Tension, by kuonji (NC-17) [This Is Not Happening challenge]
Title: Tension
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters: Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, John Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Challenge: This Is Not Happening challenge
Spoilers: none really, though it ought to take place after Runner, and procedurally speaking probably after Condemned
Summary: The knife was sharp in his mind's eye, and he didn't have any defenses. Even without it, Ronon was a goddamn mountain, and he could hold him down and force it just as easy as let him take it slow.
I blame this on lack of sleep. And on
dracostella. Just because everything SGA traces back to her.
Tension
by kuonji
Rodney was in a sound sleep when the shaking began. At first he thought it was Atlantis preparing to blast apart and sink to the bottom of the ocean, and he had only twenty minutes in which to prevent the destruction... But then he woke fully and recognized that it was only himself being oscillated at unsafe frequencies and he decided that the hand doing it was about to be bitten off.
"What?" he snapped. "What, what?"
"Shh."
He blinked his eyes clear and saw the flash of moonlight across Ronon's corneas. "What's going on?" he asked, searching automatically for his pants and boots and pulling them on.
"Come with me." Rodney had only time to grab his shirt and vest before the grimacing Satedan hauled him bodily from the tent.
"Where's Sheppard?" Rodney thought to ask, hooking up his vest by touch over his hastily donned short-sleeved shirt. Sheppard was supposed to be on watch, he remembered. That was why he had been alone in the tent. They were on a mission, on another planet. Ronon shouldn't even have been awake.
Ronon didn't answer him, leading the way in catlike silence. Rodney didn't have a good sense of direction on the best of days, and two minutes out of a sound sleep made this one of his worst ones, but he figured they should be headed towards the mountains. A brief but brisk walk later, his idea was confirmed as he stopped short of a cave entrance to ask again, "What's happening?"
Again, Ronon didn't answer, only shot him a hard look and pushed him inside. "Hey, hey," he protested, feeling for his flashlight. He'd left it in the tent, though, and more importantly, Ronon hadn't led the way like he should. The big guy was the military protection here. Rodney was just the scientist.
"Take off your clothes," Ronon said from behind him.
Rodney whipped around to stare.
Ronon had stopped at the mouth of the cave, blocking the exit. His tall athletic body was perfectly silhouetted in the light of the full moon, and the outline of the knife in his right hand was unmistakable. Rodney couldn't make out his face. The lighting was exceptionally bright and Ronon was backlit, putting Rodney in a decidedly disadvantaged position.
"What?"
"You heard me." The knifehand gestured oh so subtly, but in a way that even Rodney could understand. I can hurt you.
"Are you deranged? Did you ingest something recently? Touch anything glowing, weird flora...?" Rodney was stalling for time. He'd left his radio in the tent. As well as his sidearm. He wondered with focussed concentration where Sheppard was.
"Take off your vest." The voice was steely now. Rodney could imagine the former Runner using it on the Wraith, perfectly self-possessed and unafraid. He swallowed hard, more nervous than he would have thought. He lifted his chin, making a decision.
"Or what?"
The next moment, his back was to the dry cavewall, an arm against his throat, legs in between his own, bracing him motionless. "Don't fight me, McKay. You won't win." It wasn't even a threat. Just a statement. His back tingled from the impact and his mouth was too dry now even to swallow.
The pressure eased -- slightly.
The knife glinted in the corner of Rodney's eye. I can hurt you. I will hurt you. Then his attacker backed off.
"What do you want?" Rodney massaged his throat, more out of reaction than actual pain. Ronon had been careful not to damage. Yet.
His reply was a quick flash of white teeth. Ronon could say things without words, and Rodney was being forced to pick up his language.
"Why?" he asked, because he needed words to talk with.
"Because I can."
Again, there was no threat in that statement. But Rodney's fumbling hands came up to his vest, reversing the clasping and strapping that he had done on the way here. When he was done, Ronon motioned for him to throw it over. He hesitated for a bare second, then threw it full on in Ronon's face.
Hard arms caught him as he tried to dive through the half-meter between Ronon's large frame and the edge of the cave entrance.
