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beansideTitle: Things that Go Bump 1/1
Pairing: John Winchester/Julian Sark
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: I don't own either character, this is purely written for entertainment--primarily my own.
Author's Note: Yes, I know I'm on crack. But come on--it'd be a damned pretty mental image.
For such a cheap motel, the Scottish Inn had good water pressure, John had to admit, letting the hot water beat down on his shoulders.
Christ, he was getting too old for this. Fucking goatsuckers. Bred like goddamned rabbits, so you never knew whether you were going to find one or six.
He hissed as the water hit the still-bloody cut on his forearm. Six, he thought tiredly, was just too fucking much. He lifted his arm slowly, feeling the ache and pull of the shoulder. Yeah, that was going to suck tomorrow. At least it was his left.
He reached back, grabbing the little bottle of shampoo and stuck his head under the spray. Was a bitch to lather one handed, but if he didn’t get the blood off while it was wet, he’d be itching for a week. John really hated goatsuckers.
He grabbed the coarse soap, rubbing it roughly over the gash, cursing softly at the pain. It wasn’t too deep. A few butterflies would hold it together to heal. Maybe he’d pick up some new-skin.
Then he started running it over the rest of his body, washing away the sickly smell of sweat and chupacabra blood. The clothes were a loss. Which was a shame. He’d liked those jeans.
His hand slid over his stomach, washing his cock with quick, efficient motions. Apparently, it didn’t agree with business as usual, stirring to life at the touch. John closed his eyes, letting his hand curl around it, shivering at the wash of pleasure. It had been awhile, he guessed. Since that waitress in Tulsa, which was…well, a while ago.
Better to take care of his body’s needs now, he decided. He was supposed to meet up with someone tomorrow about procuring some weaponry. Sometimes, the shotgun just wasn’t enough, John thought ruefully, looking at the bloody furrow on his arm..
A soft sound made his eyes snap open, hands reaching for the gun he’d laid on the towel rack. Shit. There was someone or something in his room. Not bothering to grab a towel, he sidled to the door, surveying the room through the crack. One intruder, on the bed.
Gun leveled at the figure, John stepped out of the bathroom. “You have exactly two seconds to explain why I shouldn’t shoot you,” he growled, staring at the immaculately dressed blond man on the bed.
“Of course, Mr. Winchester,” the man murmured, lips curving in a smile as his eyes slid down John’s body. “We’ve spoken on the phone.”
John didn’t lower the gun, fighting a wayward shiver as those eyes drifted lower, taking in his hard cock. “And you are?”
“Julian Sark. At your service.”
Shit. John lowered the gun, sighing. “Good way to get yourself killed, boy. Our meeting’s not for seven hours.”
“Of course,” Sark came off the bed, all liquid grace, moving to stand in front of John. “And I’ll certainly come back then, if you’d like. But honestly, John, you’re a bit of a wild card. You can’t blame my employers for wanting to make sure that you were on the up and up.” He took another step closer, until they were practically touching, until John could feel the heat of Sark’s body on his suddenly very interested cock.
This was a bad idea, John reminded himself. You did not fuck your contacts, especially not relatively unknown ones. But goddamn, it had been too long.. John shrugged, sitting the gun on the dresser. “And what did you find?” he asked idly.
“Twenty three years ago, your wife died in a house fire. After that, you barely exist as far as a paper trail goes. Your sons show up in school records, moving from place to place. Then, four years ago, when your youngest graduates, you just disappear.”
John sits in the room’s lone chair. “Is that so?”
Sark tilted his head, blue eyes curious. “You’re not a terrorist, but where you go, chaos follows.”
John’s lips curled in a lazy smile. “That’s me.”
“Indeed.”
“Anything else?”
“My employers are concerned. They feel that selling to an obvious loose cannon could be detrimental to their continued well being.” Sark smirked.
“Oh really,” John growled. “Funny, they seemed pretty comfortable last time I talked to them.”
Sark shrugged. “Things change.”
John glared. “I don’t like being jerked around.”
Without answering, Sark walked over to stand in front of John again and slowly sank to his knees in front of the older man.
“Like that, then,” John purred, letting his voice drop. This was seriously fucked up, he thought idly. Then again, what part of his life wasn’t?
“Oh yes, definitely like that,” Sark murmured, leaning forward.
John closed his eyes, shuddering at the first lap of Sark’s tongue along the underside of his cock, hand coming up to slide through that fine blond hair, urging him on. Sark obliged, opening his mouth, sliding down slowly, tongue flickering lightly along the underside.
John’s fingers tightened, and he felt Sark shudder, a low, guttural moan against his skin. “You like that?” John growled. “Like it rough?”
