emeraldembers | Fic: Not Exactly Mystique (Stargate: Atlantis, John/Rodney)

Title: Not Exactly Mystique
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay (established relationship)
Rating: NC17 for bad language and genderswapped!het
Summary: In which John likes shiny new things, especially if they're bouncy and attached to Rodney's chest.
A/N: And thus, I start in another new fandom by venturing forth with crack porn. I REGRET NOTHING.

Anyone else would have locked themselves away, mortified, waiting for someone else to fix things. Anyone else. But not Rodney McKay.

Maybe it was the supreme intellect or the supreme arrogance due to that intellect, but Rodney had apparently decided if it was his playing around with unidentified Ancient technology that got him into this mess, then clearly he was the only person with the ability to restore normality.

Watching from behind as Rodney bent over his desk, furiously typing away as he worked on some equation or another, John figured that as much as he appreciated normality, 'different' was pretty damn good too.

Especially given Rodney was refusing to acknowledge the... gravity of the current situation.

Hell, like John could resist anything Rodney-related for long, especially with two very significant additions to the Rodney McKay bouncy castle of fun hanging bra and very nearly vest-free in plain sight. It was like dangling a bell in front of a cat and expecting the cat to be uninterested - sure, there was a chance it might ignore the shiny new toy, but that wasn't very likely.

Rodney didn't really yelp or squawk when John seized the moment - and a handful - but he did look awfully puzzled in a detached sort of way, as if his brain was too preoccupied with the laptop to answer "Why are there hands on my breasts? I'm sure these weren't here before."

John pinched where he was ninety percent certain Rodney's nipples should be, though their being soft meant he couldn't guarantee anything yet. That brought Rodney back to reality quickly enough.

"Sheppard! Can't you see I'm working?"

"Working that sweet ass alright," John replied with as much cheese as he could muster to go with his grin as he pressed up against Rodney from behind. It was a sweet ass, although he had to admit, he was a little bit fonder of it when it was a male ass - probably because he knew exactly what he'd done to it in the past.

And if he hadn't been hard already, that would have sent all his blood travelling in a much more fun direction in an instant.

"C'mon Rodney, you deserve a break," John urged, grin wicked, squeezing Rodney's new upholstery and resting his chin on Rodney's shoulder.

"What I deserve is a sexual harassment tribunal. Can't you keep your hands to yourself for five minutes? Or two?" For all his words, Rodney seemed quite content to push back against John's hips, and didn't seem too concerned about removing the hands fondling him merrily; his own weren't exactly trapped.

"No," John replied brightly before letting go long enough to shove both hands up underneath Rodney's vest, feeling guilty about their being cold for all of three seconds before his brain reverted to caveman status. Clothed boobs; good. Naked boobs; better. And courtesy of that, it was time to back-pedal and try to think of the least erotic thing he could in between pinching and rolling Rodney's nipples, the warm weight of his breasts all too pleasant to handle, because otherwise he was about a minute away from jizzing in his pants.

"You don't have to say 'Zelenka in a bikini' just because you're thinking it!" Rodney snapped at him, as if he was the epitome of normality as he calmly shut down the laptop in between pulling his vest up and off the rest of the way. "That's just wrong."

"It's helping!" John snapped back before closing his eyes and lowering one of his hands, trying to think of anything but where it was going - kind of hard given there were buttons and zips in the way - but soon enough his fingers were sliding through a tangle of curls and - oh. Yeah.

Rodney was wet.

Zelenka-in-a-bikini-Caldwell-belly-dancing Rodney was wet, Rodney had a cunt and it was wet, and okay, John was a man of steel if he survived this with an intact nervous system because holy fuck Rodney was wet.

And making obscene slick sounds against his fingers on account.

He was a doomed man. "Rodney, I've got to -"

"Condoms in the top drawer," Rodney interrupted, pointing over by the door, and John pondered for all of half a second why he hadn't considered detaching himself from Rodney's hips for stamina-related purposes before damn near diving for the drawer, yanking his pants down enough to put the condom on because the idea of fathering Rodney's babies really was an erection killer, then turned with the intention of stumbling back over, crippled by arousal, and froze.

"What?" Rodney asked, leaning back against the desk with his pants around his ankles, as if John was banned from reacting to the sight of his best friend and frequent boyfriend wearing a set of tits that could make God cry over a stomach and pair of thighs that left him wanting to burn down every Weight Watchers factory he could find.

