John shivered when he stepped past the bouncer and into the dark, pulsing heat of the club. He could blame it on the change in temperature, but it was as much a physical reaction to the knowledge that he could finally let himself go for the night.
Inside, he stripped off his leather jacket and unzipped his fleece to reveal the wrinkled blue button-down beneath. He never felt comfortable walking around in his club clothes outside, wary of who he might run into even though he traveled pretty far from base to come here. He stuffed the clothes in his gym bag, rummaged around and swapped his boots for sneakers. The jeans he was wearing would do.
Last, he reached around and unbuckled his collar. Slowly sliding the worn leather free of the clasp to bare his throat never failed to send a shiver down his spine.
Taking a deep breath to help draw himself out, he handed everything over at the coat check and headed into the main room.
The smell of sweat and sex and the pounding bass beat hit him like something physical. The dance floor was a tableau of naked necks and fetish wear, and in the shadows near the walls, people were performing unselfconsciously kinky acts for anyone who wanted to watch. A well-muscled, uncuffed, shirtless man was going down on a naked woman on a low sofa, her hands moving restlessly beside her head instead of being buried in his hair to keep him in his place. Two middle-aged women, their breasts bare of clamps and piercings and their skin unmarked from wax or impact play, humped each other with no dildo or vibrator or spreader bar between them. A young couple was doing nothing but making out, gently exploring each other. John swallowed hard and turned to the bar.
He noticed her on the dance floor before he'd finished his first drink. She was wearing a pink tank top that did nothing to hide the straps of a white cotton bra, and as she moved to the beat, John caught tantalizing glimpses of the tops of the cups, too. No jewelry that he could see; only smooth, sweat-sheened skin and lean muscle. Her self-assurance left no doubt that she was a dom aboveground. But down here, of course, that didn't matter.
She hadn't looked his way, though, and he needed to move.
He danced with a woman and a couple of guys for a while. He wasn't a great dancer, but it helped him loosen up, remember how things worked in here where no one knelt at anyone's feet and safewords were a foreign concept. His body thrummed with anticipation.
The next time John looked over at the woman in pink, she caught him. He had to fight the ingrained impulse to lower his gaze; had to remind himself that he didn't have to play the sub here, that he could—that he was expected to—let his guard down and treat anyone in this place as an equal, and be treated the same in return.
He raised his eyebrows at her over the heads of the people between them. The woman turned to face him as she danced, looking him over. She seemed unsure, so he let an honest smile lift the corners of his mouth in place of his usual crafted smirk. A moment passed, and then she smiled back. She had a fantastic smile.
He nodded to excuse himself from the guy he'd been dancing with and made his way over to her. She draped her arms around his neck without hesitation; he let himself rest his hands on her waist. She smelled of something earthy, and she felt warm and fit under his palms. His pinky fingers touched bare skin as she swayed. They kept a distance between the rest of them that felt electric.
His eyes kept straying to her cleavage and the smooth lines of her bra, and when he raised his gaze to be polite, he was drawn to her earlobes instead, where the piercing holes should have been. He reached up and traced the shell of her ear between his thumb and forefinger, stroked down to the soft lobe, smoothing the pad of his thumb and then the backs of his fingers over the unmarked skin, over and over. She closed her eyes. He thought about leaning in and taking her between his lips. He needed to reach down and adjust himself, but he didn't want to stop touching her.
When the song faded into the next one, he tipped his head toward the back rooms, where adventurous guests could play on unadorned beds with crisp white sheets and pillows. "Do you want to…?"
"Very much," she said, and slipped her hand into his.
As they walked, he couldn't help but wonder what drew her here. Did she like to shed her dominant personality as a 'fuck you' to society or to some particular authority figure? Did she not identify as a dom, sub or switch at all? Did she enjoy subverting traditional customs? Had she always felt a shameful desire to have sex without using the implements or slotting into the power relations most people never questioned? Was she bored with the routine of doling out punishments and directing her subs to pleasure her? Was it for her, as it was for him, some combination of all of them?
They found a vacant room. John shut the door behind them and wasted no time sliding his hands into her hair and kissing her, slow and unbearably sweet.
"Is this okay?" he asked against her lips. His heart pounded with the knowledge that he hadn't asked permission to touch—and wouldn't be punished for it.
In response, she stroked the back of his neck where his collar should have been, sending another shudder through him, and drew him back down to her mouth.
"My name's John," he murmured when he finally pulled away.
"I am Teyla," she replied. "May I undress you?"
