insufferable know-it-all (bironic) wrote,
insufferable know-it-all

Fic! (SGA, John/creature, Rodney/creature, NC-17)

I am back in Internet-land, and I have a story for you! There are tentacles. Please don't disown me.

Title: Why Rodney Should Stop Recommending Planets the Ancients Struck from their Database, or, The One with Tentacle Hentai
Pairing: Rodney/alien creature, John/alien creature
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Issues of consent; kink: tentacles
Word Count: 6,230
Summary: Non-cracky PWP in which a many-limbed creature takes a special interest in John and Rodney.
Beta: Thanks especially to jadesfire, deelaundry, celebriangel and usomitai for concrit. I hope they don't mind being associated with this.
A/N: Thank you, kink_bingo, for giving me an excuse to write some tentacle porn in SGA. And hey, it only took ten months to come back and finish it.

Tablets and life-sign detectors were not meant to be closely studied while their user traversed open, occasionally rocky terrain under a bright afternoon sun. "Dammit," Rodney said as he tripped over one of the mottled brown vines that had recently begun littering the ground, which he hadn't seen because he was trying to do his totally underappreciated job making sure an entire Ancient city would run smoothly for the foreseeable future by securing energy sources on desolate and possibly carcinogenic alien planets. He held on to his equipment, but he was losing his grip on his patience. Half an hour's walk on a planet that had been mysteriously flagged in the Atlantis database, and nothing to show for it but dusty shoes and a glimpse of a herd of something like gray bison off in the distance. "I hate this planet."

"You just said you liked this planet," Ronon said.

"I did not."

Sheppard chimed in helpfully with, "We stepped through the gate and you said, 'Finally, another planet that doesn't look like British Columbia.'" The last bit was delivered in some kind of squeaky little-girl voice.

"Is that supposed to be me?"

Sheppard ignored him. "And then Teyla said…"

"'Have you ever considered that perhaps it is your British Columbia that looks like many worlds in Pegasus?'" she repeated, stepping over another thick, leafless vine.

"That was merely a"—wait, had something flickered on the detector display?—"a, a feeble attempt to corrupt my brain with philosophy"—yes, there it was, pulsing strong in the corner—"Huh." He stopped.


"I'm picking up a life sign."

"Just one?" asked Ronon, at the same time Sheppard said, "Where?"

"It's, ah, about twenty meters ahead?" He looked up from the screen only to see more scrub-dotted Martian landscape.

"I do not see anything," said Teyla as she squinted into the distance with a hand over her eyes to shade the sun.

"Yes, and as we all know, the human eye is the most accurate sensor ever invented."

"Tone it down, McKay," said Sheppard.

"Look. The Ancients must have earmarked this address for a reason."

"The last time you said that, my evil twin almost killed us in our dreams."

"And maybe this time we'll find a lab with information about the Wraith or the Replicators, or, oh, hey, I don't know, a—"

"—a ZPM factory guarded by the last surviving crazy Ancient, I get it. All right, all right, let's check it out," Sheppard said.

Rodney tucked away his tablet and led on. He followed the blip on his screen for maybe five minutes, still not seeing anything when he glanced up from time to time. He stumbled over another vine. This one came up nearly to his ankle. "Stupid—" He kicked at the thing.

The vine twitched.

"Um," he said.

It twitched again, then started to slide.


All around them the ground rustled. The vines were moving, slowly, like snakes slithering in the grass.

"What the hell…?" Sheppard muttered. Ronon had his blaster out and was turning in quick circles, tracking movement. Even Teyla was fingering her P-90.

The vine he'd kicked looped into a coil, and Rodney stepped quickly away before his foot got caught and he went down as the tragic victim of a mile-long Venus flytrap.

Somewhere up ahead, the flytrap gave a deep, moaning roar. Something huge and gray-brown like the vines rose from the dust. And rose. And rose. A scaly round section in the mass swiveled and contracted. An eye—a pupil. Looking at them.

