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What Makes the Man

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John figured if Jeren said he was sorry one more time…

"You have my abject apologies Colonel Sheppard," Jeren wrung his hands nervously, "but I had thought you would be here earlier, and we could wrap up our business before the Festival began.

"Yeah, okay Jeren.  Don't mention it please just don’t mention it.  I'll survive.  What's a little costume party between friends right?"

Jeren frowned at the term but took his opportunity to escape.  The three servants, Jeren's personal servants, stepped forward and started laying out their supplies.  "It will be necessary for you to undress, Colonel," the oldest one of the three said.  John had seen him before, serving tea at Jeren's office the last time they'd met. 

John tried not to sigh too noisily and started stripping out of his gear.  The older fellow, Baz or Paz or something, nodded approvingly at his neatness.  The other two, a pair of dour brown-haired fellows with permanent frowns, aimed their unhappy faces at John's legs.  "That will need to be dealt with," one said.  The other nodded sourly in agreement.

"Problems?" John asked, trying to figure out where to put his hands, and then just giving up and clasping them in front of his dick. 

Paz, or Taz conferred with the other two and then turned and bestowed a really false smile on John.  Beckett used to look like that just before the bend over and cough part of the yearly physical.  "It will be necessary for you to shave," the guy said, carefully looking John in the eye.

John's hand drifted up to touch his usual afternoon stubble. 

"I meant your…" Taz, or Gaz waved a fluttering hand.

"Yeah, I know."

The doom twins led John into a bathroom that had an enormous tub full of streaming water.  John stepped into the bath and did not scream at the heat of the water.  He sat down as directed and hoped he wasn't going to scald his nuts.  The one little fellow handed over some soap and a washcloth, and then they left him alone.  Nice that it was assumed he could manage to bathe himself.

Once John got accustomed to the heat, the bath felt really good.  He wondered if Rodney could build him a tub like this and then realized that the question was never could he with Rodney but rather, would he.  John had ways of convincing him.  The dour duo came back and positioned John on a seat at the edge of the tub.  They made him put his right leg up so that his foot rested on the tub wall.  John watched as one of them mixed up some of the soap into a frothy lather and started smoothing it out onto his leg.  The other guy appeared with a straight razor and a look so long suffering that John almost felt sorry for him.  Then he thought about just how much he didn't want his legs shaved, and the urge to sympathy went right away.  The fellow started shaving with the grain of the hair growth, and John knew with terrible certainty that they were going to go back over everything a second time against the grain.

  1. He was resolutely not thinking of what came next.

John's temporary servants followed him back into the main room and left him standing uncertainly in the middle of the floor.  Gaz, or Vaz appeared again with a stack of clothes and eyed John's newly smooth legs with approval.  Having the silent and morose pair shave him had turned out to be the most non-sexy experience John had ever had with someone else's hands all over him, but just the short time he'd been alone to touch his own surprisingly silky soft skin had started to get him aroused.  He clasped his hands over his dick again and eyed the things Vaz, or Kaz was lying out on the bed. 

"Since you are a stranger to our ways, I will help you dress, Colonel."

John was relieved and also not.  They'd shown him pictures of the costume he was expected to wear.  Expected since his team had found something to occupy themselves with halfway between the gate and the town and were consequently so late, they'd stumbled into the middle of The Festival of Tria.  John didn't know who the hell Tria was, but he apparently liked to dress in unusual ways. Kaz, or Daz was holding out a black thing that flowed over his hands. 

John took the garment and shook it out.  Daz, or - "Hey, what is your name again anyway?"

"Yaz, sir.  Did you require assistance with the quorona?"

"No Yaz, I'm pretty sure I've seen pantyhose before."

"Is that your word for the quorona then, Colonel?"

"In a manner of speaking."

John gathered the light and stretchy black material of one leg down to the foot in exactly the way he'd watched Nancy do a hundred times.  So John, how do you put your pantyhose on?  One leg at a time John, one leg at a time just like every other guy.  John slid his foot into the black tunnel of silk and pulled it up to his knee.  He got his other leg in the quorona without getting it hopelessly twisted or falling on his ass so he counted that a win.  He pulled the quorona up and watched the pattern in the silky fabric appear as it was pulled taut over his body.  John tried to ignore the sensation of the whisper thin silk stretched tight over his groin and sliding along his ass in favour of eyeing the cross hatch of thicker threads running down his legs.  Not only was he wearing pantyhose, he was apparently wearing fishnets. 

