Mindshock by megaera [Reviews - 12]
Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Angst, First Time
Warnings: Adult themes
Series: None
Word count: 14120; Completed: Yes
Summary: Rodney's POV. Our heroes are enslaved on an alien world with forced amnesia.
A three part story
~~~
I don't know who I am. My collar has a tag on it which gives my numerical designation as #1265, but like all slaves of the Andertave Empire, I'm not permitted knowledge of my past. When they took me from my world, wherever it was, they placed this damned collar on me, and now I can't even remember my name.
I hate them.
They know it. Slaves aren't expected to love their masters, but believe me, if a slave disobeys a direct order, the punishment is pain and misery beyond imagination.
It took me a while to learn my place; I seem to be a natural rebel, but being beaten till you can't stand up... till the blood is running so thickly down your face till you can't see. A memorable learning experience.
I mostly bit down on any smartass remarks these days, before they can earn me another beating. I seem to get the urge to drop myself in the crap a dozen times a day, but my sense of self-preservation is stronger than it used to be. Judging by the things I find myself repressing, the constant annoying remarks I want to make, I must have been hell to work with in the past.
Before the slave thing.
I have other clues about myself and I spend hours every day worrying at the small pieces of information I have, trying to work out where I came from. Who I was. If I could only find out those things, I would be out of here so fast. I wish. The collar stops me. It also gives me an agonising jolt if I leave my assigned work area. I have some tentative ideas on that though.
I just have no place to go.
So let's review the clues I have:-
I've been here about 3 months, so my people must have fought the Ander recently. The Ander have fought with only two other civilisations in that time, Glayve, who they've been fighting for centuries, and a newly contacted world called Atlantis. Am I from one of these worlds?
I don't think I'm a soldier. I'm not very fit. Or at least I wasn't, before I started to work in the mines. I've built up quite a bit of muscle since then, mainly in my arms and chest.
I'm very intelligent. As well as the aforementioned wit, I seem to have a flair for technology. Several times the mine machinery has broken down and only my consummate mechanical skill has managed to repair it. I saw no harm in making myself useful to my captors in this way. A useful slave is a slave who's less likely to get his ass kicked, right?
I hate the crappy food on this world. Completely. I must recommend the slave diet to help you lose weight. Of course, I can't guarantee that the weight you lose won't be your head!
So those are my clues. For three months I've been trying to think of my name, my planet and my past, and I have had no success - until today. The Ander supervisor called me into his tiny cubicle of an office and gave me a new assignment: - fix the level 34 sonic drilling machine before he, I and the entire Beta shift on level 34 get reassigned to the sewage processing plant 100 levels down. Oh yes, and he would personally shoot out my kneecaps on the way down.
So much for being appreciated.
The Ander are like that. No sense of humour, no sense of honour, but they're very good at cruelty. Maybe it's because they live permanently underground? The whole of their planet's crust is honeycombed with tunnels.
So anyway, I headed down to level 34, trying to ignore the two dumb guards trailing behind me. They left me with the level supervisor, a huge muscle-bound Ander male with a nasty looking cattleprod-thingy hanging from his belt.
Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt. Bloodstained.
Level 34 was way down deeper than I had ever been before and I opened my mouth to complain about the heat and humidity which seemed close to 100 percent. I thought better of it when I saw the grim scowl and the hand that moved closer to the cattleprod-thingy. Three months of negative conditioning works well to quell smartass remarks.
The sonic drill machines the Ander use are state of the art; technology, way ahead of anything I've worked with in the past - a logical assumption since I'm struggling with the technology, so I'm thinking that I couldn't be from Glayve. They're supposed to be at the same technological level as the Ander, and I'm obviously not. Be that as it may, these machines are all several hundred years old, encrusted with grease and rust, and haven't been maintained in a very long time. Why am I surprised?
So there I was, shirt off, covered in filth, lying on the floor, legs apart so I could wriggle underneath the crossbeam, trying to juggle a torch and a wrench at the same time, when I heard a low chuckle.
'Nice view!'
I jerked upright and succeeded in bashing my head against a metal pipe. I swore at the newcomer before I could stop myself; before I could remember that I was supposed to be cautious with my mouth.
Luck was with me. It wasn't the supervisor. In fact, I began to feel very lucky.
The man grinning at me was in his early thirties, a slave like myself, and he had perhaps the wildest dark hair I had ever seen. Not to mention, the most kissable mouth on the planet. His gaze was frankly appreciative, though I pretended not to notice.
'Need a hand?' he said, and squatted down beside me, holding out his hand for the torch.
He had the most incredible hazel eyes and the kind of boyish charm that can have a devastating effect on most women.
Yes all right. And me, if you must know. Fact number 5 about Mr Mystery. I like men. I look at a cute woman and I feel nothing much. But put me up close next to someone as gorgeous as slave #1266 and my cock sits up and takes notice. Right now, squatting next to me so that his crotch was a few inches away from my face, I was finding it hard to concentrate. Let me tell you, an erection and a ton of heavy machinery inches above you don't mix. And I felt the strangest sense of deja vu as he helped me.
I forced myself to focus on the machine. Cattleprod-thingys are a real aid to concentration. And as usual, after a few hours, I found that the problem was the same as it had been in the last three of these monster machines I had fixed. An accumulation of hundreds of years of crap in the delicate inner workings of the machine The answer: strip it all back and clean it. A week's work at least, though I could probably cut a few days off that if threatened with the usual range of cruelties offered towards slaves.
