Shagging the Sheikh by lavvyan
Wordcount: ~ 2,700
Rating: NC-17
Summary: To add insult to injury, bad weather had forced his plane to detour around Eastern Europe and finally land in some tiny backwater Arabian kingdom no one had ever heard of when they'd run out of fuel. Rodney had kept pacing around the ridiculously small waiting area, only to be ogled by some guy with a suit and stupid hair who'd smiled at him and then had him kidnapped by his minions.
AN: Set after SG-1's episode 48 Hours. And the title? Totally smuffster's fault. She also made the prettyprettyamazinggoseeandtellherhowpretty COVER
Shagging the Sheikh
Rodney McKay was having a streak of bad luck. Only, he thought bitterly as oil-slick hands glided up his naked back and down his equally naked thighs, it hadn't been so much a streak lately as rather his goddamn default setting.
First, he'd been called away from a very important project to get some alien out of the Stargate's buffer while being constantly hindered by a wannabe astrophysicist who, while being an admittedly hot blonde, sadly had also been a dumb blonde. Said dumb blonde had then succeeded in completing the task through sheer blind luck and had continued to seek retaliation for Rodney's superior genius by exiling him to Siberia, of all places. To add insult to injury, bad weather had forced his plane to detour around Eastern Europe and finally land in some tiny backwater Arabian kingdom no one had ever heard of when they'd run out of fuel. Rodney had kept pacing around the ridiculously small waiting area, only to be ogled by some guy with a suit and stupid hair who'd smiled at him and then had him kidnapped by his minions.
And now he was being oiled up in preparation for what was without a doubt going to turn out to be his thorough and utter debauchment.
He'd bet that if he'd taken the Japanese government's offer, he'd have gotten his own geisha, instead of becoming part of a harem.
Nimble fingers ghosted over the inside of his thighs, smearing the scented oil and distracting him from his thoughts. Rodney had to admit that under normal circumstances, being slicked up for sex games by three pretty brunettes wouldn't exactly fall under his definition of 'bad luck', but, as the hand slipping between his butt cheeks to rub oil all around his anus reminded him, the sex games weren't going to be with the pretty brunettes.
Or maybe they were. Rodney's hips stuttered forward as the first slick finger started to push, to slowly slip inside him to spread the oil where it really had no business going. Small hands on his upper thighs kept him steady, agile thumbs slicking the crease between hip and thighs, rubbing left and right from where his cock had definitely begun to take notice. One finger in his ass became two, stretching him, slicking him up and, oh, finding his prostate, and he really couldn't help bucking forward. Just like he couldn't help the groan that escaped him when brunette number two decided his penis should probably be oiled as well, just as brunette number three reached around from behind him to make sure his nipples were glistening properly.
Oh fuck, he was going to come before the true debauchery had even started. But then the hands pulled away, all of them, and he opened his mouth to utter a completely ridiculous protest before he noticed the Princess Leia Memorial Clothing that was being held up for him and reality came crashing back.
"I am not going to put that on. I'm a world-famous doctor of astrophysics, not a harem boy."
The brunettes sighed, and one of them walked over to the door and opened it. Rodney could feel himself pale at the sight of the dreadlocked man-mountain waiting outside, and he quickly rearranged his priorities. 'Stay alive' definitely came before 'keep your virtue intact', so five minutes later, he was following The Hulk down the long, cool, sparsely decorated corridor, wearing see-through pants and a light blue vest that covered nothing of importance, but was probably meant to bring out the colour of his eyes.
His ass felt weird as he walked, wet and loose and squelchy, not exactly uncomfortable but also not... right. Like something was missing. He could feel the muscles contract in time with his heartbeat, which was just wrong, and then he was being led into a large, warm room dominated by a giant, comfortable-looking bed. The man from the airport, the one with the hair, was sprawled across the mattress, sitting up and staring as Rodney entered, which made the muscles of his naked chest ripple in a rather appealing way.
Well. If he was going to be debauched, he might as well get some fun out of it.
That idea firmly in mind, Rodney didn't even wait for any orders as he strode across the room, climbed onto the bed, and proceeded to kiss the prince or sheikh or whatever completely breathless. His advances were at first met with resistance, which was rich coming from the guy who had turned Rodney into a sex slave, but he'd be damned if he'd allow his kidnapper to call the shots in bed. The sheikh finally seemed to give in, though, melting against him in a way that shouldn't be so damn hot, only the man was slender and muscular and, well, hot, and Rodney moaned into the suddenly eager mouth that was busy devouring his own, barely noticing the door closing behind the caveman.