Those weren't vines, they were arms. Arms belonging to a giant desert squid-lizard.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

Beside him, Sheppard said, "That is the last time you talk us into exploring a planet that was erased from the database, Rodney!" Rodney could feel his glare without having to turn and see it.

Apparently done sizing the thing up, Ronon said, "Run."

"I believe that is a wise idea," Teyla added.

"All right," Sheppard yelled over another roar, "everybody back to the gate."

Rodney couldn't stop staring at the creature's head—body—thing, which had to be twenty feet off the ground now and still growing. The ground writhed as it drew its limbs in, preparing to do something Rodney was sure he didn't want to be around to see.

Sheppard whacked him between the shoulder blades. "McKay, let's go!"

Rodney didn't have to be told twice. Well, okay, he'd just been told twice, but this was no time to quibble, because now that Sheppard's slap had overcome his inertia, he was fleeing from a giant alien tentacle monster and the important thing to do was run as fast as he could back to the gate before he, oh God, before he got eaten or torn limb from limb or, or, or molested, because he'd seen some of the crazy anime porn on his college roommates' computers and he knew what so many slithering appendages could do to a person with, with orifices.

The tentacle monsters always went for the girls, though, right? So maybe he was safe. Except— "Oh, no. Teyla," he breathed as he struggled to keep up with Sheppard. They couldn't let the thing get hold of her, even if she could possibly kick its protoplasmic ass. But a glance further ahead showed that Teyla was safer than he was right now, further ahead than Sheppard.

Ronon, meanwhile, who could probably win Olympic medals for sprinting, had gotten so far away that as Rodney watched he actually stopped running to turn and shoot at the creature. Rodney instinctively ducked the blasts that whizzed over his head and almost fell.

Sheppard yelled, "Don't waste your firepower, just go!" When Rodney looked up again, he saw Ronon holster the gun and take off.

They ran and ran, and then for variety, ran some more. Up ahead, Sheppard twisted around to check on him. Breathless from exertion, Rodney nodded in lieu of saying he was okay, but Sheppard's eyes went wide, and the look on his face sent Rodney's heart pounding even harder. Oh, God, the thing must've been right behind him. Don't look back, he reminded himself; bad things always happen to people who look back.

"Shit," Sheppard said. "McKay!"

"What?" Rodney shouted. Somewhere beneath the blind terror, he was proud of himself for not stopping short like he would've done a couple of years ago. "What?" And then, as Sheppard skidded to a stop and started running flat-out towards him, one hand on his gun, "Are you crazy? What are you—?"

The ground shook with a series of deep thumps so hard that Rodney lost his balance; he flailed desperately to stay upright and moving, but the ground felt like it had tilted, and he went down hard, losing the life-sign detector. He scrabbled at the dirt, panicked by visions of the creature looming over him, hungry for a snack—

He'd made it to his hands and knees when something yanked him up by the back of his vest. Oh, oh no, the thing had him, it was going to lift him into the air with one of its giant sucker-studded arms and—or, okay, first it wanted to drag him forward at ground level, sending him stumbling along, and it was—grunting at him to move his heavy ass?

Still running and tripping, propelled by the unrelenting tug that had rucked the vest up to his armpits, Rodney cautiously lowered his elbows where he'd been protecting his face and found Sheppard at his side. Sheppard, who must have gotten to him in time, because that was his fist releasing Rodney's vest, not a squiddy limb after all.

"Back with me, buddy?" Sheppard said between breaths as they ran.

"Never better," Rodney puffed.

"Good. I didn't feel like carrying you all the way back to the gate."

Rodney almost tripped again, but managed to keep going. "Do I want to know how close that was?"

"Well, I wouldn't stop for tea right now, if that's what you're asking."

Another small earthquake; this time they both stumbled. Sheppard broke the horror movie rules and looked behind them—just as a gigantic tentacle-arm-limb-thing thudded down only a few feet away.