"Bad move," said the voice in Rodney's ear, and he shuddered, before he was hurled bodily back into the cave proper. "Your shirt. Now."
Still shaking, Rodney clutched at his shirt. It took him a few tries before he could pull it over his head, but Ronon didn't seem to mind the delay. He stood, an implacable shadow. Watching.
"Boots. Then pants." Rodney complied, silent. He dropped his uniform pants on top of his haphazard boots and stood, ridiculous and sweating despite the cool breeze, in his socks and boxers.
"Hmm..." The voice was rough, appraising. Interested. Rodney felt a zing of pride which he quashed. He was pretty sure what was coming next.
"Touch yourself."
He stared into where he thought Ronon's eyes should be, trying fruitlessly, illogically, to see Ronon's face in the non-light. He thought about arguing, about insisting that Ronon stop, get Beckett to check him out. He thought about asking where Sheppard was but put that out of his mind again immediately.
His hands hovered, hesitant. He couldn't do this, after all. It was too much--
"Think about Sheppard."
The words took him by surprise. "What?" This wasn't how-- Ronon wasn't-- "What are you talking about?"
"I've seen the way you look at him." The smirk in that tone was unmistakable. "Think about him, and you won't have any problems." Won't have any problems performing for me. Pleasuring me. Rodney felt himself flushing.
Because, God, it was working.
He lowered his eyes, even though he knew Ronon wouldn't do the same. He caressed himself through his underwear, gasping at the first hint of friction, then continuing in a sharper rhythm. Images of Sheppard, of his agile long fingers, his delicate throat, his firey eyes filled Rodney's mind. His brain skittered away from lazy, loving touches and kisses filled with honest longing. That wasn't appropriate here.
He stopped on this side of the edge. He wasn't sure if Ronon wanted him to come. He also wasn't sure what would be worse, to get himself off while his rapist watched, or to stay hard while his rapist still had him under his power.
The sound of something hitting the ground at his feet made him snap his eyes open, only then realizing he'd had them closed.
Ronon's face was still inscrutably shadowed, but the moonlight showed clearly what he'd thrown Rodney's way. Licking his lips, Rodney stooped to pick up the small tube. "What..." But the question was a stupid one, and Rodney was never stupid. He didn't finish the sentence. "Where...?" he asked instead.
"Against the wall. When you're done."
Rodney breathed in sharply, the image exploding into his mind. He hadn't thought that far yet.
"Ronon..." There was no answer. "I've never..." he tried.
Ronon chuckled, the sound inappropriately mirthful. "Don't lie, McKay. Sheppard's right. You're horrible at it."
"I'm not lying!" he protested, weak but indignant. He reminded himself to ream Ronon out later.
If there was a later, he told himself. The knife was sharp in his mind's eye, and he didn't have any defenses. Even without it, Ronon was a goddamn mountain, and he could hold him down and force it just as easy as let him take it slow. "I'm not..." he insisted again, even as he uncapped the tube obediently.
His boxers were in the way, and he froze again, not ready to bare himself, even though he'd been preparing for it in his head. "Please..." he said. Useless gibberish. His captor said nothing, and Rodney squeezed his eyes shut.
He was still hard.
"McKay..." The voice broke through Rodney's panic. He nodded, gulped and took hold of the waistband, pushed it down in one band-aid-removing motion. He kicked his boxers to the side and looked determinedly at his toes.
An eternity of embarrassed deep breaths later, and he was ready as he would ever be. He didn't even protest this time, just shuffled to the wall and put his hands against it. Like in the movies. Because he wouldn't know any better. This was his first time.
His hair prickled a half-second before warmth closed around his left wrist and his arm was suddenly needled with not-quite-pain, twisted behind him.
He felt the blunt end of he-didn't-want-to-think-about-it press into him. No words.
It was as big as he had imagined it. So much bigger than two fingers. Bigger even than... It rocked farther in and he was sure it would split him open.
"Don't do this..." he gasped, finding his voice. "This is, it's rape."
"I know what rape is, McKay," the rumbling voice said, and he reached around to take hold of Rodney's rigid cock. "This isn't." Rodney spluttered, ashamed and so turned on, uncharacteristically incoherent as the thing inside him drove deeper, owning him, taking everything he was.
