Fic: Ripe for the Picking (Sheppard/McKay, nc-17)
This is not a new fic. It was my entry in the last flashfic challenge. But hey, for those of you who haven't read it yet, go nuts!
Title: Ripe for the Picking
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: R, for John's dirty, dirty mind
Notes: seperis asked me to write her a ficlet involving food porn and cherries. This was the result.
There’s something obscene about the way Rodney’s mouth twists when he pops in another cherry. John fidgets uncomfortably, because he might enjoy thumbing his nose at the regs, but there’s a difference between that and getting hard in the middle of a mission.
“Wouldn’t you like some as well?” Teyla asks. John really hopes she doesn’t look down because not much seems to ruffle her, but even she must have her limits.
“Don’t force him,” Rodney says. It’s a constant amazement to John how Rodney can manage to enunciate clearly with his mouth completely full “If he doesn’t want any, he doesn’t want any.”
“You mean that if I don’t want any, all the more for you,” John says dryly.
Ronon laughs from the other end of the table. “And for me as well.” His bowl is long empty.
“Yes, well.” Rodney sniffs, and pulls John’s bowl minutely closer. “I guess that’s what I get for trying to look out for your welfare.” Another cherry goes in, and this time Rodney sucks it slowly, hollowing his cheeks. By the time he spits out the pit, John is so hard that not even thoughts of his eighth grade teacher naked can cool him down.
The bowl travels with them as they make their through the town and into the main hall, and Rodney sucks and spits, sucks and spits. John’s reached a point where it’s not physically possible for him to get any harder, and he adjusts his P90, trying to provide some cover. Usually that wouldn’t be enough, but luckily everybody’s attention gets mostly diverted to the welcoming ceremony at the front of the room, where six large men dressed up in costumes are drumming and dancing in a circle.
“I still say they’re bears,” Rodney says into John’s ear as the men whirl around and around again. His breath is moist and cherry-scented. John imagines Rodney’s red-stained lips stretched around his cock, and nearly convulses. He has to stop this *now*.
“I’m going to scout out the perimeter,” he says abruptly, not really caring about how rude it looks, because grabbing Rodney and dragging him to the ground is probably ruder in this culture.
Rodney blinks, and hands the bowl off to Teyla. “I’ll come with you, in case there are any interesting readings.” He scowls at Ronon. “Don’t even think about touching my cherries, or you’ll never sleep safely again.” Ronon just smiles and reaches into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a fresh handful of cherries, and Rodney’s mouth twists with reluctant amusement. “Let’s go.
John groans inwardly, because the idea was to get *away* from Rodney, but it’s not really like he can let Rodney know that, and now he’s stuck. At least the cherries aren’t coming with them, because there are limits to his self-control. All he has to do is concentrate on the mission, and then they can go home and his problem will be over.
“I was thinking we might take some of these back home with us,” Rodney says conversationally, as they walk out the door.
With a sinking sense of doom, John realizes that his problems are only beginning. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. They need medical supplies, and it’s not like we’re in need of bear costumes.”
Rodney smiles happily, no doubt imagining many cherry-centered meals to come. John only hopes that Rodney’s gustatory joy will blind him to just how much John wants to split a cherry in half and place each half over one of Rodney’s nipples, to just how much he wants to bite one over Rodney’s cock and let the juice trickle down slowly, while Rodney twists and begs him with his red, red mouth.
Rodney walks deeper into the brush, and John follows, thinking about the first time he’d tried a cherry, sucking on the tough skin dismissively. He’d frowned, and his mother had laughed. “You have to bite into it, Johnny,” she’d said, and John had obeyed. He’d nearly choked on the unexpected richness and depth, but after that first bite, he’d eaten so many he’d made himself sick, and he’d learned not to be fooled by an unrewarding skin.
Thinking about it isn’t helping, because there are cherry trees everywhere, as far as his eyes can see, and Rodney snags some casually as they walk by - tossing them into his mouth one by one. At this rate, John’s never going to be able to eat a cherry again without getting turned on.
He breaks out of his thoughts to see Rodney watching him, and it’s too late to turn away. Rodney’s eyes narrow speculatively, and John gives him the most carefree grin he can muster up on the sly, hopefully one that doesn’t say ‘I need to paint your entire body with cherry juice, lick it off, and then do it again and again and again, until you’re stained permanently and marked as mine.’
“I could come by later,” Rodney suggests casually - too casually. John remembers that Rodney’s only unobservant when he wants to be, which is almost never when he’s around John. “After all, we’ll be bringing a bunch home with us, and you didn’t get your chance earlier today. I’d be happy to share.”
John pulls his collar away from his throat and for the hundredth time, wills his erection to go down. His fingers catch on his dog tags, reminding him of the risks involved, the possible cost of taking this step. He doesn’t need to consider it for long though, because some things are worth it and Rodney is one of them. “Sure. Tonight would be good.”
Rodney gives him a shy smile. “I’ll be there, then.” His voice turns businesslike, and John wants to kiss him for understanding, even if that would be counterproductive. “I’m seeing some interesting readings in that direction. Step it up, Colonel. We’re supposed to be back in Atlantis by dusk. Unless of course you’d like to stay here forever, build yourself a hut, and become a cherry farmer with a pie-baking wife.”