The supervisor didn't look pleased when I told him, but it was better than the alternative - a complete failure of the machine. The level 34 supervisor only kicked me once when I told him.
Which left me spending the night in the Level 34 slave quarters.
**
He was there when I walked in, eating a bowl of some nameless stew, with his reckless hair and his cute ass. Damn it, he was pretty. Exactly my type. And that lazy smirk on his face didn't help. I sat down and he pushed a bowl of stew towards me. Lumps of unidentifiable meat floating in a greasy fluid. Disgusting, but we both ate ravenously. It was all we would get and complaints would only make the supervisor get creative with his fists. I sensed my new helper's interested scrutiny but once again, I pretended not to notice. Playing it cool.
''Hey! You're 1265!'
I looked up.
'So?' Not my wittiest ever response.
'Well, I'm 1266! Coincidence, huh?'
Oh God. I am so stupid sometimes. He had spent all afternoon holding my tools and all I had noticed was his crotch and his mouth. Well yes, and his butt too. But not his collar tag.
'Not a coincidence at all,' I said. 'Don't you see? We were captured together. that's why our slave numbers are consecutive. I knew you before!'
And from somewhere deep inside me, his name came with my next breath.
'John.'
Hazel eyes went wide, and for a brief moment, I saw in his face the same despair and emptiness I felt in myself when I tried to remember a time before slavery. All mixed up with hope and awe at the gift I had given him. His own name.
'John...' he whispered. He was smiling at me in a way that sent warmth straight to my cock. And before I could stop myself, I leaned across the narrow table and kissed him. He made a small sound of surprise in his throat, then his mouth opened to mine and he allowed me to deepen the kiss. I threaded one hand through his crazy hair and I heard myself groan as his tongue tangled with mine.
When we broke apart, we were both gasping. He looked delicious, panting with need, his lips luscious and moist. I couldn't wait to have them wrapped round my cock.
All of the slaves in this section had small alcoves where they could stow their meagre possessions and sleep. John had done his best to create a private corner; hanging a remnant of greyish fabric across the opening to screen it a little. Fingers entwined in mine, he led me into his space and we both sank down onto the thin bedding. Well actually, I think it was an old sack, scratchy and probably flea ridden, but to us it was like a palace.
Sex between slaves was more common than you might imagine. Free, morale boosting entertainment, you might say, and since their machinery was broken at the moment and they hadn't been able to work, most of the slaves in this section had a little extra energy tonight. I could hear several other couples making love.
Curious. You may have noticed that I've become quite adept at analysing my own thoughts lately. Why was I considering sex with John as lovemaking rather than the 'quick fuck' sex I had indulged in with other slaves. To me, it was another proof that we knew each other. Maybe we had done this before. Well he was cute. I could imagine noticing his butt under any circumstances.
Now that we were alone together, I moved in close to him and kissed him as hard as I could and I heard him moan. Even the scent of him was familiar somehow. He traced his fingers up my back and I could feel from the hardness pressing against my thigh that he wanted me. But there was a hesitancy too.
'I don't make a habit of sleeping with strangers,' he said softly against the side of my neck.
'Mmm,' I said, pressing small kisses against his bare shoulder, as I unbuttoned his slave tunic. He tasted good. Unashamedly male. I began to lick and nibble my way down his chest till I found found one rosy nipple. I sucked it in, It was unexpected that John was letting me take the lead, but not unwelcome. The application of my tongue to that sensitive spot was making him whimper in a way that made my cock so hard.
He was clinging to me, his fingers clawing my back, as if the strength of his grip was the only thing holding him up. Perhaps it was. One knee had slipped between my legs, and he began to rub himself against me in an instinctive rhythm that was going to bring him off far too soon, unless he slowed down. He was all need and breathy little moans and slutty abandon and I loved every moment of it.
It occurred to me that perhaps he hadn't had sex for a while. Some slaves are like that on Andertave. Instead of living for the moment, they agonise over their former lives - whether they were being unfaithful to some lost love. Was that it? Did John feel guilty about having sex with other slaves? Well, he had obviously got over it.
I grinned and pushed him onto his back. I wanted to look into his eyes when I had him. More than that, I had an irresistible urge to taste him right now. I kissed my way down his chest, his abdomen, feeling the taut muscles of his abdomen quivering beneath my mouth. A quick tug, and a helpful twist of his hips got rid of his pants, and then his erection was in my mouth. God, he tasted good. My tongue found the narrow slit at its tip, and I felt him shudder.
I was talented at this. Sometime in my past, I had learned how to drive men wild with the things I could do with my mouth. I used my talent to great effect now, sucking him in, taking his hard length deep into my throat, even as my other hand slipped slyly between the firm cheeks of his ass, knowing exactly where to slide one knowing finger to intensify his pleasure. When I found his prostate, he bucked helplessly into my mouth, screaming. Babbling nonsense words in that needy, low tone that sent sent blood coursing to my cock.
'Yes! Oh please... I need... Oh God.. Yes. Yes!
Oh my. Now that was the effect I was looking for. I increased the pressure, as it were, of my mouth, and he whimpered, his hands clutching at my hair as he tried to fuck my mouth. He was so close now. I scissored my fingers, and then found the sweet spot inside him.
He screamed and arched up, his hips pushing upwards helplessly off the bed and then he climaxed deep in my throat.
Licking my lips, I studied his face. Blissed out and the most erotic thing I had seen this side of the memory block. Grinning, I rolled him onto his stomach. I loved how responsive he was. How willing he was to let me take charge. Such devotion earns its own reward.
