"Begin to make it better", SGA/SG-1, John Sheppard/Cameron Mitchell
You have NO IDEA how hard this story was to write. Considering it's not even 2500 words, I spent a ridiculous number of late nights trying to make it work. So many lines discarded, every paragraph re-worked a dozen different ways so it'd fit the emotional theme of the prompt. I'm cranky and tense and sleep-deprived, and I can't tell if this is a trite piece of crap or maybe has a glimmer, just a glimmer of emotional truth. *falls over*
ANYWAY. Written for gaffsie for comment_fic. Her prompt was John/Cam, Hey Jude.
Title: Begin to make it better
Author: scrollgirl
Fandoms: Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: John/Cam established relationship
Words: 2,480
Warnings: NC-17, discussion of homophobia, coarse language, explicit sex
Author's Note: Set after my lgbtfest fic, Gently Home, with only a vague reference to John being gender-switched. See my Red Ribbon-verse chart if you're confused.
Summary: John and Cam talk out their relationship issues, then have make-up sex on the hood of Cam's mustang. Um, so basically there's emo pr0n, then there's just pr0n. Yay?
Begin to make it better
by Scroll
John finds Cameron in the garage venting his frustration on the mustang's engine. There's an old radio cassette player sitting on the shelf above his head, playing the Beatles with the volume low so he can still hear the baby monitor. John listens for a minute, wondering if the lyrics are trying to tell him something. "What happened to your iPod?" he asks instead.
Cam blinks up at him, distracted. "What?"
John shakes his head. "Nothing." He watches Cam reattach the IAC, lower the hood, and put away his tools before he speaks again. "Can we talk?"
Wiping his hands on a clean rag, Cam looks over at him, his expression unreadable. "Brendan still sleeping?"
"Yeah," says John. Cam nods, then leans back against the hood with a sigh. John hesitates, then eases himself up next to Cam, leaning his shoulder against Cam's. "Sorry for, you know." He waves a hand.
"No," says Cam, angry and tired. "I don't know."
Stung, John tenses up, shifts so they're not touching any more. The only thing keeping him from bolting is the knowledge that Cam's close to giving up on him. That if they don't have it out now, they might not get another chance. "You know I suck at this touchy-feely stuff," he mutters.
Cam huffs out an exasperated breath. "I ain't fixin' to be your therapist, Shep. I don't need to know every thought that passes through your mind." He turns to John, looking drained but still determined. "But you gotta give me a little more to work with, here. I can guess at what you want, sure, and so far I've been right nine times out of ten. But that's not gonna cut it long-term, not if we don't want to end up hurting each other."
John stares down at their feet side-by-side, his still-new trainers next to Cam's battered work boots. What Cam's asking for is fair, reasonable. More than that, it's necessary if they're going to make this whole relationship-slash-family thing work. After a minute, Cam sighs, starts to get up, but John grabs his arm and pulls him back down. "I want to," he says haltingly. "I'm just not sure how."
"Stop overthinking, man. Go with your gut," Cam tells him, quiet and reassuring. "Like flying."
"This is nothing like flying." If only it was that easy.
Cam laughs a little. "Okay, here's a better analogy: sparring with Teyla. Yeah, you keep getting your ass handed to you, but there's no question you've gotten better over the years. It's a lot of work, but it's worth it. Right?"
He says the last part cautiously, like he's not sure John will agree, which is just... all kinds of wrong. "Yes." John meets his gaze straight on. "Yes, it's worth it. That's not even a question." Cam stares back at him, eyes crinkling as he smiles and leans in to kiss him.
But John holds him off, needing to explain, for Cameron to understand where he's coming from. He takes a deep breath. "I want this, I wanted-- this." Gestures at Cam. "A nice boy who wanted me back. That's all I wanted, growing up. Flying, that came later. But I've known since I was a kid-- God," he laughs, all bitterness and no mirth. "I don't even remember when I first knew. And I knew there was no way I could ever have what I wanted."
