sgasesa_admin (sgasesa_admin) wrote in sga_santa,

Fic: Better (Mitchell/Sheppard, NC-17)

Title: Better
Author: somehowunbroken
Recipient: falconsheart and camshaft22
Pairing: John Sheppard/Cam Mitchell
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Not mine. I can only wish.
Author's Notes: 1.893 words. Beta read by stormylullabye and clwilson2006.
Summary: John’s always jumpy after missions, but Cam sees through it pretty well.


John’s always jumpy after missions. He hides it pretty well on Atlantis, mostly because he’s usually either in the infirmary unconscious or in a debrief or in his own quarters, so people don’t notice how his eyes are a little too wide, how his hands tremble just a little, how his breathing is a little shallower than normal when he gets back from a high-intensity operation. And it’s fine, because he can’t let himself shake to pieces in front of anyone in the City, but once he locks himself away he can take care of things on his own.

This isn’t Atlantis, though, and Cam’s a hell of a lot more perceptive than Rodney ever was; John can see him narrow his eyes when John grips his gun too tightly and takes the same careful, even breaths and keeps his voice perfectly neutral while reporting on the situation to General Landry. John decides to ignore the situation completely and hope it goes away. It’s worked for him in the past.

No such luck this time. “Sheppard,” Cam calls as John jogs towards the elevator, itching to get out of the Mountain, out of his own skin. “Headed out?”

“Yeah,” John replies, and it’s not a lie. He’s headed out, out of the base, out of his mind, and he needs to let go and give in before he does something insane. “Want to come?”

Or not, because that, that right there, is about as insane as it gets. Cam’s his friend – his perfectly straight, liking-girls friend, and that’s not what John needs, not here, not now.

But Cam’s nodding. “Let me grab a few things,” he says, disappearing down a hallway while John calls for the elevator and pushes his fingers through his hair until it’s standing straight on edge.

The doors slide open and John’s half-tempted to just leave, go somewhere that Cam won’t be able to find him (won’t think to look for him), get what he needs, and slip back into the Mountain later. There are a million reasons to do it but there are a million and one reasons why he shouldn’t, so he sticks his hand in the doors and holds the cab until Cam jogs in.

“Where are we going?” Cam asks, glancing through a file he’d grabbed from his office. John just shrugs.

“Out,” he replies succinctly, because he might not be able to go where he was planning to go but he can still count on Cam to find a bar and get him drunk. It’ll help, at least.

Cam doesn’t look up, but he nods as he reads. “Know just the place.”

John doesn’t realize where they’re headed until they’re there, and he’s four steps into Cam’s apartment before he realizes that it’s not where he wants to be. He turns around, ready to just walk out the door and find what he needs on his own, but Cam’s right-there-right-there and he’s grabbing John’s arms and he’s kissing John so hard that John forgets to breathe.

When he remembers, it’s to open his mouth and gasp in air, and Cam doesn’t hesitate to push his tongue into John’s mouth, hot and wet and demanding, bruising. John doesn’t remember wrapping his hands around Cam’s arms but he has, and he doesn’t remember stumbling backwards but he’s pressed into the wall, and he doesn’t care because kissing Cam is like an earthquake, a tornado, like the adrenaline still pumping through him from their mission doubles, triples instantly.

“What the fuck,” he pants, but Cam doesn’t answer. He just leans in and breathes over John’s pulse point, heat on John’s oversensitive skin, and suddenly John’s freezing everywhere but where Cam’s breathing on him, where Cam’s touching him.

Cam holds there, just not-touching John’s neck, and when he speaks it’s all John can do to keep his feet beneath him. “This is what you were looking for, yeah?” he breathes out. “Anonymous, somewhat less-than-regulation sex to burn off the extra?”

John nods minutely. His chin brushes Cam’s hair and he shivers.

“Less of a chance I’m going to tell,” Cam says against his throat. “And it’ll be way better. I promise.”

“Yeah?” There are words, words he should be saying, stop no we can’t you can’t I can’t but they won’t come out of his mouth.

“Oh yeah,” Cam replies, and John can hear the grin for a split-second, but then Cam leans forward that last fraction of an inch and opens his mouth and he’s sucking on John’s pulse point, and John forgets that this isn’t a good idea.

“Yeah,” he says again. His hands move of their own volition, sliding up into Cam’s hair and tugging him up until John can get his tongue into Cam’s mouth, and Cam’s pressing John into the wall with his entire body, holding him in place as Cam kisses him deeper and deeper until they’re both gasping. Cam’s hands are braced on the wall just above John’s shoulders; John’s are in Cam’s back pockets, tugging their bodies together.

“Still wishing you picked up some loser in a bar?” Cam asks, right into his ear.

“Not sure yet,” John replies, aiming for casual but panting through it. “Still too much clothing to tell.”

