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17 October 2013 @ 01:11 pm
A Brief Encounter of the H/C Kind (1/1), NC-17, Dean Winchester/John Sheppard  
Title: A Brief Encounter of the H/C Kind
Word Count: 10530   (Let’s not talk about it)
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dean wakes up battered and bleeding in a cell, but he’s not alone.  Colonel John Sheppard of SGA 1 is there as well, the two of them are being pursued by the most heinous force in the universe - H/C writing Fan Girls. Just how far will John go to ease Dean’s pain?
Pairing: Dean Winchester/John Sheppard
Disclaimer: I promise I own neither shows nor men in this story, although if there is a rental option I wouldn’t mind a long-term lease on Dean, and I’d happily rent John for a few months as well.
Warnings: None, except for my usual Dean and punctuation abuse (thank you bigj52, for sorting out the punctuation.  I’m afraid Dean’s on his own). Also this is a loose sequel to my fic Damn H/C Writers. You don’t have to read it for this to make sense but it will help understand the insanity a little *G*.
Notes: As always my eternal thanks go to my unflinching beta bigj52 (unflinching because she sorts out this mess before you guys see it), a woman to whom statues really should be erected. I wrote this particular tale as a birthday present for wings128, and I hope one day she forgives me for it being late and she also forgives me for mangling the character of her beloved John Sheppard.  As always feedback is cuddled and feed lots of chocolate *G*.



John pulled Dean higher up his body, carefully easing his jacket off.  He tried not to jostle Dean too much, but still saw him clench his jaw and swallow convulsively out the corner of his eye.  Without thinking, he ran his hand over Dean’s right shoulder and down his arm, appreciating the feel of firm muscle under his fingertips as he soothed the injured man.

John dropped Dean’s jacket on the floor, and turned his attention to the blood-soaked plaid button down. The shirt was ruined. He gripped the bloody material and with one sharp tug, tore the sleeve away to expose the T-shirt underneath.

Dean stirred when John ripped his shirt. “Dude, seriously?  I’m not that kind of boy. Are you too cheap to even consider a dinner and a movie? I never put out on a first date.” Dean pressed himself closer to John’s body, enjoying the warmth and solid feel of the man against his back. He wasn’t snuggling up to the man. Seriously, he didn’t swing that way.

Ok, there’d been Neal, the con man, who worked with the Feds in New York. Damn, he’d had some great times with him, and of course there was the long-haired dude with the blue eyes.  The hitter. What was his name again? Eliot, that was it. He’d met Eliot back when Sam was at Stanford, and that had been quite the night too.

Then of course with his damn luck, the fan girls had decided to have a party and reintroduced him to Neal and Eliot, along with Peter the Fed, and Alec, Eliot’s friend. Thank god no one asked, and no one told, otherwise it would’ve been more than a little awkward in the room. Maybe he wasn’t quite as straight as he thought, and it looked like he had a type. Hot, heroic and dangerous to know.

John was struggling as well. What the hell was going on with him?  He was never usually affected by other men. Ok, there had been a few moments with Ronon.  But that had just been a way to relieve the stress of their constant threat of extinction by the Wraith. Unless.....

He smirked at Dean. “I hate to say this, but I think you’re exactly that kind of boy that puts out on the first date.”

“Touché.”  Dean waggled his eyebrows at him and blew a kiss.

John rolled his eyes. “I think they’ve done the hurt ‘off camera’ so to speak.  Seems the ladies are going all out for comfort. It looks like Sam, Ronon and Rodney are safe for now. This is all about us.” John cradled Dean in his arms, the urge to keep him safe washing over him.

Dean gave another soft pained moan, and John’s pulse skyrocketed with worry. “Great. Looks like we got a Dean girl and a John girl out there, having a little party.  God knows what they’re gonna come up with. I just hope they haven’t got any red wine or chocolate with them. They get loopy enough on their own, without extra fuel for the fire.” Dean’s eyes fluttered closed, and his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Dean went to move away from John, but his body sent him a sternly worded warning about trying shit like that again.  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s lovely to have fan girls but why do they feel the urge to beat the crap out of us all the time? he asked plaintively as he waited for the pain to die down.

John shrugged his shoulders and cursed when Dean winced. “I know. Would it kill them just to write about us hanging out together?” He looked down over Dean’s beaten body. “Ok, hanging out together without the blood and bruises.”

Dean managed a weary smile. “If the girls were feeling generous, and decided to give you a day off from being whumped, what would you get up to?”

