What John Loves (1/1)
Title: What John Loves
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA/SG1
Characters: John/Cam
Word Count: 1,496
Rating: NC-17/and decidedly so. Sex and dirty talk.
Prompt: sga_kinkmeme: "John/Cam, dirty talk. John was born to suck Cam's cock, and Cam loves to tell him so."
Notes: Oh, hi, porn. Mhmm.
John has a secret that’s maybe not-so-secret: he loves being forced to take it.
He doesn’t consider himself an especially kinky guy; he’s not really into bondage or toys or hurting or anything, but he has this thing about control. Well, maybe it’s more about a lack of control, about not having to think or worry or whatever; he’s never exactly analyzed it. He’s much more interested in experiencing it.
Here’s the thing, though: he’s never, not once in his life, been able to work up the nerve to ask for it. It’s not that he’s ashamed of himself, or maybe he is; again, that not-analysis was getting to him. There have however, been a few people along the way who have figured it out, and every time it’s happened, it’s been completely and utterly fantastic. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s lived out his little fantasies, but if he were ever to compile a list of the best sex he’s ever had, the names on each would be identical.
This, though, he thinks might top them all. It’s not just because Cam had figured it out so quickly, or because Cam so obviously enjoys it too, though those factors don’t hurt the cause. No, it’s because even though they’d talked about it, even though he has a safeword that will stop this if Cam toes some sort of line, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he’ll never, ever use it. He’ll never need to, because the harder Cam pushes, the more John loves it. He also knows, deep down, that if he ever does safeword, if there’s ever something that’s just too much, Cam will stop instantly.
And, oh, is Cam pushing it tonight. He’d burst into John’s quarters a few minutes ago, shoved him against the wall without even saying hello, and ground into him, already hard as a rock in his BDUs. John had pushed back, arched, shoved - all part of the game, all making it better for them both - until Cam had manhandled him down to his knees and opened his pants, freeing himself. He’s got one hand in John’s hair now, keeping his head in place, and his fingers twist a little painfully as John turns his head this way and that, honestly struggling and not able to get away.
He loves it, God he loves it, and Cam now needs both hands to keep John’s head firmly locked in place as he pushes his hips forward. John closes his eyes as Cam thrusts in deep, all the way to the back of his throat right away, and he tightens his hands on the back of Cam’s thighs, steadying himself as Cam sets up a relentless pace, pushing deep with each thrust, cutting off John’s air on every stroke.
He’s talking, too, and John loves it when Cam loses it like this, when his brain-to-mouth filter seems to switch off and the sweet Southern boy goes out the window, sputtering some of the dirtiest language John’s heard outside of porn.
“Fuck,” he’s saying now, not even looking down at John as he continues to move his hips. “God, Sheppard, you on your knees, that mouth of yours wrapped around my cock. I’ve been thinking about it all fucking day, meetings with Woolsey and Keller and the tribal goddamned chief of some unholy little hellhole, and all I can think about the whole fucking time is how much I wished you were there, under the table with your mouth on me, blowing me during the meeting, everyone watching instead of negotiating about the appropriate use of sterilized needles when administering vaccinations to children.”
John can only moan. Even if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied at the moment, the mental image Cam had just created is taking most of his higher functions away. Fuck. He wants that, now, wants it like nothing else, and maybe he’s slightly more of a kinky bastard than he’d originally thought, wanting to blow his partner - fuck, as far as the rest of the base is concerned, his commanding officer - where God and everyone can stare. He’s hard now, too, rocking his hips against Cam’s leg in time to Cam’s thrusts.
“God, you’re good at this,” Cam pants, finally looking down at John. John glances upwards, wishing he could smirk as dirtily as he wants to and make a remark about getting lots of practice, but apparently whatever look he’s managing to give Cam around a mouthful of cock is conveying the same point, because Cam gives a breathy moan and picks up the pace. “Like you were made for it, so help me God. This is all I want to do for he rest of my natural life, stand here against this wall and fuck you till I come.”
There’s one more powerful thrust and he does just that, coming in long spurts practically down John’s throat, John tries to swallow but Cam’s still in his mouth, and he feels it slipping out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. Cam pulls back and John gives him one long, last suck before Cam slides out.
They’re both panting, Cam from exertion and John finally catching his breath, but Cam’s not done; he drops down beside John, palming him roughly through his pants, and John groans and arches up into the touch. Cam moves to straddle his thighs, sitting over him and effectively pinning him into place. He moves his hand again, slowly, and John wants more, harder faster rougher more, but he can’t do a goddamned thing. That’s the other part of this, the other part of the loss of control; Cam’s bigger than him, a lot bigger, which is why the whole scenario is so convincing. A lot of the time when Cam’s forcing him down or over or wherever he damn well pleases John is truly physically unable to resist. Cam could easily overpower him, hence the safeword.
