When John comes back from his morning run, there's a note on the dresser and Rodney is nowhere to be seen.
Take a quick shower, and then head to the spa and tell them I sent you. Your safeword's been rescinded. Do everything they tell you to do.
Rodney'd talked up the spa here and, given everything else John's seen, he's pretty sure it'll be everything Rodney said and then some. And while John has no real objection to a nice massage, that bit about his safeword is making him nervous.
Maybe he wants them to...I dunno, wax my ass or something. While he's not sure about that idea, he can't really imagine safewording over anything that could happen in a spa.
The spa is pretty much what John expected, only nicer. It reminds him of that place near DC Nancy had liked, and as the receptionist hands him over to a woman named Anna, he wonders what he's in for.
"Just stand still for a moment," Anna says, after leading him back to a room that has what looks like a massage table. She walks around him, humming a little under her breath. "I see what Dr. McKay meant," she murmurs.
"What did he say?"
She shakes her head. "I'm sorry, but I can't tell you." She pulls an empty plastic crate out of a niche and hands it to him. "Strip and put your clothes in here." After a moment she adds, "please."
John has the feeling that she's actually making an effort to be polite. If I were wearing a collar, I'll bet she wouldn't bother with the 'please'. Still, it freaks him out just a little, and he wants to protest, tell her that he's not a slave, that he and Rodney don't play that way.
Only they do, sort of. John (mostly) does as he's told, and if he doesn't call Rodney "sir" or "master", it's really only because that kind of formality simply doesn't suit either of them. But he subs for Rodney, and there are certain rules he follows because that kind of thing can be done on Atlantis. After all, only coming when Rodney allows it doesn't interfere with either of their jobs and John likes it, likes that Rodney has that kind of control over him.
It's weird when he thinks about it; before Rodney, he'd always thought of himself as just a masochist, always made it clear to guys he played with that he wasn't looking for a master. Now....
Maybe I just didn't know it.
Shaking his head a little, he smiles apologetically at Anna and kicks his shoes off. Taking off the rest of his clothes is a little more difficult; while he's never been particularly vain, he's also never worried too much about how he looks. It's always been enough to get him by, to get him laid when he wanted to, and now, well...Rodney seems to appreciate him naked.
Having this cool, collected woman watch as he strips is weird, however, and it leaves him aware of all the body hair and the fact that his legs are a little too short and his torso a little too long. That he's doing this for Rodney doesn't help as much as it should; in the back of his mind he remembers that bit about his safeword being rescinded.
Once he's naked, Anna walks around him again and John wants to squirm. It's uncomfortable, being treated like this, and he's actually a little annoyed. That Rodney is manipulative, well, he's known that almost as long as he's known Rodney. Normally it's not a big deal--John's a big boy and he's not stupid; he can look out for himself--but this is different. Rodney's a member of this club and what John does will reflect on him and Rodney knows that John knows it.
"This," Anna says, "is going to take a while." She tilts her head a little and gives him a slight smile. "Dr. McKay said that I wasn't to do anything permanent to your hair. Air Force, right?"
It takes John a second and then he rolls his eyes a little and pulls off his dog tags. "Yeah," he says, handing them over to her.
"I might have guessed Navy; submariners sometimes get shaggy, but they usually have beards too." She pats the massage table. "Hop up here."
"Give me a couple hours and I'll have plenty of beard."
"I can tell. That's going to make this...interesting." She heads toward the door and ducks into the hallway; John can't hear what she says, but another woman, younger and wearing a leather collar around her neck, comes into the room. She's pushing the kind of equipment cart John associates with the infirmary and he frowns a little.
"Don't worry," Anna says. "It'll be a bit uncomfortable, but we're not going to do anything that arcane." She turns to the collared girl. "From the neck down, Sylvia."
"I'll be back when you're done," Anna says, leaving him alone with Sylvia.
If being looked over by Anna was weird, being left in the care of a collared slave is just bizarre. John looks a little more closely at the equipment cart, getting a nervous feeling when he sees the long strips of fabric.
"Um...you're going to wax me, aren't you?"
"I'm afraid so." Sylvia gives him an apologetic smile. "Have you ever had it done before?"
"No." He watches as she gives what he assumes is the wax a stir with what looks like a spatula. "Wait, from the neck down? You're not gonna wax my..."
"No," she says, and then grins a little. "I have a trimmer and a razor for that part."
He could get up and walk away. Out of habit, he'd tucked his wallet in his back pocket before coming down here; it's in the bin with the rest of his clothes. He could get dressed, call a cab and get a hotel room or rent a car and drive down the coast....
"Normally I'd start with your arms," Sylvia says. "But...." She moves in closer and rests a hand lightly on his forearm, looking at his biceps thoughtfully. "When was the play piercing done?"
"Wednesday," John says and his shiver has nothing to do with being naked or nervous.
Yeah, he could walk out now and probably go back to Atlantis and work with Rodney after some initial tension; they're both too professional to do otherwise. And it isn't even that John won't be able to get the kind of sex he likes; he really doubts that Rodney's the only sadist in the Expedition. There's just one thing, though--whoever he finds won't be Rodney, won't be nearly as good at it as Rodney is.
He remembers what it felt like when Rodney strung him up by the piercings and beat him, remembers how Rodney played with the needles while he fucked John. And he remembers after, too; remembers Rodney taking care of him while John was still stoned and stupid from the endorphins.
"I'll shave up there too; the wax might open some of the punctures up."
"Is this what you do...I mean how does this...." John trails off as she pulls out shaving gel and a razor. "Um...I'm new here," he finally gets out.
"Yeah, I can tell," she says, spreading shaving gel carefully on his upper arm. "If it helps, you can think of me as a contract worker. I get room, board, a job and a nice big payment waiting for me at the end of my contract."
She smiles as she begins to shave him. "I also get to do more interesting things, not just spa work." The pressure of the razor reminds John of the piercings again. "I wish I could have seen your arms; I bet it felt great."
Outside of simple negotiations, John's never really had a chance to talk to anyone besides Rodney about kink. Well, there had been that one red-faced and stumbling conversation with Nancy, but really, it went badly enough that he didn't think that counted. He'd always just gone to the right bars or clubs and let someone pick him up.
"It felt fantastic," he says, and it's surprisingly easy to talk to her about it. "He strung me up by them, on a frame. And then he flogged me."
"Oh, God...I have got to get someone to do that to me someday." She sounds envious, and John can't help smiling.
"Okay," she says after several moments spent on his bicep. "Lift your arm for me, please."
The razor moving across his armpit feels weird, and it feels even weirder after she's done and he puts his arm down. This better grow out before the next time I end up in the infirmary he thinks as Sylvia shaves the other side.
"Now for the fun part." She puts the razor aside and reaches for the wax and a strip of fabric.
The wax is nice and warm on his forearm, but it hurts more than John expected when it comes off. "Sure you can't just shave me?"
"Nope," Sylvia says cheerfully as she slathers more wax on him. "It isn't as close."
"Don't know why he wants...." John mutters and then winces as she pulls another strip off.
"Relax; it'll be okay."
