Fetish by Zoe Rayne (amnesty - 38 mins challenge)
Title: Fetish
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Rising 1
Challenge: sga_flashfic - Amnesty challenge (38 Minutes)
Summary: Most days he was at peace with his fetish.
A/N: Thanks to marythefan for the idea. Written on the instigation of the folks on #primenotprime.
Fetish
by Zoe Rayne
Rodney wasn't sure exactly what it was about a uniform that made it so sexy. It was more than just the crisp slide of the fabric under his fingers, he was sure, more than the sleek lines that melded form and function perfectly. Most days he didn't bother analyzing it at all; he just accepted that he'd forever be drawn to women (and, occasionally, men) in uniform.
Most days he was at peace with his fetish.
And then there were days like today, when his head turned--seemingly of its own volition--and his gaze followed the new flyboy's retreating backside. Days when it just didn't pay to get up in the morning. Because wasn't it just his luck that the new flyboy--who was all smoldering good looks and flirty smirks--not only had the Ancient gene, but had it in spades? It was adding insult to injury, that's what it was.
It was all the fault of the stupid uniform fetish, because Rodney absolutely did not like brunets, and besides, most military guys were more trouble than they were worth. Give him Lt. Col. Samantha Carter and the three Bs--blonde, breasts, and brilliant--any day.
Except that at the moment his dick seemed to be quite happy to consider the possibilities inherent in one Major John Sheppard. It was the jacket, it had to be; it looked shiny and stiff and Rodney could almost feel the rough texture crinkling under his fingers and sliding against his dick.
Rodney dragged his gaze away, heading for the supply closet before anyone could notice his body's betrayal. Staring was not smooth, was not cool, and was very likely to get his bloody remains dumped in the Antarctic snow. Once inside the small, crowded closet, he took several deep breaths, thinking about the least sexy things he could imagine: the frozen landscape outside, Kavanagh naked, a Goa'uld symbiote.
He'd almost managed to catch his breath, almost managed to get himself under control, when the door opened and Sheppard stepped through.
"Major," Rodney acknowledged, feeling a guilty flush heat his cheeks.
Sheppard closed in on him. "You," he said, his expression serious and intense, "were checking out my ass."
Yep, days when it just didn't pay to get up in the morning.
Rodney was already starting to shake his head when he realized that there was a notable lack of Sheppard's fist impacting his face or stomach or...well, anywhere vulnerable, in fact. Instead, Sheppard's hand moved down to cup Rodney's half-hard dick, palm sliding down with just enough pressure to make his hips thrust a little.
Sheppard grinned. "I thought so."
And while most military guys were more trouble than they were worth, this one seemed extremely good with his hands--duh, because pilot = dexterous--and maybe Rodney could forgive him for having the gene. Especially if he did that again, that thing with his thumb and a slight twist of his wrist that...oh. Oh, yes.
"Major." It was as much of a warning as Rodney could manage, but Sheppard got the message and cupped his free hand over Rodney's dick to minimize the mess.
"I think you can probably call me John," Sheppard said wryly, reaching for a package of paper towels that were destined for the latrines, and wiping his hands.
Rodney dropped to his knees, grinning at the surprise on Sheppard's face. "Actually," he said, undoing Sheppard's pants, "I think I'll stick with 'Major.'"
There were days when it didn't pay to get up in the morning. And then there were days he wouldn't miss for the world.
fait accompli
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were...well, let's just say they wouldn't have much time for missions.
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Rising 1
Challenge: sga_flashfic - Amnesty challenge (38 Minutes)
Summary: Most days he was at peace with his fetish.
A/N: Thanks to marythefan for the idea. Written on the instigation of the folks on #primenotprime.
Fetish
by Zoe Rayne
Rodney wasn't sure exactly what it was about a uniform that made it so sexy. It was more than just the crisp slide of the fabric under his fingers, he was sure, more than the sleek lines that melded form and function perfectly. Most days he didn't bother analyzing it at all; he just accepted that he'd forever be drawn to women (and, occasionally, men) in uniform.
Most days he was at peace with his fetish.
And then there were days like today, when his head turned--seemingly of its own volition--and his gaze followed the new flyboy's retreating backside. Days when it just didn't pay to get up in the morning. Because wasn't it just his luck that the new flyboy--who was all smoldering good looks and flirty smirks--not only had the Ancient gene, but had it in spades? It was adding insult to injury, that's what it was.
It was all the fault of the stupid uniform fetish, because Rodney absolutely did not like brunets, and besides, most military guys were more trouble than they were worth. Give him Lt. Col. Samantha Carter and the three Bs--blonde, breasts, and brilliant--any day.
Except that at the moment his dick seemed to be quite happy to consider the possibilities inherent in one Major John Sheppard. It was the jacket, it had to be; it looked shiny and stiff and Rodney could almost feel the rough texture crinkling under his fingers and sliding against his dick.
Rodney dragged his gaze away, heading for the supply closet before anyone could notice his body's betrayal. Staring was not smooth, was not cool, and was very likely to get his bloody remains dumped in the Antarctic snow. Once inside the small, crowded closet, he took several deep breaths, thinking about the least sexy things he could imagine: the frozen landscape outside, Kavanagh naked, a Goa'uld symbiote.
He'd almost managed to catch his breath, almost managed to get himself under control, when the door opened and Sheppard stepped through.
"Major," Rodney acknowledged, feeling a guilty flush heat his cheeks.
Sheppard closed in on him. "You," he said, his expression serious and intense, "were checking out my ass."
Yep, days when it just didn't pay to get up in the morning.
Rodney was already starting to shake his head when he realized that there was a notable lack of Sheppard's fist impacting his face or stomach or...well, anywhere vulnerable, in fact. Instead, Sheppard's hand moved down to cup Rodney's half-hard dick, palm sliding down with just enough pressure to make his hips thrust a little.
Sheppard grinned. "I thought so."
And while most military guys were more trouble than they were worth, this one seemed extremely good with his hands--duh, because pilot = dexterous--and maybe Rodney could forgive him for having the gene. Especially if he did that again, that thing with his thumb and a slight twist of his wrist that...oh. Oh, yes.
"Major." It was as much of a warning as Rodney could manage, but Sheppard got the message and cupped his free hand over Rodney's dick to minimize the mess.
"I think you can probably call me John," Sheppard said wryly, reaching for a package of paper towels that were destined for the latrines, and wiping his hands.
Rodney dropped to his knees, grinning at the surprise on Sheppard's face. "Actually," he said, undoing Sheppard's pants, "I think I'll stick with 'Major.'"
There were days when it didn't pay to get up in the morning. And then there were days he wouldn't miss for the world.
fait accompli
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were...well, let's just say they wouldn't have much time for missions.