Fic: The Red Shoes, John/Rodney. Explicit.
Title: The Red Shoes
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1410
Summary: The latest mail drop brings something both John and Rodney needed.
Notes: Crossdressing, shoe kink.
Additional Note: Written for this prompt on comment_fic.
The Red Shoes
They arrived on the Daedalus on Friday morning, a plain brown paper wrapped package filled with shiny red perfection.
John had to stop himself from grabbing the package out of Quartermaster Reilly's hands and hieing off to his quarters while petting it like fucking Gollum, instead signing off that he'd picked up his mail before heading home with the box carefully cradled in his arms.
It was late when Rodney trudged back to crew quarters, tired and hungry and grouchy (some would say as per usual). He glanced around to ensure that Lorne wasn't watching him-the man had taken to teasing Rodney every time he saw him head to John's room which was weird in more than a few ways-then swiped the lock, sliding inside to find himself alone.
He started to grumble to himself as he pulled off his shoes, only to realize that he was alone because John was in the bathroom.
And there was music playing.
And John was singing.
Oh, this would be good. Way better than the boring old couple sex he'd thought they'd be having tonight. (Hey, a few well placed words, a joke, and they'd be laughing through blowjobs before falling asleep together. A total upgrade from their usual tab-a-slot-b bedtime sex.)
He popped the door to the bathroom and...
“Uh.”
John, for his part, gave Rodney an amused smirk and continued singing.
Rodney made a few throaty noises, stumbled over the start of words before abandoning them, and then snapped his mouth closed. His eyes remained resolutely on John's body, trailing over the arch of his back, the curve of his bare ass, the shine of the patent leather where it met John's thigh.
Holy fuck.
It had been something mentioned only in the confines of their darkened bedroom, John blushing from head to toe as Rodney pulled the secret out of him. A need, something old and wistful, that he'd never been able to give into, not on bases with their deep-seeded machismo and the rampant homophobia; Rodney had stroked his back and murmured that he could now, if he wanted.
Seriously, Rodney didn't care how John dressed-BDUs or a sheer sundress, combat boots or heeled ones-and he'd kissed it into John's skin over and over until, apparently, he'd listened.
He swallowed and forced himself to look at the shower, the ceiling, the door jamb, to regain the power of speech and say, “I want to fuck you in them,” somehow getting it out in a steady, non-squeaky voice.
The singing stopped.
“Please.”
“And after I fuck you in them, I want you to show me where you got them from so I can buy you a pair in black.”
John's eyes dilated, cock starting to fill. “Really?”
Rodney nodded dumbly, reaching out to slide a cool finger down John's chest and back to a nipple. “And proper heels. Nice ones you could wear with a...”
The word was drowned into a kiss, John whimpering and whining into it even though he'd been the one to start it. He pulled back with a nip to Rodney's lower lip and a murmured, “I want stockings.”
Rodney nodded, whispering, “Yes, God, yes.”
If it made John happy, he'd buy him a pair in every color of the rainbow.
He licked his lips and stepped back. Rodney refused to turn, to look away, and he nearly landed on his ass when he caught the edge of the nightstand with his heel; he sat on the edge of the bed with his eyes still on John, unzipping his trousers to relieve some of the pressure on his cock.
“Walk,” he growled.
The damned smirk was back.
“What's the magic word, Rodney?”
“I want to see your ass in those heels? You have to come to bed so I can fuck you in them?”
“No, but close enough.”
Shit.
Rodney could never let anyone see John in those boots: clothing or not, there was no way he was ever letting anyone else see what they did for John's gorgeous ass. God, was it possible for something to become more perfect? What word surpassed pert?
“I might wax poetic about your ass at some point tonight.”
John's response was to shimmy his hips.
Listen, Rodney a fair amount of self-control (a remarkable, almost admirable amount of self-control, in his opinion), but when John Sheppard, dressed in nothing but shiny red leather heeled boots, moved liked that, well, no one could blame him for not holding on to it.
He had John under him with a strong pull and a roll, the crotch of his trousers rubbing against John's dick as they rocked and moved and kissed. His hands slid along John's arms, wrapping around his wrists until John groaned and pushed into the hold, murmuring, “Yes,” in a long drawn out hiss.
“I want you like this,” Rodney breathed, “I want you on your back with your legs around me when I'm in you.”
Nodding vigorously, John spread his legs. “I already... I had time before you got home, so I...”
Rodney hadn't come in his pants since he was sixteen, but the thought of John opening himself up in the damn boots almost had him doing it right then. His voice was strained as he spoke, telling his lover, “Next time, I want to watch.”
