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Fifth by Inkscribe

John knelt on the floor, his hands behind his waist, his head bowed, waiting. The room was warm, and he was grateful that this night he would not be shivering from cold, even as he might still shiver in fear. That he could still experience fear left John surprised – after all that had happened to him, he would have expected himself to have become utterly numb. Yet somehow, sometimes … the fear broke through.

He no longer wore fetters or cuffs chained together, no longer remained chained every waking moment. He remained cuffed, remained fettered, yes, but the chains between were now there only at certain times, or at night. He slept chained, always, but he had hours of ‘freedom’ – freedom to obey his Master’s every whim, every perverse order. John was afraid, yes, but he could no longer shed tears, not even from the pain.

Tonight there would be pain, Rodney would make certain of it. He was celebrating, and celebrating meant piercing. Another one.

John already had several piercings, none of which adorned his body before he came on the mission. All of which happened after … after Rodney changed.

John frowned to himself. Rodney hadn’t changed, not really. He’d always been this way, only no one really noticed until he’d done the deed and taken control of the city, henchmen firmly in hand and an iron grip on anyone he chose to leave alive.

Chose, John thought to himself, and wondered again why Rodney chose him for the dubious honour of being at the man’s beck and call for every perverted whim imaginable. Surely there were younger, more handsome men on the expedition. Surely there were men with more stamina, men who might even enjoy Rodney’s attentions. Attentions that hurt no matter how often John experienced them, no matter how much effort Rodney put into forcing John’s body to respond.

It always responded. Despite the shame, John understood. At one time he could have explained it, how stimulus-response is a cycle that happens outside of conscious intent. That the sympathetic nervous system has its own rules, ones that follow in a regular, ordered manner. But as he came undone, as he was pulled apart in his mind and soul by Rodney’s actions, John was less and less able to reflect so clearly on the matter. He now responded not only to the obvious, to the prostate stimulation, the slow or fast masturbating of his cock by Rodney’s hand, but also to the pain. Rodney had brought John to where he would respond to a number of different stimuli, all abhorrent to John. All irresistible in the face of constant conditioning by his … owner.

The term still made him shiver. Owner, Master. Rodney was both those things, and to Rodney, John was only his pet. A toy – fucktoy, one Rodney played with daily, sometimes seemingly incessantly. Sometimes even in front of the rest of the staff, in front of visiting dignitaries, in front of Carson. Carson who helped arrange this coup by his willing use of incapacitating drugs on those Rodney decreed as requiring more than simple strongarm tactics. John, of course, had been counted among that number.

John shivered at the thought: Carson frightened John more than even Rodney, despite the man mostly remaining an observer. A cold, terrifying observer. One that made John’s blood run icy with undefined terror. John was thankful Rodney never left him alone in the doctor’s care.

Tonight, though – a celebration. A celebration meant piercing and piercing meant privacy. Rodney allowed no one to witness his very private ritual of permanently marking his fucktoy. His oh-so-obedient fucktoy, the former Colonel John Sheppard. Privacy – a small mercy that John felt ashamed to admit, if only to himself, that he was grateful for.

He was broken from his reverie by the sudden realisation of a pair of bare feet in front of him. BDU-clad legs, bare feet. Rodney. John tried to keep his breathing measured despite the surge in his heart that was equal parts fear and equal parts conditioned arousal. The shame was always more than he could bear to think about. Rodney raped, abused, and humiliated him in ways beyond anything John had ever thought of in his previous life as military commander, yet the bastard managed to get John’s body to respond, again and again, like the perfectly trained pet he was.

He felt a hand cup his chin, pull his head up. Clear blue eyes stared unblinking into his before Rodney broke into a crooked grin. “So, pet,” he said. “Time for our little ceremony.”

John tried, and failed, to suppress a shiver. His body, as always now, betrayed him by blood rushing to engorge his cock, filling and firming it no matter how desperately John tried to wish it away. He tore his eyes from Rodney’s.

