Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Disclaimer: Rodney and John don't belong to me, but I like making them do stuff.
Word Count: 3717
Author's Notes/warnings: Merry Christmas, Telesilla! Earth-based AU, with humor and porn. I had fun, hope you like it. Many thanks to my beta, busaikko, who managed to catch comma-splices in the midst of tentacle porn!
Warnings: My recipient won't want or need these, but for those that do: bottom!John, tentacles, cross-dresssed!John, BDSM No other warnings apply.
Summary: John and Rodney learn to love the seasonal gift exchange.
Seasonal presents are the bane of Rodney's life. He's head of engineering for Pegasus Holdings (not Pegasus Holodecks, whatever John might say) and really, who has the time? Rodney's quantum interface and Carson's implants have made Pegasus the world leader in VE gaming, but Elizabeth, the CEO, is big on fostering the one-big-happy-family thing. Cue the Christmas gift exchange.
The problem is that you aren't supposed to buy the gift - you have to either make it or do something personal for the person you're matched with. Rodney's thought about delegating to Miko, but she's kind of obsessive about gift-giving and she's his best architectural coder; he can't risk offending her. Teyla's no help; in fact, he's pretty sure her HR department conspired with Heightmeyer's social engineering lot to set up this whole mess.
Rodney glares at the password field flashing on his screen and flexes his fingers. Another of Elizabeth's notions: that the head of engineering shouldn't be sysadmin as well. No, that would be Radek, the little Czech weasel. Think they can keep Rodney from hacking the network, do they? Ha.
Five minutes later, he's toying with a promising back door when the screen freezes and a gif of Radek repeatedly mooning him pops up, complete with flashing text box. NO HACKING RECIPIENTS LIST RODNEY. It's in some ghastly font made of candy canes and has tiny dancing reindeer scrolling around the frame. Rodney prays the gif's photoshopped, grinds his teeth, and logs off. Time for lunch, anyway.
The cafeteria is full of staff chatting about découpage and pie-making and comparing stuffed toy patterns. Rodney grabs one muffin, sticks another in his mouth to forestall moronic questions, and snatches up a carafe of coffee, escaping before anyone can badger him about, god, puppetry or whatever.
Even Ronon's security staff were whittling behind the reception desk when they checked Rodney's ID this morning, and he knows for a fact that Lorne's painting personalized labels for Radek's home-made rotgut. It's a sickness.
Rodney has no artistic talent, and no interest in knitting - unlike Ronon, who worked security on reality shows like Canadian Shack and can macramé vests and cure his own chaps. And Rodney's certainly got no time to waste building the Transamerica Pyramid out of toothpicks. Life's too short for crafts.
He heads back to his office to ponder Plan B. Baked goods and carafe in either hand, he nudges open the door and backs in carefully. There's a wolf whistle from behind his desk, and he whirls, nearly choking on the muffin in his mouth. "Boof! Offa Deff!"
"Hey there, let me help you with some of that." All smarmy charm, John relieves him of the muffin in his hand, and Rodney frees his mouth.
"Boots, John! Off the desk! Chop chop." John grins and complies lazily, sprawling on the couch and munching his purloined snack. And this, this right here is the problem. This is why Rodney needs that Recipients List, why the gift exchange matters this year. Because Rodney's got a boyfriend.
He's still not quite sure how it happened, because Sheppard's, well, Sheppard, and Rodney had taken Jeannie's words to heart and assumed he was no catch. He'd just been thankful he had friends.
He'd fantasized about Sheppard, of course, Elizabeth's laid back head of security who'd turned out to be a virtuoso gamer, flying the VR interface as though he had a gaming supergene. He'd become their top test pilot for all the new ware, his security role now largely delegated to Ronon and Lorne. Rodney and John worked together constantly, trialing Rodney's inventions and designing simulations. And the more time they spent together, the more Rodney'd perfected his Sheppard-watching skills. He knew every cowlick, every color in those changeable eyes. He could pick Sheppard's slouch out of a crowded room at fifty paces. But they were friends. Best friends.
