SGA Fic, Part 2Posted on 07-Apr-05 at 11:30.
We All Arrive By Different Streets, Part 2
"Okay, that HURT." Rodney dropped his other stick and rubbed his wrist, glaring. He was hot, he was tired, his shoulders ached and he hated, hated, hated John with a burning passion.
John bounced on the balls of his feet, twirling his sticks. Sweat stained the collar of his tee-shirt but he didn't appear tired at all, just the opposite. "Come on, Rodney, I barely touched you."
"Right, because you're good with the 'barely touching' part," Rodney snarled. John's eyes narrowed and he looked pissed, dangerously pissed. Rodney didn't care. He also didn't care if Teyla heard them, didn't care what kind of undercurrents she might catch. "Touching isn't your strong suit, is it?"
"Rodney, pick up your damn stick and--"
Rodney retrieved the stick at his feet, and strode over to the second stick, which had been knocked out of his hand and sent skittering across the room. He was aware of Teyla's eyes on him. "Can we please stop now?" he asked her, still rubbing his wrist.
"Are you badly injured, Dr. McKay?" she asked, in her typical gentle manner.
"Bruised, thank you very much."
"He's not," John cut in, annoyed. "He's just being a pain in the ass--"
Teyla shot John a look, and he quieted immediately. Rodney continued, "I need this hand for working. For computers. For tapping keys on a computer, for putting things together, because that's what I do. Not fighting. I'm not really built for combat, in case you haven't noticed." His hand was bruising nicely, he noted, a smudge of purple along the bone, broken blood vessels--great, he was going to get a blood clot, it was going to break loose, lodge in his heart and kill him.
Teyla inclined her head. "And do you not also go off-world with us?"
"Yes, yes, yes but that's why I carry a gun." Sweat trickled down his temple and into his eye, burning. As he wiped it away he felt a hard poke at his hip.
"Guns run out of bullets," John said, nudging Rodney again with his stick.
Rodney thought it just might be the most infuriating thing John had ever done, and for John, that was saying a great deal. "Excuse me, I was speaking with Teyla."
John twirled his sticks. "You never know when a little bit of hand-to-hand is going to save your life."
John might have a point, but Rodney didn't care about anything other than wiping the righteous smirk from John's face. "Listen," he said, ignoring John and directing his words to Teyla again. "Why do I have to spar with the Major? Physical combat is not my area of expertise, and I'm not learning anything except how to chase my sticks around the damn room."
Teyla retrieved Rodney's stick from the floor, kneeling and rising again in one fluid, graceful movement. "Go with your strengths, Dr. McKay." She held the stick out to him. "I've seen great improvement in your skills. Don't be discouraged."
John prodded Rodney's hip again. With a scowl, Rodney took the proffered stick, and returned to the center of the room, to face John. John twirled his sticks rapidly, ending with them upright, in an active stance, ready to start all over again
Rodney hated him.
"Now this time, Rodney, focus," John told him.
"I've been focusing." Rodney brought his sticks up into position, and crouched slightly, bending his knees, keeping his weight balanced, as Teyla had taught him. "If I were a laser you would have been disintegrated by now."
"Watch my eyes."
Rodney watched. Dark and boundless--infuriating eyes, but he watched them, just the same, staring into them as if they somehow held the answer to all that was fucked up about the man. Circling, staring, watching for any movement of the pupils to give away where John was going to strike next. A flick to the right, and Rodney swung his right arm down sharply, surprised to hear the smack of wood against wood as he blocked John's blow.
John's brow twitched. "Not bad."
Rodney still hated him.
Circling, keeping his weight focused on the balls of his feet, trying to stay light, knowing it was pointless. His arms were getting tired and his bruised wrist hurt, damn it. A feint to the left and Rodney blocked that one, too, swinging quickly with his right, but John blocked it.
"Nice try, Rodney. Come on, let's put a little backbone into it, okay?" Dark eyes, almost black now, glittering and Rodney couldn't look away if he wanted to. "You know you want to hit me."
