SGA fic: Laying Claim (John/Rodney, NC-17)
Rodney McKay is possibly the worst slave in two galaxies. John has tried to convince him, over and over again, that they need this trade agreement and can he please play along just this once? Apparently, it’s customary for the warrior caste of P45-9X2 to have a ‘personal servant’ and, for some unfathomable reason, they seem to have decided that Rodney is John’s.
“No,” Rodney hisses, just loud enough for the native warriors to hear and throw amused glances John’s way. “Absolutely not, I refuse. Not for all the coffee in Atlantis!”
“Would you like to eat for the next few weeks, Rodney?” John growls, while smiling tightly at the Makka, the warrior leader. “He’s not very well trained,” he tries to apologize. That earns him a dark glare and a sharp elbow in the side.
The warriors spare John a couple of pitying glances, and their servants are standing close together, giggling and whispering, seemingly about John’s inability to keep his servant under control.
It’s obvious that John is going to have to resort to his secret weapon. Damn, he’s been hoping to be able to save that one for a real emergency. “I have chocolate,” he tells Rodney in a low voice, and is rewarded with a flash of interest in Rodney’s eyes. “Belgian,” he adds.
Rodney sighs. “You’re lucky I have no dignity when it comes to cocoa products,” he mutters and takes a step back, positioning himself just behind John’s left shoulder. “And I hope, for your sake, that there’s lots of it, or I will demand retribution”
The Makka raises an eyebrow and John smiles again, a smile meant to say ‘See, I have disciplined my servant, can we get on with the negotiations now, please?’
He wishes the rest of the team was here. On second thoughts, this experience is likely to be just as embarrassing for John as it is for Rodney, so he should probably be glad they’re alone.
The negotiating table is low and they sit down on big puffy cushions on the floor. The servants are supposed to be kneeling behind their masters, ready to serve them more food and wine, and Rodney grudgingly complies while whispering about how it will so be John’s fault if he passes out from manly hunger. John feels like his smile is pretty much frozen to his face. He has to admit though - the thought of Rodney running errands for him is sort of entertaining. Not that he’d say such a thing out loud; he likes his showers warm and he’s grown used to getting laid on a regular basis.
At least they’re in luck about one thing - the Makka is very impressed by the offers of medical assistance and it’s not difficult to score a pretty generous deal. Having secured daily meals for Atlantis’ near future, John breathes out in relief. The Makka orders more wine for them to celebrate their agreement, and then leans back against the cushions and waves at his personal servant, a pale skinny boy with dark eyes. The boy smiles and leans down, nuzzling the front of the Makka’s leather trousers.
“Shit,” John curses silently. Around the table, the other warriors and their servants are engaged in similar activities. They seem to be enjoying themselves, and John can feel his ears turn red and hot. Okay, an orgy was not what he had planned for today. “Rodney,” he whispers. “You don’t have to...”
But the look on Rodney’s face is positively evil. “Oh no,” he says. “No, no, no. You wanted a servant, so you better lie back and get serviced. We can’t let them think we don’t respect their customs now, can we?”
Of course, Rodney McKay is not satisfied until he’s had the last word, and with the Makka watching, John really doesn’t have any other choice than to lean back into the huge soft cushion and let Rodney open his fly. Despite the situation and the audience, he can feel himself getting hard, which shouldn’t really be a surprise. Rodney tends to have that effect on him. Especially when he licks his lips, oh god, just like that, and bends his head to mouth at John’s cock, until his boxers are soaked and he doesn’t know what Rodney’ll give him first, an orgasm or a heart attack.
A groan escapes his throat and when John looks up, he discovers that the rest of the warriors are watching with interest. He wonders if this is some kind of test, or if it’s just the novelty that is so fascinating to them, but then Rodney reaches into his underwear and pulls him out, and John stops thinking altogether as his dick is enveloped in wet heat.
Rodney is the indisputable master of blowjobs. He can’t take John very deep, but he knows how to use his tongue and his fingers to make John’s eyes roll back in his head. This is payback, John knows it, but he can’t bring himself to complain, not when Rodney pulls off with a filthy slurp and leans down to suck his balls.
The Makka seems to have forgotten the attentions of his own servant; he’s watching Rodney intently while stroking himself. John really can’t blame the man - the sight of his cock disappearing into Rodney’s mouth again is enough to make him forget every shred of shame he’s ever possessed.
And when Rodney looks up though obscenely long lashes and sneaks a finger back to rub against that spot just behind John’s balls, the one that makes him feel like there’s an electrical current running through his body, there’s really nothing he can do to hold back. The orgasm builds deep in his belly and he can feel himself floating away on the rush. Then Rodney opens up wide and swallows around him and that’s it, John is coming so hard that he almost blacks out and Rodney drinks down every drop he has to give.
For several moments, he can’t do anything but try to catch his breath, minute tremors running through his body as Rodney carefully licks him clean. When he next looks up, somewhat recovered now, the room is completely silent and two dozen eyes are staring at them both.
Eventually, the Makka clears his throat. “Is it possible that this servant could be part of the deal?” he asks.
