Fic: Concrete

[mmmchelle]

Title: Concrete
Author: chelle
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC17
Vetted By: yin_again
Warnings: Bondage; Borderline non-con between the characters John and Rodney are playing.
Author's Notes: Thank you to Yin and Grrrl for their comments and criticism. In the same universe as Yin's "Their Debut" and my other GPFG stories.
Summary: Written for the uniform challenge. "Okay," Sam had said, "who wants to be the cop?"



"Okay," Sam had said, "who wants to be the cop?"

John hadn't even had to glance at Rodney to know his face was lighting up with anticipation.

"I'll do it."

John had merely sighed.

"In the future," Rodney said, stepping so close that his chest was brushing John's, "you would do well to remember that no one goes through Georgia that fast."

Biting back a smile at Rodney's southern accent, John smirked. "Sherman did."

Rodney pushed him roughly to his knees. Even though John had known it was coming, the move still surprised him and he winced as his knees hit the fake concrete of his fake jail cell. The cell he'd been tossed into after being arrested for speeding by one Officer Walton, or whatever Rodney's character's name was.

"You think you're clever, don't you? Just another smart-assed Yankee." One hand on John's shoulder, Rodney unbuttoned his pants with the other. The pants were tight in all the right places, showing off Rodney's rounded ass, but John hadn't been able to fully appreciate them; he'd been too busy concentrating on his role as a motorist arrested for a simple speeding violation in the middle of the night.

Pants opened, Rodney pulled out his semi-erect cock, and slid his fingers into John's hair, gripping it tightly. "Maybe we should see what else that smart mouth of yours is good for."

Parting his lips, John let Rodney push his cock inside. He could've resisted if he'd wanted to, even on his knees with his hands in cuffs, but he wasn't being paid to fight back.

Rodney's cock thickened against his tongue, getting fully hard. John closed his eyes and sucked, trying to ignore the fingers gripping his hair and the cold metal against his wrists. The weight, the taste, the ridge around the edge, he knew everything there was to know about Rodney's cock, probably more than Rodney himself. He sucked and worked the tip with his tongue.

"Yeah, that's it," Rodney said, accent still in place. "Suck it." He pushed deeper, catching John by surprise, making him gag.

Rodney immediately drew back. John looked up at him. There was a question in Rodney's eyes, and John answered it by sliding back down Rodney's cock, taking him deep this time. Evidently reassured, Rodney gripped John's face in his hands and began rocking his hips, fucking John's face.

John raised his hands, wanting to grip Rodney's wrists and pull his hands away, but he couldn't, not with the cuffs connecting his wrists. Dropping his arms, he closed his eyes again and let Rodney fuck his mouth. It was just a role after all, just acting, and this was Rodney.

After a few minutes, Rodney pulled out, his dick shining with John's saliva, and said, "Up."

John rose to his feet, and Rodney turned him around so he was facing the end of the cell's small cot. Pressing up against John's back, Rodney began opening his pants with one hand, the other splayed across John's belly. "Now comes the good part," Rodney said, the accent making it sound like a parody of Rodney's sex scene voice.

He tugged down John's pants and boxers to reveal his cock. His completely flaccid cock.

For a moment no one moved. Then Sam yelled, "Cut."

"John?" Rodney asked, slipping his hand under John's shirt.

"I'm fine. Let's just get it over with." It wasn't as if no one had ever failed to get it up on a porn set before. That's what fluffers were for. Except GPFG never bothered to have one around when John and Rodney were shooting because they didn't have that problem, not with one another, not before today.

"Can you give us five?" Rodney asked Sam.

John couldn't look at her; it was bad enough he could feel the heat in his face, his ears were probably flushed by now.

"Take ten, everyone," Sam said, and the crew hurried away as John tugged up his pants, leaving John and Rodney alone in a fake cell.

A quick kiss to the side of his neck and then Rodney moved around to sit on the cot. "Want to talk about it?"

John shot him a disbelieving look. "No." He dropped onto the cot next to Rodney, because sitting would give him a good excuse not to look Rodney in the eye.

"It's not me, is it?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

"It's a valid question."

"I fucked you last night."

Rodney raised a finger and pointed it at the side of John's face. "Yes, but you might've been thinking of someone else."

"Which I could do right now."

"Except you can't get it up right now."

"A problem with which you are being immensely helpful."

"Sorry," Rodney said, sliding an arm around John's waist. John leaned into him. "So what is the problem?"

"I just don't like this."

"This?"

John held up his handcuffed wrists. "This."

"Oh. Can you pretend they're not handcuffed?"

"Like I pretended I was fucking MacGyver last night?"

"MacGyver? You pretended you were fucking MacGyver? Why? I'm way hotter than MacGyver."

"Rodney."

"You brought it up. And seriously, MacGyver?"

"I just want to get through this. Do what we have to do and go home."

"Okay, okay," Rodney said, resting his chin on John's shoulder. "How about this? We'll talk to Sam see if we can change the scenario a little bit to include me touching you, getting you hard."

"Fine."

"You're supposed to come."

"I will."

"Yes, but will you enjoy it?"

"Rodney."

Resting a hand on John's cheek, Rodney turned John toward him and kissed him, smooth and easy , like lovers who'd been kissing one another for years, who'd said everything there was to say with a kiss a hundred times over, but every once in a while still managed to find something new.

