All Skirted Up by bladdergirl
Challenge: Skirt
Title: All Skirted Up
Author: bladdergirl
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Summary: The way John looked at it, he should be worried that maybe he was a little too eager to put on the skirt.
The way John looked at it, he should be worried that maybe he was a little too eager to put on the skirt. That thought alone would be reason enough to set alarm bells ring dinging in his head, but for the moment his better senses have deserted him and he's left standing in the changing room, Stackhouse at his back, Ford at the door, and Bates in front of him waggling the floral monstrosity like a semaphore flag.
John spent a fleeting moment praying to whoever the hell was looking out for him (he was reserving judgement on the 'ascended Ancients' because all he had to go on was Rodney's word and Chaya and hadn't that all worked out well). How the fuck was he supposed to know that Bates would go above and beyond the call of duty in one of their late night drinking wind down sessions after a team had been sprung by the Wraith off-planet? With money on the table and the carefully horded alcohol singing in his blood, John was pretty sure it wasn't entirely his fault the alcohol had dulled his ability to guess that Bates would actually take the bet and drink his own urine.
And not only that, but expect John to follow through on the lost bet. Bates had named his price and John had felt his world shrink, one where his ass was toast because at least half the science team was female and possibly able to make his life living hell, also the leader of the expedition who may or may not have a bit of raging feminism left to spare and definitely able to make his life a living hell. Plus Teyla, who could kick his ass in or out of a skirt. On her or him.
He was so screwed.
They made him change right then and there because the city-wide meeting was in half an hour and they wanted to make sure he realised exactly how fucked he was. This was the time when the largest number of Atlantis personnel managed to time it so they were all able to bore each other with tales of their latest exploits. Elizabeth said it was 'team-building' and it was the one thing that John, as head of the military contingent, couldn't skip out of. The fact that the meeting was held in the mess hall and also coincided with dinner was not a stroke of luck, but rather the machinations of their crafty leader who figured the scientists wouldn't miss the opportunity to gloat and eat at the same time. Those science type people were all for the multitasking. John was of the opinion that Bates had been planning it all along, as there was nothing like ritual humiliation in front of the greatest percentage of your co-workers to take the shine off a man and equal the pain of pissing in a cup and drinking it.
John had looked down at his legs (lovely hairy things poking out the bottom of the lacy hem) shrugged and figured what the fuck, in for a penny and reached for his razor. He knew he should probably use wax, could even possibly find a woman (who actually gave a damn about stuff like that) willing to part with her stash without choking with laughter, but there was something about seeing Bates' and his cronies faces when he sat down in the change room and pulled out his shaving cream. Nowhere near to sweet fucking revenge but close enough to quell his thundering heart. Besides, covertly reading all those Cosmos in the hundreds of waiting rooms he's visited in his lifetime had to add up to something.
Apparently it did, because he managed it with only one cut low on his ankle and John had the feeling that Ford was looking to give him a standing ovation when he finished. But Bates had steel in his eye and that that stubborn jaw that made him the best head of security, and John knew he wasn't just going to get away with the impromptu leg show. This had to be taken full swing, and so he stood and strutted out of the room, feeling decidedly not ridiculous. It was all to do with the right frame of mind, really.
Stackhouse, the asshole, actually offered John his arm just before they reached the corridor outside the mess hall, but John had already caught a couple of weird looks on the way down and so he declined gracefully (read: glared and resisted stomping on his instep because the skirt didn't make him that much of a girl), and stepped through the door.
Truthfully, John wasn't that fussed with what people would say. Sure there’d be whispers and stifled giggles, but nothing worse from the general populace. What he wasn't looking forward to was those he had to regularly closely associate with. Ford was already safely out of the way, and the incident could calmly be filed away under Commanding Officer Shenanigans. Or something similar. Besides, Ford was one of the assholes Bates had got to help him, so John wasn't too worried.
It was over before it all started, because he spotted the usual cluster of people a few tables away from the door and made his way over slowly. Teyla was right on the money with a bemused questioning look that swept over him, his skirt, and focused on Bates' smug smile over John's shoulder. She stared for a second, looking vaguely perplexed, and then moved on. John couldn't quite shake the feeling that he'd been judged and found wanting as he watched her go back to her food.
Beckett was a better reaction, trotting out his usual forehead crinkle (which was always a hoot) like he was trying to estimate how many tests he'd be needing to do to deal with whatever afflicted John. That John had willingly done this to himself was probably beyond Beckett's comprehension. John almost felt sorry for the guy.
