blue flamingos


Fandom: Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG-1

Category/Rated: Slash, NC-17

Year/Length: 2007/ ~3737 words

Pairing: John/Cameron

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, for which I should think they're profoundly grateful.

Summary: In which John is not Cam's personal slave, trips to tourist attractions are compulsory, and the inevitable does happen, in more ways than one.

Series: Sequel to Peace on Earth

Author's Notes:

Feedback: Yes please. Even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.


"I'd just like to point out that I'm the one who broke his arm trying to save your base."

"Yeah, from one college kid."

"One college kid with a gun. Who broke my arm."

"Well, next time I get taken captive, I'll be sure to mention that they should let me go so I can go rescue my base instead of leaving my boyfriend to do it. Especially if he's only there cos he was worried about me."

"I wasn't worried. I was dropping off requisition forms."

"At six on a Sunday evening on your vacation."

"That's when they were ready."

"Uh-huh." Cam reaches up and hooks an arm round John's waist to pull him down. "If I say that you're the hero of the Mountain right now, will you stop going on about it?"

John pulls a face, but leans into Cam anyway, careful not to elbow him as the sofa sinks beneath him. "I'll stop going on about it, if you stop treating me like your personal servant."

"I got shot!" Cam protests. "Dr Lam said plenty of rest and not too much moving around."

"You barely even needed stitches. She only kept you in cos you hit your hit."

"Fine." Cam pats John's thigh, and John feels him wince slightly when it tugs on his stitches. "You're worse off than me. Happy?"

"Ecstatic," John says dryly. He lets his head fall back against the sofa, closing his eyes. It's only 7.30, but he's already worn out, something to do with the early dusk that they don't get in Atlantis, combined with the pain killers he's still taking for his broken arm. Cam's hand is still on his thigh, a patch of warmth in the cool of the apartment. Though he's been on Earth for a week, this is the first night there's been someone in Cam's apartment with him, and he's never going to say so, but it's nice, feels better than being there alone did.

"Hey," Cam says after a while, jerking John out of the half-doze he's slipped into. "You wanna hand me the phone? I'm hungry."

John sighs, but sits up to reach for it. "I though we agreed I wasn't your servant."

"We did. That's why I'm not making you cook dinner."


John's been waiting for the awkwardness of being back together after a long period apart all evening, but it doesn't come till they're getting into bed. It's only been six months since John was last on Earth, five days at the SGC with Lorne vetting pilots for the dedicated 302 squad Atlantis is supposed to be getting, but he only spent one night at Cam's then, the rest coinciding with Cam's trip home for his mom's birthday, and they didn't spend much of it sleeping.

Cam stretches out with a hiss of pain and watches John climb in next to him, his expression wiped blank. There's half a foot of space between them when John lies down, but he still tends to forget he's got the cast. "Hi," he offers.

"Hi," Cam says, cracking a slight smile. John can see his own indecision reflected in Cam's eyes, even backlit by the bedside lamp. It's a lot easier when they just fall asleep, too worn out from sex to make conversation, but now he's not sure whether he should kiss Cam or not.

"All right, this is pathetic," Cam says abruptly, and leans over to kiss John, holding himself up so he doesn't touch John's broken arm, resting against his chest.

John raises himself up as far as he can to kiss back, slow and soft, not reaching for Cam like he wants to, to pull him close. It almost works anyway, until Cam leans a little too far forward, and breaks the kiss with a gasp that's more about pain than John really wants to hear when they're in bed together.

"This isn't working," John says as Cam falls back onto his own side of the bed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

"Not so much," Cam agrees. "You couldn't have picked a better week to have a broken arm, could you?"

"I was –" John starts, and cuts himself off with a yawn that makes Cam laugh.

"You wanna just sleep?" he asks, already reaching for the light switch.

"Yeah. We'll figure out the mad, passionate sex in the morning."

"Sounds good to me," Cam says, plunging the room into darkness.

When he lies down again, he nudges at John with his whole body until John gets the idea and turns onto his right side, letting Cam mould his body round John's and sling an arm over John's stomach. "Better?" Cam asks, low.



John wakes up to someone kissing the back of his neck, his hairline, behind his ear, and for a half-awake moment, he thinks about faking sleep a bit longer, just so Cam will keep it up.

"Mornin'," Cam drawls in his ear, putting paid to that plan. He goes back to kissing though, so John figures he's got the better end of the deal, on the whole. Cam's still curled up behind him, the whole length of his body pressed against John's, warm and...

"So how long've you been awake anyway?" John asks, pressing back just a little, to get Cam's sharp in-breath skating over his skin.