Their chests bumped together, the skimpy vest not really in the way of anything, and the other man gasped at the slick slide of skin over oiled skin. They kept rubbing against each other for a while, growing progressively frantic, and then the sheikh's hands slid under the see-through pants to cup Rodney's ass and just… just slipped, and there was a sudden pressure against his hole, and Rodney couldn't take it anymore.
He was so hard it almost hurt. Completely out of patience, he flung away the sheets: score! The sheikh either slept in the buff or had been prepared for Rodney – probably the latter – seeing how there was no further fabric between the warm air and the man's straining erection.
"God, that's so hot," Rodney whispered, struggled out of the stupid pants and then crawled up the mattress to straddle the other man's thighs.
"Wait a minute," the sheikh gasped, "that's not-" and then he let out a long, shaky sigh as Rodney let himself sink down the man's length until he was seated firmly in his lap, wiggling his ass a little to adjust his position. He grinned at the sheikh's muttered curse, and then started to move up, slowly, and down again, feeling the man's cock, firm and cool in his ass, stretching him impossibly wide as it glided in and out, and in again, slick and silky against the puckered skin of his hole. The sheikh's hips were bucking, but it was Rodney who set the rhythm, even though the unfamiliar exertion made him sweat and tremble and out of breath in no time, but in a good way. He leaned forward, changing the angle, gasping as he managed to brush the sheikh's penis against his prostate. It was too much, and he strained to keep going.
"I can't," he panted, "I can't-" and the sheikh grabbed his oil-slick hips and started to push, upward, into him, and out, and in, bucking while Rodney grasped his own slick cock and started to jerk himself off, picking up the pace, and oh…
"Oh," Rodney managed, and came, spurting his milky-white semen all over the sheik's flat tanned belly, and it was as if he had pushed a button, because moments later the sheikh tensed, and Rodney could feel him pulse deep inside his ass, spilling his come, filling him up, and the thought alone was so hot that his cock gave another helpless twitch.
"Down boy," he muttered, and the sheikh let out a short, breathless laugh. Rodney yawned and wiggled and pulled himself up, the two of them hissing as the sheikh's spent cock slipped from his ass, then he just collapsed forward and into the plush pillows.
"'m Rodney, by the way," he murmured into the fabric, already half asleep.
"Pleased to meet you," he could hear the sheikh say with an amused voice, and he thought he felt the ghost of a caress over his naked back when he finally let the stress of the past few days catch up with him to drag him into a deep slumber.
~~~
Rodney woke to the sound of voices whispering in a quiet, but nevertheless heated, argument.
"-can't believe you kidnapped him," the sheikh was hissing. "Just because we're not a democracy doesn't mean we don't have to be civilised!"
"Saw you looking at him," a low rumble answered. "Thought you wanted him."
Rodney opened his eyes in time to see the sheikh run a frustrated hand through his thick dark hair, glaring at the man-mountain from before.
"Damn it, Ronon. What I want and don't want is not your business. Not anymore, and certainly not like this."
The giant opened his mouth to answer, but then his eyes flickered over to Rodney. "He's awake."
The sheikh turned to stare at Rodney, who could feel himself blush like a fourteen year-old virgin as he remembered what they had… done… together. Like he could read his thoughts, the sheikh's slightly pointy ears turned pink as well, and he cleared his throat.
"You've, uh, been sleeping for a long time. I guess you were pretty tired." He paused, and Rodney nodded. "Um. Ronon here will show you the way to a bathroom. And you're probably gonna want your clothes back."
Rodney nodded again, not sure what one said to his, well, his owner of sorts, after a night or afternoon or whatever of forbidden pleasure. Well, not exactly forbidden pleasure, but he could imagine his grandmother having a few choice words to say about sodomy and the way to hell. Which seemed kind of fitting, because the sex had been hot.
He simply followed Ronon out of the room in the end, trying to get a feel for the layout of the place as they walked through corridor after corridor, so he could start coming up with escape plans. Yes, hot gay sex was a plus compared to Rodney's usual life, but he didn't like the setting that came with it. The bathroom turned out to be really modern, though, with a blessedly hot shower and sinfully soft towels that distracted him, and when he was finished, his clothes were there, warm and clean and musky-sweet smelling, pushing all thoughts of escape further aside. Then Ronon was there again, leading Rodney through different corridors, so he just sighed and went with it.
The sheikh was waiting for him with a light meal in what seemed to be the dining room, and suddenly, Rodney was starving.
