Anna S. (eliade) wrote,
Anna S.
eliade

weapons, trees, chocolate, and bondage

I'm seriously a bit embarrassed to be posting something this unexceptional in a fandom that has so many brilliant stars and stories, but I've been trying to write, like a mime leaning into a strong wind, so it's good for me to get even a porny vignette done. It's the fan-fiction equivalent of kindergarten refrigerator art but, yay. For iamsab, helenish, thegrrrl2002, seperis (who asked for something here), and a bunch of other people I'm thinking of.

lame title: weapons, trees, chocolate, and bondage
stargate atlantis, john/rodney, nc-17, 1000+ words


The trees around their guest house flickered in the evening breeze. Rodney could hear them through the open windows. Peaceful, if you liked that sort of thing. The soft noise just made his mind itch the way the rough sheets made his skin itch. He wanted a strong lamp, a thermos of coffee, a few chocolate-toffee Powerbars, and his laptop. But he had weak and shivering candles, no coffee, no bars, and he had to conserve battery power for more important things than entertaining himself until dawn, even when entertaining himself meant trying to find a new way to increase energy output from Atlantis's newly reactivated photovoltaic skin.

"You're up," Sheppard said, making Rodney twist and yelp. He unleaned himself from the doorway and slouched in, hands in baggy pockets, as Rodney tried to restart his heart. "I can't sleep either."

"I could sleep. I choose not to."

"Because you're thinking."

"Yes. Always. Important thoughts that could change the destinies of millions and bring about a new age of scientific enlightenment."

"You can't sleep."

"No," Rodney admitted, giving in easily. "Pernicious insomnia."

John turned away from the nearest window to study him. "You don't seem to be dying just yet."

"It'll happen. Give it time. Assuming the Wraith don't get us first."

"So many faces of death--it must be a shame having only one life to lose."

"Yes, here we go." Rodney sighed and lay back. "Mock away."

"Want me to tie you up?"

"God, I thought you'd never ask." Rodney sat back up and shucked his shirt and pants while John watched, amused on the surface, something darker in his eyes. "You brought rope?"

John drew matching coils of leather from his pockets and loosened his grip so that they dangled. Rodney drew in a breath sharp enough to leave his mouth dry, then arranged himself rigidly on the bed and stretched his arms above him.

"Nice of the Suarrans to provide railed headboards," John observed, coming over to kneel on the mattress.

"They're a civilized people."

"Who want to trade textiles for weapons." Face as bland as his tone, John did tricky things with knots around Rodney's right wrist.

"Yes, about those textiles. I'm not sure we're breaking even in this deal." He moved with restless, critical twitches against the sheets. "Did I mention they're scratchy?"

"Many, many times." John finished tying his other wrist and gave it a tug to test it. "Mmm." His eyelids lowered and his lips upturned, satisfied. "You're so much more attractive when you're restrained. I wonder why that is."

"Ha." But Rodney couldn't muster the vigor for a real rebuttal. Muscles locked tight for days had already started to loosen, and he could feel his mouth softening, words slipping away; he felt like a pat of butter melting over a pancake.

"Such a pretty man."

"Oh, please," Rodney muttered around a flicker of a smile. His eyes were closed and he wasn't inclined to open them to see what John's expression might be. Besides. He was supposed to be trusting John right now.

"I'm going to do indecent things to you." John sounded certain of this, then said in a more pouty tone, "Hey. You're not going to fall asleep on me, are you?"

"I'd say that depends entirely on your level of skill and effort."

"You ever think about going for the suave compliment instead of the cheap shot? Although," he said, getting off the bed to stand lankily at its side, "when it costs you great sex, I'd call that a damn expensive shot."

Rodney's eyes flew open in dismay and he lifted his head from the pillow. "That *wasn't* a cheap shot! Just the truth. I mean, I'm tired. Really, *really* tired." He ogled John hungrily despite this.

"Hmm." After considering him for a moment, John sat to take off his boots, relieving Rodney greatly. "That truth thing's going to get you in trouble someday. Oh, wait. It already has."

"Now *that's* a cheap shot." But John was taking his shirt and pants and boxers off, and then he was laid bare, dog-tags gleaming against his chest in the candlelight, his lean thighs and calves a locker-room sight that in a better reality would have turned a hundred servicemen insanely gay.

He came back to bed with a single-use twist-tube of lube in his hand, which made Rodney's cock stiffen jerkily. He resettled his head, eyes shutting again, and drew his legs up and apart as far as they'd go, which was further than they'd gone a year ago. PT had some benefits, even if it was a sweaty misery, the need for which would have been easily alleviated if they'd only thought to bring a few Jeeps through the gate.

"You make me a little crazy," John said with an undercurrent of *how the hell do you do that?* that Rodney had no trouble deciphering. A sense of his own power surged through him, leaving him fully charged and vibrating. "Rodney. You with me?" John's voice had gone low and throaty and deliberate, sticking on his words, peanut butter over a bed of gravel.

"Peanut butter," Rodney said breathlessly, dreamily. He meant it as a yes.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, please keep doing that," Rodney pleaded, surfacing immediately when John's hands stopped moving. They started up again more slowly.

"You always think of food during sex, don't you?"

"Not always. Sometimes I think of the hierarchy problem." Damn his honesty, he thought with regret when John's hands stopped again. If he hadn't heard the snick of the lube being opened, he might have wept in frustration. Or at least bitched a lot.

John's dick slid in easily, right up to the hilt, and Rodney's mouth froze midthought. He tried to grab on, realized his wrists were tied, and nearly climaxed. "Oh oh god," he whispered, and twisted and worked his hips as if trying to open a recorked bottle. John groaned, a high-pitched gratified sound, and bucked against him urgently, balls flush to Rodney's ass. Rodney didn't last long, the burn in his ass matching the burn in his wrists too perfectly, and gave a violently stifled cry as he came. John sped up and finished in him a minute later.

"Crazy," he muttered, falling out of Rodney and off to one side.

But Rodney was already asleep enough not to really hear. He dreamed about a world covered in trees that hugged back when you held them. It was the best dream ever.
Tags: fic 2005, sga fic
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