“So eager, John,” Rodney chuckled. “Always eager now, aren’t you?” John felt his chin released and heard Rodney pad away to retrieve his equipment, the slap of his bare feet oddly reassuring to John – John who had become easily terrified by anyone who approached him stealthily, anyone who moved like Carson, creeping around as he silently watched Rodney assault John. Not tonight, though. Tonight Rodney was going to pierce John again, and for that, Rodney demanded absolute privacy.

John’s thoughts were again broken as he heard the barked order, “Suck.” And there, at his face, was Rodney’s cock, hard and ready. Rodney always seemed ready. John opened his mouth, took in his owner’s flesh. As always, Rodney was clean – even obsessively so. His skin tasted clean, the slight musk of his body being the only proof through taste that John sucked on something real and alive rather than a dildo. Which John had done, more than once, for the amusement of guests.

John closed his eyes as he sucked Rodney down, caressing the silky flesh with his tongue, sucking at the engorged head. Until Rodney had taken him as his pet, John had never given more than a passing glance to another man’s package, yet now he was an expert in the taste, smell, and touch of Rodney’s cock in his mouth.

He knew the ritual: suck Rodney hard, get fucked hard by Rodney. Then get prepared and pierced. That was always the beginning of the ceremony, and Rodney was very big on using consistent methodology in his pursuits, whether public or private.

Rodney groaned as John sucked a little harder at his cock, then pulled back. “Down,” he growled, and John complied, instantaneously dropping to the floor. How Rodney managed it, John never knew – John’s own knees ached almost constantly from the regular strain of kneeling on the floor, yet Rodney would take him there, John’s head to the floor, his ass in the air. Rodney’s hands gripping tightly into John’s hips, fingers leaving bruises. Bruises that never had time to go away, blossoms of dark touches brought on by one crazed scientist’s dark desires.

John whimpered as Rodney slid a lubed finger inside his hole. Again, he felt ashamed – grateful that tonight wasn’t a punishment, wasn’t going to result in a dry-fuck that would leave him needing days to heal. Rodney prepared him quickly and thoroughly, then thrust in with his cock.

The size and force always made John gasp. Rodney fucked John hard, rarely tender, never loving. John closed his eyes, numb horror suffusing his mind. Love? It would never be love. Even if Rodney were so delusional as to think John wanted this, John never would. No matter how many twisted acts Rodney could get John to respond to, deep down, John loathed the man with every fibre of his being. That John remained alive and not dead by his own hand had far less to do with Rodney’s conditioning than Rodney’s clever use of hostages. Teyla, John thought bitterly. Kate. Radek. True, Rodney had given Radek to Carson, but John knew the scientist was alive and in most respects, well. He’d seen enough of Carson’s treatment of Radek to be convinced that the doctor did care for the man; the doctor seemed to limit his enjoyment of torture and violence to observing Rodney’s handiwork on John.

John shuddered and tried to push away this line of thinking. Thoughts of the way times used to be invariably led him to wild hopes and dreams of escape, of overthrowing Rodney and his brutal henchmen, of taking back the city for Earth and the SGC. And always at that thought came the bitter memory of being forced to suck Rodney’s cock in front of the SGC command during a video conference, his humiliation and debasement no longer private. Command had demanded evidence that Rodney had kept his prisoners alive, and Rodney complied. He paraded them before the monitors, explaining the regime of diet and exercise each was given to maintain his or her health. At the noted absence of Colonel Sheppard, Rodney gave them a cold smile, quirked an eyebrow, and said, “Colonel Sheppard? Oh, you mean my pet.”

And at that John had been led to the space within the monitor’s viewing area. Even through the monitor he heard the collective gasp of the command staff as he was brought before Rodney, wearing fetters on his ankles and with his arms chained behind him. Naked.

Rodney had pressed him to the floor, a firm hand on his shoulder, and ordered him to suck. Just one word to John was all it took – he already knew the consequences for disobedience. And John had sucked, and Rodney had ignored him as the scientist continued to speak with the SGC on the way things were going to be done from now on. And the SGC agreed. And then Rodney came hard down John’s throat, choking him with lack of air and spurting spunk. He ruffled John’s hair, praising him for being so good, as always, before slapping him away and sending him back to quarters under guard.

