κάτι τρέχει στα γύφτικα (_inbetween_) wrote,
κάτι τρέχει στα γύφτικα

SGA fic {The Side Sleeper Wins Tonight} (1000+ words, NC-17)

The Side Sleeper Wins Tonight

It was a good thing John liked to sleep on his back, since that turned him into the best side sleeper's pillow in the world. Rather than having to make do with his own pillow (too small) or rolled up blankets (too thin, plus leaving his backside bare in the cool Frisco nights), Cam could just lie on his left/right, press his chest against John's side, and fall asleep in his preferred position without freezing or rolling over into a spine-cramping huddle.

Cam wasn't yet ready to go as far as to put his head onto John's chest; it was a very nice chest, but still a rather hard surface, and he'd have to move further down the mattress, with either his feet sticking out or his legs bent ... and it felt toogirly anyway. Since John's arm fell asleep under the weight of Cam's head - which lead to sudden screams of pain as it cramped up and general grumpiness - it often came to lay between them, but their new sleeping arrangements were still great.

Morning wood could be rubbed out in all sorts of pleasant ways; one of their hands was bound to be conveniently placed to wrap around the others erection. At times, Cam would languidly rub himself against John's hips, both of them half-asleep, their bodies touching along their full length, savouring the glide of skin along their thighs, the bump of knee and hip bones, and lovely, lovely friction. Or he would throw not only his arm but also his leg across John, whose cock then found purchase against it, thrusting into the narrow the angle created by Cam's bent knee, leaking a faint trail against Cam's skin which made him shiver and grow hard himself.

This time, as Cam woke with his cheek pressed against a firm warm pectoral, John seemed to still be under; his breathing was slow and deep, just below a snore. Cam remained still for a while, watching his own breath move the hair on John's chest in the dim light, little dark whorls against a tan background. John's even breath raised and lowered his chest, and Cam resting across it, moving them both in a timeless, gentle rhythm. Cam felt content and aroused in equal parts, until both emotions caused him to wrap his arm a little tighter around John's chest, and move his leg lightly up and down across John's belly and abdomen, clumsily caressing soft flesh and jutting bone.

Arousal soon got the upper hand. John's skin was sleep-warmed, the sweat in the creases of his flesh smelling of the night rather than stress, and Cam wanted to hump him into the mattress. He pressed a kiss to the smooth skin of the shoulder he seemed to have slept on (surprisingly well), then levered himself on top of John, a knee on each side of his slim hips, supporting himself on his elbows. John mumbled something, smacked his lips a couple of times, and resumed to not-snore.

Cam's body was raised high enough not to squash John, but low enough for them to touch in places. Nice places. Interesting places. He lowered his torso a little further and slowly moved it up and down, level with John's. In the more boring of his wasted nights, he'd noticed the move was a popular exercise in those fitness classes on late night TV, but it was certainly more enjoyable with a naked man underneath, especially if that man happened to be somebody one ... liked.

Their chest hair touched so faintly, light brown feathering across greying black, that it barely tickled; yet the sensation teased Cam intensely, the feeling growing into a sensation of urgency, of close to painful need, which made his nipples tighten. He tried to circle them around John's, not an easy endeavour since theirs weren't spaced equidistant. Frowning, Cam concentrated on just one nipple, and was rewarded with the faint pebbling of John's darker skin, and an even more satisfying reaction nudging against his buttocks.

John's lips had parted, but his eyes remained closed. Cam smiled down at the newly familiar face, bent his head to brush a kiss at that firm jawbone, then another at the crease where John's arm was pressed against his chest. His gaze fell on the tube of lube beside the bed. There it lay on the floor, looking neat and neutral, sensibly closed like such a necessary, valuable commodity should be. He only had to reach out a hand, flip open the cap with his thumb, do a smart finger flip (perfecting that pencil trick had paid off) and squeeze a large amount into his palm ...

A few heartbeats later, Cam dropped the tube rather more messily than he'd found it. He twisted his torso a bit, his arm reaching backwards to apply lube to himself, and if the tip of his tongue was poking out between his lip for balance there was nobody to see. Once again, all that physical training paid off and Cam easily supported himself on his left arm, chest raised high now as he groped for John.

It is the nature of erections, delightful as they are, to bob about a bit. Cam fumbled blindly, John's cock eluding the grasp of his greasy hand, but in the end he got a hold of it. He stroked the warm stiffness, both to cover it with lube and for the simple sensual pleasure that always gave him, before placing its head against his rear. It took only a little more fumbling until it was gripped firmly by his sphincter, and with a small huff of triumph Cam clenched his buttocks around it for good measure.

"Are you quite finished?"

Cam whipped around. John would have pulled off sardonic better if his voice hadn't had that early-morning croak to it, and if his raised eyebrow of cool hadn't been paired with dilated pupils. Cam eyed him speculatively, taking in the faint flush in John's high cheekbones, the way his mouth curved and his Adam's apple moved. Then he smiled and - lower lip between his teeth - slowly sunk backwards, pushing against the cock head at his asshole at the same time.

His smug firmly in place as he savoured that sweet glide of John sliding inside him, Cam finally replied, "Just getting started."


Note: It was a conscious effort to leave out all the irresistible rhymes and bad puns and descriptions and phrases that are by now cliché markers of John, a restriction on adjectives and mentions of obviously messy hair. It was a subconscious urge to make the title a pun to a song - yet again, because my head is a jukebox, and most every word triggers an associated line - and I only realise now that "The Sidewinder Sleeps Tonite" was only what R.E.M. wrote on the record, while they and everyone else always sang "The Lion Sleeps Tonight". Hence the pun on "side sleeper windning" that my treacherous brain insisted on is even more obscure than usual.
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