Summary: They fit together, him and Rodney.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 2608
Rating/Contents: NC-17, consent play, D/s, painplay, face slapping, dirty talk, uh, shit, I feel like there's something I'm forgetting? John's kind of a big sadist and calls Rodney a whore a lot? Does that count as a warning, or is that just an advertisement?
A/N: Who broke into my GDocs and wrote all this sub!Rodney porn?! Surely it couldn't have been me. ::eyes flist suspiciously::
Rodney startles when he walks out of the bathroom. "Jesus Christ," he yelps, clutching his towel to his chest, even though it's not like he didn't know John was coming. He's only half-dressed, wearing a pair of loose grey sweatpants and nothing else, his hair still damp from the shower.
"Sorry," John says, shrugging. "I let myself in." He ought to look casual, unconcerned; but instead he's staring at Rodney with hunger in his eyes.
Rodney just looks at him for a long moment; then he shakes his head like he's trying to clear it. "Don't scare me like that," he chides. "Are you trying to send me to an early grave?" He drops his towel carelessly onto the floor and turns his back on John; but just before he does it, he gives John a tiny, unmistakable nod.
John sighs, cracks his neck, tries to get in the right frame of mind- and how ironic is it that he's the one who always has to get psyched up for and talked into these things? Rodney just slips into it natural as breathing; he's humming something under his breath and futzing around with his dresser, moving things neatly out of the way, looking perfectly innocent even while he bends over to put something in a drawer, letting John get a good eyeful of his full, round ass.
John's getting there, though; and when Rodney straightens, stretching his back out a little, he takes the opportunity, pressing himself up against Rodney's back and sliding his hands onto Rodney's chest and stomach. He knows Rodney's ready by the way he gasps and stiffens; John's already learned the hard way that anyone- boyfriend or not- who sneaks up on Rodney like that on a normal day is bound to catch an elbow to the face.
"W-what are you doing?" Rodney stutters, standing stock still as John's hands explore him slowly, snaking over him and pulling him tighter against John's chest- and, oh yeah, John can work with this.
"Relax, Rodney," he chuckles, letting his voice go low and a little growly, which only makes Rodney shiver and stand up even straighter. "I'm not going to do anything you won't like."
"It's already too late for that," he replies tightly, but it's not until John reaches down and palms his half-hard dick that he tries to jump out of John's grasp. "What the hell-"
He breaks off as John grabs his wrist and twists his arm behind him, rough enough that he knows it has to hurt. "Let me go," Rodney gasps, but it isn't quite scared or pained enough to be convincing. John puts his other hand around Rodney's throat, digging in with his fingernails but making sure not to cut off Rodney's air; and the way he's gasping now is definitely way more pleased than it is afraid.
John's known he was a sadist since, well, since he knew what a sadist was, but he's never, ever been with anyone like Rodney. Rodney's wired for pain, built for it, spends his whole life running from it because he just can't trust himself with it. He's amazing, the way he just takes and takes and takes everything that John can throw at him and never gets full.
Fuck, it's better than he ever expected, just the safety of knowing that Rodney's getting off on this just as much as he is.
He couldn't ever, ever do this if he didn't know that Rodney really wanted it, no matter what he says- and that sounds like such a sick apology that he can't even let it stand in his own head. He couldn't do this if Rodney hadn't told him how much he wanted it; he has to bite his lip when he thinks about Rodney kneeling at his feet, talking him through it while slowly jacked John's cock, piling up all these awful, wonderful things in front of him, until John came, helpless, all over his face and his hands and his beautiful mouth.
"Let me go," Rodney repeats, struggling against him.
"Keep it up, honey," John replies, condescension dripping off his words, pressing his already hard dick into Rodney's ass. "The more you struggle, the better it is for me."
Rodney tries to rabbit again when he hears that, but John just holds fast, which is way easier than he feels like it should be. He's been sitting here thinking that it's okay, that Rodney can get away if he really wants to, if something goes wrong; but it occurs to him that maybe that's not really true. Rodney outweighs him, but he hasn't got a fraction of John's training or agility. Maybe he couldn't get out of John's grasp even if he tried, and that thought is so much hotter than it has any right to be.