John absently rubbed circles on Dean’s stomach with his thumb as he thought. “I’d go up in a Puddle Jumper and fly over Atlantis.  I get the feeling you’d get a real kick out of the place. It’s amazing to see it from up among the clouds.” John’s face lit up as he thought of his home in the Pegasus galaxy.

“Flying's not for me, dude. My perfect day would be driving my baby down the highway with Sam sat by me, bitching about my taste in music. I keep telling him there’s nothing wrong with Ozzy, AC/DC or Metallica. They’re fine driving tunes.  Although, knowing our luck, if the girls wrote that, a Djinn would be screwing with my head, while it drained my blood. And you’d get attacked by a squadron of starving Wraiths.” There was a sad little sigh.

John nodded in agreement. “Ain’t that the truth? But at least they’re consistent.  Although I have to admit, I’m not used to being on the comfort side of this.”  John was taking off his button down as he spoke. He looked at the shirt and took hold of it tightly.

There was a tearing behind him, and Dean turned his head to the sound. He was surprised to see John methodically ripping his shirt apart. “What are you doing?” And no, he didn’t squeak when he asked that.

John smirked at him. “What does it look like I’m doing? I’m not about to hog tie you with my shirt, unless you’re into that kind of thing. I’m going to wrap your shoulder. Like I said, we gotta stop the bleeding.”

Dean mentally groaned. The idea of John Sheppard’s hands all over him was doing strange things to his libido. Plus he hoped that was John’s thigh holster digging into his back because, if it wasn’t, then the dude was packing in more ways than one.

“Oh man, I bet the girls are on a Hurt/Comfort bingo.  Ripping clothes to bandage wounds. It’s got to be up there.” Dean laughed.

John joined in with the laughter, frowning when Dean moaned softly and curled in on himself. He stopped turning his shirt into bandages, pulling Dean’s T- shirt up slightly. Slipping his hand under the worn material, he gently pressed down onto the warm skin.  His fingers moved carefully over Dean’s abs, feeling him shiver as he explored his torso.

Dean had been laughing with John when his ribs protested. Before he managed to bite back the expression of pain he let out a moan. John’s hand appeared under his shirt; he’d been surprised with the careful way the man touched him. He shivered as calloused fingers moved over his skin, raising goose bumps. “What are you doing now?” he gasped, trying not to respond to the gentle touches.

“I’m checking for internal bleeding. Your stomach doesn’t seem distended.  How bad is the pain from one to ten?” John pressed down again, feeling Dean’s stomach muscles flutter. He lifted the shirt higher and whistled softly as he saw the impressive bruising covering Dean’s body.

Dean bit back a gasp and growled. “It’s about a three. You finished feeling me up yet?” John’s hand moved higher, gliding gently over his ribs, checking for breaks.

“Right. Of course it’s a three!  How about we add on another three, and say a six, possibly seven.  You’ve been lucky. No breaks, definitely cracked though.” John frowned as his fingers skimmed over raised, shiny skin. There were some impressive scars decorating Dean’s chest. He was certain if he got the rest of the hunter’s clothes off, There would be a many more of them to see.

“What? Don’t you believe me? I’m wounded, and just when I thought we were building something here.”  Dean looked up at John under his eyelashes and smirked.  He was rewarded with a blush, and John glancing to the side as he pulled the T-shirt down.

“Let’s say I think we share a similar pain scale. Rodney devised a scientific formula once for working out my reaction to injury. It keeps him entertained whenever we encounter the girls, or whoever else wants to beat the crap out of us.  Well, actually beat the crap out of me, more often than not.”  John gave a weary laugh.

“According to Rodney the reason the girls go for me is all to do with the hair, the smile, the snarky attitude. Not to mention the self-sacrificing streak, that leads me to throwing myself in front of my team. He says it gets their creative juices flowing.  What attracts the fan girls to you?”  John continued to caress.....no, not caress, check Dean over for injury. He felt the rumble of Dean’s tired laughter vibrate through his body.

“God, Rodney and Sam should never meet. Sam does exactly the same.  Whatever number I say, he doubles, or even triples.” Dean blushed and tried to reach for the back of his neck, but his right arm refused to co-operate.  He let it fall with a sigh. “Oh, screw it. The girls love my eyelashes, lips, shoulders, snarky attitude and my ability to solider on stoically, despite injury. Or in Sam‘s words, because I’m too mule headed to know when I’m beat. I shouldn’t keep bad mouthing the monsters that are trying to rip me apart.  I don’t care if it keeps them away from Sammy.”

The speech seemed to have drained Dean and he slumped lower, his head falling forward.  He’d gone pale and John gently pressed his fingers into the pulse point on Dean’s neck.  It beat rapidly, and his skin was a little cool and clammy. It looked as if the blood loss was worse than he thought. 

