Fic: Experiment No. 564
Oct. 17th, 2011 03:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Experiment No. 564
Summary: John has a fantasy that Rodney is uniquely qualified to fulfill.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 2509
Rating/Contents: NC-17, roleplay, mad science, sadism, fucking machines, consent play
Pairing: John/Rodney
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Lord, I have been at this story for ten forevers. I don't even know when I started it, but I'm pretty sure it was two Kink Bingos ago. It has languished ever since in a .odt labeled, somewhat inexplicably, "skullcrushermountain", but by god I have powered through it.
This is, easily, the weirdest sexual thing that anybody has ever asked Rodney for.
That title used to belong to Sarah Graves, who wanted him to pretend to be her daddy while they did it; she displaced Eric Delacroix, who couldn't get off without Rodney's hand around his throat, who beat out Gina Edwards, who very much wanted Rodney to come all over her face.
And that was all pretty weird at the time, but it all seems sort of pedestrian, now; John has, as usual, blown all his previous experiences right out of the water.
But, of course, he's going to do it anyway, for two reasons- one, he's incredibly, overwhelmingly, idiotically in love with John, and if John wanted him to pull down the moon for him, all he'd ask was if he could please point out which one he wanted; and two, ever since John mentioned it, he's been terribly curious to see whether or not he can pull it off.
The lab coat goes on over a pair of khakis and an almost worn-out t-shirt that reads "Bow before me, for I am root." A pair of hastily-appropriated goggles are next, because obviously mad scientists have to wear goggles; upon consideration, he lays the gloves on top of his cart and sets off with it.
He's still somewhat convinced that John is really just having him on with all this, that when he gets back in John is going to be laughing his ass off at Rodney for taking him seriously- but, no, John is right where Rodney left him. Not that it's that much of a surprise, because Rodney left him face-down and cuffed, ankles and wrists, to an Ancient exam table.
He wheels his cart right into John's line of sight. There's not a lot on it- a blanket, a pair of safety scissors, his gloves, a tube of lubricant- and, of course, the piece de resistance, covered up by a white sheet. The gloves make a satisfyingly loud snapping sound as he pulls them up over his wrists and lets them go; it kind of stings, actually, but it's worth it for the way it makes John jump out of his skin.
"If you could just let me go, that would be great," John says, in his voice strained.
"Hmm," Rodney says, pretending to consider it. "No."
"No?" John demands.
"No," he repeats, holding up the scissors and snipping at the air a couple times. "I need a test subject, and you're a perfect specimen."
John struggles against the restraints. "A test subject for what?"
"You'll see soon enough," Rodney promises, advancing on him. "Wouldn't want to prime you, now would I? If you'll just relax, this will all be over soon," he says, keeping his voice light, even as he's cutting John out of his clothing. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"You're not?" John asks skeptically, as Rodney pulls away the scraps of his clothes, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor.
"You don't think I'm going to risk ruining my experiment, do you?" Rodney walks back to his cart and picks up the lubricant, letting John see him uncap it, squirt a little into his gloved palm, try its viscosity with his thumb and forefinger. "There's no reason to resist the testing. If you just calm down and relax, you might even enjoy it."
"What if I don't?" John challenges.
He shrugs, stepping out of John's line of sight, making sure his footfalls are loud and steady on the floor. "As long as you don't mess up my results, I honestly don't care. Of course, if you do, I'm just going to have to keep repeating the trials until they're right. And there is nothing you can do to get away."
John starts at the first brush of Rodney's gloves on his ass; he wants to touch John all over, but he keeps his movements impersonal and clinical. He uses plenty of lube, doing his best to stretch him open, three fingers and then four, because John's going to need it. As much as he's protesting, John relaxes for Rodney's fingers, pushing back against them. Rodney can just see where he's grinding his cock against the bolster underneath him, but that's okay. Rodney has no interest at all in keeping John from coming.
Quite the opposite, really.
When he feels like John's ready, which is just after John stops pretending that he's not whining in frustration, he withdraws his fingers, patting John on the ass once before stepping back around in front of him.
"Let's begin," he says, and he whips the sheet off the cart.
John gasps out loud.
Rodney doesn't blame him. It is a pretty impressive looking piece of machinery.
He's aware that there are places you can buy these things, but obviously he wouldn't; he's mortified by the very thought. And besides, he didn't get that PhD in engineering for nothing. If he's going to put himself through the expense and since-when-is-this-my-life-ery of owning a- he can't even say it out loud- fucking machine, well, by God, he's going to have the best damn fucking machine in two galaxies.
