Summary: Jim doesn't really buy it.
Fandom: Star Trek (2009)/Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 634
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, complete lack of plot
Pairing: Jim Kirk/John Sheppard
A/N: For Porn Battle VIII, because I was gonna write something for it if it damn killed me. Writer's block is still... blocky. Also, this is my first Star Trek fic. I'm so ashamed, only not really.
"I never see these things coming," John says, as Jim pushes him down into the bed.
Jim stops dead at that, bracing himself with one arm so that he can look down at John. "Oh, come on."
"What?" John asks, distracted by tracing his hands up Jim's sides.
"Do people actually buy that line from you?"
John looks perfectly innocent- as innocent as a naked guy who's in bed with another man can look, anyway. "Why shouldn't they?"
"For starters? Nobody goes out with hair like that unless they're trying to get laid."
John glances up, as if he can see his own follicles if he rolls his eyes up far enough. "What's wrong with it?"
"Oh, nothing wrong with it at all," Jim says, lacing both his hands through it, his short nails scratching pleasantly against John's scalp. "It's just that this hair absolutely screams fuck me quick."
"It does that on its own," John replies, shrugging in mock indifference.
Jim's smile is positively wicked. "I'll just bet." He shifts a little, his knees close in against John's thighs. "These hips, too. These have to be intentional."
John thrusts up a little, getting only a taste of friction before Jim moves away, teasing him. "You're not suggesting I style my hips before I go out, are you?"
"I wouldn't put it past you," he says, planting both his hands on John's waist. "But I'm talking about the way you slink around."
"I definitely don't slink," John protests.
"You absolutely slink. For a man, your hips are positively, one hundred percent slinky, and you know how to use them." He grinds down suddenly, hard, making John gasp and shudder underneath him. "You don't just see it coming," he says, his voice still playful even when it's a little hoarse with lust. "You make it happen."
Jim makes the mistake of easing up, taking a little of his weight off John's thighs; John takes the opening, flipping him easily and leaning down over him, his knees holding Jim's thighs wide open.
"I've gotta admit," John says, his breath close and hot against Jim's ear. "Sometimes, I kinda do."
Jim just laughs when John sinks his teeth into his throat, loud and pleased, hitching his legs up around John's waist. He reaches out blindly, fumbling on the nightstand for the lube and slapping it into John's waiting hand.
John doesn't fuck around about it, getting him nice and slick and then just pressing inside, hot and tight and just how he wanted. He's bigger than Jim expected, and damned if he doesn't know how to use it. John gives it to him hard and fast, almost like he's got something to prove- which, if Jim's being honest, was half the point of teasing him so much to start with. Jim can't get much leverage, so he just digs his heels in and lets John ride, working himself with long, lazy strokes.
John comes first, which is sort of disappointing; but he doesn't waste any time in moving down and getting his mouth around Jim's cock. And that's just cruel, because he comes so fast he only really has time to register that John gives head like a goddamn pro- not as in "like a prostitute", but as in "like the gold medal winner at the International Cocksucker Olympics" or something.
Jim's not great at similes when he's fucking.
"You should really drop the whole innocent routine," Jim tells him once he's caught his breath. "Experienced and hot looks much better on you."
John stretches out beside him, his hands behind his head. "If you start acting like you know what you're doing, people expect you do to all the work," he replies easily. "I'm far too lazy for that."
Jim thinks maybe he's found his soulmate.