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merrilyThis was originally comment!porn written for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wildestranger. I've cleaned it up, although it's not much longer than the original, and am posting it here for completeness sake, since I don't seem to have done so before, nor bookmarked it, not even on my del.icio.us account... which means I must have been suffering from "first fic in this fandom; a little embarrassed" syndrome.
Anyway, on rereading it, I'm not embarrassed except by the plot problems but they're fixed now. I wrote pr0n! Go me!
Title: The Alien Ritual Equivalent of Switzerland
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard with an unfortunate side of McKay/stinky priestess, but she's just there to make Rodney need to think about something other than the woman with the dildo.
Rating: NC-17, dear god yes.
Warnings: Um. Being tied up, pegging, hand-fetishizing, sex-by-proxy, wasp stings and slight dub-con issues. All that in only 1000 words.
Summary: "You must reach fruition," the (frankly, quite stoned) priestess had explained, after Rodney had said, yes, yes yes, fine, just give John the anti-histamines, already. "You must show that openness brings you joy."
No beta; all mistakes mine.
Obviously, I own nothing but my dirty, dirty mind.
Feedback fed strawberries and crepes.
---
Rodney only managed to get through the Prove-Your-Trustworthy-Nature ritual on M3X-889 by staring at John's hands.
They'd tied him facing the audience, and John had sat front and centre because he felt guilty. If he'd been awake while the locals were explaining the finer points, Rodney was sure John would have insisted on being the person who took one for the team. But John was unconscious and pierced with nearly a hundred stingers from the wasp-like insects whose burrow Ronon had accidentally tripped over, and Rodney had been willing to agree to anything, as long as the locals would treat him with their healing herbs and stop him from dying a pointless and unattractively swollen death.
So here they were, and Rodney - oiled, tense, naked - was tied spread-eagled over an altar, waiting for the priestess tostart the pegging demonstrate his openness in a far too-literal manner.
So far, so familiar -- but in addition to having an Amazon with a strap-on know his ass in a biblical manner, Rodney was also expected to come. "You must reach fruition," the (frankly, quite stoned) priestess had explained, after Rodney had said, yes, yes yes, fine, just give John the anti-histamines, already. "You must show that openness brings you joy."
Openness brought Rodney no joy whatsoever. And neither did the priestess, who, despite having excellent breasts, seemed a little (a lot) hazy on the concept of personal hygiene.
At first, when Rodney had been brought into the room and the priests had started to tie him to the altar, he'd cast around desperately for something neutral to focus on. John was right in front of him -- now awake and much less swollen, thank god, since the hippie-happy natives had started treating him as soon as Rodney said yes and surrendered his weapon and tac-vest.
Rodney could feel John's eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet them. It was too much. And looking at John's mouth would be too much, too, as would looking at his thighs -- and why the hell he was considering John's thighs as a neutral object to focus on -- the alien-ritual equivalent of Switzerland, Rodney didn't know.
He was just about to try keeping his eyes shut and thinking ofSam Carter where they were in the universe when John started to clench and unclench his hands, as he was wont to do when worried. The tendons in his arms flexed.
John did this just as the priestess smoothed her own hands down Rodney's back to grope his ass, and Rodney's moment of disgust (hand-washing: a local practice, y/n?) was interrupted by a vivid, blessed moment of dissociation where he imagined John was the one standing behind him--that John's strong, capable hands were gripping him and John's slick fingers were twisting him open.
The thought made him flush, fiercely, and suddenly he was caught up wholly in it, the image of John touching him. If "openness" brought him unexpected personal insight as well as joy, well, it was none of the priestess's goddamn business.
---
John had had a crappy day. Sure, the wasps' nest had sucked, and passing out had sucked, and having his weapons and tac-vest taken away sucked balls -- but being front and centre at a sex ritual where his teammate got tied up and pegged by a woman who smelled like rotting green onions? Well. Crappy icing on the crappy cake.
Except.
John had known that Rodney had a great ass, yeah. It was hard to miss -- especially since the BDUs the military provided were just slightly too form-fitting and the holsters were designed to be worn around the thigh. Rodney also spent a lot of time bent over consoles and hieroglyphics and scanners, and, okay, John had looked. Often.