More evidence of my expertise. I knew exactly what to do with my tongue to make him open to me like a flower. Now there's an odd metaphor. Proof nonetheless that I was a sex god in my previous life.
I pushed my way into him, delighting in the small eager moan he made as I slid past the tight ring of muscle. He was so fucking tight. So hot. As I sank into the fiery depths of him, I placed small kisses across his back and shoulders, and paused for a moment, savouring the feel of being buried to the hilt inside him. I pulled out, then slid back inside his welcoming depths. And again, angling for that most sensitive spot inside him. The sobbing sound he made when I found it almost made me come, just from the noise of it alone.
John had spread his legs when I used my tongue on him. He was beginning to move with me now, no longer passive, but with a growing enthusiasm that hinted at a wild and untapped depths of passion within him. My hand found his cock hardening again against his belly, its tip leaking. I gave a few firm strokes and he whimpered deep in his throat.
'Please.' His voice urged me on. 'Oh yeah. So good.'
Somehow, our fingers became entwined and as I rode him, I felt his grip tighten. Holding on to me. A moment of connection between two lonely slaves, lost on a foreign world.
My own orgasm was ripped out of me as I felt him tighten around me, his own climax matching mine. I sagged against him, blissfully happy.
Oh yeah. Climaxing together. I am the man!
I rolled onto my side, pulling him closer. I am unashamedly a post-coital cuddler, and from his sleepy smile and the way he draped his left arm over me, and rested his head on my shoulder, He was too.
Fact number six about Mystery Me. I was very good at sex. I knew exactly how to make John writhe and beg under my tender ministrations. I knew how to suck a man off, and I loved the salty taste of his semen. I loved strong arms around me and the feel of a hard cock plunging deep inside me. Being on top was good too. Sex addict. Yes. Definitely.
I woke as all slaves do, at the sound of the warning bell. Half an hour until our shift started. Just enough time to plunge one's body under the cold water provided by the primitive shower system, and grab breakfast. A cup of hot, bitter tea and a hard roll of bread. John was wrapped around me like an octopus, head on my chest, legs wrapped around me. The hair looked particularly wild. His hazel eyes opened, and he grinned sleepily at me.
'We have to get up,' I said. He didn't move. I knew he didn't want to.
'I hate this place!' he said softly. 'I hate the Ander. I hate being a slave!' Reluctantly he rolled away from me and sat up. 'One of these days, I'm going to find a way to get this fucking collar off!'
'I'm working on it,' I told him. I guess he believed me.
**
After three days of work, I decided to take a risk. To see if I could get John permanently assigned to me.
'Things would go an awful lot faster if I could have an assistant,' I told the supervisor. He scowled.
'Do you think I'm going to use my department's budget to pay for another technician!' he snarled. He raised his big fist threateningly.
'I can use slave 1266. He's quick and intelligent.' I could hear the pleading whine in my voice. The supervisor scowled. 'You can have him for a trial period,' he snapped. 'But if he doesn't work out, I'll take it out of your hide.'
'Thank you sir.' I tried not to sound pathetically grateful. As I exited the supervisor's office, I gave John a high-five sign. The grin that blossomed on his face made the risk I had run completely worthwhile. In fact, he was quick to show his appreciation, As we walked away from the supervisor's office, he grabbed my arm and pushed me into a disused store room. I watched in amazement as he dropped to his knees before me.
My cock liked what he planned.
I grinned back at him and pushed his head down towards my newly awakened cock. I had wanted this for some time - John's full lips wrapped around me - ever since he had first smirked at me lying under the drill machine and had started checking me out.
A flash of that wicked grin, perhaps with just a hint of the little boy lost, then he lowered his mouth to me and took the tip of my shaft into his mouth. His trust in me was absolute.
You can tell a lot about a person, even without knowing their past, from the way they act. A person's behaviour is based on a lifetime of education and facing down challenges. Even when their memories are gone, some things can't be hidden. A person's sexuality. Their humanity. You are the sum of your experiences.
John had never done this before. Believe me, I could tell. He was willing and enthusiastic, and I appreciated that a lot, but his technique, pardon the pun, sucked.
Oh my God. Was it possible that John was inexperienced with men. He had been so incredibly sweet and tight and hot when I fucked him that it had been captivating. Addictive. I had never even considered the possibility that it had been his first time with a man. But then, there had been that hesitancy, and his willingness to let me take the lead, as if he wasn't sure exactly what to do. I had initiated everything in fact.
Yes, he had loved everything I did, but I had started it each time. He loved someone giving him orders. Sweeping him off his feet, you might say.
I wasn't going to spoil his efforts though. He may have lacked experience, but he was certainly keen to please. I gripped the base of my shaft to reduce the length he had to take into his mouth. Besides which, the thought of being the first between those plump lips was quite hot.
He drew the large head into his mouth and closed his eyes, relishing the taste. I watched as John swallowed more and more of its length. I could hear the little moans he gave, and I found myself hypnotised by the rhythmic movements of his throat as his head moved faster. He drew me in for almost my full length. He looked so hot, with his lips reddened and slick with my juices. I moaned.
For a novice, he was a quick learner; what he was doing was sending the most incredible heat along my shaft. I was fascinated by the sight of his moving head. So beautiful. I heard myself scream, tried to bite back the sound of it, then with a shudder, I came. He gagged slightly, and I saw him do his best to swallow. I sagged against him, and we leaned together for long moments, his head resting against my stomach.
Dazed, he sank back on his haunches, his hazel eyes unfocussed, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had done. I pulled him level with me and kissed him.
