Aug. 12th, 2008 08:53 am
Series: Branding Verse
Warnings: Smut, kinkiness (cross-dressing, rimming, dirty talk)
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Beta: mgbutterfly, I see the difference, and it's getting better, all the time.
Summary: Ronon rumbles, his voice low and deep as John's ever heard it get, "Keep 'em on for awhile."
Author's Note: So, I was supposed to be finishing my baby!Rodney fic. Instead, I wrote kinky porn. Big Bang goes live tomorrow (or later today) and I figured what better way to herald it in than some smut? Right?
It's not the dress that gets John. Not to say that the dress isn't perfection all on its own, soft, silky, ink black fabric that clings to Rodney like a second skin. It's clearly designed for a man's body, there's no extra fabric in the front to fit the curves associated with breasts, it's tight across the curve of Rodney's ass, obscenely short. John also wants to personally hunt down and thank whoever decided that the only fabric on the back should be the thin strap of the halter around Rodney's neck and the snug fit across his ass.
The dress is one of John's top five favorite articles of clothing ever. But it's not what gets him.
It's not the shiny red polish on Rodney's nails, though John can't wait to see what it looks like when Rodney grabs him and Ronon. It's not the thin, silver, choker around Rodney's throat, though John wants to bite up and down the tendons of Rodney's neck all around it, just to make it stand out. It's not the strip of skin below the bottom of the dress and the lace top of Rodney's stockings, though John cannot wait to explore that area thoroughly.
It's not even the boots, black leather, needle sharp heels, inches high, that Rodney's been tripping over for the last five hours. Not the way they come up over the bend of Rodney's knee, tight as a second skin. It's not the way the dark seam up the back of Rodney's stockings is so damn tempting that John wants to trace it with his mouth, over and over, just to feel it against his tongue.
The wine red of Rodney's mouth, red like sin and sex and blood, isn't it either. The dark rim around his eyes, the way his eyelashes are black and so fucking long, curling against his pale cheeks, they aren't it. The sweat damp curls of Rodney's hair at the nape of his neck and temples, not it.
None of it, apart, would be enough to get to John like this. But all of it together, having to watch Rodney in it all night, itching with want to touch and taste and take, has John in a place that he's not sure he's ever been before. It's all incandescent want and need.
John can see all of it reflected back at him in Ronon's expression when Rodney slumps against the other man's broad chest, pulling one of his legs up and rubbing at his calf, bitching grumpily, "Have I mentioned how much I hate this planet? I can't wait to get these damn things off."
John expects himself to fumble with the lock on their door, but his hands are oddly steady. He pushes the door open, bringing the lights up and taking in the accommodations provided for them by their newest friends. Surprisingly big bed, hardwood floor, no windows, thick walls.
John turns to find Rodney stomping into the room, frowning and bracing a hand on the wall, reaching down for the zipper on one of his boots as Ronon closes the door. And locks it.
For a moment, John meets Ronon's gaze over Rodney's head, and the big man licks his lips and nods. Before Rodney can pull the zipper down more than an inch, Ronon is there, snugging up close behind Rodney, grinding his hips once, slow, against Rodney's ass. Rodney freezes at the touch, and John watches his eyes flutter when Ronon's hands slide around, fingertips pressing against the lace top of the stockings and then dragging slowly up. Ronon rumbles, his voice low and deep as John's ever heard it get, "Keep 'em on for awhile."
Rodney swallows, straightening and leaning back against Ronon's chest, his hands falling to his sides when Ronon moves his hands just a little higher, the hem of Rodney's dress catching against them. "They're really uncomfortable," the words are too breathy to be a real complaint.
John steps towards them, blood burning with want. He watches Ronon slide one hand towards the inside of Rodney's thigh, watches Rodney open his mouth to suck in a breath and widen his stance. For a moment John just stares at them, and then he lets out a low, appreciative, sound, and moves into the space Ronon made for him between Rodney's legs.
They're almost touching, less than a breath separating them. This close, John can smell the alcohol on Rodney's breath, can see the sheen of sweat across his collarbone, how blue his eyes are, how fast he's breathing.
John reaches out, trails his knuckles up the outsides of Rodney's thighs, up over his hips, shivering when his skin brushes over the lace underwear their hosts stuck Rodney in. The material of the dress is cool and silken against John's skin, and he flattens his palms over the sharp, hot jut of Rodney's hips, and squeezes, just a little.
Rodney gasps, head tilting back against Ronon's shoulder as he reaches out, grabbing one of John's wrists, his other arm curling up, gripping at Ronon's hair. Rodney says, the words hitching, "I think I had too much to drink."
