"Hidden" SGA, McKay/Sheppard, NC17yin_againJanuary 19 2007, 21:26:17 UTC
John phased out while Teyla continued to negotiate for wheat or Pepsi or who-cared-what, his fingertip stealing under his wristband to rub at the sore spot he could feel.
"In return, we can offer many meidcines," Teyla said, her gesture sweeping John into the conversation. He folded his hands in his lap and talked up the wonders of Advil and Immodium to the nice farmer people.
During dinner, he wrapped his fingers on the outside of the wristband and squeezed a little, just to feel the pleasant ache. The local beer-substitute tasted like cherries.
While the village's finest acrobats and dancers went through their paces, John pushed the tips of all four fingers under the warm, worn cotton and scratched lightly, letting his eyes drift closed. When, in the farewell ceremony, the chief clasped his wrist Roman-style, he had to bite back a moan.
Teyla and Ronon walked ahead in the dark, leaving John and Rodney to walk side by side. They didn't speak for a long time, but when Teyla and Ronon were nearly out of sight up ahead, Rodney grapped John's shoulder and spun him off the trail, pushing him up against a tree.
He flicked on his mini Maglite with one hand, braced John against the tree with a knee between his thighs, and used the other hand to strip the black wristband away.
"Fuck, that's what I thought," he groaned, and John looked down to where the light played across the bare skin. Well, bare except for the ring of blue-black bruises.
John's mouth went dry when he saw them. He'd known there was something there - a scratch, maybe, or a scrape - but he hadn't imagined the thick line of blood-dark flesh exactly where Rodney's hand had been the night before. Where Rodney's strong, blunt fingers had wrapped around, grinding the bones of John's wrist together as he bucked and writhed beneath him, coming hard with John's cock deep in his ass.
Rodney stroked the skin gently, his mouth open just a little. "Jesus, John," he whispered. "I'm sor..."
John stopped him with a fast, open-mouthed kiss. "I'm not."
"In return, we can offer many meidcines," Teyla said, her gesture sweeping John into the conversation. He folded his hands in his lap and talked up the wonders of Advil and Immodium to the nice farmer people.
During dinner, he wrapped his fingers on the outside of the wristband and squeezed a little, just to feel the pleasant ache. The local beer-substitute tasted like cherries.
While the village's finest acrobats and dancers went through their paces, John pushed the tips of all four fingers under the warm, worn cotton and scratched lightly, letting his eyes drift closed. When, in the farewell ceremony, the chief clasped his wrist Roman-style, he had to bite back a moan.
Teyla and Ronon walked ahead in the dark, leaving John and Rodney to walk side by side. They didn't speak for a long time, but when Teyla and Ronon were nearly out of sight up ahead, Rodney grapped John's shoulder and spun him off the trail, pushing him up against a tree.
He flicked on his mini Maglite with one hand, braced John against the tree with a knee between his thighs, and used the other hand to strip the black wristband away.
"Fuck, that's what I thought," he groaned, and John looked down to where the light played across the bare skin. Well, bare except for the ring of blue-black bruises.
John's mouth went dry when he saw them. He'd known there was something there - a scratch, maybe, or a scrape - but he hadn't imagined the thick line of blood-dark flesh exactly where Rodney's hand had been the night before. Where Rodney's strong, blunt fingers had wrapped around, grinding the bones of John's wrist together as he bucked and writhed beneath him, coming hard with John's cock deep in his ass.
Rodney stroked the skin gently, his mouth open just a little. "Jesus, John," he whispered. "I'm sor..."
John stopped him with a fast, open-mouthed kiss. "I'm not."
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"Oh, John."
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Thank you!
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