They'd been friends for four years when it changed, late one Friday night with the place deserted except for Markham and Stackhouse downstairs on security. Rodney had goosed the interface by 3% and John was linked in, testing their new Atlantis Recon I sim which was in beta. Not that it needed testing, but Sheppard loved to surf black holes in the personalized gateship he called his puddlejumper, and Rodney loved to watch.
Sheppard's ship had exited the wormhole only seconds ahead of the bad guys. Record scores, but seriously, space vampires? Rodney'd made a mental note to yell at the writers again; Kavanagh was clearly on drugs, or in a Nosferatu phase. He always wrote characters with long hair and bad teeth.
He'd opened the pod's lid to find Sheppard flushed and ecstatic, pupils blown wide and his hair damp with sweat. "Rodney," John had said, high as a kite on adrenaline. He'd reached up and grabbed Rodney's t-shirt, right where it said VE can do anything, and hauled him down into the pod. Rodney might have squeaked, but John's mouth soon put a stop to that.
So, here they are six months later, and to everyone's amazement, still together. Brushing muffin crumbs off his pants, Rodney swivels his chair and sets the carafe on his personal warmer, reaching up for the mugs patterned with D&D dice, a gift from Jeannie. Everyone's better at this gift-giving than he is.
"Whatcha been doing?" asks John, taking his.
"Failing at hacking," says Rodney, glum. John raises an eyebrow. Rodney shrugs, careful not to spill his coffee. "Tried to hack the Recipients List in Radek's system. He's sneaky."
John smirks. "And this is news to you?" Rodney concedes the point with a morose wave.
"Why'd you want the list, anyway?" John asks, fake-casual, slouching back and spreading his legs. Rodney eyes him possessively, and John's ears pink up.
Rodney sighs, but he's the world's worst liar, especially with John. "I wanted to make sure we got each other." He shrugs, self-deprecatory. "Wanted to make it special for you. You know I like to be in control."
"Aw, Rodney." The smirk has soft edges as John hooks a foot around his chair base and reels him into the V of his legs, the castors smooth on the polished floor. Rodney prefers linoleum; fewer allergens.
"Mind my coffee!" Rodney barks, glaring down at the spiky-haired lunatic on his couch and holding his mug up protectively. Honestly, the man's got no sense of self-preservation.
"You could put that down and c'mere," John suggests, with an eyebrow waggle. He sets his own coffee on a side table.
Rodney's torn. Coffee. John. But coffee. But John. But glass-walled office and Cadman outside at her desk coding megaton explosions for the GEN-II sim. He grabs the remote and closes the vertical blinds. Cadman gives Rodney the thumbs-up as the blinds rotate, then she's mercifully obliterated. He ditches the remote, takes one giant slurp for mankind and puts his coffee on the desk, then lets himself be pulled down so he's straddling John's lap, nose to nose.
"Hi," says John, looking goofy. And cross-eyed. And then they make out.
As it turns out, the hacking wasn't necessary. After softening Rodney up with some grade-A kissing, John confesses. "Zelenka owed me one for that week of really boring testing in the new pods last month. I fixed it with him so we're each other's recipient."
"Yeah?" Rodney's chest goes warm and happy, then his eyes narrow. John's nowhere near as smug as he should be; it's setting off alarm bells. Rodney pokes him in the chest. "And?"
"Ouch, quit that. And nothing." John's got his butter-wouldn't-melt look, and how he plays poker is a mystery. Come to think of it, Ford and the other security guys are always inviting John to games and he never has any loose change. Hmmm.
Rodney straddles John's thighs and leans in, pinning those strong, slender wrists to the back of the couch on either side of John's head. He glares down at the devious bastard. "What? What'd you promise that ratfink Zelenka?"
John licks his lips, looks at Rodney's hand clamped around his left wrist, looks back at Rodney's mouth, and squirms against Rodney's crotch. His eyes darken and his voice is breathy. "Not saying."
