SGA fic: "Like An Act Of War" - NC-17 [John/Teyla]

[tielan]

TITLE: Like An Act Of War
SUMMARY: John had Ford set up the appointment. He has no idea what to expect.
RATING: NC-17
CATEGORY: John/Teyla, PWP, D/s
DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, they'd never have gotten to the networks in the first place, at least not doing this kind of stuff!
NOTES: For the sga_kinkmeme Post #2, prompt "AU: John subbing blindfolded, but he doesn't know who's his domme.He just knows he'd crawl across broken glass to please her." I really suck at actually filling these prompts as they're requested. There needed to be more 'crawling across broken glass' in this, but, you know, maybe that's in the sequel? Anyway, 3,300 words later, and, um, I think I have a new AU. Incidentally, does anyone remember my very very brief foray into "Hermiod's House Of Pain? No? It was really brief. As in, 'blink and you probably missed it'. But fun. :D

Like An Act Of War

John never asked his aide where he found the number. But it sat on a post-it note tucked beneath his desk blotter for nearly two weeks before he handed it to Aiden and asked his aide to make him an appointment with a professional from Hermiod's.

The young man's expression was carefully neutral. "Did you have any...preferences, sir?"

He'd given it a little thought. Only a little. Mostly, he was trying not to think about what he was doing by having Ford arrange this. If his political opponents found out... "Female."

Dark brows rose when it became apparent John didn't have any other specifications. "That's all?"

"Do you have any suggestions, Ford?"

The young man shrugged. "As I understand it, they'll do just about anything you ask for."

"For the right price, of course."

"This is America, Senator."

Land of the free, home of the free market. Okay," he said. "Monday night, after the meeting with Sumner. If I'm going to hate myself and the world all at once, I might as well fit the mood. And make sure she's discreet, Ford."

"Of course, sir."

--

Which was how he found himself in a well-appointed suite in the famous Pegasus Hotel - lush curtains, restored furniture, and a bed that looked luxurious enough to drown in.

Ford had made the appointment, met with the madam, and handed him the envelope on their way out of the meeting with General Sumner - a hotel room keycard, and a sheet of paper for the Pegasus with the room number, and the expected time of the assignation written on it.

John's security personnel swept the room and found nothing more than the expected furniture, and an envelope that contained nothing more than a strip of black silk and a note.

Take off your clothes, put on the blindfold, and kneel in the middle of the foyer until I arrive.

No please, no thankyou, not even a signature.

John sent his security detail away to wait for him downstairs, then roamed the room himself for a few minutes before resting his fingers on the note. His favourite champagne was in the fridge - as well as a series of canapes that had clearly been ordered specific to his tastes. He counted four of his favourites before he shut the door because his mouth was beginning to water.

A definite plus in her favour. And the note...

The note was not a request.

His blood heated even as he read it once more, its meaning leaping out from the bald letters on the page.

Then he began obeying it.

John put his wallet and wristwatch on the dressing table by the door, turned off his phone. He hung his suit in the wardrobe by the foyer, and draped his tie neatly around the collar of his shirt. He folded his boxers and put them on the chest of drawers inside the wardrobe, then laid his shoes and socks down beside them. He hesitated over the rings he wore - an fraternity ring so familiar that it had left a groove in his right middle finger and the now-defunct wedding band that he couldn't bring himself to remove - then he tugged them from his fingers.

When he slid the mirrored door shut, the man who looked back at him was stripped of his rank, of the trappings of his success - and failure - as a US Senator, with nothing to credit himself but his body.

He grimaced and didn't look too long.

For one, he had his orders.

For two, he hadn't been regular with his physical workout since the divorce, and he was getting soft.

Well, his belly was getting soft, anyway. Other parts of him were showing distinct signs of hardness. And when he took up the silk strip to tie it around his eyes, his hands began to shake.

What the hell was he doing? Putting his reputation and body in the hands of a woman he hadn't even met, all for the sake of a couple hours of pleasure? Was he mad? Stupid? Sex-crazed? Sick?

John tied the blindfold tight and knotted it before he could let himself think about what he was doing. Then he felt his way to the middle of the foyer and knelt down on the hard tile where she would see him the instant she walked into the room.

Within moments, John knew that, whoever they'd given him for this assignation, she was good.

