My id: let me show you it
May. 18th, 2010 12:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Disobedient
Summary: John just needs a guiding hand.
Fandom: Blake's 7/Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1000
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s, possible dubcon, pure self-indulgence
Timeline: Series A-B (B7); AU (SGA). No real canon knowledge needed or spoilers given.
Pairing: Servalan/Caldwell/John (that's right, you heard me)
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: I APOLOGIZE FOR NOTHING. Neither does![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
coffeesuperhero or, for that matter, Hedonism Bot.
John stands at attention in the middle of the room, not daring to move a muscle. He knows he's in for it; he just doesn't know how bad it'll be, what direction it'll come from, how long they'll let him live.
Servalan lets him stay there for a moment, watching him, considering him. "You have been," she pauses, as if carefully choosing her words, "insubordinate, have you not?" He swallows, holds his place, even as she stands, walking towards him, stalking around him, lithe and dangerous as a cat. "Well, answer me."
"Yes, Supreme Commander," he barks. He's sweating, now, feeling it trickle uncomfortably down the back of his neck. There's a part of him that wants to tell her to go fuck herself, despite how suicidal that maneuver would be, but it's warring with something else in him, something deeper, something that responds to her, something that makes him want to drop to the floor and kiss her boots.
"You have been out of control."
"Yes, Supreme Commander."
"Disobedient."
He swallows. "Yes, Supreme Commander."
She stops, looking at him in profile, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes front and center. "I am not in the habit of losing top ranked pilots just because they lack discipline." She's very close to him now, close enough that the feathers on her outfit brush against him intermittently, toying with him. "Kneel."
The command catches him off-guard; he hits the ground before he even knows what he's doing, and all he can think is finally.
She smiles, petting his hair in a way that might be mistaken for sweet. "You lack the proper motivation, Major Sheppard," she says. "What you need is to be brought to heel, but it can't be just anyone who does it, can it?"
"No, Supreme Commander," he says quietly.
She scrubs her hand through his hair again, and he has to fight the urge to press his face to her thigh. "Now we are getting somewhere," she tells him.
She leaves him, walking back over to her desk and pressing a button on her intercom. "Send in Space Commander Caldwell," she says, and John freezes. He's heard stories about Caldwell, about his draconian measures; he's heard hardened men say they'd rather go AWOL than serve under him.
The door opens, and Caldwell walks in. He's older than John expected, yet no less handsome for it, his stark leather uniform showing off his big, sturdy frame. He moves like Servalan does, predatory, bold and oddly graceful. He spares a look for John, cocking an eyebrow at him, staring him down openly, equal parts lust and disregard in his eyes.
John's so turned on that it hurts.
"Space Commander," Servalan says graciously, leaning back against her desk.
"Supreme Commander," he answers, with a little bow. "Is this him?"
"This is the one," she replies.
Caldwell comes over to him, taking him by the chin and forcing him to look up. He turns John's head this way and that, studying him; John can feel himself leaning in to Caldwell's touch, but he can't fight it.
"Doesn't look very insubordinate to me," Caldwell pronounces, pushing John away.
"I told you," she says, smiling sweetly. "All he needed was the proper encouragement."
"Well now," he says, looking at John again. "I wouldn't want to waste a perfectly good pilot."
Servalan snaps her fingers; John's eyes lock on to her face. "In lieu of being discharged, you will be reassigned to Space Commander Caldwell," she informs him. "If you present any more trouble, you will be court martialed." He keeps tracking her as she walks over to one of the chairs in front of her desk, reclining on it, settling herself in. "The Commander has done you a great service," she tells him. "I'm certain you can think of an appropriate way to show him your gratitude."
"Yes, Supreme Commander," he says, and his mouth is already watering.
Caldwell stands in front of him; he takes John's face into his hand again, tracking his thumb over John's jaw, his lips. John's hands are shaking as he fumbles Caldwell's belt open, unsnaps his fly, pulls his underclothes out of the way, until finally, finally, Caldwell's cock is laid out for him.
He can't stop himself from leaning forward, taking the full length of it, feeling it grow and harden in his mouth. Caldwell doesn't try to force him, not at first, not until John's clumsy, enthusiastic sucking starts to get to him. He fists a hand in John's hair and drags him away, rubbing himself over John's lips before pushing back in again, all the way in, until John can feel it at the back of his throat, until he gags. He pulls John off again, barely letting him get his breath before he does it again.
He doesn't let up this time, pushing in and out of John's mouth at a demanding pace. And John, John just sits there and lets him, just takes it, even though his eyes are watering and his jaw aches, because he can't get enough, not at all. He needs this, more than anything, more than he needs to breathe.
He's still not sated by the time Caldwell's hand tightens in his hair, yanking him away harshly. "Shut your eyes, boy," Caldwell growls, and John does it, shuts his eyes and opens his mouth wide. Caldwell grunts when he comes, striping John with white, all over his face and his neck and his lips and his tongue, reaching down to rub it into John's skin, the way John knows he'll never forget.
John feels ruined, completely and utterly wrecked; his throat is on fire and his knees are starting to ache. The feeling only becomes more acute when Caldwell steps away from him, tucking himself away and fastening his uniform; he looks completely unaffected, totally put-together and calm.
"Such a good boy," Servalan says.
"Thank you, Supreme Commander," John says hoarsely. He finally feels satisfied.
