SGA Fic: The Other Side of Up
Mar. 26th, 2006 11:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonlettuceTitle: The Other Side of Up
Author: Claire
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Silence
Notes: This is purple, present tense and probably a few other things beginning with 'p', but it was either this or the damn Dirty Dancing thing that's still in my brain *grin*
Rodney groans as John's hands touch him, hard and slick, the calluses on John's fingers causing gooseflesh as they move over him.
"John-" The name escapes him, unable to think of Sheppard in any other way when he is like this, open and displayed, laid out for a hundred people but totally focused on one. The rest of his sentence is cut off by the finger over his lips.
"Ssh," John murmurs, voice soft. "No words, remember."
Rodney nods, teeth biting into his lower lip to stop the stream of thought that threatens to escape. No words. No words because people are watching. No words because they are an affront to the goddess that has demanded this tribute from them.
John's hands move lower, skirting across Rodney's stomach, the hair decorating his flesh moving with John's touch.
Voices reach his ears, the steady thrum of sound, reminding Rodney that the darkness holds a hundred other bodies, all watching, all waiting.
Unable to stop himself, Rodney arches up into the touch as John's hand moves over his hip, thumb brushing his hard cock briefly. He bites down harder to stop the pleas from escaping, bitter metallic taste teasing at the edge of his consciousness. He needs John to do something, anything, just so long as he stops Rodney from falling.
John looks at him, black eyes ringed with hazel as a hand presses against his thigh, pushing his legs apart. Fingers move, steady and sure, to press against the entrance to his body. Wrapping his hand around John's arm, Rodney nods sharply, pushing down and wanting John inside him.
Rodney just manages to stop himself from calling out when John moves away, the fresh iron taste of blood a testament to his silence. But then John is back, finger slick as it presses inside.
Rodney knows he should be silent, but he can't stop the hiss from escaping his lips as John's finger moves further into him. One finger becomes two, and two becomes three and Rodney still needs more. It's not enough and it's too much and John is the only thing stopping him from tumbling headlong into the abyss that awaits him. The fingers move in him, harsh and demanding. Once, twice, before they are gone, coming back thicker, sharper, different.
There's a moment, searing heat branding him, marking him, burning John Sheppard into him in a thousand indelible ways. A moment before John is inside him, hard and hot and heavy. And Rodney telegraphs all the words he wants to say onto John's skin, fingers playing a concerto on his flesh. John holds still, giving Rodney time to adjust, time to accept him. But Rodney doesn't want time, just wants John to move. A squeeze against John's arm, against hard muscle under the skin and John finally understands. Sliding back, he pulls out, carefully, softly, before thrusting back inside.
And it's only the hand over his mouth that stops the words from coming, voice and thought melding into one and begging John to go faster, harder. Begging John for anything, everything. He can taste John's skin on his lips - salt and metal, sweat and gun oil. Taste him as John moves deeper, burying himself so far into Rodney, Rodney doesn't think he'll ever be able to rid himself of John's scent.
Rodney moves his hand down to grasp at his cock, fingers wrapping around his own hardness and stripping himself in time with John's movements into him. John is moving faster now, the tempo of the voices surrounding them increasing with John's thrusts.
Rodney's body tightens, holding John and time and the universe inside him for one brief, unending moment before the darkness explodes and Rodney is coming, fast and sharp and harder than he's ever come before.
The hand covering his mouth tightens as John stills, liquid heat flooding into him.
"Rodney."
The word is a whisper, a benediction, a forbidden plea that's lost in the cacophony surrounding them, as John's spent cock slides from his body. John's head drops forward, forehead resting against Rodney's shoulder and sweat-slicked hair tickling at the sensitive skin on Rodney's neck. He wants to say something, anything, but doesn't know if they're still meant to be silent; doesn't know anything except his own breathing and the heavy weight of John on his chest.
He's not sure how long they stay like that - silent and waiting - until the priest comes to them, hands reaching out to touch bare skin.
Don't touch me, Rodney wants to say as fingers that aren't John's move over him, but he's still in a world of silence, of quiet. And maybe John can see it in his eyes, because the fingers wrapped around his arm tighten, squeezing reassuringly as wizened digits slide over his skin, moving further down, until Rodney's sure he's going to cry out.
John shakes his head and lowers his forehead to Rodney's briefly, soft warmth moving from John's body into his.
The fingers continue their movement, and Rodney bites his lip as they skim over his ass, swiping through the come that's leaking from his body. And that, more than anything, makes Rodney feel soiled, tainted.
The priest turns from them, unaware or uncaring of the thoughts pervading Rodney's mind. He holds his fingers up; John's come covering them. Rodney doesn't understand the words he speaks, doesn't care, just needs them to be over so they can leave. And he knows that when they're back he'll let John tell Elizabeth what happened, let John speak of priests and temples and rituals that had to be carried out before the trade negotiations could be approved. He'll let John do it because if he speaks he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.
The priest comes back to them now, moving closer until he's there, lifting his fingers and anointing Rodney. Anointing him with words and symbols and with the still wet come on his fingers. He moves back when he's finished, quiet words reaching them as the crowd roars its approval.
"The ritual is complete. We welcome you as our trading partners."
Only Rodney wonders if it was worth it - silence and flesh and John burned into him forever in exchange for a percentage of a harvest. He doesn't know. Doesn't know if he ever will.
"Rodney."
John looks at him, eyes wide and careful as he presses their lips together. And this is theirs, nothing to do with rituals and harvests and goddess who demand silent tributes of virginity. Theirs and no one else's.