His arms--and hands, which makes him embarrassed at how hairy his knuckles are--are easy compared to the feeling when the first swath of chest hair is yanked off. "Fuck," he grunts. Sylvia gives him a wry smile.
"Funny how it's all about context." She pulls another strip off. "I jammed my finger in a drawer the other day and I thought I was going to die, it hurt so much. Three hours later I took twenty-four from a cane and begged for more."
"He caned me last week," John says. "I'd never let anyone before; it was pretty amazing." Which was putting it mildly, but he wasn't about to mention the crying, even to someone who would probably understand.
"I love it," she says. "It's scary though."
As she works on the thick line of hair on his belly, John remembers Rodney running a finger down it on his way to John's dick the very first time they'd had sex. "You're so fucking hot," Rodney had said.
If I'm so fucking hot, why are you having them do this?
She gives him a break once he's hair free down to his pubes. After she's rubbed on some lotion that cools his hot skin, he ducks into the bathroom. There's no mirror though and he frowns as he washes his hands, but it only takes a moment to figure it out. Because it doesn't matter what I see, this isn't like it would be if I went into some spa down on Castro and told them I wanted a wax job. They're doing this to make Rodney happy, not me.
He brushes his fingers across his neck where a collar would go and then shivers and heads back.
Sylvia's put down a thick towel and now she pats the table again. "Put your butt on that...yeah, but scoot down a little and then lie down. That's good; now put your feet up on the table, here and here."
It's a bit much and once more, John almost balks. He tries to tell himself that it's just like having Keller do an exam, but it isn't. Maybe if I were female, but this isn't "bend over and cough."
Sylvia just waits as if she knows what's going through his head, and really, it isn't fair to make her job more complicated. John takes a deep breath and puts his feet up, feeling horribly exposed.
Once he's in place, Sylvia picks up an electric trimmer and turns it on. "This might tickle a little," she warns, and before he can have any second thoughts, she puts a gentle hand on his cock and then sweeps the trimmer across the patch of hair above it.
He goes up on his elbows in time to see her flick an impressive amount of hair off the trimmer blades. "I'm probably a bit of a challenge," he says, feeling a little sheepish.
"Oh, you're not that bad," she replies, taking out another swatch of hair. "At least I didn't have to do your back."
It doesn't tickle, but the humming vibration of the trimmer and her hand moving his dick out of the way as she works has a rather predictable effect and he feels his face go hot. "Sorry," he mutters.
"Don't be." Her voice is matter of fact. "It happens to everyone. It's actually a lot easier to do this if you're hard."
By the time she gets the gel and the razor out, John's fully hard and more than a little turned on. The skin she exposes is incredibly sensitive and he can't help wondering what Rodney's going to make of it, what Rodney's going to do with him.
"All right," Sylvia finally says. "I've done what I can from this position. You're going to have...you need to turn over so I can get at the rest of it."
Her tone of voice--slightly hesitant in a way she hasn't been all morning--makes him realize what she wants and his face goes hot all over again. Rodney, he thinks as he turns over, gets his knees under him and spreads, better do something really fucking incredible to make up for this.
Sylvia pats his ass gently. "Thanks."
The gel is cool and slick between his cheeks and she's incredibly thorough, but it's hard to hold still when he wants to squirm. He wishes it were Rodney back there and then wonders if this whole session is designed to humiliate him. Maybe...maybe Rodney's putting him in his place, handing him over to the spa like John's some kind of...some kind of pet that needs grooming.
He wishes the idea weren't quite so hot.
"All done," Sylvia says. "Just let me get you cleaned up so I can put some lotion on you...."
The warm, damp washcloth and then her hands, slick with lotion, feel really good; by the time she's done, John's panting quietly. He wants Rodney here, wants to get fucked or spanked or, hell, even caned.
Instead, Sylvia just gives him another soft pat on the ass and slides the towel out from under him. "Take a minute or two," she says. "I need to clean up a little and get more wax for your legs."
John eases himself out of position and lies face down on the table, tempted for half a second to just rub off on it. He knows better though, so he just breathes as evenly as possible and then rolls over, sits up and looks down at his lap.
His dick is hard and the lack of hair around it makes it look impressively large. It's almost like looking at the dicks in porn, as if it's not actually John's own cock, and he can't help sliding his hand down to stroke it and then feel the soft bare skin around it.
He pulls his hand away as soon as he hears the door opening again, but Sylvia gives him a knowing little grin.
"Looking good," she says, and it's weird. He almost feels like they're conspirators or something, because she doesn't sound like she's perving on him at all.
"I've thought about doing it...shaving down there, before." He shrugs a little. "But...I'm military and I wasn't sure what people would think."
"What are you going to say if someone sees you out of uniform after this?" she asks, spreading wax onto his thigh.
"That I lost a bet," he says. "Nobody will be surprised."
She nods. "Always go with the classics. Brace yourself."
"Fuck," he grunts as she yanks off more hair. It hurts more that his chest did, oddly enough, and while it could just be that his thighs are sensitive, he suspects it has more to do with him being turned on.
By the time she finally puts aside the wax and her razor--she shaved the tops of his feet, which was just plain weird--he's only half hard and his stomach is growling.
Sylvia hands him a pair of black pants that feel a lot like scrubs and then takes him back into a break room. To his surprise, they both order off the club's extensive room service menu, and they're soon eating lunch.
"What's next?" he asks and she laughs and shakes her head and takes another bite of her veggie burger.
He shrugs a little sheepishly. "I had to try."
"You'll find out soon enough," she says. "Does he always spring surprises on you?"
"Sometimes," John says. "It's complicated...we're on vacation, so this is really the first chance we've had to do anything unusual. I didn't even know about this place until the other day." He eats a potato chip. "It's a bit much to take in."
"No kidding," she says. "I've been here for three years now and there still times when I think I'm going to wake up and find it's all been a dream after reading too much porn."
"How did you...um, can I ask questions?"
"Oh, sure," she says. "I worked in a regular spa and ended up getting involved with one of my clients. We were together for about half a year, and it was really great; I'd only played around before, you know...spankings and a little bondage, but she was really into the scene and taught me a lot." She pauses to take a drink.
"And then she told me about the club and brought me here and it was like...well, this sounds stupid, but it was kind of like the first time my parents took me to Disneyland, you know? Almost too much."
John laughs. "Yeah, I can see that."
"So, eventually, after we split up, I signed up for a contract. They trained me and then I went out on a six month contract with someone. After that, this position opened up, and I really wanted to get out of Dallas, so here I am."
"Yeah," she said. "It was with a lesbian couple. They get a new slave every so often, someone they can both top. It was a lot of fun."
"You know," she says with a little giggle. "Being here, I forget how weird it must sound to an outsider."
"I don't even sub," John blurts out and then feels really fucking stupid. "I mean...I didn't. Before Rodney."
"I just...found guys who liked hurting me." He picks at his sandwich. "I always said I didn't want...this. You know?" And God, she's not Teyla, how the hell is she going to know what he's saying?
But she just nods and reaches out to rest a hand on his arm. "It's kind of a shock, at first."
"Yeah," he says. "It is."