John worked quickly, lowering Dean to the floor and turning to his injured shoulder. Dean’s T-shirt was already ripped; he widened the tear, allowing him to get his first look at the injury.  It looked like a knife wound; it wasn’t too deep but it was bad enough.  He looked round for something to cover the injury with, before he bandaged the wound.  Of course there was nothing except... John sighed. “Yeah, definitely cliché week down at the fan forum.” 

He straightened, and grabbed his own black T-shirt.  He tore away a fairly large piece of material, exposing his chest.  He folded the piece of torn shirt and gently laid it over the wound. He hoped Dean wasn’t going to get an infection from the improvised bandage.  If the Dean girls out there had a thing about fevers, then all bets were off.

He wondered if that happened, how he could cool Dean down.  Suddenly an image of him stripping Dean, and bathing him with cool water flashed before his eyes. John shuffled as his pants became just a little tighter. He berated himself, No, John, that’s wrong. The man’s injured, and relying on you to take care of him. He looked at Dean and for the first time, he really understood why the ladies found him so appealing.

John stared at the eyelashes that fanned out over pale freckled skin, and reached out tentatively, his fingers lightly brushing Dean’s forehead. Just to check for fever, he told himself, not to smooth away the lines of pain and fatigue. Dean’s eyes were flicking back and forth, as if he was dreaming; by the expression on his face it wasn’t a pleasant dream.  He traced the curve of Dean’s cheekbone, gently mapping out the freckles and bruising there.  Dean let out a sigh, and his full lips parted.

John licked his own lips. Damn, he’d never seen lips like that on a man.  He wondered idly how they would feel against his. His fingers hovered above them. Unable to resist the temptation, he gently touched them and found they were as soft as they looked.

Dean’s eyes fluttered and he snatched his hand away. Dean blinked and John caught a glimpse of golden-flecked green eyes. John swallowed. Damn, the man was freaking lethal; no wonder the girls had the hots for him.  Dean gave a soft moan and his forehead creased with pain. The show of discomfort forced John into action.

“Ok, time to stop day dreaming and get with the program. Put pressure on the wound and stop the bleeding. How hard can it be? Rodney has to do it for me all the time.”  John placed his hand flat on the folded T-shirt, hesitating because he knew just how much this was going to hurt. “Shit, I’m gonna have to say sorry to McKay for calling him a wuss each time he freaked out about doing this.”

John tilted his head back and offered a quick prayer, then pressed down hard with the heel of his right hand.  The result was instant; Dean threw his head back, his neck muscles corded with strain.  His right hand flew up, and gripped John’s wrist with bone-creaking intensity.

Dean’s eyes shot open, and the mossy green had darkened with pain. John’s breath caught as he looked into Dean’s eyes.  The well-constructed walls were gone, shattered by this sudden agony.  Now he was faced with Dean’s naked vulnerability, and he felt a wave of protectiveness.  This wasn’t the brash, wise ass hunter he’d been talking to; this was a wounded warrior, bowing under the weight of countless losses and battles.  Too stubborn to give up, too hurt to ever be truly whole again. It was all there inside those expressive eyes.

John gritted his teeth and pressed harder. Dean’s lips thinned as he clamped them together tightly. The only sound he made was a broken humming of a melody John couldn’t place.  Sweat beaded on Dean’s forehead, and then it slowly trickled down his face. The pressure on his wrist lessened as Dean slowly prised his fingers free, his hand dropping onto his rapidly rising and falling chest.

“Son of a bitch...Sam. Did you have to press so hard? Fuck, I thought my arm was coming off.”  Dean’s voice was even gruffer, and he blinked rapidly, trying to clear away the tears of pain pooled in his eyes.

John worried when Dean called him Sam; he kept the pressure on the sluggishly oozing wound. He reached out and gently ran his fingers through the sweat-soaked hair. “Sorry, Dean, Sam isn’t here. He’s probably helping my friends to find us. I hope I’m not too much of a disappointment.”  John bent forward, scrutinizing Dean’s face.  He knew exactly when Dean realized he wasn’t Sam. The open vulnerability that made him seem so much younger was gone, and his ‘game face’ was firmly back in place.

Dean managed a cocky smirk. “Just testing to see if you were awake. Shit, tell me it’s stopped bleeding.  I didn’t realize you weighed that much.”

