"This is stupid," Ronon said for the third time. "These shoes are ridiculous. Why would anyone wear something you can't even walk in?"The stilettos were fearsome, Elizabeth had to admit, but there was no getting around proper religious attire, here no less than home. "It's not impossible to walk," she said. "I told you, I used to do it every day."
"Without falling on your ass?" Ronon said darkly, and started to wobble again. She touched his arm lightly, steadying him.
"All right, they weren't as high as those, but the principle is the same. You just have to change the way you move your feet." She stepped back. "Look, take them off, I'll show you again."
Ronon nodded and took a more-or-less controlled topple to the floor. Elizabeth knelt to help him unlace the elaborate network of thin little ankle straps, and she felt shockingly intimate for a moment, fingertips brushing his thick calf as she worked the knots.
They got the shoes off, finally, and she sat back to do them up again on her own feet. She'd half-thought it might be a little exciting, like playing dress-up, but all she felt was an anxious twinge in her ankles as she slowly bound them up.
Then she felt Ronon's hand on her other foot and jumped. He shifted it into his lap and started working on the laces. He glanced up at her.
"Okay?" he asked, one hand spread across her instep, and she smiled.
250 words
The mysteries of homosocial bonding had always eluded Rodney, and none moreso than the sort where ostensibly and insistently heterosexual men purchased, viewed, and/or masturbated to pornography in packs, as if jerking off were a knitting circle or a barn-raising or some other collective, community-building exercise. Therefore, although he was reasonably certain Ronon's request was a total jaw-gaping non-sequitur, maybe four months was the official, universal amount of time that had to pass in a relationship before the joint consumption of adult materials could commence, and Ronon was only following his instinctual male directive to seek out a viewing partner.
Of course, *Sheppard* had never asked Rodney how to get ahold of "movies about fucking," so maybe Ronon was just being completely weird and inappropriate, as usual. Or maybe Sheppard already knew where to get porn in the Pegasus galaxy. Maybe he'd brought his own porn--most of the male personnel most likely had, now that there was room for nonessentials. There could be a whole black-market trading network of illicit pornography going on all over Atlantis, right under Rodney's solitary-porn-viewing nose.
"So, do you?" Ronon said, but Rodney was so distracted by his developing theory of Atlantean porn-trading economics that he snapped,
"What do you want it for, anyway?" Ronon just looked at him. Rodney flushed. "All right, never mind."
"Do you not do that on Earth?" Ronon asked.
"Yes, we do that," Rodney said, "in fact some people do it a little too much, and in extremely unsettling ways, but I assure you Earth isn't facing a masturbation shortage anytime this millennium."
A passing Marine made a faint choking noise and hurried on down the hall, and Rodney wondered why this sort of conversation always happened to him. He worked hard at giving the impression that he would be completely unsupportive and insensitive to any and all personal questions and difficult problems, but somehow he always wound up awkwardly patting broken-hearted lab assistants, or translating the instructions on a tube of ridiculously personal topical cream for an anxious (and, it turned out, itchy and inflamed) foreign grad student, or watching the neighbors' three high-strung, freaked-out children while their parents went to the hospital, or helping alien colleagues find porn.
"Why are you asking me?" Rodney demanded. "Why not Sheppard, or...why me?"
"I tried Sheppard. He said it would make my hair fall out." Ronon frowned. "Also, he laughed."
"Oh my god," Rodney said, "and see, this is why I keep trying to discourage him from thinking he's funny, because it only hurts us all in the end, but--wait, you don't believe that, right?"
"Pretty much the opposite, in my experience," Ronon said, and grinned the tiny grin that Rodney had learned portended only doom. "Maybe you haven't been doing it enough."
There was absolutely no correct way to respond to that, Rodney realized, and settled for the as-usual futile glaring. "Do you want me to get you porn or not?"
"So you do know where to get it," Ronon said.
