| Bluespirit |
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light in dark places' |
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A Manly Kind of
Fashion
by
Bluespirit
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Rodney is horny, John teases & snark ensues.
Genre: Established Relationship, humour, mild kink, vignette
Spoilers: None
Word count: 854
Disclaimer: The following story is a work of fiction. The characters and universe are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Productions and the Sci-Fi Channel. This fic is meant solely for entertainment purposes and no copyright infringement is intended.
Notes:
1. This is a little like a crack!PWP but, bizarrely, without the actual
sex. In my defence, I was innocently ogling closely
observing some pictures of John when I was waylaid by a babbling
horny!Rodney muse. *sigh* What could I do? *g*
2. Thanks to my dear Xanthe
for the read-through.
Rodney has this thing, okay, well really - if you want to be
pedantic about it, yes - it's a kink, all right?!
It's nothing huge and it's not your everyday kind of kink like ball gags
or bondage or whatever. Not that there's anything wrong with any of that,
of course, it's all okay by him and nothing to get bent out of shape
about… unless you like being tied up and bent into weird shapes and then
that's all perfectly fine too. Really, it's not like he's judgemental or
anything because he's not and he's been around the block and there was
that time with that guy after his second dissertation…. But anyway, it's
just that this thing, this kink… his kink is a little more
unusual - it's very specific.
It's John.
Well, not just John, obviously… although thinking about it, Rodney does
have this huge Lt. Colonel sized obsession that routinely threatens to
liquefy his brain and turn him into a drooling idiot with no IQ at all -
or well, Kavanagh. But that's not what he's talking about. No, this
kink is related to something about John, something that he wears. Okay,
yes, it's those god damn black leather combat boots, okay? Happy now? He
can't help himself… just the sight of John standing there, usually doing
something ridiculously dorky, or brave, or both but, but wearing
those big damn boots…. It's not like Rodney wants to lick them or
anything…well, okay, maybe - but that's not the point! No, it's just
that there's something about seeing John wearing them that ties a knot in
Rodney's insides and makes his cock go from 'huh?' to 'oh, yes, do me
right now' in less time than it takes him to snap his mouth shut
tight and swallow the moan that's trying to force its way out.
It's not right - he's a super genius and should be smart enough to know
better. And it's not even the boots themselves; they're military issue -
Lorne has a pair, he even has a pair himself. No, it's specifically John's
boots. John wearing Those Boots.
His brain really should be doing a better job of keeping his libido under
tighter rein. It's just so unfair because he knows that John knows exactly
what he's doing too - no matter how many times he does that
not-adorable-at-all pout and the 'but I have to wear them, Rodney, they're
my boots' spiel that he's so totally not buying, thank you
very much. Nobody's that clueless about the fact that they're a
sex-god-siren luring hapless astrophysicists to their doom, okay well, to
huge quantities of heart-stopping orgasms. But that's not the point and
when it comes down to it this is all John's fault, using his evil
sex-vibes to subvert Rodney's mind. Just a glimpse of those boots and it's
bye-bye brain and hello insta-erection and inappropriate thoughts in the
gateroom… or the puddlejumper… or wherever else John and his
incubus-boots-from-hell happen to be lurking. Like right now - they're in
a meeting with Elizabeth for god's sake and there's John sprawling all
over his chair and blatantly displaying his boots-of-sex like he knows
exactly the kind of fiendish mind control that they exert over Rodney.
Because he does - the cunning, ruthless, gorgeous bastard!
Focus, focus! Don't look at the boots. Just play it cool, okay fine
at least.
Oh, thank god - the meeting's over, Elizabeth's leaving and he can escape
before he gives in to Colonel Satan and begs for it deep and hard right in
the middle of the conference room.
"Rodney?" Oh, no… Rodney knows that slow drawl, all gravel
over molten heat. "You okay, buddy? You seem kinda distracted…."
Rodney keeps his eyes on his data pad. "No, no… everything's
fine… just, um, the power consumption logs and…." You look so hot
I want to hold myself open and sit on your cock…. "The, um, the
usual."
"The usual?" The voice is softer, closer and Rodney's not going
to look. He's not really but there's John - leaning against the table, his
canted hip a finger's breadth from Rodney's hand where he's grasping his
pad with white knuckles, and those long legs oh-so-casually crossed at the
ankle… boots so near that Rodney's sure he can smell the leather.
Rodney moans as his brain slows and finally gives in. Every muscle goes
limp as he sags in defeat - all save the aching hardness pushing hopefully
against his zipper.
"So, the usual?" John's tone is still distilled sex on
the rocks but there's an affectionate warmth entwined with an underlying
note of mutual want.
Rodney smiles ruefully, his dick jumping at the heat and promise in John's
eyes as he takes a long, hungry look at Rodney's lap.
John crosses one beautifully booted foot over his knee and lazily caresses
the well-polished leather. "So, my quarters?" The raised eyebrow
is just too damn cocky and Rodney groans deep and low in his throat as he
nods helplessly.
So he has this thing, okay, this kink - what's the matter with that?
The End
Rodney
helplessly following John and his incubus-boots-from-hell...
Additonal note:
The title for this fic is taken from the lyrics to 'Kinky Boots'. *g*
Kinky Boots
(Sung by Patrick MacNee and Honor Blackman)
Everybody's going for those kinky boots, kinky boots,
Kinky boots,
It's a manly kind of fashion that you borrowed from the brutes,
Borrowed from the brutes,
Kinky boots.
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