never even heard of, including crossovers and RPF. The trick is each entry must fit in a single comment, which is limited to 4,300 characters, not words, and spaces do count. Go forth and write porn.
Today's installment of Atlantis That Was has been pre-empted by my first entry in the porn battle. This version is slightly longer because LJ and MS Word count characters differently for some reason. You can read the actual entry here if you prefer.
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis/Doctor Who, John/9th Doctor, bitter
If asked, Major John Sheppard wouldn’t say he’d been brooding over the deaths of two scientists, his inability to protect them, as he sat on the west pier watching the sunset when he heard a strange grinding noise. He wouldn’t mention the blue box that had appeared or the man who stumbled out of it, looking confused, blood smeared on his face. He didn’t walk over to the man and was hit with the acrid scent of blood and death.
“You need some help? You don’t look so good, and I can get a doctor,” John said quietly.
“This is Atlantis?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“I made it. No, I don’t need a doctor. I’m not that badly injured.”
“My name’s John,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“It’s not important, not anymore,” he said with a small sigh. “Just call me the Doctor. What year is this?”
“2004.”
“I suppose I’m lucky I made it to the right place. Luck,” he said harshly, “If I were truly lucky I’d be dead.”
“What happened?”
“I was in a war.”
“What war?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”
“I think you need some help, let me...”
“No,” the Doctor cut him off, eyes suddenly sharp. “I don’t deserve anything.”
John would never admit he stepped closer, holding the Doctor’s shoulders gently, seeing a familiar reflection of despair and guilt in his eyes. He would never admit he the Doctor kissed him gently, tasting blood.
“Let me,” John said softly.
He didn’t see the deeply etched sadness in the Doctor’s face, his arms wrapped around John’s waist. John didn’t kiss him again, the Doctor opening his mouth, allowing John entrance.
John would never admit to the desire he felt for this man. He never probed the Doctor’s mouth, wanting to taste, wanting to forget. He didn’t wrap his arms around the Doctor’s shoulders, as if he could physically lift some of the Doctor’s pain.
John never broke the kiss just long enough to push the Doctor’s leather jacket off his shoulders, pulling the shirt underneath off. He didn’t kiss his way down his neck to his chest, relishing the gasp as he swiped his tongue over one nipple. He didn’t kiss the Doctor as if he could wash away the bitter scent of battle with his mouth.
“I don’t deserve this. I’m a bloody murderer who couldn’t even save his own people.”
“Just let me. Maybe two murderers deserve each other,” John said quietly.
John didn’t kiss the scratch on the Doctor’s forehead, cleaning the wound with his tongue, tracing his way back to his mouth, claiming a fierce kiss. He didn’t feel the Doctor press his erection against John’s hip, feel the heat from his body. He never unfastened the Doctor’s pants, letting them fall around his ankles. He didn’t run his palm over the Doctor’s cock as he thrust his tongue into his mouth, feeling the Doctor’s low moan.
John didn’t drop to his knees, taking the Doctor’s cock in his mouth as he held the Doctor’s hips. He didn’t feel long fingers run through his hair, gently kneading as he sucked and licked. As the Doctor tensed, John didn’t feel a presence in his mind. And when the Doctor came down his throat, John would never say he came in his pants.
When he stood up, the Doctor didn’t kick off his own shoes and pants, standing completely naked before John. The Doctor’s agile fingers didn’t quickly remove John’s holster, hands brushing across his inner thighs as he released all the straps. He didn’t unlace John’s boots, slipping them off his feet before removing the rest of John’s clothing.
John never gasped into the Doctor’s mouth when the Doctor kissed him fiercely, demandingly. He didn’t throw his head back when the Doctor worked his way down his body, taking his half-hard cock in his hot mouth, coaxing it to full hardness again. He didn’t feel the same tingle in his mind, arousal and despair that wasn’t his own. He didn’t bite his lip to keep from crying out as he came again, his hands tightly gripping the Doctor’s shoulders.
They didn’t lean against each other when the Doctor stood up, arms wrapped around each other, flesh pressed to flesh, drawing strength from each other. John never inhaled the scent of sweat, musk, and sex that finally drove away the harsh smell of death.
John didn’t watch the Doctor walk inside the blue box after they had dressed. John would never admit to a sense of loss as he watched the blue box fade away. He would only ever admit that he had watched the sunset from the west pier.
oxoniensis is hosting The Porn Battle on her LJ. There are over 2,400 prompts from fandoms I've never even heard of, including crossovers and RPF. The trick is each entry must fit in a single comment, which is limited to 4,300 characters, not words, and spaces do count. Go forth and write porn.