"Of course I do." Rodney had access to every computer in the city except the personal laptops--and he actually had access to those too; he just wasn't supposed to. There was no way somebody hadn't brought a spare hard drive loaded with dirty movies--all he'd have to do was look for it, now that he'd thought of it.
Ronon said, "I thought you would," and Rodney was so excited about the wide new vistas suddenly opening before him that he let the insult to his reputation slide.
600 words
Everything is loud and red, everything hurts, and it keeps on hurting after Ronon drags him away. So much that Rodney keeps forgetting he's been rescued and starts to shake again, waiting for the next blow. Ronon just holds onto him each time, pressing their foreheads together until Rodney stills. Sometimes he talks--says Rodney's name, tells him he's safe.
When Rodney starts falling asleep in between steps, Ronon slings him over his shoulder with surprising gentleness. It still hurts, but not so badly that he can't drift deeper into black like this, rising and falling on Ronon's steady gait.
100 words
"Come on," Ronon said, tugging Rodney by the arm, "let's do it again."
Rodney stumbled-hopped after him, eyeing him warily. "I don't think this is good for your brains. All those g-forces, or maybe the hot dogs, or--"
Ronon dumped him onto the seat and slid in beside him. "The hot dogs were great. We should get more. And more of the pink stuff."
"Oh, god, it was the cotton candy, wasn't it? Did you even have refined sugar on Sateda?"
"We didn't have that pink stuff," Ronon said, and yanked Rodney's seatbelt tight before waving over his shoulder at the operator--and then they were off again, racheting up the hill as Rodney wondered what self-punishing corner of his mind had thought spending two years of back pay to rent out an amusement park was a good way to introduce Ronon to the wonders of Earth.
Rodney didn't even like rollercoasters, damn it. It had to have been Sheppard, planting the idea in Ronon's head, although that still didn't explain why Rodney had agreed.
"Hey, McKay," Ronon said, grinning. Rodney scowled at him and started to snap back, except just then the car crested the first hill and submitted to the merciless grip of physics. A few seconds later, as they screamed down the tracks towards the looming loop-de-loop, Ronon got his hand in Rodney's pants and made him come pretty much immediately.
Completely the fault of the adrenaline rush, Rodney told himself in a haze of sex and sheer terror, and kept his eyes shut tight until the car started to slow again. He opened them just in time to see Ronon wiping his hand off on the bright green metal, looking disgustingly satisfied for someone with an erection that blatant.
"No sugar for you ever again," Rodney said, buttoning up his pants with as much dignity as he could muster.
(I just want to note that this one was BY REQUEST. By Jori's request, to be specific.)
Ronon closed her office door and said, "I need information on your sexual customs."
Elizabeth paused in her perusal of the latest official complaint form from the xenobiology department(anonymous, but definitely Dr. Bainbridge's handwriting, and submitted in triplicate). "I beg your pardon?" she said, after a moment's pause.
"Earth sexual customs," Ronon said. "What's allowed and what's not. The rules." He leaned against the glass wall, crossing his arms over his chest.
"Oh. I see." She paused again, acutely aware of Ronon waiting calmly and silently across the room. "I, ah, assume you're asking for...practical reasons?"
"Am I fucking anyone here, you mean?" He raised his eyebrows slightly. It felt more than a little absurd to sit her interrogating a grown man about his sex life, but she'd discovered new depths of absurdity since stepping through the gate that first time, and anyway, there were valid cross-cultural concerns. And also, all right, the imagery wasn't exactly unpleasant.
"Basically, yes. I, ah, I take it you are, then?"
"Yeah. You want to know who?"
Elizabeth felt the blush creeping in at the edges of her face, and sternly ordered it back. "No, that won't be necessary," she said briskly. "Is there--anything in particular you need to know about?" It was probably a contraception issue, she thought; that sort of thing rarely translated well across cultures. Or maybe he'd gone too far on a first date.
Maybe he wanted to know what dating was. Elizabeth hoped she wouldn't have to deal with a string of outraged female Marines later.
