
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/151199.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Terminator:_The_Sarah_Connor_Chronicles
  Relationship:
      John_Connor/Derek_Reese
  Character:
      John_Connor, Derek_Reese
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Gunplay, Weapons, Dom/sub, Community:_rounds_of_kink
  Collections:
      12_-_Round_Twelve_of_Rounds_of_Kink
  Stats:
      Published: 2009-08-14 Words: 4160
****** Original Sin ******
by mickeysixx
Summary
     The first time was in the kitchen
Notes
     Written for Round 12 at Rounds_of_Kink.
     Prompt: metal you can trust
     Kink: gun play, weapons, possibly D/s
     14 August 2009
The first time was in the kitchen. It was early; too early for John to be up,
but late enough for Derek to return from his usual morning run, t-shirt dark
and damp with his sweat. There was a pause, a moment where John pretended he'd
been looking for the box of cereal in the cupboard and Derek watched him from
across the room. The teenager did his best to ignore the fact that he'd
probably - almost definitely - been caught doing something he shouldn't. But
John completely missed the flash of heat in the green eyes across the room, the
sweeping glance from head to toe, the prowling, almost silent steps as he moved
closer.
Not a word was spoken between them as Derek crowded him slowly against the
kitchen counter, a solid chest pressed close to a warm back. John didn't ask
what he was doing, didn't move a muscle except to breathe and grip the edge of
the cool, shiny wood with both hands. They were still for what seemed like
forever, long enough for John to memorise how the older man felt against him,
before the first move was made. One warm, slightly slick hand pressed to his
bare side, almost burning through his skin, and slowly - achingly slowly - slid
around his body until it was flat against his stomach. It stayed there for
untold seconds, thumb twitching in what could be seen as a caress across his
skin, and then finally moved again.
This time down.
Down, down, down - movements so measured that John thought he was going to go
insane waiting - hand turning until his fingertips pointed downwards. Another
pause; each one giving John every chance to stop him. He didn't. John stayed
exactly where he was, unable to move in fear of the moment shattering
completely. Because that was something he didn't want to happen, not when he'd
been wanting this for as long as he had.
One hand, palm flat, slipping under the waistband of his shorts, taking over
from where his own hand had been minutes before. John's breathing quickened,
skin flushing and sensitive skin shivering with a new touch. Knuckles whitened
with the force of his grip, eyes sliding closed as rough fingertips traced
throbbing veins, mouth running dry at the sheer amount of want inside him.
Skin against skin, his heart pounding in his throat while a steady, confident
hand held him firmly and moved, pulling and stroking and thumbing across the
head. Hot, damp breath skated across his ear, stirring short hair, but still no
words were offered. No explanation, no questions, no words of encouragement.
Just Derek's hand jacking him slow and steady and John's secret late night
fantasies coming to life.
Something tugged on his shorts. One, two, three tugs, each time they were
pulled down further, exposing more skin until the fourth tug sent them to the
floor. Without prompting, John let his head fall forward, tucking his chin into
his chest. Now the hot breath skittered across the nape of his neck, raising
goosebumps there and chasing chills down his spine. Heavy eyes opened half-
mast. Burning need, all centered in his groin, making John's breathing spike
abnormally. The hand wrapped around his dick was familiar, safe, wanted - pre-
come making the friction less and the need more. Heat and pleasure and
adrenaline flooded his system, every single place along his body acutely aware
of Derek; the sweat soaked into his t-shirt that was sticking to his back, the
hardness pressed into the top of his ass, the heartbeat that was almost
synchronised with his own. John's mind raced, body shaking with the build up to
his release.
He'd barely drawn breath to moan out his name when the man at his back chose
his moment. One twist in just the right place sent him tumbling over the edge,
the name on his lips lost in the gasp that escaped him. Stomach muscles
clenched, eyes shut tight, mouth open on a silent scream. Pulse after pulse
after pulse, the expert hand guiding him through his orgasm relentlessly, slick
and slippery with his come and not stopping until John had given everything he
had.
He barely registered when the hand left. The body stayed for a few moments
longer before Derek finally detached himself from the boy's back. Neither of
them said a word. Fine tremors shook his arms as he held himself up and John
thought Derek had gone, but he didn't dare open his eyes and check.
When he finally found the courage, John saw that he was alone, naked and
shaking against the kitchen counter, wondering if it had all been a dream.