“I think they’re called cherry harvesters,” John says mildly, and lets Rodney lead the way.
Title: Ripe for the Picking
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: R, for John's dirty, dirty mind
Notes: seperis asked me to write her a ficlet involving food porn and cherries. This was the result.
There’s something obscene about the way Rodney’s mouth twists when he pops in another cherry. John fidgets uncomfortably, because he might enjoy thumbing his nose at the regs, but there’s a difference between that and getting hard in the middle of a mission.
“Wouldn’t you like some as well?” Teyla asks. John really hopes she doesn’t look down because not much seems to ruffle her, but even she must have her limits.
“Don’t force him,” Rodney says. It’s a constant amazement to John how Rodney can manage to enunciate clearly with his mouth completely full “If he doesn’t want any, he doesn’t want any.”
“You mean that if I don’t want any, all the more for you,” John says dryly.
Ronon laughs from the other end of the table. “And for me as well.” His bowl is long empty.
“Yes, well.” Rodney sniffs, and pulls John’s bowl minutely closer. “I guess that’s what I get for trying to look out for your welfare.” Another cherry goes in, and this time Rodney sucks it slowly, hollowing his cheeks. By the time he spits out the pit, John is so hard that not even thoughts of his eighth grade teacher naked can cool him down.
The bowl travels with them as they make their through the town and into the main hall, and Rodney sucks and spits, sucks and spits. John’s reached a point where it’s not physically possible for him to get any harder, and he adjusts his P90, trying to provide some cover. Usually that wouldn’t be enough, but luckily everybody’s attention gets mostly diverted to the welcoming ceremony at the front of the room, where six large men dressed up in costumes are drumming and dancing in a circle.
“I still say they’re bears,” Rodney says into John’s ear as the men whirl around and around again. His breath is moist and cherry-scented. John imagines Rodney’s red-stained lips stretched around his cock, and nearly convulses. He has to stop this *now*.
“I’m going to scout out the perimeter,” he says abruptly, not really caring about how rude it looks, because grabbing Rodney and dragging him to the ground is probably ruder in this culture.
Rodney blinks, and hands the bowl off to Teyla. “I’ll come with you, in case there are any interesting readings.” He scowls at Ronon. “Don’t even think about touching my cherries, or you’ll never sleep safely again.” Ronon just smiles and reaches into the pocket of his coat, pulling out a fresh handful of cherries, and Rodney’s mouth twists with reluctant amusement. “Let’s go.
John groans inwardly, because the idea was to get *away* from Rodney, but it’s not really like he can let Rodney know that, and now he’s stuck. At least the cherries aren’t coming with them, because there are limits to his self-control. All he has to do is concentrate on the mission, and then they can go home and his problem will be over.
“I was thinking we might take some of these back home with us,” Rodney says conversationally, as they walk out the door.
With a sinking sense of doom, John realizes that his problems are only beginning. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll be a problem. They need medical supplies, and it’s not like we’re in need of bear costumes.”
Rodney smiles happily, no doubt imagining many cherry-centered meals to come. John only hopes that Rodney’s gustatory joy will blind him to just how much John wants to split a cherry in half and place each half over one of Rodney’s nipples, to just how much he wants to bite one over Rodney’s cock and let the juice trickle down slowly, while Rodney twists and begs him with his red, red mouth.
Rodney walks deeper into the brush, and John follows, thinking about the first time he’d tried a cherry, sucking on the tough skin dismissively. He’d frowned, and his mother had laughed. “You have to bite into it, Johnny,” she’d said, and John had obeyed. He’d nearly choked on the unexpected richness and depth, but after that first bite, he’d eaten so many he’d made himself sick, and he’d learned not to be fooled by an unrewarding skin.
Thinking about it isn’t helping, because there are cherry trees everywhere, as far as his eyes can see, and Rodney snags some casually as they walk by - tossing them into his mouth one by one. At this rate, John’s never going to be able to eat a cherry again without getting turned on.
He breaks out of his thoughts to see Rodney watching him, and it’s too late to turn away. Rodney’s eyes narrow speculatively, and John gives him the most carefree grin he can muster up on the sly, hopefully one that doesn’t say ‘I need to paint your entire body with cherry juice, lick it off, and then do it again and again and again, until you’re stained permanently and marked as mine.’
“I could come by later,” Rodney suggests casually - too casually. John remembers that Rodney’s only unobservant when he wants to be, which is almost never when he’s around John. “After all, we’ll be bringing a bunch home with us, and you didn’t get your chance earlier today. I’d be happy to share.”
John pulls his collar away from his throat and for the hundredth time, wills his erection to go down. His fingers catch on his dog tags, reminding him of the risks involved, the possible cost of taking this step. He doesn’t need to consider it for long though, because some things are worth it and Rodney is one of them. “Sure. Tonight would be good.”
Rodney gives him a shy smile. “I’ll be there, then.” His voice turns businesslike, and John wants to kiss him for understanding, even if that would be counterproductive. “I’m seeing some interesting readings in that direction. Step it up, Colonel. We’re supposed to be back in Atlantis by dusk. Unless of course you’d like to stay here forever, build yourself a hut, and become a cherry farmer with a pie-baking wife.”
“I think they’re called cherry harvesters,” John says mildly, and lets Rodney lead the way.