"Is ass-fucking not allowed? For women," he added. "I know the men do it."
Elizabeth coughed in a completely undiplomatic fashion. God, she hadn't blushed this hard since college. Ronon waited for her to regain her composure, eyeing her steadily and looking almost amused. "It's--somewhat complicated," she said finally. "I wouldn't call it a standard part of the--repertoire, exactly, but it's not really a taboo anymore."
Ronon took a moment, apparently parsing that. "So it's allowed, but it's weird?"
A bit simplistic, but it was better than spending more time explaining anal sex. "Yes, that's more or less it."
"Huh," Ronon said.
"If that's all--"
"What about licking ass?" Ronon asked. "Is that, what do you call it, taboo?"
Afterwards, Elizabeth reassured herself that she'd made the right decision in sending him to talk to Sheppard, but she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being terribly unprofessional.
"Can I--will you let me try something?" Rodney had asked, and looked at John with dark intent eyes, so of course he'd said yes, yes, anything you want. And Rodney had kissed him, hard and deep with a hand on the back of his neck, and pulled away when John reached for him. "Okay, roll over," he'd said, and then, "lift your hips up," moving a couple pillows under him and then John was here, already hard and rocking against the unnaturally-smooth pillowcase, listening to the snap of latex against Rodney's wrist.
He jumped when Rodney put one hand on his thigh, the other hand, bare skin. Not moving, just holding John there, and Rodney said, "Hold still" in a firm crisp voice that made John's cock twitch. He forced his hips still, shivering when Rodney's grip tightened. "Good. Spread your legs."
John pressed his whimper against the bedspread and obeyed, feeling splayed open and stretched. Rodney's hand went away and a second later John heard familiar wet sounds behind him. He bit his lip hard to keep from moving, and then Rodney stroked two slick fingers over him and in, twisting slowly but insistently, and John moaned and pushed back onto them.
"Yes, God, fuck me--" Christ, he was so turned on already, he thought he might come the second Rodney touched his dick. He worked himself back on Rodney's fingers again, again and then they were gone and Rodney's other hand was gripping him tightly again.
"I told you to keep still."
"Fuck--" God, Rodney's voice, like the best commanding officer he'd ever had, level and dry and making John feel even more exposed.
"Should I tie you down?" Rodney asked.
John bucked under his hand, which just made Rodney's fingers dig in harder. "Oh fuck, Rodney, please--"
"No," Rodney said, as if John hadn't said a thing, "I think you can do it, can't you?" He pressed his thumb against John's opening, rubbing slick little circles, and John groaned and bit his lip again and nodded. And held still.
Rodney's other hand stroked his hip, warm and broad, as he slowly worked his fingers in again. So slow and nothing like deep enough, and Rodney's eyes on his back were as solid as his hand, holding John still and trembling in his gaze. Maybe this was what he wanted, to watch John fall apart piece by piece, because of him.
John buried his face in the covers, trying not to think. The fingers in his ass paused and twisted and then pushed in again, wider, still moving slowly enough that John could feel each knuckle as Rodney finally slid in deep. John panted gratefully and thought, don't move, don't, don't, and somehow he managed it, shaking perfectly still around Rodney's fingers as he rocked them back and forth.
He couldn't stay quiet though, not when Rodney crooked his fingers and hit him right there. "God, please, please, Rodney," he said, his voice hot and broken in his ears. "Please, I need it, fuck me--"
He couldn't stop begging, and Rodney kept stroking his hip and saying "shh, let me, John," and adding a fourth finger, sliding all the way in. There was a sudden shock of coolness for a second when Rodney added more lube. John listened to him slick the rest of his hand, frozen and shocked and thinking that he wouldn't, he didn't--
Rodney began to work his hand again, twisting and rocking until John was moaning steadily, begging again. His whole body narrowed down to the stretch of Rodney's fingers inside him, holding him from the inside, and when Rodney tucked his thumb in and started to push, John almost forgot to panic.
