Fic: Skirting The Issue
My first kink_bingo entry.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Kink Prompt: Crossdressing
Skirting The Issue
The people of M47-362 were alien. True alien, not just transplanted human, separated from the Earth people by over ten thousand years of genetic drift. They averaged about a foot in height, and were all green. Not uniformly so, the shades ranging from pale lime to vivid grass by way of sea-foam blue-green spoke of racial or regional varieties, but green they all were in some way or another.
Rodney would never admit it to a living soul, but a small corner of his heart had leapt at the sight of these little men, and crowed that it knew leprechauns were real. It was the same part that used to look up at the stars and revel in their mysterious twinkling, but had long since been eclipsed by the part that understood why they twinkled and gloried in them all the more for the knowledge.
The height and colour were obvious. What wasn’t so immediately apparent was the effect that these people had on human physiology. In hindsight, perhaps it should have been evident that something was off, that they weren’t exactly behaving normally, but somehow nothing out of the ordinary registered until the gate closed behind them and John and Rodney were left staring at their new clothing.
Keller never did work out exactly what was in the pheromone that the green aliens excreted. It wasn’t as simple as an inhibition suppressor, although that was certainly one of the effects. It never seemed to work on anybody’s darker desires, they just felt free to make themselves happy. It was also combined with something that affected humans in much the same way as a really good acid trip, as Parrish found out when he later went eagerly to investigate what Rodney thought was really weird algae that swirled through the water in shimmering purples, reds and yellows. Securely fastened into a breathing mask, Parrish was heartbreakingly disappointed to discover that without the benefit of the pheromone, the water of the lake undulated cool and clear in the sunlight. Beautiful yes, but only water.
Ronon and Teyla managed to come back with their own clothes, although Teyla’s were in her hands rather than on her person. Unlike John and Rodney, they hadn’t been overcome with the delightful urge to plunge straight into the water, fully clothed, and frolic like puppies. Teyla had indeed ventured into the lake, but she had stripped first, feeling that she could only become one with the colours if she meditated in the water with no barriers separating her from it.
Ronon didn’t even seem to see the water. The moment he stepped through the gate he sat down in a sunny patch of grass nearby. He tipped his face up to the sun and stayed there, still and calm in a way he never had been on Atlantis.
John remembered it all, but none of it seemed as strange as this moment. Looking down at himself, at what the friendly (if somewhat bewildered) villagers had provided to replace their sodden BDUs. No doubt the leavings of a former exploratory group, the aliens had simply been glad they had something to provide for such tall visitors, stylistic differences really hadn’t been a consideration.
“Er…” he began eloquently, taking a step forward. And stopped. He really wasn’t sure what the appropriate comment was when the base military leader appeared in front of the troops in a dress. Especially when he was the aforementioned military leader.
Also, the one step he’d taken since the pheromone released him made him even more aware of what he was wearing. He could feel the hairs on his legs rubbing together, and that was just wrong. There was supposed to be at least two layers of fabric there, muting the sensation. And that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that his…bits…were a tad more unsupported than he was generally comfortable with.
He wondered how Rodney was coping with it, and was on the verge of turning to look when the very thought derailed him. He’d seen Rodney without pants on, of course. They had all seen each other in various states of undress at one time or another, and by this time John was probably almost more familiar with his teammate’s bodies than he was with his own.
Rodney’s legs, he knew, were much less hairier than his own. They would feel less scratchy, rubbing up against each other. And up higher, his thighs were almost completely hairless. There, all he would feel was skin. Skin that slid against more skin, maybe slick with sweat, it was warm in the gate room.
When John realised that he was frozen in place, thinking about Rodney’s thighs, he also realised he was in trouble. He glanced over at Carter, who was starting to look concerned.
“Er…” he tried again. “I…think I’ll go and get changed.” And he fled the gate room, not stopping until he was safely inside his quarters.
Once there, he collapsed into his chair. He was breathing hard, and it had little to do with the land speed record he’d broken on his way. He groaned softly and dropped his head into his hands. Of all the times to have an inappropriate reaction to a teammate, in front of his subordinates and dressed in drag was probably one of the worst.
He didn’t lift his head when he heard the door swish open. He knew it would be Rodney. Anyone else would have knocked. For that matter Rodney usually knocked, but it was just typical that the one time John really wanted to tell him to go away, he wasn’t given the option. So he just sat there, and waited for Rodney to say his piece.
