One Percent

Jun. 12th, 2008 09:15 am

Fandom: SGA

Characters: John/Male

Rating: NC-17

Warnings: Smut

Disclaimer: Not mine!

Summary: There's the pressure of the back of the man's throat, and then the bastard is just swallowing around John, taking him deep all in one long movement.

Kink: (20) Glory holes

Author's Note: So, set pre-Atlantis, then.

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This isn't something John often indulges in. It really isn't something he should risk at all, not with his recent promotion, not with the assignment to a new duty station. He should just go home. Back to Nancy and the big bed that they sleep on opposite sides of.

Ninety-nine percent of the time, John does.

But there's the exception to every rule, and there's that one percent of the time when John just can't. He needs something different, something more, the relief that he denies himself the rest his life. And this is one of those nights.

The bar is smoky, dark, so loud with music that conversation would be impossible. That's fine. John isn't interested in talking. John heard about the bar the same way he always manages to hear about these places, whispered conversations, breath catching on damning words, eyes cast down.

John downs two shots of vodka straight, his throat burning and his eyes stinging in the corners. It's enough to make his stomach feel like a lead weight has dropped in it, and to make his head feel lighter. John slides his money across the counter with a scowl, and shoulders his way towards the back of the bar.

He doesn't have time for this, not really. Nancy probably brought home dinner from Boston Market, and she'll worry if he's late. He knows that. And so he rushes, back into the unmarked bathroom, the room barely lit, smoke hanging blue in the air.

There are a half-dozen stalls, with doors even. One is ajar, and John pushes in, his jaw clenched shut so tightly it hurts. John locks the door, only half paying attention, yanking his zipper down, fumbling in his back pocket for a condom, banging his fist against the side of the stall, just once.

The knock back is immediate, and lower on the stall, a short rhythm that has John squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing a groan. John rolls the condom on with shaking fingers, and then he braces a forearm against the stall and leans forward.

For a moment John is just hanging out there, his breath shallow and harsh. The air in here is warm, bordering on uncomfortably hot, and John can feel sweat starting to bead up across his shoulders. He curses in the back of his throat, and then, just like that, everything changes.

The man on the other side of the stall doesn't play around. One second there is nothing, and the next, there is hot wet perfection all around John. He can feel the press of a soft bottom lip sliding down the underside of his cock, a tongue flicking fast over the swollen head. There's the pressure of the back of the man's throat, and then the bastard is just swallowing around John, taking him deep all in one long movement.

John groans, his hips jerking helplessly forward against the wall of the stall. One of his arms drops down, fingers scrambling against the scratched paint, because he wants, needs, to get a hand on the other man, to hold him still. But that's not an option, and John finds his hand hanging uselessly, panting. He thumps his head forward, pressing his hips against the wall, as flush as he can get them.

The man that has John's cock lodged down his throat hums, then pulls off, fast and vicious. John swears, louder than he intended to, the man sucking on the tip of his dick, tongue flattened up right under the flare of the head.

John is breathing hard, shoulders heaving, and the man just isn't giving him a chance to do anything so urbane as get a hold on himself. There's another hum, and then the man is swallowing around John again, taking him deep, throat tight and hot and perfect.

The man holds him there, swallowing around him, for so long that John doesn't know how he isn't choking. And then there's that hum again, a vibration straight up John's cock, over his balls, splintering his spine. John makes a raw sound, pounding the wall with his fist, needing some way to excise the crushing pressure building inside him.

The man slides back, sucking on just the head of John's cock again, and instead of backing John away from the edge of orgasm it's just pushing him towards it faster. He's breathing openmouthed, eyes wide and sightless, every single bit of him fixated on the wet heat around his dick.

When the man takes him deep again, John knows he won't last. He's waited too long to do this, needed it and denied himself for more time than he likes to consider. And he hadn't been prepared for this, in any case. The man swallows around John, and John gives it up.

Orgasm leaves him unsteady, the man sucking him softly through it, before his mouth is gone. John takes a half step back, slumping, his shoulders hitting the other side of the stall with a startlingly loud bang. John is gasping, trying to get his breath back, his cock hanging wet and limp against his unzipped pants.

His stomach muscles are still jumping, his thighs sore and aching, his head spinning. He pulls off the condom absently, tying it off and tossing it into the provided wastebasket. Then he leans forward, bracing his hands on his knees, sucking in deep breaths, his heart racing.

After a long moment, there's a knock from the opposite side of the stall, half-hesitant, like the knocker doesn't know if John's been given enough time yet. John isn't sure that he has been. But he's on his knees anyway, knocking back.

John is pretty sure that he can't compare to the blowjob he just got, but he'll do the best that he damn well can.

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