We Made Aliens Do It(J/R, NC-17)
About 3000 words.
Beta thanks to the
The strangers came late in the evening, long after our suns had set. Our Benevolence had already retired and we knew only too well not to disturb them; but we also knew not to let these strangers go without having found out more about them, or shown them to Our Benevolence.
Our initial talks with the aliens did not go particularly well. While half of the group seemed friendly, the other was decidedly hostile. The one with the thin mouth called their guileless-looking leader gormless, the large one seemed to be either very angry or very hungry or both, and though they were hesitant to return empty handed it looked like they would, which was unsatisfactory for all parties involved.
Their planet had a different rotation to ours. We were tired and sorely needed to recuperate, while they were obviously far too awake to do profitable business with them. We could not risk them leaving, possibly not to return.
It was Kxxl’s idea, Sfft can attest to that. Three drops in each of their cups, and we would all be able to retire to our beds.
“They are rather heavy. Couldn’t someone else have pulled the cart for us?”
"Stop complaining, this needs to be done discreetly. Let me see … we’ll put the long-haired ones together."
"That is so typical. Just because they're prettier!"
"That is not true, and I’ll have you know I resent the implication.”
"It is true! By your logic you should pair them otherwise, since the dark one is also hairy and wears a wristband like the huge one, and the blue-eyed one is smoother and softer like the small one – oh, oh, by the way, did you know that is what they call a woman? These aliens have two sexes!"
“How interesting, you seem to have made quite a study of them. Take their leader’s legs.”
”Uh. He’s heavier than he looks.”
“Not as heavy as the big one will be. Close the door behind us.”
“The little alien has a soft, bumpy chest.”
“I was well aware of that detail. Stop poking at it! Could we get back to the issue at hand now?”
“The issue being that you have a perverse fondness for pretty aliens with long hair.”
”I have no such thing! I simply thought that must be their usual arrangement. Just look, the long-haired couple is in matching brown, while the shorthairs were dressed in grey."
"This isn't about aesthetics. Confess already."
"All right, if you have to know – but you’ve got to swear you won’t tell? I added a little aphrodisiac to the ffrt we served these two. Perhaps even more than a little."
“Don’t worry. The mllk was so heavy that they’ll most likely sleep through it, but if they don’t, the results should greatly enrich our knowledge of alien mating practices. Two sexes, imagine! I’ve set up the viewer in the corner up there and …”
“You don’t understand, you stupid … Oh, what have I done to deserve this? You can’t even scheme properly. Didn’t you notice that only the shorthaired ones drank from the ffrt!"
“The … what? And these here …?”
“Are simply sleeping. Like they were all supposed to!”
“There’s no need to take that tone with me now! Lift her onto the bed, quick. Okay, okay, they are okay, two aliens safely asleep ... back to the two males!”
“Didn’t know you could run that fast.”
“Shut up and hurry.”
“Oh, listen to that! That sounds like …”
“We’re too late.”
“Are they finished already? Ow, don’t hit me.”
“I meant the drug already worked.”
“Let me see – oh. Oh yes. Hm, so that’s what they look like underneath.”
“What shall I do, what the kkgr shall I do ?”
“Pity you set up the viewer in the wrong room … ow!”
“We should probably interrupt them.”
“Yeees. Or how about not? Look at them! I certainly won’t go in there now.”
“They do look rather … preoccupied.”
“Pretty wild, I’d say. They are more in heat than Pptl in August! They’d probably kill us if we interfered.”
“So. You think we should just … leave them?”
“Well, they don’t seem to be hurting each other. Much. And now that we are here we might as well watch. For scientific reasons!”
“Huh. They have a qwwr. Both of them.”
“I thought aliens would be somehow different, but they don’t look very interesting.”
“They seem to be interested in each other though.”
“Their mouths obviously serve multiple purposes.”
“All over the dark one, isn’t he? Who’d have thought that pale, whiny alien could get so excited!”
“Oh, stop with that attitude. Just because you wanted to see a female of the species doesn’t mean this can’t be just as … educational. Look, look what they are doing now!”
“Yeah, now that is quite interesting.”
“What are they saying? Can you hear what he’s saying?”
Fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me was the only thing in Rodney’s head, the words echoing madly, bouncing around in bright orange and darkest blue.
He wasn't sure if he'd said them aloud - there never was enough of a barrier between his thoughts and his utterances but he usually kept these suppressed - only John seemed to have heard or perhaps just understood because his eyes were nearly black and his lips very red and his breath rapid and shallow and then his hands were all over Rodney, not a moment too soon, because his erection hurt and his skin itched and it felt more like going hypo than being aroused.