Summary: John just needs a guiding hand.
Fandom: Blake's 7/Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1000
Rating/Contents: NC-17, D/s, possible dubcon, pure self-indulgence
Timeline: Series A-B (B7); AU (SGA). No real canon knowledge needed or spoilers given.
Pairing: Servalan/Caldwell/John (that's right, you heard me)
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: I APOLOGIZE FOR NOTHING. Neither does
coffeesuperhero or, for that matter, Hedonism Bot.John stands at attention in the middle of the room, not daring to move a muscle. He knows he's in for it; he just doesn't know how bad it'll be, what direction it'll come from, how long they'll let him live.
Servalan lets him stay there for a moment, watching him, considering him. "You have been," she pauses, as if carefully choosing her words, "insubordinate, have you not?" He swallows, holds his place, even as she stands, walking towards him, stalking around him, lithe and dangerous as a cat. "Well, answer me."
"Yes, Supreme Commander," he barks. He's sweating, now, feeling it trickle uncomfortably down the back of his neck. There's a part of him that wants to tell her to go fuck herself, despite how suicidal that maneuver would be, but it's warring with something else in him, something deeper, something that responds to her, something that makes him want to drop to the floor and kiss her boots.
"You have been out of control."
"Yes, Supreme Commander."
"Disobedient."
He swallows. "Yes, Supreme Commander."
She stops, looking at him in profile, and he has to fight himself to keep his eyes front and center. "I am not in the habit of losing top ranked pilots just because they lack discipline." She's very close to him now, close enough that the feathers on her outfit brush against him intermittently, toying with him. "Kneel."
The command catches him off-guard; he hits the ground before he even knows what he's doing, and all he can think is finally.
She smiles, petting his hair in a way that might be mistaken for sweet. "You lack the proper motivation, Major Sheppard," she says. "What you need is to be brought to heel, but it can't be just anyone who does it, can it?"
"No, Supreme Commander," he says quietly.
She scrubs her hand through his hair again, and he has to fight the urge to press his face to her thigh. "Now we are getting somewhere," she tells him.
She leaves him, walking back over to her desk and pressing a button on her intercom. "Send in Space Commander Caldwell," she says, and John freezes. He's heard stories about Caldwell, about his draconian measures; he's heard hardened men say they'd rather go AWOL than serve under him.
The door opens, and Caldwell walks in. He's older than John expected, yet no less handsome for it, his stark leather uniform showing off his big, sturdy frame. He moves like Servalan does, predatory, bold and oddly graceful. He spares a look for John, cocking an eyebrow at him, staring him down openly, equal parts lust and disregard in his eyes.
John's so turned on that it hurts.
"Space Commander," Servalan says graciously, leaning back against her desk.
"Supreme Commander," he answers, with a little bow. "Is this him?"
"This is the one," she replies.
Caldwell comes over to him, taking him by the chin and forcing him to look up. He turns John's head this way and that, studying him; John can feel himself leaning in to Caldwell's touch, but he can't fight it.
"Doesn't look very insubordinate to me," Caldwell pronounces, pushing John away.
"I told you," she says, smiling sweetly. "All he needed was the proper encouragement."
"Well now," he says, looking at John again. "I wouldn't want to waste a perfectly good pilot."
Servalan snaps her fingers; John's eyes lock on to her face. "In lieu of being discharged, you will be reassigned to Space Commander Caldwell," she informs him. "If you present any more trouble, you will be court martialed." He keeps tracking her as she walks over to one of the chairs in front of her desk, reclining on it, settling herself in. "The Commander has done you a great service," she tells him. "I'm certain you can think of an appropriate way to show him your gratitude."
"Yes, Supreme Commander," he says, and his mouth is already watering.
Caldwell stands in front of him; he takes John's face into his hand again, tracking his thumb over John's jaw, his lips. John's hands are shaking as he fumbles Caldwell's belt open, unsnaps his fly, pulls his underclothes out of the way, until finally, finally, Caldwell's cock is laid out for him.
He can't stop himself from leaning forward, taking the full length of it, feeling it grow and harden in his mouth. Caldwell doesn't try to force him, not at first, not until John's clumsy, enthusiastic sucking starts to get to him. He fists a hand in John's hair and drags him away, rubbing himself over John's lips before pushing back in again, all the way in, until John can feel it at the back of his throat, until he gags. He pulls John off again, barely letting him get his breath before he does it again.
He doesn't let up this time, pushing in and out of John's mouth at a demanding pace. And John, John just sits there and lets him, just takes it, even though his eyes are watering and his jaw aches, because he can't get enough, not at all. He needs this, more than anything, more than he needs to breathe.
He's still not sated by the time Caldwell's hand tightens in his hair, yanking him away harshly. "Shut your eyes, boy," Caldwell growls, and John does it, shuts his eyes and opens his mouth wide. Caldwell grunts when he comes, striping John with white, all over his face and his neck and his lips and his tongue, reaching down to rub it into John's skin, the way John knows he'll never forget.
John feels ruined, completely and utterly wrecked; his throat is on fire and his knees are starting to ache. The feeling only becomes more acute when Caldwell steps away from him, tucking himself away and fastening his uniform; he looks completely unaffected, totally put-together and calm.
"Such a good boy," Servalan says.
"Thank you, Supreme Commander," John says hoarsely. He finally feels satisfied.