"Dirty slut," he says, right into Rodney's ear, letting his voice drop into a hiss. He gets right up close to Rodney's throat, pressing his face to Rodney's hot skin and breathing him in. "God, you make me so fucking crazy," he says, because that's part of it, for Rodney- that weird reverse power trip he gets from being so totally irresistible that John doesn't have a choice but to overpower him. "I wouldn't have to do this if you weren't such a fucking tease."
Just for effect, he leans in and licks a long, wet stripe up Rodney's neck, punctuating it with a bite just underneath his ear, and Rodney's whole body shudders in John's grip. He can't resist lingering over the same spot, worrying at it with his teeth, until the skin starts to redden. It's going to be so fucking hot tomorrow when Rodney's covered up in bruises and marks from John's hands and mouth. Rodney's going to be insufferable, smirking more than usual and showing them off faux-accidentally whenever he thinks he can get away with it- which is pretty much all the time.
"You don't have to do this," Rodney manages, hoarsely.
John snorts derisively. "I know," he replies. "I think if I just asked, you'd get on your knees for me so fucking fast you'd hurt yourself." Rodney bucks even harder against him. "But you know what else I think? I think you've been waiting for this. I think you've just been trying to provoke me. You want me to do this."
"No!" Rodney gasps. "Look, I'll do whatever you want, just, just please let me go."
John's laughter is thick and heavy in his throat. "Newsflash, McKay," he drawls, "I'm already going to do whatever I want to you, whether you feel like letting me or not. And right now, what I want is to fill up that tight ass of yours." He grinds his cock up against Rodney, partly for emphasis and partly to relieve some of the pressure that's building in him. Rodney rocks back against him, whimpering in his throat, and it's so tempting to bring him off just like this. He could make Rodney come without even really trying; Rodney's so into it that all he'd have to do is keep holding on, keep whispering nasty things into his ear, and Rodney'd just boil over.
Thing is, he can't think of anything in the world he wants more than to be inside Rodney when Rodney comes, so he reluctantly stills his hips, getting himself back under control. It's not easy, when Rodney's still quaking and squirming in his arms, still making a show of struggling. "Do yourself a favor," he says, in his best "good cop" voice. "Why don't you just stop pretending you're not getting off on this? We both know how much you want it." Rodney shakes his head, still defiant. "It's okay," John says, softly, pulling Rodney tighter against him. "I've got you."
Rodney relaxes like somebody hit a button, sighing shakily and leaning back into John.
"Fuck," John says, triumphant and breathless. "I knew you were a good little slut."
Rodney stumbles forward when John abruptly lets him go, but it only earns him a swat to the ass. "Move," John commands, but Rodney's a little too addled to do anything but blink at him and trip over his own feet. John's fine with that, though; he grabs Rodney by the bicep and drags him towards the bed. He throws Rodney down when they get there, yanking his sweats and boxers off him before pushing his legs open and standing in between them.
Rodney stares up at him, wide-eyed, his hips straining up, helpless, and John feels like the king of the fucking world.
He's nowhere near done getting Rodney ready, though; Rodney jumps when John pulls the clamps from his pocket and tosses them onto the bed beside him, where they land in a clattering heap. "Put them on," John orders, licking his lips in anticipation. Rodney's hands are shaking as he picks them up, but he does what John wants, setting the butterfly clamps carefully on his stiff nipples. He groans when the second one closes down on his skin, satisfied and loud.
"You like that, whore?" John asks, taking the chain and tugging at it. Before Rodney can even think about responding, he tightens his grip and pulls, and Rodney arches all the way off the bed.
"No," Rodney swears, thrashing his head, even as he's humping the air and moaning. "Please, don't," he pants. "Stop."
"What was that?" John laughs. "Don't stop? You don't have to worry about that. Open your mouth." Rodney just keeps shaking his head, so John slaps him across the face, open-palmed; it's so satisfying that he backhands him on the rebound, watches the color bloom in both his cheeks at once. The corners of Rodney's eyes are starting to tear up, but his dick is leaking all over his stomach, inscribing wet patterns whenever he moves. "Open. Your fucking. Mouth," he repeats, his voice dangerously reasonable and even, and Rodney screws his eyes shut and complies.
