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Ganymede's New Groove (The Erastes Expansion)

Chapter Text

Rodney's been hustling since- well, tricks don't like it when he talks about stuff like that. They always like to think they're the first one, like nobody's ever gotten their hands on him before. Some of them like it when they think it hurts, even better when he cries about it; some of them like it when they think they're rescuing him before it's too late, saving him from this life he's been forced into.

With their dicks.

He's doing the high school thing now while he hooks at night, because Rodney can do fucking anything that he wants. The teachers hate him because he's so fucking smart, the johns love him cause he's so fucking cute, and as soon as he saves up enough money, he's gone for good.

It's not long until he starts sizing up the teachers, because he bores easily and he's already two months ahead in everything but choir, and as long as he sings well at contest nobody cares what he does in there. He rules out the closet cases- and there are plenty of them- right off the bat. They're deep in denial and/or hyper fucking paranoid, and Rodney won't have a snowball's chance of getting anywhere. Besides, half of them are fucking the other half, so the market's pretty much glutted already.

It's easy to spot the perverts- the debate teacher who marks girls off when they don't show off enough skin, the Latin teacher who's constantly keeping girls after class- but the important thing to Rodney is that it's always the girls. Rodney's pretty, but he's not that fucking pretty; if wearing drag to school wouldn't mean getting the shit beaten out of him, he'd have a shot, but it's a no-go without it.

He sorts and filters everyone in his head, making mental lists while he's supposed to be paying attention to Spanish conjugation- not that Rodney has any use for Spanish past chinga su madre and pagame ahorita- and all he keeps coming up with, the one he can't peg, is Coach Sheppard.

He's really hot, Sheppard, and word is he's dating Dr. Weir, the uptight school psychologist who always seems like she can bore straight into Rodney's head, but that doesn't mean anything at all. He smiles a lot and he's really polite, but that's about it: there's a wall behind it. Rodney doesn't have to be an expert to notice; even the fucking football players talk about it, how he's cut off and reserved and always looks vaguely disappointed even when they're winning.

Except- and this is key- the JV players. When no one's watching, he looks at the older players with a kind of disappointment in his eyes, but Rodney's fellow freshmen just ooh and ahh over how nice he is, how involved he is with his athletes. The real kicker, though, is that he coaches the JV girls' basketball team, too, and no one has ever, ever complained about him. Even Rodney likes watching the girls' basketball team shake their little asses up and down the court, but Sheppard sits back in his customary lucky shades and looks at them critically, assessing their moves clinically and without the slightest hint of something untoward.

Rodney knows a good mark when he sees one.

It's oppressively hot in the windowless back office of the field house when Rodney goes to find Sheppard. He's on the phone when Rodney knocks on the door, and Sheppard waves him in. Rodney hops up onto the edge of the desk, too close for comfort, letting his feet dangle. Sheppard gives him a look but keeps on talking, wrapping up whatever it is he's doing. It's hard to believe he's twice Rodney's age; up this close, he's even hotter.

Sheppard hangs up, finally. "What can I do you for?" he says, sitting back in his chair and looking at Rodney.

"Fifty," Rodney replies, because damn, when's he ever going to get an opening like that again?

"You are something else, aren't you," Sheppard says, almost under his breath.

Rodney leans forward, deliberately sliding his foot along the inside of Sheppard's leg. "Fifty bucks and you can find out what."

Sheppard gives him a face of perfect confusion, marred only by the way that he's flicking his eyes up and down Rodney's body. He turns, looking out into the hallway. "Who saw you come in?" he says quietly, not looking at Rodney.

"No one's here," Rodney assures him.

Sheppard gets up and closes the door; he pulls out a drawer on the desk, rummaging around until he comes up with a wallet, taking out a couple bills. He passes them to Rodney, and Rodney counts them by feel, slipping them into the pocket of his pants. Sheppard settles himself back into his desk chair, spreading his legs in invitation.

The floor is cool underneath him as he slides down to his knees, reaching out to open Sheppard's pants, working his dick out of his boxers. "It's so big," Rodney murmurs, like he's shocked at Sheppard's average-sized cock, jacking him slowly. "I don't know if I can take it all."

Sheppard looks down at him, an eyebrow raised, and just says, "Really."

Rodney sits back on his heels. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I just gave you fifty bucks," Sheppard says. "You better take it."

For just a second, Rodney lets what he's feeling show on his face, his lips curling into a smirk. Then he takes his hand away from Sheppard's cock, wrapping his lips around it and sliding very slowly all the way down and all the way off again. "You'll get your money's worth."

He does it a couple more times, just to get the feel for it back; it's been a week or two, and Rodney can't even stomach the thought of getting rusty, of being less than perfect at anything. He's got a good test subject, which helps. Sheppard is clean and nice-smelling and appreciative; he keeps stroking his hands over Rodney's curly blond hair, not pushing on his head.

