Fic: Sixteen Going on Forty | John Sheppard/Rodney McKay | NC-17
Title: Sixteen Going on Forty
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,455
Warnings: De-aged fic, underaged sex (Rodney is 16).
Summary: "Are we fucking?" He asks bluntly, with an edge of expectation like of course we are.
John stands in stunned silence for a second. "I don't know what you're talking about," he hedges.
Notes: Originally posted anonymously here, for the prompt, "John/Rodney, ageplay. Rodney is deaged to about 15/16. Underage sex ensues". Reposted because I feel like claiming it on my 2010 wordcount. *G*
The problem with sixteen-year-old Rodney McKay is that they don't know what to do with him. They can't send him back to Earth, obviously--any chance of reversing the effects of the device is going to be found in Pegasus, not the Milky Way--but at sixteen Rodney knew nothing of Stargates or Ancient technology. They end up sticking him in his quarters and confiscating all his laptops while he complains loudly about it. John lets his lips quirk up into a smile; even as a teenager, he's still Rodney.
He doesn't know until later that Rodney saw it, not until Rodney shows up at the door to his quarters late that night and steps inside without waiting for permission.
"Are we fucking?" He asks bluntly, with an edge of expectation like of course we are.
John stands in stunned silence for a second. "I don't know what you're talking about," he hedges. They aren't, actually, but that doesn't mean John hasn't thought about it. Or that there haven't been moments where he thought that maybe Rodney was thinking about it, too.
Rodney gives him that look, scathing even on his younger face. Teenage Rodney is undeniably pretty. His face is thinner, and framed by honest-to-god curls. He's still got that gangliness of youth, like he hasn't yet grown into his limbs, but he's started filling out into the familiar Rodney-shape that occupies so many of John's fantasies.
"Oh, please Colonel," Rodney scoffs, "You can't actually believe you're hiding it. You would have to be a moron, and I don't sleep with morons."
John realizes abruptly and with a flare of panic that he's been backed up to the edge of his bed, and Rodney is closing in and hauling him down into a kiss, familiar-yet-unfamiliar hands framing his face and soft lips against his. Rodney's tongue slides over John's lower lip, and there's nothing John can do but open for him, because jeezus Rodney knows what he's doing, and John feels a little twinge of guilt over how he didn't actually expect that.
"Fuck me." Rodney demands, and John says, "Nnngh," because Rodney's kissing him again, pressing him backwards so he has no choice but to let himself fall onto his narrow mattress, with Rodney crawling up to sit astride his hips. John flails a little, his hands searching out Rodney's upper arms and holding him back.
"Rodney," He says, "Rodney, we aren't, we don't do this."
Rodney's face is calculating. "That's not a no," he says, grinding his hips down against John's. He's hard already, and John's most of the way there himself. "So either you're lying, or you're telling the truth, but you wish you weren't." John really wishes Rodney wasn't so smart, sometimes.
"Fuck," he breathes, letting his head fall back so he's basically looking at the floor. Rodney's moving his hips in little circles, rubbing their erections together through their clothes.
"That was the idea, yes," Rodney says distractedly. John's grip on his arms loosens, and he takes advantage of the freedom to attack John's pants, pulling the zipper down with a rasp and tugging John's underwear out of the way so he can get his hands on John's cock. He doesn't start stroking it, though. Instead he looks at it, evaluating, running a finger up the big vein on the underside and smiling when John shudders and a shiny drop of pre-come appears at the tip of his cock.
"You're bigger than I thought you'd be," Rodney tells him, pleased. "Do you have lube? Of course you do. Where is it? Oh, nightstand, obviously." Rodney slides off him and stands up, stripping his t-shirt off as he does. He drops his pants to the floor with no apparent hesitation and fuck he's pretty, all pale skin and awkwardly long limbs, but still Rodney and John wants him the way he's trained himself not to want anything. Rodney finds the tube of KY and drops it on the mattress then looks at John disapprovingly, like John just picked up one of his "DO NOT TOUCH THIS" Ancient devices.
"Take your pants off," he orders, bossy as ever, "Unless you like fucking with pants on, but I don't so if you wouldn't mind." He tugs at John's beltloops and John obligingly lifts his hips so Rodney can pull them off him and toss them to the side. "Shirt too," he says, and John sits up and lifts his arms so Rodney can tug his shirt over his head.
"Rodney, are you sure you want to do this?" John asks, fully aware that they're both naked and Rodney is popping open the lube.
"Yes, yes, of course I'm sure," Rodney snaps at him. "You should probably, you know," he gestures in small circles with the tube, "You could give yourself neck spasms like that." John translates this and turns on the bed so he's laying on it lengthwise.
"I'm pretty sure this is illegal," John muses as Rodney straddles his hips again, coating his fingers with lube before dropping the tube on John's chest.
"And who's going to arrest you, exactly?" Rodney reasons, then reaches behind himself and oh, god, John could come just from the look on his face as he slips his fingers inside. This is wrong on so many levels, John thinks, not the least of which is that this may be Rodney, but it's sixteen-year-old Rodney. Right now he's more than twice Rodney's age, and it's turning him on more than he wants to admit even to himself.
