It said something about John's life that the weirdest thing to happen to him all week wasn't that he'd been turned into a girl, or that he'd been tossed in a cell by distrustful Pelari clergymen and forced to perform an act of contrition to secure his team's release because he'd thought it was a dumb idea to cancel a mission solely on account of exhibiting what Keller assured him was a temporary case of Ancient gadget-induced sex-swap.
It wasn't even that he subsequently found himself naked and gagged and hanging upside-down from his ankles in a dim room in a complicated network of ropes, his arms lashed securely to his sides and his legs spread several feet apart above him, waiting for Rodney to come in and help him complete what had turned out to be some kind of sacred deflowering ceremony.
No, what freaked him out more than a little bit was just how turned on he was by this whole series of events.
Yeah, he was pissed as all hell that the Pelari were holding his team hostage, and his feet were cold and his head felt two sizes too big with all the blood pulsing in it, and when he'd talked with Rodney (in the sense of a few whispered half-sentences, significant eyebrow raises on his part, and prolonged staring at his breasts on Rodney's) yesterday about taking this new body for a spin before it switched back, this scenario hadn't exactly been what he'd imagined, but a little bondage had always gone a long way with John, and hanging here, unable to move his arms or close his legs or really do more than sway—which only made things worse (better) by brushing cool air over unfamiliar places that for three days now had been making him shiver with arousal whenever he crossed his legs or sat down or stood up or bent over or walked or pretty much just moved—and thinking about Rodney coming in and finding him like this, helpless and spread open for the taking, was—yeah, really working for him. He squirmed around again, trying to get a little pressure on the right place.
No use. But right then the door opened behind him, followed by a turned-on whimper that he would recognize anywhere.
"John," came Rodney's voice, and the door clanged shut again. "You. John."
"Ng," John said around the rope in his mouth while he tried to twist around.
"Oh God," Rodney said. "You are so—please don't take this the wrong way, but seriously, you look so hot right now."
His struggles were kind of useless, but Rodney walked around him and soon enough John could see his boots and his BDUs up to about his belt.
"John, you—can I touch you? I'm supposed to touch you, you know that, but I—"
"Nnng," John tried again, wiggling to try to show him he was possibly even more on board with the plan now than he'd been when the Pelari had explained what they wanted the two of them to do.
Rodney stepped back. John doubled his efforts, fearing that Rodney had misinterpreted his struggles and was going to call the whole thing off, but Rodney only bent from the waist to make oddly angled eye contact with him. He looked worried and about as turned on as John felt. John widened his eyes at him, sure that his pupils were blown enough for Rodney to figure things out for himself.
"I can't tell if you're about to have an orgasm or an aneurysm," Rodney said. "Nod if you're still okay with this."
He nodded as fast and as far as the ropes would let him.
"Okay. Okay, excellent." He stood straight again. "Can I—? I mean." Rodney cleared his throat. "I'm going to touch you, John." He sounded so sure of himself that John got a little wetter. Jeez, he was never going to get used to that. "I'm going to touch you wherever I feel like it, and you're going to let me, because you don't have any other option." He stepped out of John's sight, leaving him breathing hard around the rope-gag in anticipation. "And when you're so turned on you're shaking, I'm going to fill you up"—standing directly behind John, he dipped a finger with absolutely no warning between John's legs, so unexpected and so good his whole body twitched before Rodney pulled just as abruptly away—"and you're going to come, just like that."
John believed him. Actually, he thought he might come before Rodney even got around to the part with the filling.
Rodney's hand touched the back of his own; John tried to flex his fingers in their bindings to acknowledge him. "Then you're going to suck me off, half-blind with lust." Fingers slid over an exposed area of skin on his flank, and he shivered. "And when you're through with that, maybe I'll let you come again." John closed his eyes at the promise and at the feel of Rodney's fingernails scratching gently against the grain of the line of hair that still ran dark from his crotch to his navel. Rodney stroked over it a few times, then kept moving up—well, down—over skin and ropes, until he reached John's breasts.
John's breasts were, to Rodney's disappointment, only about an A cup, but John could only guess how they looked upside-down and accentuated by the bindings criss-crossed over his sternum. The Pelari had left one breast exposed; the other had a rope pulled tight right across the nipple. Rodney rocked that rope back and forth with his thumb and cupped the bare breast in his palm. The prickle of rough fibers on one side contrasted with the still, soft, warm presence on the other, leaving John arching his back for more.