And it totally is. It has so many functions, he could probably make it play the piano if he wanted. He only just restrained himself from painting flames up the side.
The business end, so to speak, is a dildo that looks, to Rodney, to be unnecessarily large; but then, Rodney doesn't really care for things in his ass, so that applies to pretty much all dildos. And anyway, John picked it out for himself, so it's his funeral.
John looks terrified and excited at the same time, tracking the machine carefully until Rodney wheels it out of his line of sight. "What are you- what is that thing going to do to me?" he says, tugging at his restraints again.
"Isn't it obvious?" Rodney responds, moving the machine into position and sliding the arm forward. "I'd think even you could work it out."
"You're sick!" John shouts, twisting away from him. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Rodney has to grab him by the back of his thigh to keep him still as he presses the first few inches of the dildo into John's ass; John presses his face against the table, unable to stifle his moan. "For science, obviously. And I'm fairly sure you don't really mind."
"Go to hell," John spits.
"Not until the testing is complete," Rodney says, stepping back. John makes for quite a sight, his hips canted up, caught between trying to pretend to hate it and trying to get more of the dildo inside of him at the same time.
Rodney picks up the remote; the best thing about designing the machine himself is having a really satisfyingly complicated one. He's got a whole bank of presets, just ready and waiting to have their way with John. He hits the first one, the one he's mentally labeled as the warm-up mode. It's simple- all the way in and all the way out, just as slow as it'll go, slowly enough for Rodney to check angles and adjust the boom and get John acquainted with the thing.
Everything seems to be proceeding normally; the machine moves slowly in and out, hitting the right marks, while John yells and struggles and swears. Rodney hits the next one, a little faster, shorter strokes, still warming him up for the heavy stuff.
"Look," John says, through clenched teeth. "I've got plenty of money. You can have as much as you want if you just let me go."
"I don't think so," Rodney says, punching the next preset, two hard jolts and one long slide, over and over. "You can offer me anything you want, but all I need is results," he tells him, but he doubts John can even hear him over the sound of his own groans.
It's kind of brain-breaking to watch; on the one hand, he knows how much John wants this, what a big deal it was for him to even bring it up. On the other, John is panting and sweating and pulling at his restraints, fighting his own pleasure at every step of the way.
"The experiment is progressing exactly as planned," Rodney says, his voice level and placid. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"Fuck you," John snarls.
Rodney chuckles. "Not quite," he says, picking another setting, just to keep John on his toes.
The machine strokes in and out of John's ass relentlessly, back and forth, over and over again, cold and precise, and Rodney doesn't even know where to look. It's all sick and beautiful, his machine and John's body, the place where they join. And shit, Rodney knew John wouldn't be able to last long, but he underestimated how hot it'd make him just looking.
John is still writhing, but his hips are working for more. "Please," he pants, "please, don't make me."
"Don't make you what?" Rodney says, stepping back into John's line of sight.
"Don't, don't- shit!" he hisses. "Oh, fuck, don't make me come, please, not like this."
"But that's the whole experiment!" Rodney protests. "And who said anything about coming? How can you be done already when I have so many more stimuli to test?" Just to drive his point home, he hits another preset, the one that's long and fast and twisty and pretty much guaranteed to turn John into a lump.
"I'll do whatever you want," John begs, his voice breaking. "I'll- I'll suck your dick if you just let me go."
Rodney resists the urge to point out that John would gladly do that anyway. "Attempts to influence the testing staff are not appreciated." He speeds the machine up just a little bit more, and there it is; John's orgasm slams through him.
This is the part where Rodney would have quailed, where his back would have gotten sore or he would have gotten concerned that he was hurting John; the machine has no such qualms at all. Rodney slows it down, moving to a less strenuous setting, but still it keeps moving, fucking in and out of John's body.
"Stop," John insists. "I'll do what you want, just make it stop."
"I'll stop when the experiment is over, thank you," Rodney says, speeding it up incrementally. John makes a noise that's a little like a sob and puts his face down against the table.
There's no telling how long it's going to take to make John come again, and Rodney didn't anticipate how hard it would be to wait; time for a change of plan. "There is something you can do," Rodney says, standing in front of John. "I believe you offered me something."
"Anything you want," John says. There are tears on his cheeks, and it says something deeply fucked up about Rodney that it just makes it hotter, the idea that he's pushed John just past his breaking point.
Rodney sets the remote down briefly, so that he can unzip his fly and get his cock free. "Make it good," he says, picking up the remote again and speeding up the machine. John nods, straining forward, and Rodney shoves his cock into his open mouth, groaning loudly.