John doesn't doubt it. The formal dinner had gone on for hours. Everyone there with eyes had been trying to provide Rodney with drinks, dragging him off to dance, trying to steal looks and touches. John doesn't blame them, necessarily, but there are plenty of people on this world whose asses he'd like to kick.
It had taken every trick John knew just to keep Ronon from beating several people to a pulp in the middle of the banquet.
But that was then. And all those people, the dirty old men, the spoiled diplomats, their bored wives, they aren't the ones that get to have Rodney now. John squeezes Rodney's hips again, leaning closer to kiss Ronon over Rodney's shoulder before lowering his mouth to Rodney's ear.
"I'm afraid we're going to take advantage of you now," John's own voice is lower than he'd expected, roughened by the liquor, thick with desire. Rodney shivers, gripping John's wrist more tightly, breath catching in the back of his throat.
John slides his mouth away, and Rodney makes a tight sound, demands, "Kiss me," with an edge of desperation that makes John's blood burn.
Ronon starts to shift, rumbling in his chest, and Rodney tilts his face back expectantly, mouth wet and soft and willing. John grabs Ronon's chin, kissing him again instead, hard and hungry, because that's the only thing he's capable of right now. Ronon kisses just as desperately back, teeth catching at John's lower lip when John pulls away.
Ronon raises one eyebrow, query and interest, and John feels himself smile, something hungry and wild as he slides his hands up Rodney's sides, lifting the dress a little more. He looks down. Ronon has his big hands flat on Rodney's upper thighs, fingertips just brushing the tops of the stockings, the heels of his palms on the black lace underwear that Rodney's erection is straining against.
Rodney shifts around, not going anywhere with Ronon and John holding him in place, making a softly frustrated sound before speaking, "Hey, I want—"
"Do you know what you look like?" John raises his gaze briefly to look at Rodney's expression, and then drops it again, staring at the way the fabric clings to Rodney's hard nipples, the way it's bunched up around John's wrists, the way he can see the shine of Rodney's pre-come through the lace.
Rodney opens his mouth, and John nods at Ronon. Ronon grins, sharp and fast, nudging Rodney's head to the side and lowering his mouth to Rodney's neck. Any words that Rodney might have spoken come out garbled, and he jerks, as well as he can against their restraining hands.
"You look... So. Fucking. Pretty." Rodney makes a tight sound, fingers closing and opening around John's wrist. Ronon lifts his mouth just briefly from Rodney's neck, blowing across the mark that he's making, already going red and purple, shiny with his spit.
"And it makes me—God, Rodney, it makes me want to do things to you." John closes the last of the distance between them, feeling Ronon's knuckles against his thighs, Rodney's body hot and pliant pressed up against him. "I want to see what you look like completely fucked out. Covered in bites and bruises." Rodney whimpers, and John strokes his thumbs over Rodney's sides, lowering his mouth to Rodney's collarbone and sucking on his warm skin.
Ronon shifts, moving a hand between Rodney and John, cupping Rodney's erection, knuckles dragging up over John's aching dick in a tease of pressure that has John grunting and jerking forward. Ronon chuckles, low and dirty, mouth sliding higher, until he's sucking at the skin right below Rodney's jaw.
It's easy for John to find the other side of Rodney's neck with his mouth, licking up the line of his pulse, nosing up into Rodney's thick hair. His voice is thick, low, deep, "I want to see you come in these lacy little things," and he feels Ronon squeeze Rodney's cock, can read the twist of Ronon's wrist and the tight moan caught in Rodney's throat.
"I want to watch you fuck yourself open on our fingers, and I want to watch Ronon fuck you against the wall," he bites at the lobe of Rodney's ear, "while you're wearing these boots."
Rodney is rocking as best he can, grinding back against Ronon's dick, forward into his hand, and John can feel it all. He slides his mouth down, tracing the tip of his tongue against the cool metal of the choker around Rodney's neck, finding Ronon's mouth and kissing him again, grinding forward.
Rodney babbles up to the ceiling, his spine arching, "Yes, yes, let's—that's an excellent plan, I—god, kiss me, you bastards."
John shakes his head, licking across the marks Ronon left on Rodney's throat. He rasps, "Can't. Don't want to smear that pretty mouth of yours until I've seen it sucking my dick."
Rodney makes a sound like a sob, nails digging in against the skin of John's wrist, his body quaking. They hold him through his orgasm, and then John shifts back, staring down, watching Ronon give one last squeeze before slowly removing his hand. John groans out, "Fucking Christ."
