Spoilers: Minor for S1 and S2
Summary: John offers Carson committment.
A/N - This came out of a request by chaps1870 for finger fucking and my own particular fondness for male chastity kink. I'm not sure I'm really happy with it, but it's finally done and off my desk and darn it, the muse has been so flakey lately that I'll take what I can get. Thanks to Chaps for being such a lovely beta.
They kneel together on the bed, Carson behind him. The moonlight plays over John’s back, creating a shadow landscape that Carson runs his hands over, tracing the curve and dip of skin over muscle and bone. It’s more than he can do not to touch. This man is so beautiful, all long, lean powerful lines. His skin is smooth, not delicate like the thin fragility of someone who never sees the light of day, but supple, resilient made strong by wind and sun, sweat and motion. John’s skin will yield but not tear, will bruise but not break.
He hopes John is that way too, closes his eyes and says a silent prayer, steadies himself. Having John in his bed wasn’t something he’d ever expected. Carson isn’t naive, he knows that he, himself, is an attractive man. But John, God, John is just so much more and to everyone. It’s not the prettiness, although the man is gorgeous with his bedroom eyes and a sly, slow smile that lights up his face. For Carson it’s the grace. Hell, Sheppard is graceful just fucking standing still and Carson has never figured out how he does it. He can get hard just seeing the man lean against a door frame and he’s stopped going past the gym because the sight of John, bare-chested and sweaty, is enough to have him hard and leaking until he can find a place to touch himself.
The first time they fucked it was sudden, intense, like the flashover of a fire suddenly given oxygen to feed on. For a while the pure lust consumed them and they’d been content with it. But Carson is human and fell in love. He knew it was dangerous, probably stupid, but that didn’t stop his heart.
John is a feast for the senses, the beauty of light on skin, the feel of the angles and planes, the sound of ragged breath as he inhales with each of Carson’s touches, the smell of sweat and arousal thick in the air. It is almost too much, overwhelming, igniting both lust and longing, leaving Carson fighting for control. He grounds himself, tracing the band of leather that circles John’s waist, hands slide apart until they reach the thinner strips that dip down between John’s legs.
Carson sits back on his heels, runs his hands along John’s inner thighs, feeling the tremors as touch begets need. John is silent but the hunger rolls off him in heavy waves, the desire for Carson to do anything…god, please, anything…just… now.
Spread open like this, moonlight turns the filigreed cage around John’s balls to liquid silver against the dark skin of his scrotum. It’s hypnotic, alluring, and Carson let’s himself be drawn in. His mind replays this morning, sliding the loops up John’s legs, his forehead leaning against the hard-muscled stomach and inhaling the musky scent that clings to the skin there. Before he can falter, change his mind, he busies himself, sliding John’s hardening cock into the filigreed sheath and his balls into the cage. Within seconds the straps are snugged, the leather belt around his waist locked. Carson hands the key to John, bows his head as he places the chain around Carson’s neck.
It would always be the same. John would always be John and there would always be beautiful men and women wanting him. When it was just sex he could accept it, but not any more. Norina wasn’t any different, she was just the final push. Chaya, Teer, Mara, Norina. Who could blame the man? John had even been willing to leave Atlantis behind for Chaya, and if Atlantis couldn’t hold him, then what chance did Carson have? The slowly building tightness in his chest told him that he couldn’t live like this, always waiting for it to end. The voice in his head told him that he was a weak man, uncertain, needing commitment in a time and place that it made no sense. Any...all of them could die tomorrow and he wanted promises of forever, however long it measured. Late that night, when Sheppard came to him, he laid out his doubts, accepted the inevitable, and sent John on his way with a last, sad kiss.
Tremors under his fingertips bring him back and he realizes that he has been running his hands over the intricate scrollwork, teasing cock and balls with a whisper of touch. John’s head is bowed low and he is still silent but his breathing is labored. Carson can see the effort it takes not to cry out. He moves his hands up John’s back then leans over him, pressing a line of kisses down along the bony spine until he reaches the dip at the small of his back. Settling back he continues as thumbs spread muscular cheeks apart. His tongue barely has the time to discover the sharp tang at John’s opening before it dives in, pushing against skin and muscle, demanding entrance. They haven’t done this often, Carson’s years of training are hard to ignore. But here, now, those voices are silent and he pushes in, reveling in the feel of John thrusting back, seeking more, the muscles tightening around Carson’s tongue with each new wave of pleasure.
The fire burns low in his belly, in his balls and Carson feels the tug in his cock. He’s hard, has been since he watched John undress earlier, one piece of clothing at a time. He almost comes, assaulted by the tightness of muscle gripping his tongue and the memory of John standing naked, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, hands pressed against thighs to keep from touching himself. Only Carson has that privilege now, only Carson can give him permission. Waiting all day had been agony, knowing what tonight would bring, knowing what waited beneath the familiar military garb.
When the heat and pleasure disappear, John gasps, cries out, tears in his eyes. The world is just Carson and the pleasure in his ass, and his need. There isn’t anything else.