"How could you possibly tell?" Rodney feigned a blow to the right. "You don't even know what you want. You have no idea who you even are. That's a sad way to go through life." He struck out with his right as he spoke, then again, and again, stepping closer because it felt good to slam his stick against John's like that, even though the recoil made his arm ache. He only focused on John's eyes, feeling as though he could see right through them, as if nothing were behind them at all and hell, maybe there wasn't anything there after all, the real John was hollow and empty and everything he thought he knew about the man was a lie. Without thinking, he struck again, left, then right, then left again.
John seemed startled by the aggression, and that brought a kind of savage pleasure, so much that Rodney was grinning by time the stick flew from John's hand. John's surprised expression brought a burst of satisfaction, and it felt even better when Rodney slid his left stick down between John's ankles, making John stumble and fall backward, hard.
Lunging forward, Rodney was on top of him in an instant, straddling his hips, a stick held across John's throat, holding him flat against the floor. John's eyes grew even blacker, looking up at Rodney with something other than anger as he wrapped his fingers around Rodney's stick; pushing back. Rodney leaned into it a little more, controlling it completely but enjoying the way it forced John to push back harder.
John licked his lips. "Nice," he said.
"Yes, it is, isn't it?" He kept John in place, on his back, on the floor. It felt good. Exciting, even. "You know, you were right, I think I did want to hit you."
"Nicely done, Dr. McKay." Teyla called out. "I believe you may release him, now."
Still, Rodney hesitated. He liked the way John looked, sweaty, chest heaving, hands gripping the stick tightly. Helpless.
"Rodney?" John asked, quietly.
Rodney lifted the stick and sat back. "Yeah, okay." He voices, and looked up to find Bates and Ford had arrived.
"Nice job, Dr. McKay," Ford said. "Really took the major down, didn't you?" He nudged Bates. "Took him right down."
Bates grinned. "I always said McKay was a dangerous man. Did he hurt you, Major?"
John sat up. "All right, that's enough, both of you," he said, jovial as ever, but he shot a searching look at Rodney.
Rodney rose and retrieved his bag, no longer angry, just weary and vaguely disturbed by the feeling stirred up. It was all starting to get to him, the wanting and the confusion and it shouldn't have felt so good to knock John down like that.
"Dr. McKay," Teyla touched his arm.
"Huh?" he said, distracted.
Teyla stood on her toes, and leaned forward, touching her forehead to his.
"Oh, yeah." Rodney had no idea what the move meant, except that it seemed respectful and kind, and at that moment, he needed it. A lot. "Thank you."
Despite Rodney's best efforts to avoid him, John followed him into the transporter.
"Heading back?" John asked, civil as ever as he tapped in his destination.
"Yes, I think it only polite that I shower before I hit the lab." Sweat trickled down his chest, and his clothes clung to him, wet and uncomfortable.
"How's the wrist?" John moved closer, his presence seeming to fill the transporter and all at once Rodney didn't want him so close.
"Bruised," Rodney replied sharply.
"Let me see." John reached for his hand, and Rodney tried to back away, because he didn't want this, didn't want John being contrite. Damn it, he was confused enough.
But John took his hand anyway, lifting it palm up and eyeing the dark bruise spreading along his wrist. He raised his brows in surprise. "Ouch. I really got you good. Think it's broken?"
The thought hadn't occurred to him. "I don't know," Rodney said, eyeing it carefully. "I think it would be more swollen." He wiggled his fingers, even though his hand was cradled in John's.
John nodded. "I think you're right. Just a contusion."
"But it still hurts, okay?" Rodney tried to pull his hand away, but John closed his fingers over it and held on. He made a 'tsk tsk' sound, and then, to Rodney's extreme annoyance, bent his head and pressed his lips to the bruised area. "Oh, thank you, that makes it much better," Rodney snarled.
John kissed his wrist again and then, after a moment's hesitation, brushed his lips along the inside of Rodney's arm, up toward his elbow.