But Rodney was tied up facing him, bent over the altar, and John couldn't see his ass. He could, however, see the line of Rodney's shoulders -- surprisingly muscled and solid, the kind of shoulders that invited you to grip them for leverage. And he could see Rodney's large, calloused hands gripping the edge, knuckles white. And Rodney's wide mouth, lips pressed tightly together. He couldn't see Rodney's eyes: the man was clearly trying to avoid his gaze. John didn't know why he wanted to see Rodney's eyes, except that he wanted to be sure that Rodney didn't hate him for putting him in this position, this ridiculous position that was about to require public, non-consensual sex.
Rodney was twisting his head, gaze darting around the room, and John knew what he was thinking, knew he needed something to look at in order to keep his mind off of what was happening, but there was nothing in here with him except John, Ronon, Teyla and a half-dozen religious elite of this asswipe of a planet. John started to clench his hands, unconsciously. And then he realized that Rodney's eyes had caught the movement.
Rodney was staring at his hands. Rodney was staring at his hands and flushing.
The priestess must have started fucking him, at that point, because Rodney's body started to register the thrusts. John could do nothing but stare at Rodney's mouth, open and panting as the blush flooded up from his chest over his face. His hands trembled as he let himself imagine what Rodney was thinking -- John's thumbs sliding down Rodney's sides, fingers curled over careful and firm over the rib-cage; John's fingers rubbing coaxingly between his legs, smoothing circles into the shy flesh behind his balls, John's hands opening Rodney wide enough for his cock to slide home, inexorable, pushing sweetly into his oiled hole without hesitation.
Rodney arched and moaned, the room burst into applause, and John collapsed trembling in his chair.
--
Afterwards -- when Rodney had been taken away and allowed to clean up and get dressed, and everyone had been given back their stuff -- John had tried to apologize.
"It should've been me up there," he said, trying not to look at Rodney's mouth, his shoulders, his hands.
"It shouldn't have been any of us up there," Rodney snapped. "Stupid planet with its stupid healers who've never heard of the stupid Hippocratic oath."
"What, do no harm?"
"No," and Rodney was still not looking at him, fiercely, "the part where it says that the healer will enter a house for the good of his patients and not for sexual pleasure."
"That's in the oath?"
"Yes, that's in the oath, and my doctorates are still only in astrophysics, and for god's sakes, can we leave this ridiculous planet? Now?"
--
In the jumper, Rodney kept sneaking sideways glances at John's hands on the controls. John would've laughed at him, but he was too busy planning.
wildestranger. I've cleaned it up, although it's not much longer than the original, and am posting it here for completeness sake, since I don't seem to have done so before, nor bookmarked it, not even on my del.icio.us account... which means I must have been suffering from "first fic in this fandom; a little embarrassed" syndrome.Anyway, on rereading it, I'm not embarrassed except by the plot problems but they're fixed now. I wrote pr0n! Go me!
Title: The Alien Ritual Equivalent of Switzerland
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard with an unfortunate side of McKay/stinky priestess, but she's just there to make Rodney need to think about something other than the woman with the dildo.
Rating: NC-17, dear god yes.
Warnings: Um. Being tied up, pegging, hand-fetishizing, sex-by-proxy, wasp stings and slight dub-con issues. All that in only 1000 words.
Summary: "You must reach fruition," the (frankly, quite stoned) priestess had explained, after Rodney had said, yes, yes yes, fine, just give John the anti-histamines, already. "You must show that openness brings you joy."
No beta; all mistakes mine.
Obviously, I own nothing but my dirty, dirty mind.
Feedback fed strawberries and crepes.
---
Rodney only managed to get through the Prove-Your-Trustworthy-Nature ritual on M3X-889 by staring at John's hands.
They'd tied him facing the audience, and John had sat front and centre because he felt guilty. If he'd been awake while the locals were explaining the finer points, Rodney was sure John would have insisted on being the person who took one for the team. But John was unconscious and pierced with nearly a hundred stingers from the wasp-like insects whose burrow Ronon had accidentally tripped over, and Rodney had been willing to agree to anything, as long as the locals would treat him with their healing herbs and stop him from dying a pointless and unattractively swollen death.
So here they were, and Rodney - oiled, tense, naked - was tied spread-eagled over an altar, waiting for the priestess to
So far, so familiar -- but in addition to having an Amazon with a strap-on know his ass in a biblical manner, Rodney was also expected to come. "You must reach fruition," the (frankly, quite stoned) priestess had explained, after Rodney had said, yes, yes yes, fine, just give John the anti-histamines, already. "You must show that openness brings you joy."