Pulling back, John smiles and Rodney realizes that it was worth it after all.
End
Author: Claire
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Silence
Notes: This is purple, present tense and probably a few other things beginning with 'p', but it was either this or the damn Dirty Dancing thing that's still in my brain *grin*
Rodney groans as John's hands touch him, hard and slick, the calluses on John's fingers causing gooseflesh as they move over him.
"John-" The name escapes him, unable to think of Sheppard in any other way when he is like this, open and displayed, laid out for a hundred people but totally focused on one. The rest of his sentence is cut off by the finger over his lips.
"Ssh," John murmurs, voice soft. "No words, remember."
Rodney nods, teeth biting into his lower lip to stop the stream of thought that threatens to escape. No words. No words because people are watching. No words because they are an affront to the goddess that has demanded this tribute from them.
John's hands move lower, skirting across Rodney's stomach, the hair decorating his flesh moving with John's touch.
Voices reach his ears, the steady thrum of sound, reminding Rodney that the darkness holds a hundred other bodies, all watching, all waiting.
Unable to stop himself, Rodney arches up into the touch as John's hand moves over his hip, thumb brushing his hard cock briefly. He bites down harder to stop the pleas from escaping, bitter metallic taste teasing at the edge of his consciousness. He needs John to do something, anything, just so long as he stops Rodney from falling.
John looks at him, black eyes ringed with hazel as a hand presses against his thigh, pushing his legs apart. Fingers move, steady and sure, to press against the entrance to his body. Wrapping his hand around John's arm, Rodney nods sharply, pushing down and wanting John inside him.
Rodney just manages to stop himself from calling out when John moves away, the fresh iron taste of blood a testament to his silence. But then John is back, finger slick as it presses inside.
Rodney knows he should be silent, but he can't stop the hiss from escaping his lips as John's finger moves further into him. One finger becomes two, and two becomes three and Rodney still needs more. It's not enough and it's too much and John is the only thing stopping him from tumbling headlong into the abyss that awaits him. The fingers move in him, harsh and demanding. Once, twice, before they are gone, coming back thicker, sharper, different.
There's a moment, searing heat branding him, marking him, burning John Sheppard into him in a thousand indelible ways. A moment before John is inside him, hard and hot and heavy. And Rodney telegraphs all the words he wants to say onto John's skin, fingers playing a concerto on his flesh. John holds still, giving Rodney time to adjust, time to accept him. But Rodney doesn't want time, just wants John to move. A squeeze against John's arm, against hard muscle under the skin and John finally understands. Sliding back, he pulls out, carefully, softly, before thrusting back inside.
And it's only the hand over his mouth that stops the words from coming, voice and thought melding into one and begging John to go faster, harder. Begging John for anything, everything. He can taste John's skin on his lips - salt and metal, sweat and gun oil. Taste him as John moves deeper, burying himself so far into Rodney, Rodney doesn't think he'll ever be able to rid himself of John's scent.
Rodney moves his hand down to grasp at his cock, fingers wrapping around his own hardness and stripping himself in time with John's movements into him. John is moving faster now, the tempo of the voices surrounding them increasing with John's thrusts.
Rodney's body tightens, holding John and time and the universe inside him for one brief, unending moment before the darkness explodes and Rodney is coming, fast and sharp and harder than he's ever come before.
The hand covering his mouth tightens as John stills, liquid heat flooding into him.
"Rodney."
The word is a whisper, a benediction, a forbidden plea that's lost in the cacophony surrounding them, as John's spent cock slides from his body. John's head drops forward, forehead resting against Rodney's shoulder and sweat-slicked hair tickling at the sensitive skin on Rodney's neck. He wants to say something, anything, but doesn't know if they're still meant to be silent; doesn't know anything except his own breathing and the heavy weight of John on his chest.
He's not sure how long they stay like that - silent and waiting - until the priest comes to them, hands reaching out to touch bare skin.
Don't touch me, Rodney wants to say as fingers that aren't John's move over him, but he's still in a world of silence, of quiet. And maybe John can see it in his eyes, because the fingers wrapped around his arm tighten, squeezing reassuringly as wizened digits slide over his skin, moving further down, until Rodney's sure he's going to cry out.
John shakes his head and lowers his forehead to Rodney's briefly, soft warmth moving from John's body into his.
The fingers continue their movement, and Rodney bites his lip as they skim over his ass, swiping through the come that's leaking from his body. And that, more than anything, makes Rodney feel soiled, tainted.
The priest turns from them, unaware or uncaring of the thoughts pervading Rodney's mind. He holds his fingers up; John's come covering them. Rodney doesn't understand the words he speaks, doesn't care, just needs them to be over so they can leave. And he knows that when they're back he'll let John tell Elizabeth what happened, let John speak of priests and temples and rituals that had to be carried out before the trade negotiations could be approved. He'll let John do it because if he speaks he doesn't know if he'll be able to stop.
The priest comes back to them now, moving closer until he's there, lifting his fingers and anointing Rodney. Anointing him with words and symbols and with the still wet come on his fingers. He moves back when he's finished, quiet words reaching them as the crowd roars its approval.
"The ritual is complete. We welcome you as our trading partners."
Only Rodney wonders if it was worth it - silence and flesh and John burned into him forever in exchange for a percentage of a harvest. He doesn't know. Doesn't know if he ever will.
"Rodney."
John looks at him, eyes wide and careful as he presses their lips together. And this is theirs, nothing to do with rituals and harvests and goddess who demand silent tributes of virginity. Theirs and no one else's.
Pulling back, John smiles and Rodney realizes that it was worth it after all.
End