"Down!" Sheppard shouted. Rodney didn't even have time to obey before Sheppard shoved him to the side and something huge and dark flashed between them. Sheppard went flying backwards, and Rodney was just beginning to process that when he ran smack into something solid across his ribs that knocked him breathless. The pressure spread around his torso and back like an inner tube, drawing in and trapping his arms at his sides. Another ring of pressure forced his thighs together. The loops squeezed tight—the world swung wildly—his stomach lurched—wind ruffled his hair—and with a manly shriek of fear and vertigo, he was in the air, staring at the sky, held aloft by the creature at God knew what height, its limbs wrapped firmly around him.

He couldn't move his pinned arms, only his hands, but his legs were free from the knees down, and he kicked out into nothingness, gasping. Dizzy from hyperventilation or the pressure on his diaphragm or the blood rushing into his head because of the angle he was being held at—God, his risk of a stroke right now was astronomical—he tried to decide whether he wanted his eyes open or closed for when the thing inevitably aimed him into its mouth. Crap, crap, crap. Being eaten by an overgrown octopus hadn't even made his list of absurd ways he could die in this galaxy. What a stupid, pointless way to go. He hoped Teyla would remember to tell everybody he died saving a whole village's worth of kids.

The sudden absence of P-90 fire alerted him to the fact that someone had been shooting at something for quite a while. Grateful for the distraction, he called Sheppard's name.

"McKay!" came the immediate reply. Rodney thought his voice was coming from the general direction of the ground, but he couldn't be sure. He struggled some more against the twin coils holding him, but all he could see were the taunting blue sky and a slice of upside-down horizon with limbs of various sizes waving around in front of him. "You okay?" Sheppard called.

Rodney laughed, then regretted it when the tentacles heaved him up and then down again and he had to swallow down the nausea. "Do I look like I'm okay?"

"I don't know, I'm a little—busy over here. Dammit, I can't reach my gun. Can you get to any of your weapons?"

"No, it's got my arms, so unless my razor-sharp intellect counts, we're both screwed." At least the thing was keeping him still, finally. Maybe Sheppard was distracting it. Great; it gave him an extra minute to anticipate becoming dinner. He wondered how much like his whale nightmares it would feel as he went down the thing's gullet.

A series of blaster shots derailed that happy train of thought. A series of very familiar, very welcome blaster shots. Welcome except for how the creature bellowed and Rodney found himself whipped back and forth through the air, still held tight.

"Oh, that's a great idea!" he shouted over the noise, even though he was facing away from wherever Ronon was. "Make the giant monster that wants to eat me mad."

Then Sheppard yelled, "Stop!" and Ronon did. So did the creature. Rodney sagged and breathed.

"Looks like you could use some help," Ronon said.

"I told you to go back to the gate," Sheppard ground out.

"Teyla's still running. We heard gunfire."

"Get back to Atlantis and get help," Sheppard said in the same slow, clipped tone. "Ronon. This thing's too big for handguns and blasters. Get a couple of jumpers, some heavy ordnance, and some of the biologists if they're willing."

Ronon must have hesitated, because Sheppard snapped, "Do not engage. That's an order!"

If Ronon had been one of the Marines, Rodney imagined he would've tossed off a snide, "Yes, sir." Instead, he just heard Ronon pound away again, and if he exchanged any significant looks with Sheppard first, Rodney wasn't in a position to see them.

"Nice knowing you, too," Rodney muttered.

"We're not going anywhere," Sheppard said firmly. "You hurt?"

Rodney considered listing all the ways in which he could be considered injured, but he hadn't yet been chewed, swallowed, digested, or even paralyzed so the creature could consume him slowly, so on the whole, he supposed he was okay. "No. It's just holding me. Probably deciding which one of us it wants to eat first." Brightening a little at the prospect of scoring some payback, he asked, "Hey, do you think you'll give it a hairball?"

"I don't think it wants to eat us, Rodney."

"Oh? And what degree in exopsychology led you to this conclusion?"

"I'm just saying, it seems kind of smart."

"'It seems kind of smart.' Wonderful."

"It figured out to keep me from my guns, my knife and my radio. It's holding me tight enough that I can't move"—oh, fantastic, Sheppard had gotten himself captured too—"but not so tight that I can't breathe. If it wanted to crush us or have us for lunch, it would've done it already."

