Fic for Madelyn (1 of 2): Focus
Madelyn--
I want to be you when I grow up. You make fandom both welcoming and engaging, and you do it in a way that seems effortless, even though I know it is not. We are so very, very lucky to have you.
I wish I could give you something even approaching the same level of cheer and gratification, but I can’t. So instead, here is the next best thing? some porn. ;-)
However, since I already owe you comment fic from December, you deserve double the pornographic payout! And so you shall receive! Here is the first instalment:
Title: Focus
Rating: NC-17
Paring: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~1600 words
A/N: Thanks to megolas, randomeliza, and stop for their help and encouragement.
You asked for: Sex in the control chair!
Focus
“Focus.”
John opened one eye and snuck a glance at Rodney’s hunched form. “I am focusing.”
“No, you’re not.”
John shifted in the control chair, trying to suppress a grin. “Well, I was until you started harping at me.”
“No, you weren’t,” Rodney said. “Look!” He waved his datapad under John’s nose. “Do you see this? This is your brain.”
John looked at the scattered spurts of light, bright red against the pale blue screen. “I swear,” he said, “I only tried pot once.”
Rodney just looked at him. “Okay,” John amended. “A couple of times.”
Rodney smirked. “As important as that PSA may be,” he said, “your youthful indiscretions are actually not the point. The point is that I can tell when you’re not concentrating. Do you see these little bursts of color? Those are your thought patterns. They’re scattered like, like...”
“Bowling pins?” John suggested. “Birdseed? Bridesmaids?”
“What?” said Rodney. “No! And for the last time, would you keep your similes to yourself?”
John sighed. His unique way with words would forever be underappreciated.
“Anyway,” Rodney said. “In order for this to work, all these diffuse bursts of thought need to coalesce. The strength and focus of your thoughts is directly proportional to the strength and focus of the beam, understand?”
John pretended to think about this, just to make Rodney sweat a little. He looked hot when he got all worked up.
John didn’t want to take it too far and cause an aneurysm, however. “Strong, concentrated focus will create a strong, concentrated beam of energy that can defend us against the Wraith,” he said. His mouth twitched. “Like the weapon on the Death Star.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Right, except that at this point it’s only a simulation. And also,” he added, with dignity, “we will be using our powers for good instead of for evil.”
“Of course,” said John.
“Of course.”
He focused.
“Nope,” Rodney said. “You’re still all over the place. What are you thinking about?”
“I’m picturing the Wraith hive ships blowing up,” John said. He was. He could see the moment of impact, the sudden burst of flame and then the explosion building, growing, until there was nothing but floating debris and ash raining into the ocean.
“Hmm,” said Rodney. “I don’t think that’s...narrow enough? Try to focus on the beam itself.”
“What color is it?”
Rodney’s datapad thunked against his knee. “Who cares what color it is?”
“I do.” John really wasn’t trying to be difficult. Mostly. “It’ll help me picture it.”
“Fine,” Rodney said, waving his hand. “It’s whatever color you want it to be.” John’s eyes remained open, searching. “It’s blue.”
“Okay,” John said. Rodney’s eyes were blue. He could concentrate on blue.
He saw: the energy beam, blue and humming and strong, shooting out from the city, their defence, their salvation...
“And no,” Rodney said. He glanced up at John through his eyelashes, as if he were trying to figure out whether John had fully finished evolving or not. “You do get that your focus has to be like the beam, pure and unfettered and concentrated on just one thing? Right?”
“Yes!” John said, exasperated. “And I am. I’m thinking about the beam! I’m thinking about the weapon! This is as undistracted and as focused as I can get!”
Rodney, to his surprise, chuckled. “Except for-” His eyes went wide. “Whoa. Idea. Really crazy idea.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Crazy...but brilliant?”
Rodney snorted. “Well, of course brilliant,” he said, “this is me we’re talking about.”
Then he said, “Unzip your pants.”
John had never been much good at following orders, but something must have sunk in because his hands moved without conscious thought. Then he blinked, staring down at his open fly. “Wait,” he said. “What am I- We can’t-”
Rodney gripped his thighs. “The door’s locked and this is for the good of the city. Who could possibly object to that?”
“Um,” said John. He could think of a lot of people. “Rodney...”
“Yes?” Rodney said, spreading John’s legs, straddling them and the base of the chair. “You have a better idea? Another way to ensure that there’s only one thought in your head: the urgency and the suction and the heat of my mouth on you, as focused on giving you pleasure as you are on receiving it?”
John made a high-pitched, squeaky sound that Rodney took, correctly, to mean “No.”