Zelenka blinked, frowned, blinked, started to smile, blinked, and then whispered something softly in Czech. John knew he didn't want to know what the literal translation was. From the way Elizabeth was spluttering into her coffee he could safely bet that she knew a fair amount of Czech swear words, because at that point she hadn't looked up to spot John and his skirt. He caught exactly when she did, because the spluttering turned into choking and ended with Beckett pounding her on the back and still sending John the forehead crinkle. Like it was all his fault Elizabeth couldn't drink her liquids properly.
If he had been pressured to decide what reaction Rodney would have to his unfortunate get up, John would have guessed that it would be like every other time he'd done something stupid and Rodney had taken the time and opportunity to laugh in his face. But looking at Rodney's wide-eyed expression, fork of food halfway to his mouth, John had the sneaking suspicion this time it was going to be different. Rodney had stopped eating to marvel at John's hideous skirt and smooth legs. He recovers pretty well, finishing off his mouthful and already lining up another one, but he ruins it all by not taking his eyes off John.
Luckily it all stays safely under wraps until the meeting is over and Bates gives him one last grin and John decides to make tracks fast before people can curiously trip him up and see if he has anything on under the skirt. He's seen what they do to Beckett when the kilt comes out, and John doesn't want his new nickname to be Commando Sheppard, because yeah, boxers don't go well under skirts.
Rodney catches up to him and walks at his side as John valiantly tries to not blush at the appraising looks he's getting from all and sundry. Rodney is like a mini-storm cloud on his left and John is twitching by the time they reach his room, and John lets the door shut behind him and is just about to open his mouth to explain, or make a joke, or raise his eyebrow in overconfidence, when Rodney shoves at his shoulders so hard he has to step back and he just manages to keep his head from connecting with the wall. Rodney has moved forward in the time John's annoyance registers, but his intriguingly blank face has John shutting his mouth quickly. Rodney is close, really fucking close and John's heart is thumping and jumping all over the place. Without much of a care, Rodney shoves his knee in between John's legs and John whines, suddenly and achingly hard, hips pinned against the wall by Rodney's leg and the skirt. John has the height but Rodney has the larger body mass, but that doesn't mean squat because no matter how many fighting techniques John knew, Rodney knew that John didn't really want to get away.
Rodney is kissing him and his hand scrabbles at the hem of the skirt, and suddenly he gets it and his hand dips up and under and John groans into Rodney's mouth at the feel of fingers on his thigh. Rodney pulls away slightly and grins against John's cheek and crows softly. "Wearing underwear? Right." John is glad Rodney answered his own question because he's too busy shoving himself onto Rodney's hand, which has cupped his dick and is squeezing him too gently to do any good.
But Rodney is like a mind reader tonight, gripping John's elbows and tugging him away from the wall and manhandling him across the room. John would normally be pissed at how Rodney is treating him, like he dons a female symbol of subjection and suddenly Rodney has the right to treat him like he's a girl, but it's getting him closer to the bed so John decides to let it slide.
Landing on the piss-poor Ancient idea of a bed, John struggles out of his shirt and watches the show Rodney inadvertently puts on as he strips with methodical ease. John tries to wriggle up the bed so his ass isn't hanging halfway off, but he gets caught and he lets out a frustrated growl and twists away from the material of the skirt that is bunching in odd places. His hands are going for the zipper when Rodney stops him, eyes flashing.
"Leave it on."
They've been doing the sex thing long enough that John thought he had heard about all of Rodney's kinks in blinding nauseating detail. Apparently, he was wrong. But he leaves the skirt on and lies back again; pretty sure he looks like a class-A whore, rumpled skirt and flushed cheeks, lying back on a messy bed with knees up and legs spread (which is kind of difficult but he manages to hike the skirt up enough). Rodney doesn't care, or maybe he does, because he's on top of John and cool fingers are teasing at his ass and John is about to whine again but Rodney finally gets into it and into John and he slides in smooth as anything. Takes a moment for John to adjust and then thrusts and all John has to do is hold on.
John must be insane; because when Rodney pulls back he squeezes his upper arms and says. "Rodney, a skirt?"
Rodney huffs into his neck. "Shut up."
"Rodney," John said, and it wasn't all that different from when he usually says Rodney's name during sex, but Rodney must had heard something in John's voice because he bit his collarbone and hissed.
"Shut up. Just shut up. I’m not paying you a compliment, goddammit, but your legs are fantastic." Rodney grunts as he moves and John is grinning at the ceiling, wishing he could actually thank Bates for what he did. But he can't, so John decides he'll just have to settle for letting the Marine have free reign with the security protocols next scheduling. It's a two for one deal because John gets to say thanks without saying thanks, and Bates gets to be paranoid as to why John is being so nice. A good time for all was had, and when John jerks awake the next morning to Rodney's singing in the shower and spots the skirt hanging over the back of his lone chair, John grins and wonders what else Bates will be willing to do to get John in a skirt again.