Another low moan, and John jerked Sark’s head back, baring his teeth at the younger man. “I asked a question, Julian.”
Sark blinked, a shiver running down his spine. “I-“
“I think you do,” John purred, coming to his feet, pulling Sark up as well. He stalked forward, until he pressed the other man against the wall. “I think this-“ John rolled his hips, pressing against Sark, feeling his hips jerk in response. “-is what you came for.”
“I assure you-“ Sark began, voice thready.
“Shut up.” John stepped back, other hand sliding down Sark’s expensive shirt, then lower, cupping him through the slick material of his pants.
Sark’s hips bucked forward, into the touch, and John purred. “Yeah, that’s what you want.” He quickly undid the pants and shoved them down. “Going to fuck you, Julian,” he growled. “Bend you over the dresser, take you like a bitch in heat.”
Blue eyes squeezed shut on a low moan, a shudder sliding down Sark’s body.
“Get over there,” John growled, giving him a little shove towards the dresser. Without looking to see that he obeyed, John went to the nightstand and grabbed a condom and lube. He turned back, not surprised to find Sark in position, bent over the dresser.
“You won’t need the lubricant,” Sark said softly. “I prefer it dry.”
With a shrug, John tossed the lube back, ripping open the condom and sliding it on. “Whatever works for you.” He eyed the other man for a moment. “Get yourself ready for me,” he growled. “Spit and fingers.”
Shivering, Sark’s hand slid back, stroking himself slowly, working two fingers in, hips moving into the touches.
John moved closer, running blunt nails up the back of Sark’s thigh, bending to press his teeth against the nape of the younger man’s neck. “Do you like that? Me watching you, knowing that it’s going to be my cock in you in a minute?”
Sark shook his head wildly, breath hitching, and John grabbed his hair, pulling his head back with a jerk.
“What was that?” John asked, voice dangerously low.
“Yes,” Julian whimpered, hips twitching.
“Good.” John let go and slid behind Sark, his fingers digging into the younger man’s hips as he lined himself up, slowly pressing forward. The tight heat sent a shot of pleasure straight to his balls, made him shiver and still for a moment.
Sark shuddered, biting his lip as John filled him slowly, inexorably. A glance up at the mirror showed John doing the same, teeth sunk into his lower lip, face intent.
After a long moment, John settled himself, and began to move, breath hissing out as Sark arched back, pressing into the thrust.
He bent, using his weight to hold the smaller man still, hand sliding around to run a callused finger over the head of Sark’s cock. John’s breath caught as Sark jerked in response. “Yeah,” he hissed. “Going to fuck this pretty ass of yours so hard.”
Sark moaned, and John started to move in earnest, leaning into the thrusts, putting weight and temper behind them. Sark certainly wasn’t objecting, hips moving, soft moans and strangled whimpers sliding out with each press of John’s cock.
John closed his eyes, feeling the orgasm starting in his stomach, balls tightening. Then, he slammed into the smaller man hard, growling as he shuddered, teeth finding purchase in Sark’s shoulder. His hand curled around Sark’s cock, jacking him roughly until the lean body under him stiffened, and he felt the rush of warmth on his hand, the spasms around his cock drawing an aftershock of pleasure through him.
John stayed like that for a moment, steadying his breathing, then carefully moved back, sliding out of Sark, drawing a soft moan from the other man. Smirking, he ran a surprisingly gentle hand down the younger man’s hip. “Bathroom’s yours, if you need it.”
Sark stood slowly, stretching before turning to glance at John. “Thank you. I’ll only be a moment,” he murmured, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.
John grabbed a handful of tissues and cleaned up, tossing the condom into the trashcan with a grimace. Glancing at the bathroom door, he slid on a pair of jeans, sliding the gun into the waistband at the small of his back, and settled down to wait.
Sark stepped out a few minutes later, clothes and hair immaculate once again. “I believe the agreed upon price was five thousand.”
“When I see the merchandise,” John said reasonably.
Sark’s lip curled into a smirk, and John could see the small cut where he’d bitten too hard. “Lift the comforter on your side.”
John slid his foot under it and lifted. He nodded. “In the top dresser drawer, blue bag.”
Sark opened in, pulling out the small duffel. He didn’t glance inside. “A pleasure to do business with you, John.” He flashed a practiced smile.
“You too,” John murmured. “And Julian?”
“Yes?”
“You ever break into my room again, I’ll shoot you.”
The smile widened, becoming genuine for a moment. “I’ll remember that.”
Pairing: John Winchester/Julian Sark
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: I don't own either character, this is purely written for entertainment--primarily my own.
