SGA flash-ficlet: "In his room at night, alone," Sheppard fantasy, adult
I forgot to watch House in time, so I wrote this instead. (I hear it's good practice to write things without agonizing over whether they're good enough?) NC-17, PWP, bondage, 505 words. Follows the tentacle fic, but you don't have to read that first. Or, you know, at all.
Sometimes, John fantasizes about going back to the planet with the tentacle creature. He usually needs a drink or three before he can go there in his head, but when he does, when he lets himself think about it in his starlit, ocean-shushed room at midnight, he shakes with the intensity and shame of it. He's in control of his fantasy; the creature does what he wants it to, even as he pretends not to want it. In his worn t-shirt and boxers, he stretches out in bed with his feet hanging off the end and his wrists apart on either side of his head as though the creature were holding them there, loops of muscle keeping him still. He shuts his eyes and doesn't move and imagines the creature seizing him, wrapping around him, spreading him out and stripping him naked and touching him where he needs to be touched, where he didn't know he needed to be touched, on the soft insides of his arms and along his cheek and over the bony contours of his knees. He lets the creature stroke and explore while his whole body grows hot with need, blood pulsing, his balls tight and dick throbbing. He kicks off his shorts, grits his teeth and remembers the shock of penetration as he pushes the slick dildo all at once into his ass, even though it's a lucky night if he manages to hit his prostate as quickly as the creature did. By the end, his thighs are spread wide as if pulled open by force. He lies there sweating, exposed and hungry, straining against imaginary resistance as one hand tries to replicate the experience of being stroked in a dozen sensitive places. He has the dildo pushed in as far as he can manage, rocking and tightening around it, but he can't fuck himself properly with it because his other hand is busy circling around his dick and over his balls until he can't take it anymore, has to take hold and pull and pull, and he comes, hot and fast, gasping.
Sometimes, John fantasizes about going to McKay and confessing everything. John stutters, can't meet his gaze, but McKay knows what he's trying to say. He knows, because John can tell he wants the same thing. McKay holds John down so John doesn't have to imagine it anymore. McKay has cuffs for his wrists and ankles to hold him there while he explores with eager hands and greedy mouth. Some nights, John adds thick straps for his thighs and waist and chest. It doesn't matter how they work; they're there, and he's helpless, arching uselessly as McKay fucks him breathless with the dildo, fantasy-contorted so he can fill John's mouth with his thick, hot cock at the same time. John sucks and moans and feels ready to burst with pleasure, and when it's too much McKay brings him off with just the right squeezing grip, staring down at John with his slanting lips parted and his eyes bright in the darkness.
x-posted to sga_noticeboard and mckay_sheppard
Sometimes, John fantasizes about going back to the planet with the tentacle creature. He usually needs a drink or three before he can go there in his head, but when he does, when he lets himself think about it in his starlit, ocean-shushed room at midnight, he shakes with the intensity and shame of it. He's in control of his fantasy; the creature does what he wants it to, even as he pretends not to want it. In his worn t-shirt and boxers, he stretches out in bed with his feet hanging off the end and his wrists apart on either side of his head as though the creature were holding them there, loops of muscle keeping him still. He shuts his eyes and doesn't move and imagines the creature seizing him, wrapping around him, spreading him out and stripping him naked and touching him where he needs to be touched, where he didn't know he needed to be touched, on the soft insides of his arms and along his cheek and over the bony contours of his knees. He lets the creature stroke and explore while his whole body grows hot with need, blood pulsing, his balls tight and dick throbbing. He kicks off his shorts, grits his teeth and remembers the shock of penetration as he pushes the slick dildo all at once into his ass, even though it's a lucky night if he manages to hit his prostate as quickly as the creature did. By the end, his thighs are spread wide as if pulled open by force. He lies there sweating, exposed and hungry, straining against imaginary resistance as one hand tries to replicate the experience of being stroked in a dozen sensitive places. He has the dildo pushed in as far as he can manage, rocking and tightening around it, but he can't fuck himself properly with it because his other hand is busy circling around his dick and over his balls until he can't take it anymore, has to take hold and pull and pull, and he comes, hot and fast, gasping.
Sometimes, John fantasizes about going to McKay and confessing everything. John stutters, can't meet his gaze, but McKay knows what he's trying to say. He knows, because John can tell he wants the same thing. McKay holds John down so John doesn't have to imagine it anymore. McKay has cuffs for his wrists and ankles to hold him there while he explores with eager hands and greedy mouth. Some nights, John adds thick straps for his thighs and waist and chest. It doesn't matter how they work; they're there, and he's helpless, arching uselessly as McKay fucks him breathless with the dildo, fantasy-contorted so he can fill John's mouth with his thick, hot cock at the same time. John sucks and moans and feels ready to burst with pleasure, and when it's too much McKay brings him off with just the right squeezing grip, staring down at John with his slanting lips parted and his eyes bright in the darkness.
x-posted to sga_noticeboard and mckay_sheppard