It hit that spot inside him, and it was all Rodney could do not to moan. A hand, Ronon's free hand, the one not holding Rodney down to be fucked, came up to fondle his nipples. Teeth nibbled at the back of his neck. Hoarse groans accompanied his own.
"How often does he fuck you?" The sudden question startled and burned. It needed no exposition.
"He doesn't-- We're not..." His words were as much to remind himself as for Ronon. He was going out of his mind, whimpering with every exhalation. The burn in his throat was a counterpoint to the one in his shoulder.
"How much does he pay you?"
"God...!" He was shuddering, almost, almost...! He wasn't struggling anymore, except for completion, for that little piece of Nirvana that all men craved in even the best and the worst of situations.
"Does he know I'm having you for free?"
And that was it. He was coming, his whimpers turned into one continuous moan. He felt his knees giving way and the only thing that held him upright was Ronon still pounding into him from behind.
Ronon. His cock. In him.
And no one else had ever... Rodney was whimpering again, remembering to struggle, even though it was useless, useless, he was so weak in comparison, how could he possibly win against-- until the body behind him froze and Ronon grunted almost soundlessly -- and was still.
"Oh my God..." Rodney wasn't sure which of them had said it. His heartrate was still rapid and Ronon hadn't let him go. The fabric of Ronon's leather pants brushed at his buttocks with each of the heaved breaths behind him, and he shivered at the feeling and the sound both.
He couldn't believe... This couldn't have really...
"What's going on here?"
A bright light blinded Rodney, and he jerked, only to gasp when the movement put pressure on his arm. But he recognized John's voice, and he knew there was no way Ronon would get away with this now.
He searched his clouded mind for the words: "Sheppard... Help me."
The hand on his wrist tightened, and he quieted. Mortification tried to set in, but he shoved it down. He wanted Sheppard here, he told himself. He'd been waiting for it for the last half an hour or however long it'd been since this had started.
"Ronon."
"Sheppard."
"What the hell happened here?" The voice was superficially mild. Rodney's breath hitched at the tone. He'd heard this before, when teammates were threatened.
"Just getting McKay ready for you, sir." Rodney's breath stuttered.
"Ready for what?" Make it good.
"To fuck." Isn't it obvious?
Rodney whined, for once not because he couldn't understand the unvocalized conversation flashing between the military men, but because he could. Ronon's hand trailed down Rodney's flinching stomach, an eloquent persuasion without words.
"You want it, Sheppard." We all know. Already, Rodney could see Sheppard being swayed.
Lazy, loving touches. Honest kisses.
Sheppard was approaching now, his flashlight not wavering from Rodney's face. Rodney was blind. But Ronon and Sheppard could see. Everything.
Longing and soft caresses. Cherishing.
A familiar hand closed on his shoulder with unfamiliar cruelty.
"Back off." The voice was roughened. Lust. Jealousy? He suppressed a moan as the fullness inside him slid out. Rodney's arm was released, but he still couldn't move. The flashlight clicked off, but he still couldn't see, the spots of negative color filling up his vision as he panted, too far gone to be embarrassed anymore.
"God, you're so hot, Rodney."
The sound of the zipper was loud in the night.
"No... please," he said, more because it was expected of him than because it would have any effect.
"All slicked up for me..."
Love-making. Hard fucking. Hazel-green and "I love you."
It was nothing like Rodney had ever used to imagine, back seemingly a lifetime ago when he was innocent and inexperienced. It was rough and it was dirty and even as he felt the intrusion he couldn't believe it was actually happening. John was, the Colonel was, and Ronon was watching them--!
John was moaning, his hands tight around Rodney's waist, his face buried in Rodney's neck. He couldn't last long. Not as long as he would have if...
Had he been watching? Had he seen when Ronon-- Oh god... John hiccupped, almost, and strangled Rodney's name in his throat. He drove deep, almost painful, and Rodney felt him quiver with release -- too soon too soon, but oh so good -- followed by whining whimpers and the feathering of his hair against Rodney's shoulder as he pulled breaths in and out, in and out.