John's giving it all he's got, but it barely even matters, what with Rodney as far gone as he is. He tries to distract himself, fiddling with the remote, but turning the machine up only makes John moan around him, making matters worse. It's barely any time at all before he grips the back of John's head and comes down his throat.
Rodney pulls back, sighing contentedly, and tucks himself away. He walks toward the machine, and John tracks him, turning as much as he can to look. "You can let me go now," he says. "Right? I did what you wanted."
"You did what you wanted," Rodney says, fighting to keep the wicked grin off his face.
John's eyes widen in shock. "But- but you said-"
Rodney holds up a finger. "I didn't say anything. You offered something, I accepted. I never said I'd let you go."
There's an audible thud as John's face hits the table again, and this time Rodney can hear him crying. He turns up the machine again, and now John is sobbing; his hips are working again, but he's not struggling, just taking it, letting the machine use him. It's intensely satisfying, just watching him take it, and Rodney savors every second of it.
There's no fanfare when John comes again, just a sharp intake of breath and a long, shuddering sigh. As much as Rodney wants to keep him here, make him take it as long as possible, that's the agreed-upon cut off; Rodney hits the last preset, a slow tapering off, until the boom retracts all the way and the machine shuts itself down.
Rodney picks up the blanket from the cart and drapes it over John's body; he keeps one hand on him as he removes the restraints, checking to make sure they haven't left bad marks. John rolls onto his side, wincing as he sits up. "Careful," Rodney says, helping John down off the table; John's knees shake when he manages to stand, but Rodney gets him into the next room and onto the bed. He presses a bottle of water into John's hands before lying down beside him.
"Thank you," John says hoarsely, curling up next to him.
"My pleasure, believe me," Rodney says, and he can already tell he's going to start babbling, the way he does when he's coming down from something like this, the way he does when there's something on his mind. "Not that that wasn't the hottest thing ever, but I have to admit that I don't see what's so appealing about the mad scientist thing, not from your end. I mean, you're already kind of dating one."
John gives him a look. "Yeah."
"Oh," Rodney says, startled. "Well, then."
"Shut up, Rodney," John says fondly, laying his head on Rodney's chest.
"Stronger men than you have tried to make me," he says, kissing John's hair. "It hasn't happened yet."
John rolls his eyes, his laughter echoing through Rodney's chest; Rodney hugs him closer.
They're going to be okay.
Summary: John has a fantasy that Rodney is uniquely qualified to fulfill.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 2509
Rating/Contents: NC-17, roleplay, mad science, sadism, fucking machines, consent play
Pairing: John/Rodney
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Lord, I have been at this story for ten forevers. I don't even know when I started it, but I'm pretty sure it was two Kink Bingos ago. It has languished ever since in a .odt labeled, somewhat inexplicably, "skullcrushermountain", but by god I have powered through it.
This is, easily, the weirdest sexual thing that anybody has ever asked Rodney for.
That title used to belong to Sarah Graves, who wanted him to pretend to be her daddy while they did it; she displaced Eric Delacroix, who couldn't get off without Rodney's hand around his throat, who beat out Gina Edwards, who very much wanted Rodney to come all over her face.
And that was all pretty weird at the time, but it all seems sort of pedestrian, now; John has, as usual, blown all his previous experiences right out of the water.
But, of course, he's going to do it anyway, for two reasons- one, he's incredibly, overwhelmingly, idiotically in love with John, and if John wanted him to pull down the moon for him, all he'd ask was if he could please point out which one he wanted; and two, ever since John mentioned it, he's been terribly curious to see whether or not he can pull it off.
The lab coat goes on over a pair of khakis and an almost worn-out t-shirt that reads "Bow before me, for I am root." A pair of hastily-appropriated goggles are next, because obviously mad scientists have to wear goggles; upon consideration, he lays the gloves on top of his cart and sets off with it.
He's still somewhat convinced that John is really just having him on with all this, that when he gets back in John is going to be laughing his ass off at Rodney for taking him seriously- but, no, John is right where Rodney left him. Not that it's that much of a surprise, because Rodney left him face-down and cuffed, ankles and wrists, to an Ancient exam table.
He wheels his cart right into John's line of sight. There's not a lot on it- a blanket, a pair of safety scissors, his gloves, a tube of lubricant- and, of course, the piece de resistance, covered up by a white sheet. The gloves make a satisfyingly loud snapping sound as he pulls them up over his wrists and lets them go; it kind of stings, actually, but it's worth it for the way it makes John jump out of his skin.
"If you could just let me go, that would be great," John says, in his voice strained.
"Hmm," Rodney says, pretending to consider it. "No."
"No?" John demands.