Christ, and if that wasn't— He held his hands out at his sides. "Be my guest."
She took her time, stroking his chest as she revealed him button by button. When she was done, he shrugged the shirt off and slid his hands up the back of her tank top. Her skin broke out in gooseflesh under his touch, and she hummed her approval as she kissed him again. They broke apart just long enough for him to lift her top off, and then he finally got a look at her in that cotton bra, could tuck his fingers under the edges and pinch open the clasp. He didn't slide it off, just spread his hands across her bare back and held her.
He didn't have the coordination to do much more than that; Teyla had brought her hands up to his chest was rubbing the studs in his nipples in circles. She didn't tug, didn't pinch, didn't twist, until he ached with sensitivity. After one last lingering kiss, he traced his mouth along her jaw before giving in to the temptation to suck her earlobe into his mouth and worry it with his tongue. Her hot gasp in his ear left him even harder than before.
He had to stop to get enough air when she thumbed open his jeans.
"How do you wanna do this?" he asked, holding her at arm's length. Her bra straps had slipped dangerously low on her shoulders.
"I would like to blow you, first," she said with a glint in her eye.
John gulped and stared at her swollen mouth. "Works for me."
She eased his zipper down before letting him go. While he bent carefully down to unlace his shoes, she shrugged off her bra—then shot him a knowing smile when he forgot to finish undressing because he was too busy staring at her breasts.
Right. John pulled off his shoes and socks, then stepped out of everything else for good measure. By the time he finished, Teyla was down to nothing but a pair of white cotton panties. He sat on the bed and rested a steadying hand on his erection while he took in the sight of her.
When Teyla moved to join him on the bed, he slid over until his back rested against the pillows. She swung a graceful leg over his and positioned herself with her hands on his thighs and her mouth mere inches from him. "What do you like?" she asked.
It was hard to focus in the face of an imminent blow job, but he forced himself to be honest. "Wet, soft, gentle. Being fondled and fingered. I like trying to get off with no pain, but, uh, sometimes I still need a little to help me over."
She nodded, then nodded again at something to his left with an expectant look. Oh, right. He reached into the venue-stocked nightstand and handed Teyla a condom. "Unless you want"—he checked the contents again—"strawberry?"
"Unflavored is fine," she returned with a smile, and rolled the latex over him. He let his head fall back. Then he groaned as she slid tight lips over the tip of him and stroked his thighs.
He'd sort of suspected that Teyla got to give blow jobs as rarely as he received them aboveground, but she was seriously great at it. Within minutes, he was panting beneath her, anchored only by the warm weight of her body over his legs and the fistfuls of bedspread he was clutching in lieu of restraints. She'd fit a good amount of him into her mouth and was sucking wet and hot and sloppy, one hand jacking the rest of him with slow twists and the other petting his balls and perineum. He raised a shaking hand to touch her hair, drinking in the sight of her bobbing over his lap, and might have whimpered. Everything felt brighter, sharper, more dangerous than it did when he was subbing. She hadn't pinched him to keep his arousal in check or told him to hold back his noises; he struggled not to come before he'd had a chance to fuck her. He rode the edge with the same adrenaline rush that came from riding a really good wave, until he had to push weakly at her and gasp, "Stop, stop—"
Teyla pulled off immediately. "Are you all right?"
It took him a few seconds to be able to reply. "Yeah. Just—came a little too close, there."
"Ah." She gave him a wicked grin.
He gestured at his lap and said with difficulty, "I think we'd better…"
And thank God, Teyla understood. She wiped her mouth, sat back and said, "I have had a turn. What would you like to do?"
It had been so long since someone had asked him that the question threw him for a loop. Then his brain caught up. He knew what he wanted. Until a couple of years ago, he'd only seen it in porn; when he'd finally tried it, he'd gone off like a rocket. But he still could hardly bring himself to ask for it.
"Would you—the missionary position?" He could feel himself turning red.
But Teyla just smiled and said, "It is one of my favorites." She held out her hand.
He took it, and they lay back on the bed with Teyla on her back and John propped on his hands and knees above her. She was still wearing those panties; he couldn't help trailing a hand down her belly to touch her through them. She hummed happily and shifted. He leaned down for a kiss and rubbed her for a little while.
"You feel really good," he murmured. "Can I take these off?"
"Judging by your reaction earlier, I thought you might want to remove them yourself," she said, and all but winked at him.
