"Take off your clothes," Rodney said as soon as the doors had closed behind John, taking him completely by surprise. John flinched, hand immediately reaching for his headset - shit, damn, it was still tuned to an open frequency, anybody could have heard that, what the fuck was Rodney thinking -- but Rodney just grinned at him, brandishing a little black box that had been lying next to him on the bed.

"Don't worry -- got it covered. Strip. Now."

John's cock gave a little twitch at the tone of calm self-confidence in Rodney's voice, leaving no doubt whatsoever that he expected immediate obedience. He'd never heard that tone from Rodney before - even in the labs, where he ordered people around all the time, he was more abrasive and impatient than commanding.

But fuck, he looked hot like that, sitting on John's bed like he owned it, legs spread comfortably apart, dominating the whole room with the sheer force of his presence. Where the hell had he been hiding this?

John's hands went up to the collar of his shirt without any help from his brain at all, automatically following that commanding voice. He forced himself to stop. He had to be certain...

"You sure about this?" he said quietly, trying to hide how much he wanted the answer to be yes.

"Well, only if you want to, of course. We don't have to, if you're not in the mood," Rodney said, suddenly looking deeply uncomfortable, drawing his legs together and hunching his shoulders into a protective position, practically squirming with embarrassment. "I just thought -- Oh, damn, you've probably had a horrible day at work, with that stupid training camp thing, didn't you? And here I -- Sorry. Let's just forget about this, okay?"

Damn! John cursed himself; he should have known that the confident persona was an act. For all that Rodney stomped through life flinging orders and insults in every direction, he had been surprisingly tentative about his relationship with John right from the start. Usually, John felt comforted by Rodney's uncertainty -- he was pretty sure that it meant that Rodney wanted this to work out just as much as John did, and that the unfamiliar cautiousness was an attempt to compensate for his infamous lack of people skills.

But watching Rodney ordering the science team around had always made John's breath quicken and his heart pound, reminding him of fantasies that he'd had to stop acting out a long time ago for the sake of flying. And tonight -- after a fucking long, tedious day of ordering a bunch of irritated Marines around their impromptu training camp on the mainland in the hot summer sun -- the chance to just let go, to let Rodney take the decisions from him for a little while, sounded heavenly.

He hadn't expected to ever get this chance at all -- Rodney had seemed so shocked when John had told him about these fantasies. It had taken John weeks to work up the courage to mention them at all to Rodney, who had always seemed as vanilla as it got, gentle and considerate and ever so careful of John's pleasure, and while John liked that -- hell, he loved it, it was fucking amazing, easily the best sex he'd ever had -- he could do it every day, and twice on Sundays -- sometimes he craved something with a bit more bite.

So one evening John had told him, pressing his face into Rodney's neck so he wouldn't have to look at him, pouring out dark, hidden fantasies, breathless with adrenaline and a thousand what-ifs -- What if he's disgusted? thinks I don't like what we usually do? laughs? -- his face so hot that the skin of Rodney's neck felt pleasantly cool against his forehead.

It hadn't been as bad as he had feared -- Rodney had been turned on, that much had been evident from the hot erection pressing into John's thigh -- but he'd also looked shocked, and doubtful, and not very much like he wanted to do it at all.

John had backed off then, and never mentioned it again, but secretly, he'd hoped, maybe someday... and now Rodney did want to try it.

In fact, Rodney had obviously been willing to go out on a limb with this for John -- he knew that Rodney's overactive imagination would already have run through a thousand scenarios this could go wrong just in the time it had taken for John to show up, knew that Rodney liked to plan ahead, and that surprising John with this as he had done just now had probably taken a whole lot of courage.

John was kicking himself for not having the sense to take him up on it while he had the chance. He really wanted what Rodney had been offering tonight, and from the dejected way Rodney's shoulders were slumping, maybe he'd really wanted it, too.

"Can we just pick up where we stopped, instead?" he asked, a little tentatively. "God, Rodney, that was really fucking hot, I'm sorry I interrupted, okay? I was just surprised -- I didn't think you'd actually want to go through with this."

