Stargate: Atlantis, John/Rodney, alien possession
The door opens, and Rodney comes stumbling back in. John catches him before he can land on the floor; the door slams shut behind them.
"Hey," John says, easing them both down. "You okay?" It's a stupid question; of course he's not okay. He's been gone for almost 48 hours while John's been cooped up here with almost no food, very little water, and a bucket in the corner. Whatever they've been doing to him, it can't have been good.
Rodney's hands tighten on John's arms; he's panting. John just stays there, stays quiet; if Rodney wants to talk about it, he'll listen.
But then Rodney's hands move up, up to John's shoulders, to his neck, and Rodney leans forward, eyes closed, lips parted. His mouth lands on John's, and John grunts, startled. Rodney's kissing him. What the fuck?
"Rodney," John gets out, "what are you--" But Rodney's stronger than John expected, and he's pushing John onto his back. "Rodney--McKay. What the hell are you doing?"
Rodney flattens himself out over John's body and pins his arms down. John shifts, tries to roll, but he doesn't get anywhere.
Wait a minute.
"McKay, look at me."
Rodney tilts his head up, and John gets a look at his eyes. They're green. They glow.
"Shit," John says, struggling harder now. He can feel Rodney's cock against his thigh--the uniform pants they're both still wearing aren't enough to disguise it. Whatever's in Rodney's body, it wants John, and it's a hell of a lot stronger than Rodney is. Stronger than John is.
Rodney--no, not Rodney, the thing in Rodney--puts Rodney's forearm across John's chest and pins him down, then reaches between them and gets John's pants unfastened. John yelps as his pants and boxers come down and his ass scrapes against the floor, which was cold enough through his clothes, let alone up against his skin. He tries pushing against Rodney's forearm, tries again to get the thing in Rodney the hell off him, but he doesn't make it. It's like pushing against solid steel.
Rodney's hand goes exploring, passing over John's cock, his balls, past his balls and into his crack. John grunts as Rodney's fingers find his hole and start pushing at it, and he clenches tight. The thing in Rodney frowns--yeah, John thinks, I know the angle's bad, fuck you--but then he's rolling John over, pushing him onto his stomach.
John presses his face into the floor and tries to breathe. When Rodney's back, when they get this thing out of him, John hopes he doesn't remember any of this. It's not Rodney's fault. It's not Rodney doing this to him.
He gasps as the fucking alien thing in Rodney starts pushing Rodney's cock inside him. He clenches his teeth. If Rodney's there, John's damned if he wants Rodney having to hear, having to remember John saying no, goddamnit, stop. Having to remember John begging him not to do this. This is going to fuck with Rodney's head enough as it is.
Yeah, and your head's just fine, John snarls at himself.
It hurts, but it's Rodney--no, not Rodney, but Rodney's cock, Rodney's body, things John's wanted forever and never gotten to have. It's rough and dry and it burns, doing it this way, but it's not the first time John's been fucked with no prep and it won't be the last time, either. Rodney's clean and healthy and John's jerked off thinking about him pushing John down on all fours and fucking him; this isn't how he would've wanted it, he'd have wanted to at least say you wanna? and hear what? oh, God, yes first, but if this is what he's getting, then he'll close his eyes and fucking pretend.
The thing in Rodney doesn't last long. It comes with a stuttered groan--John hates it for that, for using Rodney's voice that way--and rolls away. John looks over and watches the green glow fade out of Rodney's eyes. After a few seconds, they're blue again.
He crawls the few inches it takes over to Rodney and puts an arm over Rodney's chest. Rodney's heart is going a mile a minute, and John squeezes him hard. "It's okay," John whispers. "It's okay. It's gonna be all right. I'm gonna get you out of here."