“Everything’s a race with you,” Cam mocks, but he’s stepping back and hooking a thumb into the loop of John’s jeans. The move he makes speaks of practice, like he’s used to threading his fingers into belt loops, and John both does and doesn’t want to think about that. He doesn’t have the chance, though, because Cam’s leading him by the belt loop down the hallway and into the bedroom. When he steps back it’s to shoot John a grin, oddly bright and entirely out of place, before pulling his shirt off and letting it fall to the floor. He’s unbuttoning his pants when he glances up at John, who’s just standing and watching. “Thought you said something about too much clothing?”

John responds by stripping his own clothing off. Cam’s quicker than he is, though, and by the time he’s down to boxers and socks Cam’s crowding him towards the bed, pushing him down, climbing on top of him.

And then Cam’s rubbing them together, separated only by the thin cotton of the boxers, and John hasn’t come in his clothes since he was seventeen but he’s damn close to it now. John’s not sure if the groan comes from him or from Cam, but he reaches up and drags Cam into a kiss either way, full of tongue and heat. One of John’s hands drags down Cam’s back to palm his ass, and Cam says something into John’s mouth and pulls back a little, so their lips are brushing but nothing more.

“You want this to be over, or you want to keep going?” he asks, and John’s not even sure, can’t even tell, and that should be sign enough.

“Go,” he manages against Cam’s mouth, and he doesn’t know if Cam finds any more meaning in it than he does but it’s the only thing he can say. Cam hears something there, though, because he kneels up, his knees bracketing John’s thighs, and moves himself down until he can lean forward and lick at John’s cock, straining against the inside of his boxers.

It’s the sensation and the muted heat and the knowledge of what Cam’s doing all at once, and it’s enough to make John gasp and thrust his hips up when Cam pulls away a second later. It’s better, though, when Cam tugs the boxers down and off and lowers his head back down to suck the head of John’s cock into his mouth. He doesn’t go any further, but he uses his tongue and his fingers and John clenches his hands in the bedsheets because yeah, this is exactly what he was looking for and yeah, it’s a thousand times better than a seedy motel or an alleyway.

“Cam,” he warns, and Cam pulls off, gives him that wild grin again, and takes John back into his mouth, further down this time. John swears as he comes and Cam swallows, fuck.

“Told you,” Cam murmurs against his mouth a moment later, and when John kisses his lips he tastes himself and it’s intoxicating. Cam’s hard against his thigh in a way that John’s not used to – not pushy, not demanding immediate reciprocation, just there, and John lets his legs fall open like he hasn’t in a long, long time. Cam pulls away and raises an eyebrow, and John shifts so he can move a leg out and around until it’s hooked over Cam’s, drawing him close again.

Cam grins and rolls to the side, fumbling in a bedstand and tossing things onto the bed. John doesn’t have to look to know what they are; he just watches as Cam reaches for the condom, tears it open, rolls it on, and then Cam’s got the lube and he’s slicking his fingers and moving back to where John’s got his legs spread.

“Ready?” Cam asks, but he doesn’t wait for an answer before he moves his finger. John breathes against the feeling; it’s been a long time since he’s done anything more than trade blowjobs. Cam goes slowly and steadily, and soon he’s pushing another finger in and it’s more of a stretch. It’s fading, though, into the anticipation of more and of movement and then Cam bends his fingers and, yeah, he was wrong before – this, here and now, this is what he’d wanted for tonight, he just hadn’t known it.

Cam pulls his fingers out and pushes himself in with the same slow, steady pressure, and it’s burning and it’s pleasure and John closes his eyes and lets Cam fuck him with long, smooth strokes. Cam moves slowly, but when John opens his eyes to let him know he can go for it, that John’s well-enough adjusted to it, Cam’s eyes have fallen shut and his mouth is just a little bit open and John figures he’s enjoying himself pretty well anyway.

Cam’s either got a ton of stamina or a ton of self-control, because he just keeps the same even rhythm going and going until every last nerve in John’s body is on fire and he’s sweating and panting and writhing, and Cam wraps his hand around John’s cock and pumps to counter his movements in and out. When John starts trembling, needy for release, Cam finally, finally speeds up his thrusts and his hand and this time it’s not an explosion, it’s drowning.

Moving is too much effort, so John stays still as Cam walks to the bathroom and returns with a wet hand towel. He lets Cam clean him gently and closes his eyes as Cam turns off the lights and pads back over to the bed, sliding in and arranging their bodies so John’s back is pulled against Cam’s chest, their legs intertwined, Cam’s heavy duvet covering them both.

“Better?” Cam asks, gently into his ear, and John knows he’s not asking about the sex.

“Yeah,” John responds, then hesitates. “I didn’t-”

“Yeah,” Cam says easily. “Thought the same about you.”

There’s silence for a minute. “Glad you figured it out,” John finally says. “I was-”

“Sleep,” Cam tells him, and John closes his eyes again and does.
Tags: genre: slash, pairing: mitchell/sheppard

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