'That was incredible,' I told him, and it was.
**
So what could my high powered perception tell me about my pretty companion?
Firstly, he liked being told what to do. Not just 'pass me that wrench,' but also more intimate requests like, 'bend over and spread your legs...' Mmm. Not that he lacked initiative, you understand. In fact he was both intelligent and brave. It was just that he was surprisingly insecure, and having someone he trusted to defer to filled some deep-seated need in him. Military? Oh yes. Definitely.
Secondly, he was almost as intelligent as I was. He picked up the basics of Ander technology almost as quickly as I did, which certainly argued that he had a mechanical/science background.
Thirdly, he had a wicked sense of humour, which he deployed mercilessly whenever he saw a sign of weakness in me. I should have been irritated, but strangely, I thrived on it. We just seemed to spark off each other, complementing each other mentally as well as physically. Happy me.
Fourthly, he really loved sex. Oh yes. He was an eager learner, and he was really fit. Tired me. Hope he doesn't give me a bad back.
**
Our days settled into a familiar rhythm. During the daylight cycle, we would fix the failing machinery and work at whatever tasks the supervisors assigned us - heavy work, which exhausted us both. But during the night cycle, we would fall into bed together and explore each other's bodies, sometimes having sex, but at other times, only having enough energy to hold each other as we fell asleep. He liked that too. More than any slave should.
I'm not a fool. I know I'm playing with fire. I don't know what sort of person he is, the other side of the memory block. But my genius brain keeps giving me warning signals that I'm doing my best to ignore.
It's the little things that tell me I'm going to regret this at some point. There's a hesitancy in the way he reacts to me, when I kiss him. He's not used to touching people. Damn it though, he tries so hard to please me, his enthusiasm is endearing.
When I kiss him, he's so responsive. Like he's never really let himself get close to someone before. Like it's something he's needed all his life that he never knew until now. Like being in rain after a drought, he soaks up the affection I give him like he needs it more than breathing. Did I say affection? It's becoming more than that and we both know it.
I never knew that being with another guy could be so addictive. I shouldn't let myself fall for him like this, but he's getting under my skin now. We're so good together. I love the little hitch of his breath when I kiss my way down his body. The taste of him. The mixture of strength and the vulnerability he only shows to me in those most intimate moments of the night. He's so hot, but he doesn't know it. He doesn't even see that he turns heads whenever he walks in a room.
Plus he's definitely military. It's not just the too short hair, and the propensity for taking orders. They tend to be a closed minded lot. Kissing in the ranks? I don't think so. I am in so much trouble now.
**
I switched the latest machine on and held my breath. My repairs were a temporary solution at best. I had been forced to cannibalise part of a heating unit to repair the rusted power circuits and I didn't know whether the jerry rigged repair could take the strain. In the machines I had repaired before, this had been a workable solution.
My luck ran out.
With a shuddering growl, the machine started, and promptly blew up. Oh crap! The supervisor glared at me, like it was my fault their maintenance was so fucked up. And stupid idiot that I am sometimes, I didn't lower my eyes quickly enough. Or maybe he was just having a bad morning. Whatever. He didn't need much of an excuse on a good day.
The next thing I knew, the modifier was in his hand and he was shoving it into my ribs. There was a moment of white hot agony and I heard myself screaming. The pain went on and on, and I vaguely knew that this time I was in deep shit. I couldn't breathe. The muscles in my chest locked down. Blackness began to creep across my eyes, obscuring my vision...
Suddenly I could breathe again.
I just lay there, sucking in oxygen. Part of me waited for the pain to begin again, the other part wondered why it didn't come.
Someone was touching me, stroking my hair. murmuring the little endearments we whispered to each other when we made love. John. Dizzily I dragged myself back to the world, and I realised with a growing sense of horror that he had done something incredibly brave and stupid - the Ander supervisor was lying on the floor of the cavern with his head a bloody ruin. Beside him was the rock that John used to make a mess of his skull.
'We have to get out of here!' John pulled desperately on my arm. 'What you said about breaking the collars. Can you do it now?' I stared up at him.
'Even if I do, how are we going to get out of here? He grinned, fierce and beautiful.
'I think I can get us out. But only if we can pass the sensor network that keeps us in this section.
'I have an idea!' I ran back to the pile-of-shit machine and dragged the sonic generator from the wreckage. If I could make it overload, I suspected that the resonance would short out the circuits in our collars, if we were close enough. There was a chance it would explode instead, but we had no choice. I quickly changed a few power crystals around and gestured to John to sit close to the thing. Hope in his eyes, he reached out his hand to me.
The sound of the overloading generator grew louder, until it was a painful whining shriek in our ears. Then almost anticlimactically, there was a flare of light, and John's collar shorted out. I saw his hazel eyes go wide as the knowledge of who he was flooded back into his mind.
He stared down at our tangled fingers and the expression that crossed his face could only be described as dazed. Not a good sign. Still, he hadn't yanked his fingers away in disgust. The whining of the machine grew louder, and with a crackle of power, my collar failed.
I remembered everything.
I was Rodney McKay, head scientist of Atlantis, physicist and genius in residence. John and I had been captured when we had transported through the gate on a reconnaissance mission. I could remember the gate co-ordinates for Atlantis. I knew how to get home.
Oh my God! Me! Major John Sheppard! Sex!
Hot sex!
His fingers pulled away from mine.
Lots and lots of hot gay sex!
Um.