"So," he asked between bites when the worst of his hunger was stilled, "is there going to be more wild sex after this? Or do you have your harem boys on some kind of rotation schedule?"
He thought it was a rather polite question, considering the circumstances, but Ronon, who was standing a few steps behind the sheikh's chair, coughed, and the sheikh choked on a piece of fruit.
"Look. I think there might have been some misunderstandings. I'm John Sheppard, I'm this country's head of state, for now, and I don't have a harem."
"So I'm what, supposed to be a single sex toy?" Rodney asked in confusion, and the sheikh – John – shook his head.
"You're not supposed to be anything. You're not even supposed to be here," a sharp glance towards Ronon, who had the grace to look sheepish, "let alone be my… you know. Plaything."
He waved a finger in a circle like that was supposed to mean anything, and Rodney could feel his blood pressure rise.
"And you couldn't have told me that before, oh, say, you raped me?"
"Hey, you jumped me before I could say anything," John shot back, but he looked guilty. It didn't matter either way, because now Rodney was on a roll.
"Oh, that's rich coming from some spoilt sheikh-dictator or whatever you are! 'I'm sorry, my new illegally acquired sex slave jumped me, there was nothing I could do!'"
"Look, why don't you just tell me what you want for compensation, and we-"
"I want to go back to the airport!" Rodney snapped, feeling strangely betrayed at that whole turn of events. "I want to get onto my plane, because, frankly, even Siberia sounds like a good plan after this, and then I never want to hear the name of this godforsaken country again." He paused. "Whatever it is."
John nodded. "If that's what you want," he said quietly, not meeting Rodney's eyes, and Rodney gave a short nod of his own in return. "Ronon will make sure you'll get there safely."
Rodney nodded again, making to leave the room when the sheikh's voice stopped him."
"Listen. For what it's worth, I am sorry."
Rodney didn't even look at John when he answered, "Right now, that's not worth very much, thank you."
As Ronon drove him to the airport, he kept telling himself that the cold sense of betrayal came from the whole kidnapping situation, and not from the fact that the best sex he'd had in years had been entirely unwanted.
~~~
Rodney spent four cold, miserable months in Siberia before he decided that the U.S. government could go fuck themselves if they thought they could afford wasting his genius on insignificant projects in the middle of nowhere. He was freezing his balls off, he didn't understand the language, and he sure as hell had accumulated enough money over the years not to have to put up with this kind of crap. Sure, the Stargate technology was every physicist's wet dream, but it wasn't worth letting himself be treated like a cheap pawn or something.
So he quit.
The plane back to Canada didn't have to detour at all, let alone land in some Arabic sheikhdom, and that was okay, really. In fact, it was great. He wasn't thinking about black-haired, hazel-eyed sheikhs anyway, or the way their bodies tensed up when they came. Neither had he been jerking off to the remembered smell of scented oil, of sweat and arousal.
No, Rodney was perfectly fine on his own.
So he was surprised at his heart skipping a beat when he opened his door to find John Sheppard pacing on his front porch.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, causing the man to jump.
"Rodney, hey," John said after he'd spun around, stumbling over his words. "You, uh, you look good."
"Yes, yes." Rodney snapped his fingers impatiently. "Let's get back to the matter of you being here, shall we?"
"I, um, I couldn't forget you. Your face, when you… you know. And I thought-" John broke off, clearly frustrated with his own inability to say what he wanted.
"Aren't you supposed to be running a country or something?" Rodney demanded, trying to cover up his growing excitement. John couldn't forget him. "Debauching unsuspecting travellers, that kind of thing?"
"Not really. I'm not really cut out for the whole sheikh thing, so I handed the country over to my brother. That was the only reason I came back, you know. I was planning to stay there, as an advisor or something, but, as I said…" He broke off, shrugging helplessly, and Rodney tried his best not to appear as flattered as he felt.
"So let me get this straight: you travelled thousands of miles because you couldn't forget the face I make when I come?"
"Yeah." John fidgeted, hazel eyes gazing at him in a charmingly uncertain way from under that wild mop of dark hair. "That work for you?"
"I'm not sure. I don’t think it's going to be the same without three brunettes slicking me up for you," Rodney said as mournful as he could manage with the beaming smile that threatened to break free.
John grinned, looking relieved.
"Well, can't do anything about the brunettes, but I did bring the oil." He waggled his eyebrows, and Rodney had to laugh.
"Then, by all means, do come in."
The door closed behind them with a snick, and while John didn't get the oil out of his bag until much later, they never quite made it to the bedroom.
Not that night, anyway.
~~~
End.