Disclaimers: 1) this was written in about 10 minutes. b) It's not sweet. It's rather harsh, actually. iii) It's not as good as you would do it. *g*
"Nothing"
Over the past few weeks of our Dante-esque trip into the Pegasus galaxy, this has become my most cherished fantasy. Usually this kind of sexual imagery only sustains me for a brief time and I move on to a new scenario, or a new object. My imagination long ago proved limitless in this area. Perhaps living in such close proximity is having a perverse effect on my libido.
Or possibly it's that every single time he goes out of his way to annoy me or tease me, it only makes my subconscious mind more desirous of taking him down a peg or two. Cutting him off at the knees, so to speak. Actually, getting him on his knees, to be more precise.
Yes, John Sheppard. Major in the United States Air Force. Veteran combat pilot. He of the freakishly innate ability to control Ancient technology. Now the ranking military officer in Atlantis. The man who inexplicably is now capable of giving me orders because I'm a member of his team. And who avails himself of that privilege as often as he can.
On his knees, sucking me off obediently. A mental picture worth forming.
Talk to the man for five minutes and you can tell he was a jock in school, probably on the football team, paying guys like me to do his science labs. Or seducing some dewy-eyed schoolgirl into doing his homework for him by smiling at her with what I'm sure he thinks is a charmingly boyish grin. He uses the lost little boy routine on Elizabeth and Teyla all the time, although I credit Elizabeth for being savvy enough to know she's being played, even if she does give in far too often.
And just like in high school, me he treats with sarcasm or outright contempt. When he's not making barbed little comments that are meant to be funny to everyone by pointing out what a freak I supposedly am, he ignores me. Snapping out orders as though I don't have any instinct for self-preservation, much less the capacity to feel anything for anyone but myself. Never mind that I'm often several steps ahead of him in thinking through situations. I don't carry a gun and my first instinct isn't to shoot people. To John Sheppard, I'm nothing.
What's why I want it. Not a relationship, not a fling. I don't want him trailing around after me like a lovesick puppy or professing his undying devotion. I want him. On his knees. Doing what I tell him to do. I want him sucking on my cock, fingering my balls. I want to fuck his mouth good and hard and for him to take it, gratefully. I want him to swallow what I give him and make sure he didn't miss a drop.
Then I'll zip up and walk away and he'll know what it feels like to be nothing to someone.
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branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2004-09-02 12:58 pm (UTC)"Nothing"
Over the past few weeks of our Dante-esque trip into the Pegasus galaxy, this has become my most cherished fantasy. Usually this kind of sexual imagery only sustains me for a brief time and I move on to a new scenario, or a new object. My imagination long ago proved limitless in this area. Perhaps living in such close proximity is having a perverse effect on my libido.
Or possibly it's that every single time he goes out of his way to annoy me or tease me, it only makes my subconscious mind more desirous of taking him down a peg or two. Cutting him off at the knees, so to speak. Actually, getting him on his knees, to be more precise.
Yes, John Sheppard. Major in the United States Air Force. Veteran combat pilot. He of the freakishly innate ability to control Ancient technology. Now the ranking military officer in Atlantis. The man who inexplicably is now capable of giving me orders because I'm a member of his team. And who avails himself of that privilege as often as he can.
On his knees, sucking me off obediently. A mental picture worth forming.
Talk to the man for five minutes and you can tell he was a jock in school, probably on the football team, paying guys like me to do his science labs. Or seducing some dewy-eyed schoolgirl into doing his homework for him by smiling at her with what I'm sure he thinks is a charmingly boyish grin. He uses the lost little boy routine on Elizabeth and Teyla all the time, although I credit Elizabeth for being savvy enough to know she's being played, even if she does give in far too often.
And just like in high school, me he treats with sarcasm or outright contempt. When he's not making barbed little comments that are meant to be funny to everyone by pointing out what a freak I supposedly am, he ignores me. Snapping out orders as though I don't have any instinct for self-preservation, much less the capacity to feel anything for anyone but myself. Never mind that I'm often several steps ahead of him in thinking through situations. I don't carry a gun and my first instinct isn't to shoot people. To John Sheppard, I'm nothing.
What's why I want it. Not a relationship, not a fling. I don't want him trailing around after me like a lovesick puppy or professing his undying devotion. I want him. On his knees. Doing what I tell him to do. I want him sucking on my cock, fingering my balls. I want to fuck his mouth good and hard and for him to take it, gratefully. I want him to swallow what I give him and make sure he didn't miss a drop.
Then I'll zip up and walk away and he'll know what it feels like to be nothing to someone.