****
TBC
Chapter or Story - Text Size +
Category: Slash Pairings > McKay/Sheppard
Characters: John Sheppard, Radek Zelenka, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Angst, First Time
Warnings: Adult themes
Series: None
Word count: 14120; Completed: Yes
Summary: Rodney's POV. Our heroes are enslaved on an alien world with forced amnesia.
A three part story
~~~
I don't know who I am. My collar has a tag on it which gives my numerical designation as #1265, but like all slaves of the Andertave Empire, I'm not permitted knowledge of my past. When they took me from my world, wherever it was, they placed this damned collar on me, and now I can't even remember my name.
I hate them.
They know it. Slaves aren't expected to love their masters, but believe me, if a slave disobeys a direct order, the punishment is pain and misery beyond imagination.
It took me a while to learn my place; I seem to be a natural rebel, but being beaten till you can't stand up... till the blood is running so thickly down your face till you can't see. A memorable learning experience.
I mostly bit down on any smartass remarks these days, before they can earn me another beating. I seem to get the urge to drop myself in the crap a dozen times a day, but my sense of self-preservation is stronger than it used to be. Judging by the things I find myself repressing, the constant annoying remarks I want to make, I must have been hell to work with in the past.
Before the slave thing.
I have other clues about myself and I spend hours every day worrying at the small pieces of information I have, trying to work out where I came from. Who I was. If I could only find out those things, I would be out of here so fast. I wish. The collar stops me. It also gives me an agonising jolt if I leave my assigned work area. I have some tentative ideas on that though.
I just have no place to go.
So let's review the clues I have:-
I've been here about 3 months, so my people must have fought the Ander recently. The Ander have fought with only two other civilisations in that time, Glayve, who they've been fighting for centuries, and a newly contacted world called Atlantis. Am I from one of these worlds?
I don't think I'm a soldier. I'm not very fit. Or at least I wasn't, before I started to work in the mines. I've built up quite a bit of muscle since then, mainly in my arms and chest.
I'm very intelligent. As well as the aforementioned wit, I seem to have a flair for technology. Several times the mine machinery has broken down and only my consummate mechanical skill has managed to repair it. I saw no harm in making myself useful to my captors in this way. A useful slave is a slave who's less likely to get his ass kicked, right?
I hate the crappy food on this world. Completely. I must recommend the slave diet to help you lose weight. Of course, I can't guarantee that the weight you lose won't be your head!
So those are my clues. For three months I've been trying to think of my name, my planet and my past, and I have had no success - until today. The Ander supervisor called me into his tiny cubicle of an office and gave me a new assignment: - fix the level 34 sonic drilling machine before he, I and the entire Beta shift on level 34 get reassigned to the sewage processing plant 100 levels down. Oh yes, and he would personally shoot out my kneecaps on the way down.
So much for being appreciated.
The Ander are like that. No sense of humour, no sense of honour, but they're very good at cruelty. Maybe it's because they live permanently underground? The whole of their planet's crust is honeycombed with tunnels.
So anyway, I headed down to level 34, trying to ignore the two dumb guards trailing behind me. They left me with the level supervisor, a huge muscle-bound Ander male with a nasty looking cattleprod-thingy hanging from his belt.
Been there. Done that. Got the T-shirt. Bloodstained.
Level 34 was way down deeper than I had ever been before and I opened my mouth to complain about the heat and humidity which seemed close to 100 percent. I thought better of it when I saw the grim scowl and the hand that moved closer to the cattleprod-thingy. Three months of negative conditioning works well to quell smartass remarks.
The sonic drill machines the Ander use are state of the art; technology, way ahead of anything I've worked with in the past - a logical assumption since I'm struggling with the technology, so I'm thinking that I couldn't be from Glayve. They're supposed to be at the same technological level as the Ander, and I'm obviously not. Be that as it may, these machines are all several hundred years old, encrusted with grease and rust, and haven't been maintained in a very long time. Why am I surprised?
So there I was, shirt off, covered in filth, lying on the floor, legs apart so I could wriggle underneath the crossbeam, trying to juggle a torch and a wrench at the same time, when I heard a low chuckle.
'Nice view!'
I jerked upright and succeeded in bashing my head against a metal pipe. I swore at the newcomer before I could stop myself; before I could remember that I was supposed to be cautious with my mouth.
Luck was with me. It wasn't the supervisor. In fact, I began to feel very lucky.
The man grinning at me was in his early thirties, a slave like myself, and he had perhaps the wildest dark hair I had ever seen. Not to mention, the most kissable mouth on the planet. His gaze was frankly appreciative, though I pretended not to notice.
'Need a hand?' he said, and squatted down beside me, holding out his hand for the torch.
He had the most incredible hazel eyes and the kind of boyish charm that can have a devastating effect on most women.
Yes all right. And me, if you must know. Fact number 5 about Mr Mystery. I like men. I look at a cute woman and I feel nothing much. But put me up close next to someone as gorgeous as slave #1266 and my cock sits up and takes notice. Right now, squatting next to me so that his crotch was a few inches away from my face, I was finding it hard to concentrate. Let me tell you, an erection and a ton of heavy machinery inches above you don't mix. And I felt the strangest sense of deja vu as he helped me.
I forced myself to focus on the machine. Cattleprod-thingys are a real aid to concentration. And as usual, after a few hours, I found that the problem was the same as it had been in the last three of these monster machines I had fixed. An accumulation of hundreds of years of crap in the delicate inner workings of the machine The answer: strip it all back and clean it. A week's work at least, though I could probably cut a few days off that if threatened with the usual range of cruelties offered towards slaves.