John didn’t comment on the disappointment in Dean’s eyes at being here without his brother. Instead he lifted the square of material and scrutinized the wound. “It’s slowed down a lot, but it could do with stitches. As we don’t have a suture kit, I’ll have to bandage it. You’ll have to just lie here and look pretty for the fan girls.”

John grinned as Dean rolled his eyes. “Not you, too. I get enough of that pretty crap. Demons, vamps, and fan girls all say it; I keep telling them I’m ruggedly handsome.  Not some twink, like Justin Bieber.”  Dean pouted and his bottom lip jutted out.

John turned to pick up the torn strips of shirt. “Ahh, you’re adorable. Don’t let them objectify you. Now if you’ll just...”  He looked back to see Dean pushing himself into a sitting position. “What the hell are you up to now?” he said frustratedly.

Dean was panting and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Come on, it’s gotta be easier to bandage with me sitting up. Or are you into manhandling me with your strong manly arms?” he said huskily, and winked at the flustered military man.

John grumbled about wise-ass punks, as he crawled round to Dean’s left side. “In future I’m gonna be way more forgiving of Rodney’s little rants. I get the whole smart-ass spiky haired colonels now. I may even have to apologize to the man, and that really stings."

Dean’s soft laughter faded away as John proceeded to wrap his shoulder with torn strips of grey military shirt. He clenched his jaw, determined not to show how much this was hurting. By the time John was done, he was listing to the side, struggling to remain upright.

“You can stop that. I do know how much this kind of thing hurts.”  John busied himself with tying off the bandage. “I also know what it’s like to have to keep up the ‘I’m fine’ facade.  The curse of being a big brother.”  He gently rested his hand on the back of Dean’s neck, his fingers tangled in the short hair.

Dean looked up, his eyes shadowed with dark circles, and the strain starting to show. “You got a brother?”

John smiled affectionately. “Dave, and I always felt the need to protect him, even though he was safe with dad.  We spent too many years apart.”

Dean nodded. “I know how that feels. Sam went off and did normal.  The kid got a full ride at Stanford, but the family business caught up with him.” Dean shook his head and said bitterly, “Caught up with him. I dragged him back into it when dad went missing. Then everything went to hell for him. I tried everything to keep him safe, but hunting’s a tough gig. I never feel I’ve done enough to protect him. He’s been hurt too often on my watch.”  Dean turned away, a look of shame on his face.

John doubted Dean hadn’t tried hard enough to protect Sam; he’d seen some of Dean’s scars.  He wouldn’t be surprised if Dean hadn’t gotten most of them by stepping between Sam and something.

He carried a few scars of his own. All of them gathered in the line of duty, as he made sure Atlantis still had a Rodney to watch over her and keep her running

“Are we done with the whole chick flick thing yet?  If Sam could hear me, I’d never hear the end of it. Is it me or is it getting cold in here?”  Dean shivered, his teeth chattering.

John was about to check him for a fever, then he saw Dean’s breath as it misted up the now cold air in the cell. John groaned. “Oh crap. Me and my big mouth.  Guess the girls thought we were too comfortable. Sorry, Dean.”  He managed a sheepish smile, and he was soon feeling his lack of layers.

The two men sat side by side, shivering.  John wrapped his arm round Dean’s shoulders. “If you even think about getting me naked and cuddling me, there’s gonna be trouble.”  Dean said, his words slow and slurred, and he yawned.  He moved closer to John, his head falling onto the colonel’s shoulder.

John sighed and slowly eased them down onto the floor; Dean muttered something sleepily. He rolled closer, trying to capture some of the heat from John’s body. His arm falling across John’s chest, he smiled and slowly ran his hand up and down Dean’s back. Enjoying the glide of muscles beneath Dean’s T-shirt, he tried very hard to ignore the way Dean’s groin was pressed against his hip. He found the heat from Dean’s dick was very distracting. Damn, those tight jeans didn’t leave much to the imagination, nor did they hide the fairly impressive bulge that was developing as Dean rubbed against him.

The injured man shivered again, and his breath hitched as he moved his shoulder. John continued to stroke his back, trying to soothe him as the temperature dropped even further.  He lifted his head and looked for Dean’s jacket; if he stretched he might just be able to reach it. John reached out and flailed desperately, his fingertips just grazing the collar

John glared at the ceiling. “This is fucking brilliant. Ok, let’s try something a little different,” he muttered as he slowly turned on his side, hoping in vain he might reach a little further. All the change in position did was bring him face to face with Dean.   His leg slipped between Dean’s as the hunter moved even closer, as if he was trying to climb inside John’s clothes with him. He groaned in frustration as his groin brushed against Dean’s. His dick, the damn traitor, decided it liked the idea as it slowly hardened.