For once though, Rodney wasn’t talking. John heard him move over to the bed and sit down, and that was it. Nothing but unnatural silence. It unnerved him enough to risk a glance over in Rodney’s direction.
Rodney was sitting on the bed as if he owned it, back against the wall, and legs spread enough that the top layer of the skirt he still wore lay flat on the bed between them. In that position, with each leg clearly defined, it should have looked as though he was wearing pants, but it didn’t. God, it didn’t. The skirt was draped, draped over him, highlighting every line and bulge, and John may have made an indistinct whimper as his eyes roamed over the display.
From somewhere above his line of sight, John heard a small sigh, as though Rodney had suddenly relaxed. He risked a glance upwards, and saw that Rodney had a small smile on his face.
“I thought it might be something like that.” Rodney said suddenly, startling John. “This is your first time in a skirt, isn’t it?”
John blinked, and tried to clear his head enough to respond in at least a vaguely coherent manner.
“You mean, it isn’t yours?” And that was a thought that was guaranteed to send his thought processes running amok again. He could picture it. Was picturing it, couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the sudden flow of images. Rodney in dresses, in skirts, in ohgod stockings and panties and heels!
John groaned again, and snatched his gaze away from Rodney’s, not wanting him to see what was no doubt written all over his face. It didn’t really help though. His eyes fell on his own legs, in his own skirt, and wow…you really couldn’t hide an erection when you were just wearing a single layer that flowed unrestrictedly over everything. He made himself focus on Rodney, who was talking again.
“Not often.” Rodney was saying. “And not recently. More back when I was in college. I was almost good looking then, if you believe it. It was just something I did sometimes. But I remember the first time. I’ll never forget the first time.”
Rodney settled himself further into the bed, spreading his legs a little more, until John was in no doubt that he wasn’t the only one who was hard. There was no sign of it in Rodney’s voice though, or in his calm expression as he held out a hand. It didn’t occur to John to question why Rodney was reaching out to him, or why taking the proffered hand seemed not only right, but natural. He just did it, letting Rodney pull him forward until he was kneeling on the bed by Rodney’s side.
“I’d seen men dressed as women before, of course, and never really given it a second thought.” Rodney continued. “I’ll bet you have too. But the first time I put on a skirt myself…that was when I got it, really got it. I knew how it felt to have fabric whispering around me, clinging and releasing, like fingers brushing against me in a rhythm I couldn’t anticipate. But what really got me was the nakedness. It was the first time that the phrase ‘naked under the clothes’ made sense.”
John was staring at Rodney now, staring at his face this time, staring at the mouth that was casually spilling forth everything that was jumbled up in John’s head. He’d known Rodney was a genius, but this was a new trick.
“And the amazing thing was that the next time I saw a guy dressed like a woman, I knew! I knew what he felt, like I was feeling it too, like a sense memory that wasn’t even mine, like I’d shared an intimate moment with this person I might not even have met.”
John made a small, broken sound, and reached for Rodney’s ankle. He laid his hand down, right on the edge of the skirt, on the strip of skin that showed between the hem and Rodney’s boot. One finger moved slowly against the edge of the fabric, as though it didn’t quite dare to venture beneath it.
“I…know.” John ground out, the effort of articulating making him feel light headed, as though he were on the verge of passing out. “I…feel it. And you…and I…and…”
Rodney reached out and cupped a hand to the side of John’s face, urging him closer. Then Rodney’s lips were on his lips, and Rodney’s breath mingled with his breath, and everything was warm and safe and the panicked feeling disappeared as though it had never been there.
John’s grip tightened on Rodney’s ankle as he surged up into the kiss. Kissing wasn’t about skirts versus pants, or men versus women, or exposed versus concealed. Kissing was about lips and tongues and want and lust and need. Kissing was easy. And this was Rodney, which should have made it hard, but somehow made it easier still because he may never have kissed Rodney before, but he’d always known how to push his buttons.
Rodney moaned softly into John’s mouth, and shifted slightly under John’s hands, and the movement made the fabric ripple against John’s fingers, making him shudder. Slowly, daringly, John began to slide his hand up Rodney’s leg, up under the skirt. The further up his arm disappeared, the harder it got to breathe, but he didn’t let up his assault on Rodney’s mouth until his hand came to rest on Rodney’s hip.