There's not quite enough chain between the clamps to reach all the way to Rodney's mouth without pulling- which is, of course, exactly what John was going for. "Close down," he directs, and Rodney doesn't need to be told twice. And, of course, the first thing Rodney does is throw his head back to pull the clamps even tighter. "I was wrong," John says, almost conversationally, slipping the bottle of lube out of his pocket with one hand and opening his pants with the other. "You don't like it, do you? You fucking love it." Rodney's face tenses up even more, but he nods, whining desperately around the chain.
He slicks himself up and gets Rodney wet, but that's about all he does; he knows how much Rodney wants the ache later, just another thing to carry around with him as proof- and besides, he's been waiting to get inside Rodney forever.
He leans down over Rodney as he slowly, slowly pushes his way in. "C'mon, Rodney," he cajoles, his lips right up next to Rodney's ear. "Open up your eyes." He kisses Rodney sweetly, biting at his bottom lip. "I want you to watch."
Rodney whimpers and tosses his head, but he blinks his eyes open and locks them onto John's face. "Goddammit," John pants, temporarily overcome. "Christ, Rodney, if you could see yourself right now."
He doesn't waste any time at all, pounding in and out of Rodney's ass, holding him down so that he has to take everything John gives him. It's just as good as he expected, now that Rodney's all loose and pliant from the pain and the relief of giving himself up to John, and John really doesn't have any choice but to feel amazed and thankful and unworthy of all of this.
John reaches down to run his thumbs over the over-sensitized flesh of Rodney's nipples, and Rodney pushes back hard against him. "You just love when I hurt you, don't you? You can't get enough of being my toy, can you?"
It's kind of a shame that he can't hear Rodney's answer through the chain; later, later he's going to make Rodney beg for it, make him admit that he wants every little awful thing John says about him to be true.
Right now, though, they're both too far gone; Rodney's meeting him thrust for thrust, their bodies in mindless unison. John's on the edge, but he bites his lip and hangs on, needing to push Rodney just that little bit further.
"Do it," he snarls. "Come on my cock, whore. Show me how much you love this."
Rodney's fucking mewling, panting heavily through his nose, and John can just feel how desperate he is, how much he wants to- but he's still not quite there, he's not going to make it on his own.
"I know what you want," John says, reaching up to the clamps on Rodney's chest, toying with them, and he very nearly sounds compassionate. It's going to hurt so badly when the clamps come off, a perfect, crashing, all too brief spike of pain that he knows they're both waiting for. "Just admit it, Rodney, and I can make it all better."
After a long moment, Rodney nods and shuts his eyes, letting his head fall back against the bed. John gives himself a mental count, one, two, and on three he pinches hard on the clamps to open them, lifting them away from Rodney's skin. Rodney doesn't quite scream, but he certainly makes plenty of noise, and he comes so hard that some of it actually hits John in the face.
He doesn't stop, fucking Rodney hard all the way through it, drawing it out, trying to make it as good as he can before he worries about himself. Rodney's got other plans, though; his eyes still locked onto John's, Rodney reaches up and brushes his shaky fingers across his own nipple, gasping at the pain, and John's just wrecked. He pushes all the way into Rodney and comes with a groan.
He doesn't know how long he just stays like that, bent unsteadily over Rodney's body. Rodney seriously could care less though; the endorphins have long since kicked in, and he's smiling up at John with an extraordinarily dopey look on his face, totally blissed out. John carefully, gingerly pulls away from him, wincing at the way his back twinges. He walks over and grabs Rodney's discarded towel, gets Rodney a glass of water, and comes back, only to be immediately pulled back into bed by Rodney himself, who's managed to find the covers and burrow into them.
"Holy shit, John, that was inspired," he slurs.
"It was your idea," John points out.
"Exactly," Rodney says, holding up a finger for emphasis. "It was inspired by me. Clearly, I am an excellent muse, and you should always listen to me, because my ideas are," he stops to make a flailing gesture, "excellent."
He can't help laughing. "Wow, you are really high."
"So's your old man," Rodney counters.
John smiles, letting his hand drift onto Rodney's hip, his fingers brushing the bruises that are already starting to form there. "You're sure you're really okay?"
Rodney narrows his eyes at him. "You're not allowed to ask any more stupid questions for," he turns his head to look at the clock on his nightstand, "half an hour."
He snorts, half at Rodney and half at himself; there's nothing to worry about, nothing at all, and they're so far past okay that John's just mesmerized by how lucky he is. "Deal."
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