They slid with no grace whatsoever to the tarp-covered ground. (The mainland was supposed to be safe, but who knew what was in the dirt here?) When a hand started moving a wet cloth over Rodney's belly, he was only barely coherent enough to mumble a thanks.
He still couldn't believe it had happened. He couldn't believe they had agreed.
"Oh my fucking God...!" he heard, after a pleasingly long time had passed. "This is... this is it! From now on, all fantasy ideas go through Rodney McKay. King of Gay Porn, we are not worthy!"
Rodney rolled over to face his lover of four months and the only male lover he'd ever had aside from, very recently, one other. John was stabbing a finger up at the ceiling of the cave in triumph, adorably loopy in the euphoria of the afterglow.
"You were watching the beginning," Rodney accused, though he couldn't quite work up to being irritated about the gross diversion from plan. Sated and smug was the very best combination.
"After you described what was going to happen? Duh." John did not sound repentant. A soft noise made Rodney look sideways where Ronon was settling himself on the ground. His shit-eating grin said he'd known all along.
"That was fun," he said. His tone was classically monotone, detached. But his face said otherwise. He reached out to pat Rodney's shoulder, but John batted him away fussily.
"Hey, hey, hands off now. That was a one-time thing, okay? Get your own geek."
Some bickering ensued, but Rodney tuned it out, rapid images flashing through his mind like a whirling galaxy, beautiful. It would be so beautiful.
Get your own geek. Get your own geek. Getyourowngeek...
"Hey," he cut in, and like the well-trained military grunts they were, they stopped to listen to the smart one. "What do you two think of Zelenka?"
The End?
A/N: I thought I should put the disclaimer here that the '?' at the end there does not indicate any plans to write a sequel; it is there purely for literary flair. The further adventures of Rodney/John/Ronon/? are best left to those stronger of heart and talent than I.
If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:
Slavish Fantasies (Stargate Atlantis), by kuonji
Figure-Ground (Stargate Atlantis), by kuonji
! (Stargate Atlantis), by Rageprufrock
John Sheppard, Helpless Plaything (Stargate Atlantis), by Torch
Author: kuonji
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Characters: Rodney McKay, Ronon Dex, John Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Challenge: This Is Not Happening challenge
Spoilers: none really, though it ought to take place after Runner, and procedurally speaking probably after Condemned
Summary: The knife was sharp in his mind's eye, and he didn't have any defenses. Even without it, Ronon was a goddamn mountain, and he could hold him down and force it just as easy as let him take it slow.
I blame this on lack of sleep. And on
dracostella. Just because everything SGA traces back to her.
Tension
by kuonji
Rodney was in a sound sleep when the shaking began. At first he thought it was Atlantis preparing to blast apart and sink to the bottom of the ocean, and he had only twenty minutes in which to prevent the destruction... But then he woke fully and recognized that it was only himself being oscillated at unsafe frequencies and he decided that the hand doing it was about to be bitten off.
"What?" he snapped. "What, what?"
"Shh."
He blinked his eyes clear and saw the flash of moonlight across Ronon's corneas. "What's going on?" he asked, searching automatically for his pants and boots and pulling them on.
"Come with me." Rodney had only time to grab his shirt and vest before the grimacing Satedan hauled him bodily from the tent.
"Where's Sheppard?" Rodney thought to ask, hooking up his vest by touch over his hastily donned short-sleeved shirt. Sheppard was supposed to be on watch, he remembered. That was why he had been alone in the tent. They were on a mission, on another planet. Ronon shouldn't even have been awake.
Ronon didn't answer him, leading the way in catlike silence. Rodney didn't have a good sense of direction on the best of days, and two minutes out of a sound sleep made this one of his worst ones, but he figured they should be headed towards the mountains. A brief but brisk walk later, his idea was confirmed as he stopped short of a cave entrance to ask again, "What's happening?"
Again, Ronon didn't answer, only shot him a hard look and pushed him inside. "Hey, hey," he protested, feeling for his flashlight. He'd left it in the tent, though, and more importantly, Ronon hadn't led the way like he should. The big guy was the military protection here. Rodney was just the scientist.
"Take off your clothes," Ronon said from behind him.
