The dress is simple, scratchy, roughly woven hemp that hasn't even been dyed. It itches on his skin, pulls at the fine hairs on his arms, chest, ass; doesn't fit very well despite – because of – the lovely cut. John feels incredibly stupid in his boots so he kicks them off, and then his socks, and then he just stands there, looking at his bare toes, the dirty floor of the hut, the wooden walls. Naked despite the cloth covering his skin. The silence stretches, heavy and oppressive in the small room, and John can't take it any longer, has to look up.
Rodney's watching him. Staring at him, really, face flushed and awed, and something hard and tight in John's gut uncurls as his fists unclench.
He still feels far too open, but suddenly there a strange thread of exhilaration tied into the wariness, like his first time taking up a fighter jet; like the first time he spread his legs and allowed himself to be taken. He takes a breath and then another one, careful not to move as Rodney steps close and reaches out.
The first touch is barely there, fluttering across his shoulder, fingertips sliding over the fabric, leaving their mark on his skin like they were branding him. Still that silence, but now it's anticipation growing into pleasure, and when Rodney trails his fingers down and across John's chest, John leans in.
There's the slightest stutter in Rodney's touch, but then it grows firmer, more daring, palm exploring his chest through the dress, thumb scratching over a nipple that's already hardened into a tight nub; and there's a second hand slowly stroking up and down his flank, large and warm even through the rough hemp; and it's good, so good, but there's still that thread of tension, still that knot of fear, and John wants, he wants-
"Beautiful," Rodney breathes, and John surrenders with a sigh; closes his eyes, and just feels.
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This was supposed to be porn, but I fail
Date: 2007-10-31 09:35 am (UTC)Rodney's watching him. Staring at him, really, face flushed and awed, and something hard and tight in John's gut uncurls as his fists unclench.
He still feels far too open, but suddenly there a strange thread of exhilaration tied into the wariness, like his first time taking up a fighter jet; like the first time he spread his legs and allowed himself to be taken. He takes a breath and then another one, careful not to move as Rodney steps close and reaches out.
The first touch is barely there, fluttering across his shoulder, fingertips sliding over the fabric, leaving their mark on his skin like they were branding him. Still that silence, but now it's anticipation growing into pleasure, and when Rodney trails his fingers down and across John's chest, John leans in.
There's the slightest stutter in Rodney's touch, but then it grows firmer, more daring, palm exploring his chest through the dress, thumb scratching over a nipple that's already hardened into a tight nub; and there's a second hand slowly stroking up and down his flank, large and warm even through the rough hemp; and it's good, so good, but there's still that thread of tension, still that knot of fear, and John wants, he wants-
"Beautiful," Rodney breathes, and John surrenders with a sigh; closes his eyes, and just feels.