"You suck cock better than anyone I know," Sheppard says, pulling him off by his hair. Rodney can't help wincing as he sits back on his heels, partly from the sting on his scalp and partly because of the way the fabric of his cheap slacks is rubbing against his stiff dick.

"That's what you're paying me for," he says, tonguing the head of Sheppard's cock as he slides his hand up and down on it. Just to fuck with him, he looks up at him through his lashes, putting on his best innocent face. "Right, Coach Sheppard?"

Sheppard groans as Rodney licks a wide stripe up the underside of his dick. "How much?" he asks.

"How much for what?" Rodney says, pulling away.

"How much to keep you for myself?"

Tricks say shit like that all the time, but there's something serious in Sheppard's tone, so Rodney does math in his head. "Five thousand a month," he says, which is ridiculous, just to see what Sheppard says.

"Sold," Sheppard replies, his voice hitching a little as Rodney twists his hand.

Rodney's eyes fly open. "What?"

"Trust fund," Sheppard says, thrusting his hips a little as a reminder when Rodney stops moving his hand.

Rodney shakes his head violently to clear it. "Stop being an idiot and let me blow you."

"I'm serious," Sheppard insists. "You do not even know how much of my father's money I don't want."

"I appreciate the attempt to save me, very noble of you-"

"Don't get me wrong," Sheppard says, looking down at him, eyes dark. "Nobody's going to be around to save you from me."

Rodney shuts his eyes and takes Sheppard's dick into his mouth, using it to shut out the feelings welling in him, pushing away the hope that something's going to change, holding onto the knowledge that nothing will ever get better for him. He sucks until he's pretty sure he's sucked Sheppard's brain right out through his dick, til he's a sticky mess, all sprawled out across his desk chair.

As Rodney goes to get up, Sheppard reaches out and grabs him by the arm. "Five thousand, right?"

"Sure, whatever," Rodney says, rolling his eyes.

But the check clears.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Chapter Text

It doesn't take long for Rodney's life to be tipped on its head. There's some negotiating that goes on behind his back- Rodney'd love to know what he actually went for, but Sheppard just gives him a suspicious look when he asks- and pretty soon Sheppard is ready to install him in his apartment.

An apartment which, when Sheppard fumbles out his keys and opens the door, looks absolutely nothing like Rodney expected. It's clean and neat, mostly, but there's barely any furniture. There's hardly anything on the walls, either- a poster here and there, a surfboard propped up in the corner. It's not exactly luxurious, not at the level that Rodney expected, anyway, from someone who could drop an obscene amount of money on his own personal prostitute; and it kind of looks like nobody lives there.

"Nice place," Rodney says anyway, because Sheppard just looks so fucking nervous.

"Thanks," Sheppard says. "I'll show you where you can put your stuff."

Rodney shoulders the duffel bag containing pretty much his entire life and follows him into the bedroom, which is just as neat as the rest of the place; there's a big poster of Johnny Cash over the bed that they're going to have to have a discussion about, because no way is Rodney staring at that while he's trying to ride him.

"Just set it down in the closet," Sheppard tells him, sitting down at the edge of the bed. Rodney turns to put his bag down, and that's when he sees that Sheppard has carefully moved all his clothing to one side to give Rodney enough room. It's kind of cute and pathetic all at once, and Rodney suddenly feels sorry for him.

He sets down his bag and turns back around, putting on his best "fuck me now" face. "Hey," he says, just for filler, as he steps in and runs his hands up Sheppard's chest.

Sheppard takes a deep breath, and Rodney is instantly terrified that he's going to say that he's changed his mind, that all the nervousness and hand-wringing means that he's suddenly realized just what he's done and wants to take it all back. Rodney's hands freeze; it takes a concentrated effort to get them moving again, tracing up to his neck.

Instead, he just lets out a big sigh, like the hard part is over with, and Rodney realizes that he's living with the most awkward human being on the planet. He looks Rodney up and down, his expression changing, and Rodney smiles. This, he can work with.

Sheppard puts his hands on Rodney's waist, his thumbs sliding along the edge of his waistband, along the ticklish skin of his stomach. He hooks his thumbs in at Rodney's fly, pulling him a little closer by it before he unbuttons it and zips it down. Rodney's not hard, but he's getting there, even faster when Sheppard takes his dick into his hand.

And then Sheppard leans down and does something no one's ever done before. He takes the head of Rodney's cock into his mouth, and all his blood rushes to his cock so fast that he feels kind of faint. Sheppard pulls off, huffing a laugh that Rodney can feel against his aching dick; he opens his mouth again and takes in more, bobbing his head up and down on it.

What happens next is totally embarrassing- in Rodney's defense, 1) he's fifteen and 2) he's never gotten a blowjob before- but he lasts about thirty seconds before he comes right in Sheppard's mouth.