Yaz handed him the next piece of the costume.  It weighed almost as little as the quorona but was of a slightly thicker knit and slightly more opaque.  John pulled the thing over his head and had to pull to stretch the hem down to his waist.  He pulled and tugged at the sleeves, really not enjoying the way the skin-tight material yanked at the hair on his arms and chest.  He had a sudden and vivid image of how unbearable the quorona would have been without the shave first.  John turned to the mirror behind him that he'd been avoiding up to that point and sucked in a shocked breath.  He'd worn wet suits before, and this was no tighter, but the effect was really, really not the same.  The sheer black on his legs made his legs look slender and impossibly long.  The not quite as sheer black pullover emphasized the bulge of his biceps and lengthened the look of his torso.  His arms weren't the only bulgy part of him that was emphasized either.  The flash of his pale face and hands was the only distraction from the clear outline of his cock and balls under the sheerest part of the fabric. 

The mirror was directly opposite the door, so when it slammed open and Ronon stormed in, John had a perfect view.  Ronon opened his mouth, no doubt to demand what was taking so long.  He stopped absolutely dead, eyes raking up and down John's back.  His eyes locked with John's in the mirror, and then he snapped his gaze to the figure of Yaz hovering in the background.  "Out," he snapped.

Yaz made an uncertain gesture towards the final garment still on the bed, and Ronon turned towards him, hands raised in a manner anyone sane would find threatening.  "Out, out, out."  He sounded like nothing other than Rodney in his lab, chasing out his more irritating interrupters.  Yaz scuttled away as rapidly as any double doctorate-wielding scientist ever had. 

"Look," John started, thinking to diffuse whatever freak-out Ronon was about to have over his commanding officer wearing, well whatever this was.

"Shut up," Ronon said, sounding like Rodney again, but this time more like Rodney in the throws of lusty scientific discovery.  "Shut up.  Just, John - just shut up."  Ronon was right behind him, and then Ronon was all around him. 

John watched their reflections as Ronon's hands slid over John's silk covered body, fingers stuttering over his nipples on their way down to cup his growing erection.  One of Ronon's hands slid around and rubbed insistently over John's ass.  The John in the mirror was standing motionless, eyes wide and lips parted while the hands kneaded his ass and his cock both.  "Ronon," John whispered and the face in the mirror just over John's shoulder bared its teeth in a hungry grin.  The teeth sunk into John's neck, and he bent his head forward, letting Ronon have at more of his skin.

Ronon's hands shifted, tightening on John's hips.  The fingers flexed painfully against him.  Ronon's eyes were closed and his mouth hovered near John's ear.  "I, John - I have to, I need to fuck you.  John I have to."  His voice was a hoarse whisper, broken and harsh.

John saw himself nodding in the mirror, and then he said the words.  "Yeah.  God, please."  John moved to slide the quorona back down off his legs, but Ronon snatched his hands away, and then John was stumbling as he was propelled across the room.

Ronon pushed him down hard onto the bed.  The rest of the costume went flying across the room, and John tried to get back up, turn over, something, but Ronon had a hard hand on the small of his back and just pressed him down until he stilled.  John heard Ronon pulling open the ties on his leather pants.  He heard the snick of what he fervent hoped was lube being opened, and then Ronon's fingers were brushing his ass as they gathered up the sheer silk and twisted.  The cloth pulled painfully tight across John's balls and then he heard the pop of fibres breaking and warm slick fingers were pressing in.  John heard himself make a noise that sounded a little alarmingly needy, and he spread his legs wide apart.  Ronon breeched him roughly with two slick fingers and fucked him hard and fast.  Ronon's nearly famous self-control seemed to be on vacation. 

John's control was off somewhere too.  He humped against the bed, trying to press back into the fingers working his ass.  Ronon still had him pinned, so he could barely move.  Ronon growled at him.  John thought it might be instructions to stay still, but John just growled back and tried harder to move.  "Jesus, just fucking fuck me already.  Come on," John said in a voice anyone would hear as a taunt.