Rodney whipped around to stare.
Ronon had stopped at the mouth of the cave, blocking the exit. His tall athletic body was perfectly silhouetted in the light of the full moon, and the outline of the knife in his right hand was unmistakable. Rodney couldn't make out his face. The lighting was exceptionally bright and Ronon was backlit, putting Rodney in a decidedly disadvantaged position.
"What?"
"You heard me." The knifehand gestured oh so subtly, but in a way that even Rodney could understand. I can hurt you.
"Are you deranged? Did you ingest something recently? Touch anything glowing, weird flora...?" Rodney was stalling for time. He'd left his radio in the tent. As well as his sidearm. He wondered with focussed concentration where Sheppard was.
"Take off your vest." The voice was steely now. Rodney could imagine the former Runner using it on the Wraith, perfectly self-possessed and unafraid. He swallowed hard, more nervous than he would have thought. He lifted his chin, making a decision.
"Or what?"
The next moment, his back was to the dry cavewall, an arm against his throat, legs in between his own, bracing him motionless. "Don't fight me, McKay. You won't win." It wasn't even a threat. Just a statement. His back tingled from the impact and his mouth was too dry now even to swallow.
The pressure eased -- slightly.
The knife glinted in the corner of Rodney's eye. I can hurt you. I will hurt you. Then his attacker backed off.
"What do you want?" Rodney massaged his throat, more out of reaction than actual pain. Ronon had been careful not to damage. Yet.
His reply was a quick flash of white teeth. Ronon could say things without words, and Rodney was being forced to pick up his language.
"Why?" he asked, because he needed words to talk with.
"Because I can."
Again, there was no threat in that statement. But Rodney's fumbling hands came up to his vest, reversing the clasping and strapping that he had done on the way here. When he was done, Ronon motioned for him to throw it over. He hesitated for a bare second, then threw it full on in Ronon's face.
Hard arms caught him as he tried to dive through the half-meter between Ronon's large frame and the edge of the cave entrance.
"Bad move," said the voice in Rodney's ear, and he shuddered, before he was hurled bodily back into the cave proper. "Your shirt. Now."
Still shaking, Rodney clutched at his shirt. It took him a few tries before he could pull it over his head, but Ronon didn't seem to mind the delay. He stood, an implacable shadow. Watching.
"Boots. Then pants." Rodney complied, silent. He dropped his uniform pants on top of his haphazard boots and stood, ridiculous and sweating despite the cool breeze, in his socks and boxers.
"Hmm..." The voice was rough, appraising. Interested. Rodney felt a zing of pride which he quashed. He was pretty sure what was coming next.
"Touch yourself."
He stared into where he thought Ronon's eyes should be, trying fruitlessly, illogically, to see Ronon's face in the non-light. He thought about arguing, about insisting that Ronon stop, get Beckett to check him out. He thought about asking where Sheppard was but put that out of his mind again immediately.
His hands hovered, hesitant. He couldn't do this, after all. It was too much--
"Think about Sheppard."
The words took him by surprise. "What?" This wasn't how-- Ronon wasn't-- "What are you talking about?"
"I've seen the way you look at him." The smirk in that tone was unmistakable. "Think about him, and you won't have any problems." Won't have any problems performing for me. Pleasuring me. Rodney felt himself flushing.
Because, God, it was working.
He lowered his eyes, even though he knew Ronon wouldn't do the same. He caressed himself through his underwear, gasping at the first hint of friction, then continuing in a sharper rhythm. Images of Sheppard, of his agile long fingers, his delicate throat, his firey eyes filled Rodney's mind. His brain skittered away from lazy, loving touches and kisses filled with honest longing. That wasn't appropriate here.
He stopped on this side of the edge. He wasn't sure if Ronon wanted him to come. He also wasn't sure what would be worse, to get himself off while his rapist watched, or to stay hard while his rapist still had him under his power.
The sound of something hitting the ground at his feet made him snap his eyes open, only then realizing he'd had them closed.
Ronon's face was still inscrutably shadowed, but the moonlight showed clearly what he'd thrown Rodney's way. Licking his lips, Rodney stooped to pick up the small tube. "What..." But the question was a stupid one, and Rodney was never stupid. He didn't finish the sentence. "Where...?" he asked instead.
