Choose your own porn: Part 1
Dec. 31st, 2007 06:48 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scribblinlenoreOkay, so ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amireal convinced me that there could be both a grabby princess and a ZPM making John and Rodney pretend to be gay. The poll was almost a dead heat when I closed it. Also, I'm easy. *g*
The moment the Ancient artifact went whoosh in his hands, lighting up as bright as a 100-watt bulb, pulsing through every color in the spectrum like some demented Christmas display, John knew he was in trouble.
Princess Obilankia had been grabby to begin with. Her hand brushed his arm whenever she spoke, rested on his back as she took him on a tour of her palace, lingered on his ass whenever she thought she could get away with it. Grab, grab, grab.
Now that his DNA had outed him, her pale eyes went hard and bright. John took as big a step backwards as he could without causing an interplanetary incident. He'd seen that look before, too many times. It said: hey, sailor, why don't we go someplace private and skinny dip in your gene pool? John was as much against the dangers of inbreeding as the next person. He just preferred not to be the remedy to it.
The princess led the way back to her throne room, turning a calculating smile on him. "Some refreshments, perhaps?"
She clapped her hands, drowning out his "hey, I'd love to, but I'm on duty." A veritable gaggle of serving women appeared at once, carrying platters and pitchers, cushions and bolts of fabric. They launched into a whirl of activity. Before John could babble an excuse and make a run for it, the room had been draped in silk, a feast had been laid out, and he'd been pushed back against the cushions like some B-movie sultan surrounded by his harem.
"Wine?" one of the serving women offered.
She pressed closed, her breasts nearly tumbling out of her bodice as she bent to fill his goblet. A waft of fragrance, warm and deep and sweet as sex, rose off her skin.
"Let us drink to a long and prosperous friendship between our two peoples." Princess Obilankia raised her cup.
She held her breath as she waited for him to reach for his goblet, and he knew all too well how this ended, with him sticky and muzzy-headed, missing hours of his life, chafed in places that really should never be chafed. Then Rodney would come along and add insult to injury with his, you know I wouldn't have to call you an intergalactic man slut if you didn't act like one.
"Like I was saying before, I'm on duty, so I really can't--"
"You must be hungry," another of the serving women spoke up, pushing food-covered fingers into his mouth.
It was something vaguely cheese-like and went down the wrong way, nearly choking him.
The princess held out her goblet. "Here. This will help."
"S'okay," he managed, in between bouts of coughing.
Princess Obilankia slid closer. "There must be some way we can please you?"
John struggled to find a diplomatic way to say, No, no, really, there's not. Failing that, he figured a change of subject.
"So…I should probably be getting back to my team."
"They're fine." The princess' voice took a bedroomy tumble into the lower octaves, and her hand found its way to his thigh.
"Still. I really think--" This last word came out in a squeak.
The princess had apparently tired of the subtle approach and was getting rather frisky with his crotch.
"Oh, of course! You're surrounded by fawning women while I'm being manhandled by the hired help. Not in any fun way, might I add."
The familiar bluster made John scramble to his feet. One of the princess' guards had Rodney by the collar. Neither of them appeared any too pleased.
"I thought you were going to look at the Ancient technology, but not touch," John said in the exaggerated singsong that meant we've talked about this.
"I didn't touch a thing!" Rodney insisted, red-faced with persecution. "All I wanted was to follow the energy signature-- A ZPM, Colonel! I'm this close to certain. And then this lummox gets in my way, going on about sacred temple of homosexuality this, and most holy man loving that, and says I'm not allowed into the room with the ZPM unless--"
His eyes narrowed at John, and then something clicked into place, an expression that usually meant they were all about to be saved or four-fifths of a solar system was going to explode.
"They refused to let me into their temple, can you believe that?" Rodney said with a derisive snort. "As if the two of us don't have 'hot, sweaty man love' written all over us."
The guard's eyebrows shot up practically to his hairline. John stared at Rodney in a kind of horrified fascination.
Princess Obilankia turned white as a sheet. "You mean that you and the Colonel are both-- holy?"
Rodney crossed his arms smugly over his chest. "Flamingly so."
John said under his breath, "Rodney, I really don't think--"
"Oh, did I interrupt your little orgy?' Rodney's mouth turned down meanly at one corner. "Well, too bad. You are going to do this for me."
John glanced at the princess. There was a scary glint in her eye, like he was a Popsicle and she wanted to gobble and gobble and gobble him up until there was nothing left but the stick.
"As holy as Liberace and Elton John put together," the survival part of John's brain blurted out. "That's, uh, really, really holy."
The guard stirred uneasily. "Your majesty, if our two visitors are truly holy, then--"
The princess rose regally to her feet. "They should prove it. I assume you have no objections?"
John looked to Rodney. What have you gotten us into now? And Rodney looked right back at John. Mess this up for me, and the next time you have hot water in your quarters will be, oh, let's see, never.
John let out a resigned little sigh. "Okay. Bring on the test."
[Poll #1113831]
Polls close at eight o'clock!