They spend the rest of lunch talking about San Francisco and then Sylvia leads him into a different room. It's nicer, but there's a salon chair in it and that makes John oddly nervous. He gets even more nervous when Anna joins them. She gestures at John's pants and he takes them off and hands them to Sylvia as Anna walks around him again.
"Hmmmm...Dr. McKay left it up to me...." She stands in front of him and then nods. "Red, I think. And some black."
And then she walks out again, leaving John confused and a little annoyed. "What the hell is...."
"Sit down," Sylvia says and John frowns. "Please? Really, it'll help."
"Okay," he says, hating how he sounds just a little sullen.
She pulls another cart over and then takes a deep breath. "Dr. McKay wants to see you in...women's clothes."
For all that John's jaw drops open and he stares at her, he's not as surprised as he should be. He flashes back to something Rodney's said more than once, how John's "pretty." John usually just rolls his eyes and ignores it, but now, after the wax job...no, he's not entirely surprised.
The thing about his safeword makes perfect sense, though, because surprise or not, he's just seconds away from storming out.
"I can't," he says flatly. Sylvia just looks at him sympathetically. "I...I mean, he wants me in drag? No fucking way."
"Not exactly," she says. "Women's clothes, not drag."
"How is that different?"
"We're not going to make you look like a woman. No wig, no falsies or ass padding. He wants to see you, not some girl, he said."
John glances over at the cart. "Make up?"
He gets up out of the chair and turns away from her. He wants to demand that they give him his clothes back. He wants to get somewhere private and call the SGC and tell them that he needs to go back to Atlantis now. He wants to rent a motorcycle and ride off to nowhere until all his hair grows back.
He wants to find Rodney and kick him in the fucking balls and demand what the hell he was thinking.
"I don't...I suppose you think I should just do this because he wants me to?" he asks without turning back around.
"If it helps, I think you should do it because it'd be hot and you've never done it and...well, you've spent all morning letting me prep you, so why waste all that?"
"And because he wants it."
"Because he wants it for you," she says. "Can I ask you something?"
"Oh, why the hell not?" He turns around and gives her a rueful smile. "I let you shave my ass, after all."
She laughs a little and then goes serious. "Has he ever done anything to you that you didn't like? Have you ever safeworded with him?"
John's never safeworded with anyone, something he's always been proud of, but he knows where she's going.
"No," he says and he lets his shoulders slump. "I just...." He can hear the defeat in his voice and so can she.
"Do you trust him?" And she can't know what hearing that does to him, how it hits him smack in the face because that's always been the question between him and Rodney.
"Women's clothes?" John says, sitting back down. "Yeah, okay, why not?" But he still feels it in his stomach, a little flutter like maybe his lunch is about to make a repeat appearance.
"Good," she says. "Now, if you can, just relax and enjoy this part."
Spinning the chair around, Sylvia lowers it until his head is over a sink. After putting a hot, wet wash cloth over his lower face, she turns the tap on and starts in on his hair. John hasn't had someone else wash his hair since he was very young, and he's a little startled at how good it feels when Sylvia slides her fingers over his scalp.
The shampoo smells faintly herbal and Sylvia takes her time. At one point she pauses and traces the back and top of his head with her fingers. "That's an impressive collection of cowlicks," she says, and John snorts, the sound a little muffled.
"I like it," she adds, smoothing something else into his hair. "You have great hair."
When she's finally done, John feels a lot more relaxed and maybe even a little resigned to the whole thing. She rubs more product into his hair after drying it off and then teases it a bit with her fingers. "Seriously, there are women who spend a ton of time and money to get their hair to look this way."
"It's technically too long, but it looks so much worse when it's short that most of my COs let me stay a little shaggy."
"I'm glad; gives me something to work with." She pulls the cloth off his face and gets out the shaving gel.
"Oh, hey, I can do that, if there's a mirror around."
"That's okay; I don't mind."
She's good and very thorough; when John feels his chin after she's finally done, he's not sure he's ever managed that close a shave. There's actually a chance he might make it through the evening without any shadow.
"All right, we'll come back in here when I'm ready to do your face. For now...."
She leads him back into the room with the table and when he lies down on it, he can feel the warmth of a heating pad under him. "Scoot up a little, rest your face in the hole there...."
The massage is awesome. Sylvia's got really good hands and she's strong. She works on his shoulders a good long time before moving down to his back. "I shouldn't be surprised," she murmurs. "But wow, you're carrying a lot of tension."
"It's usually worse," he says. "I've been relaxing some here on vacation."
"Really?" she says and then falls silent.
By the time she tells him to turn over, John's half asleep. "I could almost forgive Rodney for the whole cross-dressing thing, since it means getting a massage like this," he tells her.
"You should talk to the concierge, make an appointment with me for just before you go back."
"Mmmmm...I'll do that."
Her hands feel weird on his chest, even though he's been massaged there before. It's the lack of hair, he realizes, that makes it feel oddly intimate. And then she's moving up to his face, and it's really fucking good, even when she digs her fingers into his jaw a little.
"All right," she says quietly. "I'm going to cover you up and let you rest a little while, okay? Is there any kind of music you'd like?"
"Got any Cash?"
He's not surprised when she nods. "Sure, but I'm going to put it on kind of low."
After she's ducked out and Johnny starts singing, John wonders if this is scheduled freak out time. He could probably work up to it, but honestly, he's too relaxed to worry about it. I'll freak out when they bring the dress out, he promises himself as he drifts off.
He wakes to "Ring of Fire." It's louder now and he's not surprised when Sylvia comes into the room.
"How're you feeling?"
"Pretty good, really."
"Oh, good." She takes him out into the hall and points at door. "Take a shower, rinse your hair out, and...you'll want to get pretty clean, if you know what I mean."
He doesn't until he's actually inside the spacious shower cubicle. Along with the usual plumbing hardware, there's a slim nozzle attachment and he grimaces as he realizes what it's for.
Could be worse, he thinks, and given that he's been shaved and waxed to within an inch of his life and is about to be put in a dress, he can't generate any real resentment at being told to make sure his ass is clean.
Still, his face is hot once he dries off and steps back out into the hallway. He's even more surprise to see another naked person, a woman with reddish brown hair and a runner's build who's heading for one of the bathrooms.
"Hi," she says, and he tries not to stare at the thin band of metal around her neck.
"Hey," he manages and is glad when Sylvia sticks her head out of a room and gestures for him to join her.
Standing still while she rubs lotion on him is weird, but she grins at him and explains, "Shaving and waxing really dry out your skin. Trust me, if I didn't do this, you'd be itching all through dinner."
"Ooops," she says with a slight giggle. "Pretend I didn't say that."
He's pretty sure she doesn't say anything without thinking it through though and he appreciates the warning. So, Rodney won't be the only one to see him. Weirdly, all he can think is that he hopes he doesn't embarrass Rodney by looking completely ridiculous.
Once he's in the chair again, Sylvia messes with his hair a little, putting some kind of product into it and fussing with it a bit. And then she's reaching for her cart and John takes a deep breath.
Having his face made up is all sponges and brushes and Sylvia's fingers carefully smudging things. It tickles in places and he makes a face and ruins the eyeliner at one point. "Careful," she says. "Or I'll put your eye out."