It's a struggle to keep going, but he has to do this, has to get it all out before he loses his nerve. "My dad didn't disown me because I joined the Air Force. He was pissed for a long time, but things were-- better, once Nancy and I got married. We loved each other, even if it was a mistake. She wasn't a, a beard, it's not like I'm..." He stops, fumbles for words. "I'm not self-hating or some shit like that." He stops again, breathing hard through his nostrils like he's run twenty klicks over rough terrain. When Cam cups his cheek, he flinches and shuts his eyes, but then turns blindly into his touch, pressing against the callused palm.
"I can't imagine what it must have been like," says Cam softly. "Being a kid and having to grow up with your dad and all his expectations. His homophobia. He should've been there for you, been someone you could talk to, not someone you had to hide from."
"Yeah," says John, his voice rough, swallowing down the sour taste of regret. Cam has no idea how damn lucky he is, having the Mitchells as parents. It's easy for him. Frank and Wendy were shocked and confused for a week, maybe two, when Cam first told them. But not even for a second did they waver in their love for him, warmly embracing Brendan and then John as part of Cam and therefore part of themselves. Family.
"I don't want Brendan to grow up the way I did," he whispers, looking up at Cam. "I want to be there for him. I want to, to tell you things, to be emotionally available."
Cameron grips his thigh, warm pressure through his jeans, and John pushes aside the frisson of desire he feels whenever Cam lays hands on him. Now is not the time. "Don't sell yourself short," Cam says, turning and leaning in so their foreheads bump. "You're the one who came out here looking for me, remember?"
"I'm trying." John wraps his arms around Cam's neck and holds on, not caring how needy it makes him look. He did this with Nancy in the beginning, newly married and scared as hell it wasn't going to work. He tries not to think about history repeating. "I suck at this, but I'm trying."
"Hell, I'm not great at this either," Cam admits. "I'm a demanding bastard. The last thing I want is to drive you away by pushing too hard."
John shakes his head wordlessly, not to deny it could ever happen, because he knows himself well enough to know it's a real possibility, but because it hurts to even think it. "I love you," he says, and it comes out faint and scared-sounding. But John's more scared of Cam not knowing exactly how much he needs him. "Don't give up on me."
"I won't," Cam promises, and kisses John hard on the mouth. John opens up right away, kisses back hungry and fierce, and shifts around so he's practically straddling Cam on the hood of the mustang. "I love you too," says Cam when they pull back to breathe. "I'm not letting you go."
John nods because he can't not believe him, just has to fly by instrument and trust the horizon's there even though he can't see it. "Can we please get on with the make-up sex?" he asks plaintively, exhausted from all the soul-baring. When Cam ducks his head, laughing, John growls, "You think I'm joking?"
"What, here?" says Cam, still laughing. But he shuts up fast when John slides down his body and yanks open his fly. "Shit," he gasps, hands coming up automatically to cup his head. "John, the house is two steps away!"
"Be happy the garage door is closed," John mutters under his breath. He doesn't want to wait, he needs the reassurance of sex, the physicality of Cam's dick stretching his jaw. He tugs down Cam's jeans and boxer-briefs, nuzzles his half-hard cock. He holds him gently in his mouth until Cam grows too big to fit, then starts sucking hard at the head, tongue flicking at all the sensitive spots John's mapped out over a hundred blowjobs. Cam grunts and swears and generally makes a hell of a lot of noise, and John really hopes their neighbours are sound sleepers.
"John, John, please," Cam's babbling. "I need to, can I, please?" He's got one hand fisted in John's hair, the other cupping the back of his neck. His hips stutter forward. "God, can I?" Squeezing his thighs, John relaxes his throat, and Cam just... goes for it. Drags John down onto his cock, panting, "Shit, John, your pretty mouth," just using John as a hole and not being careful at all, trusting John can take it, take him, and it's such a turn-on John has to scrabble at his fly to free his own dick.