"Oh, I think you will tell me," Giving it an edge and tightening his grip.
John flexes in his grasp. Not to escape, just to feel it. "Won't. You'll be mad."
Rodney feels the bulge in John's pants brush his own erection, but they both know they can't, not here, not at work. He curses inwardly, sitting back on his heels and releasing John's wrists. John fiddles with his watch and wristband, trying to calm his breathing. Rodney has to know, though. "Come on, John, tell me. I'll punish you later, I promise."
John looks up. "With the belt?"
"Yes, yes, your favorite. So?"
John eyes him hopefully. "Told him you'd make him a sim with his pigeons. A loft, y'know? Nest boxes. Place he can race them from." John shrugs. "He had to leave them in Prague with his cousin. He misses them."
It will be several hours of work and he'll have to get Miko to help, but it's so typically John that Rodney can't be mad. He reaches out and cups John's face. "Of course I'll do it, idiot. He'll love it and he'll owe me forever. But it's going to take a lot of work so you're going to give up a weekend to help me and yes, we'll use the belt tonight."
John nods eagerly, and Rodney shakes his head, smiling. He'll use a flogger before the belt; it's not a real punishment. They both know he's not angry and it's just an excuse to give John what he wants - within reason, as there is some testing scheduled tomorrow, and John will be in the pod for a couple of hours. It's fine if the VE distracts him from his sore ass, but not if his pain interferes with the testing.
John gives him a hot look from under his eyelashes. Good thing there's no testing today: John'd be useless. They'll really need to be more responsible in future about where and when they play.
"Come on," Rodney says, clambering off and arching his spine. "Ow, ow, my back." He holds out his hand. "Let's go down to the parking garage and race the cars." They keep their RC cars in a cupboard on the basement landing.
"Hah! Your ass is toast!" John says, eyes lighting up. They stare at each other for a second, then just lose it. They're still giggling as they pass Cadman's desk, and she rolls her eyes.
Rodney tries to look haughty, like her boss. He fails. John snorts and drags him off toward the elevators. He is so not coming tonight.
It feels like a replay of that first night when John pulled him into the pod and kissed the hell out of him. It's a Friday, quite late, on the evening they've picked for their exchange. Thankfully the gifts don't have to be publicly displayed, although there's a comm on the network already filling up with snapshots of cookie baskets and effusive thank you emails.
Rodney'd teased Zelenka, asking if he wanted them to post photos of their exchange. "Please do not be more ridiculous than absolutely necessary," Radek had huffed. "Spare me the details of your kinky goings on. My delicate European sensibilities are above such American depravity."
"Canadian," corrected Rodney as Radek shooed him out of his office. He wondered if there was any such thing as Canadian depravity, then imagined himself eating a plate of poutine off John's hairy stomach. Mmm, poutine.
Anyway, they're here in the pod-room with the doors carefully locked, all dressed up in their date shirts. Not their best pants, though, for obvious reasons. Rodney loves the lean lines of John's torso in his long-sleeved black shirt. He especially loves the neck to navel zipper. He knows he looks good in his own soft blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up. The semi-sheer cloth makes his nipples stand out, and John's already staring at them. Almost a pity the interface isn't WYSIWYG, but tonight, that's not what they're after.
"Shall we?" Rodney says, and inputs his special program. John hands him a thumb drive with his own gift - put together without any help from the coding team, Rodney devoutly hopes. John likes to pretend he's just a gamer with a thing for guns, but Rodney knows for a fact he's got a masters in math from Stanford.
They settle into their pods, and Rodney fires up the interface. It's like falling through a blue screen, a dizzying whoosh, disorienting. Then he's there, in the VE he created for tonight. He checks it quickly: the jacuzzi looks perfect, super-sized and steaming gently, thick towels stacked neatly beside it. But where's John?
"Close your eyes." John's in the bedroom, his voice a little nervous. Rodney shuts his eyes. "Okay, you can open them."