He absolutely did not whimper when Rodney lifted his hands away.
"And then we'll get to go home," Rodney said, moving again, "where I will tie you to the bed and do it all over again when we aren't being monitored by three old men in pointy hats."
John was still figuring out how to convey "Thanks a lot for that reminder" through the gag when Rodney laid his hands on John's ass. He decided to forgive him.
"You don't have much in the way of an ass as a girl, either," Rodney mused as he spread his fingers and massaged the cheeks. "However, there should still be enough here to…" John crinkled his forehead in confusion just before Rodney lifted one hand away and gave him a resounding smack.
John jumped before he could stop himself, but the sting was already receding. Warmth spread beneath the hand Rodney had replaced on the offended cheek. "Oh, yes," Rodney said. "There's color coming up already." He gave John a smack to match on the other side, then two more in quick succession, and two again, the fleshy slaps echoing off the walls. John could feel his ass and his face flushing as the swats drew more heat between his legs.
Rodney's hands slid to his inner thighs, fingers slipping between the ropes to raise goosebumps on the thin skin there. "The view is just as gorgeous as before," he said, and John wasn't prepared for him to blow a stream of air over the wetness between his legs, sweet enough to make him moan.
Two, four, six more slaps, this time in simultaneous pairs and interspersed with soothing rubs, had John swaying in the ropes and trying to will the tingling warmth on his ass to travel up to where he was aching for it.
Rodney stopped again. "Pink and pretty," he murmured. He spread John open with his thumbs and just held him like that, probably staring down at him; John had to clench his teeth to keep from moaning again. "Pretty pussy."
He did make a noise when Rodney slid a fingertip over his—God, okay, his vagina, his cunt, whatever he was going to call it—and pushed it slowly in, all the way to the last knuckle. John shifted in his bonds at the sensation. It was still weird, the way it had been last night in his room when he'd tried his own fingers, but it wasn't bad, especially not with Rodney still pulling one lip open and stroking it.
"You're so wet," Rodney was murmuring as he moved his finger gently in and out. "You should see yourself, swollen and glistening for me. You can't help yourself, can you? My finger slid right in, just like this one's going to." True to his word, he worked a second finger in with the first, stretching John as far as John had dared to go. Rodney must have felt him tense, because he waited a moment before sliding both fingers out, then back in, gradually picking up the pace, making faint sticky sounds. John relaxed and rocked with him, humming.
"I want to do everything to you," Rodney said, his voice gone rough. "And it wouldn't matter, because you'd love it." John's shudder spoke for itself. "But I think, for now, I'll just do—this." He pulled his fingers out, drawing a sound of protest from John. He could feel a string of warm wetness trail back from his empty-feeling cunt to somewhere over his ass, where Rodney had presumably moved his fingers.
Sure enough, a slick fingertip pressed over his asshole, rubbing in tiny circles. Oh, yes. John tried to open his legs more. This, he was familiar with.
"You want this? You want this, John? You want my fingers in you?"
"Nng," John tried, jiggling. "Nnnng."
"I'll take that as a yes." And Rodney pushed his fingers into John's ass. John clenched around them. He might not have had a prostate in this body, but he was still sensitive there, and he had plenty of great sense-memories of Rodney doing this to him besides.
It only got better when Rodney stroked his free hand between John's legs. John wasn't yet used to how his sensitive spots down there had shifted around, but Rodney seemed to figure out just fine where to zero in. Fingertips teased along the length of him, over and under the ropes, pausing here, rubbing there, deliberately avoiding the obvious places, and those other two fingers thrust deep and steady, until John was whining for him to touch where he had to know John needed it most.
Finally, a gun-callused thumb dragged up the underside of his clit, and John twitched and came, just like that.
Rodney lifted his thumb away while John breathed hard through his nose.
"One," he said. John could hear his smile, part smug and part genuinely pleased—almost surprised—that John had come for him.
"Ng nng," John offered, feeling magnanimous now that Rodney had taken the edge off.