The coldness and horror of that moment still threatened to strangle John, even now.

Rodney thrust harder still, then stiffened as he came, buried deep in John’s bowels. John whimpered, his own cock stiff and weeping, unable to find relief until Rodney chose to give it to him. Relief he knew Rodney would not give until the conclusion of the ritual, when John was screaming and begging from pain and arousal.

He felt Rodney pull from him, then the slide of a large plug taking his place. Rodney liked him like that, full of spunk for hours on end. John expected it was yet more of his possessing of his toy, like the tattoo on his neck, like the bites and bruises he left behind for anyone to see. Encouraged people to see. John was his to ravage, and Rodney made that clear at every possible opportunity.

John felt the slide of leather against his skin as Rodney began to fasten a harness around him. This was the preparation, where Rodney got John ready for his piercing. He repressed a shiver, disgusted with himself at eagerly anticipating the pain that would come. He wondered if he really were someone who preferred pain over pleasure, or was simply the result of Rodney’s oh-so-thorough training. Or maybe the pain reminded John that despite everything, despite all the things he did to numb his mind and his body, he really was alive, not stuck in some limbo of the undead. The reminder of being alive was both terrifying and a relief: John wouldn’t wish this life on anyone, not even the Genii.

Not that the Genii were a problem anymore. In fact, that was the occasion of the first ceremonial piercing. Rodney had pierced John’s nipples early in John’s slavery, but he didn’t begin to mark John’s cock until the Genii, the erstwhile enemies of Atlantis. Enemies who were now effectively gone thanks to Rodney’s plans, ones that included genocide on a level that would make Earth-based warlords weep with joy. John? He merely swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat at the thought – he could have done nothing even had he been free, Rodney was too thorough, too established in his powerbase to allow anyone to get in the way of his plans.

John’s second piercing on his cock was to commemorate the time he successfully deep-throated Rodney without choking. Rodney was so pleased with him that he fucked him twice that night, both times with lube.

The third was to remind John of the night he submitted fully to Rodney, allowed himself to feel what was happening to him without the numbness he normally lost himself within. John cried real tears, John screamed real screams. And as the pain rose within him of all that he’d lost and all that was happening, he begged for more. Rodney gave it to him.

The fourth was in celebration of Rodney brokering a new trade deal for fresh food and supplies from a nearby solar system. His network of alliances were strong and kept him from being overly reliant on any one supply line, on any one group of people. Short of coordinated revolt or a lucky assassination, Rodney had entrenched himself as the warlord of warlords in the Pegasus galaxy.

Rodney slipped the harness around John’s waist, threading his cock and balls through the opening and firmly seating the back pad against the plug in his arse. He cinched the harness shut at each hipbone, then kneaded John’s buttocks cruelly for a moment. “Up,” he ordered. John rose, his knees protesting painfully at the shift in position.

Rodney knelt before John, and for one wild moment, John imagined overpowering the man with a deftly-placed kick, putting the evil bastard on the wrong side of John’s anger. But as soon as it arose, it melted away again, replaced only by the mind-numbing terror of the consequences should John fail. John watched, transfixed, as Rodney began to restrain John’s cock, a ladder of small leather strips and tiny buckles. He watched the scientist smile to himself, obviously pleased with his slave’s appearance. Between each strip peeked the flesh of John’s cock, still rigid from earlier. And on each piece of flesh was the rung of another ladder, a ladder of piercings through the skin, decorating the underside of John’s cock with tiny, jewelled barbells. Tonight a fifth rung would be added.

Tonight, Rodney wanted to commemorate the granting of the Daedalus to be under his own authority rather than the SGC’s. The ship would arrive in a few more days time, and Rodney was already gloating at the prospect of facing Colonel Caldwell for the official transfer of his command to Rodney’s.

