Harlequin Challenge: Hero of the Prairie
Title: Hero of the Prairie
Author: Neery
Pairing: Rodney/John
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rodney McKay is willing to do anything to get out of his arranged marriage to sheriff Acastus Kolya. Even if that means he has to offer his body to the handsome outlaw John...
Warnings: Crack. Obviously.
Word count: 6.684
Notes: Huge thanks to tinnny for incredibly helpful beta reading. This story would have been a lot worse without her.
Hero of the Prairie
By Neery
Horses. Rodney hated them with a burning passion usually reserved only for incompetence, idiocy and sheriff Acastus Kolya. As if sensing his less than charitable thoughts, Sam shied from some kind of sound only she could hear, jumping two steps to the left and almost throwing Rodney off in the process, for, like, the hundredth time that day.
Rodney gave an involuntary squeak and clung desperately to the saddle horn, almost letting go of the reins in the process. Bates turned around to give him a deeply disgusted look. “McKay, could you maybe try to ride in a straight line for a change? At least for a few minutes? You’re making the other horses nervous.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do here?” Rodney snapped. “I am hot and thirsty, my ass and back hurt so bad I may never be able to walk again, and I am sick to death of this trip, so could you please try not to make it any worse by getting on what’s left of my nerves?
Also, I am riding in a straight line,” he added after a moment.
Bates just snorted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Rodney turned to look where he was pointing. A long straight line of hoof prints from the trek traced across the prairie towards the horizon, only occasionally crossed by a single, winding line of prints.
“Well, “straight” is a relative concept, anyway,” he mumbled.
It wasn’t exactly his fault that the damn horse was more stubborn than even the real Sam had ever been. And he was not going to be embarrassed about the fact that he was not a trained rider, for god’s sake. He’d never had much opportunity to practice his skills after all. And he was feeling bad enough as it was, the brown uniforms of Kolya’s men surrounding him like a constant reminder of the destination of this awful journey.
Married to Kolya, his mind incredulously repeated once more, also for the hundredth time that day. It still didn’t sound any less absurd, and not one bit less repulsing or terrifying, either. He had been arguing about it with his father ever since he had seen fit to inform Rodney of the arranged marriage, but to no avail. The McKays were still the richest family in the West, but Kolya’s ranch, Genii, was growing fast, and there were rumors about him planning to run for governor next year. Their alliance would be beneficial for both families, and his father could not be talked out of it. It wasn’t like he’d ever cared much about Rodney’s feelings on anything, anyway.
The marriage was a done deal. Today, Kolya’s men had come to escort him to his new home. Bates, his father’s bodyguard, was accompanying them, ostensibly as some kind of honor guard, but Rodney suspected it was more to make sure that he didn’t do something to endanger the marriage at the last second.
R
odney shivered with dread at the thought of what awaited him, remembering his one meeting with Kolya - the man pressing him to the wall in a dark corridor, one rough hand around his neck and the other sliding down his body and groping brutally between his legs. He had been too shocked and terrified to cry for help, and it had only lasted a few seconds, anyway - he hadn’t suspected he’d ever have to deal with the man again. But now he knew that at the time Kolya had already completed the negotiations with his father, had purchased Rodney like a piece of cattle in exchange for the alliance between their farms. His muscles clenched up at the thought, in helpless rage at his father as much as fear.
Sam shied again, startling Bates’ horse, and he sighed and patted her neck awkwardly. Maybe she could sense how much he didn’t want to go to Genii, and was complying with his desire to slow the journey down? But no, that was stupid. Damn horse was just too stubborn for her own good.
They were riding through a valley now, the steep slopes covered with gnarled, dusty trees. At least they offered some measure of protection from the glaring sun.
Some kind of bird cried, and was answered by another. And then suddenly there was the sound of rocks rolling down the hill, breaking twigs, and an eerie war cry echoing from the hills. Indians!, was his first thought, but then he saw the men tearing down the slopes, and no, those were white men. Bandits.
He jerked on the reins in panic, trying to get away, but Sam reared up, and he had his hands full with trying not to fall. By the time he got her under control and himself upright in the saddle again, they were already surrounded.
The outlaws had guns pointed at them from every direction, and Kolya’s men were slowly raising their hands above their heads. The bandits had been over them too fast for any real kind of resistance - a few shots had been fired, and one of Kolya’s men was clutching his bleeding arm, but that was it.
“Nice to meet you guys”, the bandits’ leader said with a small smirk. He was a tall, lean but muscular man, sitting in the saddle with casual grace. “Now, I’d rather not hurt any more of you, and I’m certain you don’t want to get hurt either, so why don’t you just hand the money over and we can all go our way.”
“Now, just wait a minute -“ Tyrus, one of Kolya’s men, said, and the bandit’s horse whirled around to face him.
“Yeah?” he drawled, coming a few steps closer, until the barrel of his colt was almost touching Tyrus’ chest, and Tyrus’ horse was nervously throwing its head, trying to inch away from the proximity of the huge stallion.
Tyrus swallowed, but kept talking anyway. Rodney’s respect for the man rose a notch - he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have gotten one word out in the same situation.
“We’re sheriff Kolya’s men,” Tyrus said, as if that wasn’t obvious from their uniforms already. “Believe me, you don’t want to mess with him.”
The outlaw laughed. There wasn’t any humor in it. “Oh, I know damn well who you are. This is not the first time I have gotten one over Kolya, and if I have anything to say about it, it won’t be the last.”
He stretched out his hand, and with a shudder Rodney recognized Kolya’s brand - the one that usually marked his cattle - burned into it. God, that must have hurt beyond belief. Obviously the man was some kind of ex-slave with an axe to grind. He only hoped that didn’t mean that he was going to kill them all once he had what he wanted. His hands were clammy with sweat on the reins, and Sam was prancing anxiously.
He watched two of the outlaws going around with bags, collecting guns, money, jewelry and watches from the reluctant men. He gave up his own treasures without a fight when they came to him, even though it gave him a pang to see his granny’s antique golden compass in the grubby hands of those strangers.
It didn’t take five minutes, all in all, until they were back on their horses and ready to leave. Kolya’s men were glowering at them in helpless anger.
The leader smiled smugly, tipping his hat jauntily and nodding to Tyrus. “Say hello to Kolya for me, will you? Tell him the name’s John. See if he remembers me - because he will, from now on. We’ll meet again, I think.”
He shifted in the saddle, preparing to disappear as fast as he had come.
“Wait!” Rodney blurted out. John slowly turned to him. He froze under the piercing gaze, shifting nervously, and had to gather all his courage to continue.
“Take me with you.”
Bates threw him a withering look. “Rodney!”
Rodney ignored him. This was his one chance to get out of that damn marriage, and damn if he was going to let it go.
John laughed, but when he saw that Rodney was serious, his expression changed to one Rodney knew only too well, mostly from himself: I can’t believe you really just said something this incredibly stupid.
But instead of saying it out loud, as Rodney would have done, he just shook his head. “Forget it.” He turned away. “Come on, people, time to go.”
“Please!” Rodney said, trying to put as much sincerity and pleading behind the word as he could. “You’ve got to-"
John suddenly whirled on him, much as he had done with Tyrus. Rodney tried not to flinch back and failed miserably.
“I don’t fucking have to do anything,” John hissed, his voice going dangerously low. Sam, obeying Rodney's very thoughts for once, backed away nervously.
“But I am curious as to why you’d think I’d have any interest in taking anyone of Kolya’s men with me. That has to be the most obvious - not to mention stupidest - plan to plant a spy in the history of spying.”