John loves it.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Cam’s got that glassy, just-had-sex look in his eyes, and it takes John a minute to realize that, even so, Cam’s got it together more than he does, can remember a conversation John’s now busily reliving. The image of him kneeling between Cam’s spread thighs, head bobbing up and down while Woolsey talks about trading medicine for tava beans, pops back into his head, and he groans again.
“God,” he rasps out, feeling the burn in his throat, “fuck, yes.”
Cam smiles at him and moves his hand again, slowly, almost gently against the tent there. “What would they say?” he wonders aloud, sounding genuinely thoughtful, like he’s curious and not rubbing John’s dick in his hand, like he’s not slowly dragging his zipper down. “If you were sitting next to me in that meeting, and I interrupted Keller in the middle of an explanation to pull you out of your chair, push you to the ground. Do you think they’d tell us to stop?”
He’s got John fully in his hand now, stroking firmly, just enough to keep him right on the edge without pushing him over. Between the motions of Cam’s hand and the words spilling from his mouth, John’s lost, his entire world narrowed to the space they occupy.
Cam continues his scenario. “What would they do when I opened my pants up and pulled out my cock, when I told you to suck it? Would they be shocked when you did it, when you were so eager to lean down and suck me off?”
The images are flashing through John’s head at a dizzying rate: Keller’s shocked blush, Woolsey’s incoherent jaw drop, the indignation of the tribal leader. And his team’s there, too, suddenly, and he sees Rodney’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as he stares, sees Ronon shrug and not even pretend he’s not watching, sees Teyla doing her best to distract everyone, to keep their attention away from what’s going on at the head of the table. And through it all, John sees himself, his head bobbing energetically over Cam’s hips, Cam’s head thrown back in the chair, his face completely blessed out, eyes closed, mouth only just open, his hands tangled in John’s hair-
John comes with a choked gasp, hips thrusting ineffectively as he shoots all over himself and Cam.
“Hi,” John says a few minutes later, when the world changes back into the inside of his quarters. “How was your day?”
Cam snorts. “I already told you how my day was.” He slips out of John’s lap and moves to sit beside him so they’re both leaning against the wall. “How was yours?”
“Ended better than it started,” John smirks, and Cam gives him a dirty grin, leaning over to hover right above John’s mouth.
“It isn’t over yet,” Cam says, shoving his tongue into John’s mouth.
It sounds like a promise, or a challenge; either way, John loves it.
Author: somehowunbroken
Fandom: SGA/SG1
Characters: John/Cam
Word Count: 1,496
Rating: NC-17/and decidedly so. Sex and dirty talk.
Prompt: sga_kinkmeme: "John/Cam, dirty talk. John was born to suck Cam's cock, and Cam loves to tell him so."
Notes: Oh, hi, porn. Mhmm.
John has a secret that’s maybe not-so-secret: he loves being forced to take it.
He doesn’t consider himself an especially kinky guy; he’s not really into bondage or toys or hurting or anything, but he has this thing about control. Well, maybe it’s more about a lack of control, about not having to think or worry or whatever; he’s never exactly analyzed it. He’s much more interested in experiencing it.
Here’s the thing, though: he’s never, not once in his life, been able to work up the nerve to ask for it. It’s not that he’s ashamed of himself, or maybe he is; again, that not-analysis was getting to him. There have however, been a few people along the way who have figured it out, and every time it’s happened, it’s been completely and utterly fantastic. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s lived out his little fantasies, but if he were ever to compile a list of the best sex he’s ever had, the names on each would be identical.
This, though, he thinks might top them all. It’s not just because Cam had figured it out so quickly, or because Cam so obviously enjoys it too, though those factors don’t hurt the cause. No, it’s because even though they’d talked about it, even though he has a safeword that will stop this if Cam toes some sort of line, he knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that he’ll never, ever use it. He’ll never need to, because the harder Cam pushes, the more John loves it. He also knows, deep down, that if he ever does safeword, if there’s ever something that’s just too much, Cam will stop instantly.
And, oh, is Cam pushing it tonight. He’d burst into John’s quarters a few minutes ago, shoved him against the wall without even saying hello, and ground into him, already hard as a rock in his BDUs. John had pushed back, arched, shoved - all part of the game, all making it better for them both - until Cam had manhandled him down to his knees and opened his pants, freeing himself. He’s got one hand in John’s hair now, keeping his head in place, and his fingers twist a little painfully as John turns his head this way and that, honestly struggling and not able to get away.
He loves it, God he loves it, and Cam now needs both hands to keep John’s head firmly locked in place as he pushes his hips forward. John closes his eyes as Cam thrusts in deep, all the way to the back of his throat right away, and he tightens his hands on the back of Cam’s thighs, steadying himself as Cam sets up a relentless pace, pushing deep with each thrust, cutting off John’s air on every stroke.