Today's installment of Atlantis That Was has been pre-empted by my first entry in the porn battle. This version is slightly longer because LJ and MS Word count characters differently for some reason. You can read the actual entry here if you prefer.
Prompt: Stargate Atlantis/Doctor Who, John/9th Doctor, bitter
If asked, Major John Sheppard wouldn’t say he’d been brooding over the deaths of two scientists, his inability to protect them, as he sat on the west pier watching the sunset when he heard a strange grinding noise. He wouldn’t mention the blue box that had appeared or the man who stumbled out of it, looking confused, blood smeared on his face. He didn’t walk over to the man and was hit with the acrid scent of blood and death.
“You need some help? You don’t look so good, and I can get a doctor,” John said quietly.
“This is Atlantis?” the man asked.
“Yes.”
“I made it. No, I don’t need a doctor. I’m not that badly injured.”
“My name’s John,” he said. “What’s yours?”
“It’s not important, not anymore,” he said with a small sigh. “Just call me the Doctor. What year is this?”
“2004.”
“I suppose I’m lucky I made it to the right place. Luck,” he said harshly, “If I were truly lucky I’d be dead.”
“What happened?”
“I was in a war.”
“What war?”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”
“I think you need some help, let me...”
“No,” the Doctor cut him off, eyes suddenly sharp. “I don’t deserve anything.”
John would never admit he stepped closer, holding the Doctor’s shoulders gently, seeing a familiar reflection of despair and guilt in his eyes. He would never admit he the Doctor kissed him gently, tasting blood.
“Let me,” John said softly.
He didn’t see the deeply etched sadness in the Doctor’s face, his arms wrapped around John’s waist. John didn’t kiss him again, the Doctor opening his mouth, allowing John entrance.
John would never admit to the desire he felt for this man. He never probed the Doctor’s mouth, wanting to taste, wanting to forget. He didn’t wrap his arms around the Doctor’s shoulders, as if he could physically lift some of the Doctor’s pain.
John never broke the kiss just long enough to push the Doctor’s leather jacket off his shoulders, pulling the shirt underneath off. He didn’t kiss his way down his neck to his chest, relishing the gasp as he swiped his tongue over one nipple. He didn’t kiss the Doctor as if he could wash away the bitter scent of battle with his mouth.
“I don’t deserve this. I’m a bloody murderer who couldn’t even save his own people.”
“Just let me. Maybe two murderers deserve each other,” John said quietly.
John didn’t kiss the scratch on the Doctor’s forehead, cleaning the wound with his tongue, tracing his way back to his mouth, claiming a fierce kiss. He didn’t feel the Doctor press his erection against John’s hip, feel the heat from his body. He never unfastened the Doctor’s pants, letting them fall around his ankles. He didn’t run his palm over the Doctor’s cock as he thrust his tongue into his mouth, feeling the Doctor’s low moan.
John didn’t drop to his knees, taking the Doctor’s cock in his mouth as he held the Doctor’s hips. He didn’t feel long fingers run through his hair, gently kneading as he sucked and licked. As the Doctor tensed, John didn’t feel a presence in his mind. And when the Doctor came down his throat, John would never say he came in his pants.
When he stood up, the Doctor didn’t kick off his own shoes and pants, standing completely naked before John. The Doctor’s agile fingers didn’t quickly remove John’s holster, hands brushing across his inner thighs as he released all the straps. He didn’t unlace John’s boots, slipping them off his feet before removing the rest of John’s clothing.
John never gasped into the Doctor’s mouth when the Doctor kissed him fiercely, demandingly. He didn’t throw his head back when the Doctor worked his way down his body, taking his half-hard cock in his hot mouth, coaxing it to full hardness again. He didn’t feel the same tingle in his mind, arousal and despair that wasn’t his own. He didn’t bite his lip to keep from crying out as he came again, his hands tightly gripping the Doctor’s shoulders.
They didn’t lean against each other when the Doctor stood up, arms wrapped around each other, flesh pressed to flesh, drawing strength from each other. John never inhaled the scent of sweat, musk, and sex that finally drove away the harsh smell of death.
John didn’t watch the Doctor walk inside the blue box after they had dressed. John would never admit to a sense of loss as he watched the blue box fade away. He would only ever admit that he had watched the sunset from the west pier.