"While," Cam says. John's not sure where his right arm is, but his left is still draped over John, putting his hand in just the right place to slide under John's t-shirt and tweak his nipple. John breathes out a low groan and Cam kisses his shoulder where his shirt's pulled askew while he slept. "Kind of thought you'd wake up faster than that. Combat reflexes."

"We're not usually attacked, that's nice... by kissing bandits." Though, they're talking about Pegasus, John figures it's only a matter of time.

"Think we could convince Landry to put it on the training schedule?" Cam asks. He runs his hand down John's ribs, one finger tucked under the waist band of John's boxers and John's dick, already half-hard when he woke up, gets very interested in the proceedings.

"Well, we do travel to alien planets." John does his best to present an air of deep thought, rather than one of desperate horniness. It's been six months since he got laid, and then he had to wait another week after that. "No such thing as being over-prepared."

"That's what I always say," Cam agrees. He runs his hand under John's boxers again, his finger-tips trailing the base of John's cock, then draws his hand back, curving over John's hip instead. John growls in frustration, and Cam laughs. "Be interesting to watch the training sessions."

"Yeah." John pushes back into Cam again, in retaliation, and Cam presses into it, gratifyingly hard against John's ass. He wonders if there's any chance of talking Cam into fucking him while Cam's got stitches and he's got a broken arm, and decides there probably isn't. Not unless John can get him a lot less in control which, actually, doesn't sound like a bad idea anyway.

"Think they'd do practices in pairs?" Cam asks.

"What?" John's completely lost the thread of the conversation, but he's got a good excuse, Cam's fingers drawing lines up and down the inside of his thigh, just the right side of ticklish, Cam's breath on his jaw-line every time he exhales.

"Anti-kissing training," Cam says, leaning in to nibble on John's earlobe.

John loses the last scraps of his patience. "For the – would you just..."

"Just what?" Cam asks, his voice low, thick with amusement and arousal.

"Please," John grinds out. "Stop teasing and get on with it."

"So now I'm your slave?" Cam rests his hand high on John's thigh, not quite touching.

"If you ever hope to get laid while I'm here, *yes*," John hisses and finally, finally, Cam's hand closes round his cock, just the right pressure as he slowly strokes John. "Mm, yeah, like that." He drops his head back to rest against Cam's shoulder and Cam takes shameless advantage of this, nipping all the way up John's neck before sucking on his earlobe, and it's not *fair* that he does that while John's trapped like this, can't touch him at all, can only thrust into Cam's hand as he speeds up, twists his wrist just like he knows John can't resist, and John comes, sudden and sharp.

Cam slows his strokes as John gasps his way through his orgasm until John pushes his hand away and twists so he can kiss Cam, hot and sloppy and just as awkward as last night, except now John's feeling loose and relaxed and it doesn't seem to matter, with Cam's tongue in his mouth, and Cam's erection pressed against his thigh, his sticky hand clenched in John's t-shirt.

They pull apart eventually, and John knows he's grinning like a goof. "Thanks," he says and Cam laughs, pushing his erection into John's thigh, in case John missed the memo. "Something I can do for you?"

"Yeah." Cam glares, though it loses some of its intimidation factor when he's flushed with desire and his hair's sticking up on one side like John doesn't even know what.

"Well, since you asked so nicely," John says dryly, adjusting them so Cam's cock slides between his thighs, hot and hard.

"You're all heart," Cam says, but his hips push forward with the words, frantic.

"S'why you like me," John offers, bringing his left hand up to hold Cam close enough to kiss him again, and that's when the inevitable happens, and he clonks Cam round the back of the head with his cast.


Cam's not-unreasonably pissed off after that, since it leaves both of them breathless in a bad way, John blinking back tears of pain – Cam has a hard head – so he makes up for it by making breakfast while Cam's in the shower.

Not that he needs to bother – Cam comes into the kitchen in jeans washed to almost white, barefoot and toweling his hair dry, and John ends up blowing him against the kitchen cupboards while breakfast goes cold.


They go out for breakfast, eventually, the diner mostly empty at eleven on a Friday morning in February, and after a brief, but traditional, tussle over the check, which Cam only wins because John's injured, John browses the pile of tourist leaflets inside the door.

Cam takes the leaflet automatically when John thrusts it at him as he steps out of the men's room, then gets a good look at it and starts shaking his head. "John, no. There has got to be something better to do, even on a Friday in Colorado Springs."

"There's not," John tells him cheerfully, waiting for Cam to unlock his car. It's cold, and he doesn't have any gloves. "I checked."