                                      ~8~

The second time they didn't even touch. Since the Kitchen Incident - as he'd
taken to calling it in his head - there had been an unspoken mutual agreement
not to mention it, and even though John was practically bursting with
questions, he bit his tongue and tried to get back to reality. Everything
carried on as normal; or, as normal as it could be with human-looking killer
robots who wanted to assassinate him.
Which was why John was stunned to find Derek sprawled on the couch when he
returned from picking up groceries, completely naked and lazily jerking himself
off. It was lucky that he'd managed to set the bags down in the kitchen before
wandering into the main room, because he surely would have dropped them by now.
John gawped at him, gaze roving over the miles of scared and inked skin and
solid muscle, following the line of his throat from his arched neck all the way
down to where his hand pulled at the thick erection. Swallowing thickly, he
tracked the motions of the large hand - up and down, thumb randomly sweeping
over the head and spreading the moisture around, fingers squeezing gently every
so often along the shaft.
When he finally looked up, he found Derek staring straight at him, head turned
on the back of the sofa to face him. The second their eyes connected, John's
stomach flip-flopped violently, his cock throbbing in his jeans. Liquid fire
burned in his uncle's stare, the hand never pausing, never faltering. His whole
body set alight, burning with need and want and lust for the one man he
couldn't have. The one man he shouldn't have.
But when Derek used his free hand to beckon him closer, to wordlessly order him
to stand between his thighs, John went without question. He just couldn't help
it; resistance would shatter the fantasy and as confused as John was, he really
didn't want this to stop. The older man watched his every step until John came
to a rest in front of him, eyes slowly flicking down to watch his palm the
flushed erection.
John didn't think twice about lowering himself to his knees and settling
between spread thighs. And the strange thing was, after getting caught staring
at his cock, it was the arched eyebrow that made him flush. But Derek's hand
didn't stop; if anything he relaxed further into the couch and made more of a
show of himself, lifting his hips slightly to settle more comfortably on the
couch. The motion pulled John's gaze south, pupils blown wide as he stared.
Everything was clearer now; he could see the veins in the flesh, the flushed
slick head which was steadily dribbling come down the shaft, the nest of crisp
dark hairs surrounding the base and spreading out, dusting along the inside of
his thighs.
Saliva pooled in his mouth, the need to lean forward and take the cock into his
mouth almost overwhelming. He'd never wanted to suck dick before, but being so
close, close enough to touch and taste and lick - it was too much, too
tempting. Burning green eyes held him in place however, and John was forced to
watch as Derek's free hand joined in, moving down to cup his twitching, heavy
balls and roll them, his rhythm easy and well-practiced.
The tension in the room climbed. Derek's breathing became quicker, his chest
shining with sweat, and John was entranced by the way the older man started to
unravel. The speed of his hand increased, eased by the steady stream of come
that coated his palm. Small, soft grunts and pants fell from his lips, Derek's
eyes watching his own hand as he jerked. John whined quietly, not realising it
was him until the other man looked at him.
The hand stopped completely. John glanced up with wide eyes and caught the
brief flash of indecision in his eyes.
But then it was gone. And Derek was moving; sitting up and shuffling forward
and widening his legs. Confused, John frowned, ready to reach out and stop him
if he was going to leave. But Derek didn't leave and John was even more
confused than before.
Then John's imagination went into over-drive. He stared up into Derek's eyes,
mouth opening slowly as Derek aimed and stripped his cock harder and faster,
the sound of flesh on flesh louder and sharper. Sweat rolled down his temple,
breath hissing out between his teeth, panting, heartbeat thundering in his ears
- so close, so close, so close.
Warm, bitter, saltiness exploded on his tongue, Derek straining out a curse
between clenched teeth and John struggling to swallow while taking more and
more, anything not in his mouth ending up on his face like some sick face
painting, until he was spent.
The other man was breathing hard when John finally opened his eyes, staring at
him like he was some strange creature he'd never seen before. Once again they
stayed silent and John wondered what he looked like; cock pressing insistently
against the denim, both fists clenched on his thighs, and Derek's come dripping
from his chin. Smirking gently, green eyes slid down to rest on the obvious
bulge and John drew in a quick, sharp breath as it twitched under the scrutiny.
Derek didn't even have to say anything. One hot look did it all.
Without a word, Derek stood from the couch, turned, and left the room, leaving
John with damp jeans and a desperate need to shower.