"I just... needed some time to think about it," Rodney said, shrugging. "I'm really not so much the kinky type, you know? Except then I couldn't stop thinking about it, so maybe I am and just never knew. I mean, at my age, you just don't expect any more sexual epiphanies."

Rodney visibly pulled himself together, straightening his back and lifting his chin. It didn't so much resemble the confident posture from earlier as more Rodney's 'braced for angry natives and sudden death' stance, but at least he was still willing to try.

"I believe I told you to strip."

John could feel that voice all over his body like a tangible caress, like fingernails trailing over his skin and a strong grip in his hair, cock going to full hardness almost instantly.

He swallowed and started unbuttoning his shirt, fingers scrabbling over the buttons.

"Slower," Rodney admonished. "You've got time -- I want to watch."

John shivered, forcing himself to slow down, suddenly hyperaware of Rodney's eyes on every inch of skin he bared. So even though he would've felt completely ridiculous doing any sort of real striptease, he did try to make a bit of a show out of it, lingering over the buttons and trailing his fingers teasingly over bare skin.

Rodney was watching him quietly, and that was just another turn-on -- Rodney always got so quiet, so focused during sex, the way he only ever was with experiments that took all of his attention, and John loved that, loved that he could make Rodney lose the babble, loved this silent intensity.

John carelessly dropped the shirt to the floor and started on the buttons of the jeans. His cock was pressing eagerly against the heavy fabric, and he couldn't resist giving himself a quick squeeze, looking up at Rodney for reassurance that this was allowed. Rodney tilted his head, looking faintly amused, but didn't protest.

John bent to untie the laces of his boots, trying to give Rodney a nice view of his ass. Not for the first time he cursed the fact that there was no quick or sexy way to take off army boots. Finally he shimmied out of his jeans, leaving him to stand there in just his boxers. He fingered the chain of his dog tags, but Rodney shook his head.

"Leave those on."

John obeyed, letting his hands sink to his sides. He caught himself making an awkward, So, this is me gesture at his exposed body, and quickly laced his hands behind his back, going to a casual version of Parade Rest. It wasn't like Rodney hadn't seen it all before, after all. He just didn't usually look at him like this.

Rodney raised his eyebrows. "All your clothes, John. What, did you suddenly get bashful in between now and the last time I saw you naked, which was, oh, let me think, this morning?"

John felt himself blush as he stepped out of the boxers, naked and fully erect before Rodney's intent gaze, the dog tags gleaming on his naked chest.

"Wow, you're so hot," Rodney said reverently. "I mean, I already knew that, of course, but --" he caught himself mid-sentence. "Turn around -- come on, let me look at you."

John turned in a self-conscious circle, his skin tingling with the weight of Rodney's gaze, cock twitching impatiently against his belly.

"God, yes."

Rodney's approving voice made him shiver.

"Oh, wait, I almost forgot --" he suddenly said, in a much more businesslike tone, snapping his fingers. "We should probably -- I mean -- safewords. 'Red' for 'stop', 'yellow' for 'slow down, let's talk about this' -- that going to work for you?"

"Uh, sure," John said, pleasant anticipation rippling through him at the thought that they were going to do something that required safewords. He wasn't sure how far Rodney was willing to take this, but that meant that he wanted to do more than just order John around a bit, right? He certainly hoped so.

"Kneel down," Rodney ordered, making John's legs fold beneath him almost automatically.

"Touch yourself -- yeah, just like that," when John wrapped a hand around the base of his cock, jacking himself with slow, too-light strokes, wanting to draw it out as long as possible.

"God, if you could see yourself," Rodney whispered, hotly, giving his own cock a quick hard squeeze through his pants.

The way Rodney seemed to know just what to say, what to do to turn John on was almost eerie -- John wondered if he had planned this out, simulated it in his mind like a physics experiment, finding the best way to drive one Lieutenant Colonel Sheppard crazy. Well, he wasn't that fucking predictable -- he didn't let people that far into his head, never had. Of course Rodney was smarter and knew him better than any other top he'd ever had. Actually, that was kind of a scary thought. Even though it was undeniably, scorchingly hot, too.

"You like that? Does it feel good? Tell me."