Then Ronon is pushing Rodney forward, against John's chest, rumbling, "Hold him," and going to his knees. John reacts without thought, one arm going around Rodney's waist while Rodney nuzzles against his shoulder and clumsily wraps his arms around John's neck.
Rodney is still trembling, breathing fast and shallow, and John tightens his hold, pressing kisses against Rodney's soft hair, his eyes on Ronon.
Ronon, whose back is bowed over, who wraps both hands around one of Rodney's thighs, and then presses his mouth to the stockings right above the edge of Rodney's boot. Rodney gasps, jerking. John tightens his grip, breathing raggedly, watching Ronon slowly make his way up, sucking at the fabric and the skin beneath, his hands following, kneading at Rodney's thigh.
By the time Ronon reaches skin, nipping at the pale flesh above the edge of the lace, Rodney is hard against John's hip again. Ronon licks up the back of Rodney's leg, John scrambling at the hem of the skirt, hitching it up over the curve of Rodney's ass and groaning when he finally gets a look at the back of the underwear.
They only half cover Rodney's ass, the full, bottom, curve is perfect and unhidden. John slides his fingers down, getting the tips below the waistband, against hot, soft, skin as Ronon presses open mouthed kisses across the bottom curve of Rodney's ass before growling and nipping at the pale flesh.
Rodney shouts, something mostly muffled against John's shoulder, tightening his grip around John's neck while he tries to spread his thighs wider. John drags his fingers back and forth right at the very top of the underwear, feeling hypnotized by the way Ronon's jaw works when he sucks a dark bruise into Rodney's ass.
When Ronon leans back, just far enough to brush his big thumb over the shape his mouth left behind, he meets John's eyes for a long moment. John can see every thought in his head, reflecting in Ronon's eyes. John bites his bottom lip and nudges the toe of his shoe against Rodney's instep, forcing him to spread his legs wider, shushing Rodney when the muscles in his thighs start trembling.
Then Ronon is ducking his head down, working his way up Rodney's other thigh. By the time Ronon finishes the twin to the mark he left on the other side of Rodney's ass, Rodney is rocking steadily against John, gasping for breath, his ass clenching and relaxing below John's fingertips.
Ronon stays on his knees, hands sliding up the backs of Rodney's thighs, cupping Rodney's ass and just squeezing for a long moment, while Rodney moans and jerks. Ronon runs a thumb down the crease, and Rodney makes a desperate sound, trying to push back into the pressure.
John grunts, starting to reach for the lube in his back pocket, and Ronon reaches up, grabbing John's wrist and saying, "Don't need it yet."
When Ronon slides his thumb under the edge of the underwear, and then pulls it to the side, Rodney makes a tight, sharp sound, trying to shift with the movement. John presses down hard on the small of his back, feeling Rodney gripping desperately at his shoulders and hair.
Ronon rumbles, "Hold him," and pushes one of Rodney's legs up. John curls his fingers around the underside of Rodney's thigh, pulling his leg up. The stockings are smooth, warm from Rodney's body heat. John grips compulsively, lifting Rodney's thigh higher.
Rodney gasps out, "Oh, God," and then something unintelligible when Ronon blows across his hole. John is fairly certain that watching Ronon lick over the dark, puckered skin should be gross. But he's holding Rodney's thigh out of the way, and he can feel the strain in Rodney's body from attempting to balance on one leg, matched by the way his hips jerk every time Ronon touches him. He can see the pleased concentration in Ronon's expression, and the way Rodney's skin is going red where Ronon's hands are gripping his hips.
And through it all, Ronon's thumb stays tucked in the side of the lacy underwear, holding them to the side, the fabric stretched so tight John expects it to tear at any moment.
Rodney pulls hard on John's hair, his heel going sideways, all his weight in John's arms suddenly as he babbles, "I can't—I'm going to—I—" and John holds him up, Ronon making a deep, pleased sound, and when Rodney comes he throws his head back, spine arching, sagging down in John's hold.
For a long moment Ronon stays there, whatever he's doing hidden, Rodney's body jerking a little with it anyway. Ronon finally rocks back, smirking, Rodney's ass reddened from his beard. When Ronon pulls his thumb out of the underwear it snaps back into place, and Rodney whimpers, twitching.
John lets go of Rodney's leg, sliding his hand up to the back of Rodney's neck, pulling him close enough to kiss across his cheeks and forehead, squeezing his eyes shut just to give himself a moment, voice low and thick, "You're doing good, you're doing so good," and John doesn't know where the words are coming from, but they make Rodney grip at his shoulders and moan, so he figures they're alright.