That makes him want to laugh, remembering how Rodney had quoted "A Christmas Story" when John had been teaching him how to shoot way back during the first weeks of the expedition. They've come so far since then, John realizes, what's a little make up and a dress, really?
Once she's done, he's curious, but she shakes her head when he asks for a mirror and says, "later."
Although he's gotten pretty comfortable being naked with Sylvia, he wants to cover up and look away when Anna comes back into the room, carrying a garment bag and a couple of boxes. "Good work," is all she says, and Sylvia ducks her head a little.
"Thank you, Ma'am."
John's incredibly relieved when Anna hands the bag over to Sylvia and disappears again. "Is she always that...."
"Yeah," Sylvia says, even though he can't actually come up with the words. "Trust me, she's pleased."
"So," John says, gesturing at the bag. "You might as well get it out."
Sylvia reaches for the flat white box. John isn't at all surprised when it turns out to be full of tissue paper and what looks like black lingerie; he remembers spending big bucks on boxes like this when he was with Nancy. He expects Sylvia to pull the lingerie out of the box, but instead, she reaches for a small velvet bag.
"Um...you'll need to bend over," she says. "It'll be easiest if you put your hands on the chair and spread your legs."
John frowns a little, but how can whatever it is be any worse than wearing women's clothes? As he braces himself on the chair, she digs into her pocket. A moment later, he can feel her slick fingers teasing at his hole. Okay, maybe it can be worse, but he forces himself to stay still.
The plug, when she finally pushes it in, is cool and heavy. "Granite?" he asks and he's a little breathless and turned on, although really, he's never had anyone put a buttplug up his ass quite so impersonally.
"Metal," she says. "Nickel plated."
"Great," he says. "Gimme a minute."
When he finally turns back to her, she's fussing with the white box. "Just tell me there's not a thong in there," he says.
There isn't. It's all black with little bits of red lace and embroidery and under other circumstances, John might think it was pretty. All he thinks now is oh, no fucking way.
But he stands still while Sylvia hooks the garter belt on him and then helps him smooth the black stockings up his legs. They feel oddly good against his newly hairless skin and he can't help shivering just a little. The panties are next; they're snug but with a little bit of give and there's no way that they're going to conceal his dick if he gets a full blown hard-on.
And who am I fooling? I may not be one hundred per cent on board with this, but once Rodney gets going, I'll probably get hard.
"Wow," Sylvia says. "We could send you out just like this and you'd drive people crazy."
"Oh, hell yeah; I think you're smokin' hot and I'm a lesbian."
She reaches for something off the cart and then comes back. "You need to smell nice too." Before he can say anything, she smiles. "No citrus. Trust me, I know."
The perfume she sprays on him smells woody more than anything else; John recognizes sandalwood and something that reminds a little of some of the incense Teyla occasionally burns. It's not too girly; he can live with it.
"Okay," she says. "Ready for the dress?"
"Yeah, I guess."
It's red, a mere handful of fabric, and looking at it, John's sure it won't fit. "You must be kidding...."
"It'll work, trust me."
She's right; once she's eased it up over his legs and he's put his arms through the straps, she zips it up easily. It's pretty simple really, sleeveless and short and clingy with a v-neck that he's pretty sure will look ridiculous on him. He swallows hard as he looks down, there's a bump where his dick is and he tries to take some comfort from the fact that he probably doesn't look like a woman at all.
"One more thing, and this is going to take some concentration."
With a warning like that, John's not surprised when she opens the last box and pulls out a pair of black patent heels. "There's no way in hell I'm going to be able to walk in those."
"You'd be surprised. Your feet and calves will hurt a little tomorrow, but that's all."
"No, you won't, because I'm going to have you practice."
As expected, he feels really unsteady with all his weight resting on the balls of his feet and two spindly heels. Sylvia has him walk, telling him not to try to swing his hips or be girly in any way. "Just take slightly shorter steps than you usually do...right, like that."
At which point, he almost trips. "Fuck...."
"Again," she says, and he tries again and then again, while she lets him hold on to her arm. The shoes are bad enough, but the buttplug shifts as he moves and distracts the hell out of him.
Finally, once he's able to walk across the room, she takes him out into the hall and makes him walk back and forth for about twenty minutes. There's a trick to it and he's actually a little pleased when he gets it. He's not likely to be totally graceful, but he probably won't fall and break his neck.
Sylvia sits him back down in the chair and touches up his make up and messes with his hair a little more. Finally, once she's satisfied, leads him into another room and walks him up to the mirror on the wall.
"Holy fuck," he mutters, staring.
The dress gives him a little bit of a waist and the neckline somehow makes his collarbones and shoulders look narrower than they really are. There's no extra fabric where a woman would have boobs; it's obvious that the dress was made for a man. It's just long enough so the tops of the stockings don't show and between that, the stockings themselves and the shoes, his legs look incredible.
The red fabric makes his skin look pale and almost luminous. And his face.... His eyes are huge, edged with smoky dark shadow and framed by ridiculously long lashes and even he can see that his red, slick mouth is an open invitation for a blow job.
He looks...fucking incredible, fucking hot, and God, but he'd totally do himself.
"So, you want your safeword back?"
"Uh...." He still has to think about it, because he knows it's not just a matter of him going back up to the room for sex. "No," he says, licking his lips. "I guess not."
She leaves him looking into the mirror and John turns and tries to look at himself from the back. The dress actually makes it look like he's got an ass, and he wonders how that works. And then he tries walking, and fuck, but he looks slinky even though all he's doing is trying not to fall down.
When Sylvia comes back, Anna's with her. She walks around John yet again and nods. "I think Dr. McKay will be pleased," she says, and John thinks that he damn well better be.
"And now, jewelry," she says, opening a case she's carrying. There are clip on rhinestone earrings and an equally sparkly bracelet. Once those are on, she seems to hesitate for a moment and John finds himself looking over the necklaces. There are a couple that drop down into Vs of clear and red rhinestones but there's also a choker that looks a lot like a collar.
"That one," he says, before he can lose his nerve. It's dress up, he tells himself. This is so far from being John Sheppard, so why not go for broke?
"That's perfect," Sylvia says, once she puts the choker on him and he smiles at her. She hands him a small black purse. "If you need to fix your lips or something, there's some lipstick and gloss in there.
"Thank you," he says. "And not just for the lipstick. I don't know how you got from me to...to this."
"I had fun," she says with a grin. "Remember to come back for that massage."
"I will. Actually, I plan on dragging...Dr. McKay down for one too," he says, because while calling him "Rodney" while wearing the collar seems stupid, there's no way he's going to refer to Rodney as his master.
The clock in the reception area reads six and John blinks. It's been a whole day and even if he napped through it, he's still startled. Cinderella had it easy.
"Oh. My. God."
John turns and there's Rodney, staring at him like he's a ZPM and maybe a kilo or two of the really good chocolate, or maybe like John's living, breathing porn. John smiles, a slow curve of lips and Rodney blinks and keeps staring.
"Uh...Jesus, John. You look...wow."
"Thanks," John says. "You look pretty good yourself." Rodney's in a black suit with a black shirt and dull purple tie and he's freshly shaved and has obviously had his hair cut. Even his shoes are shined.