“Remember,” Rodney said, freeing John’s cock, “your mind has only one object.” John had never heard a more convincing case for thinking with one’s dick.
John’s head thudded back against the chair as Rodney, without further preamble, took him into his mouth, his wide, clever mouth, sucking him down with all the focus and attention of Einstein working out the general theory of relativity. Rodney was always so diligent about his work. John sank into the pull of Rodney’s lips, the warm, wet heat of it, and really, it was all too easy to think of nothing else besides Rodney’s mouth, working on him, and Rodney’s hands, gripping his thighs, and Rodney’s own thighs, squeezed tight like a band around John’s legs where they extended down the length of the footrest.
John’s fingers scrambled for purchase on the sides of the chair. The pads at the end of each armrest were slightly spongy, radiating heat up through his palms. It was probably his imagination, but John thought he felt the chair shudder beneath him, moving, stretching out. “Rodney...” he said, freeing a hand with effort, reaching for Rodney’s heat, for the feathery-sharp brush of Rodney’s hair under his fingertips. “Shh,” Rodney said, Rodney hummed, and John felt the vibrations ripple through his entire body. Right. He had to...had to focus.
Focus.
Rodney’s mouth. Rodney’s sweet, dirty mouth. The first time, how it had been such a relief to sink into him, and Rodney down on his knees taking him in, fingers digging into his hips, his ass, slick sweeping movements of his tongue, wanting him, wanting this.
Now Rodney’s back was bent, his shoulders hunched, and it shouldn’t have meant so much that Rodney was willing to risk permanent spinal damage for him, but it did, it did, and he felt the undulations of Rodney’s lips, and he felt the murmur and hum of all the chair’s circuitry, and he felt the entire city coming alive beneath them, around them, because of them.
Rodney’s eyes went wide-Rodney’s eyes very plainly spoke the “oh, fuck” that Rodney himself could not because his mouth was otherwise occupied. But Rodney did not jerk and pull away-Rodney was a professional, he had standards. He saw the experiment through to the end, arching up into the pressure of John’s hand on his scalp as John’s feet kicked out against the footrest, as the chair moaned and sang beneath them and he came, hot and focused, into Rodney’s mouth.
Then, then: “Oh, fuck,” Rodney said, licking come off his lips, scrambling for his datapad. He took one look and then it was beating a rough tattoo against his thigh, next to his prominent erection. “Out, out of the chair, Colonel, out now,” he said, then turned away, thumbing on his radio. “Radek! What was that?”
“I have been wanting to ask you the same question, only your radio was off,” Zelenka said, perfectly calm, and yet still managing to instill each word with a wealth of deep disapproval.
“Yes, well,” Rodney waved his hands, “the Colonel and I were running stimulations, important stimulations, and we didn’t want to be disturbed.”
There was a pause. Then, “Stimulations?” Zelenka said.
For a second, Rodney turned to John, his eyes filled with panic. But then he took a breath, his own focus returning. “Simulations, Radek! Sim-u-lations. Is your radio broken, or just your mind?”
John would have wagered a hundred bucks that Zelenka was rolling his eyes. “Well, whatever you wish to call them,” he said, “they still cause major power spike across the city. Perhaps you ought to rethink-”
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said, turning his glare on John. “They were supposed to be on a closed circuit until somebody blew the whole thing wide open!”
John took a step forward and rubbed his thumb across the corner of Rodney’s lips, removing some lingering evidence of their recent activities. Rodney traced the movement with wide eyes. “I don’t think I was the one doing the blowing,” John mouthed. His hand swept across Rodney’s chest and down his sides. Yes, Rodney had been so focused on his task that his own interests had been sorely neglected.
“Uh,” Rodney said, “gotta go, Radek. Something’s, um, come up.”
He switched off the radio again. “This is totally irresponsible,” he said, allowing John to back him up against the wall. “I mean, not only did we fail to improve the effectiveness of the weapon, but your, your excitement apparently turned the city on to the point where it, um, overloaded...”
John snickered and undid Rodney’s pants.
“So basically, what I’m trying to say here,” Rodney said, as John’s mouth continued its slow progression down his neck, “is that, what with the Ancient technology suddenly developing a libido and the verbal slips and almost outing us to Radek, possibly my brain is a little scattered right now, and possibly, jus-oh, yes, don’t sto-possibly the whole ‘sex in the control chair’ thing wasn’t my most brilliant idea ever.”
“I don’t know, Rodney,” John said, the crux of his argument firmly in hand, “I’d learn to focus on the bright side, if I were you.”
Much to John’s-and the city’s-satisfaction, Rodney proved willing to experiment with that, too.