Then John pulled away, smirking a little at Rodney’s protesting whimper. He was harder than he could ever remember being, and full of awe that he was allowed to do this, have this, but he wasn’t afraid anymore, and to prove it he used his other hand to push up the skirt, watching as it revealed his hand, the hip and Rodney’s hard, leaking cock.
John made a pleased murmur, and sat and looked at it for a moment. Rodney’s cock was a thing of beauty, thick and purplish-red. Rising as it was, from the skirt that John had arranged around it, should have softened it, feminised it, but instead it only heightened the sheer masculinity of it, the maleness of Rodney.
John leaned over and pressed a kiss to the base of Rodney’s cock, smirking a little as Rodney jerked his hips involuntarily, proving that he wasn’t nearly as calm as he was pretending to be. He licked up the underside, slowly and gently, lapping like a kitten after cream, and was rewarded with a wrecked groan from above him, and trembling thighs below him.
“John…God, John…” Rodney was panting now, and John knew without looking that his face would be rosy. “I can’t…I mean, it’s been a while…and if you keep doing that I’m not going to last.”
John didn’t care. He wanted to feel Rodney come apart beneath him, like he’d been coming apart all night. He’d been on the knife-edge since Rodney had walked into his quarters, and he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to come either. He closed his mouth over the tip of Rodney’s cock and sucked gently, trying to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to last, that John had him. Rodney seemed to get the idea, because he groaned again and thrust up into John’s mouth, not protesting anymore.
John sucked harder, fluttering his tongue around the head. He felt Rodney’s thighs tense, and then suddenly a hand was around his own cock, wrapping the skirt around it and dragging the soft fabric up and down. It was John’s turn to groan now, and although the vibration set Rodney off first, he literally pulled John along with him, and they collapsed together in a panting, satisfied heap.
John was the first to recover, and he shifted around on the bed until he was lying properly next to Rodney.
“You realise we need to keep the skirts now.” he said. “We can’t really give them back after we…messed them up.”
Rodney grinned at him.
“I’ll wash them. But we’re not giving them back.”
“You like them that much, huh?”
“Oh, like you don’t. But that’s not the point.”
“Oh?”
“Next time we get back to Earth…we’re wearing them out somewhere.”
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17
Kink Prompt: Crossdressing
Skirting The Issue
The people of M47-362 were alien. True alien, not just transplanted human, separated from the Earth people by over ten thousand years of genetic drift. They averaged about a foot in height, and were all green. Not uniformly so, the shades ranging from pale lime to vivid grass by way of sea-foam blue-green spoke of racial or regional varieties, but green they all were in some way or another.
Rodney would never admit it to a living soul, but a small corner of his heart had leapt at the sight of these little men, and crowed that it knew leprechauns were real. It was the same part that used to look up at the stars and revel in their mysterious twinkling, but had long since been eclipsed by the part that understood why they twinkled and gloried in them all the more for the knowledge.
The height and colour were obvious. What wasn’t so immediately apparent was the effect that these people had on human physiology. In hindsight, perhaps it should have been evident that something was off, that they weren’t exactly behaving normally, but somehow nothing out of the ordinary registered until the gate closed behind them and John and Rodney were left staring at their new clothing.
Keller never did work out exactly what was in the pheromone that the green aliens excreted. It wasn’t as simple as an inhibition suppressor, although that was certainly one of the effects. It never seemed to work on anybody’s darker desires, they just felt free to make themselves happy. It was also combined with something that affected humans in much the same way as a really good acid trip, as Parrish found out when he later went eagerly to investigate what Rodney thought was really weird algae that swirled through the water in shimmering purples, reds and yellows. Securely fastened into a breathing mask, Parrish was heartbreakingly disappointed to discover that without the benefit of the pheromone, the water of the lake undulated cool and clear in the sunlight. Beautiful yes, but only water.
Ronon and Teyla managed to come back with their own clothes, although Teyla’s were in her hands rather than on her person. Unlike John and Rodney, they hadn’t been overcome with the delightful urge to plunge straight into the water, fully clothed, and frolic like puppies. Teyla had indeed ventured into the lake, but she had stripped first, feeling that she could only become one with the colours if she meditated in the water with no barriers separating her from it.
Ronon didn’t even seem to see the water. The moment he stepped through the gate he sat down in a sunny patch of grass nearby. He tipped his face up to the sun and stayed there, still and calm in a way he never had been on Atlantis.