"And what exactly do you think it's doing, then, Colonel Doolittle?"

"I think it's studying us."

Huh. Rodney supposed it was possible. Since Ronon had stopped shooting at it, it hadn't done anything to him but hold him on his back.

He craned his neck to take a look at the limbs imprisoning him. There were two coils around his chest, it turned out, maybe eight centimeters in diameter, and two more around his legs, a little smaller, tapered at the ends. All four felt like they were one hundred percent muscle. There weren't any suckers after all, and when he stretched out his fingers to touch the limb on his thighs, it didn't feel like wet, gelatinous seafood, the way he'd been sure it would. It was more like a… like a snake, not slimy but smooth, solid and sun-warm. It wasn't so bad, actually, if you took it out of context.

He lay back, took slow breaths, and let the sun warm his face as the sweat dried. To be eaten or not to be eaten, that was the question. Well, if he was going to be someone's meal, he might as well enjoy his last few moments on Earth. Or M4X-777. Whatever. He practiced his Zen in preparation for… whatever the creature wanted to do with him. Deep breaths. Clear blue skies, right? At least this time he didn't have to imagine them; they were right there in front of him to be gazed at.

"Also," Sheppard said, and did his voice sound a little funny? "It's…"

Rodney jerked his head up, all his careful work instantly undone. "What? It's what?"


"Nothing? That tone is not nothing, Sheppard. That tone is definitely something. Are you trying to protect me from knowing my fate until it looms giant and black and pointy-toothed in front of me? Is it chewing on you? Is it—oh." A tentacle rose up inches from his face and hovered there, curved before its rounded tip like a periscope. "Ah, hello there."

Rodney braced himself, but it didn't touch him, only seemed to be waiting, poised like a finger about to tap a keyboard. Another one joined it a moment later, and then a third. He looked around and saw that he'd been surrounded by them, undulating gently as if in a current. They were long and slim and pale on their undersides.

He shut his eyes tight and steeled himself when a few of them ventured closer. A moment later, one of the tentacles touched his hair. Another brushed his left forearm. One more pressed into his right thigh. From the faint pressure he thought a couple of others were prodding at his vest and shoes. Rodney tried hard not to look like food. But they only rubbed in gentle circles, around and around and up and down, investigating, painless.

"Okay," he whispered, though he still refused to open his eyes. "Okay, nice tentacles. Good tentacles. Don't eat me." The one on his head—Rodney was sure his hair now looked like a thinner version of Sheppard's—wandered down to his temple, his ear, and then his cheek. It wasn't slimy; more like the finger of a super-creepy tentacle-mommy trying to be soothing. He shut his mouth in case it got any ideas to check things out in there. He breathed shallowly as the creature continued to explore, like a bizarre combination of a blind person mapping a stranger's face and a dog nosing at something potentially tasty.

After a few minutes when nothing scarier happened, he started to calm down. Tentacles stroked his jaw, his neck, his arms and hands, his thighs and calves, the backs of his shoulders, the curve of his ass. It was almost kind of nice—like a massage, if the masseur had a dozen hands with no fingers and may or may not have been carnivorous. He didn't want to know what might constitute a happy ending.

Then one tentacle nudged under the cuff of his right pants leg and slid a little ways up, ruffling the hair on his shin and pressing just as gently at him as before. The one on his neck slipped under his shirt collar, where it swept slow half-circles from collarbone to collarbone. He swallowed hard when a third tentacle slid along his midsection and began to worm its way between his shirt and pants.

He called, "Sheppard?"

There was a pause before Sheppard called back, "You too?"

"I think so?" His voice cracked as the middle tentacle reached the bare skin of his stomach. It softly palpated his belly, dipped into his navel and out again, tried to push under his vest and couldn't, began to prod around to his waist and flank. It was weird, and invasive, and kind of arousing, all those tentative little caresses when he hadn't been touched in ages—especially when a tentacle at his hip inched ever closer to a part of his body that was thinking about maybe waking up and taking notice.

