The Toy 1

The Toy

by Kouros

URL: http://www.area52hkh.net/ask/kouros/toy01.php
Summary: Rodney gets a visit from John, who wants to play

I was doing my thing as usual. Every day in Atlantis is a busy day, and I am a busy man. We all are really, we're working hard to get a toe hold on this city and this planet so that we can survive and eventually defeat the Wraith. I normally have a couple assistants that help me survey and explore the areas that John and the military types clear and OK for us, but Zelenka borrowed them to help him do whatever it is that he does. I was alone and tired, thinking I might take a break and maybe grab some coffee and visit with Carson since I was a bit brain fried. It would give me some time to recharge before going at it again. Then, with no warning, John walked through the door. He never comes in without knocking; not that he has to, but despite the casual way he has about him, he's innately well mannered. But he didn't knock, just came in. We're talking like a mid-morning visit that is totally unscheduled and unexpected. I looked at him kind of curiously and he just stared at me for a few seconds and said "get your clothes off."

I just looked at him as he turned and stared at the door. Seconds later, whatever it is that his Ancient gene does, worked on the door and it slid closed and made a humming sound which meant it was locked. I felt my mouth get dry very suddenly.

I stood up and started around the desk and when I got to the front he said, "Rodney, if you like that shirt then get it off now or it won't be fit to wear" I just blinked. He then shoved most of the papers and things off my desk onto the floor. Again, all I could do was stand there, paralyzed, looking at him.

He frowned at me and said, "Aiden and Teyla or someone that you normally say has less smarts than a box of rocks can clean it up later. Now, do what you're told and get your clothes off."

I had barely gotten my shirt off when he backed me up against the desk and then I leaned back too far and fell on some cookies I had been munching on. John reached behind me and shoved the little box of cookies onto the floor. "I'll get you some new cookies later, Rodney, now get out of those pants." is how he phrased it, I think.

So he proceeded to unbuckle his pants and drop them around his ankles and the last thing he said to me was "you are prepped, aren't you Rodney?" then he leaned over me and began to devour me like a tasty snack.

It seemed like his lips were covered with a chemical that burned me; every where that he kissed me, it felt like he left a trail of fire on my skin. His tongue plundered my mouth with the ease of someone who is secure in their understanding and acceptance. No matter how much he made me tremble with his kisses, they would never be unwelcome. John has no doubts about me, he knows I want him.

When he moved to my neck and began to lick and suck his way down to my shoulder I could feel my nipples hardening beneath his hands. If I could write poetry, I'd write verses and stanzas about John's hands. It's odd to say they are beautiful when I know they are the instruments of death and destruction, violent, and without mercy, but as they glide across my skin and sooth me and gentle me, what else can I call them but beautiful? To me, they are the hands of a virtuoso since that's what he does with my body; he plays me like an instrument. My mind sometimes watches and cowers and gibbers in its hidden recesses as it watches me lose all conscious volition and give John every iota of control that I have over my body. His touch moves me, guides me, and positions me to his liking.

Soon his lips have fastened on one of my nipples and I hear the body I live in gasp. I can hardly breathe; his mouth on me is sending waves of pleasure though me. I can't say a word that is coherent, I have no wise cracks, I can barely beg him for more, but I try. Oh my God, how I try. My cock is so hard; the glistening precome is seeping out faster as John gets closer to it. When his broad tongue swipes across the head I almost come off the desk. He holds me down with his beautiful, deadly, hands. He takes me in his mouth and sucks hard, so that I shudder with pleasure, and then he lifts his face and grins at me. Does it make any sense that seeing him smile somehow gives me more pleasure than we he was sucking me?

Grinning all the while, he climbs on top of me, and then the hands I love are lifting my legs, positioning me for his pleasure. He takes care to see that I am, as he knew I would be, prepped and ready for him. He told me long ago to keep myself ready for him, at first I was hesitant; reluctant and uncomfortable with the idea of being at his beck and call. I couldn't see myself as his toy, his boy, just waiting to be used at his whim. Then the first time he surprised me, I found out that belonging to John is the best thing that has ever happened to me.