The fingers in his ass fucked him harder, almost brutally, and Ronon laughed at his moans.  "I'm going to John, going to fuck you into this bed.  Fuck you so fucking hard."  Suddenly the pressure of the pinning hand was gone, and John tried to thrust back onto Ronon's hand.  He was going crazy; he needed Ronon inside him.  He needed it now.  Ronon's hand eluded him, and then he was roughly pushed farther up the bed, and the mattress dipped under Ronon's weight. 

John reached around and held his own ass spread wide, wanton and hungry.  He didn't care how it looked.  He thrust up, and then the head of Ronon's cock was against him and then inside him, and he pushed up and back wanting more, wanting it now.  Ronon slapped him hard on his silk covered thigh and told him to be still.  John pressed back with even more force, and then he cried out as Ronon's hand slapped his ass and thigh with a serious of hard thumping blows.  John had never liked that, never wanted that, never wanted to take that.  He bucked his hips up trying to get Ronon in deeper, trying to get Ronon to hit him again.  He got it all.  He got everything he wanted.  Ronon thrust deep into John, pinning him to the bed again, and then Ronon pulled out and landed some more hard slaps to John's ass before thrusting in deep again.  John had seen this, watched this, watched Ronon do this to Rodney and that had been sexy and fun, because Rodney loved it.  Rodney squirmed and yelped and begged for more until John would have to fuck Rodney's mouth while Ronon worked him over.  John had never wanted to take Rodney's part before, never.

Ronon fucked him slow enough that he could keep the hard blows coming to John's ass and thigh each time he pulled out.  John was certain Ronon had never hit Rodney this hard but John didn't care, he just wanted more.  John pulled his head up off his arms so he could speak.  Ronon pulled out and landed a hard thwap to his thigh.  "That the best you got?" John said with a sneer in his voice a mile wide.

Ronon pulled out, nearly all the way, and God the bastard did have amazing control.  He stopped, stopped fucking and then pulled out completely.  John moaned out a sound of desperation at the sudden emptiness, and he was terrified that he'd said the wrong thing.  Ronon's hand landed with a thump on his ass and John cried out and another blow landed and another.  John was making noises that he'd never heard come out of his mouth before.  He struggled to get his legs under himself, present a better target with his ass, and Ronon didn't disappoint.  He pounded John's ass until he was aching, burning.  He was sobbing nearly, moaning and crying out at the blows.  He hated it.  He loved it.

"You won't give will you, you won't ever ask me to stop," Ronon said.

"No," John said around a moan.  "No don't stop, give me everything.  Give it all."

Ronon slapped him a few more times hard on the thigh.  The sting was excruciatingly beautiful, and then Ronon's hands were on his hips again, pulling him backwards to the edge of the bed. 

"Yeah," John said, knowing what was coming.  "Yeah, fuck me like that.  Yeah."

Ronon stood up behind him and sank his cock deep inside John with one thrust.  He kept his grip on John's hips - tight, bruising and perfect.  He pounded into John fucking as hard as John needed.  John lost himself in the perfect hard thrusts in a way he hadn't in the pain of the spanking before, but the pain deepening in his ass was the exactly perfect accompaniment to the sharp bursts of pleasure that fired along his nerves on every thrust.  Ronon cried out hoarsely and stuttered inside him, finally stopping after a few more desperate thrusts.  He pulled out slowly and loosened his grip on John's hips.  John's awareness returned to his own cock, hard and chafing against the silky fabric that kept it pressed tight to his belly.  Ronon pulled John upright back against his chest, and his hand came down and roughly stroked John through the cloth.  "Come for me John," Ronon said into his ear.

John arched his back, pressing himself into Ronon's touch and came hard, vision whiting out.  Ronon let him collapse onto the bed and left him alone, Ronon was merciful like that.  John could feel the come soaking the front of the quorona, and it was getting uncomfortable as it dried.  The hole ripped in the back exposed his ass to the cool air as well.  John stumbled to his feet and into the bathroom again.  He cleaned his ass and his groin, but couldn't get the stain out of the black silk over his belly.

John returned to the bedroom and avoided his reflection in the mirror.  He knew what he looked like.  He struggled into the last part of his costume by himself.  It was some weird combination of short pants and a corset but at least it covered all his sins.