Genres: Established Relationship, Hurt Comfort, PWP - Plot, What Plot?, Vignette
Summary: John knows he's disobeyed.
John Sheppard walked slowly and painfully through the corridors of Atlantis, the darkened passages lighting only enough to let him see where he was going and falling again into pitch blackness behind him. It was what his mind was telling the mighty city that he wanted, and it complied.
The briefing had been longer than he had intended it to be, but then Rodney McKay was on overdrive, excited and frightened by the Leynar attack. It had taken John as long to calm his team-mate down as it had to tell Weir of what had transpired on the planet.
Another planet, he mused. Another planet, another hostile civilisation, another dash for their fucking lives. What he wanted, what he needed, was to step into a hot shower and allow it to wash the day's events away. Then he could sleep.
Lifting his head, he found himself outside his quarters. The door slid quietly open and he stepped into the dark quiet of his sanctuary. When the door shut behind him he shivered and slid back against it, closing his eyes. He dropped his pack to the floor and winced in pain in the process. He knew he should have gone to the infirmary--the gash on his arm was deep, as was the cut down the left side of his neck--but both had clotted, and he just wanted to rest. He just wanted to get clean and rest.
"Tha thu ann gràdh. You should have gone to the infirmary." The voice came out of the darkness, and John's eyes sprang open. He peered into the dark of the room, trying to focus on the direction of the sound.
"I'm sorry. I'm so tired--I just wanted to get clean and go to bed." He inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the feeling of trepidation that had settled in his chest. "Forgive me," he said quietly, his eyes now accustomed to the dim light and settling on the figure sitting by his bed.
"I don't take kindly to my orders being disobeyed, gràdh, and you know that. You know the consequences that disobedience brings."
John closed his eyes, feeling his heart sink. "Yes Master." God, he was so tired.
Master. The word was always difficult for John to say.
And the Master knew this, of course, because the Master knew everything about the soldier--and man--that was John Sheppard. But he insisted that this was the way that John would address him. He would not be yet another person who John would address as 'Sir,' because he was more than that, more than a military superior. He was John's keeper.
"John?" the voice, although gentle in accent was sharper in tone. "Down. Now. Are you so tired that you would be disrespectful?"
"No, Master." John sank to his knees and waited, head bowed.
The figure made his way towards him and came to a halt directly in front of him.
"You are filthy, I'll give you that. Strip but stay down, John. You will not rise until I say you may."
John slowly and awkwardly began to remove his clothes. His arm hurt like hell and peeling off the jacket caused the wound to open again and bleed freely. He felt the trickle of blood run down his arm to his fingers but he made no sound.
Carefully, he opened his pants and balanced himself on the floor. He used his good arm to take his weight as he lifted each leg in turn, enabling him to remove his trousers.
The cut on his neck had also no opened, and a trickle of blood ran down over his pale chest. John knelt, head bowed in submission, naked and shivering from pain and the overwhelming tiredness.
"Stand. Get yourself into the shower now, and once you're cleaned up, come to me."
John slowly and painfully got to his feet and made his way towards the bathroom. The door slid quietly closed behind him and he was alone. Quickly he turned on the water, making it as hot as he could bear, and then he stepped into the cubical. Trails of blood mixed with dirt worked their way down his legs and swirled under his feet.
He turned his head into the spray and closed his eyes, feeling warm for the first time in hours. Slowly, he washed himself. Slowly, carefully, deliberately, he pulled back his foreskin and washed round the head of his flaccid cock. The fingers of his good arm, lathered with soap, made their way to his ass and he washed himself thoroughly, dipping his fingers inside the tight ring of muscle and stretching himself just a little.
Stepping out of the cubical, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then made his way into his bedroom.
His voice was practically a whisper. He knew he shouldn't speak, but the turmoil inside was consuming him.
"Master, I know I should have gone to the infirmary. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He sank to his knees, aware that the towel around him was now stained with bright streaks of red.
"Here, give me your arm." Soft wads of cotton wool mopped up the blood from the cut and once it was dry it was covered by gauze and a bandage. "It will leave a nasty scar," his Master said quietly.
"Lift your head." John lifted his head and met his Master's gaze full on. There was concern there. Concern and disappointment, and it cut John like the Leynar knife that had caught his neck.
He winced and pulled back a little as a pungent antiseptic ointment was rubbed into the wound, then covered by another gauze dressing.
His Master moved to the bottom of the bed and sat down. "Come to me, gràdh, come pleasure your Master."