"That should be good enough," Rodney murmurs, removing his fingers and wiping them off on the sheets. John frowns a little. (He hates doing laundry.) But then Rodney's positioning himself and guiding John's cock to his hole, lubed and stretched not-quite-enough. John groans as Rodney sinks down, hot and oh, fuck so tight around him. He grips Rodney's too-thin hips, lacking the padding of years sitting in front of computer monitors. The pang of regret hits suddenly; John wants to know what Rodney, his Rodney, with his soft belly and thinning hair and lopsided smile, would feel like, what it would be like to sink into him like this. But this Rodney, thin and curly-haired and flushed, is riding John hard, the noises he's making like something straight out of the better class of porn. His cock is hard and dripping pre-come all over John's belly and he can't help but touch. Rodney cries out as John closes his hand around him, strokes him experimentally from root to tip.
"You like that?" He asks, husky-voiced. Rodney whines, his hips jerking involuntarily, and John fights not to come right then.
"Yesss," Rodney hisses through his teeth. "Fuck, keep doing that."
John adjusts his grip and keeps stroking Rodney, slightly off-tempo to the rhythm of Rodney fucking himself on John's cock. There's pre-come all over his hand and Rodney's making these noises like he's falling apart, and John never, ever thought it would be like this, but he's going to come soon, come inside Rodney because they aren't using a condom fuck that's a bad idea but Rodney's so hot and tight that John can't feel bad about it, it just makes it all dirtier and hotter and more wrong. He swipes his thumb over the tip of Rodney's cock and that's it, Rodney groans, loud and deep, and he's coming all over John's hand his belly, sticky and warm. John works him through it, stroking him until he can't take any more, then he grabs Rodney's hips in a bruising grip and thrusts up into him, fucks him hard and then he's gone, coming inside Rodney, jeezus, whose curls are sticking to his forehead and who looks like a debauched innocent, which is sort of what he is.
It takes a minute for Rodney to get his breath back and to slide off John's rapidly-softening cock with a wince. He rolls off John--and the bed--and stands up, stretching out a little and smiling. He pulls his pants on with little fanfare, then tugs a t-shirt (which is John's, not his, but it fits teenaged Rodney's form better than grownup Rodney's shirt does) over his head.
"That was good," he tells John, while John is still trying to figure out how many laws he just broke. "We should do it again. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good. I'll see you then," he says, opening the door and walking out, heedless of the fact that John is lying naked on his bed with Rodney's come drying on his skin. John watches him go, and wonders, if they manage to reverse the aging thing in the morning, if his Rodney will keep that promise.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,455
Warnings: De-aged fic, underaged sex (Rodney is 16).
Summary: "Are we fucking?" He asks bluntly, with an edge of expectation like of course we are.
John stands in stunned silence for a second. "I don't know what you're talking about," he hedges.
Notes: Originally posted anonymously here, for the prompt, "John/Rodney, ageplay. Rodney is deaged to about 15/16. Underage sex ensues". Reposted because I feel like claiming it on my 2010 wordcount. *G*
The problem with sixteen-year-old Rodney McKay is that they don't know what to do with him. They can't send him back to Earth, obviously--any chance of reversing the effects of the device is going to be found in Pegasus, not the Milky Way--but at sixteen Rodney knew nothing of Stargates or Ancient technology. They end up sticking him in his quarters and confiscating all his laptops while he complains loudly about it. John lets his lips quirk up into a smile; even as a teenager, he's still Rodney.
He doesn't know until later that Rodney saw it, not until Rodney shows up at the door to his quarters late that night and steps inside without waiting for permission.
"Are we fucking?" He asks bluntly, with an edge of expectation like of course we are.
John stands in stunned silence for a second. "I don't know what you're talking about," he hedges. They aren't, actually, but that doesn't mean John hasn't thought about it. Or that there haven't been moments where he thought that maybe Rodney was thinking about it, too.
Rodney gives him that look, scathing even on his younger face. Teenage Rodney is undeniably pretty. His face is thinner, and framed by honest-to-god curls. He's still got that gangliness of youth, like he hasn't yet grown into his limbs, but he's started filling out into the familiar Rodney-shape that occupies so many of John's fantasies.
"Oh, please Colonel," Rodney scoffs, "You can't actually believe you're hiding it. You would have to be a moron, and I don't sleep with morons."
John realizes abruptly and with a flare of panic that he's been backed up to the edge of his bed, and Rodney is closing in and hauling him down into a kiss, familiar-yet-unfamiliar hands framing his face and soft lips against his. Rodney's tongue slides over John's lower lip, and there's nothing John can do but open for him, because jeezus Rodney knows what he's doing, and John feels a little twinge of guilt over how he didn't actually expect that.
"Fuck me." Rodney demands, and John says, "Nnngh," because Rodney's kissing him again, pressing him backwards so he has no choice but to let himself fall onto his narrow mattress, with Rodney crawling up to sit astride his hips. John flails a little, his hands searching out Rodney's upper arms and holding him back.
"Rodney," He says, "Rodney, we aren't, we don't do this."