As they leave the spa, John looks back to catch a thumbs up from Sylvia. "I don't know if you can tip people who work here," he says to Rodney. "But if we can, the girl who worked on me deserves a big fat tip on top of whatever else you shelled out for all of this."
"Yeah, she really does, " Rodney says, but after that, he's strangely silent as they step into the elevator. John wonders if they're not going to dinner after all or if Rodney, for all his staring, is finding this weird, but they go past their floor all the way to the top floor of the building.
"Nice," he says, looking around the restaurant as they're led to their seats. The sun is setting and he can see the Golden Gate Bridge from their table.
After they've ordered, Rodney's still oddly quiet and almost fidgety, like he's the one with something up his ass, and finally, when he glances at John out of the corners of his eyes, John gets it.
"Rodney?" he says. "It's still me. Okay?"
"I know," Rodney says and then shakes his head, obviously annoyed with himself. "I just...wasn't really prepared for the full reality."
John feels a nervous little flutter start up in his chest. "You...um, you like it, right?" Because if he had to go through all of this for nothing, he might rethink kicking Rodney in the nuts.
"Like it?" Rodney gives him a familiar glare. "If this weren't the nice restaurant where we have to behave, I'd shove you over this fucking table and do you right now."
The flutter changes and moves down a little; John can feel himself getting hard against the silk of his panties. "Yeah?"
"You have no idea; you should be glad that I have a plan or I'd have had you blow me in the damn elevator."
John smiles again and Rodney smiles and they both stare at each other kind of stupidly for a minute. "But really," Rodney says. "See? It's like being on a date. What the hell do we talk about?"
"You could tell me what your plan is."
"No, I don't think so." Rodney butters a bit of bread and eats it. "Oh, hey, I got this email today from Sam today. She attached an article she got for peer review, and let me tell you, people are just getting stupider ever year."
After that, it's pretty easy. Rodney bitches about the state of astrophysics and goes into minor ecstasies over the food--which is actually quite good--and they talk about the rest of the vacation and how they need to do some more shopping.
John uses the restroom once and while he automatically goes into the men's room, he realizes that there's no way he's going to be able to piss standing up. After he manages the whole complicated business, he comes out of the stall, washes his hands and is fussing a little with his lipstick when another guy comes in. The guy blinks and then checks John out and John can tell, the way he's always been able to tell with men, that the guy really wants to see John on his knees.
As he heads back toward their table, he actually glances around a little. People are watching him, men and women alike, and none of them are looking at him like he's some kind of freak. He's been wanted before, even been naked in front of people, but this is different. Thanks to the clothes and the make up, he's become something fantastical, something exotic, and if all people see are the clothes and the make-up, if that's what they're projecting their fantasies on, John's fine with that.
"Did you see that," Rodney stage whispers as John settles down in the chair Rodney's holding out for him. Rodney bends and kisses John's cheek before sitting back down. "Everyone in the place wants you so fucking bad."
John lets his mouth fall open just a little and looks at Rodney through his lashes. "Sucks to be them," he says and Rodney looks like he can't decide whether to feel smug or amused or turned on. Knowing him, it's a combination of all three.
"I like the necklace," Rodney says later, in between incredible chocolate dessert and the cheese and fruit plate. "I wasn't sure if you'd...well, I told them to give you options."
"I...." John isn't certain he wants to have this conversation here, but then again, they're in a top notch restaurant looking out over the lights of San Francisco and it's actually kind of romantic. "I was thinking about that today, actually," he says, and Rodney's eyes go wide.
"Collars...if you wanted me to wear one. If you wanted...that whole thing."
"And?" Rodney's voice is hoarse and demanding, and John shouldn't find that hot, but he does.
"I'm...." He takes a sip of water and tries again. "I'm your sub," he finally gets out. "I never wanted that before, but now...it's the way things are, the way we are."
"God," Rodney says, reaching across the table. John thinks he's going for John's hand, but instead, Rodney's hand closes around John's wrist. John catches his breath. "I didn't know if you saw it that way, if you even wanted to see it that way. I think of you as mine...just now when you were walking back and everyone was looking at you, wanting you, and all I could think of was 'he's mine.'"
"I am," John says, and it's a little easier this time; Rodney's hand on his wrist steadies him.
"Can you give me maybe two or three minutes?" Rodney says, and it's so out of the blue that John blinks and stares at him. "Wait, why am I asking? Stay here. I'll be back."
The hell? John thinks as Rodney heads for the restaurant doors.
By the time Rodney comes back, John's had enough time to slice up a pear and eat half of it with some taleggio and honey. "What are you eating?" Rodney asks as he sits down and John puts a bit of the cheese on a slice of pear, drizzles it with honey and holds it out to Rodney.
"Oh my God," Rodney moans, his eyes closed. John stares at him and feels himself getting hard; Rodney enjoying food looks a lot like Rodney getting a blow job, and suddenly John wants to slide under the table and give him one.
"So anyway," Rodney says, reaching into his pocket. "I...got this for you. Today while I was out."
Stark against the white of the tablecloth is a plain strip of black leather. It has a silver loop for a lock, and John knows that it will fit perfectly. "What if...what if we hadn't had this conversation?" he finally asks, because he hadn't even let himself think about this until today.
"Then I'd have shoved it and the other one inside a pair of rolled up socks and taken them home with us." Rodney shrugs but doesn't manage to look nonchalant.
"The other one?"
"It's exactly like this only it's got a snap instead of a lock."
"For home," John says and Rodney nods. "Do we...you're not going to...I dunno, make this...I don't want some kind of collaring ceremony."
"Hello, this is me," Rodney says. "Thank God we're still in the club. I can't exactly fuck you here, but I can do this." He stands up and moves behind John, taking the choker off after a moment spent fussing with the clasp.
The leather is as smooth on the inside as it is on the outside, and though it's brand new, it fits around John's neck like he'd already worn it in just a little. John can hardly breathe for a moment, and when he hears the faint snick of the lock, he feels it in his gut and all the way down to his dick.
"There," Rodney says, sitting back down. "That looks better on you." He takes up a slice of pear and puts cheese and honey on it. "If you ever call me Master," he says, the fruit halfway to his mouth, "You won't be coming for at least a month."
"Wouldn't dream of it," John says. "And Rodney? Thanks."
"Yeah," Rodney says, wrapping slightly sticky fingers around John's wrist. "Of course."
When they're back in the elevator, Rodney pulls John close, sliding a hand down the back of his dress to his ass. He pushes in just the right place to move the plug and John, whose dick was a lot more visible leaving the restaurant than it had been going in, grinds up against Rodney's leg. "Rodney," he moans as Rodney kisses him above the collar, turning the kiss into a long sucking bite that would leave a mark. "God...."
"Fuck," Rodney says lifting his head as the elevator doors open. "You even smell fucking incredible."
They're down on the dungeon level, the same space they'd played in the other day, but it's Saturday now and there are a lot more people around, people who look right at them as Rodney leads John over to a station that features a spanking bench. There's also a comfortable, padded regular bench and John isn't surprised when Rodney sits down in the middle of it.