Rodney stood, then grabbed John’s face and kissed him, hard. The kisses were what always surprised John, every single time. The kisses made no sense – they were hard and brutal, like everything about Rodney, but they were kisses nonetheless. Kisses that sometimes left John panting for more, confused and uncomprehending. He often wondered whether Carson was feeding him things other than sedatives, things that might make him more open to accepting or even welcoming Rodney’s actions.

Like so many kisses before, Rodney bit into John’s lip, hard enough for blood to well to the surface, hot and metallic in John’s mouth. This pain was hard and dull, so different than the pain to come, which would be sharp and bright, so clear that John would feel as though he could see into new dimensions, see something beyond the regular length, breadth, and depth of the universe he inhabited. He felt Rodney lick into his mouth, sucking at the blood there, heard him hum and sigh with pleasure. John shuddered, his knees buckling slightly at the sensation that washed over him. He wanted the pain, wanted the feeling of being in-the-world-yet-not-in-the-world that it brought to him, the re-enlivening of his emotional core, the place within him that seemed so dead and lifeless in between.

That he hoped also for Rodney to let him release his orgasm was spectacularly fucked up, John knew. Nothing, though, in this world made sense to him anymore. Not even after all these months. Rodney would pierce him, would perhaps order John to come, and then he would, shuddering and shaking in the intensity of his orgasm, his cock still bound in its harness, untouched but for the action of the piercing.

“Bed,” Rodney ordered, and John walked there without hesitation, arranging himself supine, his arms over his head his legs straight together. Rodney straddled him, sitting just below John’s pelvis, his cock again hard and eager as he performed the final steps of his ritual before the piercing. John closed his eyes briefly as Rodney leaned forward, again kissing him with almost brutal intensity. He felt each arm secured to a corner of the bed. No longer in danger of thrashing, John didn’t know whether the continued chaining at this stage was for ritual’s sake or to reinforce Rodney’s demand for John to submit, for him to know utterly that he was owned and powerless as Rodney worked on his body.

Not that John could possibly imagine otherwise. Nowhere in his worst nightmares had he ever seen a vision of himself like this, a man now carrying the scars of whippings, bite marks, bruises, and piercings. That Rodney had been the one to break him, not some warlord or insurgence group in Afghanistan, that was still something that preyed on John’s mind, if he let it. That someone could live where they had everything, yet still want more so badly that they would do what Rodney had done, what Rodney does, just for power. Just for control.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, John thought for the millionth time. And the power Rodney had taken for himself was absolute, and Rodney was corrupt, right down to the blackened pit of whatever he had that passed for a soul.

Rodney broke the kiss. “Look at me,” he ordered, and John’s eyes flew open. He stared again into clear blue eyes, eyes that he once might have described as guileless, but now would describe as … on fire. The fire of insanity that burned bright and hot, a blue-tipped flame that showed always in Rodney’s eyes, and often in his brutal and twisted perversions on his people.

In so many ways, John didn’t have the worst of it. In so many ways, John wished he did. But his life, that was the unspoken bargain now. His life, his submission – that’s what kept the hostages alive. Kept them safe, after a fashion. Kept them fed. John resisting to the point of whippings or starvation or the constant need to be chained? That was too far for Rodney, unacceptable to his power-crazed need for control over the former colonel. What was rape, really, between friends? Friends he hoped might survive, intact, to somehow take back the city from the madman.

“Hey,” Rodney said, and John realised his attention had wandered. He looked again into those blue-hot eyes. Rodney smirked. “It’s time.”

John bit his still-bleeding lip and nodded. He had no choice about the piercing – about anything. Rodney would do what he wanted, how he wanted. And John needed the pain, craved it with an intensity that frightened him.

Rodney wriggled back slightly, then leaned in for a moment to suck the tip of John’s cock. He bucked at the sensation – unexpected. Not part of the ritual. His cock hurt now more than he thought possible, turgid and straining in the confines of the tiny belts that held it. Rodney’s tongue lapped at the tip, sliding rough yet smooth across his flesh. John shuddered in ecstasy, unable to orgasm but close, oh so close.

Rodney arose again, returning to his original position and smirking at John. “You look delicious,” he said by way of explanation. John’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the unrelieved strain in his body creating pain quite different than the pain he anticipated any moment.

