[John doesn't know what Poe is. Some days he's an easygoing pilot and friend to all, a role John is intrinsically familiar with, and others he's a broken down rebel, fighting tooth and nail for a hopeless cause. There's more to him than that. John knows, because there's more to him, too, and they're not so different. Poe's seen the side of himself he doesn't show anyone, more than once, as of this night.
He bites Poe's lower lip hard enough to taste blood, punishing him, at the same time as he strokes him through his jeans. He pops the button, yanks his fly down, and goes for skin, wrapping his callused fingers around Poe's dick and pulling it out from his pants. No hiding.]
Do you know how crazy you drive me?
[A harsh whisper into Poe's ear as he jerks him, as if Poe's holding out on him, trying to keep some of that hardness to himself when John wants it all. John won't let him. Usually, John is all give, receptive to what Poe likes, and how he likes it, easy, because that's the man he's become in the face of great difficult, but it's not fair that Poe gets to strip him down to the skin and leave him shaking, scared, and vulnerable, while he hides behind his own shield.
It's not fair that Poe makes John reach for him, like he hasn't reached for anyone since his Lisa left, and then keeps stepping back. It hurts.]
Because you're going to find out.
[Big talk, but John's made a career of winning when the odds are against him. He can live off scraps, and he's used to working with nothing, or less than nothing, to turn the tides of war. Hail mary.
Maybe he's been trying to do too much with what Poe's given him, pieces of affection, slices of attention, a solid fuck when he has the time, or inclination. John's found himself knee deep in a battle he doesn't understand, fighting for something that might be even more impossible than winning the war against the Wraith, or Empire. Poe's never asked him to fight for him. Until now, John wasn't sure he even wanted him here.
Now that he does, or thinks he does, John finally has ammunition. The tides have changed.
John thumbs the wet of Poe's dick around the head, slicking him, teasing him with callused fingertips and just a hint of nail digging into sensitive skin. Then he stops, undoes the front of his own pants, releasing his own erection, and rubs it against Poe's.
He stops again. Draws back to look at Poe with eyes gone cool, and sharp, with all the confidence of a man with nothing to lose, and everything to gain.]
You're going to get on your knees, you're going to suck me, and you're going to fuck me like I've been waiting for you to fuck me since the last time you came over.
[ Poe tries to find something to grip that isn't John, his hands sliding uselessly over the cabinets, while that snip of pain in his lower lip and the blossoming taste of blood drives Poe's adrenaline somewhere safe, toward stubbornness, toward anger.
John's grip on him fractures Poe's focus on anything but emotion, sensation narrowing to the heat in his stomach and the painful stimulation at his crotch. Then there's the friction of John's dick against him and Poe's hips twitch forward. His nails scrape the smooth cabinet fronts. He hates John Sheppard for just a second, hates him for doing exactly what Poe has been trying to avoid.
Do you know how crazy you drive me? Because you're going to find out.
He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the danger in John's own, so he can pretend he isn't being forced toward a vulnerability he's not sure he's ready to show.
( Poe doesn't find his own fragility beautiful. It's ugly, it's weak, it's a poisonous voice that whispers memories of peace in his darkest moments and make him wish for a place away from war. )
Poe is angry. It's safer than being anything else. ]
[Simple as that. If Poe doesn't want him, or only wants him one way, his way, always, John should go. Staying would be too dangerous. Already is, and has been since the day Poe first broke through John's defenses.
God, he's afraid. What if Poe doesn't want him? John doesn't know which outcome is worse. Leaving, after making a fucking fool out of himself, and going back to his house that is not a home, or giving in, and letting Poe have him the way he wants him. Because something is better than nothing
Poe's eyes are closed, and John is glad. For a moment he's overcome with sadness. A despair as dark, thick, and suffocating as the black sand storms of Afghanistan. He's tired of being alone, and unwanted. It's been a long day, and he's been on edge for so much of it, desperate for something, a sign? or maybe just an indicator Poe really wanted to be there, with him, and that all of this means something.
That it isn't just sex for him, because it isn't for John. Poe made him cry. John hadn't cried at his father's funeral, or Carson's funeral, or standing in Elizabeth's office, scrubbed clean of her personal effects, wanting for all the world to be in her place.
Poe made him cry.
He's angry too, and he shoves Poe back into the cabinet, because even John has his limits, no matter how closely he guards them. He's still horny, but it's deeper now, burning painfully in his gut, all twisted up with too many emotions to separate.]