He pats his lap and John takes a deep breath before settling over Rodney's knees. Rodney's had him over his lap like this before, but never in front of people. That he's dressed like this, like a high priced hooker, makes it harder and he knows his face is flushed above and beyond the color from the blusher Sylvia used on him. In the restaurant, people had been fairly polite, but here, they're just staring, and John feels the weight of those stares as if they're tangible.
He settles in, arms on the bench in front of him, and then sighs a little as Rodney's hand moves over his ass, stroking it through the dress. "Pretty slut," Rodney murmurs. John's face goes even hotter and he can't help squirming a little.
Rodney laughs and bends down to whisper in John's ear. "You love this, don't you?" Unsure if it's a rhetorical question, John squirms again and Rodney bites his ear. "You're going to be good for me, aren't you?"
This one John can answer. "Yeah," he says. "God, please, Rodney...."
Sitting back up, Rodney smacks him hard on the ass, and John's not surprised to learn that a thin dress and even thinner panties aren't much against Rodney's strength. Rodney spanks him again and then again, just enough to warm John's ass up a little, move the plug around a little, and leave him wanting more. When he runs a hand up John's stocking covered leg, John expects him to keep on going, but instead, Rodney teases John's thigh with his thumb, just a little under the hem of John's skirt.
"You want more?" Rodney's voice isn't intimate now; he's playing to the crowd and John bites his lip. The only way he's going to get through this is to pretend that they're not being watched.
"Please," he says, lifting his ass just a little.
Rodney's hand goes still. "Show me," he says, his voice a little hoarse.
John's not quite sure what Rodney means, but he raises his ass even more, squirming a little; between the plug and the pressure of Rodney's thigh against his hard-on, he's pretty turned on.
"Nice," Rodney says, "but it's not what I was looking for." He rests a hand on the small of John's back, pushing down a little. John goes still. "I'd spank you, but this skirt's in the way...."
Pretending he's not being watched goes right out the window the moment John realizes what Rodney wants. I can't, he thinks, not in front of all these people. But it's like the first time Rodney made him crawl across his quarters; even as John's thinking that he can't do it, he reaches back and tugs at the hem of the skirt. He has to lift up against Rodney's hand to pull it up over his ass, and Rodney doesn't make it easy; John has to make a concerted effort.
Damn you, John thinks, even as his dick strains against his panties.
"Jesus," Rodney mutters, and John feels a little thrill. He might be wearing girls' underwear, but clearly it's doing something for Rodney. He's doing something for Rodney.
Rodney spanks him again, another five strokes at nowhere near full strength. "Guess what I want you to do next?"
And this time, John knows. He still hesitates and Rodney slaps his thigh. "Pull them down, John," he snaps and John knows that tone. If he doesn't obey, he's in big trouble.
Biting his lip, John hooks a thumb into the waistband of the panties and pulls them down.
"Further...let me get a good look at your pretty ass."
As soon as he's got the panties to where Rodney wants them--bunched around John's thighs because, yeah, he needs to look like even more of a slut--John crosses his arms in front of his face on the bench and rests his head on his forearms.
"Now was that so hard?" Rodney asks and John wants to suggest that they switch places so Rodney can see for himself. But no, that's stupid. John has no interest in either humiliating Rodney or hurting him and Rodney is most certainly not a switch.
"And you've had this in all through dinner?" Rodney pushes at the plug and John moans. "You little whore."
Rodney's hand coming down on John's ass is almost a relief. It hurts, but it's familiar; Rodney's spanked John a lot because it doesn't leave much in the way of marks. John loves it, even if it's not as hardcore as a cane or a whip, because it's so intimate, Rodney's big, broad clever hands on John's skin like this....
John groans and lifts his hips, wanting more and suddenly not caring that people are watching them. All he cares about is getting more--more heat, more pain, more of whatever Rodney wants to give him. "Please," he moans, even though he's getting exactly what he wants. "God...." His ass is heating up and it's all so fucking good....
It's a shock when Rodney stops; John blinks and raises his head. "Please," he begins.
"Oh, hush," Rodney says. "I swear, you're such a slut for it...my arm's getting tired."
He pulls John's panties all the way off and then gives John a shove, sending him sprawling onto the floor. John manages to kneel up, but it's not easy and he feels clumsy and slow. He's been humiliated by Rodney in the past--in fact, Rodney does it a lot: not only is it something they can do at home, it's also something Rodney loves. It doesn't matter how much they do it, though; John feels it keenly every damn time.
This, however, is worse; he glances to one side and sees a woman in a severe latex dress looking at him coolly. She's got a girl kneeling at her feet and of course, the girl looks perfect, not a hair out place. John feels huge and graceless and, as he turns back to Rodney, he knows that even his ears are red with embarrassment.
Rodney leaves him down there for a moment while he stuffs the panties in his pocket and then strips off his jacket and tie. He unbuttons a couple buttons on his shirt and rolls the sleeves up and suddenly, he's much more like the Rodney John knows. It's easy now; John straightens up--shoulders back, eyes down, hands behind his back--and the fact that his heels are digging into his ass a little doesn't matter.
Bending down, Rodney runs a hand through John's hair and then slides his fingers down John's face to his collar. "Good boy," he says and John turns his head and kisses Rodney's palm.
"Okay, now. Up on that," Rodney says, pointing at the spanking bench.
It takes a minute, but John's soon in place, and when he hears Rodney's muttered, "holy fuck!" he's suddenly okay with the fact that people can see him with the dress hiked up and the garter belt framing his ass. Reaching back, he pulls his dress up a little higher and then settles in to wait.
The slight brush of leather against his skin is his only warning before a paddle slams down across his ass. Rodney's not holding back, and as the second blow lands, John's gasping because it fucking hurts in all the right ways. The paddle's hard and stiff and soon John is moving with Rodney's rhythm, sure that his ass is bright red and getting redder by the minute.
The pain by itself would be brilliant, but the edge of humiliation and the audience make it better, and yeah, okay, so does the feel of the clothes, soft and clingy.... God, how does Rodney do it, find kinks that John didn't even know he had?
Rodney sets up a brisk, hard pace and John pants and moves back, chasing the paddle and the sensation and wanting more more more. It's really starting to hurt now, and John wants to let go, wants to let Rodney know that it hurts, but it's not easy. It's never easy; as much as John doesn't want to, he still finds himself clenching his teeth against the noises building up in his throat.
"God," Rodney says, punctuating his words with a series of punishing blows. "You are so fucking stubborn." He stops and finally John is able to react--he looks back and whimpers a little. Rodney rolls his eyes and pats John's ass. "Oh don't worry, I'm not done." He smiles a little and John relaxes, remembering Rodney saying, "I'm not angry with you," when he'd caned John.
He gets it, John thinks and the thought gives him enough courage to reach back and run a hand over his own ass, ostensibly to fuss a little with one of his garter straps. Rodney stops smiling and just looks greedy.
"Yeah," he says, his voice husky. "Gonna beat the hell out of that pretty ass of yours."
Settling back down, John sneaks a glance at their audience only to find that people are staring avidly, some of them looking as hungry as Rodney. He shivers and looks away.
"This ought to do it," Rodney says, and John wonders if he's about to get caned.