I want to be you when I grow up. You make fandom both welcoming and engaging, and you do it in a way that seems effortless, even though I know it is not. We are so very, very lucky to have you.
I wish I could give you something even approaching the same level of cheer and gratification, but I can’t. So instead, here is the next best thing? some porn. ;-)
However, since I already owe you comment fic from December, you deserve double the pornographic payout! And so you shall receive! Here is the first instalment:
Title: Focus
Rating: NC-17
Paring: McKay/Sheppard
Length: ~1600 words
A/N: Thanks to megolas, randomeliza, and stop for their help and encouragement.
You asked for: Sex in the control chair!
Focus
“Focus.”
John opened one eye and snuck a glance at Rodney’s hunched form. “I am focusing.”
“No, you’re not.”
John shifted in the control chair, trying to suppress a grin. “Well, I was until you started harping at me.”
“No, you weren’t,” Rodney said. “Look!” He waved his datapad under John’s nose. “Do you see this? This is your brain.”
John looked at the scattered spurts of light, bright red against the pale blue screen. “I swear,” he said, “I only tried pot once.”
Rodney just looked at him. “Okay,” John amended. “A couple of times.”
Rodney smirked. “As important as that PSA may be,” he said, “your youthful indiscretions are actually not the point. The point is that I can tell when you’re not concentrating. Do you see these little bursts of color? Those are your thought patterns. They’re scattered like, like...”
“Bowling pins?” John suggested. “Birdseed? Bridesmaids?”
“What?” said Rodney. “No! And for the last time, would you keep your similes to yourself?”
John sighed. His unique way with words would forever be underappreciated.
“Anyway,” Rodney said. “In order for this to work, all these diffuse bursts of thought need to coalesce. The strength and focus of your thoughts is directly proportional to the strength and focus of the beam, understand?”
John pretended to think about this, just to make Rodney sweat a little. He looked hot when he got all worked up.
John didn’t want to take it too far and cause an aneurysm, however. “Strong, concentrated focus will create a strong, concentrated beam of energy that can defend us against the Wraith,” he said. His mouth twitched. “Like the weapon on the Death Star.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Right, except that at this point it’s only a simulation. And also,” he added, with dignity, “we will be using our powers for good instead of for evil.”
“Of course,” said John.
“Of course.”
He focused.
“Nope,” Rodney said. “You’re still all over the place. What are you thinking about?”
“I’m picturing the Wraith hive ships blowing up,” John said. He was. He could see the moment of impact, the sudden burst of flame and then the explosion building, growing, until there was nothing but floating debris and ash raining into the ocean.
“Hmm,” said Rodney. “I don’t think that’s...narrow enough? Try to focus on the beam itself.”
“What color is it?”
Rodney’s datapad thunked against his knee. “Who cares what color it is?”
“I do.” John really wasn’t trying to be difficult. Mostly. “It’ll help me picture it.”
“Fine,” Rodney said, waving his hand. “It’s whatever color you want it to be.” John’s eyes remained open, searching. “It’s blue.”
“Okay,” John said. Rodney’s eyes were blue. He could concentrate on blue.
He saw: the energy beam, blue and humming and strong, shooting out from the city, their defence, their salvation...
“And no,” Rodney said. He glanced up at John through his eyelashes, as if he were trying to figure out whether John had fully finished evolving or not. “You do get that your focus has to be like the beam, pure and unfettered and concentrated on just one thing? Right?”
“Yes!” John said, exasperated. “And I am. I’m thinking about the beam! I’m thinking about the weapon! This is as undistracted and as focused as I can get!”
Rodney, to his surprise, chuckled. “Except for-” His eyes went wide. “Whoa. Idea. Really crazy idea.”
John raised an eyebrow. “Crazy...but brilliant?”
Rodney snorted. “Well, of course brilliant,” he said, “this is me we’re talking about.”
Then he said, “Unzip your pants.”
John had never been much good at following orders, but something must have sunk in because his hands moved without conscious thought. Then he blinked, staring down at his open fly. “Wait,” he said. “What am I- We can’t-”
Rodney gripped his thighs. “The door’s locked and this is for the good of the city. Who could possibly object to that?”
“Um,” said John. He could think of a lot of people. “Rodney...”
“Yes?” Rodney said, spreading John’s legs, straddling them and the base of the chair. “You have a better idea? Another way to ensure that there’s only one thought in your head: the urgency and the suction and the heat of my mouth on you, as focused on giving you pleasure as you are on receiving it?”
John made a high-pitched, squeaky sound that Rodney took, correctly, to mean “No.”
