Toymaker (John/Carson) ADULT
Title: Toymaker
Rating: ADULT
Character(s)/Pairings(s): John, John/Carson
Note: This was not my idea. This was written for the summercon Blame Someone Else exchange. The prompt I was given is below in lieu of a summary. This is not my normal sort of story.
Prompt: lilyayl will be blamed for thefannishwaldo's request -- John/Carson in a BDSM relationship with John as the top/Dom
John drilled carefully through the small, blue raquetball he'd filched from one of his marines. The ball was slightly larger than the ball gags he'd used on Earth, but that couldn't be helped as he had no desire to explain to Elizabeth why he needed a ball gag. John threaded the leather strap through the ball and grinned at his handiwork. He'd have to tie it, but it would work.
Carson's lips stretched over the blue ball, the corners of his mouth pulled back by leather. His low moans muffled and even more arousing.
John sat the ball next to the old aviator glasses he had darkened with paint until he could no longer see out of them. He had not blindfolded Carson much before, usually only with strips of sheets knotted over his eyes. But tonight-- John picked up some feathers he'd bought off-world and began to tie them together-- tonight was about Carson, about getting him used to new toys, about breaking down more of the barriers John knew he still held.
Carson's body tightening as John brushes the feathers down his chest and between his thighs. Biting down on his gag, so determined to not make a sound.
Next, John pulled the Wartenberg wheel he'd smuggled from Earth from beneath his sudoku books in his drawer. He ran the spiked wheel over his thumb; it squeaked. John smiled and laid the wheel down by the feathers.
Carson yelps when John rolls the cold Wartenberg wheel over his stomach. "Relax," John commands and presses the wheel down harder, but not hard enough to break skin (yet).
John knew Carson was embarrased by how much he enjoyed being under John's control, humiliated by his own eagerness. To be frank, John found that very arousing. He bound some wires together into a whip and laid it on the bed, spreading out each cord. Beside the whip he placed the ball sheath he'd sewn himself with some Athosian leather and waxed thread. When Teyla had asked him why he creating such an odd pouch, John had merely grinned and told her it was for his valuables. He owned few things more valuable than Carson.
Carson's breath catching as John secures the sheath and tells him that he may not remove it without his permission. "All day," John says. "While you work, while you eat, so you don't forget you're mine. All day."
Last of all, John laid the cuffs he'd stolen from Ronon onto the bed. The cuffs were black, adjustable in size, and made from a stiff leather, but padded underneath. They were meant to protect a warrior, but by stringing a braided cord through the metallic rings on the outsides of the cuffs, John would use them to restrain.
Carson spread out, stretched, naked, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and painfully aroused. John traces a long feather down his torso and Caron's body lifts to meet it. "You are so twitchy," John says, discarding the feather for his hand. He licks Carson's nipple-- he really ought to pierce one-- and Carson trembles, but stays quiet. Good boy, John thinks, and he bites gently.
John checked his watch; it was late. Carson should be alone in the infirmary by now. John grabbed his blindfold and grinned. He couldn't wait.
Rating: ADULT
Character(s)/Pairings(s): John, John/Carson
Note: This was not my idea. This was written for the summercon Blame Someone Else exchange. The prompt I was given is below in lieu of a summary. This is not my normal sort of story.
Prompt: lilyayl will be blamed for thefannishwaldo's request -- John/Carson in a BDSM relationship with John as the top/Dom
John drilled carefully through the small, blue raquetball he'd filched from one of his marines. The ball was slightly larger than the ball gags he'd used on Earth, but that couldn't be helped as he had no desire to explain to Elizabeth why he needed a ball gag. John threaded the leather strap through the ball and grinned at his handiwork. He'd have to tie it, but it would work.
Carson's lips stretched over the blue ball, the corners of his mouth pulled back by leather. His low moans muffled and even more arousing.
John sat the ball next to the old aviator glasses he had darkened with paint until he could no longer see out of them. He had not blindfolded Carson much before, usually only with strips of sheets knotted over his eyes. But tonight-- John picked up some feathers he'd bought off-world and began to tie them together-- tonight was about Carson, about getting him used to new toys, about breaking down more of the barriers John knew he still held.
Carson's body tightening as John brushes the feathers down his chest and between his thighs. Biting down on his gag, so determined to not make a sound.
Next, John pulled the Wartenberg wheel he'd smuggled from Earth from beneath his sudoku books in his drawer. He ran the spiked wheel over his thumb; it squeaked. John smiled and laid the wheel down by the feathers.
Carson yelps when John rolls the cold Wartenberg wheel over his stomach. "Relax," John commands and presses the wheel down harder, but not hard enough to break skin (yet).
John knew Carson was embarrased by how much he enjoyed being under John's control, humiliated by his own eagerness. To be frank, John found that very arousing. He bound some wires together into a whip and laid it on the bed, spreading out each cord. Beside the whip he placed the ball sheath he'd sewn himself with some Athosian leather and waxed thread. When Teyla had asked him why he creating such an odd pouch, John had merely grinned and told her it was for his valuables. He owned few things more valuable than Carson.
Carson's breath catching as John secures the sheath and tells him that he may not remove it without his permission. "All day," John says. "While you work, while you eat, so you don't forget you're mine. All day."
Last of all, John laid the cuffs he'd stolen from Ronon onto the bed. The cuffs were black, adjustable in size, and made from a stiff leather, but padded underneath. They were meant to protect a warrior, but by stringing a braided cord through the metallic rings on the outsides of the cuffs, John would use them to restrain.
Carson spread out, stretched, naked, bound, gagged, blindfolded, and painfully aroused. John traces a long feather down his torso and Caron's body lifts to meet it. "You are so twitchy," John says, discarding the feather for his hand. He licks Carson's nipple-- he really ought to pierce one-- and Carson trembles, but stays quiet. Good boy, John thinks, and he bites gently.
John checked his watch; it was late. Carson should be alone in the infirmary by now. John grabbed his blindfold and grinned. He couldn't wait.