It took effort to release John's wrists. If he could have, he'd have simply worked his cock through the hole in his boxers, but he wanted and needed the feel of the boots on his skin. He was desperate to know what the felt like when John squeezed his thighs together, when he dug his heels into Rodney's ass, and Rodney stripped off his shirt with that thought in his mind.
“I'm going to fuck you hard.”
John didn't say anything, instead helping to push the last of Rodney's clothing off and slinging his legs up around Rodney's back once the boxers and pants were gone. He yanked Rodney to him, fit his wrists into those big hands, and groaned and yeah, that spurred Rodney to move, one hand sliding down to steady his cock as he pushed the tip into John's hole.
“Rodney.”
“So hard, John, you're going to feel me tomorrow,” he promised, “and then I'll fuck you all over again.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And it was hard, thrusts that jerked John on the sheets and pushed him into Rodney's grip. He grunted, twitched, cried out when Rodney managed to find that spot inside that made his eyes cross and his back arch, and he was only vaguely aware when Rodney asked him to move his foot.
“What?”
“Not the heel, the leather... the shoe.”
It slid into the crack of Rodney's ass. He shifted, widening his stance and John threw his head back when Rodney slammed forward at the same time the boot brushed over the rim of his asshole. John stroked his foot back and forth after that, stilted yet effective, as Rodney's rhythm began to falter and he grabbed for John's cock with a shaking hand.
John came first, that much he was sure of when the world came crashing back in. He could feel Rodney still inside him, but he wasn't hard and he wasn't moving and when John finally got his eyes to focus, he could see Rodney panting above him. His elbows were locked and his back was tight.
“I am definitely going to feel that tomorrow,” John got out, pulling his arms free of Rodney and dragging his partner down onto his chest.
Unsurprisingly, Rodney wasn't able to make his mouth work for a good while after.
Unsurprisingly, John gloated about that for the rest of the night.
Rodney hadn't waxed poetic about John's ass that night, though he'd certainly given it plenty of mental praise, but when the Daedalus returned with their next mail shipment, it brought with it a pair of black heeled ankle boots, nude stockings, and a little black dress.
And yeah, Rodney had given John a rimjob simply so he'd never pay attention to the sappy admiration Rodney was biting into the cheeks.
(John had heard it all.
He bought red lipstick in time to make the shipment cut off and he blew Rodney until it was smeared around his mouth and Rodney's cock; John murmured, “Thank you,” over and over into Rodney's thigh afterwards, the fingers of one hand clenched around Rodney's ankle.)
Also available on AO3.
Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 1410
Summary: The latest mail drop brings something both John and Rodney needed.
Notes: Crossdressing, shoe kink.
Additional Note: Written for this prompt on comment_fic.
The Red Shoes
They arrived on the Daedalus on Friday morning, a plain brown paper wrapped package filled with shiny red perfection.
John had to stop himself from grabbing the package out of Quartermaster Reilly's hands and hieing off to his quarters while petting it like fucking Gollum, instead signing off that he'd picked up his mail before heading home with the box carefully cradled in his arms.
It was late when Rodney trudged back to crew quarters, tired and hungry and grouchy (some would say as per usual). He glanced around to ensure that Lorne wasn't watching him-the man had taken to teasing Rodney every time he saw him head to John's room which was weird in more than a few ways-then swiped the lock, sliding inside to find himself alone.
He started to grumble to himself as he pulled off his shoes, only to realize that he was alone because John was in the bathroom.
And there was music playing.
And John was singing.
Oh, this would be good. Way better than the boring old couple sex he'd thought they'd be having tonight. (Hey, a few well placed words, a joke, and they'd be laughing through blowjobs before falling asleep together. A total upgrade from their usual tab-a-slot-b bedtime sex.)
He popped the door to the bathroom and...
“Uh.”
John, for his part, gave Rodney an amused smirk and continued singing.
Rodney made a few throaty noises, stumbled over the start of words before abandoning them, and then snapped his mouth closed. His eyes remained resolutely on John's body, trailing over the arch of his back, the curve of his bare ass, the shine of the patent leather where it met John's thigh.
Holy fuck.
It had been something mentioned only in the confines of their darkened bedroom, John blushing from head to toe as Rodney pulled the secret out of him. A need, something old and wistful, that he'd never been able to give into, not on bases with their deep-seeded machismo and the rampant homophobia; Rodney had stroked his back and murmured that he could now, if he wanted.
Seriously, Rodney didn't care how John dressed-BDUs or a sheer sundress, combat boots or heeled ones-and he'd kissed it into John's skin over and over until, apparently, he'd listened.
He swallowed and forced himself to look at the shower, the ceiling, the door jamb, to regain the power of speech and say, “I want to fuck you in them,” somehow getting it out in a steady, non-squeaky voice.
The singing stopped.
“Please.”
