unamaga | FIC: Tightly Wound (NC-17)

Title: Tightly Wound
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: ~800 words
Notes: Because I could not stop for Porn, he kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves, and Obscenity. AKA, this is useless porn, written solely as an exercise - don't expect much from it. Thanks to

chopchica for a quick read through.

John should really know better by now than to listen to Rodney in any matter not directly related to science, but it had seemed like a good idea at the time.

It’ll be hot, Rodney had said. You’ll love it, Rodney had said.

Right. This is totally John’s idea of hot.

He picks half-heartedly at the ropes binding his wrists together, not really expecting them to come loose but giving it a try anyway. He’s not exactly uncomfortable – Rodney was very careful, tying each knot just tight enough, making sure John had a pillow under his knees – but he is kind of…well. Bored. And that’s not a word he’d ever thought he would ascribe to anything involving Rodney, but his cock isn’t even feigning interest anymore, and even trying to remember all the words to Back in Time is getting old.

Briefly, John wonders if Rodney has forgotten about him, caught up in some new simulation or the mess hall’s meatloaf surprise, answering Teyla or Ronon’s questions about his whereabouts with absent “I don’t know”s and “Why don’t you radio him”s. Rodney was only supposed to step out for a few minutes, and at first it was hot; John had to talk himself down from just sliding his cock between his wrists and rubbing off with the scratchy half-pain of the ropes binding them together to help him along.

An hour later, and he’s getting a little antsy.

John sighs and shifts around, wiggling his toes to make sure they’re still there, flexing his arms and rolling his shoulders to stimulate blood flow. He’s mid-stretch when he notices his earpiece buzzing faintly, and it’s only a few inches more – twisting his torso, sliding his knees apart for greater balance – before he has it near his ear. There’s no way to get it on properly really, not without dislocating a shoulder, but he can hear well enough.

Instantly, the static settles into Rodney voice saying, “You are so fucking hot,” all low and rough and hungry. John straightens, breath catching in his chest, but when he opens his mouth to say something, Rodney cuts him off with a quick, “Don’t. If you start talking, I won’t last.”

John swallows, nods slowly and carefully, and listens to Rodney let out a shuddering breath. His eyes flick to the corner of the room, the ceiling, looking for the tell-tale glint of glass or metal; he doesn’t see anything, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there. Rodney’s obviously been watching him – though for how long John isn’t sure.

He forgets himself for a minute, licks his lips before asking, “Are you –”

Rodney makes a soft, desperate sound. John recognizes it, hears it in his goddamn dreams some days, and suddenly he’s not bored at all. If he concentrates, he can make out the faint, slick sounds of Rodney jerking himself off, each shaky huff of breath when Rodney’s fingers find a hot spot.

“Been watching you the whole time,” Rodney mumbles, almost inaudible. He sounds wrecked. “God.”

And, in a flash, John understands: this was never about him.

“You’re a kinky fucking bastard, McKay,” he gripes, but he’s already moving, sliding his knees apart ever further until they’re on the bare floor, the pillow cradled high between his thighs. His ankles ache from the position, tied together awkwardly, but he spreads his palms out on the floor in front of him and leans forward anyway.

Rodney makes a strangled noise.

“Is this what you want?” John says, resting his weight on his hands and pushing forward with his hips until he can rub his cock against his arms.

His back is screaming at him, and he’s going to be feeling it later, but, god, it’ll be worth any eventual pain just to hear Rodney lose it.

Right on cue, Rodney lets out a harsh groan. “Look – look up, lemme see you,” and John does, even though he has no idea where to focus. It’s enough, it has to be, because Rodney’s letting out these hot, short little grunts, and John imagines he can even hear the increasingly wet, messy sounds of Rodney’s hand stroking his cock through it if he listens hard enough.

“John, oh god,” Rodney says, and it sounds like he’s begging.

John curses under his breath and comes all over the rope and his hands. He’s still panting and shaking when the door slides open a few minutes later, and Rodney staggers in with a laptop under one arm and a come stain down the front of his shirt. John follows Rodney’s progress across the room with heavy eyes, cock twitching.

“Next time,” he says, when Rodney finally turns to look at him, expression open and needy, “you’re staying in the goddamn room.”

FIC: Tightly Wound (NC-17)

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