"Against the wall. When you're done."
Rodney breathed in sharply, the image exploding into his mind. He hadn't thought that far yet.
"Ronon..." There was no answer. "I've never..." he tried.
Ronon chuckled, the sound inappropriately mirthful. "Don't lie, McKay. Sheppard's right. You're horrible at it."
"I'm not lying!" he protested, weak but indignant. He reminded himself to ream Ronon out later.
If there was a later, he told himself. The knife was sharp in his mind's eye, and he didn't have any defenses. Even without it, Ronon was a goddamn mountain, and he could hold him down and force it just as easy as let him take it slow. "I'm not..." he insisted again, even as he uncapped the tube obediently.
His boxers were in the way, and he froze again, not ready to bare himself, even though he'd been preparing for it in his head. "Please..." he said. Useless gibberish. His captor said nothing, and Rodney squeezed his eyes shut.
He was still hard.
"McKay..." The voice broke through Rodney's panic. He nodded, gulped and took hold of the waistband, pushed it down in one band-aid-removing motion. He kicked his boxers to the side and looked determinedly at his toes.
An eternity of embarrassed deep breaths later, and he was ready as he would ever be. He didn't even protest this time, just shuffled to the wall and put his hands against it. Like in the movies. Because he wouldn't know any better. This was his first time.
His hair prickled a half-second before warmth closed around his left wrist and his arm was suddenly needled with not-quite-pain, twisted behind him.
He felt the blunt end of he-didn't-want-to-think-about-it press into him. No words.
It was as big as he had imagined it. So much bigger than two fingers. Bigger even than... It rocked farther in and he was sure it would split him open.
"Don't do this..." he gasped, finding his voice. "This is, it's rape."
"I know what rape is, McKay," the rumbling voice said, and he reached around to take hold of Rodney's rigid cock. "This isn't." Rodney spluttered, ashamed and so turned on, uncharacteristically incoherent as the thing inside him drove deeper, owning him, taking everything he was.
It hit that spot inside him, and it was all Rodney could do not to moan. A hand, Ronon's free hand, the one not holding Rodney down to be fucked, came up to fondle his nipples. Teeth nibbled at the back of his neck. Hoarse groans accompanied his own.
"How often does he fuck you?" The sudden question startled and burned. It needed no exposition.
"He doesn't-- We're not..." His words were as much to remind himself as for Ronon. He was going out of his mind, whimpering with every exhalation. The burn in his throat was a counterpoint to the one in his shoulder.
"How much does he pay you?"
"God...!" He was shuddering, almost, almost...! He wasn't struggling anymore, except for completion, for that little piece of Nirvana that all men craved in even the best and the worst of situations.
"Does he know I'm having you for free?"
And that was it. He was coming, his whimpers turned into one continuous moan. He felt his knees giving way and the only thing that held him upright was Ronon still pounding into him from behind.
Ronon. His cock. In him.
And no one else had ever... Rodney was whimpering again, remembering to struggle, even though it was useless, useless, he was so weak in comparison, how could he possibly win against-- until the body behind him froze and Ronon grunted almost soundlessly -- and was still.
"Oh my God..." Rodney wasn't sure which of them had said it. His heartrate was still rapid and Ronon hadn't let him go. The fabric of Ronon's leather pants brushed at his buttocks with each of the heaved breaths behind him, and he shivered at the feeling and the sound both.
He couldn't believe... This couldn't have really...
"What's going on here?"
A bright light blinded Rodney, and he jerked, only to gasp when the movement put pressure on his arm. But he recognized John's voice, and he knew there was no way Ronon would get away with this now.
He searched his clouded mind for the words: "Sheppard... Help me."
The hand on his wrist tightened, and he quieted. Mortification tried to set in, but he shoved it down. He wanted Sheppard here, he told himself. He'd been waiting for it for the last half an hour or however long it'd been since this had started.
"Ronon."
"Sheppard."
"What the hell happened here?" The voice was superficially mild. Rodney's breath hitched at the tone. He'd heard this before, when teammates were threatened.