“And after I fuck you in them, I want you to show me where you got them from so I can buy you a pair in black.”
John's eyes dilated, cock starting to fill. “Really?”
Rodney nodded dumbly, reaching out to slide a cool finger down John's chest and back to a nipple. “And proper heels. Nice ones you could wear with a...”
The word was drowned into a kiss, John whimpering and whining into it even though he'd been the one to start it. He pulled back with a nip to Rodney's lower lip and a murmured, “I want stockings.”
Rodney nodded, whispering, “Yes, God, yes.”
If it made John happy, he'd buy him a pair in every color of the rainbow.
He licked his lips and stepped back. Rodney refused to turn, to look away, and he nearly landed on his ass when he caught the edge of the nightstand with his heel; he sat on the edge of the bed with his eyes still on John, unzipping his trousers to relieve some of the pressure on his cock.
“Walk,” he growled.
The damned smirk was back.
“What's the magic word, Rodney?”
“I want to see your ass in those heels? You have to come to bed so I can fuck you in them?”
“No, but close enough.”
Shit.
Rodney could never let anyone see John in those boots: clothing or not, there was no way he was ever letting anyone else see what they did for John's gorgeous ass. God, was it possible for something to become more perfect? What word surpassed pert?
“I might wax poetic about your ass at some point tonight.”
John's response was to shimmy his hips.
Listen, Rodney a fair amount of self-control (a remarkable, almost admirable amount of self-control, in his opinion), but when John Sheppard, dressed in nothing but shiny red leather heeled boots, moved liked that, well, no one could blame him for not holding on to it.
He had John under him with a strong pull and a roll, the crotch of his trousers rubbing against John's dick as they rocked and moved and kissed. His hands slid along John's arms, wrapping around his wrists until John groaned and pushed into the hold, murmuring, “Yes,” in a long drawn out hiss.
“I want you like this,” Rodney breathed, “I want you on your back with your legs around me when I'm in you.”
Nodding vigorously, John spread his legs. “I already... I had time before you got home, so I...”
Rodney hadn't come in his pants since he was sixteen, but the thought of John opening himself up in the damn boots almost had him doing it right then. His voice was strained as he spoke, telling his lover, “Next time, I want to watch.”
It took effort to release John's wrists. If he could have, he'd have simply worked his cock through the hole in his boxers, but he wanted and needed the feel of the boots on his skin. He was desperate to know what the felt like when John squeezed his thighs together, when he dug his heels into Rodney's ass, and Rodney stripped off his shirt with that thought in his mind.
“I'm going to fuck you hard.”
John didn't say anything, instead helping to push the last of Rodney's clothing off and slinging his legs up around Rodney's back once the boxers and pants were gone. He yanked Rodney to him, fit his wrists into those big hands, and groaned and yeah, that spurred Rodney to move, one hand sliding down to steady his cock as he pushed the tip into John's hole.
“Rodney.”
“So hard, John, you're going to feel me tomorrow,” he promised, “and then I'll fuck you all over again.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
And it was hard, thrusts that jerked John on the sheets and pushed him into Rodney's grip. He grunted, twitched, cried out when Rodney managed to find that spot inside that made his eyes cross and his back arch, and he was only vaguely aware when Rodney asked him to move his foot.
“What?”
“Not the heel, the leather... the shoe.”
It slid into the crack of Rodney's ass. He shifted, widening his stance and John threw his head back when Rodney slammed forward at the same time the boot brushed over the rim of his asshole. John stroked his foot back and forth after that, stilted yet effective, as Rodney's rhythm began to falter and he grabbed for John's cock with a shaking hand.
John came first, that much he was sure of when the world came crashing back in. He could feel Rodney still inside him, but he wasn't hard and he wasn't moving and when John finally got his eyes to focus, he could see Rodney panting above him. His elbows were locked and his back was tight.
“I am definitely going to feel that tomorrow,” John got out, pulling his arms free of Rodney and dragging his partner down onto his chest.
Unsurprisingly, Rodney wasn't able to make his mouth work for a good while after.
Unsurprisingly, John gloated about that for the rest of the night.
Rodney hadn't waxed poetic about John's ass that night, though he'd certainly given it plenty of mental praise, but when the Daedalus returned with their next mail shipment, it brought with it a pair of black heeled ankle boots, nude stockings, and a little black dress.
And yeah, Rodney had given John a rimjob simply so he'd never pay attention to the sappy admiration Rodney was biting into the cheeks.
(John had heard it all.
He bought red lipstick in time to make the shipment cut off and he blew Rodney until it was smeared around his mouth and Rodney's cock; John murmured, “Thank you,” over and over into Rodney's thigh afterwards, the fingers of one hand clenched around Rodney's ankle.)
Also available on AO3.