"Fuck, no," Cam rasps, glaring down at him. "That's mine. You keep your hands behind your back." John whimpers at the command, torn between hating Cam and kicking himself for encouraging Cam to unleash his inner asshole during sex. But he obeys, crosses his wrists behind his back, and focuses on balancing on his knees and not choking. He's starting to feel dizzy, his throat bruised, when Cam grunts and comes, pulling back enough for John to swallow without gagging.
Gasping for breath, John rests his cheek on Cam's thigh and tries really hard not to come in his pants. Cam pets his hair and strokes his cheek, giving him a minute. "You okay there?" he asks, smiling down at John.
"I'll be okay once you get me off," John gripes, making an aborted move to touch himself. He sighs in relief when Cam pulls him to his feet, but then frowns when Cam backs away, tucking himself into his jeans and zipping up. "Cam?"
"Take off your clothes," he says, a smirk lurking in the corners of his mouth. "Everything except your underwear." John stares at him for a moment, shocked, then moves slowly to comply until he's stripped down to white cotton briefs and dogtags. Cam grins briefly, then nods at the car. "Lie down." When John hesitates, he says warningly, "Now, John."
Pulse pounding, John sits on the hood, his bare feet on the bumper, then awkwardly lowers himself back on the hood, shivering a little at the cold metal. It's weird and intimidating being exposed like this, the way Cam's gaze takes him in from head to toe, those blue eyes burning him, making John flush all over. He's hard and aching, his dick pushing obscenely against his briefs. "Is this one of your fantasies?" he asks, trying to distract himself while Cam decides what to do with him. Tonight's the first time they've come anywhere near the mustang beyond a couple of heavy make-out sessions in the front seat with the stick shift between them, but John's got a couple of fantasies and he knows Cam does too.
"You look good like this," Cam murmurs, stroking a hand down John's thigh. He steps between his bent knees and pushes them out and to the sides, so John's splayed and pinned down. Cam stares down at him, breathing hard and looking incredibly turned on. "Seriously, you're like... really good porn."
"Gee, thanks," John mutters darkly, fists clenching in an attempt not to grab his dick and start jerking off. "Are you planning to help me out here, Mitchell? Any time now."
Cam quirks an eyebrow. "Nope. Think I'll just watch." It takes a second for John to realise he's got permission to touch himself, but when he goes to push down his underwear, Cam squeezes his knees. "Keep 'em on for now," he tells him. "Touch yourself through 'em."
Biting back a groan, John rubs himself through the briefs, watching Cam stare down at him, mesmerized. Like John's really good porn. "You're a sadistic son-of-a-bitch," he gasps, rubbing hard at the head of his cock, desperate. He can feel pre-come seeping through the thin cotton of his cheap, Wal-Mart brand briefs. "God, Cam, Cam, touch me, please," he begs, arching up into his own hand. He moans when Cam leans down and takes possession of his mouth, greedy tongue pushing in and staking claim. John shoves up the back of Cam's t-shirt, hungry for skin on skin, and Cam breaks the kiss to yank the shirt off.
"Come on, Shep," he says, reaching down to trace the outline of John's erection inside his briefs, their fingers tangling. "Make yourself come, I wanna see you come in your underwear and get them all wet." He grins, lewdly, pressing lightly against John's hole through his briefs, teasing him and being far more evil than John could ever have credited him. "Does it turn you on, getting your panties all wet like when you were a girl?" Cam asks conversationally, slipping one hand down the back of John's briefs to rub at his hole. "Yeah, you like that," he laughs when John grunts and squirms. "You want my finger, huh? Too bad I got engine grease on my hands so I can't give you what you want."
John kicks the bumper, nearly sobbing in frustration, then grabs Cam's free hand, arches up against his palm, needing to come. "Cam, please," he moans, and Cam takes pity on him and rubs him hard, the wet cotton dragging over the sensitive head of his cock. John's climax hits like a monster 40 foot wave, crashing against his body until he's shaking and gasping for breath, totally out of it. He can't tell up from down, can't tell if his eyes are open or shut, doesn't even know whether the car's still under his ass. But Cam's got him, he's pulled John close, murmuring comforting nonsense until the ride is finally over and John's no longer tempest-tossed.