Rodney's face is calculating. "That's not a no," he says, grinding his hips down against John's. He's hard already, and John's most of the way there himself. "So either you're lying, or you're telling the truth, but you wish you weren't." John really wishes Rodney wasn't so smart, sometimes.
"Fuck," he breathes, letting his head fall back so he's basically looking at the floor. Rodney's moving his hips in little circles, rubbing their erections together through their clothes.
"That was the idea, yes," Rodney says distractedly. John's grip on his arms loosens, and he takes advantage of the freedom to attack John's pants, pulling the zipper down with a rasp and tugging John's underwear out of the way so he can get his hands on John's cock. He doesn't start stroking it, though. Instead he looks at it, evaluating, running a finger up the big vein on the underside and smiling when John shudders and a shiny drop of pre-come appears at the tip of his cock.
"You're bigger than I thought you'd be," Rodney tells him, pleased. "Do you have lube? Of course you do. Where is it? Oh, nightstand, obviously." Rodney slides off him and stands up, stripping his t-shirt off as he does. He drops his pants to the floor with no apparent hesitation and fuck he's pretty, all pale skin and awkwardly long limbs, but still Rodney and John wants him the way he's trained himself not to want anything. Rodney finds the tube of KY and drops it on the mattress then looks at John disapprovingly, like John just picked up one of his "DO NOT TOUCH THIS" Ancient devices.
"Take your pants off," he orders, bossy as ever, "Unless you like fucking with pants on, but I don't so if you wouldn't mind." He tugs at John's beltloops and John obligingly lifts his hips so Rodney can pull them off him and toss them to the side. "Shirt too," he says, and John sits up and lifts his arms so Rodney can tug his shirt over his head.
"Rodney, are you sure you want to do this?" John asks, fully aware that they're both naked and Rodney is popping open the lube.
"Yes, yes, of course I'm sure," Rodney snaps at him. "You should probably, you know," he gestures in small circles with the tube, "You could give yourself neck spasms like that." John translates this and turns on the bed so he's laying on it lengthwise.
"I'm pretty sure this is illegal," John muses as Rodney straddles his hips again, coating his fingers with lube before dropping the tube on John's chest.
"And who's going to arrest you, exactly?" Rodney reasons, then reaches behind himself and oh, god, John could come just from the look on his face as he slips his fingers inside. This is wrong on so many levels, John thinks, not the least of which is that this may be Rodney, but it's sixteen-year-old Rodney. Right now he's more than twice Rodney's age, and it's turning him on more than he wants to admit even to himself.
"That should be good enough," Rodney murmurs, removing his fingers and wiping them off on the sheets. John frowns a little. (He hates doing laundry.) But then Rodney's positioning himself and guiding John's cock to his hole, lubed and stretched not-quite-enough. John groans as Rodney sinks down, hot and oh, fuck so tight around him. He grips Rodney's too-thin hips, lacking the padding of years sitting in front of computer monitors. The pang of regret hits suddenly; John wants to know what Rodney, his Rodney, with his soft belly and thinning hair and lopsided smile, would feel like, what it would be like to sink into him like this. But this Rodney, thin and curly-haired and flushed, is riding John hard, the noises he's making like something straight out of the better class of porn. His cock is hard and dripping pre-come all over John's belly and he can't help but touch. Rodney cries out as John closes his hand around him, strokes him experimentally from root to tip.
"You like that?" He asks, husky-voiced. Rodney whines, his hips jerking involuntarily, and John fights not to come right then.
"Yesss," Rodney hisses through his teeth. "Fuck, keep doing that."
John adjusts his grip and keeps stroking Rodney, slightly off-tempo to the rhythm of Rodney fucking himself on John's cock. There's pre-come all over his hand and Rodney's making these noises like he's falling apart, and John never, ever thought it would be like this, but he's going to come soon, come inside Rodney because they aren't using a condom fuck that's a bad idea but Rodney's so hot and tight that John can't feel bad about it, it just makes it all dirtier and hotter and more wrong. He swipes his thumb over the tip of Rodney's cock and that's it, Rodney groans, loud and deep, and he's coming all over John's hand his belly, sticky and warm. John works him through it, stroking him until he can't take any more, then he grabs Rodney's hips in a bruising grip and thrusts up into him, fucks him hard and then he's gone, coming inside Rodney, jeezus, whose curls are sticking to his forehead and who looks like a debauched innocent, which is sort of what he is.
It takes a minute for Rodney to get his breath back and to slide off John's rapidly-softening cock with a wince. He rolls off John--and the bed--and stands up, stretching out a little and smiling. He pulls his pants on with little fanfare, then tugs a t-shirt (which is John's, not his, but it fits teenaged Rodney's form better than grownup Rodney's shirt does) over his head.
"That was good," he tells John, while John is still trying to figure out how many laws he just broke. "We should do it again. Tomorrow. Tomorrow would be good. I'll see you then," he says, opening the door and walking out, heedless of the fact that John is lying naked on his bed with Rodney's come drying on his skin. John watches him go, and wonders, if they manage to reverse the aging thing in the morning, if his Rodney will keep that promise.