John's hand tightened around his cock. "Yes, god, it feels great," he said, already panting, forcing himself to slow down again before he came.

"Yes, sir," Rodney said, and for a moment John could only stare at him dumbly, his mind slow like molasses through the thick glaze of pleasure.

"Huh?"

"It feels great, sir," Rodney emphasized, and John suddenly got what he wanted. His hand stilled on his cock. For a moment he considered saying it, hiding his discomfort and just going along with what Rodney wanted. He'd already interrupted the mood enough, Rodney clearly wasn't feeling all that secure in his role as a top, and if John managed to make him self-conscious about this now, he'd probably take the fun right out of it for both of them. But no. He knew it would keep bothering him -- and if he couldn't be honest even here, now, with Rodney, what was the point?

"Uh, Rodney," he said, tentatively, watching Rodney's face fall at his tone of voice. "Look, it's just, the thing with the 'sir' doesn't really do it for me, you know? That's... too much like you're my superior officer, and that's just not my thing."

"Oh. Sorry," Rodney said, looking stricken, his whole face suddenly red with embarrassment. John cringed, his chest aching with sympathetic pain. He knew all too well that when you were already self-conscious and insecure about your every step -- and he had no doubt that Rodney was, no matter how well he managed to pretend otherwise -- even the slightest mistake was just fucking painful. Jeez, he should have just kept his mouth shut, how hard could it have been?

"You want to stop?" Rodney offered, staring at the floor between his feet.

"Jesus, no!" John said quickly. "Rodney, no, this is great. It's just that one thing I don't like, okay?"

"Okay." Rodney was still looking uncomfortable. "In that case - just, you know, keep doing what you were doing," he said lamely. John suppressed a wince. Yeah, that was just what he'd been afraid of.

His cock had gone noticeably softer with the interruption, so John coaxed it back up with gentle strokes. Rodney still looked tense, sitting on the bed with his arms crossed. John tried not to let it bother him, jerking himself with the quick, efficient strokes that brought the most reliable pleasure, substituting physical sensation for the mental stimulation that had kept him going before.

It took Rodney a few minutes to relax again, but finally he unbent, propping his hands on his knees and leaning slightly forward for a better view, eyes getting dark and hot with arousal again.

"Slow down," he said hoarsely. "Use only your fingertips."

John moaned, half protesting, but forced himself to ease up, anyway. He had been getting close, and the fire burning from his cock through his body was urging him to let go, to stroke faster, harder -- not to slow down. The teasing feel of his fingertips was almost unbearable, his cock twitching into every touch, wanting more.

Still, it was possible to bring himself off that way, too, and he was already getting close, eyes falling shut, moaning with the pleasure, trying to push himself over the edge just like that, when Rodney spoke again.

"Stop."

John whimpered in protest. It was almost physically painful to let go. He had to clench his hands on his thighs to stop himself from reaching for his cock again. Rodney was smirking, chin lifted triumphantly, looking smug. Got you right where I want you, this look said. John had seen it more than once, although usually not directed at himself -- and from the perspective of a spectator, Rodney's enjoyment at outwitting people was a lot less annoying.

John glared at him.

"Come here," Rodney said. John exhaled a deep breath of relief. So he just wanted to finish it himself, then. Well, he could get behind that. He got up --

"No, not like that", Rodney said. He snapped his fingers, gesturing to the floor in front of John. "Come here."

Jesus, Rodney wanted him to crawl?

The thought made his cock twitch, but it also made his chest clench in something almost like fear. This was... too much, too submissive, more power than he could bring himself to hand over even to Rodney.

"No," he said, almost automatically, feeling his muscles lock up. No way in hell.

Rodney raised his eyebrows. "What's the matter, John, can't do it?" he said, almost mockingly, making it a challenge.

John bit his lip at the jibe, suddenly angry. There were limits to how much he was willing to give up, and Rodney could go to hell if he thought he could just push through all of John's barriers like this --

"Forget it," he grated out harshly.

"John," Rodney said, in a completely different tone, weirdly gentle and hard as steel at the same time. "Come on, it's just us here. Trust me."

