blue flamingos


Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Category/Rated: Slash, R

Year/Length: 2009/ ~757 words

Pairing: Carson/John

Spoilers: post-Kindred with spoilers for that episode

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

Warning: dubious consent

Author's Notes: written for comment_fic's adopt a lonely prompt weekend.

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


They slept together once, the first year, after the Genii tried to take Atlantis, when John couldn't stop shaking, fragile and frightened. Exhausted by the fading adrenaline, the memory of the two marines who'd been killed, the way he'd forgotten all about them when he saw Kolya. He still doesn't know why Carson wanted to, but his hands had been warm on John's skin, and he hadn't said anything about John's shivering, and then when they'd gotten back in touch with Earth, Carson had started seeing Cadman.

John thinks Carson's clone's memories might be a little fucked up, because when John walks him to his quarters, Carson palms the door closed and pushes John to his knees. John's surprised enough that he doesn't fight it – barely registers it until his knees hit the metal floor. When he looks up, mouth open to say...something...Carson's looking down at him, expression a confusing mix of want and sadness and expectation. It's the expectation that gets John, that and Carson's sure hands opening his own pants. He knows he should say something, stand up and stop this, explain that they don't do this. It's just that something about the way Carson's looking at him makes him think Carson knows this, that this is almost some kind of test, something Carson thinks he's owed for being left in Michael's clutches for so long, even if they didn't know he was.

Carson shoves his pants and underwear down, looking at John impatiently, but John's still frozen, halfway to getting up and leaving, because he doesn't *want* this, can feel the tremor of panic starting up in his hands. He's just not sure that it's stronger than the guilt that's keeping him on his knees, the need to offer some kind of recompense.

Carson makes an irritated, impatient sound, his hands closing tight around the back of John's head, thumbs pressing at the hinge of his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He closes his eyes, not that that makes it any better, feels Carson's cock slide over his lips, his tongue, pushing deep as John makes himself swallow around it, relax his throat so he can still breathe.

John loves sucking cock, loves being on his knees with his mouth full, but he's frozen now, can't move as Carson angles his head and fucks his mouth. It's rough and demanding, and John has to fight to breathe through it, the back of his throat raw, the edges of his mouth sore and stretched. His hands won't stop trembling, pressed against his thighs, and he can barely hear Carson's panting breaths over the roaring in his own ears.

He loses track of time, waiting for it to be over, but he knows it takes a while before Carson stiffens, forcing himself deeper down John's throat. He groans with his orgasm, cock pulsing against John's tongue for a long moment until he pulls back, releases John's head. John slumps forward, twisting at the last moment so he's not leaning against Carson, trying to catch his breath. It hurts when he swallows and he keeps his eyes closed, listening to Carson pull his pants up.

"Anything I can do for you?" Carson asks, distant like he's never been, even when they first met, and it makes John shudder, something like fear. He's not hard, and even if he was, he'd rather walk through Atlantis with an erection. He shakes his head, afraid of what his voice will sound like. "I'm going to bed, then," Carson says, moving away. "Been a long day for me."

John nods, forces his eyes open. His knees try to lock when he stands up, and he stumbles, banging his elbow against the door. He almost expects a concerned question, but there's nothing. He palms the door open with a hand that's still trembling and lets himself out into the corridor without looking back.

He makes it halfway to the transporter before he has to duck off the main corridor and lean against a wall, take a few deep breaths. He feels absurdly close to passing out or throwing up, something stupid and melodramatic. Get a grip, John. He knows he can't let anyone see him like this, risk them asking what happened, if he's okay. Not that he'd tell them, but the people he works with aren't stupid, and he remembers Rodney's bright hope when they found Carson, Ronon's scared refusal to hope. They think they've got Carson back, and John's not going to be the one to say they're wrong.

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