“Shit! Really? Oh, come on, give a guy a break.”  John bit back a moan as Dean continued to writhe against him, trying to get warm and comfortable. The friction was sending sparks of arousal through his body. John put his hand on Dean’s hip in an attempt to stop him moving, to save his sanity and keep a grip on his weakening self-control.

Dean opened his eyes and looked at John with confusion. “How did we end up down here? Are you ‘snuggling’ me?”

John realized he was still stroking Dean’s back with his hand resting on the hunter’s hip. It looked a hell of a lot like snuggling. “Ahh, it’s not how it looks. You’d all but passed out, and before you face planted, I decided lying down was better. Then I tried to reach your jacket....”

Dean laughed. “Oh man, your face. It’s a picture. Don’t worry. I’ll let you feel my fevered forehead, and crush me to your manly chest if you want.” His laughter continued until his eyes watered, and his breath hitched.

John narrowed his eyes. So Dean wanted to play?  He was more than up to the challenge.  He lifted his hand off the hunter’s hip, and gently placed it on Dean’s cold cheek, caressing it. For a second Dean leant into the comforting warmth.  Then he focused sharply on John’s hazel eyes, silently asking what the hell was going on.

John smirked, knowing he had Dean’s full attention now. “Don’t worry. I’m just trying to get us warm.”  He bent his head closer, his lips almost touching Dean’s, warm breath flowing over the plush lips. His grin turned predatory when Dean’s tongue flicked out, and he licked his lips nervously. “The ladies have left us without painkillers, but I’m sure I can think of something to take your mind off your shoulder and bruises.” John slowly rolled his hips, grinding against the hunter.

“Guuhh. Shit, what are you doing?”  Dean panted, as he tried to ease out of John’s arms. Instead John pulled him closer; Dean finally realized it hadn’t been his thigh holster digging into his back before.

“Well, according to the great genius, Rodney McKay, a release of endorphins will help with the pain. You can run round the cell a little, or I can think of much more enjoyable way of increasing your heart rate to release them.”  John slowly ran his hand over Dean’s body, pausing over his heart.  He smiled at the way it was racing. “By the feel of it, it’s working already,” he said cockily.

Dean stopped struggling and stared at the man in front of him. The smug little smile, coupled with infuriating certainty he would back down.  Colonel John Sheppard was about to find out, playing with fire didn’t only get your fingers burned. Dean lowered his eyes, and shot him a look through his eyelashes.  It was a look guaranteed to get the phone number off any waitress or bartender in a five-mile radius.  By the look on John’s face, it worked on air force personnel too.

John swallowed hard, his breathing sped up and his eyes darkened. Dean upped the ante, sliding his tongue over his lips, making them wet. John’s breathing hitched when he did that, unable to take his eyes off Dean’s lips.

“Jesus.”  John breathed softly as Dean rocked sinuously against him.  John had had enough of playing; he dipped forward and placed his lips against Dean’s. He’d been right; those sinful-looking lips were every bit as soft and yielding as he’d hoped for.  For a second Dean tensed, and John waited for the punch to land.  He shivered, gave a small sigh and his lips parted, his tongue flicked over John’s lips.

John growled softly and kissed Dean with abandon, nibbling and sucking those tempting lips. His hand slid inside Dean’s shirt and gently caressed his body, offering a gentle reassuring pressure on bruised ribs. The two moved against one another, their dicks straining at their pants. It wasn’t enough for John; he wanted more from the man in his arms.  He wanted to see him come apart, knowing he would be gorgeous when he let go.

They pulled apart, panting. John looked at Dean; his face was flushed. His lips were red and swollen from the bruising kiss.  Eyes half closed and pupils dilated to a point, they almost swallowed the moss green of the iris. John rolled Dean onto his back and kissed along his jaw. He carried on, softly kissing Dean’s neck, fastening his lips on the pulse that beat rapidly beneath freckled skin. Dean whimpered as John’s hand skimmed lightly over his abs; he felt them quivering at John’s touch.

John reached the waistband of Dean’s jeans. He paused and lifted his head. “Do you want me to stop? I think that should be enough to kick start the endorphins.”  John panted. God, he didn’t want to stop; it was taking everything he had to ask that, but he wanted Dean to be on board with this.

Dean was breathing heavily; he could still feel the lingering touch of John’s chapped lips on his. Damn, the guy was talented; he looked into concerned hazel eyes.  He smirked. “Fuck. No way are you stopping.” He reached up with his right hand, tangled it in John’s black spiky hair and pulled the man down on top on him.  He grunted as the lean body crashed down onto his. He didn’t care about the pain, he wanted this. Fuck it, he needed this. 

