
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/180523.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Stargate_Atlantis
  Relationship:
      Rodney_McKay/John_Sheppard
  Character:
      Rodney_McKay, John_Sheppard
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Regression, Underage_Sex, Consent_Play, Rape_Fantasy, Established
      Relationship, Dom/sub, BDSM
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-04-09 Words: 1906
****** You Are Every Kind Of Fantasy ******
by helens78
Summary
     Earlier, Rodney licked his lips and looked at John from under his
     eyelashes and said, "Oh, we are so not giving up sex just because I'm
     jailbait." Now they're proving it.
Notes
     Especially for Cesare and Telesilla. I love ageplay and consent play,
     and thoroughly enjoyed writing this. :)
Rodney is fifteen. Rodney is fifteen and John has him pinned to the wall, one
hand holding Rodney's hand tight behind his back, and the sounds coming out of
Rodney's throat are higher-pitched than John ever imagined.
"Hold still," John murmurs. "Hold still and it won't hurt as much."
"Won't hurt as much?" Rodney fires back. "Thank you so much for your
consideration, you--"
"Christ." John twists Rodney's arm, just a little, just enough to make Rodney
whimper and stop talking. "You know I'm not going to stop, right? You know you
can't stop me?"
John knows it. John's always had the advantage; he has skill, training,
practice. Rodney has never been half as good at hand-to-hand as John is, and at
fifteen he's got even less to work with.
When the process finally halted, when the age thing seemed to level out at
fifteen, Rodney had looked at himself in the mirror, a little disgruntled, and
said, "Do you know how long it's going to take me to gain that muscle back?
Weight training is so unbearably tedious--"
And then he'd seen the way John was looking at him, and the words died out in
his throat.
Just like they've died out now; Rodney nods as John holds him still, quiet at
last. John's breathing hard already, but it's not from exertion.
Not yet it's not.
He kicks Rodney's legs apart; Rodney doesn't fight him. It makes John think he
can let go of Rodney's arm, and jackpot--once he does, Rodney puts both hands
against the wall and braces himself, hips tilted back, legs apart. John strokes
one hand down the inside of Rodney's thigh, and Rodney shudders.
"Please," Rodney whispers.
The word goes straight to John's cock; he wraps an arm around Rodney's waist
and snugs up against him, lets Rodney feel how hard he is already. Rodney gasps
out loud, almost giving up the game, but as John starts moving, starts
thrusting up against his ass nice and slow, Rodney groans and tries to twist
away.
John slams him face-first into the wall, flattening him there. "That's not
nice," John whispers. "You're supposed to be nice to me, remember? Hold still
when I put you somewhere."
"If I hold still," Rodney whispers, voice shaking, "you're just going to hurt
me."
"And like I said before," John whispers back, "if you don't hold still, it'll
hurt more. Is that what you want?"
Rodney doesn't answer. John slides his hands up and down Rodney's sides.
Rodney's so thin John can feel his ribs; he has a momentary pang of regret, of
missing the Rodney he's known all this time, but then he slips his hands under
Rodney's t-shirt and pulls him away from the wall a couple inches; he just
needs enough room that he can slide his fingers up Rodney's chest.
Because yes, mmm, Rodney's nipples are as tight and hard as ever; John sets
thumb and forefinger to one of them and gives it a nice sharp twist.
"Fuck--!"
"Going to," John promises, rubbing his cheek against the back of Rodney's neck.
"Going to fuck you good and hard. You know that, right? You know what's
coming?"
"Please," Rodney moans, voice shaking a little. "Please, no--don't, please, I
didn't do anything to you, you don't have to--"
"Nope. I just want to," John whispers, and he chuckles softly. "I'm going to.
And there's nothing you can do about it. Scream if you want; nobody's going to
hear you."
Of course nobody's going to hear them; Rodney himself oversaw the soundproofing
in his quarters, back before all this, way back when he first told John he was
ready to act this kind of fantasy out, that he wanted to make it as good and as
real as possible. John had known it was coming for a while; Rodney's hints are
more like anvils than like anything that could be described as subtle. Still,
he got hard enough to get Rodney's attention, just from Rodney saying the
phrases soundproofed force field and as loud as we want to get, and doing it
the quiet way had gotten a hell of a lot tougher for the week it took to finish
the installation.
This time Rodney isn't quiet, doesn't have to be quiet. This time, when John
shoves his sweatpants down, Rodney yells out, "No, no," and John almost gasps,
he's so turned on. He pulls Rodney's t-shirt up and over his head, uses it to
tie Rodney's hands behind his back, and Rodney's so damn young--his skin is
pale, unmarked, no bruises, no scars. He's the fifteen-year-old boy John wanted
to fuck into walls when he was fifteen; he's a fantasy come to life, and he
belongs to John.
And right now John's proving that, because he sucks on two fingers and twists
them into Rodney's ass, and--God, when the device reset Rodney's age, it must
have reset his muscles, too, because John gets resistance he's never felt from
Rodney before. Rodney whimpers again, high and thin, and John closes his eyes--
at this rate he's going to end up shooting all over Rodney's ass, not even
getting a chance to fuck him.
Not that that's a bad mental image, he thinks. Still--not what Rodney signed up
for.
