Stargate: Atlantis, John/Rodney, not what you expected
Title: we are, for some reason, all the time, bleeding (Weekend in Western Illinois mix) Summary: Lines are crossed, but not the right ones. *way* too long
Rodney thought it would be hot. He thought about it a lot. He knew John had his own fantasies. They'd even acted some of them out. The thing with the jumper, and the time in the mud after the monsoon rain, and also any time involving blindfolds or scarves or painful-looking clamps? Those were all John's fantasies.
So he hadn't thought this would be different.
It was exactly what he'd imagined. And John had gone along with him at every step, looking faintly bemused at the amount of research and precision Rodney devoted to the project. First, they had to be on earth, and then they had to be in one of the nine cities in the continental United States where Rodney knew there were places they could go. He wasn't going to risk anyone's health or safety. All he wanted was to see John being fucked up the ass and fucked in the mouth at the same time. He thought that sounded hot.
And it was hot. Mind-blowing. He'd practically written a script, and he was paying the two men enough for them not to get creative and deviate. John had been cooperative and hadn't even said anything as he stripped off his clothes and folded them onto a chair. He'd given Rodney a challenging kind of look, as if this was some kind of peculiar indulgence. Rodney sat on his own chair, fully dressed, legs crossed at the ankles, halfway turned on already. John opened the door when he was ready and let the men in.
John got on the bed, knees wide, looking back in question, and the shorter man walked right up and spread John's ass. He checked that John was lubed, rolled on a condom, and pushed.
Rodney had wanted to be able to see John's face and his ass at the same time. He'd figured out exactly where to place the chair and the mirrors, and his eyes flicked rapidly over all his views. The ass end was basically porn, exactly what he'd expected, but John's face captivated him. There were subtle differences in John's expression between when he braced himself and when his body was breached, and Rodney felt a flush of triumph as John had to force his body to relax to let the man's cock in. John kept turning his head away, trying not to look at Rodney, trying not to be seen. It didn't work. His ass unclenched enough to allow the man to shove his cock home, and John's face as he surrendered was reflected above and below and straight on, his jaw working, his eyes washed out and a little stunned.
It was even hotter than in Rodney's fantasy, and he shifted on the chair, adjusting himself in his pants. He could see John breathing hard, panting, sweat shining on his shoulders.
They had agreed upon safety words and safety signals, even the guys who were getting paid, it was safe-safe-safe, but Rodney realised he'd been lying to himself a little. A lot. A safety word was only good if you used it, and he knew -- had known all along -- that John wouldn't. He supposed that he could stop everyone himself if he thought. . . if it went too far.
But right now the taller man was pulling John's head up, his fist knotted tight in John's hair, and he moved John's mouth onto his cock, and that was just -- there weren't words for it. He could go into sensory overload from this: all the Johns in the mirrors and the sounds of flesh on flesh, the smells of sweat and the sweet mint flavouring from the condom.