“Remember,” Rodney said, freeing John’s cock, “your mind has only one object.” John had never heard a more convincing case for thinking with one’s dick.
John’s head thudded back against the chair as Rodney, without further preamble, took him into his mouth, his wide, clever mouth, sucking him down with all the focus and attention of Einstein working out the general theory of relativity. Rodney was always so diligent about his work. John sank into the pull of Rodney’s lips, the warm, wet heat of it, and really, it was all too easy to think of nothing else besides Rodney’s mouth, working on him, and Rodney’s hands, gripping his thighs, and Rodney’s own thighs, squeezed tight like a band around John’s legs where they extended down the length of the footrest.
John’s fingers scrambled for purchase on the sides of the chair. The pads at the end of each armrest were slightly spongy, radiating heat up through his palms. It was probably his imagination, but John thought he felt the chair shudder beneath him, moving, stretching out. “Rodney...” he said, freeing a hand with effort, reaching for Rodney’s heat, for the feathery-sharp brush of Rodney’s hair under his fingertips. “Shh,” Rodney said, Rodney hummed, and John felt the vibrations ripple through his entire body. Right. He had to...had to focus.
Focus.
Rodney’s mouth. Rodney’s sweet, dirty mouth. The first time, how it had been such a relief to sink into him, and Rodney down on his knees taking him in, fingers digging into his hips, his ass, slick sweeping movements of his tongue, wanting him, wanting this.
Now Rodney’s back was bent, his shoulders hunched, and it shouldn’t have meant so much that Rodney was willing to risk permanent spinal damage for him, but it did, it did, and he felt the undulations of Rodney’s lips, and he felt the murmur and hum of all the chair’s circuitry, and he felt the entire city coming alive beneath them, around them, because of them.
Rodney’s eyes went wide-Rodney’s eyes very plainly spoke the “oh, fuck” that Rodney himself could not because his mouth was otherwise occupied. But Rodney did not jerk and pull away-Rodney was a professional, he had standards. He saw the experiment through to the end, arching up into the pressure of John’s hand on his scalp as John’s feet kicked out against the footrest, as the chair moaned and sang beneath them and he came, hot and focused, into Rodney’s mouth.
Then, then: “Oh, fuck,” Rodney said, licking come off his lips, scrambling for his datapad. He took one look and then it was beating a rough tattoo against his thigh, next to his prominent erection. “Out, out of the chair, Colonel, out now,” he said, then turned away, thumbing on his radio. “Radek! What was that?”
“I have been wanting to ask you the same question, only your radio was off,” Zelenka said, perfectly calm, and yet still managing to instill each word with a wealth of deep disapproval.
“Yes, well,” Rodney waved his hands, “the Colonel and I were running stimulations, important stimulations, and we didn’t want to be disturbed.”
There was a pause. Then, “Stimulations?” Zelenka said.
For a second, Rodney turned to John, his eyes filled with panic. But then he took a breath, his own focus returning. “Simulations, Radek! Sim-u-lations. Is your radio broken, or just your mind?”
John would have wagered a hundred bucks that Zelenka was rolling his eyes. “Well, whatever you wish to call them,” he said, “they still cause major power spike across the city. Perhaps you ought to rethink-”
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said, turning his glare on John. “They were supposed to be on a closed circuit until somebody blew the whole thing wide open!”
John took a step forward and rubbed his thumb across the corner of Rodney’s lips, removing some lingering evidence of their recent activities. Rodney traced the movement with wide eyes. “I don’t think I was the one doing the blowing,” John mouthed. His hand swept across Rodney’s chest and down his sides. Yes, Rodney had been so focused on his task that his own interests had been sorely neglected.
“Uh,” Rodney said, “gotta go, Radek. Something’s, um, come up.”
He switched off the radio again. “This is totally irresponsible,” he said, allowing John to back him up against the wall. “I mean, not only did we fail to improve the effectiveness of the weapon, but your, your excitement apparently turned the city on to the point where it, um, overloaded...”
John snickered and undid Rodney’s pants.
“So basically, what I’m trying to say here,” Rodney said, as John’s mouth continued its slow progression down his neck, “is that, what with the Ancient technology suddenly developing a libido and the verbal slips and almost outing us to Radek, possibly my brain is a little scattered right now, and possibly, jus-oh, yes, don’t sto-possibly the whole ‘sex in the control chair’ thing wasn’t my most brilliant idea ever.”
“I don’t know, Rodney,” John said, the crux of his argument firmly in hand, “I’d learn to focus on the bright side, if I were you.”
Much to John’s-and the city’s-satisfaction, Rodney proved willing to experiment with that, too.