Word Count: 2519
Warning: Light D/s scenario, Kink: boot-fetish
Beta: Many thanks to kimberlyfdr
Notes: I changed the title after first posting it and "borrowed" this title from Nancy Sinatra
No, no, and no. Rodney had no boot-fetish. He had never salivated at the sight of high-heels or, God beware, rubber-boots. No.
But during the last months he had developed a – as he called it euphemistically in his head – “deep appreciation” for Sheppard’s black combat boots. Tied nonchalantly challenging the military regulations, they seemed to be the quintessence of the man himself.
Those black combat boots had started to feature in Rodney’s nightly wet dreams shortly after they had reached Atlantis. He hadn’t been able to return to his favorite fantasy of a Sam-Carter-clone at his beck and call, seducing him with expensive lingerie the moment he entered his apartment. No, there were always black shining boots in his dreams now. And instead of being a short aberration due to inhuman stress and not enough sleep – like he had hoped in the beginning – their unhealthy influence had started to also invade his days.
These damned black boots made him hard during the day when he was lying under a console and Sheppard was standing besides him; passing him tools or simply poking him with questions about the “why” and the “how long”.
The only time he was half-way safe was when they were encrusted with dirt and slime, reeking from some off-worldly green-gray stinking mud. Only then was Rodney’s deep-rooted fear of germs and contagious alien plagues able to dampen his enthusiasm for Sheppard’s footwear.
As a scientist, Rodney had tried to find out with scientific methods what triggered this kink. He had stared at Lorne’s boots until the Major had noticed and asked him if something was wrong. But nothing was wrong. Lorne’s combat’s boots left him as cold as the sight of a male botanist nibbling on someone’s stilettos, a photo McKay had found ‘accidentally’ on the Atlantis intranet.
To make a bad situation worse, the more Rodney’s friendship with Sheppard deepened, the more he became obsessed with Sheppard’s boots. It wasn’t often that he remembered his dreams, as usually he was too tired, but when he did, sexual gratification was always somehow linked to a pair of combat boots. Even if Sheppard was naked in his dreams, and turned him on with that lean body of his, what made him come in minutes were the boots. Rodney tried to argue logically that he had never seen Sheppard naked, but that he saw the boots on a daily basis, therefore, his subconscious would go with the scenario it was more acquainted with – but even in his own ears that sounded lame. So he was stuck with this unfortunate kink.
Tonight he entered Sheppard’s quarters with two bottles of beer in one hand, and a bowl of something that smelled and tasted nearly like potato chips even if it was green, in the other.
“Sheppard? We still going to watch the new ‘Transformers’ DVD?” he called when the colonel was nowhere to be seen.
“I’m in the bathroom. I’ll be with you in five minutes. ‘Transformers’ is on the chair.”
“Sure,” Rodney answered. He put the bowl on the bed, opened his beer, and went in search of the DVD. Being it Valentine’s Day, the ‘official’ movie to be shown in the mess hall was certain to be some uber-romantic, disgustingly sweet sentimental crap, where everybody would be happy in the end, making mooneyes and kissing. Robots were definitely better.
“Ha!” Rodney spotted the DVD on top of Sheppard’s discarded clothes – but he also spotted Sheppard’s boots, half buried under a t-shirt that had fallen to the floor. He picked the shirt up and hung it over the back of the chair.
Then he stared. There they were, shiny and freshly polished, smelling of leather; luring him, provoking him. Rodney heard the water running in the adjacent room and after a short, uncertain look at the bathroom door he went down onto his knees. He could always say he was picking up something from the floor, he reassured himself.
He hesitated for a second, but then he bent forward and took a deep sniff.
It went directly to his head, traveled down his spine, and tentacles of lust reached for his groin, weaving a net of longing and recklessness. He inhaled again. Leather, shoe polish, the scent of worn shoes and the knowledge that these were Sheppard’s made Rodney’s breathing quicker. All of his dreams and half-dreams came to him in a rush. Rodney’s fantasies mingled with reality. His fingers were gliding over the smooth leather, playing with the shoelaces, and he had to adjust himself because his cock was pressing uncomfortably against the seam of his pants.
Rodney listened again, but there was still the sound of the shower, so he wiped his handkerchief over the boots. When he was sure they were as clean as they looked, he took a deep breath. Only seconds separated him from fulfilling his deepest yearning. Now or never, he had to get it out of his system. He leaned forward again, stuck out his tongue, and licked tentatively. He couldn’t suppress a small groan when his tongue touched the boot for the first time. It was even better than in his dreams.