Rodney shook his head desperately. “I am not spying for Kolya! And I am probably one hell of a lot more intelligent than you are, too, so where do you get off calling me -"
But John was already turning away from him again, losing interest, so Rodney changed tracks quickly, panicking.
“Look, I don’t like Kolya any more than you do, and now they’re going to marry me to him, and you can’t leave me here! Please!”
Something of the desperation he felt must have gotten through in his voice, because John looked at him again. “Please,” he repeated. “I’ll do anything you want if you just take me with you.”
“Anything, huh?” John’s gaze slid down his body, looking him over from head to toe and back again. Rodney squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“Well, I could use someone for my bed,” John drawled. “You willing to do that, too?”
“Rodney! How can you even consider… Think of what this will do to your father! This marriage is…” Bates was looking ready to strangle him.
John pointed his gun at him, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You - shut up.” He turned to Rodney again. “You, answer. And make it fast - we don’t have all day.”
Rodney swallowed. This meant he’d basically be the man’s whore, didn’t it? Not what he had hoped for at all. On the other hand…
He thought of Kolya’s alleged sexual tastes, the whispered tales of whips and shackles and bed partners disappearing, never to be found again. He thought of servants flinching at the mere sound of the man’s name and an ugly cattle mark burned into sensitive flesh.
No. Anything had to be better than that. At least John was kind of attractive, and considering that they were still alive and unharmed, probably didn’t make a hobby out of unreasonable cruelty the way Kolya did. It couldn’t be worse - and maybe it would be better.
“I’m… yeah. Okay,” he said, voice shaking only slightly.
John looked surprised for half a second, as if that was not the answer he had expected, then he shrugged, leaned over and jerked the reins out of Rodney’s hand and over Sam’s head. Pulling Rodney’s horse behind himself, he turned and galloped away.
Rodney yelped and once again could do nothing more than cling to the saddle and pray not to be thrown off as the horses climbed the hill. In front of him, John was sitting as if molded to his horse, easily holding his balance, even as it stumbled over something on the uneven ground. Rodney didn’t see him giving any commands or tugging on the reins even once, but his horse still seemed to do exactly what he wanted it to, as if he was controlling it with his mind.
The next minutes were a blur of scenery rushing by, until finally they slowed to something not quite as likely to break their neck, although still faster than what Rodney considered reasonably comfortable travel pace. Not that “reasonably comfortable” said much when it came to long journeys on horseback. A few times, a complaint was right on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. He reminded himself that he had chosen to go with them, and he could not afford to piss them off.
Kolya would be livid with his betrayal, would probably kill him if he managed to get his hands on him, and he knew he didn’t stand a chance of surviving out here on the prairie on his own, either. It was staying with the outlaws or death.
Finally they reached the camp. It had a temporary look to it - the horses were tethered to long lines instead of held in actual corrals, and the cooking was done over simple open fireplaces. Highly inefficient, of course - he could build something a lot less energy-intensive and warmer out of scrap metal in five minutes. Maybe that would be one way to make himself useful around here - earn himself a place for whenever John got tired of him. Which hopefully wouldn’t be too soon - right now he desperately needed the protection the outlaw could provide. Even if he was not exactly looking forward to what he’d have to do to earn it.
He dismounted awkwardly, wincing when his feet touched the floor. God, he had been right, his back and legs were so cramped up they almost didn’t support his weight anymore. None of the others seemed to have this kind of difficulty. It just wasn’t fair.
John frowned at him. “You all right?”
“Well, what do you think?” He started, exasperated. “I mean, do I look like I’m - um. Yeah, I’m fine, I guess,” cutting himself off abruptly when he remembered his resolve not to piss his hosts off.
John looked at him like he was starting to doubt his sanity, but didn’t comment. He reached out to pat Sam’s neck, wet with sweat from the long ride.
“That’s a nice horse you’ve got there - even if your riding style makes her look kinda bad.”
Rodney blushed.
“I didn’t get to do it much, at home. I had more important things to do than ride around the country, you know,” he said defensively. He’d always felt more at home in the lab he’d set up in one of the barns than out on horseback. He felt a momentary pang at the thought that he’d never see it again now.
John grinned. “Well, you’ll get to do it a lot more now. Not much choice, out here.” He was obviously amused at Rodney’s less-than-enthusiastic expression.
“Anyway, gotta go - there’s some things I have to take care of. We’ll talk later.” He turned to the dark-skinned man beside him.
“Ford? Make sure someone takes care of his horse-" nodding towards Rodney - “and then take him to my tent, please.”
With that he was gone. Rodney looked after him for a moment, feeling strangely lost. They were surrounded by people now, who were hugging and greeting the returning party. Many of them gave him curious glances, and not few of those turned hostile when they took in his still mostly clean, expensive clothes.
He flinched when someone touched his arm, but it was just Ford. “Come on, then,” he said, and Rodney followed him, relieved to get away from the looks and whispers.
Surprisingly, John’s tent was far from being the biggest in the camp, and not even set apart by any kind of decorations or signs. Rodney wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but from the way the others promptly deferred to John’s every order, he had been thinking of something a bit more obviously chief-of-the-tribe.
The inside was surprisingly roomy, though, and there was a low bed thickly covered with furs that looked incredibly appealing after the exhausting, painful day. He deliberately didn’t think about what would happen on that bed later on, just sank down on it with a heart-felt sigh of relief.
Ford grinned at him, genuine friendliness in his expression. “Tired? Don’t worry, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. My first few days in the camp, I was barely able to move anymore at night.”
God help him, he sounded like those were actually fond memories. What was wrong with that kid? But Ford was already talking again, he’d better listen, he needed to know as much about this place as possible if he had to live here from now on - “…beat the hell out of being sent to the mines, anyway. Especially since the bastard damn well deserved what he got, striking that poor girl.”
Oh well. Just some kind of personal story or something, then. Rodney wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about, after he’d tuned out the beginning of the sentence, so he just nodded and tried to look sympathetic. He thought it probably made him look like he had a toothache.
“Well, gotta go, there’s always lots of work to be done after a raid,” Ford said cheerily. “You just wait here, and don’t touch anything, John’s peculiar about his stuff.”
He was already out of the door - well, tent-flap - before Rodney could answer.
Lying still on the bed was wonderfully cozy and relaxing for about twenty minutes, but after that he started to get bored. He got up - ignoring his body’s protests - to look around. There was a pile of dirty clothing in one corner. From the tent pole hung some knives in their sheaths, but no gun. Not that he’d have known what to do with one if there had been, and he wouldn’t have been able to out-shoot any of the outlaws, anyway, so that was probably for the best.
In one corner of the tent, half-concealed under some furs, was a small wooden chest. Ford’s warning flashed through his mind for all of a second before it was overruled by his curiosity. John probably wouldn’t be back so early, anyway. He was sure there were a lot of things to do in a camp like this - booty to divide, raids to organize, and… well, he wasn’t exactly sure what there was to do, but surely there was plenty of it.
There wasn’t even a lock - either John was foolishly trusting, or he didn’t really care so much after all. Ford had probably just been trying to scare him.
At first it seemed like there was nothing interesting at all, just some clean clothes - shirts, underwear - but under that, he found the real treasures.
There was a little box full of sweets - he looked at them longingly, hunger making him feel almost faint for a moment, but didn’t take any. Besides that, amazingly enough, a real book - the last thing he’d have expected to find in the tent of some outlaw out on the prairie. It looked like it had been read more than once, too - the volume was well cared for, but worn around the edges. Seemed like there was more to this John than met the eye. “The Art of War”, from some guy named Sun Tzu. Not his favorite kind of reading material, but at least it seemed that the man was neither illiterate nor completely stupid. Right now he was prepared to be thankful for small mercies.