The supervisor didn't look pleased when I told him, but it was better than the alternative - a complete failure of the machine. The level 34 supervisor only kicked me once when I told him.
Which left me spending the night in the Level 34 slave quarters.
**
He was there when I walked in, eating a bowl of some nameless stew, with his reckless hair and his cute ass. Damn it, he was pretty. Exactly my type. And that lazy smirk on his face didn't help. I sat down and he pushed a bowl of stew towards me. Lumps of unidentifiable meat floating in a greasy fluid. Disgusting, but we both ate ravenously. It was all we would get and complaints would only make the supervisor get creative with his fists. I sensed my new helper's interested scrutiny but once again, I pretended not to notice. Playing it cool.
''Hey! You're 1265!'
I looked up.
'So?' Not my wittiest ever response.
'Well, I'm 1266! Coincidence, huh?'
Oh God. I am so stupid sometimes. He had spent all afternoon holding my tools and all I had noticed was his crotch and his mouth. Well yes, and his butt too. But not his collar tag.
'Not a coincidence at all,' I said. 'Don't you see? We were captured together. that's why our slave numbers are consecutive. I knew you before!'
And from somewhere deep inside me, his name came with my next breath.
'John.'
Hazel eyes went wide, and for a brief moment, I saw in his face the same despair and emptiness I felt in myself when I tried to remember a time before slavery. All mixed up with hope and awe at the gift I had given him. His own name.
'John...' he whispered. He was smiling at me in a way that sent warmth straight to my cock. And before I could stop myself, I leaned across the narrow table and kissed him. He made a small sound of surprise in his throat, then his mouth opened to mine and he allowed me to deepen the kiss. I threaded one hand through his crazy hair and I heard myself groan as his tongue tangled with mine.
When we broke apart, we were both gasping. He looked delicious, panting with need, his lips luscious and moist. I couldn't wait to have them wrapped round my cock.
All of the slaves in this section had small alcoves where they could stow their meagre possessions and sleep. John had done his best to create a private corner; hanging a remnant of greyish fabric across the opening to screen it a little. Fingers entwined in mine, he led me into his space and we both sank down onto the thin bedding. Well actually, I think it was an old sack, scratchy and probably flea ridden, but to us it was like a palace.
Sex between slaves was more common than you might imagine. Free, morale boosting entertainment, you might say, and since their machinery was broken at the moment and they hadn't been able to work, most of the slaves in this section had a little extra energy tonight. I could hear several other couples making love.
Curious. You may have noticed that I've become quite adept at analysing my own thoughts lately. Why was I considering sex with John as lovemaking rather than the 'quick fuck' sex I had indulged in with other slaves. To me, it was another proof that we knew each other. Maybe we had done this before. Well he was cute. I could imagine noticing his butt under any circumstances.
Now that we were alone together, I moved in close to him and kissed him as hard as I could and I heard him moan. Even the scent of him was familiar somehow. He traced his fingers up my back and I could feel from the hardness pressing against my thigh that he wanted me. But there was a hesitancy too.
'I don't make a habit of sleeping with strangers,' he said softly against the side of my neck.
'Mmm,' I said, pressing small kisses against his bare shoulder, as I unbuttoned his slave tunic. He tasted good. Unashamedly male. I began to lick and nibble my way down his chest till I found found one rosy nipple. I sucked it in, It was unexpected that John was letting me take the lead, but not unwelcome. The application of my tongue to that sensitive spot was making him whimper in a way that made my cock so hard.
He was clinging to me, his fingers clawing my back, as if the strength of his grip was the only thing holding him up. Perhaps it was. One knee had slipped between my legs, and he began to rub himself against me in an instinctive rhythm that was going to bring him off far too soon, unless he slowed down. He was all need and breathy little moans and slutty abandon and I loved every moment of it.
It occurred to me that perhaps he hadn't had sex for a while. Some slaves are like that on Andertave. Instead of living for the moment, they agonise over their former lives - whether they were being unfaithful to some lost love. Was that it? Did John feel guilty about having sex with other slaves? Well, he had obviously got over it.
I grinned and pushed him onto his back. I wanted to look into his eyes when I had him. More than that, I had an irresistible urge to taste him right now. I kissed my way down his chest, his abdomen, feeling the taut muscles of his abdomen quivering beneath my mouth. A quick tug, and a helpful twist of his hips got rid of his pants, and then his erection was in my mouth. God, he tasted good. My tongue found the narrow slit at its tip, and I felt him shudder.
I was talented at this. Sometime in my past, I had learned how to drive men wild with the things I could do with my mouth. I used my talent to great effect now, sucking him in, taking his hard length deep into my throat, even as my other hand slipped slyly between the firm cheeks of his ass, knowing exactly where to slide one knowing finger to intensify his pleasure. When I found his prostate, he bucked helplessly into my mouth, screaming. Babbling nonsense words in that needy, low tone that sent sent blood coursing to my cock.
'Yes! Oh please... I need... Oh God.. Yes. Yes!
Oh my. Now that was the effect I was looking for. I increased the pressure, as it were, of my mouth, and he whimpered, his hands clutching at my hair as he tried to fuck my mouth. He was so close now. I scissored my fingers, and then found the sweet spot inside him.
He screamed and arched up, his hips pushing upwards helplessly off the bed and then he climaxed deep in my throat.
Licking my lips, I studied his face. Blissed out and the most erotic thing I had seen this side of the memory block. Grinning, I rolled him onto his stomach. I loved how responsive he was. How willing he was to let me take charge. Such devotion earns its own reward.