END
Title: All Skirted Up
Author: bladdergirl
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Summary: The way John looked at it, he should be worried that maybe he was a little too eager to put on the skirt.
The way John looked at it, he should be worried that maybe he was a little too eager to put on the skirt. That thought alone would be reason enough to set alarm bells ring dinging in his head, but for the moment his better senses have deserted him and he's left standing in the changing room, Stackhouse at his back, Ford at the door, and Bates in front of him waggling the floral monstrosity like a semaphore flag.
John spent a fleeting moment praying to whoever the hell was looking out for him (he was reserving judgement on the 'ascended Ancients' because all he had to go on was Rodney's word and Chaya and hadn't that all worked out well). How the fuck was he supposed to know that Bates would go above and beyond the call of duty in one of their late night drinking wind down sessions after a team had been sprung by the Wraith off-planet? With money on the table and the carefully horded alcohol singing in his blood, John was pretty sure it wasn't entirely his fault the alcohol had dulled his ability to guess that Bates would actually take the bet and drink his own urine.
And not only that, but expect John to follow through on the lost bet. Bates had named his price and John had felt his world shrink, one where his ass was toast because at least half the science team was female and possibly able to make his life living hell, also the leader of the expedition who may or may not have a bit of raging feminism left to spare and definitely able to make his life a living hell. Plus Teyla, who could kick his ass in or out of a skirt. On her or him.
He was so screwed.
They made him change right then and there because the city-wide meeting was in half an hour and they wanted to make sure he realised exactly how fucked he was. This was the time when the largest number of Atlantis personnel managed to time it so they were all able to bore each other with tales of their latest exploits. Elizabeth said it was 'team-building' and it was the one thing that John, as head of the military contingent, couldn't skip out of. The fact that the meeting was held in the mess hall and also coincided with dinner was not a stroke of luck, but rather the machinations of their crafty leader who figured the scientists wouldn't miss the opportunity to gloat and eat at the same time. Those science type people were all for the multitasking. John was of the opinion that Bates had been planning it all along, as there was nothing like ritual humiliation in front of the greatest percentage of your co-workers to take the shine off a man and equal the pain of pissing in a cup and drinking it.
John had looked down at his legs (lovely hairy things poking out the bottom of the lacy hem) shrugged and figured what the fuck, in for a penny and reached for his razor. He knew he should probably use wax, could even possibly find a woman (who actually gave a damn about stuff like that) willing to part with her stash without choking with laughter, but there was something about seeing Bates' and his cronies faces when he sat down in the change room and pulled out his shaving cream. Nowhere near to sweet fucking revenge but close enough to quell his thundering heart. Besides, covertly reading all those Cosmos in the hundreds of waiting rooms he's visited in his lifetime had to add up to something.
Apparently it did, because he managed it with only one cut low on his ankle and John had the feeling that Ford was looking to give him a standing ovation when he finished. But Bates had steel in his eye and that that stubborn jaw that made him the best head of security, and John knew he wasn't just going to get away with the impromptu leg show. This had to be taken full swing, and so he stood and strutted out of the room, feeling decidedly not ridiculous. It was all to do with the right frame of mind, really.
Stackhouse, the asshole, actually offered John his arm just before they reached the corridor outside the mess hall, but John had already caught a couple of weird looks on the way down and so he declined gracefully (read: glared and resisted stomping on his instep because the skirt didn't make him that much of a girl), and stepped through the door.
Truthfully, John wasn't that fussed with what people would say. Sure there’d be whispers and stifled giggles, but nothing worse from the general populace. What he wasn't looking forward to was those he had to regularly closely associate with. Ford was already safely out of the way, and the incident could calmly be filed away under Commanding Officer Shenanigans. Or something similar. Besides, Ford was one of the assholes Bates had got to help him, so John wasn't too worried.
It was over before it all started, because he spotted the usual cluster of people a few tables away from the door and made his way over slowly. Teyla was right on the money with a bemused questioning look that swept over him, his skirt, and focused on Bates' smug smile over John's shoulder. She stared for a second, looking vaguely perplexed, and then moved on. John couldn't quite shake the feeling that he'd been judged and found wanting as he watched her go back to her food.
Beckett was a better reaction, trotting out his usual forehead crinkle (which was always a hoot) like he was trying to estimate how many tests he'd be needing to do to deal with whatever afflicted John. That John had willingly done this to himself was probably beyond Beckett's comprehension. John almost felt sorry for the guy.