"It's a summer attraction," Cam tries, still staring at the garish pictures.

"No it's not. See, 'now open all year round, afternoon's only weekdays between November and March'."

Cam takes advantage of John's proximity to press up against him. "Or we could just go back to my place. It's inside, it's warm, it's got a bed..."

John steps away from him. "No. I want to do something. What will I tell the others when I get back to Atlantis otherwise?"

Cam laughs. "I think they'll be a bit distracted by your heroic injury, won't they?"

"You just think that cos you haven't spent much time around them," John says. "One hour. You might even have fun."

Cam rolls his eyes, but John knows defeat when he sees it. "You owe me," he says, finally opening the car doors.

"I'll look forward to it," John says, giving Cam his best come-hither look, and Cam groans.


The Pro-Rodeo Hall of Fame is about as tacky as John expected it to be from the leaflet, and the fact that it costs less than ten dollars for them both to go in – free museums, in his experience, are often great, but cheap ones rarely are. It's worth it though, for the way Cam goes from laughing and mocking the bronze statue of Casey Tibbs on Necktie just inside the entrance to actually reading the plaques and information boards in the Champions Hall. He even sits through the two films being shown on the history of rodeo and the "life of the modern cowboy".

"So," John asks, when they get into the garden and out from under the watchful eyes of the staff. "Do you know how to do that stuff?"

"What stuff?" Cam asks absently, wandering between more bronze statues of famous riders and their horses.

"The cowboy stuff. You said you grew up around horses."

Cam gives him an exasperated look. "I meant down the road from a stable, not on a cowboy ranch. You've got some strange ideas about my childhood."

John just shrugs. He's got strange ideas about most people's childhoods, since he's drawing mostly on TV, having spent his on military bases. "So? Can you?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Cam asks, low and breathy, pressed up against John for a second before he moves away, leaving John shivering and turned on.

"You want to go home and give me a demonstration?" he asks, grateful for the empty gardens, because even out of uniform he suspects there's something about them that says military, and the SGC's not that lenient.

Cam shakes his head. "I want to finish looking round here," he says, and John curses himself for bright ideas.


They end up going out for an early dinner as well, since breakfast sort of became lunch, and Cam refuses to cook, which means they're back in plenty of time to argue over the remote, even though there's nothing good on that early. Some things never change, no matter how long John's out of the galaxy.

Half an hour later, he's not bothered he lost the argument, because he's on his knees between Cam's legs, Cam's jeans open and his cock in John's mouth, his hands twisting in John's hair, and neither of them are watching whatever dumb sitcom Cam picked out, the laugh-track a barely-there buzz in the back on John's head.

His knees aren't going to thank him for this in the morning, but it's easier than sex in a bed turned out to be, his broken arm resting on the couch cushions while he uses his other hand to hold Cam's hips in place, stop him from thrusting into John's mouth and spoiling John's plan.

"Fuck, John, yeah, like that," Cam groans, and John slows down, licking the underside of Cam's cock until he sighs, his head dropping to the side and his eyes sliding closed. Cam Mitchell, totally blissed out even though he hasn't come yet, and John just looks at him for a few seconds. He loves that look.

"You waiting for something?" Cam asks, breathless, cracking one eye to look at John, the color almost entirely replaced by pupil.

"Uh-uh," John mutters. Cam shudders, his hands tightening in John's hair for a moment then relaxing to stroke him like a pet. John half-expects to be patted on the head when he starts sucking again, intent on blowing Cam so far past blissed out he'll stop worrying about injuries and agree to what John wants.

It takes John another twenty minutes, slowing down every time Cam starts groaning, but it's worth it when he crawls up Cam's body, careful not to avoid a repeat of the morning's accident, and murmurs, "I want you to fuck me," in Cam's ear, Cam's eyes focusing on him slowly as he nods.

"Here?" Cam asks, and John laughs, even though he's draped over Cam's warm, pliant body, his dick pressing painfully against the buttons of his jeans and his pulse pounding in his head.

"Not unless you want another head injury." He gets awkwardly to his feet and pulls Cam up with him. "Come on."

They make it to the bedroom without tripping over their own feet, which John counts as a minor victory, then Cam's arms go round John from behind, unfastening his shirt from the bottom up, fingertips on John's over-sensitized skin making him shiver. "You going to be all right? With your arm?"

John leans forward so Cam can push his shirt off, only getting a little tangled in John's cast, and kiss all the way along his right shoulder blade. "I thought I was the worrier."

"Variety is the spice of life," Cam offers. He reaches for John's belt. "A change is as good as a vacation."