He was just about to put the book back where he had found it when a strong hand grabbed his arm from behind. He jerked, the book sliding out of his hand and falling to the floor. John let go of him, picking it up and tucking it carefully back into the chest, taking care that it wouldn’t be creased, before he turned to Rodney.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was drawling and quiet. Rodney might have mistaken it for a light tone of voice, if he hadn’t heard it directed at Tyrus before, over the barrel of a gun. So he could see it for the threat it was. Shit. Fucking up already, when he couldn’t afford to fall from this man’s good graces.
“I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly, forcing himself to look into John’s impassive face, trying to sound convincingly contrite. “I was just curious, I didn’t mean - no, doesn’t matter what I meant, I shouldn’t have - but really, you could have locked that thing, you know.”
John shook his head, but he looked more amused than angry, now. Rodney suppressed his sigh of relief. “I usually don’t need to - the people in this camp are smart enough not to go through my belongings. And from now on, I’ll expect you to be smart as well. Is that clear?” All the levity had suddenly gone out of his voice, leaving pure steel behind.
Rodney nodded hurriedly. “Sure. No touching. Got it.”
John sighed and sat down on the bed, the tension almost visibly draining out of him. “So what am I gonna do with you now?”
Rodney figured that was his clue to prove that it would be a good thing to not leave him out here in the middle of nowhere to fend for himself, which meant that he’d better get on with making up for some of the ground he had just lost. So he tried to smile seductively - which he probably did just about as well as sympathetic, meaning not very - and knelt between John’s spread legs, tentatively putting his hand on the fly of his pants, rubbing lightly.
He hoped it wasn’t obvious how much his hands were shaking. He wasn’t even really sure how this was supposed to work, beyond the vague suspicion that John, as a guy, might like the same things he liked to do to himself. He banished the thought of the other thing, because he wasn’t even sure Robert hadn’t just been making that up - he’d touched himself there once, in the bath, feeling kind of daring, and there was no way to fit a cock in there without some serious pain. He didn’t think John was into pain. He hoped. He also hoped that he wasn’t going to screw this up too badl-
Although apparently he already had, because John was grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away, looking at him with a bewildered expression.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He was echoing his own words from earlier. Rodney wondered if he did it consciously, like some reminder that he’d just screwed up for the second time, but that was paranoid, wasn’t it?
It probably was, because John’s tone was a lot kinder this time around, except he also looked really puzzled, which wasn’t fair, because how on earth was Rodney supposed to know how the protocols on this kind of thing worked?
“Well, you said you wanted someone for…”
John was laughing at him.
“Hey!” Rodney said indignantly. “I may not have much experience at being anyone’s whore, but considering that those were your terms I really think you could stop making fun of me for a second here.”
John was shaking his head, still laughing. “Sorry, sorry. Look, I only said that to get you off my back - I wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes!”
“I told you - they were going to make me marry Kolya! I can think of better things to do with the rest of my life than spending it tied to the bed of that… that…” He let his voice trail off, because he couldn’t think of any word bad enough to adequately express the horror that was Kolya, and also, Sheppard was waving his hand in a “Yeah, yeah, shut up already” gesture.
“All right, I got it, you were serious about coming with us. Excuse me for being skeptical. You don’t look like prime outlaw material, all right?”
He almost wanted to protest that, because coming from Sheppard it sounded kind of insulting, but then, he knew better than anyone that he was not a fan of the great wide outdoors.
“So, um, what are you going to do now? Because you know you can’t just leave me here, right? Kolya’s going to be out for my head by now, and who knows what kind of dangerous animals are running around out here, and, um, if you want, I could still -"
He was already reaching for the fastenings on John’s trousers again when John stopped him a second time, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“Don’t, you don’t need to... I’m not just going to leave you here to die. And I’m not the kind of man who enjoys forcing others into his bed, unlike…” His eyes darkened for a moment. Rodney wondered if Kolya had maybe done that to him. It would certainly explain why he had run away.
He got up awkwardly, stumbling when his vision suddenly began to gray out and the floor seemed to sway under his feet. John grabbed his arm quickly, holding him upright.
“Whoa, hey, not going to faint, are you?”
Rodney had to lean on him for an embarrassingly long moment before the world righted itself again. He stepped back quickly, trying to restore something of his lost dignity. “I wasn’t fainting,” he said indignantly. “I just tend to get a little… dizzy, sometimes, when I’m hungry.”
“Didn’t Ford bring you anything to eat? No, wait, he was helping Beckett with that pregnant cow. Damn, forgot about that. Sorry. I’ll go get you something.”
He returned a minute later, bearing a basket with still-warm bread and some kind of stew. It smelled delicious and tasted even better, even though the stew was a bit overcooked and had charred little bits floating in it. Rodney ate greedily, only remembering to mind his manners after the worst of the hunger had been sated.
John was quiet while he devoured his meal, so quiet that when he finally spoke, Rodney startled and almost dropped his last piece of bread.
“So, can you do anything useful? You know, pull your weight around here?”
The question took him by surprise, and he was floundering for a moment, but really, this was a topic he’d always been comfortable with. Of course many of his skills probably didn’t actually count for anything in a camp of outlaws, but there was still plenty that would - “I can repair guns, even make them if I have the right equipment - which I doubt you have, ‘round here - um… engineer things - you know, pulleys, levers, that kind of thing, and anything more complicated you might need - your cooking fires are woefully inadequate, by the way, too, I could do something about that - make gun powder and nitro, and, um… many other things”, he finished lamely. “Oh, and did I mention that I know almost everything about almost everything?”
John’s eyes were looking a little glazed and a lot skeptical, but Rodney was used to that reaction. At least he looked vaguely impressed, too. He could work with that.
“I sure as hell hope you aren’t making these things up,” John said finally. “Because if you aren’t, we could desperately use someone like you.”
“Not making things up,” he confirmed. “If you want, I can show you right now -“
“Whoa, slow down there.” John was waving him down with hands that were surprisingly nimble and long-fingered for a bandit. Nice hands, really. “It’s been one hell of a long day.” And it really had been - he’d been on his feet since sunrise, and now it was already getting dark.
John started unbuttoning his shirt. “We’ll have to see about getting you a tent of your own tomorrow, but for now, I’m beat. We can share the bed, or you can sleep on the floor if you’d rather, I don’t care.”
By now he was standing there in nothing but his breeches. Rodney’s mouth went dry at the sight of the lean, muscular body, the dark trail of hair leading down from his flat abs. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a hardship if John had decided to take him up on his offer after all.
He suddenly realized that John was still waiting for his answer. What to do - he had an uncomfortable feeling that he might embarrass himself, sharing a bed with John, but on the other hand, his body was still aching all over from the ride. He really, really didn’t want to know how he’d feel after a night spent on the cold hard floor on top of that.
“I’d rather share the bed,” he decided.
John nodded without looking at him, and turned away to bend over a bowl of water, giving Rodney an unobstructed view of his naked back for the first time. Rodney gasped in shock, completely unable to stop the sound.
John’s back was a mass of long, intersecting scars, some of them thin and white, others raised and angry-looking. He knew that kind of scars, had seen them on his father’s slaves occasionally, but his father had never had anyone whipped that severely. It was a miracle that John had survived it at all.
John didn’t look at him, washing his face and upper body with seeming calm, but Rodney thought he could see the muscles in his back tensing.
“Who -" he started, but John slowly turned his head to give him a look of utter disbelief at the question. Who do you think?
He shut his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbled after a moment.
The awkward silence seemed to stretch on and on, only broken by the sound of splashing water, until finally John sighed and turned to him, chest still dripping wet, his face utterly devoid of expression.
“It’s all right. Just forget it.”