Author's Note: Yes, I know I'm on crack. But come on--it'd be a damned pretty mental image.
For such a cheap motel, the Scottish Inn had good water pressure, John had to admit, letting the hot water beat down on his shoulders.
Christ, he was getting too old for this. Fucking goatsuckers. Bred like goddamned rabbits, so you never knew whether you were going to find one or six.
He hissed as the water hit the still-bloody cut on his forearm. Six, he thought tiredly, was just too fucking much. He lifted his arm slowly, feeling the ache and pull of the shoulder. Yeah, that was going to suck tomorrow. At least it was his left.
He reached back, grabbing the little bottle of shampoo and stuck his head under the spray. Was a bitch to lather one handed, but if he didn’t get the blood off while it was wet, he’d be itching for a week. John really hated goatsuckers.
He grabbed the coarse soap, rubbing it roughly over the gash, cursing softly at the pain. It wasn’t too deep. A few butterflies would hold it together to heal. Maybe he’d pick up some new-skin.
Then he started running it over the rest of his body, washing away the sickly smell of sweat and chupacabra blood. The clothes were a loss. Which was a shame. He’d liked those jeans.
His hand slid over his stomach, washing his cock with quick, efficient motions. Apparently, it didn’t agree with business as usual, stirring to life at the touch. John closed his eyes, letting his hand curl around it, shivering at the wash of pleasure. It had been awhile, he guessed. Since that waitress in Tulsa, which was…well, a while ago.
Better to take care of his body’s needs now, he decided. He was supposed to meet up with someone tomorrow about procuring some weaponry. Sometimes, the shotgun just wasn’t enough, John thought ruefully, looking at the bloody furrow on his arm..
A soft sound made his eyes snap open, hands reaching for the gun he’d laid on the towel rack. Shit. There was someone or something in his room. Not bothering to grab a towel, he sidled to the door, surveying the room through the crack. One intruder, on the bed.
Gun leveled at the figure, John stepped out of the bathroom. “You have exactly two seconds to explain why I shouldn’t shoot you,” he growled, staring at the immaculately dressed blond man on the bed.
“Of course, Mr. Winchester,” the man murmured, lips curving in a smile as his eyes slid down John’s body. “We’ve spoken on the phone.”
John didn’t lower the gun, fighting a wayward shiver as those eyes drifted lower, taking in his hard cock. “And you are?”
“Julian Sark. At your service.”
Shit. John lowered the gun, sighing. “Good way to get yourself killed, boy. Our meeting’s not for seven hours.”
“Of course,” Sark came off the bed, all liquid grace, moving to stand in front of John. “And I’ll certainly come back then, if you’d like. But honestly, John, you’re a bit of a wild card. You can’t blame my employers for wanting to make sure that you were on the up and up.” He took another step closer, until they were practically touching, until John could feel the heat of Sark’s body on his suddenly very interested cock.
This was a bad idea, John reminded himself. You did not fuck your contacts, especially not relatively unknown ones. But goddamn, it had been too long.. John shrugged, sitting the gun on the dresser. “And what did you find?” he asked idly.
“Twenty three years ago, your wife died in a house fire. After that, you barely exist as far as a paper trail goes. Your sons show up in school records, moving from place to place. Then, four years ago, when your youngest graduates, you just disappear.”
John sits in the room’s lone chair. “Is that so?”
Sark tilted his head, blue eyes curious. “You’re not a terrorist, but where you go, chaos follows.”
John’s lips curled in a lazy smile. “That’s me.”
“Indeed.”
“Anything else?”
“My employers are concerned. They feel that selling to an obvious loose cannon could be detrimental to their continued well being.” Sark smirked.
“Oh really,” John growled. “Funny, they seemed pretty comfortable last time I talked to them.”
Sark shrugged. “Things change.”
John glared. “I don’t like being jerked around.”
Without answering, Sark walked over to stand in front of John again and slowly sank to his knees in front of the older man.
“Like that, then,” John purred, letting his voice drop. This was seriously fucked up, he thought idly. Then again, what part of his life wasn’t?
“Oh yes, definitely like that,” Sark murmured, leaning forward.
John closed his eyes, shuddering at the first lap of Sark’s tongue along the underside of his cock, hand coming up to slide through that fine blond hair, urging him on. Sark obliged, opening his mouth, sliding down slowly, tongue flickering lightly along the underside.
John’s fingers tightened, and he felt Sark shudder, a low, guttural moan against his skin. “You like that?” John growled. “Like it rough?”
Another low moan, and John jerked Sark’s head back, baring his teeth at the younger man. “I asked a question, Julian.”