Rodney watched in astonishment--kissing, John was actually kissing the inside of his arm. Soft lips, warm breath, and the scrape of whiskers on delicate skin, and yes, this was more than confusing, it made no sense at all. "John--can I just say, mixed signals?" he managed.
Then John sucked lightly on the inside of his elbow and the hell with signals and traffic lights and stop and go. This might be the only chance he'd get and Rodney just wanted to go, full speed ahead.
John continued working his way up Rodney's arm. Rodney stopped thinking altogether when John started on his throat, pulling down the zippered neckline of his shirt to lick and suck and kiss. Rodney leaned his head back, bumping it against the wall, his hands on John's shoulders--hard, bony shoulders, and he could feel the heat of John's body right through his shirt. John's mouth went to the side of his neck now, nibbling on that spot that was directly connected to his cock, and Rodney got hard, all at once. He buried his fingers in John's thick hair and pulled John's head up, seeking that warm, hungry mouth. John made a small noise, of either surrender or desperation, Rodney couldn't tell which but it was most amazing sound he had ever heard, and then they were pressed up against each other, kissing frantically, hands groping and exploring.
John's body was hard and solid, his ass pure muscle under Rodney's hands. John shoved with his hips, and Rodney could feel John's erection pressing into his thigh. Deliriously happy that he had made John hard, because John so obviously wanted him, really wanted him, Rodney shoved back, rubbing his dick against John's hip, holding onto John's ass, and it was good and satisfyingly straightforward. Then John reached under his shirt, pushing it up, rough hands on Rodney's skin. He found a nipple, tweaking it, and Rodney moaned aloud and all the while John's tongue was licking his, as if he were best thing John had ever tasted.
The transportor swayed gently to a halt, and Rodney realized the doors were going to slide open. "John," he murmured, trying to untangle himself as much as he hated to, because he wanted this, wanted John more than maybe he had ever wanted anyone and, selfishly, the last thing he needed was for John to come to his senses and realize what he was doing.
Because damn it, John had started it, back in that Miellian cell.
John pulled back, blinking and dazed. Rodney took advantage of the moment as the door slid open. "Come on," he said, grabbing both bags and taking John by the elbow. He dragged John out of the transport and down the hallway.
To his delight, John went willingly, maybe even eagerly, all the way into Rodney's room. Once there he pulled his own shirt off and pushed Rodney down on the bed, climbing on top of him and then they were kissing again. Rodney struggled to remove his own shirt, and thought that if this was the result, he was going to knock John down with a big stick more often. Hell, whatever it took to turn him on.
Whatever it took to make him kiss like that, grind his cock against his body like that. John's skin rubbing against his, warm hairy chest, it was intense, it made him hard and aching and needy, his body responding as if it had been waiting a lifetime for this. Then John suddenly rolled off and Rodney panicked.
"Pants," John said. "Get your pants off. Now." He fumbled with his own belt, unfastening it.
"Right. Pants." Relieved, Rodney unzipped his pants, shoving them down, unlacing his shoes and managing to somehow kick everything off at once. He looked up to see that John was naked, too, lean and surprisingly beautiful, shoulders broad, hips narrow, and dark hair everywhere, god, he was a *guy*. It was thrilling to see John's hard cock jutting out, strange and exciting and thrilling. Rodney wanted to touch him everywhere. John sat next to him, watching him, eyes heavy-lidded and lips parted, and so Rodney took advantage and captured his mouth, pushing him down. John spread his legs and Rodney slipped down between them, his cock nestled next to John's.
John grabbed his ass and pushed up. Rodney moaned--so good, that friction was so good, naked friction and skin touching everywhere. He got his arms underneath John and held tight, crushing their bodies together, thinking vaguely that John couldn't possibly get away from him now. John's legs braced inside of his, heels against the inside of Rodney's knees, locking their bodies together. Rodney loved the feel of John writhing beneath him, loved the sounds he was making; it was all so much better than holding him down with a stick, much more exciting. Much dirtier, especially with all the moaning and cursing. He pushed and John shoved, over and over, and the sensitive underside of his cock rubbed on John's skin. Rodney hadn't realized sex could be like this, bruisingly hard and crazy and hot.