Time slowed down and sped up, while the room they were in seemed to contract and expand in rhythm with his heartbeat. The only constant was John, his nose pressed into Rodney’s neck for a week or a second, his belly shuddering under Rodney’s fingertips, and his eyes a kaleidoscope of golden mud and emerald slate.
Rodney had to turn his head away. He might not be as manly as he'd like to be, but he drew a line at passing out during sex or - and wouldn't that be an embarrassing first - breaking into tears just because his feelings overwhelmed him. He was a grown man - they both were - and he wasn't going to come apart in front of the one guy that mattered.
He burrowed his face in the pillow and bit his lips and balled his hands into fists and swallowed convulsively as the feelings of desperate joy exploded in his chest and John came inside him.
John took him in hand then. He felt his hard fingers and soft palms, and the last thing Rodney remembered before all the words and feelings faded into velvety black was his pleasure spilling out of him in strands of silver.
The aliens’ faces were unreadable in the morning, some more so than others. Our attempts at stalling them did not work at all, they would not even stay for another meal.
The aliens’ leader looked unexpectedly imposing as he made it clear to us that his team had received treatment not conducive to an alliance and would leave immediately.
Offers of cffv were coldly refused, even by the hungry-looking big alien. The smaller male looked unwell.
Kxxl and Sfft didn’t look much better though; they confessed later on. Their behaviour had been outrageous and would have to be reviewed in detail.
The aliens’ behaviour regrettably had not been recorded for perusal.
As the day grew warmer, Rodney became aware of an unfamiliar smell, a scent skirting the edge of his awareness. It reminded him of something he could not place, not categorise, good or bad memory, good or bad smell?
The butterflies were chirping and the crickets were as big as rabbits, all of which should have occupied his mind and certainly did make him flinch and watch for sudden insect-attacks, but not as much as it usually would have.
“Don’t worry, McKay, I won’t let the bugs bite you.”
Rodney was too distracted to do more than volley, “Learning your jokes from Sheppard, are you?” back at a smirking Ronon. Then he went back to brooding and surreptitiously sniffing himself when nobody was looking his way.
The walk back always seemed longer than the walk from the gate. He should make a study of it, or at least time them – disregarding the times they had to run, of course.
It got easier when the path wound through a wood, the light green and cool, dappled shadows dancing over John’s broad shoulders. They had all stripped down to their T-shirts, and Rodney felt uncharacteristically tempted to dispense with even that layer of fabric.
It was just too tight, clinging wetly to him in the heat, unlike John’s shirt, which looked like it belonged to another ... which, Rodney belatedly realised, it did. They had mixed up their T-shirts in their hurry to get dressed.
So it was sweat. John's sweat, mingling with Rodney's own, caught in the collar of that innocent looking shirt he'd donned so hastily and couldn't take off now and was doomed to wear all day, doomed to breathe in John's scent, never to forget what had happened.
The scent clung to him, persistent, logged as a taste at the back of Rodney’s throat, and he whined about the heat and their lack of breakfast all the way to the gate, just to try to expel it.
The people of the planet with too many moons and not enough vowels were put on their blacklist for reasons of unreliability and lack of either trade opportunities or allies-material qualities.
Their check-ups showed residue of a number of drugs.
Carson insisted on speaking with them in private.
Then they went their separate ways.
Carson had said: The drugs had already worn off completely after a few hours.
Carson had said: The residue did not affect your thoughts or emotions in any way.
Carson had said: If there is anything else you want to tell me … or need. Or maybe Kate?
Carson had said: Take these, get a good hearty breakfast, and take the day off.
John hadn’t said much. Neither had Rodney.
A few hours later, Rodney was hungry again. Crazy thoughts of taking a walk or going on a run convinced him that his blood sugar must be too low, although that part of his mind that hemmed at him when he lied to himself now loudly insisted that he didn’t need food.
He told it to shut up and that the last time he’d tried exercise ended badly, in humiliated defeat and, most importantly, with the irrevocable decision never to try again since a better constitution or shape wasn’t worth having to go through so much pain every day.
At that point, Rodney had reached the kitchen and conveniently forgotten why he was arguing with himself. He used the Got-Out-Of-Infirmary card to get a fresh sandwich from the staff, declined the salad on health grounds, and wandered back to his room.
He might have made a detour, but nobody noticed, mostly because the person Rodney was looking for wasn’t in his own room - for the simple reason that John was currently standing, rather stiffly, outside Rodney’s quarters, a rolled-up T-shirt in hand.
“I got your shirt.”
Rodney noticed the length of John’s fingers wrapped around the clean shirt and wished he’d kept his eyes open last night.
John shifted his weight, and Rodney snapped out of his thoughts. “Yes. Sorry, I haven’t washed yours.”
