The Safe Word
Warnings: Bondage kink
Summary: Rodney picks the perfect safe word
Beta: Quick and dirty beta performed by kitty_poker1
"Oh! Oh, God, that hurts." Rodney moaned and shuddered and John froze in indecision.
"You stopped. Why did you stop? Did I tell you you could stop?" Rodney tried to surge up and back in an effort to drive John deeper, but John had done an expert job of tying him into position, and all he managed was a negligible twitch.
"You said it hurt."
"Yes, yes, and--?" With a sigh, Rodney resigned himself to explaining things again.
"This is the reason we agreed on a safe word before we started. The only time you should ever stop is when you hear that word. Or maybe," he muttered softly, "you've decided to add to your sexual repertoire, because frankly, stopping like that while I'm trussed up like a turkey and this turned on? That truly is the definition of sadism!"
He twitched again and then clenched down hard on John's erection, buried deep - but still not deep enough - inside his body. The rough Athosian blanket chafed his knees and scratched his shoulders, abrading his left cheek and temple as he knelt, unable to move.
"Remember what we chose to be the safe word, John?" He clenched again as John reflexively pulled back. "Remember the way it caused us both to wilt when we tried it out? Until you hear me call that out, keep doing what you're doing. But do it hard, and do it now, John. Fuck me, dammit!"
The harness of knotted ropes, leather straps and military webbing drew John's attention from Rodney's heart-shaped ass to his bound hands, each lashed tightly to a corresponding lushly muscled thigh. He still couldn't quite believe that this was all for him - his toy, his carnal playground, because Rodney said it was.
"Are you still awake back there?"
The snarky though impeccably politely phrased query easily snapped John out of his 'Mine! All mine!' reverie. With a feral grin, John began to move.
Hands trained by combat tightened painfully on pale hips as John held onto Rodney as though he'd never let him go. He lost himself in taking what he wanted, rutting, riding hard. His tongue traced random patterns on salt-sweet skin between the bonds. Rodney tasted like heaven. And chocolate-covered pretzels.
Each furious slam of concave belly against buttocks sent Rodney sliding forward with a whimper, gasp or groan. Skin, hypersensitive from friction, kept his nerve ends singing, a symphony of overblown sensation he wouldn't, couldn't, fight. The pressure in his chest expanded, swelled to swallow him whole, and his limbs began to tremble from the strain.
"Oh God, John, I… I… Oh! Yes!" And then words and thought and meaning were beyond him as he whited out.
"So, you really liked that, huh?" John's droll words accompanied Rodney's slow return to consciousness, and he huffed happily in response.
"It's freeing, liberating. I think it feels like flying. You should try it next time."
"Huh. Maybe. But really, Rodney, Kavanagh?"
"It's the most effective safe word I've ever had!"