John reaches down and lets his fingers curl affectionately around Rodney’s neck. “No,” he answers. “This one is mine.” And he can feel how Rodney smiles into his thigh.
- fin -
“No,” Rodney hisses, just loud enough for the native warriors to hear and throw amused glances John’s way. “Absolutely not, I refuse. Not for all the coffee in Atlantis!”
“Would you like to eat for the next few weeks, Rodney?” John growls, while smiling tightly at the Makka, the warrior leader. “He’s not very well trained,” he tries to apologize. That earns him a dark glare and a sharp elbow in the side.
The warriors spare John a couple of pitying glances, and their servants are standing close together, giggling and whispering, seemingly about John’s inability to keep his servant under control.
It’s obvious that John is going to have to resort to his secret weapon. Damn, he’s been hoping to be able to save that one for a real emergency. “I have chocolate,” he tells Rodney in a low voice, and is rewarded with a flash of interest in Rodney’s eyes. “Belgian,” he adds.
Rodney sighs. “You’re lucky I have no dignity when it comes to cocoa products,” he mutters and takes a step back, positioning himself just behind John’s left shoulder. “And I hope, for your sake, that there’s lots of it, or I will demand retribution”
The Makka raises an eyebrow and John smiles again, a smile meant to say ‘See, I have disciplined my servant, can we get on with the negotiations now, please?’
He wishes the rest of the team was here. On second thoughts, this experience is likely to be just as embarrassing for John as it is for Rodney, so he should probably be glad they’re alone.
The negotiating table is low and they sit down on big puffy cushions on the floor. The servants are supposed to be kneeling behind their masters, ready to serve them more food and wine, and Rodney grudgingly complies while whispering about how it will so be John’s fault if he passes out from manly hunger. John feels like his smile is pretty much frozen to his face. He has to admit though - the thought of Rodney running errands for him is sort of entertaining. Not that he’d say such a thing out loud; he likes his showers warm and he’s grown used to getting laid on a regular basis.
At least they’re in luck about one thing - the Makka is very impressed by the offers of medical assistance and it’s not difficult to score a pretty generous deal. Having secured daily meals for Atlantis’ near future, John breathes out in relief. The Makka orders more wine for them to celebrate their agreement, and then leans back against the cushions and waves at his personal servant, a pale skinny boy with dark eyes. The boy smiles and leans down, nuzzling the front of the Makka’s leather trousers.
“Shit,” John curses silently. Around the table, the other warriors and their servants are engaged in similar activities. They seem to be enjoying themselves, and John can feel his ears turn red and hot. Okay, an orgy was not what he had planned for today. “Rodney,” he whispers. “You don’t have to...”
But the look on Rodney’s face is positively evil. “Oh no,” he says. “No, no, no. You wanted a servant, so you better lie back and get serviced. We can’t let them think we don’t respect their customs now, can we?”
Of course, Rodney McKay is not satisfied until he’s had the last word, and with the Makka watching, John really doesn’t have any other choice than to lean back into the huge soft cushion and let Rodney open his fly. Despite the situation and the audience, he can feel himself getting hard, which shouldn’t really be a surprise. Rodney tends to have that effect on him. Especially when he licks his lips, oh god, just like that, and bends his head to mouth at John’s cock, until his boxers are soaked and he doesn’t know what Rodney’ll give him first, an orgasm or a heart attack.
A groan escapes his throat and when John looks up, he discovers that the rest of the warriors are watching with interest. He wonders if this is some kind of test, or if it’s just the novelty that is so fascinating to them, but then Rodney reaches into his underwear and pulls him out, and John stops thinking altogether as his dick is enveloped in wet heat.
Rodney is the indisputable master of blowjobs. He can’t take John very deep, but he knows how to use his tongue and his fingers to make John’s eyes roll back in his head. This is payback, John knows it, but he can’t bring himself to complain, not when Rodney pulls off with a filthy slurp and leans down to suck his balls.
The Makka seems to have forgotten the attentions of his own servant; he’s watching Rodney intently while stroking himself. John really can’t blame the man - the sight of his cock disappearing into Rodney’s mouth again is enough to make him forget every shred of shame he’s ever possessed.
And when Rodney looks up though obscenely long lashes and sneaks a finger back to rub against that spot just behind John’s balls, the one that makes him feel like there’s an electrical current running through his body, there’s really nothing he can do to hold back. The orgasm builds deep in his belly and he can feel himself floating away on the rush. Then Rodney opens up wide and swallows around him and that’s it, John is coming so hard that he almost blacks out and Rodney drinks down every drop he has to give.
For several moments, he can’t do anything but try to catch his breath, minute tremors running through his body as Rodney carefully licks him clean. When he next looks up, somewhat recovered now, the room is completely silent and two dozen eyes are staring at them both.
Eventually, the Makka clears his throat. “Is it possible that this servant could be part of the deal?” he asks.
John reaches down and lets his fingers curl affectionately around Rodney’s neck. “No,” he answers. “This one is mine.” And he can feel how Rodney smiles into his thigh.
- fin -