When John was finished he threw the water out, then refilled the bowl for Rodney, who was infinitely grateful to be able to wash at least some of the grime and sweat off his body. He really would have preferred a bath, but he had the suspicion that he’d have to do without for some time to come out here.
He undressed down to his breeches as well, then slid into bed next to John, careful to stay on his own side of the bed and not touch him. The silence didn’t feel so awkward anymore now, but still he was keenly aware of John lying beside him, his soft, even breathing the only sound in the quiet tent.
He’d been afraid that he might be too nervous to sleep, but he must have been more exhausted than he had thought, and soon he could feel the world starting to drift away.
He awoke wrapped around John’s body, one strong leg pressing against his hard cock. It felt wonderful, even as he could feel his whole body grow hot with embarrassment. Yeah, this was pretty much exactly what he’d been afraid of.
He tried to ease himself back without waking John, but a small movement showed him that it was already too late for that - had been too late for some time, judging from the way John’s eyes were wide awake, watching him with an amused expression. He groaned and let his head fall back against the mattress, extracting his limbs from where they’d been tangled with John’s.
“Sorry. I’m not actually trying to make a habit of coming on to you, even if it may look like it.”
John smirked. “Well, I don’t mind. You’re the one who nearly fainted from relief last night when I told you that I wasn’t planning to fuck you.”
“I didn’t faint,” Rodney protested. “And even if I had passed out, it wouldn’t have been because of you. I was simply hungry and exhausted and I have had the most awful day -”
John was laughing out loud now, and Rodney realized that he had just been jerking his chain.
“Oh, stop it,” he said, exasperated, which only set John off again. He rolled over to straddle John, with vague intentions of taking him into a mock-choking grip or something, except then he felt the hard pressure of an erection against his leg and immediately forgot about his other plans. At least he thought it was an erection - it wasn’t like he had any experience with this kind of situation. He reached down to confirm his suspicion, ignoring John’s outraged “Hey!”, because yeah, this definitely was.
“Oh,” he said, lamely, because he couldn’t really think of anything else, which was a feeling entirely new to him.
John grimaced. “You were all over me earlier, can’t blame a guy for being interested. By the way, if you’re not planning to do something about that, would you mind taking your hand off my cock?”
Rodney flinched and started to pull his hand back, then hesitated, suddenly all to aware of the warm, naked skin of John’s thighs pressed to the inside of his legs, his own cock jumping with renewed interest.
He wouldn’t have thought that he could want this, want John, but now he did, and he’d never been willing to let anyone’s misconception stand in the way of solid evidence. Not even his own. Not when his body was still remembering in all too vivid detail how it had felt to wake up wrapped around John.
He gently traced the shape of Johns cock through his breeches. John didn’t stop him. Instead he gasped quietly, letting his head fall back into the pillow. Rodney pushed the covers down so he could look at him, sun-tanned body against the furs, all long lean limbs and hard muscle, mouth open in a quiet gasp at Rodney’s touch. He stroked him gently, curiously, trying to find out what kind of touch got the best reaction.
John’s hips were pushing up against his hand almost imperceptibly now, and he was breathing quickly, almost panting. Rodney was just starting to feel a bit smug about finally being able to get a real reaction out of the man, when John suddenly lifted his head again, smirking at him. “Not going to pass out this time, are you?”
Rodney let go of John’s cock abruptly - served him right, for teasing him at a time like this - and sat back indignantly. “I’ll have you know - Mmff!“
John had deftly rolled them over so that he was on top, taking advantage of Rodney’s open mouth to lick teasingly at his lips. Rodney tried to draw back for all of a second until his brain changed tracks and decided that this was much nicer than talking, anyway.
He tangled a hand in John’s hair to keep him there, and John deepened the kiss until Rodney was panting with it, his cock so hard he thought he might be able to come from nothing but this. His other hand reached out blindly, sliding over a rounded shoulder and then further back, until his fingertips caught on a hard ridge of scar tissue.
He stilled abruptly. He had all but forgotten about John’s scars in the heat of the moment, but now he could see them clearly in his mind’s eye again, sharp lines breaking up the smooth expanse of John’s back. He carefully traced one of them with his fingers, following it down from shoulder to waist. John lay motionless, stretched out on top of him, the playful mood completely gone in an instant.
“Sorry,” Rodney mumbled and quickly snatched his hand back.
John shifted on top of him, bracing himself with his forearms so he could look at Rodney. “Want me to put on a shirt?” he asked.
Rodney shook his head quickly. “No, it’s… it doesn’t bother me. If it doesn’t bother you, that is. I mean, if you want to put on a shirt, that would be fine, of course - um, not that you’d need my permission for tha- oh, you know what I mean, damn it!”
John was smirking at him again, but became serious in an instant when he saw Rodney’s expression.
“Feel free to touch, if you want. I don’t mind.”
With that he obviously considered the topic closed, because he leaned down to nuzzle Rodney’s chest then slid off him, shoved Rodney's breeches down and wrapped one hand around his cock. Rodney gasped and arched up into the touch. This felt totally different from doing it himself, John’s fingers hard and callused where he was used to his own softer skin, the angle and grip all wrong, but it was somehow so much better, too…
He tried to reciprocate, but then John started licking and sucking his nipple, and he forgot all about that. He’d always known that his nipples were sensitive - hell, they peaked up through his shirts embarrassingly often - but never like this. The feeling went straight to his cock, making it jump in John’s hand. John laughed softly, and then he dove down to wrap his mouth around Rodney’s cock.
Rodney jerked in surprise - he’d always thought only whores did this, he hadn’t expected - and then the sensations registered all at once, wet-tight-hot-so good and oh, oh, he could see why people paid for this.
He tried not to come right then, because he really didn’t want it to end, but it was just too good. He also tried not to grip John’s hair too tightly, and had a feeling he didn’t quite manage that, either, and then he was crying out and coming hard, every thought wiped away for a few blissful seconds of oh god so good!
He slumped back against the furs. John grinned up to him, a wet trail in the corner of his mouth, hair mussed and face impossibly smug. Rodney wanted to say something witty and cutting in response to that much smugness, but his brain was still refusing to cooperate, so he just tugged John up and kissed him, feeling that smile against his own lips.
John’s hips were rubbing up against him in small, almost unconscious motions, as if he couldn’t help it. Rodney couldn’t believe how hot that was. He shifted slightly, so John’s cock slid into the place between his leg and his groin, giving him a better place to thrust against. John moaned softly, burying his face between Rodney’s neck and shoulder, the rhythm of his thrusts already fast and ragged.
Rodney gripped his ass with one hand, urging him on, and stroked his back with the other one, feeling slick sweat gather over the rough texture of scars. It didn’t take long - a few more thrusts, and then John gasped against his skin and froze for a long moment, muscles almost vibrating with tension. He stayed like that for a long moment, utterly still, and then relaxed against Rodney with a soft, satisfied sigh.
Rodney put his arms around him, and they lay like that for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow.
Finally John stirred and lifted his head. “God, that was great,” he said, rolling onto his back and stretching like a big, lazy cat. He propped himself up on an elbow, grinning down at Rodney, who made a happy little noise of agreement, and then added: “See, no reason to faint.”
Rodney groaned exasperatedly. “Will you shut up about that already? You’re disrupting the mood here, you know.”
But he couldn’t really bring himself to mind John’s teasing. His whole body was still humming with contentment, and the best thing was, he was going to get to do this again, as often as he wanted.
Although actually, now that he thought about it, the best thing was not being married to Kolya. And maybe John.
Yes. Definitely John.
The End
Author: Neery
Pairing: Rodney/John
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rodney McKay is willing to do anything to get out of his arranged marriage to sheriff Acastus Kolya. Even if that means he has to offer his body to the handsome outlaw John...