                                      ~8~

In contrast, the third time was fast and messy and all they did was touch.
John's heart was in his throat, pounding in his ears as he ran, focused on
nothing but getting away from the Trip-Eight that was on his tail. He'd barely
moved out of the way before it fired at him, the bullet missing his head by
centimetres, but he didn't stop to think of how lucky he was. John knew from
experience that it was best not to hang around to test the theory.
John's body vibrated with every gunshot, with every step he took as his feet
pounded the ground, and he hardly had time to think as he took a sharp corner
in an attempt to throw the Metal off. Fear and adrenaline coursed around his
body, panic threatening to snare him and take over his logical mind, and he
just made it round without skidding before his world was thrown into chaos
again. Hands grabbed him, his body yanked sideways so hard he lost his footing,
and in the confusion he didn't fight back. One wild thought crossed his mind:
I'm sorry I couldn't be the person you needed me to be.
But the shot he was expecting never came. Instead, John found himself wheeled
around and slammed against a solid wall, teeth rattling with the force of it,
and something equally as solid pinning him so that he couldn't move. Pain
exploded at the back of his head where it hit the wall, making him dizzy, but
his pained moan was muffled by the hand clamped over his mouth. It took him a
few seconds to work out that the solid mass holding him firmly to the wall was,
in fact, a body.
Derek's body.
The adrenaline and the closeness of the older man played havoc with his body.
He tried to move, but his grip only tightened and John was crushed between the
unforgiving cold at his back and the blazing heat at his front. Rolling his
eyes up, he saw that Derek wasn't looking at him. but instead was staring out
from the small alcove he'd dragged John into, watching the Trip-Eight as it
passed slowly. John was still, tense, one hand at Derek's hip and the other
digging into the arm that was covering his mouth, but he didn't dare breathe
for fear of the Machine finding them.
Lightheaded, John could only wait until Derek deemed it safe enough to drop his
hand. When he did, John relaxed in his grip and tried to get his breath back,
but his attempt was futile. The second he looked up into hard, angry green
eyes, he was lost, his breath once again stolen from his body. John was already
hard (being up close and personal with the older man like this, how was was he
supposed to keep himself under control?) but it wasn't until Derek shifted his
stance slightly that he realised that he wasn't the only one.
John blinked. Derek opened his mouth, but shut it again without saying
anything. They stared at each other, an eternity stretching out between them as
silent words were exchanged. John felt like the prey to Derek's predator;
pinned, unable to move, and staring up into eyes that seemed to swallow him
whole. His mouth worked soundlessly, groping for something - anything - to say.
But Derek didn't need words. Didn't appear to want them as he leaned closer and
circled his hips very deliberately, and whatever John was going to say died
instantly in his throat. His reaction was the trigger, the signal that Derek
was looking for, and John didn't have time to breathe before the dam broke. In
a flurry of movement, hands roughly gripped the back of his thighs and pulled
him up, John's back scrapping along the rough wall behind him, but he didn't
resist. He let Derek lead the way, parting his legs around his hips and
securing him there while his lips dragged along his skin. They didn't kiss.
They never kissed.
John all but wrapped around him, one hand gripping the back of his neck tight
to hold him up and the other scrabbling for purchase on the wall. They rutted,
breath forced out in hot and heavy pants, thighs aching as he gripped Derek's
hips tighter when his hands moved. John let his head fall back to the wall, the
spike of pain ignored in favour of the pleasure, the anticipation of what they
were doing. It was all he'd been thinking about since the first time; all he'd
wanted since the second. Unsteady, frantic fingers messed with the fastening of
his pants, bumping against the outline of his cock and making his body shake
even more.
It was over in a matter of seconds. Hot fist closing around his impossibly hard
prick, jacking him so fast that John was sure he was going to find friction
burns afterwards. Teeth sank deep into his bottom lip, legs shaking with the
effort of keeping himself up, hands and fingers digging into flesh and hair and
muscle and cloth while he rocked and bucked in Derek's arms. Foreheads pressed
together tightly, his neck hurting from the odd position but John couldn't care
less about that. All he wanted was to come; to give Derek everything he wanted,
everything he was asking for.
Eyes locked, hot, damp breath mingled, and one last tug sent him over the edge.
The pounding in his ears was so loud he wildly thought that the Trip-Eight was
going to hear and come back to find them. Half-formed words were breathed wetly
into his skin, but John was too far gone to hear them. He clung and shivered,
bucked and whimpered as Derek's hand continued to milk him, skin hypersensitive
to his touch, and it didn't look like he was ever going to stop. And then
something vibrated urgently against his thigh.
Time to go.
John followed Derek out of the abandoned warehouse, his jacket scuffed and his
legs wobbly, trying not to listen when Derek murmured a quiet "Yeah, Sarah, I
got him."