"No," he repeats, holding up the scissors and snipping at the air a couple times. "I need a test subject, and you're a perfect specimen."
John struggles against the restraints. "A test subject for what?"
"You'll see soon enough," Rodney promises, advancing on him. "Wouldn't want to prime you, now would I? If you'll just relax, this will all be over soon," he says, keeping his voice light, even as he's cutting John out of his clothing. "I'm not going to hurt you."
"You're not?" John asks skeptically, as Rodney pulls away the scraps of his clothes, tossing them haphazardly onto the floor.
"You don't think I'm going to risk ruining my experiment, do you?" Rodney walks back to his cart and picks up the lubricant, letting John see him uncap it, squirt a little into his gloved palm, try its viscosity with his thumb and forefinger. "There's no reason to resist the testing. If you just calm down and relax, you might even enjoy it."
"What if I don't?" John challenges.
He shrugs, stepping out of John's line of sight, making sure his footfalls are loud and steady on the floor. "As long as you don't mess up my results, I honestly don't care. Of course, if you do, I'm just going to have to keep repeating the trials until they're right. And there is nothing you can do to get away."
John starts at the first brush of Rodney's gloves on his ass; he wants to touch John all over, but he keeps his movements impersonal and clinical. He uses plenty of lube, doing his best to stretch him open, three fingers and then four, because John's going to need it. As much as he's protesting, John relaxes for Rodney's fingers, pushing back against them. Rodney can just see where he's grinding his cock against the bolster underneath him, but that's okay. Rodney has no interest at all in keeping John from coming.
Quite the opposite, really.
When he feels like John's ready, which is just after John stops pretending that he's not whining in frustration, he withdraws his fingers, patting John on the ass once before stepping back around in front of him.
"Let's begin," he says, and he whips the sheet off the cart.
John gasps out loud.
Rodney doesn't blame him. It is a pretty impressive looking piece of machinery.
He's aware that there are places you can buy these things, but obviously he wouldn't; he's mortified by the very thought. And besides, he didn't get that PhD in engineering for nothing. If he's going to put himself through the expense and since-when-is-this-my-life-ery of owning a- he can't even say it out loud- fucking machine, well, by God, he's going to have the best damn fucking machine in two galaxies.
And it totally is. It has so many functions, he could probably make it play the piano if he wanted. He only just restrained himself from painting flames up the side.
The business end, so to speak, is a dildo that looks, to Rodney, to be unnecessarily large; but then, Rodney doesn't really care for things in his ass, so that applies to pretty much all dildos. And anyway, John picked it out for himself, so it's his funeral.
John looks terrified and excited at the same time, tracking the machine carefully until Rodney wheels it out of his line of sight. "What are you- what is that thing going to do to me?" he says, tugging at his restraints again.
"Isn't it obvious?" Rodney responds, moving the machine into position and sliding the arm forward. "I'd think even you could work it out."
"You're sick!" John shouts, twisting away from him. "Why are you doing this to me?"
Rodney has to grab him by the back of his thigh to keep him still as he presses the first few inches of the dildo into John's ass; John presses his face against the table, unable to stifle his moan. "For science, obviously. And I'm fairly sure you don't really mind."
"Go to hell," John spits.
"Not until the testing is complete," Rodney says, stepping back. John makes for quite a sight, his hips canted up, caught between trying to pretend to hate it and trying to get more of the dildo inside of him at the same time.
Rodney picks up the remote; the best thing about designing the machine himself is having a really satisfyingly complicated one. He's got a whole bank of presets, just ready and waiting to have their way with John. He hits the first one, the one he's mentally labeled as the warm-up mode. It's simple- all the way in and all the way out, just as slow as it'll go, slowly enough for Rodney to check angles and adjust the boom and get John acquainted with the thing.
Everything seems to be proceeding normally; the machine moves slowly in and out, hitting the right marks, while John yells and struggles and swears. Rodney hits the next one, a little faster, shorter strokes, still warming him up for the heavy stuff.
"Look," John says, through clenched teeth. "I've got plenty of money. You can have as much as you want if you just let me go."
"I don't think so," Rodney says, punching the next preset, two hard jolts and one long slide, over and over. "You can offer me anything you want, but all I need is results," he tells him, but he doubts John can even hear him over the sound of his own groans.
It's kind of brain-breaking to watch; on the one hand, he knows how much John wants this, what a big deal it was for him to even bring it up. On the other, John is panting and sweating and pulling at his restraints, fighting his own pleasure at every step of the way.
"The experiment is progressing exactly as planned," Rodney says, his voice level and placid. "Thank you for your cooperation."
"Fuck you," John snarls.