John remembered it all, but none of it seemed as strange as this moment. Looking down at himself, at what the friendly (if somewhat bewildered) villagers had provided to replace their sodden BDUs. No doubt the leavings of a former exploratory group, the aliens had simply been glad they had something to provide for such tall visitors, stylistic differences really hadn’t been a consideration.
“Er…” he began eloquently, taking a step forward. And stopped. He really wasn’t sure what the appropriate comment was when the base military leader appeared in front of the troops in a dress. Especially when he was the aforementioned military leader.
Also, the one step he’d taken since the pheromone released him made him even more aware of what he was wearing. He could feel the hairs on his legs rubbing together, and that was just wrong. There was supposed to be at least two layers of fabric there, muting the sensation. And that wasn’t even taking into account the fact that his…bits…were a tad more unsupported than he was generally comfortable with.
He wondered how Rodney was coping with it, and was on the verge of turning to look when the very thought derailed him. He’d seen Rodney without pants on, of course. They had all seen each other in various states of undress at one time or another, and by this time John was probably almost more familiar with his teammate’s bodies than he was with his own.
Rodney’s legs, he knew, were much less hairier than his own. They would feel less scratchy, rubbing up against each other. And up higher, his thighs were almost completely hairless. There, all he would feel was skin. Skin that slid against more skin, maybe slick with sweat, it was warm in the gate room.
When John realised that he was frozen in place, thinking about Rodney’s thighs, he also realised he was in trouble. He glanced over at Carter, who was starting to look concerned.
“Er…” he tried again. “I…think I’ll go and get changed.” And he fled the gate room, not stopping until he was safely inside his quarters.
Once there, he collapsed into his chair. He was breathing hard, and it had little to do with the land speed record he’d broken on his way. He groaned softly and dropped his head into his hands. Of all the times to have an inappropriate reaction to a teammate, in front of his subordinates and dressed in drag was probably one of the worst.
He didn’t lift his head when he heard the door swish open. He knew it would be Rodney. Anyone else would have knocked. For that matter Rodney usually knocked, but it was just typical that the one time John really wanted to tell him to go away, he wasn’t given the option. So he just sat there, and waited for Rodney to say his piece.
For once though, Rodney wasn’t talking. John heard him move over to the bed and sit down, and that was it. Nothing but unnatural silence. It unnerved him enough to risk a glance over in Rodney’s direction.
Rodney was sitting on the bed as if he owned it, back against the wall, and legs spread enough that the top layer of the skirt he still wore lay flat on the bed between them. In that position, with each leg clearly defined, it should have looked as though he was wearing pants, but it didn’t. God, it didn’t. The skirt was draped, draped over him, highlighting every line and bulge, and John may have made an indistinct whimper as his eyes roamed over the display.
From somewhere above his line of sight, John heard a small sigh, as though Rodney had suddenly relaxed. He risked a glance upwards, and saw that Rodney had a small smile on his face.
“I thought it might be something like that.” Rodney said suddenly, startling John. “This is your first time in a skirt, isn’t it?”
John blinked, and tried to clear his head enough to respond in at least a vaguely coherent manner.
“You mean, it isn’t yours?” And that was a thought that was guaranteed to send his thought processes running amok again. He could picture it. Was picturing it, couldn’t help himself, couldn’t stop the sudden flow of images. Rodney in dresses, in skirts, in ohgod stockings and panties and heels!
John groaned again, and snatched his gaze away from Rodney’s, not wanting him to see what was no doubt written all over his face. It didn’t really help though. His eyes fell on his own legs, in his own skirt, and wow…you really couldn’t hide an erection when you were just wearing a single layer that flowed unrestrictedly over everything. He made himself focus on Rodney, who was talking again.
“Not often.” Rodney was saying. “And not recently. More back when I was in college. I was almost good looking then, if you believe it. It was just something I did sometimes. But I remember the first time. I’ll never forget the first time.”
Rodney settled himself further into the bed, spreading his legs a little more, until John was in no doubt that he wasn’t the only one who was hard. There was no sign of it in Rodney’s voice though, or in his calm expression as he held out a hand. It didn’t occur to John to question why Rodney was reaching out to him, or why taking the proffered hand seemed not only right, but natural. He just did it, letting Rodney pull him forward until he was kneeling on the bed by Rodney’s side.