"Oh, fuck, Rodney," John said brokenly, sliding his cheek against Rodney's cheek. "Oh--"
John's body jerked beneath him, and then heat flowed onto Rodney's stomach in surges. John gasped for breath, body shaking with pleasure.
"Yes," Rodney whispered, because he'd made John come, damn it, John was his, there was no denying it. Then he was coming too, and oh god, it was heart-stoppingly glorious, the wetness oozing between them, and John holding him tight, so tight he could feel John's heart pounding against his own chest.
When the haze of pleasure faded, Rodney slumped on top of John, pressing against his chest, and John let out a low grunt. "Sorry, let me just--" Rodney murmured, sliding off and stretching out on his side, head propped on his forearm.
John lay still, not answering him, his forearm flung up over his eyes, breathing heavily.
Not a good sign, when John wouldn't even look at him. "John?"
"Rodney, damn it--" John moved his arm, staring up at Rodney, troubled.
With a sinking heart, Rodney looked away because he knew what was coming. "Don't, okay?" he said, as he crashed back down to earth, euphoria vanishing. "Whatever you're about to say, I don't need to hear it. Whether it's, 'this was a mistake, it's not you it's me, this can never happen again,' and so on and so forth. I just don't want to hear it." He climbed out of the bed.
"Rodney, I'm sorry, listen to me, I can't--"
"Please, Major, it's not like I haven't heard it all before. So--shut up." Rodney found his discarded shirt and wiped his dripping stomach. "I thank you for the confirmation of the gayness. Now I'm going to take a shower. Please just leave, okay?" He walked away, leaving John on the bed, silent.
When the bathroom door slid shut behind him, Rodney closed his eyes, throat tight, willing John to leave, not to follow him and insist upon explaining again. After a minute, all was still quiet, so he started up the water, turning the heat up high as he could stand it, his muscles stiffening from the exertion--the fighting, the sex, the anger, all of it.
The hot water felt good, relaxing and soothing, and Rodney stood under it, letting it stream down all around him.
A one-time thing with John was just as well, he decided. John obviously found him hot enough to have sex with, although not quite wonderful enough to have a relationship with and that was fine, because it was more than he usually got out of his attempts. And, anyway, John clearly had some issues. It wasn't a relationship that would ever work, not with John's level of self-loathing, something Rodney couldn't fathom.
He grabbed the soap and began to wash when he sensed cool air swirling around his ankles. Spinning around, he found John was standing in the open door of the shower, naked, belly still streaked with come.
"I don't want to go," John said quietly. He seemed surprised.
Rodney blinked. "Then don't."
John nodded thoughtfully, as if Rodney had said something utterly profound. "Did you like it?" he asked.
Still amazed that John was actually standing there, that John hadn't grabbed his clothes and left at the first possible opportunity, Rodney wondered if he should be happy or not. "Like it?"
"Yeah." John stared at the floor, at the water running down the drain. "The sex, did you like it?"
"Of course I did." John was nuts. Gorgeous, but nuts. "It was fantastic."
Meeting Rodney's eyes again, John asked, "Really?"
"Would you just get in here and close the door?" Rodney asked. "It's getting cold." Backing away from the stream of water, he motioned for John to join him.
John stepped forward, the door swinging shut behind him. He closed his eyes, ducking his head under the spray. "You're telling me it felt all right, even though you're, what, thirty-seven years old and had sex with a guy for the first time?" He wiped his face, blinking the water out of his eyes.
So earnest, and Rodney realized his curiosity was genuine. "Yes, John. For some strange reason, sex with you is a pretty wonderful thing."
A ghost of a smile. "And you're okay with that."