Then Ronon is rumbling, "Trade you," and offering John the lace underwear, because apparently Ronon had been busy while John wasn't paying attention. John blinks, looking down, groaning at the sight of Rodney's bare ass, the bruises and the agitated skin, the stocking and boots below.
He takes the underwear, soaked with Rodney's come, not even thinking when he shoves them in a spare pocket and gropes for the lube, handing it off to Ronon. Ronon flashes John a smile, feral and wide, and John returns it, and then tilts his head to say into Rodney's ear, "Hold onto me."
For a moment Rodney stays limp, but then he takes a deep, hitching breath, and tightens his grip around John's neck. John grunts, hands sliding down over Rodney's back, his ass, down to his thighs, and then lifting. He won't be able to hold Rodney like this long, but for now he can manage, keeping Rodney up and spread open as Ronon slicks his fingers up with lube.
Ronon slides two fingers into Rodney at once, deep and fast the first time. Rodney moans, thighs tensing up against John's hands, trying to shift back into it. John curses breathlessly, his cock aching, gaze locked on the fast, hard movement of Ronon's fingers in and out of Rodney's ass while Rodney pants raggedly and squirms around as best as he can, occasionally biting out words that always sound like, "Harder," and, "More, more, fuck me, goddamnit."
When Ronon stands, it's a fast, sharp movement. He still has his fingers up Rodney's ass, and twists them once before sliding them out. John meets the man's eyes, grinds out, "Gonna fuck him now?" and Ronon nods, yanking off his shirt, kicking off his shoes, doing what is probably irreparable harm to his pants.
John watches, even though the desperate removal of clothing is too fast to be a strip tease. Ronon's cock is hard and dark, wet at the tip. John sets Rodney carefully back on his feet, Rodney swaying for a moment, before Ronon has him.
John sits on the bed, because this, this he just wants to watch.
Ronon just grabs Rodney, moving fast and desperate, each movement tight and dripping want. Two steps has them against the wall, Ronon cupping the back of Rodney's head when he pushes Rodney against it with a bang that echoes through the room.
Ronon growls, something wild and wordless, gripping at Rodney's hips and just lifting him. Rodney shouts, arms going around Ronon's neck, his legs wrapping automatically around Ronon's hips, and John stops trying to keep his mouth closed, breathing fast and deep, hands fisting up in the blankets.
And then Ronon is growling, "Need to be in you," wrapping an arm under Rodney's ass, hitching him higher and grabbing one of his legs, lifting and twisting and Rodney's leg goes over Ronon's shoulder.
Rodney's painted nails press hard against the skin of Ronon's shoulders, his legs jerking, and then he babbles, "Oh, god, oh, oh, fuck," as Ronon's hips drive forward. Rodney says more, but none of it manages to be words.
For a moment, John is distracted by the way Ronon's skin dents under the press of the heel of Rodney's boot, of the way the stockings have gone nearly sheer where Rodney's leg is hooked around Ronon's hips. All the muscles in Ronon's back are shifting and moving, his ass clenching with each thrust of his hips, his one hand gripping hard at Rodney's hip, holding him.
With his other hand, Ronon is grabbing Rodney's wrists, pulling Rodney's hands away from his back, slamming them into the wall over Rodney's head. Rodney yells, something thick and sharp, face tilting up to the ceiling when Ronon bends his knees and drives up into him hard.
John reaches down desperately, grabbing the base of his dick and squeezing. He rips off his shirt in a vain attempt to distract himself from the way Rodney's fingers are curled up, the way the muscles in Ronon's arm are tensed up with the effort of holding Rodney in place, the way the lines of sweat are running down Ronon's spine, curving and sliding along the slope of muscles.
John wonders if there are going to be bruises around Rodney's wrists to match the ones on his throat, on his ass, everywhere else they've left them. God, he hopes so.
Just like that Ronon is roaring, putting his whole body into each thrust, and John knows he should possibly be worried about the banging they're making against the wall. He isn't. Not when Ronon is trailing off into a tight whine, sagging against the wall, stroking his hand back and forth against Rodney's thigh.
It takes Ronon a long moment to collect himself enough to get Rodney's leg off his shoulder. John is content to watch them. It's worth it for the moment when Ronon turns around, his dick slick against his thigh, his chest shiny with sweat. It's worth it for Rodney, stumbling, blinking rapidly, cock hard when Ronon wraps an arm around him to support him.
John stands, his voice thick, "Let him down," and Ronon bends to press a kiss to the top of Rodney's head, and lets him sink to his knees.