"Fuck," he grunts as Rodney lands something on his ass. It's hard, like the paddle, but it feels split, like a flogger, and it hurts like a sonofabitch. He can't help looking back and Rodney, who's obviously anticipated John's curiosity, holds the thing up.
"A tawse," he says. "Hmmm...maybe next time I'll dress you up like a schoolgirl." Before John can think of a reply, he adds, "Eyes front, John."
The tawse hurts a lot more than the paddle did; each blow on John's already sensitive ass leaves him gasping and shivering and painfully aware of the plug and his erection. John knows Rodney's strength, knows that Rodney can and will do this all night until he gets what he wants from John.
Five, maybe six, blows in, Rodney lands the tawse right along the crease between John's ass and his thighs and holy fuck but it hurts...hurts like burning, like freezing, and John yelps and clenches his fists.
"Good boy," Rodney croons. "Good slut...."
The next blow lands in the same place and it hurts even more; light sparks behind John's eyes and he cries out because why not--he's already made noise and Rodney's hurting him so fucking perfectly.
As always, letting go feels so damn good; John stops trying to anticipate each blow and just lets the pain wash over him. He's dimly aware that people are watching, hearing him cry out and groan and swear, but that only makes it better. Mostly, though, he's aware of the tawse landing on his ass and thighs, each blow hurting just a little more than the last one, sending him spiraling down into a place where the pain is all he knows.
John's not sure how long it goes on. He can feel it when the endorphins kick in, but even through the slightly drugged haze, he's hurting. With a shudder and a cry that's close to a scream, he goes limp and loose and easy; he's always been here in this place, always been hurting and yelling. It's terrifying and comforting and freeing, and behind it all is Rodney, giving John exactly what John needs.
The tawse hits that same spot again--and God, but he must have some crazy welts back there, maybe Rodney's actually split his skin? John screams, the pain echoing through his body for so long that it takes a moment to realize that Rodney's stopped. Panting like he's run a marathon, and high as a kite, John waits.
Rodney crouches down in front of him, his hand resting lightly on John's shoulder. "John?" His voice is quiet, pitched for John's ears only.
"God," John manages to say, his throat sore from the yelling. "Rodney...."
"You with me?"
"Tell me what your safeword is."
John frowns and tries to remember something important. "Don't have...you took it away."
"God," Rodney murmurs, leaning in and kissing John's damp forehead. "Okay, then, I'm not going to ask." He rests his hand on John's neck, and John can feel the band of the collar pressing into his skin under the weight of Rodney's hand. "Give me a sec...."
He leaves and John shivers, but before he can really start to worry about where Rodney went, Rodney's back in front of him. He holds up something and John blinks at it for a long moment before he recognizes the lipstick, and oh, right, he's wearing makeup and a dress. But why does Rodney....?
After dabbing some of it on John's mouth a little, Rodney shoves the lipstick into his pocket. "That'll have to do," he says, more to himself than to John. "Up off that thing," he says, louder this time. "I want you on your knees."
John comes back to himself a little as he slides to the floor. It makes him aware of their audience, but instead of being freaked out, he's totally fine with the whole thing. It's hot, even.
Rodney's hand moves through John's hair and then goes tight, his fingers gripping a handful of hair. John knows what he wants and, as he opens his mouth, the whole thing with the lipstick suddenly makes sense. He licks his lips and looks up at Rodney through his lashes.
"Whore," Rodney says roughly, his hands urgent on his fly.
"Your whore." John leans forward, pulling against Rodney's grip. "Please...?"
"Fuck," Rodney mutters when John finally gets his lips around the head of Rodney's cock.
"Slow," he adds. "Do it slow." It's not easy; John's buzzing on endorphins and pain, and he wants to go down hard, let Rodney fuck his face until John's throat hurts from more than just yelling. But Rodney wants slow and so John gives it to him, moving down Rodney's dick, centimeter by careful centimeter, sucking hard.
"Yeah," Rodney groans, and John can tell that he's already close, can taste it on his tongue, slick and bitter.
Rodney's big and not easy to deep throat, but John not only loves doing it, he's also had plenty of opportunities to practice. He swallows around Rodney's cock when he's got all of it and then pulls back just as slowly, glancing up at Rodney. "Whore," Rodney says again, louder this time. He's playing to the audience again and it's a shock to realize that John is too, that he hopes he looks hot down here sucking Rodney. "Such a fucking slut...."
It's enough to make him squirm and groan around Rodney's cock. That proves to be too much for Rodney; he tugs on John's hair to hold him still and suddenly, he's shoving into John's mouth hard and fast. John breathes when he can, sucks when he can and moans through it all. He wants Rodney to come, to feel good, but he also wants him to last, wants to stay down here all fucking night while Rodney uses him like this.
And then Rodney's pulling back and it's like the spanking earlier; he misses Rodney's dick and whimpers for it. Keeping one hand in John's hair, Rodney reaches down and slaps him with the other, a hard blow that leaves John's cheek hot and makes his dick throb.
"Greedy fucking whore," Rodney says. He grabs his own dick and starts jacking it hard and John whines a little; he knows what Rodney's up to and he wants it as much as he wanted Rodney to come down his throat a few seconds ago. "Cocksucking slut...you're my trashy little bitch, aren't you?"
That's a punch to the gut, a sharp flare of humiliation, and John manages to get out, "yes...yours...your slut." He's panting again, his eyes are closed and although it's one of the harder things he's ever done, his voice is rough but steady as he says, "your bitch."
He's not surprised when he feels the first warm jet of come striping his face and then another, this time on his neck and chest. People are watching, he thinks and remembers how he looked in the mirror earlier. Only now he probably looks wrecked, kneeling here with his skirt hiked up around his hips and his make up smudged while Rodney comes on him.
Moaning, he squirms and clenches down on the plug; he's incredibly hard and aching so much so that he'd crawl across the floor in front of all these people if he'd just be allowed to come after. "Please," he moans, licking at his lips. "Please...."
"Shhhhh," Rodney murmurs, and John feels something on his eyelids, cleaning them off. He opens his eyes to see Rodney pulling back a little, a handkerchief in his hand. In spite of his need and the dopey feeling that always comes after a serious beating, John wants to laugh--trust Rodney to be prepared like that.
"We're going to go back to the room," Rodney says quietly, in the slow careful voice he uses when he knows John's pretty far under. John nods, knowing better than to ask if he'll be allowed to come once they're back in the suite. It's up to Rodney and, oddly enough, in spite of his desperate need to get off, he'll be okay with it if Rodney wants to keep him frustrated all night.
Rodney helps John up to his feet and then goes over to the bench against the wall and starts collecting his things. John rests a hand on the spanking bench while he finds his balance in the heels and tugs his dress back down, and then, finally, gets a good look at the people around them. Most of them are backing off--the show's obviously over--and several of them smile at him as they leave. He's surprised that people look impressed or even a little respectful; it's different than earlier, like John's proved himself or something.
The domme in the latex dress comes over, waiting until Rodney's packed and has come up next to John. She looks vaguely familiar and then John remembers smiling at her while Rodney was doing the temp piercing.
"Your boy is lovely," she says to Rodney. "I enjoyed watching that."