John shook his head stubbornly, but the anger was gone as fast as it had come.

"Look, Rodney this is just not --"

Rodney sighed, interrupting him, somehow managing to sound entirely long-suffering, but without the slightest hint of condescension, which was a) not very Rodney-like -- he was just full of surprises tonight, wasn't he? -- and b) the only thing that kept John from leaving, because he'd never been able to stand condescension, not even now. Especially not now. Not when he was feeling this vulnerable, like Rodney was cutting him open, exposing parts of him that didn't want to get dragged into the cold light of day.

And Rodney knew, god, Rodney could fucking see that, and his words sliced right through John like the best of razors, so sharp it didn't even hurt.

"Oh, cut the bullshit out, John. We both know you want to. Get your ass over here."

John swallowed, his cock jerking against his belly desperately, feeling himself drop to hands and knees. God, he'd thought he wanted Rodney to back up, to stop being so... so knowing, maybe even to apologize. He hadn't known he'd wanted Rodney to make him. Why did he never see these things coming?

The dog tags were swinging freely under his chest as he made his way over to Rodney, the floor just hard enough under his bare knees to force him to go slow. It suddenly felt like Rodney was miles away, like his small bedroom had somehow turned into a vast space roughly the equivalent of a football field. It was almost a surprise when he was finally there, could sink down in front of him and press his face against the rough fabric of Rodney's trousers, feeling himself shudder, a strange calm settling over his body.

Rodney stroked his back and put his arms around John, bending down and pressing as much of himself against John's body as he could manage while still sitting on the bed.

"You're okay, right? Are you okay?"

"Jesus, Rodney," John said, a shaky laugh fighting its way out of his chest. "What would you have done if I'd said no?"

"Well, I'd have given in, obviously." Rodney sounded a bit shaky himself. "I don't want you to do something you'd hate - you didn't hate it, right? Um, you'd use your safewords if something really bothered you, wouldn't you? Because if you're one of those subs who are too damn proud to say stop if something's wrong, we can just forget about this right now, that's not -_"

"No, it's - I'm all right," John said quickly, and it was true, more true than it had been in a long time. He did trust Rodney with this, he realized. God, he'd missed this, this feeling of being taken care of, just for a short time - and it was even better than he remembered, because he'd never had a top who meant nearly as much to him as Rodney did, who knew him like Rodney did. Even if it was fucking scary, too.

Rodney was petting his hair with his left hand, the other one was slipping around his neck, tangling in the chain of the dog tags, his thumb stroking gently over the tendon at the side of John's neck. John turned his head and nuzzled against his arm, almost purring with contentment. His cock was still pulsing heavily between his legs, but the most urgent desire had faded. He felt as if he could sit like this forever, just resting with his head on Rodney's thigh, Rodney's large hands spread possessively over his body. Finally Rodney nudged him slightly away, one hand letting go of his hair. John watched as he unbuttoned his pants with clumsy haste, left-handed.

"Hands behind your back," he ordered softly. John laced them tightly at the small of his back. Rodney impatiently shoved his jeans and boxers down around his thighs, then fisted a hand around the base of his cock, angled it at John's mouth and touched the tip to his lips, smearing a drop of precome. John's tongue darted out instinctively, touching the head and catching the warm salt flavor.

"God, yeah, suck it," Rodney said tightly. John leaned forward, letting Rodney push between his lips. It was harder to keep his balance with his hands behind his back, and he didn't have the control to do it with any kind of finesse, but somehow that just made it better. The heavy weight of Rodney's cock in his mouth, the solid, warm shape of it on his tongue, Rodney moving into his mouth like he owned it... He was moaning helplessly, only the tight grip his hands had on each other preventing him from grabbing his own cock, bringing himself the release it was begging for by now.

Rodney's hand tightened the chain of the dog tags around his neck, not enough to choke him, but tight enough so John could feel it as a solid band of gentle, inexorable pressure whenever he swallowed. Rodney used the chain to guide his movements, directing him with firm, careful tugs.

