// ten minutes //


Joe’s limbs are spread wide against the push of air, his head tipped back and teeth bared into a smile. A smile that that widens even more when he sees David, one last lazy loop around the asphalt of the back lot and then the board’s kicked on its end, the wheels still spinning.

“They want us back in ten minutes,” David says, like relaying time is his only reason for being here and not the curve of Joe’s hip as he props the board against the wall of the alleyway, or the soft skin beneath his tshirt, warm and a little damp against David’s fingertips. A tiny, fleeting touch, not nearly enough, and Joe makes a soft sound of frustration when David starts to move his hand away.

“Ten minutes,” he says, catching hold of David’s wrist, holding it still. “Not five. Ten.”

“Yeah, okay,” David breathes, not even sure what he’s agreeing to, but it doesn’t matter anyway, not with Joe so close, eyes dark and hot, lip caught between his teeth as he guides David’s hand to where he wants to be touched. Down and down and there, to where he’s thick and hard beneath Sheppard’s uniform pants, and David cups his palm to fit, using his fingers to find the head, to press and squeeze just how Joe likes it, slowly at first, gradually increasing his speed.

Joe’s breath hot against his neck, his mouth on David’s skin, tongue and teeth and words that don’t make much sense at all, hitching in his throat with every deliberate flex of David’s fingers. Ten minutes, and if they had longer, he’d drop to his knees and take Joe’s cock into his mouth, run his teeth gently over the salt-bitter tip, feel it swell in his mouth with the press of his tongue to the spot just beneath the thick ridge. The thought of it is a bright thrill that races through him, coming to rest heavy between his legs.

Later, he thinks, as Joe spreads his thighs a little wider, rocks his hips up into the curl of David’s fingers, hisses in an unsteady breath. “You close?” David asks, even though he knows the answer already, wants to hear Joe say it, his voice gone thick with need.

“Yeah,” Joe says, low and secret, hips moving helplessly, “yeah, David, shit—“

David stills his hand, can feel Joe’s breath echoing in his own lungs, heat pooled low in his belly, a slow, steady pulse beneath his skin. “How close,” he says, not much more than a whisper, ghosting over Joe’s ear, dipping his tongue inside for barely a moment, biting softly at the lobe. “How close, Joe?”

“Come in my pants-close,” Joe says, and it’s David’s turn to bite his lip, hard enough to sting. He draws in a breath, letting his hand trail across Joe’s pants, barely a touch at all but close enough to feel Joe shiver. “Fuck, David—“

“No,” David says, like he’s planned it all along, when really, he’s done no such thing. “You can come, but I’m not helping.” Now he can’t think of anything else, nothing he’d rather see more than Joe, right on the edge of coming apart, getting himself off while David watches. Shit. He half-expects Joe to say no, to laugh and pull him close again, make David finish what he started.

But Joe doesn’t. There’s a long moment when he says nothing at all, watching David from beneath heavy, half-lidded eyes, mouth slowly curving into a wicked half-smile. “Okay,” he says finally, cock outlined obscenely between his spread legs, “no hands.”

“I really don’t know how you’re—“ David starts, even as Joe begins to move, almost shimmying in place as he leans back against the wall, bracing his feet wide. As David watches, he reaches down to the thigh holster strapped around one leg, wrapping his fingers around the leather strap and pulling it up tight, until it sits against the swell of his cock. It should be ridiculous, but David can’t look away—it’s one of the hottest things he’s ever seen.

Joe works his hips, almost like he’s fucking into thin air, but not quite, because with every upward thrust, he’s rubbing against leather, uniform pants stretched over hot, swollen skin, and David’s own cock is throbbing in time with each move. “Shit, Joe,” he manages, undoing his pants, and if the no-hands rule applies to him too, then it’s all gone to hell, because there’s no way he can watch this and not jerk off. “Shit,” he says again, because fuck, ten minutes, and time must be up by now, any minute someone will come looking for them and they’ll be caught—David with his cock in hand, jacking himself, and just across from him, Joe rubbing off against his goddamn thigh holster, legs spread and head thrown back like some porn star, moaning a little now, not quietly at all, and--

“Jesus,” Joe says, one last tug of the leather and then he’s looking right at David, mouth working soundlessly, teeth and tongue, shuddering through his orgasm, coming in his pants, god-- and that’s enough to tip David right up to the edge, thick waves of pleasure that take him over, and he rides them out, shooting helplessly over his hand, his fingers, the wall, probably even the goddamn thigh holster.

“Cheat,” Joe says cheerfully from somewhere nearby, and when David can focus again, he sees him shifting the straps back into place, smoothing the leg of his uniform out. If it weren’t for the spreading damp patch across his crotch, he’d look perfectly respectable. David wonders if he looks as wrecked as he feels, and god, where is he going to wipe his hand? Joe’s shirt, if he keeps smirking like that, and his furtive glance must give him away, because Joe moves out of reach just as a PA comes bustling down the alleyway, frowning at the clipboard in her hand, then at the two of them.

“Did you not hear the call?” she says, levelling her glare at David, and why is it always his fault? He tucks his hand into his pocket, grimacing slightly, and shakes his head.

“No, we were—“

“Cleaning up after a spill,” Joe says, all charm and grace and loose limbs, and not a sign of having just come in his pants bare moments before. “Give us a moment?”

She looks down at the clipboard again, then sighs. “Alright,” she says, clearly not impressed at all. “Five more minutes. Everyone else is waiting.” Another sigh, and she’s gone back down the alley, disapproval written in the line of her retreating back.

“Everyone else is waiting,” David mimics, too late to be of any value but it makes him feel better, sticky fingers and all.

Joe grins and reaches over to tug at the holster strapped to David’s thigh. “Hey,” he says, with the low, dirty laugh that always makes David’s belly flip dangerously. “You’ve got five minutes.”

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