"Thank you," Rodney says, resting a hand on the small of John's back. "He's even more impressive when you realize that, just this morning, he'd never been dressed up like this and didn't even know it was coming." He sounds both proud and smug, and John ducks his head a little, feeling his face heat up again.
"Really? I wouldn't have known." She smiles at John and then turns back to Rodney. "My name's Lisa and I'm local. If you're going to be around for a while, my girl and I would love to have drinks with the two of you."
"We might be able to swing that," Rodney says.
"Look me up in the directory...Lisa Ferrara." Lisa steps back to where her girl is kneeling and, as the girl gets to her feet, she winks at John.
"Nice," Rodney says when they're out of earshot. "If you like hot babes in latex, which...oh right, I do." His hand slides down and he squeezes John's ass. "Maybe I should put you in latex."
John shivers--Rodney's hand is pressing hard against his welts--and doesn't say anything.
Rodney keeps his hand on John's ass, occasionally squeezing or pinching, all the way up to their room. As soon as the door closes behind them, John drops to his knees. Rodney pauses for a moment, his eyes wide and then he nods once.
"Good," he says. "Good boy." He pets John's hair, takes a deep breath and then points to the bedroom. "Up on your feet again, I want to watch you walk into the bedroom."
John's feet hurt a little, but he manages to put a bit of a swing into his stride as he walks in front of Rodney.
"Slutty little minx," Rodney mutters and John, caught off guard, snorts a little, because, really....
"You think it's funny?" Rodney says, coming up behind him. "C'mere and let me show you something."
He pulls John over to the closet and then opens the door all the way. John's jaw drops as he stares at himself in the full length mirror that's on the back of the door. He's seen himself after Rodney's come on his face before, but this is different; he does look wrecked. His eye make up is smudged and his lipstick smeared and there's a big streak of drying come on the front of the dress. His erection is tenting the stretchy red fabric obscenely and there's a long run in his left stocking.
"Jesus," he whispers, his eyes wide.
Rodney moves behind him, standing a little to the right so he can see around John. "Now do you get it?"
"I...yeah." John wants to say that he got it back in the restaurant, but Rodney's reaching around to palm his dick through the dress and it's all John can do to keep from stumbling.
"Pull it up," Rodney says and John reaches down, grabs the hem of the dress and pulls it up. "So fucking eager...such a slut." Rodney slides his hand back over John's cock and John moans.
"Tell me what you want," Rodney says.
"Please make me come...let me, please?"
"Good boy." Rodney's hand starts to move and John bites his lip, staring at the mirror. "Yeah, you like what you see?"
"Yeah, I look like a whore." And saying it is easy now and, okay fine, even hot.
"My whore," Rodney says, his hand moving faster. "That's it, go on...you've been so good tonight, so pretty."
John has to lean forward just a little so he can brace one hand on the door, but Rodney just moves with him, keeps jacking him off. It hurts just a little--Rodney's hand is tight and he's not using lube--but that just makes it all the better, and when Rodney moves in closer behind John, his slacks pressing up against John's welted ass, John whimpers and clenches his fist.
"Please," John moans, "Rodney...please!"
"Yeah, that's it...come for me, bitch." Rodney reaches down between them and gives the plug a good hard shove.
Coming almost hurts. John's been on the edge so long and there's pain and pressure and oh fuck yeah, he's Rodney's slut, Rodney's bitch.... He staggers and almost falls, but Rodney catches him and just keeps working John's dick as John keeps coming and coming until he's all but hanging in Rodney's arms, limp and loose and exhausted.
"John," Rodney murmurs, his mouth moving against John's bare arm. "God..."
He feels Rodney's huff of laughter against his skin and then Rodney slips his arm around John's waist. "Can you kick off the shoes?"
"Mmmm hmmmm...." His feet hurt and his hamstrings feel really weird once he has the shoes off, but with Rodney helping him he's able to make his way into the suite's generous bathroom. Rodney parks him on the toilet and then runs a bath, dumping something in the water that makes it smell a lot like the perfume John's wearing.
The dress comes off as easily as it went on, but Rodney fumbles a bit with the garter belt and stockings. He finally gets John naked although he leaves the plug in and John can't help wondering if Rodney intends to fuck him later. Rodney's own clothes come off in a hurry and he settles into the tub with a happy little sigh.
The hot, soft water feels incredible and John's happy to sit back and let Rodney clean him off with a velvety washcloth. "You can wash your hair in the morning," Rodney says and then gets out of the tub again. "No no, stay there."
When he comes back, he's got a couple bottles of Anchor Steam and John can't help laughing. "If I were a real girl, would you bring me beer?"
"If I wanted a real girl, I'd have one," Rodney says, handing John a cold bottle. "It's not about trying to make you into a girl." He gets back in to the tub.
"I know," John says after a sip of beer that goes down smooth and easy. "Really, I do."
"It's about transformation and transgression and the gaze and...."
John puts his beer on the edge of the tub and turns to Rodney. "Rodney?"
"I know." Leaning in, he kisses Rodney, trying to let Rodney know that it's okay, that he's fine with it--all of it.
Much later--the clock reads three-thirty--John wakes up, shifting a little at the pressure of the plug when he sits up. "Leave it in; I'll want to roll you over and fuck you in the morning," Rodney'd said, just before he'd gone to sleep.
Now, John gets up and wanders over to the big picture window, looking out over the city lights. It's pretty, although it makes him miss home and the lights of Atlantis. He chuckles a little absently at the thought, but he's long since reconciled himself to the fact that home is in a different galaxy than the one he was born in.
Turning, he looks at Rodney, who's sprawled on his stomach and probably drooling on his pillow. How does Rodney do it? John thinks. How does he know me, know what I'll do and what I won't do, when I don't even know for myself?
He gets his glass of water off the nightstand and settles down in the window seat, sipping at it as he stares out at the city again. It'll take some time, he knows, before he can really figure the whole day and evening out. Cross dressing isn't something he ever thought of doing, but he thinks he'd do it again, if Rodney wanted him to. Maybe--although really, he can't see doing it back home; what if the Wraith attacked when he had a dress on?
Bringing his hand up to his throat and feeling the leather there, he thinks about the other big revelation of the day. It's not as new as the dress thing, though; looking back on it, he knows they've been headed in this direction for a long time. He wonders how things will change between them, wonders if Rodney will want him to be more submissive when they're alone together. Rodney said he'd gotten a collar with a snap, too, and John is, he realizes, okay with that, although he still backs away from the word slave.
"Hey," Rodney says, his voice a little slurred with sleep. John turns to find him on his side, leaning on an elbow, looking at John. "You okay?"
"She...Sylvia, the girl who did all that work on me?"
Rodney nods and makes a little "get on with it" gesture with his free hand.
"I balked when she told me what you wanted. And so we sort of talked and she asked me if I trusted you." John slides down off the window seat and onto his hands and knees on the floor. It's easy to crawl across the floor and kneel up beside the bed. "I do, you know."
Rodney catches his breath and stares at John for a long moment before he reaches out and touches the collar. "John," he says. "I...thank you."
He leans forward and kisses John, hard, biting at John's mouth and making him moan.
"Now come back to bed; it's freezing out here."
"Yeah," John says. "Okay."