The tentacles retreated all at once. Rodney opened his eyes to find them upright and waving again, if maybe more energetically than before.

Without warning, some of them dived at him, and the tentacles holding him shifted and loosened. Rodney wriggled, although he wasn't sure what he would do if he pulled free. He managed to tug his arms loose, but two of the new tentacles spiraled around his forearms and pulled them together over his head, stretching him out. The coils around his legs let go; he kicked for a second until one wrapped around each calf and held him still, spread-eagled in midair. The coils at his chest dropped free only to push up from underneath, supporting his now-arched back and pelvis. Another tentacle appeared beneath his head, and Rodney only realized how tired his neck had become when he rested his head in the circle the tentacle had made. Huh.

"Shit," Sheppard said suddenly, followed by a loud ripping sound.

Rodney didn't have long to imagine what could have caused that noise; a pair of tentacles shoved between his vest and t-shirt and yanked at the vest hard enough to lift him off the limbs beneath him until, finally, it tore open. The tentacles let go and began moving in uncoordinated circles over his chest instead. With his arms stretched over his head, his ribs were especially sensiti—he jumped when one of the appendages found a nipple and played with it through his t-shirt until it tightened. At his gasp, several tentacles slid down to his waist, got under the hem of his shirt, and began to touch him skin to skin. One of them went straight for his unattended nipple.

Rodney groaned. Of course, of course he got the horny tentacle monster instead of the hungry tentacle monster.

The tentacles poked both his nipples at the same time and then soothed them with their smooth undersides.

Well. He supposed there were worse ways to go.

Gradually, the other massaging-prodding appendages came back to stroke him all over: his chest and stomach under his shirt, his face and neck, the undersides of his arms, his belt, his thighs and thigh holster, his ankles beneath his socks, the backs of his knees. And—yep, the one working its way up his inner thigh didn't hesitate to continue on to his groin, and began to rub him through his pants. It felt—mmm—actually, it felt really good.

The creature tilted him closer to upright. Rodney grayed out momentarily as the blood rushed from his head, but when his vision cleared, he could see Sheppard a few meters away. Oh. Oh. Sheppard's arms were pulled straight out to the sides by tentacles wrapped around each wrist, while another pair had looped under his knees, bringing them up and apart. They were probably supporting more of his weight than the three thin coils at his waist. His vest had also been torn open, and it looked like his shirt had gone with it, baring him from neck to navel. Various tentacles were rubbing through his hair and over his chest and between his legs, and Rodney could see the strain in Sheppard's face and body, the sweat beading on his face and slicking his chest hair, muscles corded in his arms, his eyes shut tight, mouth set in a line so unforgiving his lips had gone pale.

"Hey," Rodney ventured, though damned if he knew why he thought it was a good idea to speak. Sheppard's eyes opened and fixed on his, dark and desperate, and God help him, Rodney got a little harder. He blamed it on the tentacles, which were locating and exploiting his sensitive spots, sending shivers of pleasure up and down his body. A second, ghostly set of caresses seemed to overlay them as he watched Sheppard twist under his own bonds before he subsided again, obviously trying to keep still.

"You, ah—" Rodney's voice caught when two tentacles managed to work Sheppard's belt open. "You okay?"

"Can we not—?" Sheppard shut his eyes again and threw his head back as his pants got shoved down to his thighs, exposing plaid boxers distended by a—huh, a rather impressive, curving erection.

For some reason, the outline of his dick made Sheppard look vulnerable in a way that seeing him held immobile in the creature's grip hadn't, and Rodney felt suddenly ashamed to be turned on by watching him. "Right, right, okay," he said as the tentacles began to work Sheppard through his shorts, and averted his gaze even though Sheppard couldn't see him do it.

Rodney had enough to worry about on his own, anyway: amidst all the pleasant if still somewhat disturbing stroking and prodding, his belt was getting the same treatment Sheppard's had. The buttons on his BDUs popped open one by one, and several appendages squirmed under the front and back of his waistband and then his underwear. He wasn't sure whether to push into or away from the touches; if he thought about it too hard, he would freak out to spectacular proportions, but it did feel sort of amazing. Everything got slowly pushed down, cloth and warm tentacle-tips trailing over sensitive skin, until the fabric caught on his thigh holster. Hot and very private areas tingled as they were exposed to the open air.

