blue flamingos

Trust Me

Fandom: Stargate:Atlantis

Category/Rated: Slash, R

Year/Length: 2010/~1965 words

Pairing: McKay/Sheppard

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, for which I should think they're profoundly grateful.

Warning: d/S, bondage, gags, safe words, scene gone wrong, broken trust

Summary: Rodney convinces John to try bondage only to get so into it he fails to notice John's trying to use his safe word and can't because Rodney gagged him. Prefer John's POV, if possible

Author's Notes: sga_kinkmeme

Feedback: Yes please. Even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.


Rodney says, "Please," and, "I know you'll like it,"and John kind of suspects even then that he probably won't, but Rodney also says, "Trust me," and that's not something that Rodney says unless he really wants what he's asking for.

So John says, "Okay," and, "Tomato," as a reminder, because Rodney asked him once if he'd ever had a safe-word, and that's what John told him.

John, because he's a responsible commander, makes sure that there's a knife on the night-stand that can cut through the ropes quickly if Atlantis is unexpectedly invaded, and, because he tries to be a decent boyfriend, tells Lorne that he's getting an early night and only to disturb him in an emergency. Then he goes back to his room, where Rodney's waiting for him.


He tells himself he's not nervous, right up until the sight of Rodney's cock bobbing as he shifts his weight to kneel over John makes him giggle, high-pitched and a little hysterical. "What?" Rodney asks, looking up.

John looks away from his cock, away from his eyes, settles his gaze on the rope in Rodney's hands instead. "Nothing," he says. For a second, he thinks Rodney's going to ask if he's sure, but maybe Rodney already knows the answer. He doesn't ask.

"Here," he says instead, holding out the length of rope like he wants John to inspect it. "I can tie this to the wall decorations, since you don't have a headboard, and the foot to the legs of the bed. I think we should keep it simple, the first time."

"Okay," John says. This is Rodney, who says, "Trust me," and means it, who's done this before. It'll be fine.

"Give me your wrists," Rodney says.

John's read about this, a little, about how it feels good or safe or out of control or controlled. He just feels like a naked guy with his arms pulled over his head and his wrists bound together. Rodney slides a finger under the knot, checking it, and John shivers from Rodney's finger skimming the thin skin there. His stomach feels tight with apprehension, but he smiles when Rodney asks if it's okay, not too tight? He can move his arms a couple of inches before the rope stops him, and that makes him feel better.

Not so much when Rodney's got his legs spread and an ankle tied to each leg of the bed. The rope's too taut for him to move his legs at all, and he feels too exposed, the lights too bright. When Rodney pulls out a folded strip of thick black cloth and says, "I want to use this as well," he nods, relieved. Blindfolded sounds really good right now.

He doesn't get it, until Rodney's lifting his head and – okay, not a blindfold, a gag. "Okay?" Rodney asks again.

For a second, he's strapped to a chair, screaming around a gag as the Wraith drains his life away. Then Rodney rests one hand on his thigh, and he's back on Atlantis again. He nods.

Rodney grins at him, pleased and proprietary. "God, you're hot like this. I knew you would be. You look..." He trails off, but he looks happy, and that eases some of John's uncertainty. He wonders why, amongst the stuff he has done, he's never done this.

Rodney wants to fuck him, which is not a surprise – Rodney will accept a blow job, or John jerking off, but he really loves to fuck John, and John doesn't let himself think about that too much. John closes his eyes, lets Rodney prep him and murmur about how good he looks, how Rodney knew this was a brilliant idea, and if he doesn't move, it feels like any other time with Rodney.

Except for the taste of cotton in his mouth, how the gag smothers him and makes him want to swallow against the taste of the material every time he breathes in. This is fine, and if he does this, maybe he can talk Rodney into doing something else to him, something that John really wants and hasn't dared to ask for yet.

Rodney fucks him fast and eager, hands tight on John's hips. His aim is for shit like that, and sure, John likes getting fucked (John loves it, hard, deep, careless except for how it's not), but he's too strung with nerves to get hard unless Rodney does it better.

He shifts, trying to wriggle his hips and do it for Rodney, and the ropes on his ankles tug against the skin. John's never had his bare ankles bound before, it doesn't connect to anything in his head, but there's still a surge of adrenaline through his blood that makes his heart pound, loud in his ears. He tries to take a deep breath, to calm down, but he gets a mouthful of cotton instead; tries to lift a hand to pull the gag away, to breathe, but he can't, his hands are tied and the rope rubs sharp against his skin, and he can feel real panic tugging at the edges of his mind.

He opens his eyes, and Rodney's there, his head thrown back, moaning, John can hear him over the blood in his ears, fucking away at John. It makes John feel better, seeing Rodney there, "Trust me," Rodney can make this okay.

John says, "Tomato," and it comes out garbage, meaning and consonants soaked into the gag. Rodney doesn't even notice that John's said anything.