Rodney blinks up at them, his hair curled up and dark, skin flushed red all the way down his neck and across his shoulders, the bruises on his neck looking almost black. John bites his lip a step away, and asks because he needs to know, "Is—can you feel Ronon's come?"
For a second Rodney just stares, and then he twists around, lifting the edge of the dress, twisting his head over his shoulder to look down at his legs and John groans and is beside him without even thinking about it. He and Ronon both look, and John has to reach out and grab Ronon's shoulder for balance.
Lube and come are sliding down Rodney's thighs, down into the lace at the top of the stockings, and John gasps, grabbing for his dick again.
John has to swallow before he can speak, the words all tangled together in his head, "Let me see your mouth," and Rodney tilts his chin up. The lipstick is still perfect, and John bites his bottom lip hard, panting out, "Fuck, oh fuck," while fumbling with his zipper.
Rodney bats his hands away, shifting around, yanking at John's pants until he gets them open, and John manages to croak, "Ronon." Ronon is there in a moment, kneeling behind Rodney, grabbing his hands and pulling them down to his sides.
Rodney startles, blinking rapidly as Ronon curls over and presses kisses across his shoulders. But then John has his dick out, thank God, feeling like he's been hard for years, managing, "Rodney, please, I need," and making himself wait.
Rodney nods raggedly, licking across his bottom lip, and it's more than John can take.
John cups Rodney's jaw in one hand, thumb tucking up against the hinge, feeling the muscles relax when Rodney lets his mouth open. John groans, staring at the red, slick, shine of Rodney's lips, feeling his own dick twitch. And then he's resting the tip against Rodney's lower lip, and Rodney moans, trying to shift forward.
John slides his other hand back into Rodney's hair, holding him in place, cupping the back of his head. He can see Ronon, kissing across Rodney's shoulder blades, working his way across to Rodney's spine. He can see the way Rodney's eyelashes are fluttering. He can see Rodney's dick, hard and red against the black dress.
John attempts words, choking on them, and rocks forward. Rodney takes him, hot and wet and perfect, his lips stretching red and obscene around John's dick. John curses, going deeper, and when Rodney leans back against his hand, eyelashes dark against his cheeks, deeper still.
Rodney just takes him, mouth leaving smears of lipstick up and down John's dick, his fingers curling up where Ronon is holding his wrists. Ronon is rocking himself just a little back and forth, mouth on Rodney's back, thrusting against nothing, and John bites the insides of his cheeks, thrusting in and out of Rodney's mouth, willing to bet that there's going to be a bruise shaped like Ronon's mouth over each of Rodney's vertebrae.
John tangles his fingers deeper into Rodney's hair, thrusting deep and slow, sucking in a deep breath, managing to gasp out, "Ronon—again?"
Ronon raises his head, his mouth shiny, and nods jerkily. John swallows, mouth opening, but then Rodney moans around his cock and any chance John had of articulating a thought is gone. Ronon is shifting anyway, pulling Rodney's arms around to the small of his back, holding them there with one big hand, his other going to his own cock.
John gasps, loud, watching Ronon jerk himself off, watching himself fuck Rodney's mouth. It's too good, and there's no way in hell he's going to last. Then Ronon is groaning loud, leaning forward and closing his mouth over the back of Rodney's neck, come streaking across Rodney's lower back, the black of his dress.
And that's it. John curses, garbled and cut off, blurting, "Don't swallow!" praying that Rodney listens. After the first automatic swallow, he does. John slumps back, once the aftershocks pass, and watches his come slide out the corner of Rodney's mouth, lipstick smeared across skin, messy and tarnished.
Rodney blinks, eyes huge, all pupil, licking curiously at the corner of his mouth with his red tongue, and Ronon is reaching around, closing one big hand on Rodney's thigh, the other wrapping around Rodney's dick and stroking him hard and fast.
When Rodney comes, he slumps forward, catching himself on one hand, come streaking up across the front of his dress. For a moment none of them move, all of them breathing hard and unsteady, Rodney shaking just a little bit before he manages to look up.
His hair is a mess, tangled and sweaty, his lipstick smeared, come slicked down across his chin. There are bruises raised down the line of his neck, out across his shoulders, thick around his wrists. His dress is wrinkled, bunched up around his hips, messy with come. There's a run in one of his stockings, from the lace down to the top of his boot, his legs are splayed out across the floor all akimbo.
John swallows hard, raising his hands, making a rectangle with his thumbs and forefingers, framing Rodney in them. He breathes, "Perfect," and wishes he had a camera.
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