                                      ~8~

By the fourth time, John had gathered enough courage to make the first move.
His timing wasn't perfect - his mom was still in the house, albeit asleep, and
Cameron was wandering around like she did most nights - but still he crept out
of his own bedroom and padded silently across the hall towards Derek's door.
Without making a sound he turned the handle and let himself in, quickly
pivoting to face the door as he closed it again.
And got a gun to his head for his trouble.
"Don't move."
John swallowed down the panic that shot through him and forced himself to be
calm. Completely ignoring the low order, he turned slowly on the spot until he
was facing Derek and the staring straight down the muzzle of the hand gun. With
anyone else it would have been a stupid move, but John trusted Derek not to
shoot him. John trusted Derek, period.

Silence encompassed them as they stared at each other, eyes glittering in the
scant moonlight coming through the curtains. Derek took a step forward. John
stayed where he was. The gun never wavered - didn't lower - and only moved
forward when Derek did. His heart beat picked up speed, blood already rushing
south, and he was glad that he at least had the door at his back to keep him
from collapsing to the floor. The other man moved forward again. And again.
Until John could feel the heat pouring off the other man's body and smell of
oil from the gun that was now oh-so-close.
John watched in slow motion as the gun finally strayed from its deadly aim.
Cold metal pressed against the warm, flush skin of his cheek, and he went from
semi-hard to full blown erection in the space of a few seconds. Thick air was
pulled in unsteadily, eyelids fluttering as the metal continued to travel along
his cheek, across his jaw and down the line of his neck, sending tingles along
his skin. John was sure that he'd never been so turned on in his life, never
been as achingly hard as he was now as the dangerous weapon caressed his skin.
A wet tongue flicked out along dry lips and John heard the change in Derek's
breathing as he came even closer, pressing him into the door.
"Why don't you stop me?"
It was the first time he'd said something that wasn't an order, voice rough and
low, his tone equal parts curiosity and desperation; like he craved to know but
begged for him not to say. With eyes still closed, John let himself feel the
breath that fanned across his face and taste their need in the air around them.
Derek was waiting for an answer and John consented to give him one.
"I don't want to."
Cool metal pressed harder to his racing pulse, driving home the point of who
was in control. But even as John whimpered and tilted his head in submission,
pushing back against the only metal he could trust, he knew that they were both
pulling the strings in this wicked game. Derek moved even closer, their mouths
merely centimetres apart, lips brushing air as he responded in a harsh whisper,
"You should."
Eyes opened slowly, seeing for the first time just how close Derek really was.
Shivers rolled over his skin at how the man trapped him against the wood, free
arm braced by his head and a thigh settled between his parted legs. The barrel
of the gun pressed steady and firm against his throat, his heartbeat and his
cock throbbing in time. He looked up into dark, glittering eyes, and spoke two
clear words.
"I know."