Even in the sweltering humidity of August - summer's last swampy stand - the air-conditioning left goosebumps on his skin. The floor beneath his toes and knees was hard enough to cause irritation without taking it into pain. And the blindfold was fragrant with a drop of scent - something amber and woody, with a tantalising hint of lime in it, here one moment, gone the next.

Sensuous discomfort.

And then he waited.

Outside, on Independence Avenue, engines hummed their way through DC traffic, and voices in the street drifted past, muted by the closed windows, the closed curtains.

The elevator down the hall dinged, and John tensed as footsteps walked past his door. A thousand possible scenarios assailed him - an exposé, a set-up, a humiliation...

Yet he didn't get up from his place on the floor, didn't call Aiden to demand where she was, didn't let himself shift or move from where he'd knelt.

The elevator rang again and John caught his breath as footsteps strode down the hall. He heard the keycard being thrust into the slot and stripped out with a sharp snap.

A shiver crawled down his spine as the lock beeped and the catch slid back.

Then the door to the suite opened and she walked in on hard heels and door and lock alike snicked shut behind her.

For a few moments, there was no sound in the room but his breathing, careful and deep.

John could feel her eyes upon him. His skin heated and his cock hardened.

"Well," she said. "At least you can follow orders."

Her voice was rich with amusement and a satisfaction that resonated deep in John's bones, a low, cool voice, not quite husky, but sensuously pitched.

A shiver slithered down his spine as she circled the foyer, the clack of her heels seeming almost fastidious as she took stock of him. "Handsome enough, I suppose." One fingertip brushed the curve of his ear, stroking from the top of its curve down to his lobe. "Safeword?"

He'd thought about this very carefully. Something to call a stop if the game became too much. He'd thought about deep desires, rising up and being pushed back down again while walking the paths past the tidal basin this morning as the sun rose over the glittering sea.

"Atlantis."

Laughter was a soft huff of breath. "Very well. What will and won't you do?"

John swallowed, trying to work out what she wanted of him, trying to work out where this was going. A part of him wanted to demand that she tell him the rules, but that wasn't the point, was it? He swallowed hard and trusted that this domme was good at reading her clients, and not just good at what she did. "Whatever pleases you, mistress."

The word on his lips shivered through his senses - the acknowledgement of how things were about to play out.

He felt her cheek close by his, the faint warmth of her skin, the sweet amber of her perfume, and her breath stirred his skin as she murmured, "A very good answer. Drop into a push-up position."

John swallowed and propped himself up on his hands, setting his body in a straight line from his head to his toes. He wasn't sure what this was supposed to do, but he had to admit it was intriguing. He'd expected something a lot more elemental. Some slapping around, maybe even a flogger or a whip, and then rough, hard sex to finish.

Propping himself up on his palms hadn't been in the program he'd envisaged for this afternoon.

She said nothing for a few moments - long enough for his arms to start to hurt. "Five push-ups. All the way down and all the way up."

He did five. Careful and slow so he didn't strain any muscles, uncomfortably aware of his cock dangling beneath him, not quite erect but neither quite flaccid.

And as he pushed himself up for the last time, he heard the clack of her heels close behind him. A moment later, point of one stiletto heel rested between his shoulderblades.

"Nicely done, John." His body tensed as she murmured his name, rolled it over her tongue and pushed it between her teeth. He struggled not to shiver as the cool point trailed down his spine to his buttcrack...and continued down until it rested at his anus.

He thought about that spiked heel pushing, pushing into the tender muscles, about being gently impaled on her shoe. And panted as his body reacted to the thought of being penetrated like that. He was utterly erect now, swelling at the thought.

The stiletto lifted off his skin. "Maybe later," she murmured, and he nearly sagged - in relief or regret, he didn't know. His shoulders were beginning to protest, and his stomach muscles were starting to hurt. But when she said, "Kneel," again, he eased himself back into a kneeling position and tried not to think about the image he made as he kneeled on the cold tile with his cock at full attention.

She circled John once again, high heels clicking on tile, and John tried to imagine what she looked like. Was she tall? Curvy? She held herself proudly, not a wobble in what were definitely ice-pick heels. Blonde? Brunette? Black-haired or red? What would her skin feel like against his? If he could make her orgasm, would she scream or just pant?

What would she taste like if he slid his tongue between her thighs?