“Quiet now, luv. I told you, no noise. I’ll stop if you can’t do that for me.” John stares back over his shoulder, nods his head then bows it. The waiting is filled with Carson once again drinking in the site of John’s ass, this time slick with spit, hole twitching. He wants to store away these memories, replay them again and again. His cock is weeping and it would so easy to just center it and push in all the way in one swift stroke. That thought almost tips him over the edge and suddenly his own breathing is loud the sound of desire is coming from him not John. Before he can lose control completely he dips a finger in the bowl of lube by the bed and circles John’s hole with the tip. And God, isn’t the way John shudders and tenses up just the most amazing thing. Just from a simple touch. He reaches under with his other hand, between the widespread legs and runs fingertips across metal and skin. Any other day and John would be hard, his cock filled with blood, hot and leaking. Tonight he doesn’t have that option. Trapped inside the cage, he can’t get hard, can’t lose himself in the blinding light of completion.
Carson is the keyholder, it’s his choice when….or if John comes. He wonders if John knows what’s coming, if
Teyla tells them about the market on Dasara, known for the variety of wares that are traded there. It is the kind of place where anything can bought or sold, the kind of place where Ancient technology turns up in a ramshackle stand, mistaken for a cheap trinket. Ronon finds them later and tells them what Teyla didn’t, about the pleasure houses where other things can be purchased. At night, when she is visiting friends, Ronon takes them, seeking out a place to satisfy all their tastes.
John leans back against the cushions, fingers tangled in the long hair. The wet heat around his cock is almost enough, almost as good. Looking down, he sees blond hair on a lithe body. What he wants is dark hair, a stocky build, the strong muscles of a man in his prime, kisses, thrusts, the lilt of a Scottish accent in the throes of passion. He wants it to be Carson. A finger snakes into his ass and the heated rush of completion burns away the disappointment. Dressed again, Sheppard leaves, his cock sated but his mind unsettled.
Circling, rubbing then slowly one finger presses in, just the tip, and back out. The next time is deeper and on it goes, a bit more each time. John’s ass presses back to meet him, to deepen the penetration but Carson is the one in control here. He is relentless, doing this at his pace not John’s. Soon enough he is all the way inside, slipping in and out slowly, just the one finger, and John is desperate with need. Suddenly the silence is oppressive and Carson wants to hear John, wants to know what this is doing to him.
“Talk to me, John. Tell me what you’re feeling.” The words come flying out of John’s mouth, wild, almost incoherent pleas for ‘ More, harder, deeper.’ Carson simply keeps his pace, one hand firmly on John’s ass to hold him steady while the single finger slides in and out, in and out. Then carefully gently, he crooks his finger and brushes the prostate and there is moment when John freezes, so overwhelmed he can’t move any more. This is the moment Carson has been waiting for.
It takes a week for John to make up his mind, showing up at Carson’s door just as the doctor is about to turn in. They talk into the wee hours, the box John has brought along sits open between them on the bed, the silver of the chastity belt catching what little light there is. “I’m giving myself to you.”
“But this…” A hand sweeps out to take in the finely wrought silver and leather.
“You wanted commitment.”
“You like that, luv? I thought you would.” He brushes that spot gently, over and over, never taking it any higher. He can feel as John grows more desperate, needing to come, the muscles of his ass clenching tighter, trying any way they can to feel more, fuller, stretched tighter. And then suddenly John’s breathing changes and he stills. Carson keeps up his gentle massage, milking John’s prostate until he feels the moan that begins deep inside the other man and gradually works its way out. His breath hitches as he watches semen drip from John in slow, lazy pulses. This isn’t an orgasm, he hasn’t earned one…no white light, no heart stopping pleasure. All John will get for now is the slow release of pressure that comes without ejaculation, but leaves a strange sense of serenity behind. Carson has only read about it, wasn’t even sure if it was possible. Now that he knows, his heart is pounding at the thought of playing with John’s need, being able to blunt the edge of his desire, or letting the frustration build for as long as he wants. His own hand trembles as he strokes circles on John’s back waiting for his lover to come back.
“Are you okay, John?”
“I….yeah, I...I didn’t come?” It comes out puzzled, John’s eyes on the bed where the evidence of what did happen is soaking into the sheets.
“Aye, that’s right. But it should take the edge off.” Kisses trail along John’s shoulders.
“Okay. Yeah.” And it has. He still wants Carson, yearns to come, but for now, he is fine.
“Good, come here.” Carson holds him, still stoking circles. “Can ye do this for me, luv? Can ye live this way?”
John looks at him and Carson can see the ‘Yes’ that almost rolls off his lips, but then those hazel eyes flicker and instead what comes out is an honest, “Maybe?”
“Well that’s a start, now isn’t it?” And suddenly the brilliant smile that has been absent for so long is gracing Carson’s face and John wants nothing more than to be the cause of that kind of happiness again.