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sga_flashficTitle: Playing Tag
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
trinityofone
Rating: R
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: 619 words
Summary: Dog tag porn.
A/N: Written, edited, and given a lame title in exactly 38 minutes, which was even harder than I thought it would be. *sweats* Formegolas, who pointed out that it would be a really good idea for civilians to wear a certain type of identification, too. *eg*
Playing Tag
At first, John was convinced that his plan had backfired. It was a trading mission, the kind that dissolved into long, boring negotiations where Teyla did most of the talking; normally, John would be content to let his mind wander, fantasize about the flight home and dinner and other things he could get up to, later that night. But Rodney was fidgeting. It was hot in the chieftain’s tent, smoky from the brazier at the center, and Rodney sat on his wooden bench, collar and vest undone, fingers twitching all over the unfamiliar chain around his neck. He rubbed it, rotated it, let it rest, then picked it up again with new intensity. He tugged and he turned, pursing his lips as he worried the chain at the hollow of his throat. By the time they finally left the tent, John’s mouth was dry, and it wasn’t from the smoke.
It was the same thing, all throughout the debriefing. Only it was worse now, because Rodney was down to his t-shirt and John could see the outline of the chain against his chest, could pick out each and every link where they lay against his skin, where they moved between his restless fingers and his clever thumbs. Luckily, Teyla was required to do most of the talking here, too; when the meeting was over, John made his escape as quickly as he could, hurrying to his quarters and not looking back.
Rodney got there a few minutes later. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked the second he came through the door. “Your face has been red all day. Are you sick? If you’re sick, you should go see Carson. I don’t want you to get me sick.”
John said, “I’m not sick.”
“Good,” said Rodney. His fingers went to his neck again, scratching over the chain. “Ugh, I can’t wait to take these off. They itch like crazy. Whose stupid idea was it to make civilians wear dog tags off-world?”
John smiled broadly and said, “Actually, it was mine.”
“Yours?” said Rodney; Caesar most likely uttered his famous, Et tu, Brute? with a less potent look of betrayal in his eyes. “And you plotted to torture me why?”
His official rationale, the one he gave to Elizabeth and Caldwell, was that it was for the safety and protection of everyone who went off-world, soldiers and civilians alike. But to Rodney, he told the truth. “‘Cause they’re damn sexy.”
Rodney looked at him like he was nuts.
“Come on,” John said, “don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed playing with mine. Wrapping your fingers around the chain, jerking my mouth to yours. Feeling them trail across your chest as I slide down your body, or against your thigh as I take your cock in my mouth, suck you in deep.”
“On second thought,” Rodney said, “they don’t itch that badly.”
John smiled. “Take off your clothes,” he said.
Rodney wasn’t military, but that was one order he had no trouble following. He shucked his shirt and trousers, panting, “You, too, dammit!” as he struggled with his boots.
“Way ahead of you,” said John, although actually, Rodney finished first, naked and slamming John up against the wall when he was still part way into his left sock. He didn’t care. He didn’t care, because Rodney was sliding slick against him, sharp jerks that ended with the clink and catch of the tags around each of their necks. “Do you forgive me now?” John asked, awash with heat and anchored by the one point of coolness. “Are we even?”
Rodney’s only answer was to kiss him, locking together the pieces of metal around their necks like two opposing magnets.
*************
Author:
trinityofoneRating: R
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Length: 619 words
Summary: Dog tag porn.
A/N: Written, edited, and given a lame title in exactly 38 minutes, which was even harder than I thought it would be. *sweats* For
megolas, who pointed out that it would be a really good idea for civilians to wear a certain type of identification, too. *eg*Playing Tag
At first, John was convinced that his plan had backfired. It was a trading mission, the kind that dissolved into long, boring negotiations where Teyla did most of the talking; normally, John would be content to let his mind wander, fantasize about the flight home and dinner and other things he could get up to, later that night. But Rodney was fidgeting. It was hot in the chieftain’s tent, smoky from the brazier at the center, and Rodney sat on his wooden bench, collar and vest undone, fingers twitching all over the unfamiliar chain around his neck. He rubbed it, rotated it, let it rest, then picked it up again with new intensity. He tugged and he turned, pursing his lips as he worried the chain at the hollow of his throat. By the time they finally left the tent, John’s mouth was dry, and it wasn’t from the smoke.
It was the same thing, all throughout the debriefing. Only it was worse now, because Rodney was down to his t-shirt and John could see the outline of the chain against his chest, could pick out each and every link where they lay against his skin, where they moved between his restless fingers and his clever thumbs. Luckily, Teyla was required to do most of the talking here, too; when the meeting was over, John made his escape as quickly as he could, hurrying to his quarters and not looking back.
Rodney got there a few minutes later. “What’s the matter with you?” he asked the second he came through the door. “Your face has been red all day. Are you sick? If you’re sick, you should go see Carson. I don’t want you to get me sick.”
John said, “I’m not sick.”
“Good,” said Rodney. His fingers went to his neck again, scratching over the chain. “Ugh, I can’t wait to take these off. They itch like crazy. Whose stupid idea was it to make civilians wear dog tags off-world?”
John smiled broadly and said, “Actually, it was mine.”
“Yours?” said Rodney; Caesar most likely uttered his famous, Et tu, Brute? with a less potent look of betrayal in his eyes. “And you plotted to torture me why?”
His official rationale, the one he gave to Elizabeth and Caldwell, was that it was for the safety and protection of everyone who went off-world, soldiers and civilians alike. But to Rodney, he told the truth. “‘Cause they’re damn sexy.”
Rodney looked at him like he was nuts.
“Come on,” John said, “don’t tell me you haven’t enjoyed playing with mine. Wrapping your fingers around the chain, jerking my mouth to yours. Feeling them trail across your chest as I slide down your body, or against your thigh as I take your cock in my mouth, suck you in deep.”
“On second thought,” Rodney said, “they don’t itch that badly.”
John smiled. “Take off your clothes,” he said.
Rodney wasn’t military, but that was one order he had no trouble following. He shucked his shirt and trousers, panting, “You, too, dammit!” as he struggled with his boots.
“Way ahead of you,” said John, although actually, Rodney finished first, naked and slamming John up against the wall when he was still part way into his left sock. He didn’t care. He didn’t care, because Rodney was sliding slick against him, sharp jerks that ended with the clink and catch of the tags around each of their necks. “Do you forgive me now?” John asked, awash with heat and anchored by the one point of coolness. “Are we even?”
Rodney’s only answer was to kiss him, locking together the pieces of metal around their necks like two opposing magnets.
*************
