[identity profile] sugarsbadhabit.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] sgacrackproject
My first crack!fic. I don't know whether to be proud or horrified.

I didn't exactly follow the prompt to a T, but I think it's close enough for disco. If it makes you laugh, that's great; if it makes you squirm uncomfortably, hey, even better.

Title: Conditioning
Author: Sugar
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Word count: ~1600
Summary: John is a contortionist in the circus and Rodney is a lion tamer. Together, with the help of Teyla the Trapeze artist, they help John overcome his fear of clowns.
A/N: ::facepalm::


On the first day, all Rodney wore were the shoes, huge and brightly coloured. John only got a glimpse of them before Rodney was bending over a stool and John's attention was a bit higher than Rodney's feet. Later, when they had moved to the bed, John held Rodney's legs up and wide apart, and he hardly even noticed the offending footwear, distracted as he was by other things.

~~~

Rodney bravely wrangled lions for the circus (as well as tigers and bears, oh my), but the clowns, they made him a little nervous. You never could tell what a clown was thinking behind an ever-present grin or a painted on pout. Hell, even the strong-man, a mountain named Ronon, wasn't too comfortable with those tricksters of the circus world, with their water-squirting flowers and their "talking" horns, communicating secret messages to each other in their coded language of blares and honks. But John, John was absolutely terrified of them. It wasn't just their strange clown ways or their outlandish clown costumes; what really got to him, what sent shivers of cold dread down his snake-like spine, were their huge, round, irrationally red noses. Bulbous and out of proportion, they seemed more like monstrous ancillary appendages than mere facial features. And he didn't even want to think of what it was like when a clown caught a cold.

~~~

The second day, Rodney added large polka-dotted pants to the oversized shoes. John didn't want to look at them, but they were shoved down just below Rodney's hand, which was busy doing something John very much wanted to look at. When some of the red and green and blue polka-dots became splattered with not-red and not-green and not-blue, John started to think that maybe the pants weren't so bad after all.

~~~

As they approached one of the large rehearsal tents, John and Teyla were enjoying a lively discussion about what must have been the extraordinarily complicated sex lives of famed conjoined twins Chang and Eng Bunker. John was planning on spotting for the lithe aerial artist while she practiced a routine, but when he pulled back the tent flap to enter, he knew he would be useless to her.

To his unspeakable horror, the tent was filled with hundreds, perhaps thousands of clowns (in actuality, there were seven, and four of them were seated at a card table, deep in a game of go fish that was on the verge of turning violent. Okay, maybe some of John's clown fears were valid).

As soon as he got a view inside the tent, John dropped to the ground and curled into an impressively spherical form. If he'd had a tail, like that Kavanaugh fellow over in the freak tent, it would have been between his legs. He remained in that position until he felt Teyla touch him delicately and say, "The tent is now closed, John."

He unfolded himself and stood in front of her, his face turning a charming, if embarrassing, shade of pink. She rested her hand on his shoulder and said, "I am concerned for you, John. It is not healthy for someone who leads a life such as ours to be so... distressed by people in funny clothes."

At least she didn't come right out and call him a chicken-shit.

"Rodney and I are, uh, working on it," John told her sheepishly.

She nodded slightly and with a small, serene smile, said, "I wish you speedy success in this endeavour." John knew that was Teyla-speak for, "Get over it, ya big baby." He weakly smiled back and hoped he got over it soon.

~~~

On the third day, Rodney hovered over John, his feet in the huge shoes, the polka-dotted pants (which had, thankfully, been laundered) pushed down his thighs, and he had added to the ensemble a matching polka-dotted shirt with three enormous multi-coloured pom-pons down its front. With each stroke into John, the pom-pons brushed against him, tickling his nipples and sliding against his stomach. They were soft and actually kind of nice. In fact, he decided they might be pretty darn great when Rodney managed to enfold John's cock in one right before the contortionist stiffened and cried out, "Rodney!"

~~~

John and Ronon sat under the awning outside the grub trailer, sipping beers. Their repose, however, was explosively shattered when a small, extravagantly decorated car burst around the corner of the trailer, tires squealing, clowns flailing – dozens of them, it seemed, in that inexplicably tiny vehicle – and careened toward the midway at inexcusable speed, sending up a cloud of dust and glitter in its wake.

John, however, did not see the clowns' departure, wrapped as he was around Ronon's broad, protective frame, his face pressed to the man's gut, legs like tight ropes around the thick neck. A beer bottle circled lazily on its side on the tabletop, in some mocking, perverted imitation of spin-the-bottle.

After a moment, Ronon growled, "Get off me, Sheppard."

Refusing to lift his head, John mumbled into the huge man's side, "Are they gone?"

"Yeah, they're gone."

Finger by finger, limb by limb, John peeled himself off the huge man and slunk back to his chair.

"You okay?" Ronon asked.

"I'm cool." But as John said the words, his eyes darted back and forth, scanning the area for signs of another clown ambush.

