Trust Only Movement

Trust Only Movement

Word Count: 2609

Pairing: John/Rodney

Fandom: SGA

Rating: NC-17. A lot

Warning: D/s

A/N. Title comes from a quote by Alfred Adler: Trust only movement. Life happens at the level of events, not of words. Trust movement.

Summary: Outside this room, he was Major Sheppard. In here he was just John, and that was fine.

Sardonic smile firmly in place, John trailed Rodney to his room, responding to direct questions but otherwise making only small affirming noises. That was all Rodney needed to keep going anyway, and it took the burden of keeping a conversation off of John.

As they passed two marines in the hall, he nodded at them even as he said "Yes, Rodney," for what was probably the twentieth time since the current rant began. They smiled and nodded back, looking sympathetic, and he could practically hear the thought, Poor Major Sheppard. Stuck listening to the geek again. Little did they know that he hardly objected.

They reached Rodney's room without passing anyone else in the halls, and John was tensing even as Rodney waived for the door to open. He hoped that Rodney hadn't forgotten the reason he was here.

Even as the door shut, though, Rodney was pulling himself up and falling silent. Without a word, John sank slowly to his knees, staring at the floor. He stared there, letting the tension flow out of his muscles as Rodney moved around the room, only looking up when a hand tangled itself in his hair and tugged lightly.

"You ready, John?"

John swallowed against a throat gone dry and nodded. Outside this room, he was Major Sheppard. In here he was just John, and that was fine.

The hand tightened, sending little sparks of pain through John. It was a warning and a promise, and John forced sound out of his throat. "Yes, Rodney, I'm ready."

He was released suddenly, and for a moment he was afraid that Rodney had changed his mind, but the foot sliding between his legs and nudging up against his balls told him otherwise. He wanted to close his eyes, savor the touch, but that was against the rules. Rodney insisted that he keep his eyes open, so he could see exactly what he was getting ready to do.

He was already startlingly, achingly hard, but he knew it would be a long time, if at all, before he'd be allowed to come. Rodney liked to draw things out, tease and torture in all the best ways, leaving John a sodden puddle when they were done.

Rodney's foot moved a little, what could almost be chalked up to an accident, just Rodney shifting his weight, except that John knew better. The top of his boot was pressed just perfect into the seam running over John's balls, the almost pain shooting right through him. He bit his lip and bent his head, trying to remember how to breathe.

He knew that Rodney liked it when he made a lot of noise, but it was hard for him. Too many years of living in BOQs and military dorms, he guessed. It didn't matter, anyway, because Rodney wouldn't stop until John was crying out in need. Thank god the rooms in Atlantis were soundproofed.

"Take your clothes off, John." Rodney's voice was soft as his foot withdrew, but the command was there nonetheless. Forcing himself to stand, he stripped off his uniform, habits of a lifetime guiding his hands as he folded it neatly and piled it on top of his boots against the wall. When he would have sunk back to his knees, though, Rodney stopped him with one word. "Don't."

Instead, he came to something resembling parade rest, ignoring the way his cock bounced against his stomach. Rodney moved around him, touching him here and there, almost randomly as he circled. By the time Rodney was standing in front of him again, he was sweating with the effort of not moving, and when Rodney trailed one finger over his cock, he couldn't stop the small sound that broke from his throat.

It had been far too long since they'd done this. John knew that he was going to break sooner rather than later, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Rodney shifted so that he held John's cock in a firm grip, tugging lightly, using it like a leash or a joystick to make John step forward. John went willingly enough, stopping at the edge of the bed when Rodney released his hold. "Bend over, John, and spread your legs. Let me see what you have to offer."

John flushed all the way to the roots of his hair, but he did as he was told, spreading his legs wide and leaning forward, balancing on his arms on the bed. The position left him completely exposed, and he couldn't help the moan as Rodney fit himself up against his ass, the rough material of his pants pressing up against him, his fingers tight on John's hips.