Something rustled close by him, and he nearly moaned as a hand closed firmly around his erection, cool against his burning flesh.

"Shhh," she said, and her breath stirred his hair. "They're in the next room, and they mustn't hear you."

And even as John twitched at the thought of being fucked in a close-to-public place, she started stroking him.

She was good at handjobs. Really good. Both hands moved over his erection, tugging lightly at his shaft, stroking his glans, massaging his balls while he forced himself not to moan, not to urge her on. His senses fried, his muscles trembled, and he bit his lip over and over again as she worked him into a fine sweat in a silence unbroken by anything but the hoarseness of his breathing.

He wasn't surprised when she stopped short. Disappointed, but not surprised. Not this soon. Not this fast.

"Get up." Her fingertips stroked the tip of his penis as he rose. "Follow my fingers."

John couldn't see a thing, but he followed her across the room, trusting that she wasn't leading him into trouble. Her fingertips tugged him on, and he couldn't help a smile at the thought of the picture they made - him blindfolded and being led by his cock as they crossed soft carpet and passed beneath the brightness of the downlights.

"It is a very apt visual, isn't it?" There was a smile in her voice, and John forgot himself for a moment.

"And I try so hard," he murmured. Then nearly yelped as her fingertips flicked his cock - a sharp, unexpected strike that stung like a shock to his balls but didn't actually hurt.

If anything, it wound him that much tighter.

"Back on your knees."

He complied, almost falling to the carpet, turning his face up to where her footsteps had stopped. Clothing rustled, something heavy crumpling to the carpet, and then the soft pad of her steps back towards him.

A hand brushed through his hair, skimming the loose strands in something like a caress, and her voice came from above him. "You may please me now."

Carefully, John put his hands out, blindly groping for her legs. He could guess what was expected of him.

He was looking forward to listening to her lose it.

Hot skin waited under silken stockings, under a silky skirt that started modestly just above her knees. Her breath hitched as he drifted his hands down her calves instead of up her thighs and pressed his cheek to the warm thigh under her skirt.

Definitely stockings - he could feel the lace-edged garter against his cheekbone.

She had great legs, well-defined calves leading into the long curves of her thighs. John let himself appreciate that length with his hands, gave himself up to the feel of her legs - silky flesh.

But he had to go higher.

He lifted his head, his fingers pausing on the hem of her skirt. "May I?"

"The magic word?"

"Please."

One fingertip rubbed across his lower lip and he parted his lips so her finger eased inside. He sucked gently on her finger, slippery and sensual and heard the little sound she stifled. Her response of, "You may," had a tremble in it, and John's smile didn't touch his lips.

So he wasn't quite what she'd expected, then? He could work with that.

He ruched her skirts up her thighs, collecting material beneath his fingertips as his mouth murmured kisses from her knee upwards. When his lips met hot skin, he paused and sucked on the soft flesh of her inner thigh.

The hands that had been stroking his head closed about his skull in very suddenly. John almost laughed out loud, then smelled wet pussy and felt the jolt all the way into his cock.

It hadn't occurred to him as he pushed up her skirts before. There'd been no interruption as his fingers reached the line where hip met thigh.

She wasn't wearing panties.

Fuck.

He let his tongue lead then, touching soft wet flesh, salty to the taste, slick to the feel. Long, soft strokes, delving into the wet heat there, making her shudder and shift with a motion that might have been her throwing back her head as she tilted her hips into his mouth.

His ex-wife had never been comfortable with John fellating her, feeling as though she should reciprocate in turn, although he'd never asked it.

His domme revelled in it.

And John revelled in the way her fingernails scraped through his hair, the way her breath caught, high above him, the way she pushed herself against him. Neither shame nor shyness, just the open appreciation of John's skills at cunnilingus.

She was panting now, little breathy noises on the verge, and John sucked her clit into his mouth and bit...

Fingers clenched in his hair as she orgasmed, dragging his head back.

John grunted in surprise and a lightning shiver of pain, but kept his tongue slipping and slithering through her folds, stroking her so the aftershocks would linger as long as possible.

Oh yes, he'd pleased her.

The next moment, he gasped as something struck him across the face, hard enough to send him sprawling on the carpet. He barely had time to gain his breath when she was astride him, the silk of her skirt sliding across his erection with a delicacy that was almost painful.