Rodney chuckles. "Not quite," he says, picking another setting, just to keep John on his toes.
The machine strokes in and out of John's ass relentlessly, back and forth, over and over again, cold and precise, and Rodney doesn't even know where to look. It's all sick and beautiful, his machine and John's body, the place where they join. And shit, Rodney knew John wouldn't be able to last long, but he underestimated how hot it'd make him just looking.
John is still writhing, but his hips are working for more. "Please," he pants, "please, don't make me."
"Don't make you what?" Rodney says, stepping back into John's line of sight.
"Don't, don't- shit!" he hisses. "Oh, fuck, don't make me come, please, not like this."
"But that's the whole experiment!" Rodney protests. "And who said anything about coming? How can you be done already when I have so many more stimuli to test?" Just to drive his point home, he hits another preset, the one that's long and fast and twisty and pretty much guaranteed to turn John into a lump.
"I'll do whatever you want," John begs, his voice breaking. "I'll- I'll suck your dick if you just let me go."
Rodney resists the urge to point out that John would gladly do that anyway. "Attempts to influence the testing staff are not appreciated." He speeds the machine up just a little bit more, and there it is; John's orgasm slams through him.
This is the part where Rodney would have quailed, where his back would have gotten sore or he would have gotten concerned that he was hurting John; the machine has no such qualms at all. Rodney slows it down, moving to a less strenuous setting, but still it keeps moving, fucking in and out of John's body.
"Stop," John insists. "I'll do what you want, just make it stop."
"I'll stop when the experiment is over, thank you," Rodney says, speeding it up incrementally. John makes a noise that's a little like a sob and puts his face down against the table.
There's no telling how long it's going to take to make John come again, and Rodney didn't anticipate how hard it would be to wait; time for a change of plan. "There is something you can do," Rodney says, standing in front of John. "I believe you offered me something."
"Anything you want," John says. There are tears on his cheeks, and it says something deeply fucked up about Rodney that it just makes it hotter, the idea that he's pushed John just past his breaking point.
Rodney sets the remote down briefly, so that he can unzip his fly and get his cock free. "Make it good," he says, picking up the remote again and speeding up the machine. John nods, straining forward, and Rodney shoves his cock into his open mouth, groaning loudly.
John's giving it all he's got, but it barely even matters, what with Rodney as far gone as he is. He tries to distract himself, fiddling with the remote, but turning the machine up only makes John moan around him, making matters worse. It's barely any time at all before he grips the back of John's head and comes down his throat.
Rodney pulls back, sighing contentedly, and tucks himself away. He walks toward the machine, and John tracks him, turning as much as he can to look. "You can let me go now," he says. "Right? I did what you wanted."
"You did what you wanted," Rodney says, fighting to keep the wicked grin off his face.
John's eyes widen in shock. "But- but you said-"
Rodney holds up a finger. "I didn't say anything. You offered something, I accepted. I never said I'd let you go."
There's an audible thud as John's face hits the table again, and this time Rodney can hear him crying. He turns up the machine again, and now John is sobbing; his hips are working again, but he's not struggling, just taking it, letting the machine use him. It's intensely satisfying, just watching him take it, and Rodney savors every second of it.
There's no fanfare when John comes again, just a sharp intake of breath and a long, shuddering sigh. As much as Rodney wants to keep him here, make him take it as long as possible, that's the agreed-upon cut off; Rodney hits the last preset, a slow tapering off, until the boom retracts all the way and the machine shuts itself down.
Rodney picks up the blanket from the cart and drapes it over John's body; he keeps one hand on him as he removes the restraints, checking to make sure they haven't left bad marks. John rolls onto his side, wincing as he sits up. "Careful," Rodney says, helping John down off the table; John's knees shake when he manages to stand, but Rodney gets him into the next room and onto the bed. He presses a bottle of water into John's hands before lying down beside him.
"Thank you," John says hoarsely, curling up next to him.
"My pleasure, believe me," Rodney says, and he can already tell he's going to start babbling, the way he does when he's coming down from something like this, the way he does when there's something on his mind. "Not that that wasn't the hottest thing ever, but I have to admit that I don't see what's so appealing about the mad scientist thing, not from your end. I mean, you're already kind of dating one."
John gives him a look. "Yeah."
"Oh," Rodney says, startled. "Well, then."
"Shut up, Rodney," John says fondly, laying his head on Rodney's chest.
"Stronger men than you have tried to make me," he says, kissing John's hair. "It hasn't happened yet."
John rolls his eyes, his laughter echoing through Rodney's chest; Rodney hugs him closer.
They're going to be okay.
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