"Just getting McKay ready for you, sir." Rodney's breath stuttered.
"Ready for what?" Make it good.
"To fuck." Isn't it obvious?
Rodney whined, for once not because he couldn't understand the unvocalized conversation flashing between the military men, but because he could. Ronon's hand trailed down Rodney's flinching stomach, an eloquent persuasion without words.
"You want it, Sheppard." We all know. Already, Rodney could see Sheppard being swayed.
Lazy, loving touches. Honest kisses.
Sheppard was approaching now, his flashlight not wavering from Rodney's face. Rodney was blind. But Ronon and Sheppard could see. Everything.
Longing and soft caresses. Cherishing.
A familiar hand closed on his shoulder with unfamiliar cruelty.
"Back off." The voice was roughened. Lust. Jealousy? He suppressed a moan as the fullness inside him slid out. Rodney's arm was released, but he still couldn't move. The flashlight clicked off, but he still couldn't see, the spots of negative color filling up his vision as he panted, too far gone to be embarrassed anymore.
"God, you're so hot, Rodney."
The sound of the zipper was loud in the night.
"No... please," he said, more because it was expected of him than because it would have any effect.
"All slicked up for me..."
Love-making. Hard fucking. Hazel-green and "I love you."
It was nothing like Rodney had ever used to imagine, back seemingly a lifetime ago when he was innocent and inexperienced. It was rough and it was dirty and even as he felt the intrusion he couldn't believe it was actually happening. John was, the Colonel was, and Ronon was watching them--!
John was moaning, his hands tight around Rodney's waist, his face buried in Rodney's neck. He couldn't last long. Not as long as he would have if...
Had he been watching? Had he seen when Ronon-- Oh god... John hiccupped, almost, and strangled Rodney's name in his throat. He drove deep, almost painful, and Rodney felt him quiver with release -- too soon too soon, but oh so good -- followed by whining whimpers and the feathering of his hair against Rodney's shoulder as he pulled breaths in and out, in and out.
They slid with no grace whatsoever to the tarp-covered ground. (The mainland was supposed to be safe, but who knew what was in the dirt here?) When a hand started moving a wet cloth over Rodney's belly, he was only barely coherent enough to mumble a thanks.
He still couldn't believe it had happened. He couldn't believe they had agreed.
"Oh my fucking God...!" he heard, after a pleasingly long time had passed. "This is... this is it! From now on, all fantasy ideas go through Rodney McKay. King of Gay Porn, we are not worthy!"
Rodney rolled over to face his lover of four months and the only male lover he'd ever had aside from, very recently, one other. John was stabbing a finger up at the ceiling of the cave in triumph, adorably loopy in the euphoria of the afterglow.
"You were watching the beginning," Rodney accused, though he couldn't quite work up to being irritated about the gross diversion from plan. Sated and smug was the very best combination.
"After you described what was going to happen? Duh." John did not sound repentant. A soft noise made Rodney look sideways where Ronon was settling himself on the ground. His shit-eating grin said he'd known all along.
"That was fun," he said. His tone was classically monotone, detached. But his face said otherwise. He reached out to pat Rodney's shoulder, but John batted him away fussily.
"Hey, hey, hands off now. That was a one-time thing, okay? Get your own geek."
Some bickering ensued, but Rodney tuned it out, rapid images flashing through his mind like a whirling galaxy, beautiful. It would be so beautiful.
Get your own geek. Get your own geek. Getyourowngeek...
"Hey," he cut in, and like the well-trained military grunts they were, they stopped to listen to the smart one. "What do you two think of Zelenka?"
The End?
A/N: I thought I should put the disclaimer here that the '?' at the end there does not indicate any plans to write a sequel; it is there purely for literary flair. The further adventures of Rodney/John/Ronon/? are best left to those stronger of heart and talent than I.
If you enjoyed this story, you might try these:
Slavish Fantasies (Stargate Atlantis), by kuonji
Figure-Ground (Stargate Atlantis), by kuonji
! (Stargate Atlantis), by Rageprufrock
John Sheppard, Helpless Plaything (Stargate Atlantis), by Torch