"Fucking bastard," he swears, gingerly picking at his clammy underwear. "You enjoyed that."
"Like you wouldn't believe." Cam's grinning like the devil himself, which is a bit creepy when John considers this is Cam, church-on-Sundays, calls-his-mama, boy-next-door Cam. "Next time I'll let you take 'em off," he says, and teases at John's hole again, light, maddening strokes around and across. "But only if you let me fuck you without a condom."
John freezes. "What?" But Cam looks down at him steadily, no longer teasing. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah," says Cam. "I'm serious." He smiles faintly. "I'm ready if you are."
Trying to buy time, John makes a face, joking, "Oh, but what if we get pregnant?" Which kind of backfires when Cam raises an expectant eyebrow. "Do not go there. Hell, no."
Ducking his head, Cam brushes his lips over the point of John's shoulder, then says almost shyly, "I knocked over some of your books the other day, and found your test results. Your blood work?" He glances up at John, uncertain. "I kind of assumed..."
John swallows against the sudden lump his throat. "Yeah, you assumed right," he says, quiet and diffident. "I mean, I didn't get so far as asking what you wanted, but I was thinking maybe, if you were okay with it, if we were both clean..." He bites his lip. "I trust you. And I'd never do anything to hurt you."
Cam's smile is warm and happy. "Yeah," he breathes against John's lips, kissing him softly. "Me too."
*
Hey Jude
by Paul McCartney
(but as performed by Ella Fitzgerald)
Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin,
Then you begin to make it better.
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.
Hey Jude, don't let me down.
You have found her, now go and get her.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform with.
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your shoulder.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,
Then you'll begin to make it better.
* * *
Feedback is awesome.
ANYWAY. Written for gaffsie for comment_fic. Her prompt was John/Cam, Hey Jude.
Title: Begin to make it better
Author: scrollgirl
Fandoms: Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: John/Cam established relationship
Words: 2,480
Warnings: NC-17, discussion of homophobia, coarse language, explicit sex
Author's Note: Set after my lgbtfest fic, Gently Home, with only a vague reference to John being gender-switched. See my Red Ribbon-verse chart if you're confused.
Summary: John and Cam talk out their relationship issues, then have make-up sex on the hood of Cam's mustang. Um, so basically there's emo pr0n, then there's just pr0n. Yay?
Begin to make it better
by Scroll
John finds Cameron in the garage venting his frustration on the mustang's engine. There's an old radio cassette player sitting on the shelf above his head, playing the Beatles with the volume low so he can still hear the baby monitor. John listens for a minute, wondering if the lyrics are trying to tell him something. "What happened to your iPod?" he asks instead.
Cam blinks up at him, distracted. "What?"
John shakes his head. "Nothing." He watches Cam reattach the IAC, lower the hood, and put away his tools before he speaks again. "Can we talk?"
Wiping his hands on a clean rag, Cam looks over at him, his expression unreadable. "Brendan still sleeping?"
"Yeah," says John. Cam nods, then leans back against the hood with a sigh. John hesitates, then eases himself up next to Cam, leaning his shoulder against Cam's. "Sorry for, you know." He waves a hand.
"No," says Cam, angry and tired. "I don't know."
Stung, John tenses up, shifts so they're not touching any more. The only thing keeping him from bolting is the knowledge that Cam's close to giving up on him. That if they don't have it out now, they might not get another chance. "You know I suck at this touchy-feely stuff," he mutters.
Cam huffs out an exasperated breath. "I ain't fixin' to be your therapist, Shep. I don't need to know every thought that passes through your mind." He turns to John, looking drained but still determined. "But you gotta give me a little more to work with, here. I can guess at what you want, sure, and so far I've been right nine times out of ten. But that's not gonna cut it long-term, not if we don't want to end up hurting each other."