John managed to stop most of his weight landing on Dean, taken by surprise with the raw passion of Dean’s response.  This had started out as a game of chicken. Now it was something else and the hunter was just as on board as he was.  He rubbed against Dean, their dicks grinding together, but it still wasn’t enough.  John fumbled desperately for the button on Dean’s jeans, muttering curses as he tried not to crush the injured man beneath him.

Dean’s hand curled over his, and soft lips grazed his ear. “Here, let me. Last time someone fumbled my zipper this badly, her name was Ellie. It was on the back seat of the Impala the night of my junior prom. And they let you fly spaceships?” He whispered to John, and nibbled at his ear.

Dean flicked open the button, and eased the zip down. He moaned with relief when the pressure was released off his aching dick.  With a deft touch he opened John’s pants. Dean slipped long fingers inside the fly, and stroked John’s dick through his dampening boxers, cupping the impressive hard on John was now sporting.

John’s head fell forward onto Dean’s right shoulder as the hunter massaged his dick with slow firm touches from tip to base.  John rutted against the hand in his pants, keening softly as Dean continued to torment him.

It was John’s turn to grab hold of Dean’s wrist as he lifted his head.  His dick throbbed as Dean gently squeezed it, a devilish smirk on his face. With a supreme effort, he managed to get himself under control; it was time for him to take charge of the situation.

“What’s the matter, Colonel? Don’t ya like what I’m doing?  Too many endorphins flying round for you to handle?”  John’s dick twitched as Dean spoke, the man’s deep husky voice an additional weapon in his arsenal of attraction.  Shit, no wonder the ladies had the hots for him; Dean should come with a health warning.

John smiled wickedly at him, and drawled, “Hell no, but I’m supposed to be giving you some relief. Can’t let the injured man do all the work now, can I? That’s not what we heroic types do.” He swooped down, and reclaimed Dean’s highly addictive lips.

He heard a whimper as he slid his hand inside Dean’s jeans, and returned the favour by fondling his dick. His thumb rubbed at the crown, feeling it twitch as the heady aroma of pre-come filled the air. Dean bucked up against his hand, a low whine spilling from him. He found his way into Dean’s boxers, and curled his hand around his cock. John took his time mapping out Dean’s mouth. Dean kissed back with passion, his tongue twining round John’s. He sucked gently on it, giving the colonel some idea of how talented Dean was with his mouth.

Finally they broke apart, panting, sharing each other’s breath. Dean’s eyes were glazed with lust. “Shit. Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” He grabbed John’s bicep tightly, begging with his eyes. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, not with the way John was stroking his dick and rutting against him.

John looked into his eyes. The cocky smirk was still there, although it was tinged with a little strain. “Oh, I ain’t stopping, but I think we need to see a little more skin.  Don’t you?” He let go of Dean’s dick, and ignored the moan of protest as he moved back and got to his knees.  He took his tattered T-shirt off, and pulled his pants and boxers down to his knees.

Dean stared up hungrily, taking in the sight of lean muscles and a damned impressive dick that stood proudly against John’s stomach.  His mouth watered, wanting to taste it, but John seemed to have other ideas.  He’d taken hold of his jeans and boxers and was slowly easing them downwards.  Dean was very happy to help; he wriggled his ass and lifted his hips off the floor.  He shivered when John grabbed his bare ass and squeezed it, his fingers brushing teasingly down the crack. The sensation made Dean clench his butt cheeks, and John laughed. “Bastard.”

John lowered himself on top of Dean, easing his T-shirt higher so he could feel as much of that smooth skin as possible. “That’s Colonel Bastard to you.” Once again John took possession of Dean’s lips, rolling his hips slowly as his dick rubbed against Dean’s.  The feel of skin on skin was electrifying, and the man in his arms shivered, and bucked upwards, chasing his orgasm.  John broke the kiss, turned his head and spat into his hand. “Sorry, no lube. Gonna be a little rough round the edges,” he said apologetically.

“I don’t mind a little rough round the edges. You gonna kiss my boo-boos better to help with my endorphin levels. Purely for medicinal purposes, of course.”  Dean grinned, winked, then gasped as John’s hand circled both dicks, and slowly began to pump them.

John felt it would be bad mannered to turn down an invitation to kiss Dean’s body. His hand moved a little faster, and he gently grazed the hunter’s ear with his teeth. He carried on peppering Dean’s smooth, lightly freckled skin with kisses.   With each kiss and flick of his wrist, Dean responded, his hips thrusting up as he fucked into John’s fist, biting at his lip.