Rodney was moaning, too, his hand rhythmically squeezing and releasing the nape of John's neck in time with his thrusts. Suddenly he reached for John's arm, taking his hand and guiding it to curl very softly around his balls. John looked up at him in confusion. Rodney hated having his balls played with, he was way too sensitive there, and even the lightest, most careful caress could already skirt the line into pain.

"If I'm... hurting you," Rodney gasped out. "Instead of a safeword."

John barely had time to comprehend his meaning before Rodney spread one hand in his hair, angling his head just so and holding it still, and plunged his cock deep into John's mouth, the head butting up against the back of his throat. John had to concentrate on keeping his grip on Rodney's balls light, so he wouldn't accidentally squeeze down.

Rodney was sliding into his mouth with deep, slow strokes, giving him time to adjust. John relaxed his muscles around him, swallowing down his gag reflex with practiced skill, letting him fuck his face with quicker, harder thrusts, utterly relaxed and completely helpless in Rodney's hands.

He wanted it to go on forever, so when Rodney stopped, pulling out and away with a groan of effort, he had to restrain himself from following. Rodney was panting, red-faced, his uniform shirt stained dark with sweat. He passed his own hand over his cock with light, soothing strokes, obviously close, at that point where stopping was almost physically painful. Rodney took a minute to cool down, then smiled shakily at John.

"God, that was good. Come on, get up -- get on the bed."

He stood up, making room for John, who stretched out on his back, spreading his legs slightly and stretching a bit, his hard cock arching up over his belly, wet and aching.

Rodney groaned. "Hey, I'm trying to cool down -- you're not helping there."

John smirked.

Rodney stripped off his own clothes with businesslike efficiency, throwing them every which way on the floor. When he was naked, he climbed onto the bed beside John, nudging him to the side and pushing his arms above his head. John sucked a startled breath through his teeth when Rodney procured a pair of padded black leather cuffs from somewhere.

He snapped them around John's wrists, fastened them together, and then attached the chain to a hook in the bed frame that John was pretty sure hadn't been there last night. John tugged experimentally, not surprised when the bonds didn't give an inch. His cock leaked a drop of fluid onto his belly, responding to his newly rising excitement.

Rodney pushed and prodded him until he was lying with his legs spread and bent, feet flat on the bed. John closed his eyes, shivers of pleasure chasing through his body at the feeling of being manhandled by Rodney's strong square hands.

Rodney chained his legs to opposite corners of the bed with a second pair of cuffs. For a moment, that didn't seem to make much sense -- the moment he stretched his legs, he'd have plenty of give -- but then Rodney got out two black leather straps, wrapped them around John's thighs, right above the knees, and attached them to the outside of the bed frame, keeping his legs open and bent.

John's mouth went completely dry at the realization that he couldn't move at all anymore, spread out like this, completely at Rodney's mercy. Rodney could do anything at all to him now, and John didn't have the power to stop him. The walls were soundproof -- even if he screamed, no one would hear.

The enormity of the trust he had placed in Rodney hit him hard, together with the realization that he knew that trust to be well-founded. He didn't think for a moment that Rodney would do anything he didn't want, and he'd only have to say one word to stop it all.

John allowed himself to relax, sinking into the soft pillows, closing his eyes in surrender. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt completely light, entirely free of the weight of responsibility, all the power resting in the hands of someone he trusted absolutely, at least with this.

Rodney was stroking his chest, his legs, the exposed inside of his thighs, making soft, appreciative noises. "So hot," he whispered. "Wish you could see yourself -- you think a mirror over the bed would be too tacky?"

John laughed, the sound turning into a moan half-way through when Rodney's hand brushed his neglected cock, there and gone again in the space of a second.

"Can we talk about interior decorating when this is over, please?" he groaned, trying to arch into Rodney's too-light, teasing touches, but unable to move more than a few inches.

Rodney smiled unrepentantly. "Sure," he said, firmly pinching one of John's nipples. John hissed, the sharp mix of pleasure and pain rushing through his body like a firestorm, pushing all other thoughts from his mind.

Rodney's hand was tangling around the dog tags again, but this time he pulled them over John's head, letting them dangle from his hand for a moment. Then he leaned over and casually looped them around John's cock and balls, not tight enough to interfere with blood circulation, but enough for John to feel the chain as a thin line of pressure all around his genitals, lightly squeezing that place just under the head of his cock, pressing against the underside of his balls.