~~~

The fourth day was the worst yet, as it involved the wig. And what a wig it was! A colossal (why was everything associated with clowns so big? Were they compensating?), wooly afro, with wide streaks of half a dozen different colours. But as he jostled Rodney's body, John was surprised to find the wig almost mesmerizing. Its wiry strands quivered in counterpoint to Rodney's quaking, the bright colours bobbing back and forth, back and forth... blue and yellow, orange and green, purple and red... bouncing, springy, almost beautiful. John sunk his fingers into the wig as he peaked and he would have sworn the wig affectionately clung to him in return.

~~~

Difficult though it was, John really seemed to be making progress. He still didn't like to be too near the clowns, and large groups of them (he wondered what a congregation of clowns was called – an intrusion, as with cockroaches? A shiver, like sharks?) would send him into a minor panic attack. But, at least he no longer felt compelled to tuck into himself like a skinny hedgehog at the sight of one. With Rodney's genius assistance and the support of his friends, he actually was overcoming this most inconvenient phobia.

~~~

On the fifth day, Rodney finally pulled out the big guns: the nose, horrifying and red and right in the middle of his face. John wanted to look at the shoes or the pants or the huge pom-pons or even the wig, as long as he didn't have to look at The Nose. But the nose sat above the lips, and the lips were wrapped around his cock, doing things that felt unconscionably good. John tried closing his eyes to avoid the sight of the brilliant red atrocity, but Rodney pulled off him and demanded, "Watch me."

Oh god, he didn't want to watch, didn't want to see that nose. But Rodney was insistent and persuasive and John just had to look. As Rodney moved, the nose moved; as Rodney's head bobbed, so too did the nose. Though John's impulse was to look past the galling scarlet obscenity and concentrate on Rodney's lips, he found his gaze sliding up and actually fixating on it like some kind of comically twisted siren's lure. As frightening as it was, it was also on Rodney's face, and John loved Rodney's face. Nothing on that face could be bad, right?

And it wasn't bad, as it happened. In fact, it was really, really damn good. John felt incredible, Rodney's sweet, slippery mouth felt incredible, and somehow, even the presence of that big red nose was incredible.

By the time John plunged into orgasmic bliss, the small segment of his brain that wasn't melting had to acknowledge that Rodney had managed to re-wire a lifelong association. From now on, those prodigious crimson orbs would forever be linked to delightfully un-clownish pursuits.

~~~

No longer fearing clowns definitely made John's life in the circus easier, what with the near-constant presence of clowns and their ridiculous clown props. However, for all its advantages, there were a few drawbacks. He was forced to excuse himself from Teyla's young son's birthday party, when he couldn't hide the hard-on he got at Radek's arrival. Radek and his improbable balloon animals did nothing for John, but Radek's floppy shoes and bright red nose made him think of things he really didn't want on his mind at a four-year-old's birthday celebration.

He was also unable to do his act if there were clowns in the tent during the show. The busloads of children who attended, not to mention a good portion of their chaperones, did not need to see the decidedly mature poses he wanted to force his body into when long eyelashes winked at him from under a fluffy mop of rainbow hair.

But, inconveniences aside, Rodney's plan had ultimately worked. While John would probably never actually like clowns (really, who does?), he was at least able to live and work around them without enduring trauma. Plus, every so often, Rodney did wonderful things to him while wearing a clown suit, under the guise of "maintenance therapy," and that was something John could live with quite happily.

- end -
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