He rocked a few times, letting John feel his hardness through the material, but then stepped away, leaving John exposed once more. He didn't say anything, and John wanted to move, to hide his face, or at least stand up, but as soon as his weight shifted, Rodney slapped his ass, hard. Hard enough that John let out a sound that he would never admit was a squeak. "Don't move, John," was all that Rodney said, and then John could hear him moving around, taking off his own clothes, and when he pressed against him again, it was skin on skin and so fucking good that he almost moaned.

Rodney's cock was pressed up in the crack of his ass, and John couldn't hold back the soft moan as his hips started to rock again, his cock so close to where he wanted it but not quite. "Rodney, please," he whispered.

"That's not good enough, John. You know what I want." Firm hands on his backside, spreading him even wider for Rodney to look his fill, and John didn't know how he had blood to spare to blush, because just the fact that he was being examined like this was enough to make him as hard as a rock.

John opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He couldn't beg, not without that push from Rodney, and his hands releasing his ass was the only warning he had before a resounding smack landed on his ass. "Come on, John." He flinched at the sharp sting, but didn't break position. He'd had worse over the years, and Rodney knew it. "Going to make me work for it today, are you?" Rodney mused out loud, and John almost laughed. Wasn't like he did it deliberately.

He just couldn't let go without help, especially when he was wound tight like he was now. Rodney smacked him again, but didn't wait more than a second after that to say, "Up on the bed, on your stomach."

Climbing up on the bed, John sprawled wide, one leg cocked to make space for his dick. He made an effort to look as open and receptive as possible - he wanted to get fucked, after all.

Rodney joined him on the bed, sitting next to his hip. "You've been having problems again, haven't you? Problems concentrating, problems letting it go - you're just a bundle of issues. Getting through that is a real effort, and I don't know why I should bother."

John opened his mouth, then thought about it and closed it again. There wasn't anything he could say. Sure, he could argue that Rodney got just as much out of their time together as John did, but that would be pretty pointless, and only prove Rodney right anyway. Instead, he stayed silent, and knew he'd made the right choice when Rodney ran a casually possessive hand down his spine.

"When you get like this, you'd let me do anything, wouldn't you? Spank you, whip you, bite you - anything as long as you ultimately get fucked." Rodney's hands continued to move over his back, their gentle touch a counterpoint to the rough words. "You're a slut for it, for my cock up your ass."

John arched his back, trying to deepen the contact with Rodney's hand, only to have it disappear. "Answer me, John."

This part John hated. Rodney would always insist that he talk about what they were doing, with the single minded focus that he could show any other intellectual puzzle. But the rewards were so worth it. "Yeah, I am."

Another slap landed on his ass, harder than the previous ones. "You are, what?"

"I'm a slut for you - for your cock." Dammit, that wasn't supposed to slip out like that. John didn't want Rodney to know that this was more than just release.

"Hmm..." Rodney hummed thoughtfully but didn't say anything. His hands came back down, rubbing soothing patterns over John's back, and some of the tension drained out of him.

It wasn't like he honestly thought he was successful at hiding that Rodney was important to him, but he wasn't comfortable putting it out there for Rodney to seize on and possibly mock. He was starting to drift off into thoughts of what Rodney would do with that knowledge when a sharp pinch to his ass brought his attention back.

"Stay with me, John. You're not supposed to be thinking right now, remember?" John nodded, and soft fingers resumed drawing patterns on his skin. "I think you need a reminder of how to stay in the moment. The question is, do you need to be tied up for it?"

John's stomach clenched for a moment of mindless fear. Rodney knew that he was terrified of being tied, and rarely did it. He thought about saying no, about shaking Rodney off and leaving, but he knew that he'd never do it. Instead, he lay still as Rodney stood and went to his clothes, pulling out strips of some sort of shiny material from the pocket.

His hands were pulled behind him and the material - something soft and silky - was wrapped around his wrists, pulling them together and holding them snugly. John's breathing was starting to come hard and fast as they were bound, but he didn't pull away.

Then Rodney was there, in his space, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the bed next to his face. "Shh, John. It's okay. You're safe here, you know that." The comforting words and touch served to calm him, bringing his breathing under control.