Rodney's pushing back against John's fingers now, and if it hurts him at all to
have John stretching him like this, John can't really tell. He's making all
those sweet pained noises, but those are part and parcel for the fantasy, and
he's shoving back to get more, not squirming away to take less. John slides his
hand away and slips both thumbs into Rodney's crack, holding him open. Two
weeks ago, he would've bitten the back of Rodney's neck and said "Mine" and
just shoved in, hard, while Rodney panted out nononono against the wall, but
now he's hesitating.
"Rodney..."
"What?" Rodney snaps. "You--you're already--you already--just get it over with
already, Jesus, you'd think a guy who sets out to rape a kid young enough to be
his son would know how this works--"
Oh, that's just perfect--the trembling bravado, the sarcasm layered over
something that sounds an awful lot like fear, but the clear go-ahead signal--
yes, yes, that's it, that's what John needed. He gets his pants unbuttoned,
gets his cock out, and he slicks the precome welling up at the head over his
shaft--that'll be enough, that'll have to be enough. He can't wait anymore.
He doesn't have to, either. This is his fucking show; he doesn't have to wait.
He presses the blunt tip of his cock against Rodney's sweet--sweet, exactly,
that's exactly what it is, what it feels like, Rodney's sweet little tight
young precious hole--and then he's shoving in, grunting with the effort,
sweating as he forces his cock in that first near-impossible inch.
"You bastard," Rodney pants, "you--fuck--you motherfucker, fuck you, fuck--
ohhhhh, fuck..." He pushes back against John's cock, even though the motion
makes him tighten up. John gasps, clutches at Rodney's hips. He moves forward
again.
It's rougher than he's ever been with Rodney, and whether that's Rodney's new
body (new... old... body, new--John can't think about it right now, way too
distracted), or the scenario, or whether maybe Rodney's trying to make this
difficult, trying to get it harder and deeper and rougher, it doesn't matter.
Rodney's there under him, pale and thin, body shaking, whimpers breaking free
of his throat one after another, and John just keeps shoving in and shoving in
until finally, finally, Rodney's got him all. Rodney's gasping for breath and
squirming back and forth between John's cock and the wall, and he's got
everything John can give him.
Except he doesn't, because John can give it to him again. John shifts, and
moves, and then he really gets started--fucking into Rodney like he's been
dreaming about since Rodney said, "I think it's stabilized," fucking him like
he's wanted to since Rodney licked his lips and looked at him from under his
eyelashes and said, "Oh, we are so not giving up sex just because I'm
jailbait." He lets himself go mindless, lets himself get carried by lust and
need and the tense tight feel of Rodney's fifteen-year-old body clenching at
him, squeezing him so tightly he almost can't breathe.
"John," Rodney sobs, and John's just present enough to want to know--he reaches
up and strokes a thumb over Rodney's cheek, and yes, Rodney's got a tear-track,
he's either hurting enough to cry or he's so fucking turned on he's actually
starting to be afraid of it--God knows John knows that feeling, he's living
that feeling right now. His eyes are wet, too.
"Not going anywhere," John growls, and maybe it's in-character and he's
threatening Rodney with it, or maybe it's from the heart and he's promising,
swearing that he won't go anywhere, that he won't leave Rodney like this.
Either way, Rodney shifts his shoulders and slips his wrists out of John's
makeshift bondage; the t-shirt falls to the ground. Rodney shoves back, gets a
hand between himself and the wall, and as John drives in as hard as his hips
will let him, Rodney beats off, quick and brutal, and he comes first,
spattering the wall with it, half-collapsing against John's chest, groaning
over and over as John pushes into him again, and again, and just keeps going
until he's right there with Rodney, coming hard enough to take his breath away.
Some time later, Rodney slips a little, and John catches him, tightens his hold
on him. "You okay?" John whispers.
"I--yeah," Rodney whispers back, "yeah, I--bed. Now. Please."
John eases back and helps Rodney step out of his sweatpants, then guides him
over to the bed. Rodney collapses into a heap, and the smile he throws John's
way is smug and beautiful and so goddamned young.
"Next time," Rodney says, "maybe you can be one of my high school teachers. Or,
or, no, you can be my coach, that way we can get me into the gym and it can
count as foreplay."
"Have I ever told you you're completely fucking insane?" John asks, settling in
next to Rodney, tugging Rodney's body against his. Rodney doesn't fit the way
he used to; he's all sharp angles and gangly limbs. It takes them a minute to
get it right; Rodney has to carefully stretch out, slide an arm and a leg over
John. Even then, it's not what they're used to--it's just what works now that
Rodney's fifteen.
"If you keep fucking me like that, you can call me anything you want," Rodney
mumbles, already halfway to sleep. The idea makes John blink up at the ceiling,
though, because he can think of a lot of things to call Rodney. Especially now.
God.
He'll talk to Rodney about it in the morning. For a split-second, he wonders if
he should make a note somewhere, jot it down on his arm, or Rodney's arm--
humiliation scene with name-calling--but when he looks at Rodney's face, slack
with exhaustion and younger than he's ever even pictured it--he just reaches up
and ruffles Rodney's hair.
Yeah. One look at Rodney, and he'll remember.
He drifts off to sleep with Rodney scooting closer and closer, curled up all
around him.
-end-
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