John crawled forward on his hands and knees, allowing the towel to fall to the floor as he did so. He came to rest between his Master's legs and sat back on his heels, looking up into his Master's eyes.
He was fighting exhaustion, but it didn't matter where this man was concerned. "Please, Master, may I?"
There was a gentle sigh and a nod from the man seated in front of him. "Suck me, John."
John leaned forward and gently released his Master's cock from the confines of his trousers. His Master was hard, his cock thick and weeping and John thought, I do this for him. He took his Master into his mouth and worked the thick shaft with his lips, reveling in his taste and soothed by the gentle sounds his Master was making.
He worshiped the head of his Master's cock with his tongue, licking and caressing and kissing it over and over. This was all that mattered: the here and now and the sound and smell and taste of his Master.
He worked his lips up and down his Master's shaft, never touching him with his hands, using only his mouth to bring the man pleasure. He knew when his Master was close, he could tell by the hitch in his breathing-- it was a little less controlled and his body was a little tenser, but he would wait until he had been given permission before he would increase the suction that would make the man come.
He felt fingers entwine through his wet hair and pull him nearer to his Master's groin.
"Finish it." John closed his eyes and bent his head forward, taking his Master into his mouth as far as he could. He could feel the blunt head of his Master's cock hit against the back of his throat and he could taste the pre-come as it seeped into his mouth.
He closed his throat as much as he could around the throbbing organ and sucked him deeper. Minutes later he was rewarded as his Master growled low and bucked himself forward into John's mouth, shooting his salty seed down John's willing throat.
John knelt where he was until his Master had composed himself.
"Come up here." John got to his feet and moved to stand beside his Master. "Take your position."
John cringed inside, but made his way nonetheless over his Master's knee. This was his punishment for not going to the infirmary, for not letting his Master know he had been hurt. He was so tired, his body ached and his wounds stung and he knew that one word would stop what was about to happen, but John would never use that word.
A hand came down and gently rubbed the small of John's back. "Open your legs, Love, just a wee bit." John complied. He wasn't sure what his Master had decided would be punishment enough for his disobedience, but the sooner it was over the sooner they could move on. This was the way it was between them.
A hard slap came down on his ass, and John bit his lip and closed his eyes. He waited for the next swat, but it didn't come. What he felt instead was a slicked finger slip deep inside him. He sighed at the gentle caressing inside the tight passage, and for the first time his cock began to swell.
The gentle ministrations continued--probing and stretching, occasionally hitting that sweet spot which brought so much pleasure.
John ached now in a completely different way. His mind was oblivious to anything else going on around him. All the events of the day had been forgotten. Even the pain caused by his wounds had taken on a new sensation.
Quiet sobs of need escaped John's lips, and a hand came up again, gently rubbing his back to calm him.
"That's it, Love. The day is past now. You're home, you're safe, and I have you. Rest now." The fingers inside him were removed.
John whimpered as the cock ring was slipped over his now-aching shaft, and the leather straps were tied round his balls. He knew what his punishment was. His Master would not spank him, but he would not let him go unpunished either, because John had broken the rules.
Two fingers pushed their way back into John's ass and rubbed his prostate, causing him to buck and whimper on his Master's knee. "Shh, Love. You need this." John whimpered again as the stroking stopped, and winced as a blunt butt plug was slid into his ass.
Carson Beckett helped John off of his knee and put his arms around him, guiding him to the head of the bed. He pulled back the covers and helped John in, noting that there was slight staining to the bandage on John's arm. The wound should have been stitched. John should have known to come to him as soon as he was through the gate, but he had waited to long.
Carson shucked out of his own clothes and climbed in beside John, pulling him into his arms. He hated to punish him, he hated how it made him feel, but at the moment it was what John needed. He needed to know he was not a worthless commodity and that he had to look after himself. He needed to be able to switch off from the day's events. He needed to spend time with his Master now that his mistress, Atlantis, had made her use of him.
"I won't leave you too long, love," Carson soothed. "I know your cock is aching. I know you're tired. Concentrate on what you feel and let the day leave your mind. I'm here with you but you need this. Am bheil thu ga mo thuigsinn?"
John closed his eyes, feeling the burn in his ass and the tightness round his cock. He felt the heat from his Master's body, and his breath on his skin, and the love in his voice, and he felt alive.
Tha thu ann / there you are
Gràdh / love
Am bheil thu ga mo thuigsinn? / do you understand?