The Porn Battle (Fourth Verse, Same as the First)
THE PORN BATTLE (FOURTH VERSE, SAME AS THE FIRST) IS A GOTo join the battle, all you need to do is pick a prompt from below (any prompt, even if it's your own) and write the porniest bit of fiction you can, or make the hottest manip or painting or vid or song. That's all folks - just one bit of steamy, panty-wetting porn. Make it as kinky or as ( Read more... )
"Send a list of demands to the San Francisco PD," Rodney begs, for the countless time. "I'm sure they'll--"
"I told you what I want." Sheppard's gun makes an unnerving thunk as he lays it down on the room's lone table.
I don't want to hurt you. I just want you to prove I didn't kill my commanding officer. That's what Sheppard said when he kidnapped Rodney from the Sao Paulo airport.
"You have no idea who might want to frame you. No physical evidence. No particular interest in answering my questions. I'm a criminalist. Not a magician!"
Sheppard's jaw visibly clenches. "It's late. Better get ready for bed."
Rodney sighs, but heads off to the bathroom nonetheless, trying not to look around as he pees and brushes his teeth. If the place has ever seen disinfectant, it was before Rodney's lifetime.
Sheppard has the handcuffs out when he comes back.
"Come on. Can't we just--"
"You sleeping in your clothes?" Sheppard threatens.
Rodney mutters, and turns his back to strip down to T-shirt and boxers, and tries not to think about Sheppard watching.
"You know the drill." Sheppard nods toward the bed.
A flash of panic, and Rodney tells himself: It was just a fluke. He lies down and reaches for the headboard. Sheppard rests a knee on the mattress, leaning over Rodney to secure the cuffs. The warmth of Sheppard's body, and the cool metal around Rodney's wrists, and his reaction is just as embarrassing as it was the night before, quite clearly no fluke.
Sheppard notices this time and narrows his eyes. Rodney prepares to plead insanity, which may actually be true. He's still crazily aware how good Sheppard smells.
The light touch of Sheppard's palm to his chest is more startling than any blow. "Seems I'm not the only one with demands, huh, McKay?" Sheppard's hand glides downward, cupping Rodney's hardening dick through his underwear.
Stockholm Syndrome, Stockholm Syndrome, a voice urgently shouts in Rodney's head, but that doesn't keep his gaze from fastening on Sheppard's lips, full and pretty and wet-looking, as if he's always just licked them. Sheppard smiles faintly, because everyone must want his mouth, and he nudges up Rodney's shirt to kiss his belly.
"Be good to me, and I can be good to you." He demonstrates this quid pro quo approach to life by pushing Rodney's underwear down over his hips and taking Rodney's cock in his mouth.
He's dangerous, not hot, dangerous! Rodney's mantra is even more ineffectual now that Sheppard is doing such inspired things with his tongue. Rodney should certainly be more disturbed than he is that a probable murderer is making his thighs tremble.
Sheppard meets Rodney's gaze, that pretty mouth of his practically owning Rodney's cock, his eyes at once too dark and too bright, a look suspiciously like lust. Rodney strains against the cuffs, his hips surging forward. Sheppard strokes the skin behind Rodney's balls, hesitates, and then lightly rubs his hole. Rodney sucks in a breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and comes and comes in Sheppard's obscenely beautiful mouth.
Afterwards, Sheppard goes and comes back with a washcloth, cleans Rodney up, fixes his clothes. Rodney can't help noticing the bulge in Sheppard's pants, and his mouth goes dry thinking of Sheppard getting hard just by sucking him. He pulls at the cuffs. "Let me-- I can--"
Sheppard's expression shutters closed, and he turns on his heel, back to the bathroom. Rodney hears the shower, and when Sheppard returns, his hair is damp and he's not hard anymore.
He settles into the chair next to the bed, gun in easy reaching distance. "We've got an early morning. Better get some sleep."
He stretches out his legs, and shuts his eyes, and annoyingly enough, is soon snoring. Rodney stares up at the ceiling half the night, wishing he'd never come to Brazil for some stupid conference, wondering how he's supposed to solve a case with no evidence, and more importantly, what he thinks he's doing having sex with the primary suspect.
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Please write more? *begs*
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*flails with glee* That was so good. Oh, John.
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Oh, Lenore, you're are too cute.
Of course Rodney would have demands, especially if dealing with such charming kidnapper.
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That was perfect. And I second everyones request for more. I'd love to read more in this universe. ;)
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