John closed his eyes and let Rodney tell him that they were in this together, that Rodney wasn't going to stop touching him, not as long as John needed to be touched.

By the time they broke apart the crew was returning to the set and John was semi-hard. Sam came up to the cot to talk to them, and they both stood. John let Rodney do the talking. Sam approved the changes, but John had known she would. Giving his arm a quick squeeze, she went back to her place beside the main camera.

John and Rodney took their places, John tugging his pants and boxers back down around his thighs, and Sam said, "Action."

Rodney slid a hand around to grasp John's cock. The familiar touch was enough to get him going a little more and John hoped Rodney didn't ruin it by talking.

"You're gonna love it when I fuck you. I'll make you come so hard you see stars. After all, that's what pretty boys like you are for, right? Fucking."

Actually, we're for kicking assholes like you in the nuts, John thought. But he didn't say it, because he was supposed to be getting off on this. That's what the script called for, a guy who got turned on by being fucked, degraded, used. The only problem was that John wasn't that guy.

And he honestly didn't think he was that good an actor.

Rodney kissed his neck, and John's breath caught at the familiar nuzzling. A knowing stroke on his cock, and John felt himself starting to respond again. Closing his eyes, he shut out the cuffs, the cot, the whole damn set, and concentrated on Rodney's smell and Rodney's touch.

The nuzzling and the stroking continued until John's breath started to come faster. Then Rodney put a hand on his shoulder, pressed a last kiss to the side of his neck, and pushed John forward, his hands landing on the cot in front of him.

Refusing to look at the cuffs on his wrists, John tried to pretend they were at home. Rodney was turning his fingers, getting enough lube in John's ass for two men, just like he always did, but the sheets were all wrong, too rough, killing the illusion. Did Cadman have to be so damned realistic with her props?

Rodney kissed the ticklish spot on his left side, giving it a surreptitious lick and making John squirm. "Just me," Rodney said so quietly that John could barely make out the words. "It's just me, just us."

John knew that. It wasn't as if they'd never done anything kinky. Their sex life was practically a study in experimentation. Hell, John sometimes suspected Rodney of keeping records. Like the time he'd convinced John to spend an entire afternoon doing him with a dildo because he wanted to see how long he could be fucked before he came.

That had been one hell of an afternoon. Rodney open and needy, wildly aroused. By the time he'd finally entered him, John had been so turned on he'd come twice.

Think about other stuff they'd done. John could do that.

Fifteen minutes later he came, not really hearing any of the southern accented filth Rodney said out loud, only the words he whispered.

***

"So," Rodney said. "Why didn't you like it?"

John was on one end of the couch, leaning against the side, legs pulled up in front of him, a battered Robert Parker paperback in his hand.

Rodney was at the other end, feet on the coffee table, laptop resting on his thighs. John had once argued that if they got rid of the coffee table, there'd be more room for impulsive sex in the living room, but Rodney had refused to give up his foot rest.

"Well?" Rodney said, looking from the screen to John.

Lowering his book, John said, "I thought we weren't going to talk about it."

"No, you didn't."

"I just don't like it. The whole 'bondage, degradation, fuck me, use me' thing."

"Don't you trust me?"

One of these days, Rodney wasn’t going to immediately define a problem in terms of himself, and John would probably have a heart attack. Of course by the time it happened, John would probably be ready for a rocking chair and a pacemaker. "That's not what it's about. I just don't get off on being degraded, or degrading anyone else, that's all."

Rodney nodded and John resumed reading, wondering not for the first time how a detective as smart as Spenser could get into so many shoot-outs.

"Wait a minute," Rodney said. "You've gotten off on gang fuck porn. I know. I've watched you. Hell, I've blown you while you watched."

"Not the same thing," John said, refusing to lower his book.

"Gang fucks are pretty degrading."

"Yes, but I'm not participating."

"Just watching."

"Exactly." Feeling Rodney's annoyed gaze on him, John sighed and put Spenser down on the coffee table. "Porn is an abstraction. It's not real."

"Feels pretty real when we're shooting it."

"Porn we aren't in. It's all--" John waved his hand. "Out there somewhere. Abstract. You and me, that's real, concrete. Undeniable, irrefutable."

"So you're saying that something that turns you on in the abstract might not work for you at all in the concrete."

"Yes," John said, nodding. "Exactly."

"Like MacGyver."

"MacGyver's pretty concrete."

Grabbing John's ankles Rodney pulled until he was flat on the couch and straddled him, one knee on either side of John's hips. "You didn't mean that."

"I totally did."

Rodney's fingers found the vulnerable spot on the side of his ribs just as John pulled in his elbow to protect it. "Not as concrete as me."

"No one's as concrete as you, Rodney."

"Damn straight."

John patted Rodney's chest. "Let me up. Spenser's about to get shot at."

"When's he going to give up that psychologist and get with Hawk? Hawk is hot."

"Susan's his concrete."

Rodney snorted but he moved to the side, letting John sit back up.

Picking up his book, John slid his toes under Rodney's thigh. "My feet are cold," he said when Rodney looked over at him.

Rodney rolled his eyes, but he didn't move away.