He turns, and there's John in the doorway, managing to look both shy and cocky. He's wearing a nu-Trek outfit in captain's gold, and it suits his dark hair and tawny eyes. But it's not Kirk's uniform. The black platform boots go right up to his knees, lengthening the line of his legs and leaving his thighs exposed. Rodney sees he's programed in shaved legs and wonders what else is bare and smooth. He swallows. The ochre mini-dress softens John's hipbones and drapes around the heavy bulge in his crotch. He hasn't simulated breasts. Nor has he programed himself to be fully depilated - his arms and legs are sleek, but chest hair pokes out of the tunic's neckline beside the golden command insignia on his left breast. Rodney's thankful: he likes John as he is, gorgeous but undoubtedly male, chest flat with muscle and his belly furred with that tantalizing trail. He's still wearing his wristband and watch, and his cheeks are flushed. He looks ridiculous, beautiful, and hot as fuck.
John licks his lips and cocks a hip. "You like it?"
"Oh my god," says Rodney. "I love it. Turn around."
John grins cheekily and twirls, putting his hands on his hips and twisting sinuously to give Rodney a sultry look over his shoulder. He sticks out his ass and bends forward, flashing Rodney his lacy black briefs. "Are my seams straight?"
Rodney makes an embarrassing noise. " You, you're not wearing any stockings, you tease. Get over here right now before I explode from pent-up lust."
John slinks over, grinning and sashaying his hips shamelessly. "Can't have you getting pent-up, Rodney," he purrs, rubbing his groin against the answering bulge in Rodney's pants. Rodney groans and grabs John's ass in both hands, pulling him in.
There's a pleasant interlude of grinding and wet, open-mouthed kisses punctuated by heavy breathing, then Rodney swings John around and wrestles him back until he's up against the wall. John moans and goes boneless. "You like that, don't you? Me manhandling you."
"Yeah," moans John, shivering. He presses his hips forward and nuzzles Rodney's ear. "Push me around, make me do stuff."
"Do stuff? Oh, we have seriously got to work on your dirty talk vocabulary. Your brain turns to mush when you're this turned on."
"Yeah, Rodney, yeah," John pants. "Turn me to mush."
"I rather think we've achieved that goal," says Rodney, biting John's neck appreciatively. He presses John's wrists against the wall, palms out, his arms splayed like a peace sign. "Keep them there."
John obeys, transfixed as though welded to the paneling. Turning his head to the side, Rodney bites along his collar bone and sucks on John's long neck, feeling the thrum of blood under his tongue. He bites and sucks until he's raised a huge bruise and John's whimpering. No need to hold back, thanks to the VE. No high-necked shirts the next day. Not that John would want it covered; in fact, he'll probably bitch about not having bruises or a sore ass to show for tonight.
He muscles in between John's thighs, forcing him to spread his legs in those tall black patent-leather boots. Rodney imagines how the high heels are forcing John up onto his toes, defining his calf muscles and making him feel vulnerable and off-balance. He likes John vulnerable.
John jerks his hips, trying to ride Rodney's thigh with his arms pinned flat against the wall. Rodney runs a hand up John's silky smooth thigh under the skirt of the tunic, then pauses. No. Time for his present to John. "Close your eyes for this next part," he says, and thinks on.
His shirt splits vertically up the back and falls away, exactly as he planned it. It's an odd sensation, feeling them push out along the length of his spine, but quite pleasant - he programmed them to be erogenous zones, after all. Maybe he should have let John watch the transformation, but he doesn't want to freak him out, and he wants it to be a surprise when the first tentacle slides up under that criminally short skirt and around John's dick.
Designing his new form has presented quite a challenge. Clusters of tentacle arms or legs? Maybe, but he doesn't want to look like a many-armed Hindu god. Or a squid. Rodney the amorous cephalopod sounds too much like an x-rated character from Finding Nemo; he wants to blow Sheppard's mind, not reduce him to braying hysterics. And that Dr Octopus guy from Spiderman is just plain scary with the big metal arms writhing out of his back like a nest of snakes. Not at all the in-charge but erotic tentacle monster Rodney's aiming for.