He hopes Sheppard misses his mortified expression, but Sheppard looks up at him- with his dick still in his mouth- and gives him a smug smile. He pulls away, kissing Rodney's hip before he goes. "Get on the bed," he says quietly, pulling Rodney's pants down the rest of the way. Rodney kicks them aside and strips off his shirt before he crawls up onto the bed; on a hunch, he lays down on his back, his legs just slightly spread, his arms draped carelessly across the pillow.

Sheppard strips slowly- not as a tease, but more because he's so distracted looking at Rodney- and climbs up in between his legs, pushing them apart a little farther. There's a bottle of lube sitting on the nightstand, and he picks it up, pouring it over his hard cock and his fingers before setting it aside. Rodney cants his hips up as Sheppard pushes his fingers inside, stretching him gently; Rodney's already starting to get hard again, and it's even better when Sheppard finds his prostate, rubbing his fingers against it.

Rodney wants to protest a little as Sheppard pulls his fingers out, but soon enough Sheppard is pressing into him, sliding home in one good stroke. Sheppard curls his hands around Rodney's hips as he thrusts in and out, his cock glancing over Rodney's prostate, and just this once, Rodney lets himself enjoy it. He wraps his legs around Sheppard's back, drawing him in, and he lets Sheppard have him however he wants. It feels cheap, right now, the idea of trying to speed him up or fake him out; Rodney's real good at cheap, but he can maintain the polite fiction that this is all okay for a little while.

It helps that Sheppard's a pretty good fuck; he's nice and smooth, not just jabbing Rodney with his dick. Rodney, god bless teenage refractory periods, is hard, but so far he's managed not to embarrass himself again. That gets harder when Sheppard leans down to kiss him; Rodney doesn't move away, because he's kind of curious what it would be like to kiss him, with those soft-looking lips of his. Turns out he's pretty good at it; he bites at Rodney a little, but only enough to keep him interested. While he's doing that, he reaches down to stroke Rodney's cock- he's seriously talented at multitasking, Sheppard- and Rodney moans into his mouth, unable to stop his hips from working.

"Yeah, that's right," Sheppard says, kissing the side of his face. "Come on," he encourages, his hand moving faster, and Rodney tilts his head back and comes, shooting all over his stomach. Sheppard lets out a groan, sounding kind of wrecked, fucking him faster, pushing in again and again until he comes, moaning and clutching at the pillow beside Rodney's head.

Panting, Sheppard rolls off of him, and Rodney curls up against his side. Sheppard strokes his hair absentmindedly, twisting a curl around his finger. "That was nice."

"Just nice?" Rodney says, pretending to be offended.

"Okay, pretty great," Sheppard says, smiling.

"That's better," Rodney tells him. For a moment, it's almost hard to believe that this isn't genuine, that Sheppard's paying top dollar for him, that Sheppard's probably going to trade him for a younger model soon.

Almost.

Chapter Text

The other teachers' opinions of him change very quickly when they find out Sheppard's adopted him. They look at him with pity and hope in their eyes; they use words like "brave" and "lucky" and take him aside to ask if he needs extra time on his assignments, help with anything at all. Rodney keeps his laughter on the inside and plays it up; he gets out of two essays and an English test before the sympathy runs out.

It doesn't take long for Rodney to learn everything about Sheppard that there is to know. On the weekends, he takes pilot lessons; he likes video games, comic books, and RC cars; he listens to a lot of twangy music; he tries hard to hide the fact that he worships the ground Rodney walks on.

Rodney balks when Sheppard wants to take him flying and doesn't like video games until he learns how to cheat; the RC cars seem like kid's stuff until he realizes he can soup them up and make them go zooming around the apartment. The music he'll never get accustomed to, but the comic books and the whole worship thing- those he loves unreservedly.

And that's about it, as far as Sheppard goes. Everything else about him is masked, completely blocked off. Rodney doesn't know where he came from, why he has so much money, how many boys there have been before him. He doesn't even know Sheppard's first name until he breaks down and looks it up in a yearbook. Sometimes it bothers him, having something that's that close to his grasp that he just can't learn.

Then he remembers he's not getting paid to learn.

One night, Sheppard surprises the hell out of him by having a dinner party. It's just a small thing, but Rodney didn't even know that Sheppard had any friends, or even people close enough to him to be invited to dinner.

He makes steaks, which doesn't surprise Rodney at all, and he sets Rodney to making the salad while he grills. It's kind of nice, actually, doing something domestic together; it almost feels like a real thing, the way it does sometimes- not that Rodney really knows how a real thing feels.

The doorbell rings and Sheppard freezes, just like he always does, like he's suddenly been found out. It takes him a second to relax; he takes off his apron and goes to the door. Rodney peeps around the corner, and a giant bear of a man walks in, giving Sheppard a hug and a slap on the back.