More evidence of my expertise. I knew exactly what to do with my tongue to make him open to me like a flower. Now there's an odd metaphor. Proof nonetheless that I was a sex god in my previous life.
I pushed my way into him, delighting in the small eager moan he made as I slid past the tight ring of muscle. He was so fucking tight. So hot. As I sank into the fiery depths of him, I placed small kisses across his back and shoulders, and paused for a moment, savouring the feel of being buried to the hilt inside him. I pulled out, then slid back inside his welcoming depths. And again, angling for that most sensitive spot inside him. The sobbing sound he made when I found it almost made me come, just from the noise of it alone.
John had spread his legs when I used my tongue on him. He was beginning to move with me now, no longer passive, but with a growing enthusiasm that hinted at a wild and untapped depths of passion within him. My hand found his cock hardening again against his belly, its tip leaking. I gave a few firm strokes and he whimpered deep in his throat.
'Please.' His voice urged me on. 'Oh yeah. So good.'
Somehow, our fingers became entwined and as I rode him, I felt his grip tighten. Holding on to me. A moment of connection between two lonely slaves, lost on a foreign world.
My own orgasm was ripped out of me as I felt him tighten around me, his own climax matching mine. I sagged against him, blissfully happy.
Oh yeah. Climaxing together. I am the man!
I rolled onto my side, pulling him closer. I am unashamedly a post-coital cuddler, and from his sleepy smile and the way he draped his left arm over me, and rested his head on my shoulder, He was too.
Fact number six about Mystery Me. I was very good at sex. I knew exactly how to make John writhe and beg under my tender ministrations. I knew how to suck a man off, and I loved the salty taste of his semen. I loved strong arms around me and the feel of a hard cock plunging deep inside me. Being on top was good too. Sex addict. Yes. Definitely.
I woke as all slaves do, at the sound of the warning bell. Half an hour until our shift started. Just enough time to plunge one's body under the cold water provided by the primitive shower system, and grab breakfast. A cup of hot, bitter tea and a hard roll of bread. John was wrapped around me like an octopus, head on my chest, legs wrapped around me. The hair looked particularly wild. His hazel eyes opened, and he grinned sleepily at me.
'We have to get up,' I said. He didn't move. I knew he didn't want to.
'I hate this place!' he said softly. 'I hate the Ander. I hate being a slave!' Reluctantly he rolled away from me and sat up. 'One of these days, I'm going to find a way to get this fucking collar off!'
'I'm working on it,' I told him. I guess he believed me.
**
After three days of work, I decided to take a risk. To see if I could get John permanently assigned to me.
'Things would go an awful lot faster if I could have an assistant,' I told the supervisor. He scowled.
'Do you think I'm going to use my department's budget to pay for another technician!' he snarled. He raised his big fist threateningly.
'I can use slave 1266. He's quick and intelligent.' I could hear the pleading whine in my voice. The supervisor scowled. 'You can have him for a trial period,' he snapped. 'But if he doesn't work out, I'll take it out of your hide.'
'Thank you sir.' I tried not to sound pathetically grateful. As I exited the supervisor's office, I gave John a high-five sign. The grin that blossomed on his face made the risk I had run completely worthwhile. In fact, he was quick to show his appreciation, As we walked away from the supervisor's office, he grabbed my arm and pushed me into a disused store room. I watched in amazement as he dropped to his knees before me.
My cock liked what he planned.
I grinned back at him and pushed his head down towards my newly awakened cock. I had wanted this for some time - John's full lips wrapped around me - ever since he had first smirked at me lying under the drill machine and had started checking me out.
A flash of that wicked grin, perhaps with just a hint of the little boy lost, then he lowered his mouth to me and took the tip of my shaft into his mouth. His trust in me was absolute.
You can tell a lot about a person, even without knowing their past, from the way they act. A person's behaviour is based on a lifetime of education and facing down challenges. Even when their memories are gone, some things can't be hidden. A person's sexuality. Their humanity. You are the sum of your experiences.
John had never done this before. Believe me, I could tell. He was willing and enthusiastic, and I appreciated that a lot, but his technique, pardon the pun, sucked.
Oh my God. Was it possible that John was inexperienced with men. He had been so incredibly sweet and tight and hot when I fucked him that it had been captivating. Addictive. I had never even considered the possibility that it had been his first time with a man. But then, there had been that hesitancy, and his willingness to let me take the lead, as if he wasn't sure exactly what to do. I had initiated everything in fact.
Yes, he had loved everything I did, but I had started it each time. He loved someone giving him orders. Sweeping him off his feet, you might say.
I wasn't going to spoil his efforts though. He may have lacked experience, but he was certainly keen to please. I gripped the base of my shaft to reduce the length he had to take into his mouth. Besides which, the thought of being the first between those plump lips was quite hot.
He drew the large head into his mouth and closed his eyes, relishing the taste. I watched as John swallowed more and more of its length. I could hear the little moans he gave, and I found myself hypnotised by the rhythmic movements of his throat as his head moved faster. He drew me in for almost my full length. He looked so hot, with his lips reddened and slick with my juices. I moaned.
For a novice, he was a quick learner; what he was doing was sending the most incredible heat along my shaft. I was fascinated by the sight of his moving head. So beautiful. I heard myself scream, tried to bite back the sound of it, then with a shudder, I came. He gagged slightly, and I saw him do his best to swallow. I sagged against him, and we leaned together for long moments, his head resting against my stomach.