Warnings: Crack. Obviously.
Word count: 6.684
Notes: Huge thanks to tinnny for incredibly helpful beta reading. This story would have been a lot worse without her.
Hero of the Prairie
By Neery
Horses. Rodney hated them with a burning passion usually reserved only for incompetence, idiocy and sheriff Acastus Kolya. As if sensing his less than charitable thoughts, Sam shied from some kind of sound only she could hear, jumping two steps to the left and almost throwing Rodney off in the process, for, like, the hundredth time that day.
Rodney gave an involuntary squeak and clung desperately to the saddle horn, almost letting go of the reins in the process. Bates turned around to give him a deeply disgusted look. “McKay, could you maybe try to ride in a straight line for a change? At least for a few minutes? You’re making the other horses nervous.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do here?” Rodney snapped. “I am hot and thirsty, my ass and back hurt so bad I may never be able to walk again, and I am sick to death of this trip, so could you please try not to make it any worse by getting on what’s left of my nerves?
Also, I am riding in a straight line,” he added after a moment.
Bates just snorted and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. Rodney turned to look where he was pointing. A long straight line of hoof prints from the trek traced across the prairie towards the horizon, only occasionally crossed by a single, winding line of prints.
“Well, “straight” is a relative concept, anyway,” he mumbled.
It wasn’t exactly his fault that the damn horse was more stubborn than even the real Sam had ever been. And he was not going to be embarrassed about the fact that he was not a trained rider, for god’s sake. He’d never had much opportunity to practice his skills after all. And he was feeling bad enough as it was, the brown uniforms of Kolya’s men surrounding him like a constant reminder of the destination of this awful journey.
Married to Kolya, his mind incredulously repeated once more, also for the hundredth time that day. It still didn’t sound any less absurd, and not one bit less repulsing or terrifying, either. He had been arguing about it with his father ever since he had seen fit to inform Rodney of the arranged marriage, but to no avail. The McKays were still the richest family in the West, but Kolya’s ranch, Genii, was growing fast, and there were rumors about him planning to run for governor next year. Their alliance would be beneficial for both families, and his father could not be talked out of it. It wasn’t like he’d ever cared much about Rodney’s feelings on anything, anyway.
The marriage was a done deal. Today, Kolya’s men had come to escort him to his new home. Bates, his father’s bodyguard, was accompanying them, ostensibly as some kind of honor guard, but Rodney suspected it was more to make sure that he didn’t do something to endanger the marriage at the last second.
R
odney shivered with dread at the thought of what awaited him, remembering his one meeting with Kolya - the man pressing him to the wall in a dark corridor, one rough hand around his neck and the other sliding down his body and groping brutally between his legs. He had been too shocked and terrified to cry for help, and it had only lasted a few seconds, anyway - he hadn’t suspected he’d ever have to deal with the man again. But now he knew that at the time Kolya had already completed the negotiations with his father, had purchased Rodney like a piece of cattle in exchange for the alliance between their farms. His muscles clenched up at the thought, in helpless rage at his father as much as fear.
Sam shied again, startling Bates’ horse, and he sighed and patted her neck awkwardly. Maybe she could sense how much he didn’t want to go to Genii, and was complying with his desire to slow the journey down? But no, that was stupid. Damn horse was just too stubborn for her own good.
They were riding through a valley now, the steep slopes covered with gnarled, dusty trees. At least they offered some measure of protection from the glaring sun.
Some kind of bird cried, and was answered by another. And then suddenly there was the sound of rocks rolling down the hill, breaking twigs, and an eerie war cry echoing from the hills. Indians!, was his first thought, but then he saw the men tearing down the slopes, and no, those were white men. Bandits.
He jerked on the reins in panic, trying to get away, but Sam reared up, and he had his hands full with trying not to fall. By the time he got her under control and himself upright in the saddle again, they were already surrounded.
The outlaws had guns pointed at them from every direction, and Kolya’s men were slowly raising their hands above their heads. The bandits had been over them too fast for any real kind of resistance - a few shots had been fired, and one of Kolya’s men was clutching his bleeding arm, but that was it.
“Nice to meet you guys”, the bandits’ leader said with a small smirk. He was a tall, lean but muscular man, sitting in the saddle with casual grace. “Now, I’d rather not hurt any more of you, and I’m certain you don’t want to get hurt either, so why don’t you just hand the money over and we can all go our way.”
“Now, just wait a minute -“ Tyrus, one of Kolya’s men, said, and the bandit’s horse whirled around to face him.
“Yeah?” he drawled, coming a few steps closer, until the barrel of his colt was almost touching Tyrus’ chest, and Tyrus’ horse was nervously throwing its head, trying to inch away from the proximity of the huge stallion.
Tyrus swallowed, but kept talking anyway. Rodney’s respect for the man rose a notch - he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have gotten one word out in the same situation.
“We’re sheriff Kolya’s men,” Tyrus said, as if that wasn’t obvious from their uniforms already. “Believe me, you don’t want to mess with him.”
The outlaw laughed. There wasn’t any humor in it. “Oh, I know damn well who you are. This is not the first time I have gotten one over Kolya, and if I have anything to say about it, it won’t be the last.”
He stretched out his hand, and with a shudder Rodney recognized Kolya’s brand - the one that usually marked his cattle - burned into it. God, that must have hurt beyond belief. Obviously the man was some kind of ex-slave with an axe to grind. He only hoped that didn’t mean that he was going to kill them all once he had what he wanted. His hands were clammy with sweat on the reins, and Sam was prancing anxiously.
He watched two of the outlaws going around with bags, collecting guns, money, jewelry and watches from the reluctant men. He gave up his own treasures without a fight when they came to him, even though it gave him a pang to see his granny’s antique golden compass in the grubby hands of those strangers.
It didn’t take five minutes, all in all, until they were back on their horses and ready to leave. Kolya’s men were glowering at them in helpless anger.
The leader smiled smugly, tipping his hat jauntily and nodding to Tyrus. “Say hello to Kolya for me, will you? Tell him the name’s John. See if he remembers me - because he will, from now on. We’ll meet again, I think.”
He shifted in the saddle, preparing to disappear as fast as he had come.
“Wait!” Rodney blurted out. John slowly turned to him. He froze under the piercing gaze, shifting nervously, and had to gather all his courage to continue.
“Take me with you.”
Bates threw him a withering look. “Rodney!”
Rodney ignored him. This was his one chance to get out of that damn marriage, and damn if he was going to let it go.
John laughed, but when he saw that Rodney was serious, his expression changed to one Rodney knew only too well, mostly from himself: I can’t believe you really just said something this incredibly stupid.
But instead of saying it out loud, as Rodney would have done, he just shook his head. “Forget it.” He turned away. “Come on, people, time to go.”
“Please!” Rodney said, trying to put as much sincerity and pleading behind the word as he could. “You’ve got to-"
John suddenly whirled on him, much as he had done with Tyrus. Rodney tried not to flinch back and failed miserably.
“I don’t fucking have to do anything,” John hissed, his voice going dangerously low. Sam, obeying Rodney's very thoughts for once, backed away nervously.
“But I am curious as to why you’d think I’d have any interest in taking anyone of Kolya’s men with me. That has to be the most obvious - not to mention stupidest - plan to plant a spy in the history of spying.”
Rodney shook his head desperately. “I am not spying for Kolya! And I am probably one hell of a lot more intelligent than you are, too, so where do you get off calling me -"
But John was already turning away from him again, losing interest, so Rodney changed tracks quickly, panicking.
“Look, I don’t like Kolya any more than you do, and now they’re going to marry me to him, and you can’t leave me here! Please!”