Rodney passed a hand over his bound cock, rubbing the tiny links of the chain against his sensitive skin, a sensation completely different from anything John had ever felt before. His cock jerked at the intimate touch, and he moaned in disappointment when Rodney stopped all too soon, even thought the rational part of his mind knew that too much of this would abrade his skin.

The metal of the tags felt cold around the burning heat of his cock. He craned his neck for a better view, watching the light glint on the shiny metal of the chain, contrasting sharply with the dark red color of his cock. Rodney tapped his shoulder with a finger, and when John jerked out of his absorption, gestured for him to lean forward a bit and pushed another pillow behind his back, permitting him to watch more comfortably.

"Thanks," John muttered absently, watching fixedly as Rodney went back to caressing him, trailing his nails lightly between the coils of the chain, no real pressure but sharp, shivery shocks of sensation all through his body, adding to the thrill of watching Rodney's fingers play him like an instrument until he was panting and moaning, hips jerking in the tiny increments that were all the bonds would allow him.

Finally Rodney let go, but John barely reacted, lost in something almost like a trance, endorphins rushing through his blood, feeling floaty and light. He wondered if this was what people looked for in meditation.

The whoosh of the nightstand drawer opening roused him a little. Rodney was bent over it, reaching for something, and when he came up again he held a little package in his hands, something roughly oblong and wrapped in some kind of black fabric.

Rodney unwrapped it slowly, carefully, John's eyes following every movement of his fingers, and when the glinting blade of the knife was revealed, he heard himself gasp as if from far away.

Rodney placed the black fabric on the nightstand, and then held up the knife, giving John his first good view of it. It was simple and military-issue, the blade roughly as long as Rodney's hand from wrist to fingertips, with a smooth, rounded black handle.

He placed the knife carefully in the center of John's chest, who had to force himself not to flinch away from the touch of the cold metal blade, and left it lying there as he took in the sight of John's naked body, adorned with nothing but the knife and the tags. John held himself very still, keeping the knife balanced on the center of his body, his heart racing with anticipation.

God, he had been so sure that Rodney would never go for this part of the fantasy, hadn't even quite known why he'd told him, except that it was such an old favorite, the one he used to bring himself off when nothing else worked.

"I know you said you wanted this, but if you aren't absolutely sure, now would be a good time to say so," Rodney warned.

John bit his lip. "I'm sure," he said, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "But what about you? Are you sure this won't remind you --" he broke off, gesturing with his chin towards Rodney's right arm, the one he sometimes still cradled protectively to his body in cold, wet weather, though the wound had healed a long time ago.

Rodney smiled, shrugged, and while there was something tremulous in his eyes, his voice was firm and without the slightest trepidation when he said "Yes. It's not the same thing at all."

He reached for the knife, took it from its resting place on John's naked body and turned it in his hands contemplatively, touching a thumb to the edge of the blade with a care that probably meant it was razor sharp.

"I'm pretty damn certain that I'll never ask you to do it to me, but I don't mind this. As long as it is what you want. It is, right?" He pressed the flat of the bade to the inside of John's thigh, cold against the sensitive skin, and John's voice was throaty and hoarse when he answered.

"It is. Oh god, please, Rodney --"

Rodney grinned and put the knife on the nightstand, reaching for the black fabric instead, which turned out to be a scarf.

"Lift your head," he said.

John obeyed, and the world went dark around him as Rodney tied the blindfold with careful hands. He'd thought he'd been helpless before, but this was ten times more intense, being unable to even see what Rodney would decide to do next, unable to do anything but lie there and anticipate. It sent his mind into overdrive, spinning with a thousand scenarios, and when the first touch finally came, he almost jumped out of his skin, jerking as much as the bonds would allow him. Thank god it was only Rodney's hand.

Rodney petted his hip soothingly. "Jesus, John, you've got to try to relax, or you'll end up with a lot of unplanned cuts. Try to lie still for me, okay?"