Rodney tried to explain. "Listen. Physics--that makes sense. It's logical. It obeys clear-cut laws. Human nature, not so much. I just go with where it takes me." He picked up the bar of soap from the holder, hesitated, and then raised his head, looking directly at John. "It takes me to you, and that is fine with me. You--you still have to figure out what's fine with you."
John seemed thoughtful, and if the wrinkle in his forehead was any indication, perplexed, too.
Rodney decided that not dashing out of the shower was a positive sign, so, taking a chance, he reached out, smoothing a soapy hand across John's chest. John moved toward him, out of the spray, his head ducked, watching. Rodney went with both hands, spreading his fingers wide against the flat chest, lathering his skin. Up over his shoulders, back down along a sharply defined collarbone, over small, flat nipples--John's body fascinated him. And even more fascinating was the way John closed his eyes and leaned into his touch. It occurred to Rodney that maybe John needed to be touched, truly needed it. Bolder now, he worked his hands down over John's ribs, then around on his stomach, which he found to be just bit rounded, unreasonably endearing and real.
More soap, and Rodney worked his way further down, over John's thighs, then up along the inside until he was cupping John's balls, and that was a strange thing to be doing with your friend and team member. John's hands went to Rodney's shoulders, and he widened his stance, spreading his legs. Rodney looked up to discover John watching his face intently. Suddenly self-conscious as he fondled John's soft cock, he explained, "Just being thorough."
John looked amused, a familiar expression, one that Rodney recognized. John's hands slid around to his back, pulling him close, and then their slick, soapy bodies were pressed together. "Oh, this is good, too," Rodney told him.
"Just being thorough," John said, nuzzling Rodney's ear. He reached for the soap, and mutual lathering began in earnest, his hands sliding down Rodney's sides, across his back, and over his ass, and down into places Rodney never thought John's hands might go. Really, really strong hands, fabulously curious hands, and when they curved over Rodney's head, shampooing his hair with a slow, gentle massage, Rodney thought he might pass out from sheer bliss.
One final rinse and Rodney reluctantly shut the water off, sighing as John kissed the nape of his neck. John seemed to have relaxed, grown comfortable with the situation, but even so, a tiny ripple of fear wound through Rodney's stomach. He didn't know what was going to happen next. John was so damn flighty--
"Towels?" John asked.
"Over here." Rodney retrieved two annoyingly scratchy AF issue towels, tossing one to John. As they dried off, the tiredness hit him. Too many long nights tossing and turning, plus the physical activity, fighting and sex and distress all added up to his body feeling heavy and leaden and scarcely able to move.
"I don't know about you," Rodney said cautiously as he strolled out of the bathroom, "but I could use a nap." He sat on the rumpled bed, leaning back on his arms, watching John look around the room, arms folded against his chest. He seemed torn, gazing thoughtfully at the clothes piled on the floor, then back at the bed.
Rodney would have tried to look alluring if he only knew how. John probably had things to do anyway, whatever it was Air Force majors did when they weren't out on missions.
Finally, John nodded. "A nap sounds good."
He sat on the bed, then stretched out, inching closer to Rodney. Happy and relieved, Rodney made room for him. They lay on their sides, face to face, sharing the single pillow. John eased in and kissed Rodney, a slow, luxurious meeting of lips and tongue that left Rodney dazed and breathless. Then with a smile that seemed strangely shy, John touched Rodney's chest, brushing a fingertip over a nipple. "You look so good," he said.
The simple, heartfelt statement made Rodney grin. "Even though I'm not the athletic sort?"
John frowned. "What?"
"When you were stoned," Rodney explained, "you told me you thought I was hot, and you didn't know why, because you usually go for the more athletic types."
"I told you that?" Brows raised in disbelief. "God, I'm such a jerk."
As John started to turn away Rodney grabbed his shoulders and pulled him back. "Wait, wait--you did note, correctly, that I have a great ass. And believe me, I have no illusions about being an athlete. I have a scientist's physique. I've worked many years developing it."