[ Poe isn't sure what answer he expected. He's not even sure what answer he wanted. All he knew was the intimate instinct to fight when backed into a corner. He's lived his life in that corner for years; the fight is second nature, with the result a gamble every time.
When John shoves him, he feels the chain of his necklace bounce against his skin underneath his shirt at the same time his back hits the cabinets. For a second he has the sense that his mother's ring is bearing down, that the chain will leave an imprint on his neck that won't go away for days.
He doesn't want John to go.
He has no idea how to say it.
His stomach is knotted for reasons that have nothing to do with arousal.
Poe reaches out, catches the hem of John's shirt in his fingers, pulls on it like a child trying to get someone's attention. He can't lose John, and it feels like if he doesn't say what needs to be said, he will. In some way, Poe will lose him. He can't do that.
Again, that acute awareness of his mother's ring.
He's used to losing people in war. He's even comfortable with it, as much as a person can ever be comfortable with that kind of trauma, that kind of grief. It's losing people in other ways that really scares him. ]
Don't go.
[ An unconscious echo of John's words that first night. It's small. Poe clears his throat, but he can't say the words again. He can't put more force behind them. They get stuck in his throat, grinding together around the lump there. He can only hope his eyes say what the rest of him is terrified to.
[John looks into those eyes, dark and soulful, looking back at him with a sadness reflecting the hurt in his own heart. Selflessly, or selfishly, John won't leave him.
Can't.
It's not about the sex, not right now, but they're not men of words. They're men of action. Sex is just a medium used to convey emotions left unsaid. A way to connect with body and touch, and to speak truth with voices lost or forgotten. John's become so used to suffering in silence that he doesn't know how to cry, and Poe has his own demons.
He answers Poe with his lips, kissing him again, hard, arms draping loosely over his broad shoulders. John wants him, and he's not leaving. Hands following the outline of Poe's scapula, fingers digging into the tense pillars of muscle on either side of Poe's spine. Fingertips tracing the curve of Poe's ribcage, heaving beneath his touch, to his solar plexus.
His hands reach Poe's shoulders again. He almost can't bear to break the kiss, but he remembers Poe in his fear, himself in his fear that night when Poe pried him out of himself, kicking and screaming, into a freedom he'd never known until that night.
John draws back, looking at Poe again, holding him with his eyes, and pushes down. Gently. Firmly. To his knees. Where John commanded him.]
[ Poe folds. There's one moment, one breath of resistance that's more instinct than intent, and then he's down on his knees with John's hands on his shoulders, too relieved by the kiss and the touching to really protest.
( He wouldn't protest either way, but he tells himself relief is the reason. )
He grips the backs of John's thighs through the man's pants, pressing his face against John's clothed inner thigh and feeling the scrape of cloth instead of the gentle pliancy of skin. He reaches up to try and pull John's pants down, glancing upward as he does to make sure he has some kind of permission to do it.
His heart feels about ready to explode its way out between his ribs like rapid blaster fire. There are a thousand things he wants right now, not the least of which is to run far and fast from the admission that John is someone more important a casual partner. But more than that he wants to show the man, to prove to John that he is more important than that.
Poe kisses one of John's iliac crests, leaves a line of kisses down his pelvis to his dick. Rests his face for another moment against John's body.
Then he kisses John's penis, tongues his way along its length to the head, and takes it in his mouth. ]
[John's fingers carve through the thick of Poe's hair, pushing it back from his face. He can't look away. Poe is submitting, but John is no less enthralled by him. His breath is quiet, but quick, his body vibrating beneath Poe's lips, every kiss sparking something deeper and more fulfilling than simple pleasure.
It's different this time. More intimate. Poe's never hesitated to go down on him, but he doesn't usually take his time, either. There's always a sense of urgency when they fuck, a rush to get each other out of their clothes, and get each other off. Rough, and a little careless. Just two men knocking boots between missions.
The warm wet of Poe's mouth makes him gasp. John's hands go to base of his skull, cradling his head. Supporting and encouraging him. He wants to see more of this side of Poe. Gentle and giving. Scared, but brave. Strong enough to risk tenderness. The heart and soul of the rebellion, who refuses to give up hope. He could, and is, falling in love with him.
Poe's always beautiful, but like this? John would fight a war for him.
[ Poe eases his lips and tongue back and forth over the head and length of John's cock, a little deeper each time, choking once, muscles in his throat spasming lightly at the invasion. One hand on John's thigh, the other gliding up and down John's penis as Poe moves, slicking John with spit. He uses his tongue to push John's dick up against the roof of his mouth, rolls the roughness of his palate against John's head.