"Okay," he said, bracing himself. The bed shifted as Rodney knelt between his legs. Rodney spread his hands on the insides of John's thighs and gently pushed them open wider, exposing him even more. He moaned, feeling every touch like a brand against his hypersensitive skin.

Rodney raked a fingernail over John's chest, drawing a thin line just down the middle. After a second, he followed that path with the tip of the knife, scraping it over John's skin very lightly, not breaking the skin. He tilted the knife, let John feel the razor sharpness of the blade slide along his chest muscles, over the soft, vulnerable skin on the inside of his thigh, tracing the arch of his ribs.

His nerves crackled like lightning along the knife's path. Every centimeter of his body felt like it was wired right into his cock, every touch sent new sparks of pleasure showering through him. His cock was pulsing against the constriction of the chain, and when Rodney hooked one finger into it and tugged, the touch exploded through his entire body. He hissed, arching his body and throwing his head back.

Rodney pressed him down again almost casually, placing one hand flat in the center of his chest and leaning down, effortlessly subduing John's struggles.

"Still now," he warned, his voice dark and raspy, and John forced himself to subside, panting and shuddering, waiting in breathless anticipation for the next place the blade would touch.

Rodney stroked his cheek with a finger, then slipped it under his chin, tipping his head back. John's breath turned to high, hitching gasps when Rodney drew the tip of the knife down the line of his throat with just the barest hint of pressure.

If John moved even the slightest bit... if Rodney slipped...

But he wouldn't, John knew. Rodney wouldn't do this if he weren't absolutely certain that he knew what he was doing. God, he'd never been so completely at the mercy of anyone, his body, his life in Rodney's hands, completely defenseless. It was the best rush ever, like flying into the sunset at thirty thousand feet and Mach 2, nothing but the sky around you, tethered to earth only by the thinnest of threads, completely weightless in all the ways that mattered.

The knife left his throat, and Rodney's hand dragged down his body, thumb curling underneath his balls, and John's breath caught at the realization of where the knife was going next. His whole body froze, muscles locking in preparation for the moment the cold flat side of the blade slipped underneath, lifting his balls, drawing a gentle line around them in a coil of exquisite sensation. It felt like parachuting, like bungee jumping, where even knowing that you were safe, you just couldn't help your body's instinctive terror. He'd always loved this feeling, adrenaline coursing bright and sharp through his veins, heart beating at a fluttery, exhilarated pace, gasping and sobbing for air.

The knife was tracing up his body again, his stomach muscles twitching under the almost ticklish touch. Rodney placed one hand on his left shoulder, pressing him down into the bed, holding him immobile, and then the tip of the knife was against his nipple, pressing down just the slightest bit farther.

"John --" Rodney said, questioning, sounding turned on and shaky and maybe a little bit scared.

"God, yes, do it -- please, Rodney..." and then the tip of that knife was breaking the skin for the first time, pushing into him just the tiniest bit, one single droplet of blood welling up. His excitement, the cocktail of hormones running through his blood all combined to turn the pain into something else, something more, not even real pain so much as just a hard spike of sensation, sharp and thrilling, intimate as a hand wrapping around his cock.

Rodney touched a finger to his nipple, making the pain flare up for just a second, like an electric shock, then placed it against John's lower lip. John darted his tongue out, tasting the iron tang of his own blood, his cock twitching wetly against his belly.

His legs were straining against their bonds, trying to wrap around Rodney, to pull him closer, hands twitching uselessly against the cuffs, suddenly desperately wanting to reach out and touch, to try and thank Rodney with touch the way he couldn't do with words for indulging him in something that had to be so alien to him.

The bed shifted, and then one of Rodney's hands was in his, warm and dependable, and he clutched it desperately, greedily, his whole body aching for the contact.

"Sh, it's alright, god, John," Rodney was whispering, again and again, probably trying to soothe himself more than John, who was floating happily on a cloud of the very best drugs his body had to offer, dizzy and more aroused than he could remember ever being in his life. Rodney stroked him with his free hand, petted his stomach and thighs and finally, for a too-short moment, his aching cock. John moaned and tried to press harder against his fingers, the dog tags clinking softly, but Rodney pulled away.