“I’d seen men dressed as women before, of course, and never really given it a second thought.” Rodney continued. “I’ll bet you have too. But the first time I put on a skirt myself…that was when I got it, really got it. I knew how it felt to have fabric whispering around me, clinging and releasing, like fingers brushing against me in a rhythm I couldn’t anticipate. But what really got me was the nakedness. It was the first time that the phrase ‘naked under the clothes’ made sense.”
John was staring at Rodney now, staring at his face this time, staring at the mouth that was casually spilling forth everything that was jumbled up in John’s head. He’d known Rodney was a genius, but this was a new trick.
“And the amazing thing was that the next time I saw a guy dressed like a woman, I knew! I knew what he felt, like I was feeling it too, like a sense memory that wasn’t even mine, like I’d shared an intimate moment with this person I might not even have met.”
John made a small, broken sound, and reached for Rodney’s ankle. He laid his hand down, right on the edge of the skirt, on the strip of skin that showed between the hem and Rodney’s boot. One finger moved slowly against the edge of the fabric, as though it didn’t quite dare to venture beneath it.
“I…know.” John ground out, the effort of articulating making him feel light headed, as though he were on the verge of passing out. “I…feel it. And you…and I…and…”
Rodney reached out and cupped a hand to the side of John’s face, urging him closer. Then Rodney’s lips were on his lips, and Rodney’s breath mingled with his breath, and everything was warm and safe and the panicked feeling disappeared as though it had never been there.
John’s grip tightened on Rodney’s ankle as he surged up into the kiss. Kissing wasn’t about skirts versus pants, or men versus women, or exposed versus concealed. Kissing was about lips and tongues and want and lust and need. Kissing was easy. And this was Rodney, which should have made it hard, but somehow made it easier still because he may never have kissed Rodney before, but he’d always known how to push his buttons.
Rodney moaned softly into John’s mouth, and shifted slightly under John’s hands, and the movement made the fabric ripple against John’s fingers, making him shudder. Slowly, daringly, John began to slide his hand up Rodney’s leg, up under the skirt. The further up his arm disappeared, the harder it got to breathe, but he didn’t let up his assault on Rodney’s mouth until his hand came to rest on Rodney’s hip.
Then John pulled away, smirking a little at Rodney’s protesting whimper. He was harder than he could ever remember being, and full of awe that he was allowed to do this, have this, but he wasn’t afraid anymore, and to prove it he used his other hand to push up the skirt, watching as it revealed his hand, the hip and Rodney’s hard, leaking cock.
John made a pleased murmur, and sat and looked at it for a moment. Rodney’s cock was a thing of beauty, thick and purplish-red. Rising as it was, from the skirt that John had arranged around it, should have softened it, feminised it, but instead it only heightened the sheer masculinity of it, the maleness of Rodney.
John leaned over and pressed a kiss to the base of Rodney’s cock, smirking a little as Rodney jerked his hips involuntarily, proving that he wasn’t nearly as calm as he was pretending to be. He licked up the underside, slowly and gently, lapping like a kitten after cream, and was rewarded with a wrecked groan from above him, and trembling thighs below him.
“John…God, John…” Rodney was panting now, and John knew without looking that his face would be rosy. “I can’t…I mean, it’s been a while…and if you keep doing that I’m not going to last.”
John didn’t care. He wanted to feel Rodney come apart beneath him, like he’d been coming apart all night. He’d been on the knife-edge since Rodney had walked into his quarters, and he knew it wouldn’t take much for him to come either. He closed his mouth over the tip of Rodney’s cock and sucked gently, trying to tell him that it was okay, that he didn’t have to last, that John had him. Rodney seemed to get the idea, because he groaned again and thrust up into John’s mouth, not protesting anymore.
John sucked harder, fluttering his tongue around the head. He felt Rodney’s thighs tense, and then suddenly a hand was around his own cock, wrapping the skirt around it and dragging the soft fabric up and down. It was John’s turn to groan now, and although the vibration set Rodney off first, he literally pulled John along with him, and they collapsed together in a panting, satisfied heap.
John was the first to recover, and he shifted around on the bed until he was lying properly next to Rodney.
“You realise we need to keep the skirts now.” he said. “We can’t really give them back after we…messed them up.”
Rodney grinned at him.
“I’ll wash them. But we’re not giving them back.”
“You like them that much, huh?”
“Oh, like you don’t. But that’s not the point.”
“Oh?”
“Next time we get back to Earth…we’re wearing them out somewhere.”