Openness brought Rodney no joy whatsoever. And neither did the priestess, who, despite having excellent breasts, seemed a little (a lot) hazy on the concept of personal hygiene.
At first, when Rodney had been brought into the room and the priests had started to tie him to the altar, he'd cast around desperately for something neutral to focus on. John was right in front of him -- now awake and much less swollen, thank god, since the hippie-happy natives had started treating him as soon as Rodney said yes and surrendered his weapon and tac-vest.
Rodney could feel John's eyes on him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet them. It was too much. And looking at John's mouth would be too much, too, as would looking at his thighs -- and why the hell he was considering John's thighs as a neutral object to focus on -- the alien-ritual equivalent of Switzerland, Rodney didn't know.
He was just about to try keeping his eyes shut and thinking of
John did this just as the priestess smoothed her own hands down Rodney's back to grope his ass, and Rodney's moment of disgust (hand-washing: a local practice, y/n?) was interrupted by a vivid, blessed moment of dissociation where he imagined John was the one standing behind him--that John's strong, capable hands were gripping him and John's slick fingers were twisting him open.
The thought made him flush, fiercely, and suddenly he was caught up wholly in it, the image of John touching him. If "openness" brought him unexpected personal insight as well as joy, well, it was none of the priestess's goddamn business.
---
John had had a crappy day. Sure, the wasps' nest had sucked, and passing out had sucked, and having his weapons and tac-vest taken away sucked balls -- but being front and centre at a sex ritual where his teammate got tied up and pegged by a woman who smelled like rotting green onions? Well. Crappy icing on the crappy cake.
Except.
John had known that Rodney had a great ass, yeah. It was hard to miss -- especially since the BDUs the military provided were just slightly too form-fitting and the holsters were designed to be worn around the thigh. Rodney also spent a lot of time bent over consoles and hieroglyphics and scanners, and, okay, John had looked. Often.
But Rodney was tied up facing him, bent over the altar, and John couldn't see his ass. He could, however, see the line of Rodney's shoulders -- surprisingly muscled and solid, the kind of shoulders that invited you to grip them for leverage. And he could see Rodney's large, calloused hands gripping the edge, knuckles white. And Rodney's wide mouth, lips pressed tightly together. He couldn't see Rodney's eyes: the man was clearly trying to avoid his gaze. John didn't know why he wanted to see Rodney's eyes, except that he wanted to be sure that Rodney didn't hate him for putting him in this position, this ridiculous position that was about to require public, non-consensual sex.
Rodney was twisting his head, gaze darting around the room, and John knew what he was thinking, knew he needed something to look at in order to keep his mind off of what was happening, but there was nothing in here with him except John, Ronon, Teyla and a half-dozen religious elite of this asswipe of a planet. John started to clench his hands, unconsciously. And then he realized that Rodney's eyes had caught the movement.
Rodney was staring at his hands. Rodney was staring at his hands and flushing.
The priestess must have started fucking him, at that point, because Rodney's body started to register the thrusts. John could do nothing but stare at Rodney's mouth, open and panting as the blush flooded up from his chest over his face. His hands trembled as he let himself imagine what Rodney was thinking -- John's thumbs sliding down Rodney's sides, fingers curled over careful and firm over the rib-cage; John's fingers rubbing coaxingly between his legs, smoothing circles into the shy flesh behind his balls, John's hands opening Rodney wide enough for his cock to slide home, inexorable, pushing sweetly into his oiled hole without hesitation.
Rodney arched and moaned, the room burst into applause, and John collapsed trembling in his chair.
--
Afterwards -- when Rodney had been taken away and allowed to clean up and get dressed, and everyone had been given back their stuff -- John had tried to apologize.
"It should've been me up there," he said, trying not to look at Rodney's mouth, his shoulders, his hands.
"It shouldn't have been any of us up there," Rodney snapped. "Stupid planet with its stupid healers who've never heard of the stupid Hippocratic oath."
"What, do no harm?"
"No," and Rodney was still not looking at him, fiercely, "the part where it says that the healer will enter a house for the good of his patients and not for sexual pleasure."
"That's in the oath?"
"Yes, that's in the oath, and my doctorates are still only in astrophysics, and for god's sakes, can we leave this ridiculous planet? Now?"
--
In the jumper, Rodney kept sneaking sideways glances at John's hands on the controls. John would've laughed at him, but he was too busy planning.
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Date: 2007-08-20 10:13 pm (UTC)