"Yes yes, you're welcome. Now, let's figure out the other two before all the blood draining from your legs and pooling in your head does permanent damage to more than your hairstyle."
The fingers that had stayed in his ass started moving again. John felt even more sensitive than before, but he could already tell that it wouldn't be enough this time.
Thankfully, Rodney was full of ideas today.
"Okay, this is something we have to try while we can," he was saying, and as he spoke, he shifted to stand at John's side. His fingers turned in John's ass as he did so, sending a happy spark up his spine.
Rodney's hand now rested on the ropes over John's tailbone with his fingertips on John's ass cheeks, a weirdly grounding touch, with what felt like his second and middle fingers stroking in and out of him. John could see one of Rodney's legs again as he got into position for whatever he planned to do.
"I've been wondering," Rodney murmured. He reached around from the front with his free hand to lay a series of quick, stinging slaps to the inside of John's thigh. It intensified the smoothness of the stroking and his rebounding need to have Rodney's fingers back on his clit. "You love having your ass and your mouth filled when we're in bed. So what will it do to you now that I can have you here, too?" He pushed what had to be three fingers into John's cunt, complementing the two in his ass.
John bucked, trying once more to spread his legs further, to get his arms free to grab hold of Rodney so he could cling to something, anything. He felt full—fuller than he'd been able to experience in his regular body, or would be able to again when he changed back. Each group of fingers worked him wide and throbbing.
"God, look at you," Rodney whispered. John was struck with the sudden desire to rub his face against Rodney's leg, if only he could reach.
Then, louder, "You're amazing. I can feel—" He did something in John's cunt that had him seeing tiny white lights. "I can feel my own fingers through the skin here."
He bucked again when Rodney fit his palm securely over John's clit and pressed down with the heel of his hand over John's mound. It felt like Rodney was trying to squeeze an orgasm right out of him. John whined again, straining. He could feel it within reach, but he hadn't yet mastered how to get where he needed to go. Rodney, for his part, kept up the firm rocking in front and the steady pushing in and sliding out in back, pausing now and then just to torture him. John felt like his whole body was lifting and sinking with those fingers.
Then Rodney hit upon some kind of sweet spot on the side of his clit that had John kicking at the ropes holding him up. Rodney ground against it. John sucked in a breath, tensed up all over, and came so hard he thought he might have knocked out a few brain cells.
"Two," said Rodney.
John sagged in the ropes.
While he was busy coming down, Rodney slipped all his fingers out and went back to the fleeting touches he'd started with. His damp hands trailed over John's biceps, shoulder blade, a sliver of exposed calf, tucking under the edges of the ropes as he went. It felt great; John was itchy from the relentless press of whatever hemp equivalent the Pelari had braided into the bindings. It occurred to him that the seemingly random touches were probably camouflaging Rodney's attempts to check his circulation. John would have to commend him for that later.
"The last one should be special, don't you think?" Rodney said.
And there went that train of thought. John's moan was half exhaustion and half anticipation. A guy could get used to this multiple orgasm thing.
"So you may not have a dick right now, but you respond in remarkably similar ways to before," Rodney mused. Even though it had been a while since he'd treated John like an equation he wanted to solve, John recognized the signs in Rodney's tone and touches: he was being calibrated for something mind-blowing.
Rodney stopped squarely in front of him and set his feet apart. "Let's see how your undying love of blow jobs translates."
John's nipples hardened and he started to salivate. He swung from the waist and strained to lift up enough to bury his face in Rodney's groin. He could see it all in his head: Rodney would work the wet rope out of his mouth and replace it with his dick before John's jaw could have a hope of relaxing, and then he'd take hold of John's head and move him exactly the way he wanted, take advantage of the position to push all the way into John's throat, and there wouldn't be a thing John could do about it. Or maybe Rodney would just stand there with his hands on his hips or his arms crossed and let John twist to and fro for leverage until Rodney pulled back and shot all over John's upside-down face.
But Rodney stilled him. "Not what I meant. I'm not kneeling on this horrific excuse for a floor, and the heights are all wrong anyways. You'll have to wait for that until we get back."
So, what…? Oh. He went hot with the thought of it. "Nnnng."
"Yes, I thought so. Here. You look like you need it, and these pants are already going to be a loss." Rodney stepped into John's space, and John lost no time in tucking his cheek into Rodney's thigh; if he'd been a cat, he would have purred.