Then Rodney slid deeper still, and it hurt, aching and impossible and huge-- "I can't, Rodney, I can't," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Rodney stroked up and down his back with a warm, solid hand.
"You can," he said, "you can, just let me in," and John felt one more push that made everything go white for a second, and then--
Rodney was in him, his hand--inside of John, so deep it felt like it could wrap around John's heart, and Rodney's voice sliding over him, telling him how good he was, how tight, how good, how hot-- That was it, that was all he could deal with, and when Rodney twisted around inside him John sobbed and came, clenching helplessly on Rodney's hand, opened wide.
"Huh." John rubbed the weird little device a few more times, but nothing happened--no glow, no hum, no genie popping out to grant him three wishes, although knowing Atlantis, that last one was going to turn up any day now. "Well, I'm not getting anything from it," he said, and tossed it to Rodney, who caught it with a frantic squawk.
"Don't *throw* it," Rodney said aggrievedly. "For all you know it could be a grenade."
And...huh. Okay, that was an actual possibility, because the Ancients were creepy bastards sometimes, so he decided not to do that again. "Don't worry," he said, "Atlantis won't let me blow up. She loves me."
Rodney rolled his eyes and said, "The sick part is, you're probably *right,*" and then the device flashed green in his hand and let out a decisive-sounding beep. Rodney yelped and flung it away. John thought, if that actually was a grenade, I'm going to feel like a real idiot, but when it hadn't exploded after another couple seconds, he figured they were safe.
"Well, that was interesting."
"Oh, quite," Rodney said acidly, retrieving the device. "A certain Chinese curse comes to mind. What did you *do* to it?"
"I didn't do anything! I just stroked it a little. Usually they *like* when I do that."
"Yes, Colonel, we all know about the city's crush on you, you can quit bragging about it," Rodney said--except he also said, Well who can blame them, and then suddenly John's head was filled with porn.
He blinked and tilted his head a little--nope, still porn. Really...*generous* porn. Not that he didn't appreciate the thought, but if he was actually hung like *that,* he might have taken his last girlfriend up on her offer to make him an internet porn star.
Rodney's strangled meeping pulled him out of his thoughts. John blinked some more, and looked at Rodney's flushed face and huge eyes, and said, "So, not a grenade, then."
"Internet porn star??" Rodney demanded. "God, you really are a man-whore, aren't you?"
There was something unfair about that, John thought, considering the images Rodney had just been broadcasting. "Well, I never did it," he said. "Gay porn and the military don't mix all that well, contrary to popular belief."
"--gay porn?"
John felt something incredibly weird happen in his head, kind of like being firmly poked in the brain. "Hey, cut that out--"
"Ha!" Rodney said, glowing with vindication. "I should have known," and before John could sort through the sudden whirl of heat and images, Rodney yanked him in and kissed him hard.
It felt like standing under a waterfall, all his nerves tangling with Rodney's in a confused shivering mess of wet, and slick, and hands on his back. His body felt like nothing but a white-hot flash of yes, yes, yes--
Rodney broke away, panting, and stared at him. "Wow."
"Wow," John agreed. He didn't remember getting a hand up inside Rodney's shirt, but he felt no inclination to take it back.
"Telepathy sucks less than I expected," Rodney said.
Everything sucks less than you expect, John thought.
Not everything, I'm hoping. The image of Rodney's bed sprung clearly into mental view, followed by several more images that could definitely put his ex-girlfriend's website to shame, if she'd had any.
"You know, there were very strict rules about this sort of thing at the SGC," McKay said.
"This sort of thing?" Ford broke off another piece of his roll and fed it to the small woodland creature in his front pocket.
"Bringing back indigenous life-forms, exposing us all to alien plague, yes, that sort of thing. How do you even know what it's supposed to eat?" he asked, as Ford followed the bread with a sliver of meat.The thing in his pocket snuffled loudly at his fingers, pushing itself up high enough that McKay could see its bright beady eyes.