Sark blinked, a shiver running down his spine. “I-“
“I think you do,” John purred, coming to his feet, pulling Sark up as well. He stalked forward, until he pressed the other man against the wall. “I think this-“ John rolled his hips, pressing against Sark, feeling his hips jerk in response. “-is what you came for.”
“I assure you-“ Sark began, voice thready.
“Shut up.” John stepped back, other hand sliding down Sark’s expensive shirt, then lower, cupping him through the slick material of his pants.
Sark’s hips bucked forward, into the touch, and John purred. “Yeah, that’s what you want.” He quickly undid the pants and shoved them down. “Going to fuck you, Julian,” he growled. “Bend you over the dresser, take you like a bitch in heat.”
Blue eyes squeezed shut on a low moan, a shudder sliding down Sark’s body.
“Get over there,” John growled, giving him a little shove towards the dresser. Without looking to see that he obeyed, John went to the nightstand and grabbed a condom and lube. He turned back, not surprised to find Sark in position, bent over the dresser.
“You won’t need the lubricant,” Sark said softly. “I prefer it dry.”
With a shrug, John tossed the lube back, ripping open the condom and sliding it on. “Whatever works for you.” He eyed the other man for a moment. “Get yourself ready for me,” he growled. “Spit and fingers.”
Shivering, Sark’s hand slid back, stroking himself slowly, working two fingers in, hips moving into the touches.
John moved closer, running blunt nails up the back of Sark’s thigh, bending to press his teeth against the nape of the younger man’s neck. “Do you like that? Me watching you, knowing that it’s going to be my cock in you in a minute?”
Sark shook his head wildly, breath hitching, and John grabbed his hair, pulling his head back with a jerk.
“What was that?” John asked, voice dangerously low.
“Yes,” Julian whimpered, hips twitching.
“Good.” John let go and slid behind Sark, his fingers digging into the younger man’s hips as he lined himself up, slowly pressing forward. The tight heat sent a shot of pleasure straight to his balls, made him shiver and still for a moment.
Sark shuddered, biting his lip as John filled him slowly, inexorably. A glance up at the mirror showed John doing the same, teeth sunk into his lower lip, face intent.
After a long moment, John settled himself, and began to move, breath hissing out as Sark arched back, pressing into the thrust.
He bent, using his weight to hold the smaller man still, hand sliding around to run a callused finger over the head of Sark’s cock. John’s breath caught as Sark jerked in response. “Yeah,” he hissed. “Going to fuck this pretty ass of yours so hard.”
Sark moaned, and John started to move in earnest, leaning into the thrusts, putting weight and temper behind them. Sark certainly wasn’t objecting, hips moving, soft moans and strangled whimpers sliding out with each press of John’s cock.
John closed his eyes, feeling the orgasm starting in his stomach, balls tightening. Then, he slammed into the smaller man hard, growling as he shuddered, teeth finding purchase in Sark’s shoulder. His hand curled around Sark’s cock, jacking him roughly until the lean body under him stiffened, and he felt the rush of warmth on his hand, the spasms around his cock drawing an aftershock of pleasure through him.
John stayed like that for a moment, steadying his breathing, then carefully moved back, sliding out of Sark, drawing a soft moan from the other man. Smirking, he ran a surprisingly gentle hand down the younger man’s hip. “Bathroom’s yours, if you need it.”
Sark stood slowly, stretching before turning to glance at John. “Thank you. I’ll only be a moment,” he murmured, tongue darting out to moisten his lips.
John grabbed a handful of tissues and cleaned up, tossing the condom into the trashcan with a grimace. Glancing at the bathroom door, he slid on a pair of jeans, sliding the gun into the waistband at the small of his back, and settled down to wait.
Sark stepped out a few minutes later, clothes and hair immaculate once again. “I believe the agreed upon price was five thousand.”
“When I see the merchandise,” John said reasonably.
Sark’s lip curled into a smirk, and John could see the small cut where he’d bitten too hard. “Lift the comforter on your side.”
John slid his foot under it and lifted. He nodded. “In the top dresser drawer, blue bag.”
Sark opened in, pulling out the small duffel. He didn’t glance inside. “A pleasure to do business with you, John.” He flashed a practiced smile.
“You too,” John murmured. “And Julian?”
“Yes?”
“You ever break into my room again, I’ll shoot you.”
The smile widened, becoming genuine for a moment. “I’ll remember that.”
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Date: 2006-06-21 12:48 pm (UTC)See, I've watched every episode, I even own them all and I love the show, but I just can never get into the Alias fandom. But, yes Sark is are pretty boy bottom ;)
Your welcome!