In the end he's gone with a row of thick tentacles from the nape of his neck to the base of his spine. They're flesh-warm and smooth-skinned, very flexible, and as long or as thick as he likes. They're controlled by his mind of course, because, hello, VE can do anything. He thinks they look impressive - like a living mane or a dinosaur crest. He hopes John can handle being worked over by multiple dicks, but Rodney's confident he can take it. John has a fuck, yeah attitude to sex, treating it like an extreme sport, on a par with surfing or flying virtual fighters. It makes Rodney want to push him to his limits. And beyond.
Cupping the back of John's neck, Rodney pulls him down into a kiss. The height difference is more marked with John in heels, but soon that won't matter. He curls two of his limbs out laterally in a stealth move and wraps them around John's wrists. It's hot when John holds still on command, but he's going to be challenged in a whole new way tonight and Rodney figures the physical restraint will ground him. John tests the grip of the smooth muscular coils around his wrists, but he's not freaked out. He probably thinks they're just some new restraints Rodney's trying. Which, yes.
So many options. Rodney can't choose, so he goes for it in classical hentai style, attacking on all fronts simultaneously. John stiffens and gasps as tentacles slide sinuously up his thighs and caress his belly. Rodney takes the opportunity of John's open-mouthed shock to push the tip of one in between his lips. He flavored them based on his own cock, salty and sharp, a little musky. He hopes John likes it. They're self-lubricating, too. John's eyes fly open and he stares cross-eyed at the tentacle fucking his mouth. Then he looks at Rodney, his eyes darting about as he takes in the multiple limbs curving up and out from Rodney's body.
"Merry Christmas," says Rodney, withdrawing the tentacle in John's mouth. He wants to hear John break.
"Rodney, what?" John's voice is high, and his eyes are a little wild. Rodney slides two limbs around his chest under the tunic and makes the tips thin enough to pinch John's nipples painfully, eliciting a gasp. "Oh god," John says faintly as two tentacles slide into his black lacy briefs and start pulling them down.
"Hmmm," says Rodney, reconsidering. He wants to see this. He uses more tentacles to lift up John's skirt and trap it underneath his armpits. Oh yes, very nice. The lacy panties are half pulled down and John's dick is trapped there, rising up hard and flushed over the black silky edge, flat against his belly. Rodney rips away the scrap of black lace and slides a tentacle around his balls, sending another slithering up his cock to wrap around the shaft. It takes some concentration, but he manages to make the one around John's dick pulsate, milking him. Then he slides one more tentacle into the crack of John's ass, slick and insistent, and pushes it up inside him.
"Shit," moans John desperately. "Rodney, you...I, no...please, I...please, oh fuck, fuck." His legs tremble and Rodney gets another coil around his chest, holding him up as he thickens the tentacle in John's ass and fucks in harder. John's writhing, begging incoherently, mouthing the tentacle teasing his lips. Rodney, in a moment of utter genius, pushes it into John's mouth and wraps another around his throat, tightening it just enough so John can really feel it. John gives a full-body shudder and his eyes roll up, hips bucking helplessly as he comes.
Rodney almost comes, too, because this is fantastic. The tips of the tentacles aren't quite as sensitive as his cock, but there are so many more of them, and they're all rubbing against something good: John's lips, his balls and dick, his hairy chest and belly. It feels amazing, and powerful, and Rodney wants to own John completely. "That was just the start," he growls, hot against John's slack mouth. "You're mine, and I'm going to hold you down and take you. Your mouth and your ass and your cock. Going to fill you up like you've always wanted, and you won't be able to stop me."
John's eyes are blown wide and glazed. He looks wrecked. "Fuck yeah, Rodney," he whispers. "Best present ever."
"I am the king of gift exchanges," agrees Rodney, smug, and he wraps his tentacles around John and hauls him off into the bedroom.
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