John opened his eyes in time to watch Rodney open sterile wipes, remaining absolutely still as the cold from the evaporating alcohol flashed across the skin of his cock. He felt the tiny press of the marker Rodney used to determine the placement of the piercing, two tiny dots on his flesh, dots that would become linked by a small wound in his flesh tunnelling between, joined forevermore by the metal Rodney inserted there.

Rodney held the needle aloft, eyeing it critically for a moment, then changing his expression to one of almost loving tenderness. Without another word, he pulled the flesh of John’s cock just enough to insert the needle. A sharp tang on the back of John’s tongue, a sharp feeling, hard and bright in John’s mind, and in moments, the piercing was complete, the newest barbell inserted in its rightful place. John nearly sighed from relief, not from the absence of pain but its presence. His cock never sagged, not for a moment, even encased so tightly that he wasn’t certain he could have become flaccid. Instead, he remained impossibly hard, aroused from pain and his long-delayed need to orgasm.

“Please,” he whispered, and he watched Rodney’s smile turn to a feral grin.

“Please, what?” Rodney prompted.

John bit at his lip again in humiliation. He hated that Rodney could force this, any of this, and that John would jump when ordered, just as he was trained. The bitter irony that he wasn’t as good at following orders in the military as he was of following the orders of his Master wasn’t lost on him. He felt hot shame flush his cheeks.

“Please, Master,” he choked out, saying the words Rodney wanted to hear.

“Please Master what?” Rodney prompted again, not yet satisfied, yet clearly pleased at John’s attempts to resist.

“Please, Master,” John whispered. “I need to come. Please.”

“Of course you do, pet,” he replied with a smug grin. “You’re so eager for it.” His hands reached forward and he began to release John’s cock from its bonds, his hands deft and delicate on the buckles. “I made you, John,” Rodney said softly. “I made you want this, made you need this.”

John couldn’t respond. He felt the side buckles release, felt Rodney slide the harness from under his buttocks and gently pull it over John’s still-hard, still-aching cock. He watched Rodney’s face intently, still bothered by the strange tenderness Rodney would show him at this moment, a softness that contradicted everything John thought he knew about his Master.

Rodney raised himself slightly, pulling John’s legs apart and settling between them. “Up,” he ordered, spanking lightly at John’s buttock. John bridged his pelvis as ordered, preparing mentally for the inevitable burn of Rodney removing the plug from his hole. In moments the plug was gone, and John was pressed again to the bed, Rodney’s hands firm on his hips. He felt Rodney’s groin tight against his arse, felt the throbbing of Rodney’s erection snugged between his buttocks. John pushed against Rodney, wanting him inside again, wanting the brutal thrusting and Rodney’s voice, ordering him to release, an order that inevitably came at this point.

“What do you need?” Rodney asked, pushing his erection hard between John’s buttocks. “Tell me.”

“I need,” John gasped, his body thrumming with the song of pain from his newly-pierced cock, still hard and desperate for release. “I need you. Need you to fuck me.”

Rodney grinned. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, you do.” In one forceful movement, Rodney thrust into John, burying himself to the hilt. John whimpered. “Say it,” Rodney hissed, drawing back and slamming into him again, long and slow.

John tried to resist, he had to. What was left of his long-ago broken inner self begged him to resist, begged him to end this, to refuse to capitulate to Rodney’s demands. But the demands of his body were powerful, and Rodney had trained him too well to obey with the body even if the mind shied away. He held out for another minute, Rodney’s thrusts remaining long, slow, and deep, before he could not hold back a moment longer.

“Fuck,” he cried. “Fuck me!”

Rodney responded by fucking John, fast and brutal. John felt the fingers dig into his hip, felt his body flop and shake as Rodney used him without any pause or change of pace. Inside, John felt the tension, held so high for so long already, increase that little bit more. He hurt, hurt so badly from the need to come. And then Rodney spoke, “Come, now.”