"Rodney," Sheppard calls, and Rodney steps cautiously out of the kitchen. This guy is easily a foot and a half taller than Rodney, and he looks vaguely familiar, but Rodney can't place him. "This is Coach Dex," Sheppard tells him.

Dex gives him the same slap on the back, which on Rodney pushes him forward about two inches. "Call me Ronon," he says. "Teyla and Elizabeth are right behind me," he tells Sheppard. "You want a hand with anything?"

"We're good," he says. They go off to the kitchen for beers, leaving Rodney standing awkwardly next to the door. There's a knock, and he hesitates before opening it.

"Hello, Rodney," Ms. Emmagan- the English teacher who coaches something or another, something odd like girls' powerlifting- says to him, inclining her head in that peculiar way that she does. The woman standing next to her is Dr. Weir- Teyla and Elizabeth, apparently.

"Um," Rodney says eloquently, "hi."

There's an awkward pause. Dr. Weir looks at him with a little smile on her face. "May we come in?"

Rodney only just resists the urge to slap himself on the forehead. "Yeah, sure, of course," he says, stepping back and motioning them in. "Coach Sheppard and, uh, Ronon are in the kitchen." They both smile at him, cryptic little smiles, and Rodney really does slap himself on the forehead after he's out of their line of sight.

He goes and sort of hides out in the den with his DS until Sheppard calls him for supper. The adults have all arranged themselves at the table, and he slips into the seat between Dr. Weir and Ms Emmagan. Sheppard looks tense and relieved all at the same time; with Ronon's help, he doles out the steaks, and Rodney gets one about the size of his face, which he's never going to finish and wants to eat all of immediately.

The conversation is light; Sheppard, Ronon, and Ms. Emmagan talk like old friends, and Dr. Weir mostly listens, smiling. Rodney watches her and Sheppard, wanting to know if the rumors are true, but as soon as he sees the way she looks at Ms. Emmagan, a lump of unacknowledged jealousy disintegrates in his chest.

"Rodney," Dr. Weir says suddenly, and he startles. "Are you settling in well?" she asks, with that laser-beam stare of hers.

"Oh yeah," he stammers, looking across the table at Sheppard, whose expression is inscrutable. "I'm having a great time."

Her smile turns prettier, more relaxed. "That's good," she says.

"You're in good hands," Ronon adds, and for a split second he has the urge to say something flippant and terrible, something that only Sheppard would get, just to fuck with his head.

He doesn't know why he doesn't.

The rest of the night passes without a hitch. The food is good, everybody seems to have a good time, and Sheppard actually looks genuinely happy, which is very rare when he hasn't just gotten off. Pretty soon, everyone is leaving; Rodney blushes furiously when Ms. Emmagan gives him a peck on the cheek, which everyone seems to find hilarious- Rodney would be more upset about that if he hadn't just gotten a kiss from a really gorgeous woman.

Sheppard shuts the door behind them; he lets out a sigh like he's exhausted.

"I'll help with the dishes," Rodney offers, just to be nice, because Sheppard really does look tired.

"It'll wait," Sheppard says. "Did you have a good time?"

Rodney shrugs. "Everybody seemed to like it."

"Yeah, but did you have fun?"

It suddenly clicks over in Rodney's brain. "Wait, did you just do all of this so that you could introduce your friends to your whore?" he blurts out, and instantly he knows he's said the wrong thing.

Sheppard shuts his eyes, leaning back against the door. "Is that what you want?"

"It's what I've got," Rodney says truthfully, trying not to let the bitterness come out in his voice.

He opens his eyes again, looking at some point behind Rodney's head. "That's not what I asked you."

Rodney doesn't even know what to say.

"If you want to go, you can go," Sheppard says, his voice going hard. "There's money in a bank account for you. I settled everything with your-" He stops just short of saying the word pimp, but they both know it's there. "Everything is taken care of," he amends. "You can go if you want."

Rodney stops and thinks about it, thinks about it hard, about what he could do with that money, where he could go, the life he could have. But all he keeps coming back to is Sheppard, alone in his crappy apartment with his toys and his sealed-off past. Sheppard, who's never even raised his voice to Rodney, never wanted anything from him but sex and companionship. Sheppard, who's seriously fucked in the head but probably the best thing that ever happened to Rodney.

"I don't want to go," he says, stepping forward and putting his arms around him, resting his head against Sheppard's chest; his heart is racing under Rodney's cheek. "John," he says, trying it out for the first time. "I had a good time. I like your friends. I don't want to leave."

John relaxes, finally, his hands coming up to stroke Rodney's back. "Good," he says, tilting his face down to rest it in Rodney's curls.

Rodney doesn't know what to do; his instinct is to drag John towards the bedroom, to fix this in the only way he knows how. But at the same time, he knows he can't, so he just stands there, letting his body relax into John's.