"Okay, first of all, he's not an 'it.' His name is Timmy."
"Oh my god, you named it? Wait, how do you know it's a he?" McKay asked, and immediately held up his hand. "No, I don't want to know. You named it Timmy?"
Ford grinned and tugged the thing all the way out, making it squeak frantically. "What, he doesn't look like a Timmy to you?"
"Oh, yes, let's wave the vermin over my food, that's what this meal needed," McKay said, but he couldn't help staring at it. It was like a cross between a squirrel and a chihuahua, except it was small enough to curl up in Ford's palm and the same disturbing lavender shade as the grass they'd found its nest in. It looked like something out of the movies he'd seen at the anime club in college, which his girlfriend had dragged him to as a condition of sex, and he hadn't in any way enjoyed at all.
And then Ford slipped it back into his pocket and fed it the bluish Athosian version of a pea, and McKay said, "Well, you at least need to give it a better name, if you're going to keep it," and Ford looked at him and grinned wider and said,
"So you name him, then. You're the genius."
Which was how Atlantis came to be the home of a space-squirrel named Agamemnon.
The end.
"You know," Rodney said, "the last time I got tied up, there was a lot more going on."
John settled more solidly across Rodney's legs. "Wasn't that just a couple weeks ago?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, fine, the last time I got tied up for *sexual purposes.* Which I sincerely hope that wasn't."
"Those guys in the robes did seem kind of sweet on you," John said, and leaned forward a little, stroking Rodney's left wrist where the cloth circled snug around it. "So you've done this a lot, huh?"
His fingers were light, surveying. Rodney felt his pulse jump and wondered if John could tell. "Not a lot. A few times. I had a very kinky girlfriend in grad school."
"I don't know if a little bondage counts as *very* kinky," John said, sliding his hand down Rodney's arm to pet his throat.
"Well. No, yes, not just that, though. Um." The hand on his throat tightened just a little, just enough to make his cock twitch, and then John leaned forward and kissed him. For a second Rodney forgot and tried to reach for him, pull him closer, and the sudden unforgiving tug at his arms shocked him, made him moan into John's mouth.
"Did she fuck you?" John said, breath hot and wet against his cheek. "Did she tie you up and fuck you?"
"Good--nn--guess," Rodney said, his hips jerking automatically, and that made his cock slide against John's stomach, so he kept doing it until John settled his weight more heavily on Rodney's thighs, pinning him.
"Hold still," he said, which made Rodney's spine just turn itself inside out, and then, "yeah, I've had a few kinky girlfriends myself."
"Somehow this fails to surprise me." He couldn't stop picturing it, now--John on his back, arms over his head, some girl's small fingers pushing inside him. He bit his lip and whimpered anyway.
John rubbed his thumbs across Rodney's nipples and smiled a little. "You want to do that to me?" Rubbed *hard,* *god,* and he gave up trying not to to make embarrassing noises, because fuck, John *had* him.
"Yes--oh, *fuck,* do that--" Rodney said, and John stopped. "What? Don't--"
For a second he thought John was reaching for *his* cock, and he tried and failed to lift his hips up encouragingly, but John wrapped his hand around himself and grinned lazily, and possibly with extra teeth, because he was clearly some kind of *demon.*
"This is completely unfair," Rodney said. "The person who gets tied up gets to come first. It's a *rule.*"
And oh, fuck, definitely extra demon-teeth in that grin, as John jacked himself fast, rubbing his thumb across the head at the top of each stroke, the way he did to Rodney when they only had a few minutes and had to get each other off fast. "If I was just going to go ahead and do that, there'd hardly be any point in tying you up."
Rodney couldn't say anything to that except a little choked noise.
"Yeah," John said, and then "yeah" and he tensed and came all over Rodney's stomach and chest.
"John," Rodney said, rolling his hips helplessly underneath him, and John slid his hands up over Rodney's chest, wet and slick, and said,
"See, now I can take as long as I want."