Dazed, he sank back on his haunches, his hazel eyes unfocussed, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had done. I pulled him level with me and kissed him.
'That was incredible,' I told him, and it was.
**
So what could my high powered perception tell me about my pretty companion?
Firstly, he liked being told what to do. Not just 'pass me that wrench,' but also more intimate requests like, 'bend over and spread your legs...' Mmm. Not that he lacked initiative, you understand. In fact he was both intelligent and brave. It was just that he was surprisingly insecure, and having someone he trusted to defer to filled some deep-seated need in him. Military? Oh yes. Definitely.
Secondly, he was almost as intelligent as I was. He picked up the basics of Ander technology almost as quickly as I did, which certainly argued that he had a mechanical/science background.
Thirdly, he had a wicked sense of humour, which he deployed mercilessly whenever he saw a sign of weakness in me. I should have been irritated, but strangely, I thrived on it. We just seemed to spark off each other, complementing each other mentally as well as physically. Happy me.
Fourthly, he really loved sex. Oh yes. He was an eager learner, and he was really fit. Tired me. Hope he doesn't give me a bad back.
**
Our days settled into a familiar rhythm. During the daylight cycle, we would fix the failing machinery and work at whatever tasks the supervisors assigned us - heavy work, which exhausted us both. But during the night cycle, we would fall into bed together and explore each other's bodies, sometimes having sex, but at other times, only having enough energy to hold each other as we fell asleep. He liked that too. More than any slave should.
I'm not a fool. I know I'm playing with fire. I don't know what sort of person he is, the other side of the memory block. But my genius brain keeps giving me warning signals that I'm doing my best to ignore.
It's the little things that tell me I'm going to regret this at some point. There's a hesitancy in the way he reacts to me, when I kiss him. He's not used to touching people. Damn it though, he tries so hard to please me, his enthusiasm is endearing.
When I kiss him, he's so responsive. Like he's never really let himself get close to someone before. Like it's something he's needed all his life that he never knew until now. Like being in rain after a drought, he soaks up the affection I give him like he needs it more than breathing. Did I say affection? It's becoming more than that and we both know it.
I never knew that being with another guy could be so addictive. I shouldn't let myself fall for him like this, but he's getting under my skin now. We're so good together. I love the little hitch of his breath when I kiss my way down his body. The taste of him. The mixture of strength and the vulnerability he only shows to me in those most intimate moments of the night. He's so hot, but he doesn't know it. He doesn't even see that he turns heads whenever he walks in a room.
Plus he's definitely military. It's not just the too short hair, and the propensity for taking orders. They tend to be a closed minded lot. Kissing in the ranks? I don't think so. I am in so much trouble now.
**
I switched the latest machine on and held my breath. My repairs were a temporary solution at best. I had been forced to cannibalise part of a heating unit to repair the rusted power circuits and I didn't know whether the jerry rigged repair could take the strain. In the machines I had repaired before, this had been a workable solution.
My luck ran out.
With a shuddering growl, the machine started, and promptly blew up. Oh crap! The supervisor glared at me, like it was my fault their maintenance was so fucked up. And stupid idiot that I am sometimes, I didn't lower my eyes quickly enough. Or maybe he was just having a bad morning. Whatever. He didn't need much of an excuse on a good day.
The next thing I knew, the modifier was in his hand and he was shoving it into my ribs. There was a moment of white hot agony and I heard myself screaming. The pain went on and on, and I vaguely knew that this time I was in deep shit. I couldn't breathe. The muscles in my chest locked down. Blackness began to creep across my eyes, obscuring my vision...
Suddenly I could breathe again.
I just lay there, sucking in oxygen. Part of me waited for the pain to begin again, the other part wondered why it didn't come.
Someone was touching me, stroking my hair. murmuring the little endearments we whispered to each other when we made love. John. Dizzily I dragged myself back to the world, and I realised with a growing sense of horror that he had done something incredibly brave and stupid - the Ander supervisor was lying on the floor of the cavern with his head a bloody ruin. Beside him was the rock that John used to make a mess of his skull.
'We have to get out of here!' John pulled desperately on my arm. 'What you said about breaking the collars. Can you do it now?' I stared up at him.
'Even if I do, how are we going to get out of here? He grinned, fierce and beautiful.
'I think I can get us out. But only if we can pass the sensor network that keeps us in this section.
'I have an idea!' I ran back to the pile-of-shit machine and dragged the sonic generator from the wreckage. If I could make it overload, I suspected that the resonance would short out the circuits in our collars, if we were close enough. There was a chance it would explode instead, but we had no choice. I quickly changed a few power crystals around and gestured to John to sit close to the thing. Hope in his eyes, he reached out his hand to me.
The sound of the overloading generator grew louder, until it was a painful whining shriek in our ears. Then almost anticlimactically, there was a flare of light, and John's collar shorted out. I saw his hazel eyes go wide as the knowledge of who he was flooded back into his mind.
He stared down at our tangled fingers and the expression that crossed his face could only be described as dazed. Not a good sign. Still, he hadn't yanked his fingers away in disgust. The whining of the machine grew louder, and with a crackle of power, my collar failed.
I remembered everything.
I was Rodney McKay, head scientist of Atlantis, physicist and genius in residence. John and I had been captured when we had transported through the gate on a reconnaissance mission. I could remember the gate co-ordinates for Atlantis. I knew how to get home.
Oh my God! Me! Major John Sheppard! Sex!
Hot sex!
His fingers pulled away from mine.
Lots and lots of hot gay sex!
Um.
****
TBC