As he slides slowly inside of me, he looks into my eyes. He's gleaming with sweat and smiling with pleasure and when I look at him, I see his nipples are hard and make tiny peaks amidst his chest hair. My hands can't resist touching him, and soon they are tweaking the points with my fingers and smoothing the hair with my palms. I want to grab his pecs and squeeze them like melons, like the women's breasts that I have held before, but John's flesh is too spare, too lean to get a handful. I can only run my hands across his chest and feel his ribs. I try to read his body as though I was blind and his chest was covered in Braille. I want to learn it, memorize it and make it mine.

John has been still, quiescent, allowing me to adjust, for that is exactly what my body needed. Though I am well accustomed to his presence, he is not a small man. Certainly he's more of a handful than some might think from looking at his lean frame. He fills me in a way that should be obscene. His rigid cock is gentle for now, but I know, soon it will rampage though me and force me to scream with pleasure. Even as I think this, John has begun to move. His long, slow, thrusts are delicious; I can't help smiling back at him. His grin gets even bigger.

Every time he slides deep inside me his cock glides over my prostate. Every time he withdraws it happens again. I want to giggle like a child on a seesaw, up, down, its fun both ways. I can't stop myself from tilting my hips and pushing myself against him. As he grinds against my ass I feel his balls with their coarse hair tickle me. It's all part of the overwhelming sensation of being taken by John. He moves relentlessly, slowly, maddeningly speeding up only a little at a time. I hear myself making vulgar sounds; begging him, cursing him, praising him, and I can't stop. I have no desire to stop, only a consuming desire to be plundered and plowed.

He's so deceptively strong, my John. His arm muscle bunch and cord and droplets of sweat rain down on me. I stretch myself up so that I can lick rivulets of sweat from his neck. The taste explodes on my tongue, salty and pungent and utterly John. He is more than just a man; he is a primal god of passion as he possesses my body for his pleasure. How could I ever have resisted this, fought this? I don't know. Now I live to be taken. All of my time spent working and thinking and doing becomes nothing more than interludes of inconsequence between the soaring ecstasies that he brings to me when I am his. His body is brutal now, slamming me, pounding me, and I feel his cock surge inside of my body, almost as though it is rearranging me to suit itself.

I laugh out loud in a parody of mirth, I am giddy, and as John grinds his cock deep inside of me I feel his hot fluids erupt deep in my bowels. His breath is coming in gasps as he forces himself deeper, his face a rictus of passion as his entire body clenches with the effort of burying his cock in my heat. Without warning, I feel my own orgasm burst through me. My semen spews from my cock and sprays our chests with thick white streamers. Then, like a balloon slowly deflating, John collapses onto my chest. My legs slide around his hips and I hold him to me. His hardness is slowly diminishing, eventually he'll slide out of me, but for now, I hold him and squeeze him with my muscles, reluctant to be parted from him.

We lay there, locked together, and when our breathing calms, he kisses me. As he began, so he finishes. His kisses are loving and sweet, his body rests on me and I twine my legs with his and he pets me and nuzzles me while I smooth his ruffled hair. Contentment is something hard to define until it's something you experience. I know, because it's what I'm feeling right now. I am utterly content and utterly spent.

John eventually moves away from me. Smiling as he stand up and looks at me, sprawled in my post coitus lassitude. I can't help grinning back, its fun to be debauched. "hey you, I think you need a shower" he says.

"Maybe, maybe not, I think I might enjoy turning some heads if I go to the commissary smelling like you. I might even get a few admirers since I smell so good." It's not quite snarky, but it's the best I can do after being fucked as thoroughly as I've been just now.

"Nah, I think they'd just wrinkle their noses, but maybe they'd ask. and you know you can't tell. Besides, what would Elizabeth say if she knew you'd been goofing off? Come on Rodney, get dressed and we'll shower together at my place. I promise I'll make you glad you came."

I laugh; he's good with the double entendres. "Of course you will John. You always do, and I always am." I can't help myself; I smile fatuously at him, completely besotted and as mellow as Rodney McKay can ever be. Yes, he does think of me as his boy, his very own personal squeeze toy. But when he's making love to me like he does, I can't stop myself from thinking, John really does play well with others, and he takes very good care of his toys. It's enough to make any mother proud.

Next: A Walk On The Beach