Rodney shuddered all over and stared up at him. "You do realize I'm going to make you pay for this until you *die.*"
"Pretty much counting on it," John said, pushing two fingers into Rodney's mouth. "You can go ahead and start planning your revenge."
"Bzuh," Rodney said. "Bzuh. I. You. You."
"You know this guy, Brainy?" the blonde girl asked the green kid, who snorted.
"Yes, he's one of my many close friends in the early twenty-first century Pegasus galaxy. *No,* I don't know him, and I certainly don't know why he's pointing at me like that."
"You're you," Rodney said, and John would have sworn his eyes were actually glittering. "Oh my god, this is the best galaxy ever."
"Well, he certainly seems know you," said the dark-haired boy wearing a purple jumpsuit, with a tiny smile. Nobody, John thought, should be able to wear a purple jumpsuit with that much gravitas.
"Of course I know you," Rodney said. "You're Brainiac 5."
"Brainiac?" John frowned. "That sounds fami--wait, the guy from the Superman cartoon? What?"
The kids all glanced at each other then, and Rodney turned to stare at John. "You watched the cartoons?"
"Yeah, they were cool. Didn't Brainiac have all that--stuff on his head?" John made wiggly hand motions around his face to demonstrate.
"No, no, that was a different Brainiac, this is from the comics, the Legion of Super-Heroes. This one doesn't have the wires," Rodney said. "Also, he should be a lot older than this. Maybe they're from the post-Zero Hour reboot."
Now the kids were muttering to each other alarmedly, so John held up a hand to stop Rodney's forthcoming comics-history lecture. He looked at the kid in the purple jumpsuit, who seemed to be the leader by virtue of standing in front of most of the others and looking way too serious for a teenage boy in lavender spandex. "Welcome to Atlantis," he said, and stuck out his hand. After a few tense seconds, the boy took it.
"Oh my god, you just shook hands with Cosmic Boy," Rodney hissed. "I am so incredibly jealous of you right now, Major, you can't even begin to understand--"
At some point, John decided, they were going to have a serious talk about Rodney's childhood.
"Are you--" Rodney said, and stopped, and started again. "Are you *sniffing* me?"
"Mm-hmm," Ronon said, even more muffled than usual, what with his face pressed against Rodney's neck.
"And now you're licking. Ronon. Why is there licking happening?" Rodney's voice crawled higher and higher until it cracked on the second 'lick', and then Ronon bit him lightly, right over his pulse, and he lost the end of 'happening' completely.
He grabbed a handful of dreads and told himself, Okay, pull him away...now,, and then his other hand wrapped around Ronon's back and tugged him closer, pressing them together. Ronon made a low growling noise that made Rodney's spine go into happy little spasms, and bit him again.
A few feet away, the flowers that had attacked them waved their now-empty pollen sacs in the breeze. With his small remaining portion of forebrain, Rodney made a mental note to never, ever give the samples he'd gotten to the botany team.
He was going to need all the pollen he could get.
"So," John said, moving his hand between her legs, "is it more or less like you planned?"
"I must admit," Teyla said, a little breathlessly, "I had imagined he would talk more."
"Um," Rodney said. He glared at John, who was now muffling laughter against Teyla's shoulder. His hand was still working, though, because despite all evidence to the contrary, he generally valued his life. "I don't--" Rodney started again, and then John did something that made Teyla keen and clench tight around him, and Rodney decided to just go with vowel sounds, which had served him well and faithfully for many years now.
"Yeah," John said, and Rodney could still hear the smile behind his voice, warming it. "God, you're so hot, you both--"
"Unh," Rodney said, grabbing hold of Teyla's hips and thrusting up. She moaned and tightened around him again, muscles flexing under his hands as she met his thrusts. He felt John's fingers brush against him, busily moving over her clit, and then John caught his eyes and said,
"Oh, fuck, *look* at him," and Rodney moaned an entirely new set of vowels as he came.