Fic: Anything
Title: Anything
Summary: John doesn't even know what it is.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Word Count: 853
Rating/Contents: NC-17, object insertion
Pairing: John solo
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For the- you guessed it- object insertion square on my
kink_bingo card. We're almost halfway to blackout!
John finds it in a corner of a disused lab, on a shelf with what looks like some Ancient's knick-knack collection. John only knows two things about it: it's Ancient and it's broken. That's all he's really sure of; it's not just out of juice, because that feels different. It's just fucked, whatever it was.
"I'm going to try and see if I can't get this thing to work," John says, slipping it into a bag, even though he already knows it won't.
Rodney waves vaguely at him, lost in examining something. "Knock yourself out," he says, not even looking up to see what John has. He pauses. "Try to avoid taking that literally."
"Will do," John says, and he puts it inside his vest, close to his body. He has it sterilized, under entirely false pretenses, and he carefully thinks at it as hard as he can, making sure there will be no unpleasant surprises.
And then he takes it to bed with him.
It's been a very long time, long enough that one finger going in hurts a little, but John is a man on a mission. He's got the good lube, the bottle he snuck in on the last Daedalus shipment, the one the quartermaster looked the other way on for a six-pack, and he pours it all over his fingers, making everything nice and slick. He works his fingers in slowly, imagining someone else doing this for him, fingers not his own; small and careful or big and rough, it doesn't matter, not as much as taking it, holding still while someone else uses his body.
He goes until he can't take any more, three fingers rocking in and out, his hips working in an attempt to get them further inside. He feels empty when he pulls his fingers out again, craving more, something else, something hard and relentless inside of him.
The thing feels heavy and right in his hand. Slowly, feeling scandalized by his own behavior, he slides it into his mouth, shutting his eyes tight. He licks around the tip, trying to imagine doing this for someone else. In his fantasies, that person has no name, no features, no gender, just a solid cock for him to worship with his body. In his head, he's starting to see it; he gets up on his knees, because that makes it better, takes him a little closer to where he wants to be.
He slides it in and out of his mouth, fucking his face with it while he sucks the best that he can, thinking about someone else, someone who'll make him take it, hard, until he can't stand it anymore.
It doesn't take much before he's all wound up, so much that he's afraid he's going to come and miss the main event. He takes it out of his mouth, trailing it along his body, stopping to run it up and down the underside of his cock.
The thing has a nice thick base, enough that John can set it down on the bed and slowly, very carefully, lower himself down onto it. It takes all his concentration not to go off just as soon as he feels that first push, as soon as it starts to open him up. He presses down too fast and it burns a little going in, but John can't bring himself to care. A little more in and a little more out, and he's just starting to fuck himself with it. He has to grab his dick hard to stop from coming, because it feels so good, so right that he just can't stand it.
He manages, somehow, and before long the thing slides all the way home. John hasn't felt this full in ages; he feels complete.
His thighs are getting sore from being so tense and there's sweat dripping into his eyes, but he rides the thing for all he's worth. It's so alien, so foreign, and that only helps his fantasy. He doesn't even know what it is; it's perfectly anonymous, so much that it can be anybody, anything taking him.
He's getting so close, so ready. He wraps his hand around his cock, as loose as possible so that he doesn't just shoot immediately. The precaution is useless, because he thrusts down hard, one, two, and there it is. He comes harder than he even thought was possible; his vision goes a little black and he shakes with it.
It takes a long while before he can even move, but it eventually grows uncomfortable. He carefully raises himself up and off the thing, falling forward onto the bed. He reaches behind himself and picks up whatever it is; it seems irreverent to just toss it on the floor, so he gently wraps it in a tissue and sets it on the nightstand.
Whatever the thing is, he's never letting it go.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/324555.html.
comments over there.
Summary: John doesn't even know what it is.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Word Count: 853
Rating/Contents: NC-17, object insertion
Pairing: John solo
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: For the- you guessed it- object insertion square on my
kink_bingo card. We're almost halfway to blackout!
John finds it in a corner of a disused lab, on a shelf with what looks like some Ancient's knick-knack collection. John only knows two things about it: it's Ancient and it's broken. That's all he's really sure of; it's not just out of juice, because that feels different. It's just fucked, whatever it was.
"I'm going to try and see if I can't get this thing to work," John says, slipping it into a bag, even though he already knows it won't.
Rodney waves vaguely at him, lost in examining something. "Knock yourself out," he says, not even looking up to see what John has. He pauses. "Try to avoid taking that literally."
"Will do," John says, and he puts it inside his vest, close to his body. He has it sterilized, under entirely false pretenses, and he carefully thinks at it as hard as he can, making sure there will be no unpleasant surprises.
And then he takes it to bed with him.
It's been a very long time, long enough that one finger going in hurts a little, but John is a man on a mission. He's got the good lube, the bottle he snuck in on the last Daedalus shipment, the one the quartermaster looked the other way on for a six-pack, and he pours it all over his fingers, making everything nice and slick. He works his fingers in slowly, imagining someone else doing this for him, fingers not his own; small and careful or big and rough, it doesn't matter, not as much as taking it, holding still while someone else uses his body.
He goes until he can't take any more, three fingers rocking in and out, his hips working in an attempt to get them further inside. He feels empty when he pulls his fingers out again, craving more, something else, something hard and relentless inside of him.
The thing feels heavy and right in his hand. Slowly, feeling scandalized by his own behavior, he slides it into his mouth, shutting his eyes tight. He licks around the tip, trying to imagine doing this for someone else. In his fantasies, that person has no name, no features, no gender, just a solid cock for him to worship with his body. In his head, he's starting to see it; he gets up on his knees, because that makes it better, takes him a little closer to where he wants to be.
He slides it in and out of his mouth, fucking his face with it while he sucks the best that he can, thinking about someone else, someone who'll make him take it, hard, until he can't stand it anymore.
It doesn't take much before he's all wound up, so much that he's afraid he's going to come and miss the main event. He takes it out of his mouth, trailing it along his body, stopping to run it up and down the underside of his cock.
The thing has a nice thick base, enough that John can set it down on the bed and slowly, very carefully, lower himself down onto it. It takes all his concentration not to go off just as soon as he feels that first push, as soon as it starts to open him up. He presses down too fast and it burns a little going in, but John can't bring himself to care. A little more in and a little more out, and he's just starting to fuck himself with it. He has to grab his dick hard to stop from coming, because it feels so good, so right that he just can't stand it.
He manages, somehow, and before long the thing slides all the way home. John hasn't felt this full in ages; he feels complete.
His thighs are getting sore from being so tense and there's sweat dripping into his eyes, but he rides the thing for all he's worth. It's so alien, so foreign, and that only helps his fantasy. He doesn't even know what it is; it's perfectly anonymous, so much that it can be anybody, anything taking him.
He's getting so close, so ready. He wraps his hand around his cock, as loose as possible so that he doesn't just shoot immediately. The precaution is useless, because he thrusts down hard, one, two, and there it is. He comes harder than he even thought was possible; his vision goes a little black and he shakes with it.
It takes a long while before he can even move, but it eventually grows uncomfortable. He carefully raises himself up and off the thing, falling forward onto the bed. He reaches behind himself and picks up whatever it is; it seems irreverent to just toss it on the floor, so he gently wraps it in a tissue and sets it on the nightstand.
Whatever the thing is, he's never letting it go.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/324555.html.
comments over there.