Rodney didn't stop there, though. He pressed right up against John from chest to groin, reached around and held him tight with both arms. The bared portions of John's breasts, stomach, arms and back met warm uniform fabric.
John thought he maybe hadn't felt this secure since he'd been a baby.
It wasn't a gesture meant entirely for comfort, however; heat came in waves from Rodney's body, and even as he held John he kept shifting until, with a groan, he settled. When he clutched at John's back and flank and rocked into a dip near John's collarbone, John understood with an internal wince of sympathy that Rodney had been searching for a spot to get some relief for himself, where the ropes hopefully wouldn't chafe too much.
He undulated to give Rodney a little something extra. That earned him a whimper and a few more thrusts.
Then it was John letting out an unintentional noise when Rodney lowered his head and closed his mouth over John's clit.
John had done this to a few girlfriends over the years, but God, he'd had no idea. Rodney's mouth was as hot and wet as it had ever been on John's erections, only now it was all over him, all-encompassing, tongue and lips spreading him open and swirling him around, demanding and masterful. He had a pang of envy and more than a little pity for Katie Brown and whoever else Rodney had done this for in the past; like him, none of them had stood a chance. His legs moved, seemingly on their own. He didn't know if he wanted to pull them closer, spread them further apart, or lift his body up by the knees and mash himself into Rodney's face, but it was just as well, since between the ropes and Rodney's grip and his own muscles having turned to jelly, he couldn't do any of it anyway. He pressed his face harder into Rodney's leg and keened.
To which Rodney lifted away, the bastard. Off John's desperate "Nng," he chuckled and said, "Let a guy breathe, eh?" And yeah, John knew exactly what he meant, although now he also knew firsthand why Nancy used to grab him by the hair and shove his head back down so quickly when he'd needed a break.
Rodney stopped thrusting, too, let go with one of his hands and did something John couldn't discern. Except then Rodney said, "I'm going to shave you before the next time," and okay, John could guess. He could also hazily imagine Rodney spreading him out on a towel on the bed back in Atlantis and painstakingly stroking the razor around delicate areas until he was bare and tingling, which, yes, worked just fine for him.
"Besides which, trust me, this will be even more awesome when you can bend your knees."
John trusted him.
Still, this was pretty damn awesome already, especially when Rodney went back down on him with renewed fervor, this time getting the tip of his nose into the action. One hand came up to squeeze a bound ass cheek, which did really interesting things to his pussy where the same ropes moved, while the other hand kept up a steady grip on John's back to compensate for Rodney's own thrusts.
Then sucking came into play, and John lost all pretense of helping Rodney out. He writhed between Rodney's hands, mouth, and torso, panting a wet spot into Rodney's uniform, hot and wanton and utterly unable to control anything about this whole scenario. He was on the edge again, hanging suspended in both senses of the word.
Rodney came up for air once more, and this time, before John could get it together enough to complain, he took a huge breath, clamped his lips around John's clit, and hummed, right over the spot that had set him off before. It should have been ridiculous, but John was gone. He bit down on the rope, his hips jerked uncontrollably—he would have flailed if he'd been free to—and, Rodney still holding him tight, he bucked upward into the vibrations with a shout not even the gag could completely muffle.
When it was over, he hung limp, sweat-soaked, panting, possibly drooling into Rodney's BDUs.
Well, Rodney had said they were a loss anyway, and it looked like he was right, as usual; gasping between John's legs, he had John in a fierce bear hug and was pushing into him for all he was worth, using him like his own personal six-foot-tall sexual aid. John mouthed at his leg as best he could and hummed encouragement. It didn't take long for Rodney to lose what remained of his control, buck against John's chest, and come in his pants with a moan.
Rodney laid his head against John's thigh after he was done. It felt warm where the ropes weren't blocking him.
"Three," he breathed.
In a minute, the Pelari were going to come out of their observation room and do whatever it was they were going to do to now that their demands had been satisfied. He was going to be bruised and aching when they let him down. Later, after he got his clothes back and his team home, he'd make sure Rodney delivered on his promises while they still had this body to play with. But that could all wait.
For now, he hung in Rodney's arms, content.