He can't get enough of the feel of John's hands against his head, in his hair. He tugs lightly on John's thigh, pushing John deeper in, choking himself again, intentionally this time. He can't talk like this, not with words, he can't give himself up vocally, but he can do it with his mouth, his hands. Poe shifts his fingers from John's dick to his balls, running his thumb over the sensitive skin in the cleft between them, then dragging his nail across the same place. ]
[John's head tips back, gasping as Poe chokes him down the back of his throat, hotter and tighter than John can process. His nails scrape Poe's scalp, fingers twisting into his hair, pulling hard enough to hurt, then releasing, stroking soothingly, only to twist again with the next bob of Poe's head.
Men know how to touch other men, whether or not they want to admit it. Poe's callused fingers dragging over John's thinnest, most sensitive skin make his dick jerk in Poe's mouth. He almost comes right there, just from looking down at him, and being overwhelmed by Poe's attention, and his eagerness to please. His hunger.
For once, John feels like his want has been matched.]
Stop.
[Growled low and deep from the base of his chest, because he's right there on the edge, more animal than man. John inhales through his nose, steeling himself. He wants nothing more than to empty his balls down the back of Poe's throat, but he needs to maintain control. Poe needs to know he will stay strong when Poe needs him to be strong, no matter what.]
[ Poe stops. He eases his hand away from John's balls, his mouth away from John's cock, giving the head a light suck before he lets go entirely. Then he stands up. He can feel spit slicking the corner of his mouth and reaches up to wipe it away. He's still strangely nervous, not sure he wants to be seen, not in the way he feels like John can do it.
He's breathing harder than his own exertion warrants.
He doesn't know what to do. What to say. So he stands there, hands fussing awkwardly with the hems of his jeans, then shifting to the pockets of his jacket, then back down to his sides again. ]
What should.... [ He reaches out to brush his fingertips along the side of John's cock, feeling like he should be working still. ] What else?
[John drags his thumb over Poe's lower lip, wiping that streak of saliva away. Poe might not want to be seen, but John's looking at him, and he likes what he sees. Flushed cheeks. Wet mouth. Dark eyes, and the heat burning behind them.
He can't help but wonder if Poe knows he takes peoples breath away. John knows he's not the only one. You only have to be near Poe to be pulled into his orbit. He's magnetic. Special, in some way John's always wanted to be, but never has.
Not until Poe made him feel that way. Even if it was only the one time.
John wants to feel that way again. Needs to. He's lonely, and greedy, and Poe is unfortunate enough to have met him.
His hand drags down to the base of Poe's throat, settles there, heavy, before pulling him close. So they're toe to toe. Chest to chest. Eye to eye.
One whispered order passing from his lips to Poe's.]
[ Poe likes the feel of John's hand around his neck. He's done breathplay before. He likes it, though he rarely trusts people to do it.
He would trust John.
Poe pushes forward, pressing his own throat against the curve of John's hand so he can kiss the man. Taking that little liberty while still in John's control. ]
[He strokes the side of Poe's throat with his thumb. He likes the way his adam's apple moves beneath his hand as he speaks. Masculine. Delicate. He squeezes gently as they kiss, fiercely claiming his lips.
He doesn't pull back before speaking. Poe will feel what he says more than he hears him.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2018-02-24 06:54 pm (UTC)He bites Poe's lower lip hard enough to taste blood, punishing him, at the same time as he strokes him through his jeans. He pops the button, yanks his fly down, and goes for skin, wrapping his callused fingers around Poe's dick and pulling it out from his pants. No hiding.]
Do you know how crazy you drive me?
[A harsh whisper into Poe's ear as he jerks him, as if Poe's holding out on him, trying to keep some of that hardness to himself when John wants it all. John won't let him. Usually, John is all give, receptive to what Poe likes, and how he likes it, easy, because that's the man he's become in the face of great difficult, but it's not fair that Poe gets to strip him down to the skin and leave him shaking, scared, and vulnerable, while he hides behind his own shield.
It's not fair that Poe makes John reach for him, like he hasn't reached for anyone since his Lisa left, and then keeps stepping back. It hurts.]
Because you're going to find out.
[Big talk, but John's made a career of winning when the odds are against him. He can live off scraps, and he's used to working with nothing, or less than nothing, to turn the tides of war. Hail mary.
Maybe he's been trying to do too much with what Poe's given him, pieces of affection, slices of attention, a solid fuck when he has the time, or inclination. John's found himself knee deep in a battle he doesn't understand, fighting for something that might be even more impossible than winning the war against the Wraith, or Empire. Poe's never asked him to fight for him. Until now, John wasn't sure he even wanted him here.