The tentacles rubbing him were growing more insistent. They'd darkened, Rodney thought, cataloguing the changes even as his breathing and pulse and dick grew heavier, and they seemed to be secreting some kind of lubricant so they continued to slide over his skin without chafing. When a gaggle of new tentacles rose up between his legs, the few centimeters at the ends shone with something milky. One of them curled around his erection—oh, oh yes—and began to pump, the texture stimulating without being rough. The steady rhythm contrasted with the random circling sensations everywhere else on his body. He whimpered, his eyes fluttering shut.

Dimly, he heard Sheppard start cursing through clenched teeth, but his curiosity was overridden by what was being done to him. New tentacles stroked up and down the bared portion of his inner thighs; another pressed gently at his balls; another trailed down his butt cheek to push slickly at his asshole. Rodney held his breath in anticipation, but it was hard to tense up when his whole body had become a continuous plane of pleasure. The tentacle wriggled, pushed harder, and—oh—it was inside him, probing carefully.

He shifted; he felt full, but not unbearably so. The tentacle was thick like a dildo—or how he imagined a dildo would feel, anyway—but flexible like a finger, rubbing and investigating in there, and then—Rodney whimpered again—it found his prostate, stroked over it again and again and again until he felt himself rocking into it mindlessly, trusting the rest of his body to the creature as it brought him closer and closer to what promised to be the weirdest orgasm of his life.

When Sheppard suddenly shut up with a grunt, Rodney allowed himself to look again. What he saw startled him out of his daze: Sheppard was struggling hard against his sentient bonds, yanking frantically at the loops trapping his wrists and knees, his face bright red, a tentacle fucking his mouth, the veins standing out on his forehead. His boxers had joined his pants around his knees; there were tentacles moving in his ass and pulling steadily at his erection. He bucked and twisted, but that only encouraged more coiling tendrils to hold him still.

Jesus. Sheppard was going to give himself a stroke or dislocate something, or the creature was going to drop him, and Rodney didn't know which was worse. "Sheppard. Sheppard! John! Stop it, you're going to hurt yourself."

Whether he registered what Rodney was saying or reached the same conclusion on his own, Sheppard stopped fighting and went limp. Some kind of training kicking in, Rodney thought, some kind of self-preservation mechanism that had been drilled into him in boot camp or special ops school to get him through capture and torture by the enemy. Acceptance and detachment, or something.

But then Sheppard made this sound, this, this moan, his face flushed, his eyes still closed. The tentacles slid in and out and in, his hands fisted and opened, and oh, God, Rodney realized with a thrill of desire, that wasn't military suppression—that was arousal, thick and helpless. He liked it.

Rodney matched Sheppard's moan and pushed into the double tentacle-job with renewed urgency. He tried to tug his bound arms forward and lift his upper body for a better look at Sheppard, but the tentacles holding him wouldn't budge.

Or maybe the creature did understand what he wanted—Sheppard had hypothesized that it was smart, and all signs so far were pointing in that direction—because Rodney was pulled and pushed and tipped head over feet, and when the world righted itself, he'd been repositioned face-forward with his knees spread and bent beneath him, supported by loops beneath his pelvis and chest, tentacles holding his thighs and ankles apart, and his wrists still pulled together in front of him.

When he was settled, the tentacles reinsinuated themselves between his legs and everywhere else, starting right back up with their fabulous moist rubbing. Working swiftly, ruthlessly, the tentacle up his ass alternated with the one jerking him off, full-bliss and empty-yearning and full-bliss again. He was having trouble catching his breath; he hadn't had sex this intense in years, and even then he hadn't known the wonder that was his prostate, and he certainly hadn't been gifted with a view like this at the time. He stared hazily at Sheppard, who was now rolling his hips and working his jaw and generally allowing the tentacles to take him as they pleased. He looked—God, he looked like he was made for this, utterly blissed out, splayed, held firm, stroked, cradled, moaning quietly around the tentacle in his mouth. Sheppard's hips started to jerk erratically as the tentacle wrapped around his erection stripped him even faster.

