At Gunpoint by Annie (NC17)

[duonoaikouka.livejournal.com]

Show: SGA
Rec Category: Sheppard/McKay
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Het/Slash/Gen: oh very slash..
Warning: weapon!porn
Author on LJ: out_there 
Author's Website: AO3, DW
Link: At Gunpoint

Why this must be read:

uuummm.... let's just say that my brain melted into a puddle of orgasmic goo once I finished reading this. I have yet to run across another McShep fic this hot. Rodney "comes across" Sheppard in the armory and gives him some unique memories with guns, in the process melting John's brain right along with all us McShep readers! :D I just adore how far Rodney will go to fulfill John's fantasy. And Rodney hitting the target!! How awesome is that, eh? Go enjoy the heat, folks!

Story Summary: "Strip." The Beretta's on John's skin again, the heat of the muzzle sliding over the side of John's jaw. "Jacket first."

"Drop the gun." Rodney's heart is pounding in his chest because he knows John's expression, he's seen it aimed at Wraith and Genii. Like a lake in early winter, John's frozen surface is a lie, a fine sheet of ice covering lethal force. "Drop it, John."

John pulls his chin in, and for a moment, Rodney's sure this is going to go terribly wrong. He's sure that John will react, will twist and shoot, and Rodney will be left embarrassed and in pain and having to explain something really humiliating to Carson. Then John nods, and the P90 clatters to the floor.

"And the Beretta."

John's hand slides down his thigh, no sudden movements, just slow and slinky and-- this is not the time to get distracted. Rodney shifts his balance, keeping the gun pressed against John's neck, and reaches for John's Beretta with his left hand, throwing it somewhere behind him.

"I'm sensing a bit of hostility," John says, smooth and charming, and Rodney knows he's just been downgraded as a threat. "Maybe we could talk about it?"

Rodney's practiced this. At strange times, like five in the morning, or eight at night, when the mess is full and the shooting range is empty. He's tried this move until he knows it inside out and back-to-front. Until he knows it well enough to stare John in the eyes, put his right arm straight out, and shoot without glancing at the target.

It's John's stifled gasp that tells him that he hit it dead on. "Rodney--"

"Strip." The Beretta's on John's skin again, the heat of the muzzle sliding over the side of John's jaw.

Comments

[wanted-a-pony.livejournal.com]

Zounds! What a smokin' fic--& I don't care for weapons!kink in almost all cases....

[duonoaikouka.livejournal.com]

Oh isn't it though?! I'm melting... I'm melting... I'm melting... Oh wait, wrong fandom...