Now that he does, or thinks he does, John finally has ammunition. The tides have changed.
John thumbs the wet of Poe's dick around the head, slicking him, teasing him with callused fingertips and just a hint of nail digging into sensitive skin. Then he stops, undoes the front of his own pants, releasing his own erection, and rubs it against Poe's.
He stops again. Draws back to look at Poe with eyes gone cool, and sharp, with all the confidence of a man with nothing to lose, and everything to gain.]
You're going to get on your knees, you're going to suck me, and you're going to fuck me like I've been waiting for you to fuck me since the last time you came over.
Don't make me ask twice.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-25 02:52 am (UTC)John's grip on him fractures Poe's focus on anything but emotion, sensation narrowing to the heat in his stomach and the painful stimulation at his crotch. Then there's the friction of John's dick against him and Poe's hips twitch forward. His nails scrape the smooth cabinet fronts. He hates John Sheppard for just a second, hates him for doing exactly what Poe has been trying to avoid.
Do you know how crazy you drive me? Because you're going to find out.
He closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see the danger in John's own, so he can pretend he isn't being forced toward a vulnerability he's not sure he's ready to show.
( Poe doesn't find his own fragility beautiful. It's ugly, it's weak, it's a poisonous voice that whispers memories of peace in his darkest moments and make him wish for a place away from war. )
Poe is angry. It's safer than being anything else. ]
What if I won't?
no subject
Date: 2018-02-25 03:25 am (UTC)[Simple as that. If Poe doesn't want him, or only wants him one way, his way, always, John should go. Staying would be too dangerous. Already is, and has been since the day Poe first broke through John's defenses.
God, he's afraid. What if Poe doesn't want him? John doesn't know which outcome is worse. Leaving, after making a fucking fool out of himself, and going back to his house that is not a home, or giving in, and letting Poe have him the way he wants him. Because something is better than nothing
Poe's eyes are closed, and John is glad. For a moment he's overcome with sadness. A despair as dark, thick, and suffocating as the black sand storms of Afghanistan. He's tired of being alone, and unwanted. It's been a long day, and he's been on edge for so much of it, desperate for something, a sign? or maybe just an indicator Poe really wanted to be there, with him, and that all of this means something.
That it isn't just sex for him, because it isn't for John. Poe made him cry. John hadn't cried at his father's funeral, or Carson's funeral, or standing in Elizabeth's office, scrubbed clean of her personal effects, wanting for all the world to be in her place.
Poe made him cry.
He's angry too, and he shoves Poe back into the cabinet, because even John has his limits, no matter how closely he guards them. He's still horny, but it's deeper now, burning painfully in his gut, all twisted up with too many emotions to separate.]
Make up your damn mind.
no subject
Date: 2018-02-25 04:14 am (UTC)When John shoves him, he feels the chain of his necklace bounce against his skin underneath his shirt at the same time his back hits the cabinets. For a second he has the sense that his mother's ring is bearing down, that the chain will leave an imprint on his neck that won't go away for days.
He doesn't want John to go.
He has no idea how to say it.
His stomach is knotted for reasons that have nothing to do with arousal.
Poe reaches out, catches the hem of John's shirt in his fingers, pulls on it like a child trying to get someone's attention. He can't lose John, and it feels like if he doesn't say what needs to be said, he will. In some way, Poe will lose him. He can't do that.
Again, that acute awareness of his mother's ring.
He's used to losing people in war. He's even comfortable with it, as much as a person can ever be comfortable with that kind of trauma, that kind of grief. It's losing people in other ways that really scares him. ]
Don't go.
[ An unconscious echo of John's words that first night. It's small. Poe clears his throat, but he can't say the words again. He can't put more force behind them. They get stuck in his throat, grinding together around the lump there. He can only hope his eyes say what the rest of him is terrified to.
Don't go. Please don't go. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-02-25 04:57 am (UTC)Can't.
It's not about the sex, not right now, but they're not men of words. They're men of action. Sex is just a medium used to convey emotions left unsaid. A way to connect with body and touch, and to speak truth with voices lost or forgotten. John's become so used to suffering in silence that he doesn't know how to cry, and Poe has his own demons.
He answers Poe with his lips, kissing him again, hard, arms draping loosely over his broad shoulders. John wants him, and he's not leaving. Hands following the outline of Poe's scapula, fingers digging into the tense pillars of muscle on either side of Poe's spine. Fingertips tracing the curve of Poe's ribcage, heaving beneath his touch, to his solar plexus.