John stares down at their feet side-by-side, his still-new trainers next to Cam's battered work boots. What Cam's asking for is fair, reasonable. More than that, it's necessary if they're going to make this whole relationship-slash-family thing work. After a minute, Cam sighs, starts to get up, but John grabs his arm and pulls him back down. "I want to," he says haltingly. "I'm just not sure how."
"Stop overthinking, man. Go with your gut," Cam tells him, quiet and reassuring. "Like flying."
"This is nothing like flying." If only it was that easy.
Cam laughs a little. "Okay, here's a better analogy: sparring with Teyla. Yeah, you keep getting your ass handed to you, but there's no question you've gotten better over the years. It's a lot of work, but it's worth it. Right?"
He says the last part cautiously, like he's not sure John will agree, which is just... all kinds of wrong. "Yes." John meets his gaze straight on. "Yes, it's worth it. That's not even a question." Cam stares back at him, eyes crinkling as he smiles and leans in to kiss him.
But John holds him off, needing to explain, for Cameron to understand where he's coming from. He takes a deep breath. "I want this, I wanted-- this." Gestures at Cam. "A nice boy who wanted me back. That's all I wanted, growing up. Flying, that came later. But I've known since I was a kid-- God," he laughs, all bitterness and no mirth. "I don't even remember when I first knew. And I knew there was no way I could ever have what I wanted."
It's a struggle to keep going, but he has to do this, has to get it all out before he loses his nerve. "My dad didn't disown me because I joined the Air Force. He was pissed for a long time, but things were-- better, once Nancy and I got married. We loved each other, even if it was a mistake. She wasn't a, a beard, it's not like I'm..." He stops, fumbles for words. "I'm not self-hating or some shit like that." He stops again, breathing hard through his nostrils like he's run twenty klicks over rough terrain. When Cam cups his cheek, he flinches and shuts his eyes, but then turns blindly into his touch, pressing against the callused palm.
"I can't imagine what it must have been like," says Cam softly. "Being a kid and having to grow up with your dad and all his expectations. His homophobia. He should've been there for you, been someone you could talk to, not someone you had to hide from."
"Yeah," says John, his voice rough, swallowing down the sour taste of regret. Cam has no idea how damn lucky he is, having the Mitchells as parents. It's easy for him. Frank and Wendy were shocked and confused for a week, maybe two, when Cam first told them. But not even for a second did they waver in their love for him, warmly embracing Brendan and then John as part of Cam and therefore part of themselves. Family.
"I don't want Brendan to grow up the way I did," he whispers, looking up at Cam. "I want to be there for him. I want to, to tell you things, to be emotionally available."
Cameron grips his thigh, warm pressure through his jeans, and John pushes aside the frisson of desire he feels whenever Cam lays hands on him. Now is not the time. "Don't sell yourself short," Cam says, turning and leaning in so their foreheads bump. "You're the one who came out here looking for me, remember?"
"I'm trying." John wraps his arms around Cam's neck and holds on, not caring how needy it makes him look. He did this with Nancy in the beginning, newly married and scared as hell it wasn't going to work. He tries not to think about history repeating. "I suck at this, but I'm trying."
"Hell, I'm not great at this either," Cam admits. "I'm a demanding bastard. The last thing I want is to drive you away by pushing too hard."
John shakes his head wordlessly, not to deny it could ever happen, because he knows himself well enough to know it's a real possibility, but because it hurts to even think it. "I love you," he says, and it comes out faint and scared-sounding. But John's more scared of Cam not knowing exactly how much he needs him. "Don't give up on me."
"I won't," Cam promises, and kisses John hard on the mouth. John opens up right away, kisses back hungry and fierce, and shifts around so he's practically straddling Cam on the hood of the mustang. "I love you too," says Cam when they pull back to breathe. "I'm not letting you go."