“I could help you.”
Rodney’s head shot up, and with horror he saw Sheppard standing nonchalantly in the door of the bathroom, arms crossed over his chest, the water was still running in the background.
Opening his mouth to respond, Rodney found that his head was all of a sudden totally void. There was just no way to explain what he was doing there. But he had prepared an excuse, hadn’t he? “I … I … was looking for …” Crap, he hadn’t thought about what he was searching on the floor! And so Rodney ended lamely, “I think I lost a … button.”
“You were sniffing and licking my boots,” Sheppard stated unequivocally.
“No! I wasn’t. I was …” Rodney started to get up. He had to leave!
But John ordered, “Stay where you are!” He thought the shower off and advanced to where Rodney was still kneeling on the floor.
Instead of bolting out of the door and running, the only thing that came to Rodney’s paralyzed mind was that John moved with the grace of a panther despite his worn sweatpants and his loose fitting gray t-shirt. He felt like the proverbial deer in the headlights and looked a bit helplessly up to Sheppard. How could he have been so careless, sniffing Sheppard’s boots in his own quarters? Rodney wasn’t sure if his mortification or his yearning for this hot man and his boots were going to win his inner battle.
“If you say ‘Caldwell’ I’ll stop immediately. Okay?”
Wait, wait, Sheppard hadn’t said what he thought he had said, had he? “W...w...what?”
“You heard me.” Sheppard was now standing directly in front of Rodney. Barefoot, old clothes, his hair still dripping wet – but he was using his command voice that sent needle-sharp tremors down Rodney’s spine.
Rodney was wetting his suddenly dry lips with his tongue when realization hit him. Oh my God! Sheppard wanted to play games! There was still the nagging suspicion that this was a very elaborate joke – but then, how could Sheppard know about this special kink of his? He nervously rubbed his palms on his pants. One breath of air later, he decided to be brave and to jump in at the deep end. Rodney croaked, “Okay.” He was fully aware that at this moment he had consented to more than only accepting a safeword.
“Fine.” Sheppard picked up the boots, made three steps to the nearest chair, and sat down. He pulled his boots on and then told Rodney, “Come here and lace them.” He snapped his fingers in a very McKay-like manner.
Rodney hesitated, but when he tentatively tried to stand up, Sheppard shook his head. “No.”
McKay tried to convince himself. ‘Come on, Rodney, it’s only three or four meters and it’s like a mirror image of your dreams.’ But then it had been always dream-Rodney the submissive one. Real-Rodney was a genius and ... very bossy.
As if Sheppard could read his thoughts, he coaxed seductively, “Even the best scientist in two galaxies is allowed to have dreams.”
Rodney made an effort and started crawling. Silly, silly, silly his rationality sung, but was drowned out by the lust of surrender that was submerging Rodney. Every scratch of his knees on the floor left scratches on his self-confidence. But it was worth it. When he reached Sheppard he was painfully hard.
He was grateful that he had a task awaiting him, and he took great pains to lace the boots meticulously. “Done,” he announced two minutes later and ventured a look at Sheppard’s face. There was no mockery or boastfulness. Rodney relaxed a bit.
Sheppard wiggled his feet from the left to the right, examining them attentively, then he criticised, “There’s still dirt on the toecap. Lick it clean.”
Lacing the shoes of somebody and ‘kinky’ boot-licking were two very different things, but the throbbing of his cock convinced Rodney that he really wanted to do that. He bent forward and the sensations were even stronger now that Sheppard had given the order while wearing the boots. Rodney deactivated all his higher brain-functions and started to indulge in his fantasy, getting bolder each minute that passed. He was rubbing his cheek against the leather, licking with his tongue, and kissing Sheppard’s boots. Electric shocks were running through his body, tingling and enticing whenever he thought about how he must look for Sheppard. He glided his left hand in his trousers, but Sheppard’s foot kicked this hand away.
“You’re not going to touch yourself, understood?”
“But I have to come!”
“Later. Now I want you to get up and strip, slowly. First the pants, then the t-shirt.”
What was Sheppard offering? Of course this was a sexual experience for Rodney and there was no doubt that Sheppard knew it, but... was it also one for John? Rodney knew only one way to find out. He stared intently at John’s crotch. It was very difficult to tell with the sweatpants, but that looked suspiciously like a bulge. Oh. Good. Very good, indeed.