“Come on, Dean, I want to hear you. I like to know my hard work is being appreciated.” John twisted his wrist, and Dean threw his head back and moaned loudly.  He gripped John’s shoulder tightly, blunt nails digging into skin.  John was going to have his own bruises from this little encounter, and he was more than happy to carry a reminder of his time with Dean.

He set a quicker rhythm as the way was eased a little with spit and pre-come.  It was just the right side of painful and John shuddered. Dean’s hips jerked faster as he matched the pace. The drag of skin on skin was exhilarating.

“Fuck. I...can’t....John....I gotta...please. I gotta come.”  Dean begged as his body shook.

John looked at him, and he’d been right. Dean was beautiful like this.  His face was flushed, lips parted and gleaming in the harsh light of the cell. John rolled his hips faster and twisted his wrist again. His thumb rubbing the head of Dean’s dick, he bent forward and sucked Dean’s ear lobe in between his lips. He bit down and Dean stiffened in his arms, crying out, shaking violently as he came.

As Dean’s dick pulsed in his hand and come shot over his abs, John ground down hard once more. Then he added to the mess on Dean’s stomach, coming harder than he had in a long time.  John managed to roll onto the side, before his arm gave out and he crushed Dean.  The two men lay wrapped round one another panting, aftershocks pulsing through them.

John was trembling and gasping for air. He felt as if he’d been chased the length of Atlantis by a starving Wraith. He took a deep breath and managed to push himself onto his elbow and looked at the hunter.  Dean lay there with his eyes closed, his lashes fluttering. His chest rose and fell rapidly then he turned his head to the side, and opened his eyes slowly. “I take it back. That was way better than Tylenol.” He gasped, then shivered as the freezing temperature of the cell seeped into his body.

John groaned as he sat up, reaching out for the tattered remains of his button down, balling it up and wiping himself down, before pulling his pants back up and fastening them. He turned his attention to Dean, gently cleaning his stomach off as best he could.  John rearranged his T-shirt and eased his jeans back up, redressing him as carefully as possible.  He didn’t want to jostle Dean too much, and start the pain in his shoulder off again.

John stood and stretched, feeling his back click and pop. He sighed and threw the ruined shirt into the corner of the cell. “Your sacrifice is appreciated,” he said wryly as it landed. He found his torn T-shirt and put it on.  It wasn’t much good with the piece missing, but it was better than nothing. He walked over to Dean’s jacket and picked it up; he contemplated retrieving his jacket from under the hunter’s head.  But had he a sneaky feeling the ladies were watching, and they’d probably like Dean using his jacket as a pillow. He was sure the cell wouldn’t get much colder now.

John sat back down beside Dean, gently rolling him onto his right side. The younger man stirred sleepily. “Wha’s up? Did I fall asleep? Sorry, man, mind-blowing orgasms tend to do that to me.  Do you need help trying to get us out of here?” He blinked up at John, his expression oddly innocent and vulnerable.

John shook his head as he covered them with the jacket, curling protectively around Dean.  He slipped his arm round the hunter’s waist, pulling him against his chest, just to share the warmth from his body, of course. 

Dean grumbled slightly as he fought against the pull of sleep. “How come I’m the little spoon?  We should be trying to break out and find the others, not laying here snuggling.”  Dean tried to untangle himself from John’s arms.   John just held tight until the fight drained away.

John smiled as Dean’s weak struggles slowly subsided; he felt protective of the hunter. He got the impression a lot of people felt like that around the contradictory man, a warrior with a softer a side especially where his brother was concerned. The swaggering confident lady killer, who now lay in his arms, desperate to feel a comforting touch. He smiled softly and kissed the shell of Dean’s ear. “You know why you’re the little spoon? It’s because you’re adorable.  Now get some sleep, then you and I are busting out of here. We’re gonna find our families. Sleep tight, Dean.” John put his head down and held Dean, as he finally relaxed and was soon asleep.  He yawned and closed his eyes, letting himself slowly drift away.  As he slipped towards sleep, he was sure he heard the click of keys as someone typed.

In the next room, two women sat glued to a large flat screen T.V.  The Dean Girl was trying to type while staring at the screen. Her friend, the John Girl was sat beside her, balancing precariously on the back legs of her chair. Holding a large bowl of popcorn in her lap, it sat forgotten as she stared open mouthed at the screen.  “Holy shit. I knew your boy was a man slut, but going for John like that? Who knew?”  She turned, grinned at her friend, and held out her hand.  “Come on, pay up. You lost the bet fair and square.” 