John made a strangled noise as her fingers closed around him through the slippery material and nearly came in her hand. As it was, he held himself utterly still, terrified that if he made a single movement, whether relaxing into her touch or banging his head against the ground, his body would override his will and he'd make a mess of himself - and her skirt.

"Should I permit you release?"

He didn't trust himself to answer. Her hand worked him up and down, sweet slow caresses that were sheer torture to resist meeting with his own thrusts.

With the blindfold covering his eyes, each stroke was more immediate, its power that much more devastating. He tried to focus on the sounds from the street outside, on the plush feel of the carpet beneath his butt, on the taste of her slick on his tongue...

Wet heat enveloped his tip, damp through the silk, and he jerked, unable to stop himself. "God! Fuck!"

She laughed, sucked him in, once, twice...

John had time for a sigh of relief as she lifted her mouth from him, then jerked again as the silk was flipped back and replaced with latex.

That was all the warning he had before she took him, hard.

Behind the blindfold, his world went white and gold, spangling bright stars through his skin. The light faded a little as she made no other major movement, only rocking her hips in tiny circles. But the supernova threatened just beyond.

"Are you still with me?"

"Yes." Just.

"Prop yourself up on your elbows."

No questions, no allowances. John did so.

"Now," she said with a sultry purr, "hold tight."

John had never had a woman fuck him like an act of war, before.

He didn't want it to stop.

Her nails dug sharply into his shoulders, leaving marks in his chest, he was sure. He was hot and cold, bright and dark, wet and dry, and shaking with the effort not to let go as she milked him with the sweetness of every thrust. He couldn't let go, didn't dare release, but he was falling apart. Her pants pounded in his ears like a heartbeat; her fingers flexed like claws in his shoulder. He could smell the amber of the scent she wore, felt the curve of her breasts brushing his chest through the dress as she leaned down over him...

Jerked as she bit his earlobe and whispered, "Now, John!"

He came in a sea of semen and the sharp edges of her teeth, shaking as she clenched around him, her nails digging into his shoulderblades, focused points of pain that John welcomed as his due as he threw back his head and arched into an ecstacy of sensation overload.

And relaxed in the aftermath of sex, boneless and sated, easing himself down to the floor and sliding his arms around her waist as she sagged against him.

"Satisfied?"

"Mmhm," he said, and her laughter reverberated against his chest.

--

As John climbed into the waiting car in the parking lot, Ford glanced up from the next day's briefing.

He caught the younger man's quick survey and quirked a smile. "I'm fine." She hadn't left any marks that would be visible in shirtsleeves, although her fingerprints were on every ache in his body, from the strain in his shoulders to the tenderness of his anus.

Except maybe for the slight redness at his earlobe, there was nothing his aide could see to suggest John had just spent the last three hours naked and blindfolded, being fucked out of his mind.

"You look...refreshed." One corner of Ford's mouth tipped up. "She was good?"

"Yes." John didn't feel the need to share anything more than that. "Get me another appointment with her for next month, please."

They'd ended as they'd started - on the tile floor of the foyer. She'd adjusted the blindfold, tightening it just enough to keep it from slipping. Then she'd kissed him - soft and slow and teasing.

And John had resisted response and said nothing until he heard her stand up and make for the door.

"Will I see you again?"

The ice-pick heels paused on the floor, turned. "I do not know, Senator. Will you see me again?"

And when he made no answer, she opened the door and walked out, leaving him naked and blindfolded in the hotel suite.

- fin -

NOTES: The scent on John's blindfold is a scent from the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, called (quite hilariously, now I come to think on it) "Mr. Nancy". I got the notes completely wrong from memory - they're 'sugar cookies, bay rum, tobacco, and lime'. (Yes, I know that 'sugar cookies' and 'lime' and 'tobacco' aren't technicaly scent notes, but this is the Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab. They name their scents like that!) Whatever the scent notes, I think John would be goddamn sexy in "Mr. Nancy". Okay, fine. Goddamn sexier. Anyway, the scent on Teyla's skin is also from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab, called "Gold Phoenix" and the scent description is 'Three ambers with verbena, angelica, and heliotrope that has been purified by frankincense and gum arabic.'

FEEDBACK: Is welcome no matter how late or incoherent. (I like incoherent!)