Something of the desperation he felt must have gotten through in his voice, because John looked at him again. “Please,” he repeated. “I’ll do anything you want if you just take me with you.”
“Anything, huh?” John’s gaze slid down his body, looking him over from head to toe and back again. Rodney squirmed uncomfortably under the scrutiny.
“Well, I could use someone for my bed,” John drawled. “You willing to do that, too?”
“Rodney! How can you even consider… Think of what this will do to your father! This marriage is…” Bates was looking ready to strangle him.
John pointed his gun at him, cutting him off mid-sentence. “You - shut up.” He turned to Rodney again. “You, answer. And make it fast - we don’t have all day.”
Rodney swallowed. This meant he’d basically be the man’s whore, didn’t it? Not what he had hoped for at all. On the other hand…
He thought of Kolya’s alleged sexual tastes, the whispered tales of whips and shackles and bed partners disappearing, never to be found again. He thought of servants flinching at the mere sound of the man’s name and an ugly cattle mark burned into sensitive flesh.
No. Anything had to be better than that. At least John was kind of attractive, and considering that they were still alive and unharmed, probably didn’t make a hobby out of unreasonable cruelty the way Kolya did. It couldn’t be worse - and maybe it would be better.
“I’m… yeah. Okay,” he said, voice shaking only slightly.
John looked surprised for half a second, as if that was not the answer he had expected, then he shrugged, leaned over and jerked the reins out of Rodney’s hand and over Sam’s head. Pulling Rodney’s horse behind himself, he turned and galloped away.
Rodney yelped and once again could do nothing more than cling to the saddle and pray not to be thrown off as the horses climbed the hill. In front of him, John was sitting as if molded to his horse, easily holding his balance, even as it stumbled over something on the uneven ground. Rodney didn’t see him giving any commands or tugging on the reins even once, but his horse still seemed to do exactly what he wanted it to, as if he was controlling it with his mind.
The next minutes were a blur of scenery rushing by, until finally they slowed to something not quite as likely to break their neck, although still faster than what Rodney considered reasonably comfortable travel pace. Not that “reasonably comfortable” said much when it came to long journeys on horseback. A few times, a complaint was right on the tip of his tongue, but he bit it back. He reminded himself that he had chosen to go with them, and he could not afford to piss them off.
Kolya would be livid with his betrayal, would probably kill him if he managed to get his hands on him, and he knew he didn’t stand a chance of surviving out here on the prairie on his own, either. It was staying with the outlaws or death.
Finally they reached the camp. It had a temporary look to it - the horses were tethered to long lines instead of held in actual corrals, and the cooking was done over simple open fireplaces. Highly inefficient, of course - he could build something a lot less energy-intensive and warmer out of scrap metal in five minutes. Maybe that would be one way to make himself useful around here - earn himself a place for whenever John got tired of him. Which hopefully wouldn’t be too soon - right now he desperately needed the protection the outlaw could provide. Even if he was not exactly looking forward to what he’d have to do to earn it.
He dismounted awkwardly, wincing when his feet touched the floor. God, he had been right, his back and legs were so cramped up they almost didn’t support his weight anymore. None of the others seemed to have this kind of difficulty. It just wasn’t fair.
John frowned at him. “You all right?”
“Well, what do you think?” He started, exasperated. “I mean, do I look like I’m - um. Yeah, I’m fine, I guess,” cutting himself off abruptly when he remembered his resolve not to piss his hosts off.
John looked at him like he was starting to doubt his sanity, but didn’t comment. He reached out to pat Sam’s neck, wet with sweat from the long ride.
“That’s a nice horse you’ve got there - even if your riding style makes her look kinda bad.”
Rodney blushed.
“I didn’t get to do it much, at home. I had more important things to do than ride around the country, you know,” he said defensively. He’d always felt more at home in the lab he’d set up in one of the barns than out on horseback. He felt a momentary pang at the thought that he’d never see it again now.
John grinned. “Well, you’ll get to do it a lot more now. Not much choice, out here.” He was obviously amused at Rodney’s less-than-enthusiastic expression.
“Anyway, gotta go - there’s some things I have to take care of. We’ll talk later.” He turned to the dark-skinned man beside him.
“Ford? Make sure someone takes care of his horse-" nodding towards Rodney - “and then take him to my tent, please.”
With that he was gone. Rodney looked after him for a moment, feeling strangely lost. They were surrounded by people now, who were hugging and greeting the returning party. Many of them gave him curious glances, and not few of those turned hostile when they took in his still mostly clean, expensive clothes.
He flinched when someone touched his arm, but it was just Ford. “Come on, then,” he said, and Rodney followed him, relieved to get away from the looks and whispers.
Surprisingly, John’s tent was far from being the biggest in the camp, and not even set apart by any kind of decorations or signs. Rodney wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but from the way the others promptly deferred to John’s every order, he had been thinking of something a bit more obviously chief-of-the-tribe.
The inside was surprisingly roomy, though, and there was a low bed thickly covered with furs that looked incredibly appealing after the exhausting, painful day. He deliberately didn’t think about what would happen on that bed later on, just sank down on it with a heart-felt sigh of relief.
Ford grinned at him, genuine friendliness in his expression. “Tired? Don’t worry, it’s going to get worse before it gets better. My first few days in the camp, I was barely able to move anymore at night.”
God help him, he sounded like those were actually fond memories. What was wrong with that kid? But Ford was already talking again, he’d better listen, he needed to know as much about this place as possible if he had to live here from now on - “…beat the hell out of being sent to the mines, anyway. Especially since the bastard damn well deserved what he got, striking that poor girl.”
Oh well. Just some kind of personal story or something, then. Rodney wasn’t quite sure what he was talking about, after he’d tuned out the beginning of the sentence, so he just nodded and tried to look sympathetic. He thought it probably made him look like he had a toothache.
“Well, gotta go, there’s always lots of work to be done after a raid,” Ford said cheerily. “You just wait here, and don’t touch anything, John’s peculiar about his stuff.”
He was already out of the door - well, tent-flap - before Rodney could answer.
Lying still on the bed was wonderfully cozy and relaxing for about twenty minutes, but after that he started to get bored. He got up - ignoring his body’s protests - to look around. There was a pile of dirty clothing in one corner. From the tent pole hung some knives in their sheaths, but no gun. Not that he’d have known what to do with one if there had been, and he wouldn’t have been able to out-shoot any of the outlaws, anyway, so that was probably for the best.
In one corner of the tent, half-concealed under some furs, was a small wooden chest. Ford’s warning flashed through his mind for all of a second before it was overruled by his curiosity. John probably wouldn’t be back so early, anyway. He was sure there were a lot of things to do in a camp like this - booty to divide, raids to organize, and… well, he wasn’t exactly sure what there was to do, but surely there was plenty of it.
There wasn’t even a lock - either John was foolishly trusting, or he didn’t really care so much after all. Ford had probably just been trying to scare him.
At first it seemed like there was nothing interesting at all, just some clean clothes - shirts, underwear - but under that, he found the real treasures.
There was a little box full of sweets - he looked at them longingly, hunger making him feel almost faint for a moment, but didn’t take any. Besides that, amazingly enough, a real book - the last thing he’d have expected to find in the tent of some outlaw out on the prairie. It looked like it had been read more than once, too - the volume was well cared for, but worn around the edges. Seemed like there was more to this John than met the eye. “The Art of War”, from some guy named Sun Tzu. Not his favorite kind of reading material, but at least it seemed that the man was neither illiterate nor completely stupid. Right now he was prepared to be thankful for small mercies.