He couldn't help the pull on bindings, but when they didn't give, he relaxed, all at once. He wasn't going to get out of this. Not without a lot more of a struggle than he was willing to give, anyway.

Once he'd stopped pulling, Rodney stood up. Moving back over to the small, untidy stack of his clothes, he bent down and picked up the belt, holding it up. John closed his eyes and swallowed, then opened them and nodded.

The first blow across his ass made him gasp for air and bite his lip, determined as always to not make any noise. The second and third were softer, and he relaxed into the sensation.

The fourth was hard enough to make him whimper a little. It wasn't so much pain as sudden heat blossoming in a stripe across his ass, and he shifted as much as he could, unsure if he was trying to get away or closer to the belt.

Five, six, seven, and John was having trouble keeping count, a low whimper ever present in his throat. His ass felt like it was on fire, swollen and painful, and still the belt kept falling.

By the time he broke, he no longer knew how many times Rodney had hit him, and it didn't matter. All that mattered was the soothing hands that were passing over his ass, petting and stroking him firmly as he wept into the pillow.

"That's it, John, let it out. Let it out all out." John was only barely cognizant of the fact that a slick finger was sliding inside of him, as his bonds were cut so that his arms were free. The finger moved, pressing right into John's prostate, and that got his attention real fucking fast.

Without thinking, he lifted his ass higher, trying to get more of the good touch. Pleasure mixed with pain, creating a heady mix that carried John inexorably towards the edge, only to be pulled back when Rodney took his balls in a firm grip and tugged.

He dropped his head to his crossed arms, panting harshly. From behind him, Rodney said, "John, I'm waiting."

John's brain wasn't engaged, and he wasn't sure what Rodney was waiting for, but his mouth knew. "Please, Rodney. Please fuck me, please?"

"That's it, John. Tell me why you want it?" Rodney's finger never stopped moving, and in fact there was now two of them, moving inside of him restlessly, making his hips move and jerk.

But why - why was new. This wasn't part of the game, wasn't something Rodney was supposed to ask. John had no idea what the right answer was, so he tried, "Because, because it feels good?"

Rodney's free hand came down on his already burning ass, feeling more intimate than the belt had been. "Try again, John. Why do you want me to fuck you?"

John cried out, breath coming hard and fast. Without thought, the words spilled out, "Because I trust you."

For a second, Rodney froze. It was just long enough for John to start to think again, and he realized that it was the first time since Doranda that he'd said those words. But he did - he trusted Rodney like he'd trusted no one else.

But then Rodney's fingers were moving again, only they were moving out, pulling away, leaving John empty and begging for more. "Please, Rodney, don't stop - I'm sorry, just don't stop."

"Shh, John, not stopping." And John could feel Rodney moving, shifting onto his knees behind him, and then he could feel Rodney's cock as it slid inside him and he almost cried it felt so good.

Rodney's big, warm hands were resting on his hips, pressing into the welts from the belt, and everything felt like it was too much, too close to the surface. When it was like this, his emotions were so close to the surface, he couldn't hide anything.

But he didn't need to, because he did trust Rodney, trusted him to not take advantage, to not say anything to anyone about what happened here and now. Now, John could lose himself in the sensation of being thoroughly and deeply fucked, and even as he thought it, Rodney pushed him further down and started to pound into him.

John tangled his fingers in the bedding, letting himself be moved and used and fucked as Rodney wanted. When Rodney's hand reached around and grabbed his dick, he let out a breath he didn't even realize he'd been holding so that he could say, "Oh, yes, oh, please, please, please..."

Rodney's voice was rough, but he still said, "Yes, John, c'mon for me, now. Give it up..."

With that, John let the orgasm that had been building roll through him like heat lightening, burning out nerves and muscles as it passed, leaving him shaking and spent.

When he came back to himself, Rodney had finished and pulled out, lying next to him on the bed and panting like he'd just run a race. "Are you okay, John?"

John turned and pillowed his head on Rodney's shoulder. "Much better, now. And I really do, you know."

"Do what?"

"Trust you. Otherwise none of this would happen."

Rodney didn't say anything, just pulled John in tighter and kissed him on the top of his head.

John let him.