"God I hope not," John says fervently. He turns in Cam's arms and runs a hand over the line of stitches in his side, still covered with a bandage. "Will you be all right?"

Cam grins, wild and predatory. "Oh yeah."

Getting naked is a blur of disappearing clothing and increasingly sloppy kisses, until John's being pressed into the mattress as Cam settles over him, slow and careful, and leans down to kiss him again. John keeps his bad arm carefully away, strokes his good hand all the way down Cam's spine and over his ass; Cam shifts, rubbing their cocks together, and John pulls away from the kiss. "I thought you were going to fuck me."

Cam looks down at him and says solemnly, "You have been spending *way* too much time with McKay."

"Thanks for that," John says dryly. Not that there's anything wrong with McKay, but he'd rather not be thinking of any of his team right now.

"Welcome," Cam says. "Lube and condoms in the top drawer."

John reaches awkwardly back to fumble for them in the dim room, and feels a moment of misgiving that Cam can't stretch to do it himself. On the other hand, Cam's well aware of his body's limits, and he's got no problem saying no when he has to.

Cam stretches out along John's good side and slides one finger inside him, rubbing his thumb over John's balls. It's been months since he did this, manifesting in a barely-there twitch of pain when Cam adds another finger. "All right?" Cam asks.

"Yeah," John says, turning his head to suck at the hollow of Cam's collar bone. Cam hisses, just like John knew he would, and retaliates by pressing down suddenly on John's prostate. John gasps, his whole body twitching in surprise; he always forgets how good that feels. "Fuck you."

"Not when I've spent all this time on you," Cam objects, grinning, and presses a little harder with his thumb.

"All right. Do it."


"Yes! I'm not going to –"

"Break?" Cam finishes for him, gleeful. John very carefully raises his left arm, wraps his fingers in Cam's hair and drags him down into a dirty kiss, hot and wet, that leaves Cam glassy-eyed and not at all smug. "All right." Cam slides his fingers out of John and wraps his hand loosely round John's cock for a minute, not moving, just resting there. John's good arm is trapped between them, and he's not ready to risk his cast near anything fragile, so he leans down as far as he can and licks a random pattern over Cam's left nipple until he sighs and lifts his hand away.

John watches him roll the condom down his cock, sitting back on his feet on the side of the bed, and can't help reaching out to touch. It feels odd through the latex, but not so odd that he wants to stop, trailing his fingertips along the underside and feeling Cam's thighs tense against the back of his hand.

"I thought you wanted me to fuck you," Cam says finally, sounding breathless.

"I do," John says. He runs his fingers over the head once more then takes his hand away to gesture expansively at the two of them, the bed, the street-lit room. "Whenever you're ready."

"So kind of you." Cam shifts round to kneel between John's legs, and John bends his knees obligingly. "God, you..." Cam kisses John's knee once, then pushes smoothly into him.

It's uncomfortably gloopy with lube for a moment, then it's just uncomfortable for a few more, till Cam finds the right angle and then it's just really good, slow and smooth and John brings his hand up to touch, Cam golden above him even with the lights off.

Cam grabs his arm before he gets very far. "You move that," he grinds out, "and I will throttle you right here," but he leaves his hand on John's arm anyway, pushing into him over and over, John's cock leaving slick trails on his stomach that make John's breath come short, his hips shifting to get more contact, more friction, just... more.

"God, John," Cam mutters, and John says, "Mm, like that. There," and reaches for his own cock, jerking himself off in time with Cam's lazy thrusts, until he comes, like diving into a sun-warm pool and feels Cam's cock go still inside him until he collapses on John with a ragged gasp.

John's catching his breath, but he's got enough presence of mind to wipe his hand clean before he reaches up to pat Cam's shoulder, his hair, wrap his arm round him and hold him close. Cam's still got one hand on John's arm, the other wrapped round John's neck. "Stop going after college kids with guns," he says, and John feels the words against his skin more than he hears them.

"Stop getting captured off-world," he says back, and then they just lie there, drifting, for a long while.

Eventually, it gets cold, and the bad kind of sticky. John climbs out of bed to get a towel and, after a few moments staring at the packet, some pain killers as well, just in case. Cam accepts them without comment, then drops them on the nightstand without taking any while John cleans them both up and finally climbs back into bed, spooning up against Cam like the night before, warm under the quilt, Cam's breath evening out against his skin and every muscle limp with afterglow.

Right before he slips into sleep, he realizes the TV's still on in the other room, an indistinct murmur of voices. John lets it talk to itself; he'll turn it off in the morning.

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