“Didn’t you notice –“
“I was … distracted.” Rodney wanted to ask if John hadn’t noticed the fit, or rather the scent, but John had washed it already and he was just being stupid. “It smelled of you.” Oh yes, there we go again, blurt it all out.
John’s mouth moved up on one side as he lowered his head. Rodney wanted to see his eyes, wanted to know if that lopsided smile was John’s usual reaction to when he was supposed to laugh, or the start of a real smile.
He wanted a real smile, and realising that made him frown.
“Not in a bad way, I didn’t mean you smelled … well, of course you smell, everyone does, but …” Rodney quickly palmed his door open in an effort to hide his embarrassment and belatedly realised his error when he saw John’s shirt on the pillow of his unmade bed.
The door softly closing behind him was the only sound as John stepped inside.
“Um. This is not what it looks like, I swear!”
Rodney forced himself to turn around, his brain frantically calculating pros and cons of each possible reaction.
“Relax, Rodney.” The drawl was in place, and John was hiding at the back of his eyes. “I’m not about to suspect you of sleeping with my dirty clothes.”
His self-depreciating shrug, all eyebrows and shoulders, did nothing to calm Rodney. Things were getting more awkward the harder they tried to be casual, so logic – not that twisted feeling in Rodney’s stomach – dictated a change of tactics and made Rodney reach out to place his hand on John’s arm.
“I never … and I wouldn’t have minded ...”
He felt the muscles tense under his fingers and watched unhappily as John forced himself to relax and shrug.
“I know Carson said it was the drugs, but - I want to apologise. I don’t know how to make up for what I did to you or –“
John lowered his head again, his hand going to his neck in a gesture Rodney had gotten to know so well, confusion and embarrassment and the resolve to do the right thing clear in every line of John’s taut body.
Rodney gripped his arm harder, making him flinch and look up, and there was the amber and green, not spinning crazily this time but making him ache and long for something so fiercely that he had to swallow and force himself not to look away. Talking had never seemed so hard.
“It wasn’t just the alien drugs, Colonel. Don’t make me say it, but it wasn’t. I trust you not to mention this again, and at any other time I’d probably threaten you with painful and humiliating revenge in case you do mention it, but now I just want you to please, please stop looking like that.”
He lifted his chin in fake defiance, not letting go of John’s arm, and felt more than saw John drop the shirt and move closer, eyes questioning, lips parting with words unsaid.
“Yes. Okay, all right. That’s a bit better …”
Then John smiled at him for real, relieved and honest and unguarded. His eyes crinkled at the corners and he looked young and oddly sweet, so Rodney couldn’t be held responsible for slipping his arm around John’s shoulders and pulling him down, or responding to the soft press of lips by opening his mouth to John’s probing tongue.
Despite Carson’s assurances, the alien drugs must have had a lingering effect after all, because their clothes seemed to melt away of their own accord from one moment to the next. When time slowed they were naked, breathing hard and nervous again, but the room didn’t spin and Rodney’s head felt light and clear.
They fell onto his bed, their scents - arousal and sweat and fear and delight - mingling as their arms and legs intertwined. Once Rodney had grabbed John he didn't, couldn't let go.
His senses were working overtime, eating up John’s lean body, exposed to his eyes for the first time, tasting his heartbeat, inhaling the crook of his elbow, seeing the curve of his ribcage through the palm of his hand.
“Rodney, you …we …”
Having covered John’s face with kisses until he gave up trying to speak, Rodney moved down the long throat, then turned sideways. One hand still in John's thick hair, the other reaching around to grab his ass, Rodney kissed and bit his way down sideways, not even letting John's comments about "'m not a corncob" distract him other than sliding his hand from hair to lips, feeling them curve.
Painfully hard himself, fingers engulfed in John's wet mouth or buried in the warmth between his thighs, Rodney couldn't spare a hand for his erection. He swallowed John down instead, sucking so hard that John's hips lifted off the bed and he came with a shout like pain in a matter of seconds.
Rodney still was nowhere near to stopping, still frantic, hands not getting enough of the warm skin, lips not getting enough of the soft and prickly textures. He breathed in John's smell until he felt so full of it that he was close to bursting, yet still hungry.
Moving himself up, Rodney lay down full-length atop John and without breaking stride started rubbing himself against the warm, lax body, humping John in the most embarrassing fashion, not caring about anything other than simply feeling.
“Yeah, it’s okay, it’s fine, just … just …”
John tensed his thighs, firm muscle forming a long ridge for Rodney to rub against, soft hair creating friction at the underside of Rodney’s cock and tickling the sensitised skin of his balls.
He came, drinking in the new look on the familiar face beneath him.
“Our Benevolence is not pleased.”
“Of course not.”
“Maybe the time has come for us to try those drops of yours on our esteemed leader?”