The Dean girl put the keyboard down, and took off her glasses. Unsurprisingly they’d steamed up, and she cleaned them absently, using the ski mask that was kept for disguise, in case of unavoidable hottie contact.  She shot her friend a sour look, and saw the triumphant grin on her face. For a fleeting moment she considered tipping her friend’s chair over. Then she dismissed the idea.

Fan girls stuck together.  Especially if there was any danger of being confronted by some of the hot men they tortured on a regular basis. It had already happened once, and her lips tingled with the memory of Dean’s distraction technique. She had a feeling Ronon wouldn’t be the type to kiss his way out of danger.

The Dean girl huffed. “I didn’t see your darling colonel trying to beat Dean off with a stick. It seems Dean wasn’t the only slutty guy in the room.” She reached for her handbag, and rummaged around its cavernous interior for her purse.

“You sure that bag of yours isn’t a Tardis? Bigger on the inside, so you can’t find your purse and pay up? I told you John was irresistible. I gotta admit your boy bleeds very prettily and other things.” She smiled happily as her friend produced her wallet, and handed her a twenty-pound note. “Hey, what the hell is this?”  The John Girl waved the money, glaring at it.

“That’s the money I owe you.  What’s wrong now?” she said in a disgruntled tone.

“I said twenty dollars. Dollars!  Remember I’m from New Zealand. I can’t spend this toy town money back home!” The John girl flapped the note at her friend.

“Hey, that’s twenty pounds sterling. Coin of the realm. There is nothing wrong with my cash. Alright, give it back here, and I’ll send it Paypal.”  She grabbed the money back off her smug friend, and looked thoughtfully at the screen. “It’s a shame. I should’ve written some lube and condoms into Dean’s jacket. I missed my chance there.” She went to pick up the keyboard.

Her friend shook her head. “Naw. John would never take advantage like that, well not for a day or two at least.  By then the cavalry would’ve arrived. Trust me, you don’t want to meet Ronon Dex when he’s pissed. Or Rodney McKay, for that matter. Rodney fights dirty.” She dug into the popcorn, and offered some to her friend who took a handful.

“God, no. Or worse, Sam teaming up with Ronon and Rodney. Sam’s still not forgiven me for the incident with the whip. We’d be lucky to make the portal with everything attached. I kind of like my legs unbroken.”  She smiled shyly at her friend. “Do you think we can do this again someday? I’d like those two to meet up again. Then I can write some lube into the story somewhere, and see what they get up to. What about if I write it into one of the pockets in John’s military pant thingies?”

“Military pant thingies? BDUs. They’re called BDUs. Hell. We should do that. After all, there are Stargates everywhere. And your boys have taken the odd trip through different dimensions from time to time. Right?”  She flipped a piece of popcorn high in the air, and caught it in her mouth, continuing to rock her chair back and forth, watching the men sleep.

The Dean girl smiled happily. “There are plenty of angels out there who could zap them into the Pegasus galaxy.”  She looked down, her fingers hovering over the keys. “Hey? Are there any planets in the Pegasus galaxy that have slavery?  I think Dean would look lovely in nothing but a loin cloth and chains.  I’m sure he’d be very grateful to John when he rescues him. Plus, Sam and Ronon could figure out which one them is the biggest alpha male.”

There was a crash beside her as her friend over balanced, ending up on her back covered in popcorn.  She gazed dazedly at the ceiling and gibbered softly.  The Dean girl smirked, and began to type furiously. “Oh good. I’ll take that as a yes then.”



 
 
 
Current Location: The Office
Current Mood: nervousnervous
Current Music: none
 
 
 
Somersomer on October 19th, 2013 06:57 pm (UTC)
HAHA!!! This was fucking brilliant and everything so very true!!! AND I THINK I DON'T NEED TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THE HURT AND THE COMFORT AND THE SNUGGLING AND THE SPOONING AND THE BATTERED DEAN PART, RIIIIGHT??? Loved it :D
sasha_dragonsasha_dragon on October 20th, 2013 05:56 pm (UTC)
*Hugs* Thank you so much for commenting, I thought this poor little fic was going to be left all on it's own *G*

So you liked it then? There can never be enough battered Dean out there. Now it seems he might have a new playmate to offer him comfort *G*
(Anonymous) on October 20th, 2013 10:46 am (UTC)
I LOVE it . PLEASE Write a sequel. I LOVE John/dean Stories :)
sasha_dragonsasha_dragon on October 20th, 2013 05:57 pm (UTC)
Thank you, who knows when those two might meet up again one day? It was a lot of fun writing this, it may happen you never know.