Aug. 01st, 2008
Disclaimer: Not mine!
John's first thought, when the door slides open, is that the room is attacking Rodney. That's what it looks like, at first glance, all the mechanical arms focused on the other man, wrapped around his arms and legs and chest, holding him in the air.
But that's just until John blinks, and his brain processes what he's seeing.
There's no violence in this...whatever this is. The smooth, silvery arms are cradling Rodney, more than anything, sliding constantly across his skin, shifting and adjusting their hold, over and over again. John stares, trying to make sense of the pile of clothes below Rodney's suspended body, the shine of sweat across the other man's skin, the way his eyes are staring sightlessly up at the ceiling and—
And the fact that, really, this looks like nothing so much as something out of some kind of sci-fi porn. Rodney makes a little sound as the thick, mechanical, thing in his mouth shifts and slides deeper. John can see his fingers twitch, curl up against his palms were his arms are stretched out to the sides. Rodney's knees are pulled up to his chest, thin silver bands wrapped around his thighs and calves, thicker arms around his knees and ankles, holding him open.
Holding him open for the thick arm that's pushing into his ass, a long slow slide in that makes John's breath hitch.
Fuck. He shouldn't be watching this. He shouldn't be letting this happen, much less just standing here catching flies while the city does whatever the hell its doing to Rodney. But Rodney isn't struggling, his spine arching up, another groan muffled in his throat, his dick hard and tight up against his stomach.
One of the thinner interface arms curls around Rodney's cock, sliding up and down, and John groans, slapping a hand up over his mouth to muffle the sound. But the interface pays him no mind at all, completely wrapped around Rodney, buried in him.
It gives John the courage to step into the room, locking the door behind him because he doesn't want anyone else to see this. Because it would be embarrassing for Rodney. Because they might make it stop if they knew, and John doesn't want them to.
There are no beeps or alarms or any sign he's noticed at all. John circles slowly, unable to take his gaze off of Rodney, the way his body twists and arches, the soft little whimpers he makes sometimes, the line of sweat sliding down from his temple.
He wants to reach out and touch, but doesn't want to disturb what's happening. His hands stay balled up into fists as he watches a line of spit slide out of the corner of Rodney's stretched, reddened mouth. He stuffs his hands into his pockets when he pauses, watching the thick interface push in and out of Rodney's ass, shiny and slick with lube.
John's so hard it hurts, and he has no idea what to do about it. He finds himself being drawn steadily closer, like he's in a deteriorating orbit, drawn towards Rodney and the interface by irresistible force. Some of the arms brush against him as he moves closer, but the touches are absent, there and gone, accidental. They're ignoring him.
John finds himself standing beside Rodney, Rodney's chest at shoulder level, his expression open and awestruck, his eyes still blank, like his mind is somewhere else. John finds himself holding his breath, reaching out even though he knows, knows that he shouldn't.
He can't help it. Rodney's skin is warm, hot really. John drags his fingertips across Rodney's collarbone, down his chest, rubbing his thumb over one of Rodney's nipples and Rodney arches up into the touch, whimpering in his throat, the sound muffled around the interface in his mouth.
John swallows heavily, squeezing his own dick with his other hand, teasing Rodney's nipples, back and forth between them until Rodney is moaning constantly, until John is sure he'd be begging if he could use his mouth.
This is wrong, and he has no right, but he can't stop himself, dragging his knuckles down Rodney's stomach, to his cock, wondering how the hell Rodney hasn't come yet. Or maybe he already has, because there's come drying on Rodney's stomach, and John wonders just how long he's been held here, completely and totally taken.
John gasps, "Jesus," rubbing the heel of his hand hard over his dick, dizzy with want and desire. When he slides his fingers across the head of Rodney's cock, the smaller interfaces that had been stroking it retreat, moving down the crease of his thigh, back towards his ass, stretching him even wider.
Rodney's dick is slick with whatever the interface is using as lube, and John's hand slides easily over the heated skin. He keeps his strokes slow and lazy, in time with the in and out piston of the interface in Rodney's ass. He thinks he could do this, watch this, forever.
But nothing this good can go on forever. John feels Rodney's cock twitch, and speeds up his rhythm, dragging his gaze up and down Rodney's body because he wants to see everything, memorize everything, and then Rodney is coming all over John's fingers.
And when John looks up, Rodney is blinking, eyes still a little unfocused as the interface lowers him gently to the ground. Rodney makes a harsh, gasping sound when the interface slides out of his mouth, panting, one hand jerkily coming up to rub at his jaw.
And then Rodney blinks, eyes going wide when he blurts, "John?"
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