Okay, the voting is done! You wanted outfits, makeup and a tea ceremony, you got it. *g*
amireal convinced me that there could be both a grabby princess and a ZPM making John and Rodney pretend to be gay. The poll was almost a dead heat when I closed it. Also, I'm easy. *g*The moment the Ancient artifact went whoosh in his hands, lighting up as bright as a 100-watt bulb, pulsing through every color in the spectrum like some demented Christmas display, John knew he was in trouble.
Princess Obilankia had been grabby to begin with. Her hand brushed his arm whenever she spoke, rested on his back as she took him on a tour of her palace, lingered on his ass whenever she thought she could get away with it. Grab, grab, grab.
Now that his DNA had outed him, her pale eyes went hard and bright. John took as big a step backwards as he could without causing an interplanetary incident. He'd seen that look before, too many times. It said: hey, sailor, why don't we go someplace private and skinny dip in your gene pool? John was as much against the dangers of inbreeding as the next person. He just preferred not to be the remedy to it.
The princess led the way back to her throne room, turning a calculating smile on him. "Some refreshments, perhaps?"
She clapped her hands, drowning out his "hey, I'd love to, but I'm on duty." A veritable gaggle of serving women appeared at once, carrying platters and pitchers, cushions and bolts of fabric. They launched into a whirl of activity. Before John could babble an excuse and make a run for it, the room had been draped in silk, a feast had been laid out, and he'd been pushed back against the cushions like some B-movie sultan surrounded by his harem.
"Wine?" one of the serving women offered.
She pressed closed, her breasts nearly tumbling out of her bodice as she bent to fill his goblet. A waft of fragrance, warm and deep and sweet as sex, rose off her skin.
"Let us drink to a long and prosperous friendship between our two peoples." Princess Obilankia raised her cup.
She held her breath as she waited for him to reach for his goblet, and he knew all too well how this ended, with him sticky and muzzy-headed, missing hours of his life, chafed in places that really should never be chafed. Then Rodney would come along and add insult to injury with his, you know I wouldn't have to call you an intergalactic man slut if you didn't act like one.
"Like I was saying before, I'm on duty, so I really can't--"
"You must be hungry," another of the serving women spoke up, pushing food-covered fingers into his mouth.
It was something vaguely cheese-like and went down the wrong way, nearly choking him.
The princess held out her goblet. "Here. This will help."
"S'okay," he managed, in between bouts of coughing.
Princess Obilankia slid closer. "There must be some way we can please you?"
John struggled to find a diplomatic way to say, No, no, really, there's not. Failing that, he figured a change of subject.
"So…I should probably be getting back to my team."
"They're fine." The princess' voice took a bedroomy tumble into the lower octaves, and her hand found its way to his thigh.
"Still. I really think--" This last word came out in a squeak.
The princess had apparently tired of the subtle approach and was getting rather frisky with his crotch.
"Oh, of course! You're surrounded by fawning women while I'm being manhandled by the hired help. Not in any fun way, might I add."
The familiar bluster made John scramble to his feet. One of the princess' guards had Rodney by the collar. Neither of them appeared any too pleased.
"I thought you were going to look at the Ancient technology, but not touch," John said in the exaggerated singsong that meant we've talked about this.
"I didn't touch a thing!" Rodney insisted, red-faced with persecution. "All I wanted was to follow the energy signature-- A ZPM, Colonel! I'm this close to certain. And then this lummox gets in my way, going on about sacred temple of homosexuality this, and most holy man loving that, and says I'm not allowed into the room with the ZPM unless--"
His eyes narrowed at John, and then something clicked into place, an expression that usually meant they were all about to be saved or four-fifths of a solar system was going to explode.
"They refused to let me into their temple, can you believe that?" Rodney said with a derisive snort. "As if the two of us don't have 'hot, sweaty man love' written all over us."
The guard's eyebrows shot up practically to his hairline. John stared at Rodney in a kind of horrified fascination.
Princess Obilankia turned white as a sheet. "You mean that you and the Colonel are both-- holy?"
Rodney crossed his arms smugly over his chest. "Flamingly so."
John said under his breath, "Rodney, I really don't think--"
"Oh, did I interrupt your little orgy?' Rodney's mouth turned down meanly at one corner. "Well, too bad. You are going to do this for me."
John glanced at the princess. There was a scary glint in her eye, like he was a Popsicle and she wanted to gobble and gobble and gobble him up until there was nothing left but the stick.
"As holy as Liberace and Elton John put together," the survival part of John's brain blurted out. "That's, uh, really, really holy."
The guard stirred uneasily. "Your majesty, if our two visitors are truly holy, then--"
The princess rose regally to her feet. "They should prove it. I assume you have no objections?"
John looked to Rodney. What have you gotten us into now? And Rodney looked right back at John. Mess this up for me, and the next time you have hot water in your quarters will be, oh, let's see, never.
John let out a resigned little sigh. "Okay. Bring on the test."
[Poll #1113831]
Okay, the voting is done! You wanted outfits, makeup and a tea ceremony, you got it. *g*
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Date: 2008-01-01 12:27 am (UTC)