He moaned in disappointment, so close to begging already, again and more and harder just on the tip of his tongue. The nightstand drawer whirred open, and he heard the familiar click of the tube of lube being uncapped. He trembled in anticipation, trying to spread his legs even further when Rodney settled between them, pushing slick fingers into his body -- no, not fingers, something harder, less yielding -- god, that was the knife handle, Rodney was...

John moaned, clamping down around it, flexing his muscles and trying to amplify the sensation, not enough to slake the fire burning through him but god, so very good. Rodney was murmuring something he couldn't quite hear over the rushing of blood in his ears, but he knew the tone, intimate and caring and turned on, thank god, Rodney was enjoying this, too, at least a bit.

Finally, Rodney pulled the knife out and pushed his cock into John, leaning over and biting his collarbone, caressing his sides with long firm strokes. He stopped when he was buried all the way inside, ignoring the soft noise of protest John couldn't help but make.

"Sh, trust me, hold still," he said, and then, when John squeezed down on his cock: "And stop that. I'm trying to concentrate."

John forced himself to relax once more, his patience already strained to the limit. He felt so close that the slightest touch to his cock would be enough to send him over the edge; he'd been skirting that edge for forever, never quite close enough.

Rodney leaned over him, one hand firmly on his shoulder, and then suddenly the knife was back on his skin, the edge of the blade sliding over his ribs.

"Now," Rodney said, slicing a thin line of fire down his side, the other hand closing around his cock. John's nerves fired a staccato of contradictory information at him, bright pleasure-pain shooting all through his body, and then finally, finally Rodney was starting to thrust, giving John's cock just one single squeeze and he was coming, arching off the bed as much as he could, whimpering with the blinding pleasure of it, feeling shattered into a thousand pieces.

Somewhere along the line, Rodney must have come, too, because when John came back to himself, he had pulled out and was fumbling with the cuffs on John's arms. The second he was free, John wrapped around him, arms around his waist and hands scrabbling over Rodney's back, wanting, needing to touch, barely aware of Rodney's attempts to pry the blindfold free, hindered by the way John was pressing his head into Rodney's lap.

"John, John, hey, are you all right? John, talk to me, damn it! Are you okay?"

"I'm good," John said absently, still floating with sleepy pleasure. He found himself completely occupied with the way Rodney smelled, felt and tasted, all his neglected senses suddenly screaming for their own share of the fun. Rodney was still moving agitatedly under him, though, releasing John's legs and stroking shaking fingers over his sides, muttering something about having to clean the wounds, so John reluctantly roused himself.

"Rodney, relax, that can wait -- I'm all right. Come here, lie down, I want to hold you."

He pushed and prodded until Rodney was flat on his back and he could curl around him, his legs wrapped around Rodney's and his head on Rodney's chest.

He turned his head so he could look up at him. "Are you okay?" he said quietly, because Rodney's nervousness was starting to worry him, now that the high was starting to wear off. Rodney would have stopped if he'd hated it, right? He'd been the one holding all the power, after all.

"I -- I think I'm good," Rodney said after a long moment. "That was... pretty damn intense. But in a good way, I think. But... you liked it, didn't you? Tell me you liked it. I mean, only if it's true, of course--"

"Rodney!" John laughed out loud, leaning over to silence Rodney with a kiss. "Calm down, okay? I loved it. It was amazing."

He traced the cut on his side with a finger, shivering at the remembered sensation of the blade cutting into him. He could see now that it was even smaller than he had thought; shallow, even, hardly as deep as the scratches that thorn bush on the last mission had given him. It had only been his hyperactive senses that had amplified the feeling like that.

"You were amazing," he told Rodney, because he still looked like he needed the reassurance. "Thank you. I loved it."

"Oh," Rodney said, brightening up. "Well, I never doubted my own genius, of course."

John smiled and burrowed deeper against his side, enjoying those few minutes of peace before Rodney would undoubtedly want to get up and clean those scratches.

"Rodney," he murmured quietly, fondly, into his skin. He didn't say 'I love you', but he hoped maybe Rodney heard it anyway.

=end=