And that was about all Rodney could take, because there was a tentacle hammering away at his prostate and another one trying to join it and a third one rubbing behind his balls and yet another one jacking him swift and slick, and all he had to do was lie there and take it, and there was a half-naked, undulating Sheppard right in front of him radiating sexual nirvana, and—

Sheppard made a noise high in his throat and arched and came all over his stomach and chest and the tentacles touching him there. Rodney stared at the beads of come and sweat and Sheppard's full mouth and euphoric expression. He let the tentacles pound him so hard his moans broke every time he was breached, and finally, forcefully, he came.

He lay limp and gasping in the creature's grasp. The tentacles in his ass and around his dick slid free.

Right when the bizarreness of the whole situation was setting in, the other tentacles went still, then vibrated, and Rodney found himself covered with little bursts of that milky secretion. The creature gave a low, satisfied-sounding rumble.

Rodney looked at his splattered-upon arms and felt a glob of the stuff drip from his hair to his ear. It smelled like rotting seaweed. "Oh, that is just disgusting."

He flailed as he was maneuvered around again, but the tentacles held him as securely as ever as they lowered him, not into the creature's mouth—Rodney still wasn't sure he wasn't about to become a post-coital snack—but to the ground, the blessed, rocky, solid, non-orgasm-providing ground. The coils set him on his stomach and rolled him free.

He lay on his back and stared up at the sky. The sharp stones poking him in the ass seemed to prove that he hadn't become anyone's lunch after all. Unfortunately, the fact that said ass was bare seemed to prove that he had just been seduced by an alien tentacle monster.

Still, his body hummed pleasantly. The creature slowly retreated, its rumbles quieting like thunder in a passing storm.

Eventually, it occurred to Rodney that he was courting a sunburn in a very uncomfortable place. He sat up, tugged his underwear and pants back on, straightened his shirt and refastened his belt. His vest was a loss, but he needed what was in the pockets, so he let it keep dangling from his shoulders. He used his entire mini-pack of tissues to wipe off the creature's… stuff. Explaining the stains on his uniform was going to be fun.

He turned around at a rustling behind him and found Sheppard standing not far away. Rodney groaned to his feet, stretched his aching muscles, and limped over. Sheppard had put his sunglasses on and had his arms crossed over his torn vest and shirt. The posture looked casual, but Rodney could see that his fingers had gone pale with the force of his grip. He'd been speckled with alien-octopus jizz too, and he had bruises coming up on his forearms.

"Hey," said Rodney.

Sheppard didn't move.

"Feel like I should be smoking a cigarette," Rodney tried.

Nothing. Okay then. He stopped trying to make light of what they'd been through. "You liked it," Rodney said quietly.

Sheppard looked away.

"I mean. Not that you wanted to be molested by a giant monster or wouldn't have enjoyed it more if you'd been, you know, able to say yes, or any of that 'she was asking for it' crap. We'll probably both have nice long chats with the new shrink, what's-his-name." He swallowed. "Just. You knew you were going to like it. That's why you were fighting so hard."

Sheppard said nothing.

"You like… your ass. And, and sucking. On. Other."

Still no response.

"You like… being restrained?"

One of Sheppard's thumbs twitched over the bruises on his other arm.

"You've had a tentacle anime fetish since you were a kid and you never dreamed it would ever come true?"

At that, Sheppard snorted. Something righted itself in Rodney's chest.

After a moment, Sheppard scrubbed a hand through his hair and then let his arms fall to his sides. More bruising striped his breastbone. "I didn't want you to see that," he said, voice rough.

"You panicked. It happens."

"Not that."