Panic surges, and John thinks, Bell. Or keys, or coins. Something that would make a noise if he opened his hand and let it drop, because Rodney can't tell what he's saying, Rodney's not paying enough attention to know that he's trying to say something and ask, or stop.

John's whole body's tense with the need to struggle, to pull at the ropes until they break and he's free, to rip off the gag so he can just breathe. He wrestles his body quiet and still, even if he can't do anything about the pounding of his heart, the way his mind is running a mile a minute, tripping over words and thoughts too fast to grasp hold of them –

He forces himself still again, the rub of the rope sharp against his wrists and his ankles, every muscle trembling with the need to move. He thinks it's a good thing his ankles are tied, that if they weren't he'd have flung Rodney off in struggling to get free, to get his attention, because he knows how to do that, military hand-to-hand training and Teyla and Ronon, he knows how to fight and fight dirty if he has to, and he has to, right now, he has to get free, and he knows he's struggling again, but he can't stop it now, and don't they teach this in the military as well, calm in the face of a crisis, but this isn't a crisis, John can deal with a crisis, this is just -

Above him, Rodney groans, long and low, and stills, dropping down onto his hands and panting for breath.

John barely recognizes what's happening to Rodney – all he knows is that this means it's over, almost, he's almost safe, and that's enough to quiet his head so that he can hear, when Rodney straightens and pulls out of him, Rodney saying, "God, that was amazing. Possibly the best sex I've had in my life. Did you -" He eases the gag from John's mouth and leans down to kiss him.

John's frozen, starting to shake, and Rodney leans back almost immediately, looking down at John with wide, worried eyes. "Are you all right?"

"Tomato," John says. His voice is raw, like he's been screaming. Maybe he has. "Get them off, let me up, right now, Rodney, let me out."

"Okay, wait a second." Rodney starts fumbling with the knot around John's wrists, his fingers clumsy where they brush at John's skin.

John shakes his head. "Just cut it, Rodney, get them off, please." He's gone high-pitched and hysterical again, sounds like he's begging, but he can feel the banked panic threatening to surge again, and he thinks that if he tries to thrash himself free, it wouldn't be hard to dislocate his shoulder in the process, and he's not ready for that kind of humiliation.

The clean slide of the knife through the ropes, the soft sound of them falling away, is like a switch flipping inside of John, like something stuck releasing, and all the energy rushes out of him. He pulls his arms down, wraps them around his torso and tucks his hands underneath to stop them shaking. The knife slides through the ropes around his ankles as well, and he tucks his feet up, letting out a breath of pure relief. It sounds more like a sob.

"John?" Rodney says, touching John's shoulder.

John twitches away from it without even thinking, glad he's got his back to Rodney. He bites his bottom lip so that he won't say, "Don't touch me." He thinks about it for a second, then gets unsteadily to his feet and pulls on his pajama pants and a t-shirt. He can shower later.

He wraps his arms around himself again, and maybe it's because he's cold or maybe it's because he's got rope marks on his wrists. He doesn't care; he can't look at Rodney, naked on his bed, waiting.

"You should have said," Rodney starts. "If you didn't like it, you should have stopped me."

John lifts the gag between two fingers and holds it up between them, silently.

"Okay, maybe I wouldn't have recognized the word, but if you'd said something, I would have -"

John shakes his head, sharp, jerky movement. "You weren't listening," he says. His throat burns, and he looks down at his feet. There are probably abrasions there as well, where he can't see them. He has no idea what he'll do about the ones on his wrists. You're supposed to be careful. Even in his thoughts, he can't add, with me.

"I -" Rodney sounds stricken, and John wants to offer comfort, absolve him and say it wasn't his fault. Then he remembers how it felt to be tied down, gagged into incoherence and totally helpless, and all he wants is to leave. "I'm sorry."

John shakes his head, meaningless gesture. "Can you – leave? Please?"

On the edge of his vision, he sees Rodney reach for his shirt, then hesitate. "I don't think I should leave you alone."

John bites back the first three things that come into his head, because they're all cruel, and even if he thinks they're true right now, he knows he'll regret them later, like he's going to regret this. He has no idea what will come next, when he can't even look at Rodney directly. "Teyla's usually up with Torren now," he says to the floor. "I'll call on her."

Rodney doesn't say anything, but he does start getting dressed, which John takes to mean this is acceptable to him. John stays where he is, unmoving. He still manages to catch sight of Rodney gathering up the sliced through ropes, stuffing them back into the bag he must have used to bring them, and that helps, a little.

Rodney hesitates at the closed door. "What does this – are we breaking up?"

John opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He doesn't know what should be coming out right now, doesn't know what he wants to say to that. His thoughts are still scrambled with panic, his body tense even after the adrenaline crash of relief.

"John?" Rodney prompts, and John says, "You told me I could trust you."

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