John nods because he can't not believe him, just has to fly by instrument and trust the horizon's there even though he can't see it. "Can we please get on with the make-up sex?" he asks plaintively, exhausted from all the soul-baring. When Cam ducks his head, laughing, John growls, "You think I'm joking?"
"What, here?" says Cam, still laughing. But he shuts up fast when John slides down his body and yanks open his fly. "Shit," he gasps, hands coming up automatically to cup his head. "John, the house is two steps away!"
"Be happy the garage door is closed," John mutters under his breath. He doesn't want to wait, he needs the reassurance of sex, the physicality of Cam's dick stretching his jaw. He tugs down Cam's jeans and boxer-briefs, nuzzles his half-hard cock. He holds him gently in his mouth until Cam grows too big to fit, then starts sucking hard at the head, tongue flicking at all the sensitive spots John's mapped out over a hundred blowjobs. Cam grunts and swears and generally makes a hell of a lot of noise, and John really hopes their neighbours are sound sleepers.
"John, John, please," Cam's babbling. "I need to, can I, please?" He's got one hand fisted in John's hair, the other cupping the back of his neck. His hips stutter forward. "God, can I?" Squeezing his thighs, John relaxes his throat, and Cam just... goes for it. Drags John down onto his cock, panting, "Shit, John, your pretty mouth," just using John as a hole and not being careful at all, trusting John can take it, take him, and it's such a turn-on John has to scrabble at his fly to free his own dick.
"Fuck, no," Cam rasps, glaring down at him. "That's mine. You keep your hands behind your back." John whimpers at the command, torn between hating Cam and kicking himself for encouraging Cam to unleash his inner asshole during sex. But he obeys, crosses his wrists behind his back, and focuses on balancing on his knees and not choking. He's starting to feel dizzy, his throat bruised, when Cam grunts and comes, pulling back enough for John to swallow without gagging.
Gasping for breath, John rests his cheek on Cam's thigh and tries really hard not to come in his pants. Cam pets his hair and strokes his cheek, giving him a minute. "You okay there?" he asks, smiling down at John.
"I'll be okay once you get me off," John gripes, making an aborted move to touch himself. He sighs in relief when Cam pulls him to his feet, but then frowns when Cam backs away, tucking himself into his jeans and zipping up. "Cam?"
"Take off your clothes," he says, a smirk lurking in the corners of his mouth. "Everything except your underwear." John stares at him for a moment, shocked, then moves slowly to comply until he's stripped down to white cotton briefs and dogtags. Cam grins briefly, then nods at the car. "Lie down." When John hesitates, he says warningly, "Now, John."
Pulse pounding, John sits on the hood, his bare feet on the bumper, then awkwardly lowers himself back on the hood, shivering a little at the cold metal. It's weird and intimidating being exposed like this, the way Cam's gaze takes him in from head to toe, those blue eyes burning him, making John flush all over. He's hard and aching, his dick pushing obscenely against his briefs. "Is this one of your fantasies?" he asks, trying to distract himself while Cam decides what to do with him. Tonight's the first time they've come anywhere near the mustang beyond a couple of heavy make-out sessions in the front seat with the stick shift between them, but John's got a couple of fantasies and he knows Cam does too.
"You look good like this," Cam murmurs, stroking a hand down John's thigh. He steps between his bent knees and pushes them out and to the sides, so John's splayed and pinned down. Cam stares down at him, breathing hard and looking incredibly turned on. "Seriously, you're like... really good porn."
"Gee, thanks," John mutters darkly, fists clenching in an attempt not to grab his dick and start jerking off. "Are you planning to help me out here, Mitchell? Any time now."
Cam quirks an eyebrow. "Nope. Think I'll just watch." It takes a second for John to realise he's got permission to touch himself, but when he goes to push down his underwear, Cam squeezes his knees. "Keep 'em on for now," he tells him. "Touch yourself through 'em."