Zelenka blinked, frowned, blinked, started to smile, blinked, and then whispered something softly in Czech. John knew he didn't want to know what the literal translation was. From the way Elizabeth was spluttering into her coffee he could safely bet that she knew a fair amount of Czech swear words, because at that point she hadn't looked up to spot John and his skirt. He caught exactly when she did, because the spluttering turned into choking and ended with Beckett pounding her on the back and still sending John the forehead crinkle. Like it was all his fault Elizabeth couldn't drink her liquids properly.
If he had been pressured to decide what reaction Rodney would have to his unfortunate get up, John would have guessed that it would be like every other time he'd done something stupid and Rodney had taken the time and opportunity to laugh in his face. But looking at Rodney's wide-eyed expression, fork of food halfway to his mouth, John had the sneaking suspicion this time it was going to be different. Rodney had stopped eating to marvel at John's hideous skirt and smooth legs. He recovers pretty well, finishing off his mouthful and already lining up another one, but he ruins it all by not taking his eyes off John.
Luckily it all stays safely under wraps until the meeting is over and Bates gives him one last grin and John decides to make tracks fast before people can curiously trip him up and see if he has anything on under the skirt. He's seen what they do to Beckett when the kilt comes out, and John doesn't want his new nickname to be Commando Sheppard, because yeah, boxers don't go well under skirts.
Rodney catches up to him and walks at his side as John valiantly tries to not blush at the appraising looks he's getting from all and sundry. Rodney is like a mini-storm cloud on his left and John is twitching by the time they reach his room, and John lets the door shut behind him and is just about to open his mouth to explain, or make a joke, or raise his eyebrow in overconfidence, when Rodney shoves at his shoulders so hard he has to step back and he just manages to keep his head from connecting with the wall. Rodney has moved forward in the time John's annoyance registers, but his intriguingly blank face has John shutting his mouth quickly. Rodney is close, really fucking close and John's heart is thumping and jumping all over the place. Without much of a care, Rodney shoves his knee in between John's legs and John whines, suddenly and achingly hard, hips pinned against the wall by Rodney's leg and the skirt. John has the height but Rodney has the larger body mass, but that doesn't mean squat because no matter how many fighting techniques John knew, Rodney knew that John didn't really want to get away.
Rodney is kissing him and his hand scrabbles at the hem of the skirt, and suddenly he gets it and his hand dips up and under and John groans into Rodney's mouth at the feel of fingers on his thigh. Rodney pulls away slightly and grins against John's cheek and crows softly. "Wearing underwear? Right." John is glad Rodney answered his own question because he's too busy shoving himself onto Rodney's hand, which has cupped his dick and is squeezing him too gently to do any good.
But Rodney is like a mind reader tonight, gripping John's elbows and tugging him away from the wall and manhandling him across the room. John would normally be pissed at how Rodney is treating him, like he dons a female symbol of subjection and suddenly Rodney has the right to treat him like he's a girl, but it's getting him closer to the bed so John decides to let it slide.
Landing on the piss-poor Ancient idea of a bed, John struggles out of his shirt and watches the show Rodney inadvertently puts on as he strips with methodical ease. John tries to wriggle up the bed so his ass isn't hanging halfway off, but he gets caught and he lets out a frustrated growl and twists away from the material of the skirt that is bunching in odd places. His hands are going for the zipper when Rodney stops him, eyes flashing.
"Leave it on."
They've been doing the sex thing long enough that John thought he had heard about all of Rodney's kinks in blinding nauseating detail. Apparently, he was wrong. But he leaves the skirt on and lies back again; pretty sure he looks like a class-A whore, rumpled skirt and flushed cheeks, lying back on a messy bed with knees up and legs spread (which is kind of difficult but he manages to hike the skirt up enough). Rodney doesn't care, or maybe he does, because he's on top of John and cool fingers are teasing at his ass and John is about to whine again but Rodney finally gets into it and into John and he slides in smooth as anything. Takes a moment for John to adjust and then thrusts and all John has to do is hold on.
John must be insane; because when Rodney pulls back he squeezes his upper arms and says. "Rodney, a skirt?"
Rodney huffs into his neck. "Shut up."
"Rodney," John said, and it wasn't all that different from when he usually says Rodney's name during sex, but Rodney must had heard something in John's voice because he bit his collarbone and hissed.
"Shut up. Just shut up. I’m not paying you a compliment, goddammit, but your legs are fantastic." Rodney grunts as he moves and John is grinning at the ceiling, wishing he could actually thank Bates for what he did. But he can't, so John decides he'll just have to settle for letting the Marine have free reign with the security protocols next scheduling. It's a two for one deal because John gets to say thanks without saying thanks, and Bates gets to be paranoid as to why John is being so nice. A good time for all was had, and when John jerks awake the next morning to Rodney's singing in the shower and spots the skirt hanging over the back of his lone chair, John grins and wonders what else Bates will be willing to do to get John in a skirt again.
END