Rodney made up his mind and got on his feet, He kicked off his shoes and started unbuttoning his pants. His boxer shorts revealed his arousal and John would know how turned on he was, but stubbornly Rodney continued to pull his t-shirt over his head. “Voilà!” he said and tried not fidget too much.
“Nice. Now the boxer shorts.”
“But then I’m naked and you’re still fully clothed,” Rodney complained.
“That’s the general idea.” John grinned, but then he repeated sternly, “Strip!”
That was ... new. In his dreams Sheppard would always magically lose his clothes with him so that they were both naked in the end. Rodney pulled down his shorts and held his breath. His cock was hard and leaking and there was no denying how much he liked this situation.
“Very nice.” John cleared his voice and this was the first indication that he was way more affected than his slouch in the chair let on. “Kneel right in front of me and spread your legs.”
His nakedness made Rodney shiver but the reason wasn’t the temperature in John’s quarters. He wanted to kneel with every fiber in his body, but once again his intellect was telling him that would be embarrassing and he shouldn’t do it. Rodney was torn.
“Kneel.” John let his legs fall apart a bit and his right hand disappeared into his sweatpants.
Rodney was clearly able to see the languorous up and down of John’s fingers. Rodney knelt, breathing heavily, and spread his legs. He felt totally vulnerable and hoped fervently that John would end the anticipation quickly. His fists were clenched so he wouldn’t touch himself even if he longed to do so.
“Hands behind your back,” his tormentor ordered now and Rodney obeyed. It was easier that way.
He was rewarded with John’s boot that was caressing the outside of his thigh. Smooth leather on hot skin left a trace of burning sensations. After a while, John’s foot changed to the inside of Rodney’s leg and wandered slowly higher until the boot touched Rodney’s balls for the first time. Rodney hissed loudly, which made John chuckle and continue to let his boot glide carefully over Rodney’s cock.
Rodney closed his eyes when Sheppard once more pressed his boot between his legs, pushing them even more apart. He glided behind Rodney’s balls with the toecap, pressing on Rodney’s perineum. Rodney couldn’t suppress his moans any longer. The combination of combat boots and everything they represented on this delicate body-part – Rodney’s head began to swim in pure lust.
“Rub yourself against my boot until you come,” Sheppard demanded hoarsely.
“Yes, yes,” Rodney whispered zealously and pressed himself tentatively against the leather of the shoe. The feeling was incredible. The still slightly cold leather against his naked skin sent shivers down Rodney’s spine. Shamelessly, Rodney rubbed himself against Sheppard’s boot. No comparison to his dreams; this was ten times more intense.
And the best was, John was also moaning.
Light-headed, Rodney pressed his whole body forward, rubbing his dick against the shaft of the boot. The laces were sending delicious spikes of near-pain through his body. “I ... I have to come,” he panted.
John pulled down the seam of his sweatpants, revealing his aroused cock.
Yes, yes, yes, Sheppard was on the same page with him. The scent of soap and arousal was filling Rodney’s nostrils. He inhaled deeply. This was perhaps even more perfect than the smell of leather! John pressed his dick with only two fingers just below the crown, and Rodney considered taking John’s dick in his mouth, but he knew that he was already too uncoordinated and too close.
Once more John’s foot bumped firmly against his perineum. Rodney gave a high-pitched moan as he babbled, “John, John, please, yes, please” and came, spilling white spurts over John’s boot. He needed his hands to secure his balance and leaned them against the chair John was sitting on. Waves of ecstasy crashed over him and left him limp and breathless.
When he was done he felt John’s hands in his hair, urging him gently on, and Rodney obeyed once more. He opened his mouth and started sucking on John’s dick. The new sensations intertwined with the aftermath of his climax and he was humming contentedly. Only a shocking thirty seconds later, he tasted John for the first time. At least he hoped that it was the first time and that there would be a repeat performance. He looked up and John was grinning down at him.
“Wanna finish the evening in bed?” John asked.
“Oh yes, my knees are killing me,” Rodney complained, noticing for the first time how uncomfortable the ground was. He allowed Sheppard to help him to his feet.
“You okay?” John asked with a hint of concern.
"I'm good," Rodney said, meaning it in more ways than one.
©Antares, February 2010
(crossposted to atlantiskink and my lj)