He paused on his way down to kiss her nipples and swirl his tongue around the big brown areolas. No piercing at her navel; he stopped to kiss the unmarked skin there, too. Then he hooked his fingers under the elastic and drew her panties over her hips—she lifted to help him—and down her legs, and dropped them on the floor with a pang of regret.
Any disappointment at losing the lingerie evaporated when he looked back up. She was gorgeous, lying there with her lips still swollen, one arm crooked behind her head and one knee up to give him a better view. She wasn't pierced down there either, and she was visibly wet. Judging by her expression, she was also as eager to get going as he was.
Jesus. They were really going to do this.
He crawled up over her with a trembling excitement low in his belly. When he got into position, Teyla folded her legs around him, and then they were pressed together skin to skin, no ropes or clothespins or blindfolds between them. It was almost too much. He fumbled a hand down to make sure the condom was still on right, and then he pushed into her as slowly as he could manage.
"Oh, yes, that is good," Teyla said, and rested a hand on his ass as he started to thrust. He braced himself for the slap, but it didn't come. She only stroked; no stinging warmth, no sharp reminder of who was in charge here, who would take care of him. Christ—if his buddies, if his commanders, if Nancy could see him here now like this, awash in untempered pleasure, playing equals in bed...
He locked his arms to hold himself up and met Teyla's breathless grin as he pushed in and slid out of her at his own pace, again and again. With a quirk of her eyebrow, she reached down and started touching herself. He probably should have offered to do it for her, but he needed both hands to keep from collapsing.
John's smile faded as he focused on his rhythm and reached for the orgasm he could feel rising up. From the looks of it, Teyla was in similar shape.
Then she gasped and arched into him.
John lost it; thrust harder, let his head drop, and keened with the need to come. He felt unmoored, wild. They were touching everywhere, and there was no pain to focus on, no cuffs to anchor him, no cock ring to help him hold back.
Teyla must have understood the look on his face, because when she recovered, she reached up with the hand she'd just used to get herself off and rested it across his windpipe, her thumb over his fluttering pulse. He arched his neck, but she didn't squeeze, didn't squeeze, didn't squeeze. He whined.
"John," she coaxed, and it was nothing like a command.
"Too much," he managed. "Need—I need."
She did spank him, then, just once, but took the hand at his throat away and said calmly, "You can do it on your own, John. You can do it without permission, without a plug inside you or teeth at your shoulder, because you are in charge of yourself," and he whined again and buried his face in her neck and came.
He lay half on top of her for a time, just breathing. Eventually, he found the wherewithal to offer a heartfelt, "Thank you."
Teyla chuckled into the side of his neck, giving him a little aftershock of pleasure. "You are welcome."
"Are you okay? Do you need...?"
"I am very satisfied, thank you. Although it would be nice if you could..." She shifted meaningfully.
"Oh," he said. "Sorry." He slid out with a grimace and rolled onto his back beside her.
It was nice to lie there and recover for a few minutes, but longer than that and things always got awkward. John shifted, preparing to swing his feet off the bed, only for Teyla to surprise him by sitting up first.
When they'd cleaned up and gotten dressed again, she reached into the pocket of her denim skirt and handed him a business card.
"In case you would like to get together another time," she said.
He took it. Then he did a double take: Teyla Emmagan, Athos and Associates, Attorneys at Law. "You're a lawyer?"
Teyla gave him a quirk of a smile that said he wasn't the first person to react like that. "For my conservative clients, I have many pairs of clip-on piercings, and I apply henna tattoos as needed."
Huh. "Cool." Guess you really never knew who needed to come to these places. And weren't the two of them just a fucking case study. Literally.
Speaking of which, John figured he should offer Teyla something in kind for having taken a leap of faith and shared her real-life identity with him. Decades of successful closeting made him hesitate, but something about Teyla made him go for it. Gesturing at himself, he confessed, "Air Force Major."
"Ah." Her own eyebrows rose. "It must be difficult for someone who doesn't self-identify through power relations to submit both in the field and in the bedroom."
And didn't that hit the nail on the head. "Well, no one's asked yet, and I'm sure as hell not gonna tell."
She inclined her head to him. "Indeed."
"Well," he said again, opening the door for her. Another woman and a guy were waiting hand-in-hand in the dark hall. "See you around." Weird thing was, this time he actually wanted to.
Teyla pecked him on the cheek as she slipped past him.
John watched her as she threaded her way back through the crowd toward the exit. He tucked her card into his back pocket and wondered how long he'd last before he called her.