Rodney could almost make out Sheppard's eyes behind his shades. "In case you didn't notice, it got me off too. And I'm not even—well, I didn't think I—I mean. Look." Dammit, he wasn't good at this. "Nobody has to know. We'll say it picked us up, poked around a little, lost interest and let us go."

Sheppard breathed out. "Yeah."

"We'll tell Teyla and Ronon. And Keller. To make sure we're, you know. Not going to lay a hundred squid-lizard eggs or something. She'll keep it quiet. And, and that's it."

From a distance came the low whine of a jumper approaching.

Rodney sighed. "What do you suppose the Ancients were doing on this planet, anyway?"

Sheppard turned towards him. "How do you think that thing knew what to do with us?"

Rodney stared. "No. No way." The horror of it was, it could be true.

Sheppard gave him a hint of a smirk.

They waited as two jumpers neared and circled above them. One hovered while the other landed. Ronon jumped out the back before the hatch was fully extended, blaster ready.

"Easy, Chewy," Sheppard said. "We're fine."

Ronon looked at them doubtfully. "Want me to go after it?"

"Let's just get off this rock and back home. I don't know about you, but I could use a shower."

Lorne stepped out next, his face contorting as he visibly tried not to laugh or wrinkle his nose at the sight and smell of them. "Everything all right, sir?"

"Could use a new shirt, Major," Sheppard said lightly. "And I think we'll be giving this planet a red flag of our own in the database. Isn't that right, Rodney?"

Rodney replied automatically: "Yes, yes, never allowed to pick a mission again, grounded without video games for a week, et cetera."

"Okay, then," said Lorne. "Come on in. We'll get you a jacket, Colonel, and we've got some exobiologists who can hardly sit still waiting to hear what the creature was like."

As they walked into the jumper, Sheppard started itemizing the pieces of equipment Lorne's team would find scattered nearby. Rodney found an open seat amidst a group of scary-looking Marines with scarier-looking guns. It felt somehow surreal to be back in familiar surroundings, as if the part with the crazy tentacle alien and whole-body-shaking orgasm hadn't really happened. As soon as he sat down, though, his body assured him that it had. He winced, then shifted more to one hip. He probably wouldn't be able to sit right for days.

Teyla came over to press her forehead warmly to his. "I am glad you were not harmed," she said, and smiled at him. It helped anchor him more firmly.

"We'll tell you about it later," he said. He watched as she went back up to the front of the jumper to give Sheppard the same treatment. If Sheppard had his way, Rodney knew, they wouldn't talk about it at all. But he could see Sheppard relax a little more at Teyla's touch, and he knew too that this wasn't a secret they should keep from the rest of their team.

He breathed deep again as creature-reality continued integrating into Atlantis-reality. He still felt trembly-weak from his release, not to mention all that adrenalin, and when had he last had a snack, anyway? He patted his pockets. "Anyone have anything to eat in here?"

"Here, Dr. McKay," came a woman's voice from the opposite bench, and someone thrust a Power Bar at him. He snatched and unwrapped it. As he chewed, he looked up. Two wide-eyed scientists he vaguely recognized from the bio labs practically vibrated with excitement.

"So what was it like?" the woman who'd given him the Power Bar asked, apparently figuring that making eye contact meant she could strike up a conversation.

"What size would you say it was?" the man chimed in.

"You say it had scales but resembled an octopus more in shape?"

"Did it seem intelligent?"

"Was it protecting a nest or otherwise acting territorial?"

"Is that its saliva I see on you?"

"And smell. Do you suppose it can trace its evolution to a primordial sea?"

"Whoa, hey, let the man breathe," called Lorne from the pilot's seat.

The man looked sheepish. "We just want to know what it was like to make first contact with a possibly sentient creature, Dr. McKay."

Sheppard turned in the copilot's chair to meet his gaze, waiting to see his response.

Rodney turned back to the scientists and grinned. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you," he said, and took another bite.

* * *

Concrit is always welcome.

x-posted to kink_bingo, sga_noticeboard and mckay_sheppard.

ETA: Little PWP sequel: In his room at night, alone.
Tags: kink bingo, my writing, yes i like tentacles what of it

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