His hands reach Poe's shoulders again. He almost can't bear to break the kiss, but he remembers Poe in his fear, himself in his fear that night when Poe pried him out of himself, kicking and screaming, into a freedom he'd never known until that night.
John draws back, looking at Poe again, holding him with his eyes, and pushes down. Gently. Firmly. To his knees. Where John commanded him.]
no subject
Date: 2018-02-25 05:20 am (UTC)( He wouldn't protest either way, but he tells himself relief is the reason. )
He grips the backs of John's thighs through the man's pants, pressing his face against John's clothed inner thigh and feeling the scrape of cloth instead of the gentle pliancy of skin. He reaches up to try and pull John's pants down, glancing upward as he does to make sure he has some kind of permission to do it.
His heart feels about ready to explode its way out between his ribs like rapid blaster fire. There are a thousand things he wants right now, not the least of which is to run far and fast from the admission that John is someone more important a casual partner. But more than that he wants to show the man, to prove to John that he is more important than that.
Poe kisses one of John's iliac crests, leaves a line of kisses down his pelvis to his dick. Rests his face for another moment against John's body.
Then he kisses John's penis, tongues his way along its length to the head, and takes it in his mouth. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-02-26 01:43 am (UTC)It's different this time. More intimate. Poe's never hesitated to go down on him, but he doesn't usually take his time, either. There's always a sense of urgency when they fuck, a rush to get each other out of their clothes, and get each other off. Rough, and a little careless. Just two men knocking boots between missions.
The warm wet of Poe's mouth makes him gasp. John's hands go to base of his skull, cradling his head. Supporting and encouraging him. He wants to see more of this side of Poe. Gentle and giving. Scared, but brave. Strong enough to risk tenderness. The heart and soul of the rebellion, who refuses to give up hope. He could, and is, falling in love with him.
Poe's always beautiful, but like this? John would fight a war for him.
He would win Poe's war for him.]
no subject
Date: 2018-03-03 11:50 pm (UTC)He can't get enough of the feel of John's hands against his head, in his hair. He tugs lightly on John's thigh, pushing John deeper in, choking himself again, intentionally this time. He can't talk like this, not with words, he can't give himself up vocally, but he can do it with his mouth, his hands. Poe shifts his fingers from John's dick to his balls, running his thumb over the sensitive skin in the cleft between them, then dragging his nail across the same place. ]
no subject
Date: 2018-03-04 02:21 am (UTC)Men know how to touch other men, whether or not they want to admit it. Poe's callused fingers dragging over John's thinnest, most sensitive skin make his dick jerk in Poe's mouth. He almost comes right there, just from looking down at him, and being overwhelmed by Poe's attention, and his eagerness to please. His hunger.
For once, John feels like his want has been matched.]
Stop.
[Growled low and deep from the base of his chest, because he's right there on the edge, more animal than man. John inhales through his nose, steeling himself. He wants nothing more than to empty his balls down the back of Poe's throat, but he needs to maintain control. Poe needs to know he will stay strong when Poe needs him to be strong, no matter what.]
Stand up. I want to see you.
no subject
Date: 2018-03-05 06:57 am (UTC)He's breathing harder than his own exertion warrants.
He doesn't know what to do. What to say. So he stands there, hands fussing awkwardly with the hems of his jeans, then shifting to the pockets of his jacket, then back down to his sides again. ]
What should.... [ He reaches out to brush his fingertips along the side of John's cock, feeling like he should be working still. ] What else?
no subject
Date: 2018-04-14 11:17 pm (UTC)He can't help but wonder if Poe knows he takes peoples breath away. John knows he's not the only one. You only have to be near Poe to be pulled into his orbit. He's magnetic. Special, in some way John's always wanted to be, but never has.
Not until Poe made him feel that way. Even if it was only the one time.
John wants to feel that way again. Needs to. He's lonely, and greedy, and Poe is unfortunate enough to have met him.
His hand drags down to the base of Poe's throat, settles there, heavy, before pulling him close. So they're toe to toe. Chest to chest. Eye to eye.
One whispered order passing from his lips to Poe's.]
Fuck me.
no subject
Date: 2018-05-20 03:08 pm (UTC)He would trust John.
Poe pushes forward, pressing his own throat against the curve of John's hand so he can kiss the man. Taking that little liberty while still in John's control. ]
Where?
no subject
Date: 2018-06-24 04:09 am (UTC)He doesn't pull back before speaking. Poe will feel what he says more than he hears him.]
Right here.