Biting back a groan, John rubs himself through the briefs, watching Cam stare down at him, mesmerized. Like John's really good porn. "You're a sadistic son-of-a-bitch," he gasps, rubbing hard at the head of his cock, desperate. He can feel pre-come seeping through the thin cotton of his cheap, Wal-Mart brand briefs. "God, Cam, Cam, touch me, please," he begs, arching up into his own hand. He moans when Cam leans down and takes possession of his mouth, greedy tongue pushing in and staking claim. John shoves up the back of Cam's t-shirt, hungry for skin on skin, and Cam breaks the kiss to yank the shirt off.
"Come on, Shep," he says, reaching down to trace the outline of John's erection inside his briefs, their fingers tangling. "Make yourself come, I wanna see you come in your underwear and get them all wet." He grins, lewdly, pressing lightly against John's hole through his briefs, teasing him and being far more evil than John could ever have credited him. "Does it turn you on, getting your panties all wet like when you were a girl?" Cam asks conversationally, slipping one hand down the back of John's briefs to rub at his hole. "Yeah, you like that," he laughs when John grunts and squirms. "You want my finger, huh? Too bad I got engine grease on my hands so I can't give you what you want."
John kicks the bumper, nearly sobbing in frustration, then grabs Cam's free hand, arches up against his palm, needing to come. "Cam, please," he moans, and Cam takes pity on him and rubs him hard, the wet cotton dragging over the sensitive head of his cock. John's climax hits like a monster 40 foot wave, crashing against his body until he's shaking and gasping for breath, totally out of it. He can't tell up from down, can't tell if his eyes are open or shut, doesn't even know whether the car's still under his ass. But Cam's got him, he's pulled John close, murmuring comforting nonsense until the ride is finally over and John's no longer tempest-tossed.
"Fucking bastard," he swears, gingerly picking at his clammy underwear. "You enjoyed that."
"Like you wouldn't believe." Cam's grinning like the devil himself, which is a bit creepy when John considers this is Cam, church-on-Sundays, calls-his-mama, boy-next-door Cam. "Next time I'll let you take 'em off," he says, and teases at John's hole again, light, maddening strokes around and across. "But only if you let me fuck you without a condom."
John freezes. "What?" But Cam looks down at him steadily, no longer teasing. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah," says Cam. "I'm serious." He smiles faintly. "I'm ready if you are."
Trying to buy time, John makes a face, joking, "Oh, but what if we get pregnant?" Which kind of backfires when Cam raises an expectant eyebrow. "Do not go there. Hell, no."
Ducking his head, Cam brushes his lips over the point of John's shoulder, then says almost shyly, "I knocked over some of your books the other day, and found your test results. Your blood work?" He glances up at John, uncertain. "I kind of assumed..."
John swallows against the sudden lump his throat. "Yeah, you assumed right," he says, quiet and diffident. "I mean, I didn't get so far as asking what you wanted, but I was thinking maybe, if you were okay with it, if we were both clean..." He bites his lip. "I trust you. And I'd never do anything to hurt you."
Cam's smile is warm and happy. "Yeah," he breathes against John's lips, kissing him softly. "Me too."
*
Hey Jude
by Paul McCartney
(but as performed by Ella Fitzgerald)
Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
Hey Jude, don't be afraid.
You were made to go out and get her.
The minute you let her under your skin,
Then you begin to make it better.
And anytime you feel the pain, hey Jude, refrain,
Don't carry the world upon your shoulders.
For well you know that it's a fool who plays it cool
By making his world a little colder.
Hey Jude, don't let me down.
You have found her, now go and get her.
Remember to let her into your heart,
Then you can start to make it better.
So let it out and let it in, hey Jude, begin,
You're waiting for someone to perform with.
And don't you know that it's just you, hey Jude, you'll do,
The movement you need is on your shoulder.
Hey Jude, don't make it bad.
Take a sad song and make it better.
Remember to let her under your skin,
Then you'll begin to make it better.
* * *
Feedback is awesome.