He was just about to put the book back where he had found it when a strong hand grabbed his arm from behind. He jerked, the book sliding out of his hand and falling to the floor. John let go of him, picking it up and tucking it carefully back into the chest, taking care that it wouldn’t be creased, before he turned to Rodney.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” His voice was drawling and quiet. Rodney might have mistaken it for a light tone of voice, if he hadn’t heard it directed at Tyrus before, over the barrel of a gun. So he could see it for the threat it was. Shit. Fucking up already, when he couldn’t afford to fall from this man’s good graces.
“I’m sorry,” he said hurriedly, forcing himself to look into John’s impassive face, trying to sound convincingly contrite. “I was just curious, I didn’t mean - no, doesn’t matter what I meant, I shouldn’t have - but really, you could have locked that thing, you know.”
John shook his head, but he looked more amused than angry, now. Rodney suppressed his sigh of relief. “I usually don’t need to - the people in this camp are smart enough not to go through my belongings. And from now on, I’ll expect you to be smart as well. Is that clear?” All the levity had suddenly gone out of his voice, leaving pure steel behind.
Rodney nodded hurriedly. “Sure. No touching. Got it.”
John sighed and sat down on the bed, the tension almost visibly draining out of him. “So what am I gonna do with you now?”
Rodney figured that was his clue to prove that it would be a good thing to not leave him out here in the middle of nowhere to fend for himself, which meant that he’d better get on with making up for some of the ground he had just lost. So he tried to smile seductively - which he probably did just about as well as sympathetic, meaning not very - and knelt between John’s spread legs, tentatively putting his hand on the fly of his pants, rubbing lightly.
He hoped it wasn’t obvious how much his hands were shaking. He wasn’t even really sure how this was supposed to work, beyond the vague suspicion that John, as a guy, might like the same things he liked to do to himself. He banished the thought of the other thing, because he wasn’t even sure Robert hadn’t just been making that up - he’d touched himself there once, in the bath, feeling kind of daring, and there was no way to fit a cock in there without some serious pain. He didn’t think John was into pain. He hoped. He also hoped that he wasn’t going to screw this up too badl-
Although apparently he already had, because John was grabbing his wrist and pulling his hand away, looking at him with a bewildered expression.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He was echoing his own words from earlier. Rodney wondered if he did it consciously, like some reminder that he’d just screwed up for the second time, but that was paranoid, wasn’t it?
It probably was, because John’s tone was a lot kinder this time around, except he also looked really puzzled, which wasn’t fair, because how on earth was Rodney supposed to know how the protocols on this kind of thing worked?
“Well, you said you wanted someone for…”
John was laughing at him.
“Hey!” Rodney said indignantly. “I may not have much experience at being anyone’s whore, but considering that those were your terms I really think you could stop making fun of me for a second here.”
John was shaking his head, still laughing. “Sorry, sorry. Look, I only said that to get you off my back - I wasn’t expecting you to actually say yes!”
“I told you - they were going to make me marry Kolya! I can think of better things to do with the rest of my life than spending it tied to the bed of that… that…” He let his voice trail off, because he couldn’t think of any word bad enough to adequately express the horror that was Kolya, and also, Sheppard was waving his hand in a “Yeah, yeah, shut up already” gesture.
“All right, I got it, you were serious about coming with us. Excuse me for being skeptical. You don’t look like prime outlaw material, all right?”
He almost wanted to protest that, because coming from Sheppard it sounded kind of insulting, but then, he knew better than anyone that he was not a fan of the great wide outdoors.
“So, um, what are you going to do now? Because you know you can’t just leave me here, right? Kolya’s going to be out for my head by now, and who knows what kind of dangerous animals are running around out here, and, um, if you want, I could still -"
He was already reaching for the fastenings on John’s trousers again when John stopped him a second time, his voice surprisingly gentle.
“Don’t, you don’t need to... I’m not just going to leave you here to die. And I’m not the kind of man who enjoys forcing others into his bed, unlike…” His eyes darkened for a moment. Rodney wondered if Kolya had maybe done that to him. It would certainly explain why he had run away.
He got up awkwardly, stumbling when his vision suddenly began to gray out and the floor seemed to sway under his feet. John grabbed his arm quickly, holding him upright.
“Whoa, hey, not going to faint, are you?”
Rodney had to lean on him for an embarrassingly long moment before the world righted itself again. He stepped back quickly, trying to restore something of his lost dignity. “I wasn’t fainting,” he said indignantly. “I just tend to get a little… dizzy, sometimes, when I’m hungry.”
“Didn’t Ford bring you anything to eat? No, wait, he was helping Beckett with that pregnant cow. Damn, forgot about that. Sorry. I’ll go get you something.”
He returned a minute later, bearing a basket with still-warm bread and some kind of stew. It smelled delicious and tasted even better, even though the stew was a bit overcooked and had charred little bits floating in it. Rodney ate greedily, only remembering to mind his manners after the worst of the hunger had been sated.
John was quiet while he devoured his meal, so quiet that when he finally spoke, Rodney startled and almost dropped his last piece of bread.
“So, can you do anything useful? You know, pull your weight around here?”
The question took him by surprise, and he was floundering for a moment, but really, this was a topic he’d always been comfortable with. Of course many of his skills probably didn’t actually count for anything in a camp of outlaws, but there was still plenty that would - “I can repair guns, even make them if I have the right equipment - which I doubt you have, ‘round here - um… engineer things - you know, pulleys, levers, that kind of thing, and anything more complicated you might need - your cooking fires are woefully inadequate, by the way, too, I could do something about that - make gun powder and nitro, and, um… many other things”, he finished lamely. “Oh, and did I mention that I know almost everything about almost everything?”
John’s eyes were looking a little glazed and a lot skeptical, but Rodney was used to that reaction. At least he looked vaguely impressed, too. He could work with that.
“I sure as hell hope you aren’t making these things up,” John said finally. “Because if you aren’t, we could desperately use someone like you.”
“Not making things up,” he confirmed. “If you want, I can show you right now -“
“Whoa, slow down there.” John was waving him down with hands that were surprisingly nimble and long-fingered for a bandit. Nice hands, really. “It’s been one hell of a long day.” And it really had been - he’d been on his feet since sunrise, and now it was already getting dark.
John started unbuttoning his shirt. “We’ll have to see about getting you a tent of your own tomorrow, but for now, I’m beat. We can share the bed, or you can sleep on the floor if you’d rather, I don’t care.”
By now he was standing there in nothing but his breeches. Rodney’s mouth went dry at the sight of the lean, muscular body, the dark trail of hair leading down from his flat abs. Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a hardship if John had decided to take him up on his offer after all.
He suddenly realized that John was still waiting for his answer. What to do - he had an uncomfortable feeling that he might embarrass himself, sharing a bed with John, but on the other hand, his body was still aching all over from the ride. He really, really didn’t want to know how he’d feel after a night spent on the cold hard floor on top of that.
“I’d rather share the bed,” he decided.
John nodded without looking at him, and turned away to bend over a bowl of water, giving Rodney an unobstructed view of his naked back for the first time. Rodney gasped in shock, completely unable to stop the sound.
John’s back was a mass of long, intersecting scars, some of them thin and white, others raised and angry-looking. He knew that kind of scars, had seen them on his father’s slaves occasionally, but his father had never had anyone whipped that severely. It was a miracle that John had survived it at all.
John didn’t look at him, washing his face and upper body with seeming calm, but Rodney thought he could see the muscles in his back tensing.
“Who -" he started, but John slowly turned his head to give him a look of utter disbelief at the question. Who do you think?
He shut his mouth. “Sorry,” he mumbled after a moment.
The awkward silence seemed to stretch on and on, only broken by the sound of splashing water, until finally John sighed and turned to him, chest still dripping wet, his face utterly devoid of expression.