He’s talking, too, and John loves it when Cam loses it like this, when his brain-to-mouth filter seems to switch off and the sweet Southern boy goes out the window, sputtering some of the dirtiest language John’s heard outside of porn.
“Fuck,” he’s saying now, not even looking down at John as he continues to move his hips. “God, Sheppard, you on your knees, that mouth of yours wrapped around my cock. I’ve been thinking about it all fucking day, meetings with Woolsey and Keller and the tribal goddamned chief of some unholy little hellhole, and all I can think about the whole fucking time is how much I wished you were there, under the table with your mouth on me, blowing me during the meeting, everyone watching instead of negotiating about the appropriate use of sterilized needles when administering vaccinations to children.”
John can only moan. Even if his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied at the moment, the mental image Cam had just created is taking most of his higher functions away. Fuck. He wants that, now, wants it like nothing else, and maybe he’s slightly more of a kinky bastard than he’d originally thought, wanting to blow his partner - fuck, as far as the rest of the base is concerned, his commanding officer - where God and everyone can stare. He’s hard now, too, rocking his hips against Cam’s leg in time to Cam’s thrusts.
“God, you’re good at this,” Cam pants, finally looking down at John. John glances upwards, wishing he could smirk as dirtily as he wants to and make a remark about getting lots of practice, but apparently whatever look he’s managing to give Cam around a mouthful of cock is conveying the same point, because Cam gives a breathy moan and picks up the pace. “Like you were made for it, so help me God. This is all I want to do for he rest of my natural life, stand here against this wall and fuck you till I come.”
There’s one more powerful thrust and he does just that, coming in long spurts practically down John’s throat, John tries to swallow but Cam’s still in his mouth, and he feels it slipping out of his mouth, dripping down his chin. Cam pulls back and John gives him one long, last suck before Cam slides out.
They’re both panting, Cam from exertion and John finally catching his breath, but Cam’s not done; he drops down beside John, palming him roughly through his pants, and John groans and arches up into the touch. Cam moves to straddle his thighs, sitting over him and effectively pinning him into place. He moves his hand again, slowly, and John wants more, harder faster rougher more, but he can’t do a goddamned thing. That’s the other part of this, the other part of the loss of control; Cam’s bigger than him, a lot bigger, which is why the whole scenario is so convincing. A lot of the time when Cam’s forcing him down or over or wherever he damn well pleases John is truly physically unable to resist. Cam could easily overpower him, hence the safeword.
John loves it.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Cam’s got that glassy, just-had-sex look in his eyes, and it takes John a minute to realize that, even so, Cam’s got it together more than he does, can remember a conversation John’s now busily reliving. The image of him kneeling between Cam’s spread thighs, head bobbing up and down while Woolsey talks about trading medicine for tava beans, pops back into his head, and he groans again.
“God,” he rasps out, feeling the burn in his throat, “fuck, yes.”
Cam smiles at him and moves his hand again, slowly, almost gently against the tent there. “What would they say?” he wonders aloud, sounding genuinely thoughtful, like he’s curious and not rubbing John’s dick in his hand, like he’s not slowly dragging his zipper down. “If you were sitting next to me in that meeting, and I interrupted Keller in the middle of an explanation to pull you out of your chair, push you to the ground. Do you think they’d tell us to stop?”
He’s got John fully in his hand now, stroking firmly, just enough to keep him right on the edge without pushing him over. Between the motions of Cam’s hand and the words spilling from his mouth, John’s lost, his entire world narrowed to the space they occupy.
Cam continues his scenario. “What would they do when I opened my pants up and pulled out my cock, when I told you to suck it? Would they be shocked when you did it, when you were so eager to lean down and suck me off?”
The images are flashing through John’s head at a dizzying rate: Keller’s shocked blush, Woolsey’s incoherent jaw drop, the indignation of the tribal leader. And his team’s there, too, suddenly, and he sees Rodney’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as he stares, sees Ronon shrug and not even pretend he’s not watching, sees Teyla doing her best to distract everyone, to keep their attention away from what’s going on at the head of the table. And through it all, John sees himself, his head bobbing energetically over Cam’s hips, Cam’s head thrown back in the chair, his face completely blessed out, eyes closed, mouth only just open, his hands tangled in John’s hair-
John comes with a choked gasp, hips thrusting ineffectively as he shoots all over himself and Cam.
“Hi,” John says a few minutes later, when the world changes back into the inside of his quarters. “How was your day?”
Cam snorts. “I already told you how my day was.” He slips out of John’s lap and moves to sit beside him so they’re both leaning against the wall. “How was yours?”
“Ended better than it started,” John smirks, and Cam gives him a dirty grin, leaning over to hover right above John’s mouth.
“It isn’t over yet,” Cam says, shoving his tongue into John’s mouth.
It sounds like a promise, or a challenge; either way, John loves it.