The Art of Losing

by Kass

Written for the Sex Toy Porn-a-rama hosted by Lenore. Many thanks to Sihaya Black for beta and to Lenore for the prompt!
And apologies to Elizabeth Bishop for cribbing the title from one of (my favorites among) her poems.

"You've got to be kidding me," John says, even though he's pretty sure Rodney isn't.

The look on Rodney's face is smug and predatory. "You're so not getting out of this."


"If you'd won, I would have publicly proclaimed that I had a crush on Kavanagh," Rodney says, though he can't seem to help adding "ugh" just on principle. He's rummaging in the box he keeps under the bed.

"I wouldn't do that to you," John says, righteously indignant.

"Hm, too bad," Rodney says, sitting up now, supplies in hand. "You must be a nicer person than I am."

"I didn't think you'd actually collect!"

"How long have you known me now?"

It's a rhetorical question, obviously, so John just glares. "It was a stupid bet. If I'd known you'd been practicing—"

"Arguably you never should have taken it," Rodney agrees cheerfully. "Maybe you subconsciously wanted to lose."

John has some choice words to offer about that, but Rodney leans in and kisses him. It's obviously a tactical move, but John's enjoying it, so he doesn't argue. When they break they're both a little flushed.

"Fair's fair," Rodney says, his voice low.

John can't believe he's doing this, but he lies back on the bed. A first step.

"I'm not going to make you keep it in all day," Rodney says, voice businesslike now that John's clearly on his way to complying. "As soon as the meeting's over, I'll get you back here and make it worth your while."

"You're not making me do anything," John says. He means it as defiance, but after the words come out he realizes it sounds like he's doing this because he wants to. He suppresses a shiver as he rolls over and mutely waits.

Rodney's big hands tug his boxers down, palm his ass, and then one slick finger penetrates. John inhales, fast, telling his body not to get interested, but it's a losing battle. And then the finger is replaced with a rippled plug. It glides into him, then out again, and John has to bite back a moan as Rodney finally pushes it all the way home, the flared base holding it secure.

The bed shifts and Rodney pats his ass, proprietary. "Better get dressed," he says. "Senior staff is in ten."

Walking down the halls is torture. Rodney's usual pace is little short of breakneck, and John's having trouble keeping up. He hopes to God he's walking normally, but it's hard for him to tell. Every step makes him more conscious of the plug, how it presses securely inside him.

And the thoughts racing through his mind just refract and magnify the stimulation. He knows Rodney's probably obsessively imagining what he's feeling. And the plug itself, intruding into his body, makes him want to duck into a supply closet and jerk off right fucking now.

Once they get into the briefing room Rodney pulls out his usual chair and sits down, legs sprawling a little. He looks up at John, who's still standing. The self-satisfied expression on his face makes John want to fuck him into tomorrow. Or maybe that's the pressure of the toy inside him, driving him slowly insane.

John pulls out the chair next to him. He's so focused on acting normal, dropping into the chair like he usually does, that he forgets to brace himself for the spike of pleasure that rockets up his spine when he sits down and the plug is jarred just that little bit further up his ass. He bites his lip, hard.

He's grateful for the table, because if he slouches a little and glides his chair up close the table hides his erection. Jesus: it's like being fifteen again, so horny in class he can't focus on anything else. His dick is pressed snug against the front of his trousers and he can't resist shifting slightly in his chair, just to feel the — oh — plug moving inside him.

Rodney swallows hard, and John notices his chair is pushed right up against the table, too. John smiles, a little grimly, because he's willing to bet Rodney's suffering too. There's small comfort in that.

And that's when Sam walks in with Keller. "Wow; you're early," she says, looking pleasantly surprised.

John shrugs one shoulder. "Thought we'd be on time for a change."

"Yes, can we get started?" Rodney's words come a little too fast. "I have a busy day ahead." He sounds irritable, and John reminds himself not to smirk.

"Sure. Jennifer, why don't you go first," Sam says, pulling out her own chair and sitting down.

John doesn't manage to pay attention to a word Keller says, but after a while he realizes he can almost ignore the plug now. He's getting used to it. He's not going to embarrass himself in public. Though when they get back to the room, he's going to kick Rodney's ass six ways from Sunday.

"Hey, can you pass me the water?" Rodney asks Keller, who obligingly slides the pitcher toward John. John has to lean forward to get it, and as he does the plug moves inside him and he almost drops the pitcher.

"You okay?" Keller asks solicitously.

"Yeah, I, uh," John manages, panic rising, and then Rodney's choking on a sip of water and everyone's attention shifts to him. When he finally stops coughing his face is red and there are tears in his eyes; it may have started as a ploy, but it sounds as if he actually inhaled some water. Serves him right for getting John into this.

Though he's glad Rodney distracted everyone, because he's not sure he could manage to claim that he's fine. He isn't. He's trying to hold perfectly still so he doesn't come right now.

Rodney gives a report on Zelenka's current project, something to do with improving the desalinization pods. John couldn't care less. When it's time to talk about the gate teams and security situation he manages to indicate that everything's fine, no news, let's move on. Fortunately things are quiet at the moment, and everyone seems glad he doesn't have much to say; it means they're not in danger this week.

Finally the meeting ends, and—thankfully—no one raises an eyebrow when he and Rodney linger in their chairs until everyone else has left.

"I'm going to kill you," John says conversationally as they push back from the table.

"My quarters," Rodney says, biting off the words. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are a a little wild and for a second John isn't sure they'll make it back to privacy.

The instant the doors close behind them John pins Rodney to the wall, rubbing up against him gracelessly. Rodney's kissing him, open-mouthed and desperate, and when they break for air Rodney gasps.

And then Rodney pushes him away and over to the bed. He gets John off-blance and John slips backwards, landing on the bed hard, and the impact fucks the plug into him so deep that he comes apart, cock jerking in his trousers.

"Fuck," Rodney says, and climbs on top of him, kissing him hard. The pressure of his body wrings more out of John, a bolt of sensation intense enough it's almost pain, and when Rodney comes he bites John's shoulder so hard he can feel it through his shirt.

"You wouldn't be too angry," Rodney says some time later as they're walking down the hall toward the transporter, "if I told you I might possibly have hacked the video golf game...right?"

John stops in his tracks and stares at him. "You didn't."

"I said possibly," Rodney clarifies hastily, "hypothetically, this is purely a theoretical question --"

John closes his mouth. For a split second he's not sure whether he's more furious with Rodney for cheating, or with himself for not realizing it sooner.

"I didn't think you'd actually—John, I've never seen anything so hot in my life," Rodney says, his voice dropping. He sounds apologetic and desperate, suddenly, like it never occurred to him that John would be pissed. And just like that, John realizes he's actually not that angry. It was pretty hot. And he's going to get a lot of mileage out of it now.

John folds his arms and glares. "You owe me," he says, very quietly. "Big time."

"Yes, okay, fine," Rodney says. "Whatever you want, I'll get it for you. I can get booze, really good coffee, you know I'm good for it, anything." John doesn't respond, and he sees the flash of insight as Rodney catches on. "Oh, Jesus. You wouldn't—"

John starts walking down the hall again, knowing Rodney will follow. There's a spring in his step.

"John. Seriously. The safety of the city rests in my hands, you have no idea what kind of trouble I could get into if I'm not able to focus adequately on my work, I mean, the possibilities for disaster in my lab alone --"

John just grins.

The End