Without any touch to his cock since the piercing, John came, hard, semen striping his belly, his chest, even the underside of his chin. He shook hard, the pain and pleasure coursing through his body like the raging torrent of a river overflowing its banks. He felt everything explode from him with his release: the pain, the shame, the fear. All of it burst from him, leaving him whole and complete for one breathless moment.

Unfocused and shaking slightly, he lay quiet on the bed, his arms still fastened firmly to the bed and his body open and vulnerable; yet strangely, he felt safe, relaxed. Almost comfortable. He felt the bed shift as Rodney reclined next to him. He felt Rodney trace idle patterns along his chest, cooling semen brushed along his skin.

“You’re so good, John,” Rodney said into his ear. John gulped. He didn’t want to hear this, didn’t need to hear this. Didn’t understand why Rodney felt he needed to say it. Didn’t the man have enough? He took everything, he took everyone’s life and changed it into something hardly worth living. He felt himself flush at his Master’s words, more proof of his body’s automatic obedience to the man.

He felt Rodney’s fingers brush through his hair, now sweat-soaked and doubtless as wild as it once was when he was allowed to make decisions for himself, allowed to be his own man. “Yes,” Rodney said. “So good. So beautiful, like this. Soft, open.”

John felt Rodney press a kiss to his forehead. He shivered slightly at the touch, swallowing reflexively as his stomach clenched with the renewed stirrings of fear.

“You’re so beautiful,” Rodney repeated. He kissed John then, gently on the lips, and John felt the ghost of Rodney’s breath brush warm across his face. “So beautiful. No one ever gets to see you like this.”

John thought he might choke. Everyone had seen him literally fucked by Rodney at least a dozen times and in a dozen different ways. Rodney sometimes went out of his way to ensure his people saw the status John had been reduced to. He drew a shuddering breath as anger began to bloom inside. “No one sees me like this? Everyone sees me like this,” he hissed. “You show off your pet whenever possible.”

He heard Rodney chuckle, felt his fingers resume their tracing on John’s stomach and chest. “Ah, yes,” Rodney said agreeably. “They’ve seen you fucked, my pet. But no, I can assure you – they have not seen you like this. This? This is mine.”

He felt Rodney claim his mouth in a soft kiss, a kiss that, if John had wanted any part of it, he might call sweet, lingering. He felt the slow burn of hatred flare for a moment before it continued to eat away at his insides, smouldering deep and dark within him. “You’re so beautiful like this, John” Rodney whispered into John’s mouth. “And you’re mine.”

End, Fifth

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Title: Fifth

Pairings: McKay/Sheppard

Series summary: An AU wherein Rodney has taken over Atlantis, effectively operating as a warlord.

Warning: This is a darkfic. In fact, it is a no-holds barred, out-and-out slavefic/rapefic. Nothing consensual. Nothing happy. If you are squicky, give this one a miss. If you are looking for a nice read before bedtime, give this one a miss. If you are looking for something with a whole lot of hurting and no comfort on the horizon, then enjoy!

AU: The Watcher by LiveJournal user pushkin666

Kinks: bondage, marking/claiming, piercing, rape, non-con, sadomasochism, slave

Spoilers: Absolutely none. Could take place anytime in or after Season Two.

Rating: NC-17

Words: ~4,700 words

Disclaimer: Not hers, mine, or ours, no matter how we wish they were.

Author’s Notes: This story takes place in pushkin666’s The Watcher dark AU, where Rodney takes over Atlantis and retains control through credible means [means not yet revealed in Pushkin’s chapters, so I’ll leave it at that for now]. Rodney is quite evil and obsessive over his pet, John.

I admit that I don’t normally “do” McShep, but as this one is completely non-con, I can deal. ;-) (Yes, yes, yes, I’ve read and loved plenty well-written McShep fics but it just isn’t a pairing that typically attracts me to write. The McShep fans out there need not collect any kindling to burn me at the stake; this might be a very painful story but John deports himself well, IMHO. Rodney, OTOH ... meep!)

Thank very much you to pushkin666 for letting me play in her AU. :-) Thank you also to LiveJournal user milackurz for the beta.