And then the air between them was no longer there, John moving first despite
the loaded 9 mm at his throat. It took Derek all of two seconds to respond,
moan lost in the hot, wet heat of John's mouth, one hand moving from the wall
to cradle the back of John's head. He wanted, needed - ached - for Derek, his
own hands grabbing and touching, daring to push him even though the gun had yet
to move.

Later, he'd replay this in his head and wonder how they moved from the door to
the bed without hurting themselves, but no matter how hard he wracked his
brain, he still wouldn't find the answer. All he knew was that one minute they
were kissing and groping against the door, and the next John was on his back on
the bed, sheets still warm against his naked skin. Messy, sucking kisses
trailed down his neck, teeth nipped sharply at his collar-bone, a hand pinned
his other shoulder down to the mattress, and John had to fight against every
moan that threatened to spill from his mouth.
And then he was gone.
John's dazed mind took a few seconds to catch up. Panting, he opened his eyes
and frowned up at the other man who was straddling his hips. Eyes locked. The
heat in Derek's gaze scorched him, the butterflies in his stomach clamouring to
get out. Derek's hand twitched, attracting John's gaze. Rough, agile fingers
held the 9mm firmly, his grip familiar and steady. John swallowed thickly as he
weighed it in his palm, turning it this way and that. He looked up. The slow
smirk that stretched his lips made his heart stop beating.
Then, in one move, John was completely undone.
Senses overloaded, he could do nothing more than arch and arch hard, trying and
failing to draw in enough air to breathe. Fingers fisted tight in the sheets,
his skin turning white from the strength of his grip, and now his heart was
beating so hard that he was sure it was going to beat right out of his chest.
John bucked and twitched and shook and shivered, but no matter what he did, the
gun didn't move. It pressed right against his cock, the barrel running along
the shaft like it was an extension of himself. Cool grey metal and hot red
skin. Blood rushed in his ears, roaring, and someone was talking, chanting
please, please, please, please over and over again in a hoarse voice.
His body was on fire, burning right up from the inside out, and a part of him
wasn't sure he was going to survive it.
Derek moved, free hand holding him up as he leaned over and plundered his mouth
frenetically, murmuring words like damn and fuck and Jesus, John into his mouth
between the sweet strokes of his tongue. Everything sounded too loud; their
heartbeats, their breathing, every whimper and bitten-off moan that was muffled
by Derek's mouth. The taste of metal and desperation laced his tongue, and he
was so close, so... goddamn.... close.
It took one hard buck to finish him off. His body jerked of its own accord, the
gun slipped down to press against his sac, and John's orgasm hit him like a
bullet. Mindless with pleasure, he clawed at him, short nails raking over his
shoulders, his back and arms, trying to find ground as his world flew apart.
Every muscle in his body was tense and shaking, the man he was clinging to
pressing words of encouragement into his skin, rocking with him as he painted
their skin with his come. It was too much; the pleasure was so sweet that it
hurt, his skin too tight to contain him, but all John could do was hold on and
wait for it to end.
He must have passed out, because when John's higher-brain functions returned,
he realised he was no longer coming. Instead he was panting and shivering
violently against the sheets. His body felt used. He ached in places he didn't
know he could ache and he felt like he'd just had his brain broken and pieced
together again. Gentle fingers stroked along his arm, and that was when John
became aware of warmth along his back. He blinked slowly in the dark. Despite
his shivering, he wasn't cold.
"You ok?"
The coarse rumble caressed his skin, but John couldn't answer. Lips pressed to
his bare shoulder, his hand now anchoring at his hip, thumb stroking back and
forth. A lover's touch. John knew they were in dangerous territory. One wrong
move would get them killed. Was he ok?
Moonlight reflected off the gun, now lying innocently on the table beside the
bed.
His lips twitched into a smile. Derek moved closer, pressed his lips to the
back of his neck, and took his smile as his answer.
Dangerous territory or not, John didn't think he could say no.
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