Pants on Fire




Rodney, who knows everything about almost everything most certainly does not know anything about this. Nuh-uh. Not one little thing about it. But oh, god - he lied. He lied like a rug, and not a nice Persian, but one of those butt-ugly multi-colored pieces of crap from IKEA. The ones that cost $12. Lied. Bald-faced lied. He never thought it would come back to bite him in the ass like this.

Ass, and that's the problem. There's one in front of him. One belonging to John Sheppard. Who is on his knees on his bed, holding on to the headboard and looking over his shoulder with a look that says "fuck me." Okay, it's not the look - Sheppard is actually saying "fuck me."

He should never have said it. Never. But how was he to know that drunken campfire talk was anything but exactly that - drunken campfire talk? Even though it was just the two of them. And Sheppard had confessed to being bisexual; then Rodney's big mouth had gotten him in trouble. He'd had to one-up Sheppard, so he said he'd gotten a ton of action in both directions in Siberia and, of course, he knew everything about the gay sex.

He'd expected Sheppard to forget it. Expected it to slip away in a haze of smoke and questionable alcohol. But three days later, there was Sheppard - naked and beautiful and ass-up and waiting for Rodney to show off all those Russian Stargate Program ass-fucking skills. And here was Rodney, faced with the ass he'd coveted pretty much since it had planted itself in the control chair in Antarctica. That coveted ass was waiting for him. Waiting for him to fuck it. He had no idea what to do with that.

He closed his eyes and tried to think of the only gay porn he'd ever seen. There had been an ass and a cock; he remembered that much, at least. There had been a condom at some point, and magically-appearing lube...LUBE! Yes, that's what he needed. Bedside table, that's where the lube was! Yes!

He opened the drawer, and there it was, right on top of a gay porn magazine. Jesus, Sheppard had the preservation instincts of a possum if he just left that sort of thing lying around. At the rate he nearly died, there was a pretty good chance that this drawer would have been cleaned out and anyone could find the gay porn. Well, Sheppard would be dead, so it wouldn't be a huge deal, but the guy came back from the (alleged) dead almost as much as Dr. Jackson.

Oh, yeah - ass. He opened the lube and squeezed some on his hand. Sadly, it wasn't going to magically get itself where it needed to be, and Rodney was a little squeamish about the concept of...manually...putting it where it needed to go. Sheppard was looking at him with a poisonous glare, so he slipped his hand in the general direction of where it needed to be and slid it around some.

Okay, he'd found...the target. That was good. Except for the part where Sheppard was pushing back against him, trying to get him to well, throw out the manual, as it were. Rodney took a deep breath and felt around before getting the tip of a finger where it needed to go.

"You're a goddamn tease, McKay." Sheppard was practically growlng at him, but he seemed to like it, if the moans and ass-wiggling had anything to do with it. So Rodney sucked in a deep breath and pushed. Sheppard groaned. He groaned like Rodney was the guy in the movie with the alarmingly big dick. Rodney felt like a god.

While he was distracted by feeling like a god, he didn't realize that he was pushing his finger in and out. Of Sheppard. Of Sheppard's ass. And he liked it. He being Rodney. And also Sheppard, who was leaning into the motion and who was holding the headboard with enough force to whiten his knuckles.

Sheppard who said, "More."

Oh, god. More what? More lube, more fingers, more motion? Okay, he should try all three, just to cover all the bases. He pulled the finger out (oh, he was never going to use this hand to eat again) and put more lube on it, then pushed in again, this time with two fingers. He moved them faster this time, and it seemed to be the right thing to do, based on the feedback.

"Okay," Sheppard said, his voice rough. "That's enough. Fuck me already."

Frankly, where he had his fingers didn't feel like it was volumetrically able to contain something the size of his dick, but Sheppard seemed really convinced.

"Condom?" Rodney asked.

"Bareback," Sheppard gritted out, and Rodney had to think that through for a second. He got it, wondering what the hell horses had to do with ass-fucking, then got a truly disturbing mental picture. After that, it seemed sensible to pull his fingers out and put lube on his dick and just go with it.

He used his lube-wet hand to guide his dick (no reason to render both hands useless to eating; he'd starve to death). Sheppard seemed to like that, doing that pushing-back thing. The thing seemed to work, because the head of Rodney's cock slipped into the hottest, tightest space he'd ever actually put his dick in. Whoa.

Sheppard braced himself and pushed back harder, and the whole thing slid inside, and Rodney very nearly had a heart attack on the spot. Sheppard could never know that Rodney had lied. Never. Because if he knew, he might take this away, might pack up his hot, tight ass and give it to someone else, and, okay "pack" was not the best word to think of in this particular situation.

"Move," Sheppard said, doing that growly thing again, which was actually quite hot. So Rodney put his hands on Sheppard's hips and pushed forward, at the same time pulling Sheppard back onto him. Oh, that worked. That worked. It felt better than pretty much anything. Hell, it felt better than pretty much everything.

Rodney fucked. He got a rhythm going, and just fucked. Hard and fast, that seemed to work, based on the moans coming from Sheppard and the way he was bracing his hands against the headboard and keeping his elbows locked so that he got the maximum thrust that Rodney could deliver. Rodney wondered if he could build a predictive model to determine the proper thrust ratio...oh, okay, fucking.

Sheppard was making really good sounds now, kind of a two-part harmony sort of thing that Rodney finally figured out was two words, not two parts, and the two words were "touch" and "me." Okay, where?

Oh, he got it. Oh. Sheppard's dick. Sheppard wanted Rodney to jerk him off. Rodney could do that. After all, his right hand was ruined anyway, so he could reach that one around and jerking off was pretty much jerking off, no matter who was doing it to whom, right? He tried to figure out if he could keep up the pace, while still doing a good job at the jerking off, and he decided that yes, he probably could, or at least a close enough approximation that Sheppard wouldn't notice.

So, jerking off. He got his hand over Sheppard's hip and around his dick, which was very hard. He had enough lube on his hand to make it slide well. To his surprise, Sheppard helped him out by rocking his whole body back and forth, pushing his dick into Rodney's hand and his ass onto Rodney's dick. Perpetual motion. Well, not really, but it was a nice analogy.

Sheppard kept moving, and then he sped up, and then he came in Rodney's hand. He shouted out loud, and Rodney had come on his hand. He was definitely not eating with that one ever again. He moved his lube and come-covered hand back to Sheppard's hip and decided to stop thinking for a minute so he could go ahead and come already. In Sheppard's ass.

Well, that thought was enough to do it, and his brain did the sort of thing it did when he stayed up for three days and drank a lot of coffee and then finally went to sleep. It shorted out and gave a weak cough before surrendering to the inevitable. Usually, the inevitable was sleep, but this time it was coming very hard, really, maybe as hard as he ever had - he'd have to consult the spreadsheet - and then falling onto the bed on top of Sheppard and making a noise like an angry sea lion.

Oddly, Sheppard seemed to like it, though, huffing out a laugh and pushing Rodney around so he could lay his head on Sheppard's sweaty shoulder. Also oddly, Sheppard started carding his hand through Rodney's hair, and he returned the favor, except it was through Sheppard's chest hair (that was really very manly) with his come and lube-covered, never-to-touch-food-again hand.

Sheppard kissed him lightly on the top of his head and laughed. "You are such a liar, McKay," he said, and Rodney froze in place. "You totally have a crush on me."

Rodney laughed in relief. "Oh, yeah," he said with a low chuckle. "You figured me out."




leave feedback | return to sga index | return to main index