"Why there's no porn of girls like you..." John grinned before commencing with the stumbling over plan.

"I can think of a few good reasons -" Rodney replied, ending the comeback before its time on a gasp that probably came out higher and breathier than intended courtesy of John's hands spreading him wide.

John couldn't think of anything smart-assed to say about this and didn't really want to, pushing up into slick-slick-slick heat, burning heat, and shifting his hands rapidly to grab Rodney's ass, squeezing hard. "You feel so fucking good, Rodney," he announced, brain too empty to think of anything approaching original, before starting to set something like a pace, Rodney's thick thighs stronger than he'd thought and drawing him in like encouragement.

"I know," Rodney replied, that slightly higher, breathier pitch apparently sticking.

"You - what?" John asked, flattening his left hand behind Rodney against the desk for balance and chivalrously ignoring how Rodney's right might have inched close enough to touch.

"I fingered myself," Rodney explained, just matter of fact enough for John to know full well he was nervous to admit it. "Scientific curiosity," he added by way of an excuse, and John managed a brief smirk before the rhythmic squeezing of Rodney's cunt stole it back from him, Rodney's ass an unfortunate victim as John's right hand gripped tighter for leverage, something to stop him accidentally pounding Rodney off the desk even if the extra padding meant they probably could fall to the floor and keep on going and oh, God, that thought was not helping with longevity at all.

"Rodney, I'm not - you won't -" And okay, if trying to express his guilt over lack of staying power got him the reaction of Rodney freeing a hand to rub his own clit, John was going to start singing about said guilt like a Catholic in future.

"Try me," Rodney challenged, looking down between them before snapping his head back and gasping, seeming to relax around John for a moment before squeezing tight in rolling, maddening waves, and -

Oh fuck, Rodney was coming, John was making - helping Rodney come, and Rodney made the weirdest, hottest noises having a girl's orgasm; as if he had any damn choice but to follow suit, jerking hard up against Rodney and promising himself he was so, so trying for a repeat performance as soon as he had anything resembling energy again.

There was something very surreal about sitting on the floor next to Rodney, leaning against the desk in post-coital bliss while Rodney resumed typing on the laptop without bothering to redress. Apparently relaxing had given his brain the chance to work through a nasty little problem that had been bothering him beforehand, and he wanted to finish typing up the results while he remembered. John had no real complaints to make, especially given Rodney was too distracted by his work to particularly grouch about John ogling him while stroking a hand up and down his thigh. The shift from cool skin on the outer edges to hot on the inside wasn't just sexy as hell, it was genuinely pleasant to touch; something that wasn't exactly hindered by the fact Rodney hadn't shaved or waxed or done anything else that might leave his skin feeling more like five o'clock shadow than... well. The way it was supposed to feel.

"You nearly done?" John asked, sneaking his fingertips under the fold of Rodney's stomach and stroking the skin hidden there, warm and silk-soft from being protected.

"Er, hello? Genius at work," Rodney replied in a half-assed snap before making a pleased noise and abruptly halting his typing, closing the laptop. "And tomorrow, I can get my penis back."

"Cool," John replied, looking back up at Rodney's breasts and sighing.

Rodney wasn't too impressed. "Do you want me to walk around with a vagina for the rest of my life?"

John found himself startled by the thought of Rodney with PMS and winced. "No. I'll just - miss those," he explained, not bothering to take his eyes off the twin orbs of happy, which he felt was quite reasonable behaviour for any warm-blooded bisexual. "They're pretty neat."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "They're inconvenient. Take a picture if you're going to miss them that much."

John suddenly regretted the lack of any drink he could do a spittake with. "Seriously?"

"Sure. Just keep my face out of the photo."

John had to admire Rodney's ability to successfully distract him from naked breasts for more than two seconds as he tried to work out through a good long stare whether the expression on Rodney's face was genuine or not. What the hell - no time like the present to try his luck. "Can I put my dick between them?"

Now it was Rodney's turn to pull the would-have-been-a-spittake face. "What?"

"Well, I've never been with a really well-endowed girl before and -"

"Ugh, God, I don't want to know. Okay. Just - once. For the photo. And I am so on top after I get my dick back. For a week. Every night."

"I can live with that," John replied, grinning widely before smoothing his hand over Rodney's thigh one last time and folding his arms, settling himself comfortably. "You are the best girlfriend ever."

"I'm a better boyfriend," Rodney promised in something half-huffy, half-proud as he resumed typing.

John was happy to believe it.

The End