“It’s all right. Just forget it.”
When John was finished he threw the water out, then refilled the bowl for Rodney, who was infinitely grateful to be able to wash at least some of the grime and sweat off his body. He really would have preferred a bath, but he had the suspicion that he’d have to do without for some time to come out here.
He undressed down to his breeches as well, then slid into bed next to John, careful to stay on his own side of the bed and not touch him. The silence didn’t feel so awkward anymore now, but still he was keenly aware of John lying beside him, his soft, even breathing the only sound in the quiet tent.
He’d been afraid that he might be too nervous to sleep, but he must have been more exhausted than he had thought, and soon he could feel the world starting to drift away.
He awoke wrapped around John’s body, one strong leg pressing against his hard cock. It felt wonderful, even as he could feel his whole body grow hot with embarrassment. Yeah, this was pretty much exactly what he’d been afraid of.
He tried to ease himself back without waking John, but a small movement showed him that it was already too late for that - had been too late for some time, judging from the way John’s eyes were wide awake, watching him with an amused expression. He groaned and let his head fall back against the mattress, extracting his limbs from where they’d been tangled with John’s.
“Sorry. I’m not actually trying to make a habit of coming on to you, even if it may look like it.”
John smirked. “Well, I don’t mind. You’re the one who nearly fainted from relief last night when I told you that I wasn’t planning to fuck you.”
“I didn’t faint,” Rodney protested. “And even if I had passed out, it wouldn’t have been because of you. I was simply hungry and exhausted and I have had the most awful day -”
John was laughing out loud now, and Rodney realized that he had just been jerking his chain.
“Oh, stop it,” he said, exasperated, which only set John off again. He rolled over to straddle John, with vague intentions of taking him into a mock-choking grip or something, except then he felt the hard pressure of an erection against his leg and immediately forgot about his other plans. At least he thought it was an erection - it wasn’t like he had any experience with this kind of situation. He reached down to confirm his suspicion, ignoring John’s outraged “Hey!”, because yeah, this definitely was.
“Oh,” he said, lamely, because he couldn’t really think of anything else, which was a feeling entirely new to him.
John grimaced. “You were all over me earlier, can’t blame a guy for being interested. By the way, if you’re not planning to do something about that, would you mind taking your hand off my cock?”
Rodney flinched and started to pull his hand back, then hesitated, suddenly all to aware of the warm, naked skin of John’s thighs pressed to the inside of his legs, his own cock jumping with renewed interest.
He wouldn’t have thought that he could want this, want John, but now he did, and he’d never been willing to let anyone’s misconception stand in the way of solid evidence. Not even his own. Not when his body was still remembering in all too vivid detail how it had felt to wake up wrapped around John.
He gently traced the shape of Johns cock through his breeches. John didn’t stop him. Instead he gasped quietly, letting his head fall back into the pillow. Rodney pushed the covers down so he could look at him, sun-tanned body against the furs, all long lean limbs and hard muscle, mouth open in a quiet gasp at Rodney’s touch. He stroked him gently, curiously, trying to find out what kind of touch got the best reaction.
John’s hips were pushing up against his hand almost imperceptibly now, and he was breathing quickly, almost panting. Rodney was just starting to feel a bit smug about finally being able to get a real reaction out of the man, when John suddenly lifted his head again, smirking at him. “Not going to pass out this time, are you?”
Rodney let go of John’s cock abruptly - served him right, for teasing him at a time like this - and sat back indignantly. “I’ll have you know - Mmff!“
John had deftly rolled them over so that he was on top, taking advantage of Rodney’s open mouth to lick teasingly at his lips. Rodney tried to draw back for all of a second until his brain changed tracks and decided that this was much nicer than talking, anyway.
He tangled a hand in John’s hair to keep him there, and John deepened the kiss until Rodney was panting with it, his cock so hard he thought he might be able to come from nothing but this. His other hand reached out blindly, sliding over a rounded shoulder and then further back, until his fingertips caught on a hard ridge of scar tissue.
He stilled abruptly. He had all but forgotten about John’s scars in the heat of the moment, but now he could see them clearly in his mind’s eye again, sharp lines breaking up the smooth expanse of John’s back. He carefully traced one of them with his fingers, following it down from shoulder to waist. John lay motionless, stretched out on top of him, the playful mood completely gone in an instant.
“Sorry,” Rodney mumbled and quickly snatched his hand back.
John shifted on top of him, bracing himself with his forearms so he could look at Rodney. “Want me to put on a shirt?” he asked.
Rodney shook his head quickly. “No, it’s… it doesn’t bother me. If it doesn’t bother you, that is. I mean, if you want to put on a shirt, that would be fine, of course - um, not that you’d need my permission for tha- oh, you know what I mean, damn it!”
John was smirking at him again, but became serious in an instant when he saw Rodney’s expression.
“Feel free to touch, if you want. I don’t mind.”
With that he obviously considered the topic closed, because he leaned down to nuzzle Rodney’s chest then slid off him, shoved Rodney's breeches down and wrapped one hand around his cock. Rodney gasped and arched up into the touch. This felt totally different from doing it himself, John’s fingers hard and callused where he was used to his own softer skin, the angle and grip all wrong, but it was somehow so much better, too…
He tried to reciprocate, but then John started licking and sucking his nipple, and he forgot all about that. He’d always known that his nipples were sensitive - hell, they peaked up through his shirts embarrassingly often - but never like this. The feeling went straight to his cock, making it jump in John’s hand. John laughed softly, and then he dove down to wrap his mouth around Rodney’s cock.
Rodney jerked in surprise - he’d always thought only whores did this, he hadn’t expected - and then the sensations registered all at once, wet-tight-hot-so good and oh, oh, he could see why people paid for this.
He tried not to come right then, because he really didn’t want it to end, but it was just too good. He also tried not to grip John’s hair too tightly, and had a feeling he didn’t quite manage that, either, and then he was crying out and coming hard, every thought wiped away for a few blissful seconds of oh god so good!
He slumped back against the furs. John grinned up to him, a wet trail in the corner of his mouth, hair mussed and face impossibly smug. Rodney wanted to say something witty and cutting in response to that much smugness, but his brain was still refusing to cooperate, so he just tugged John up and kissed him, feeling that smile against his own lips.
John’s hips were rubbing up against him in small, almost unconscious motions, as if he couldn’t help it. Rodney couldn’t believe how hot that was. He shifted slightly, so John’s cock slid into the place between his leg and his groin, giving him a better place to thrust against. John moaned softly, burying his face between Rodney’s neck and shoulder, the rhythm of his thrusts already fast and ragged.
Rodney gripped his ass with one hand, urging him on, and stroked his back with the other one, feeling slick sweat gather over the rough texture of scars. It didn’t take long - a few more thrusts, and then John gasped against his skin and froze for a long moment, muscles almost vibrating with tension. He stayed like that for a long moment, utterly still, and then relaxed against Rodney with a soft, satisfied sigh.
Rodney put his arms around him, and they lay like that for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow.
Finally John stirred and lifted his head. “God, that was great,” he said, rolling onto his back and stretching like a big, lazy cat. He propped himself up on an elbow, grinning down at Rodney, who made a happy little noise of agreement, and then added: “See, no reason to faint.”
Rodney groaned exasperatedly. “Will you shut up about that already? You’re disrupting the mood here, you know.”
But he couldn’t really bring himself to mind John’s teasing. His whole body was still humming with contentment, and the best thing was, he was going to get to do this again, as often as he wanted.
Although actually, now that he thought about it, the best thing was not being married to Kolya. And maybe John.
Yes. Definitely John.
The End