John relaxed, a hand resting on Rodney's hip. "I don't know--you were pretty good with the sticks earlier."
Rodney smirked. "I had incentive."
"I'll bet you did." John kissed the corner of his mouth. "And I love the way your mouth does that."
"Really? What's it doing?"
"It goes all--" John waved a finger. "Never mind. I just like it." Another kiss, sweet and slow, and Rodney realized he could get used to this, John's warm body in his bed, hand sliding over his ass, a thigh easing in between his. It was scary how used to it he could get, how he could get used to it and come to expect it.
"John, I have to know," he finally said, "Just tell me, what happened to the 'I can't do this'? Should I be expecting that to resurface soon? Are you going to walk out on me? Which will, by the way, really piss me off."
"Jeeze, Rodney, you don't pull any punches, do you?"
"No, actually, I think--I think blunt can be good."
"Really?" Rodney was surprised. "I can safely say you're the first person who ever told me that. Especially in bed."
"You don't let me get away with anything." John traced a finger along his collarbone, pressed a kiss to his shoulder, stroked down his arm. He continued to touch Rodney, staring at his body as if it were the most amazing thing he had ever seen. "Listen," he said. "I want you to fuck me."
A change of subject, and Rodney was unbalanced all over again. "You really do?" He was aware that John hadn't answered his question, and thought that perhaps John himself didn't know the answer. But right now, John was in Rodney's bed, and Rodney could work with that. As could his dick, which was very excited over John's request. "I can do that. I really can. Not that I've done it before, mind you, but I'm a quick learner."
John stroked Rodney's cock, wrapping his fingers around it in firm grip. "We'll need lubricant of some kind. Do you have anything?"
"Mmmwhat?" All the touching was distracting, very distracting. He watched John's hand, long fingers sliding around on his cock, thumb circling over the head. "I, uh, what was I saying?"
"Lube," John said. "We need lube."
"I have this lotion, it's sort of greasy, will that do?" At John's nod, Rodney disengaged himself and rolled from the bed. He rummaged through his shelves until he located the jar. "Ah, got it."
Rodney turned and caught himself up short. John was stretched out on his back, his cock hard and erect and it was the first time Rodney had a chance to really get a good look. A naked, aroused man in his bed, of all things. A naked, aroused *John*.
"What?" John asked.
"Admiring the view," Rodney explained.
"You're going to do more than admire it," John told him.
Rodney climbed back on the bed, and when John smiled and spread his legs, the view got even better. "Oh, I think so too," Rodney said, settling in between John's long legs, running his hands up the muscular thighs before taking hold of John's cock--his very hard cock. Damn thing was like velvet to the touch, and Rodney leaned in to taste it, brushing his lips against the tight, silky skin and then sweeping his tongue up the length of it. Encouraged by John's soft gasp, Rodney sucked it into his mouth, as far is it would go, which wasn't very far at all. He worried about scraping it with his teeth, catching the ridge, but John just sighed happily, moving his hips. Rodney licked and sucked until it was wet and slippery in his mouth.
"Rodney," John said softly, as if it were an endearment.
Letting John's cock slide out of his mouth, Rodney nuzzled at the thick base, coarse, curly hair all around, tickling his nose. John touched his hair, fingers trailing down to caress his neck and then his cheek, all soft touches, tender and surprisingly sweet. Finally, Rodney remembered the jar in his hand.
He kissed John's hipbone. "Um, okay, what do you need me to do with this stuff," he asked.
John sat up, taking the jar of cream from him. "I just need some like this," he scooped up two fingerfuls, then leaned back and reached down between his legs, reaching behind his balls.
"Oh, hey, hey--" Rodney watched as John's fingers disappeared. "Can I do that?"
John withdrew his hand. "Hell yeah. It's actually lot more fun that way."
Rodney grabbed the jar, and a moment later was feeling his way around with slick fingers. "Come here, lift your hips," Rodney said, because he wanted to see.
John obliged, sliding down on the bed to rest his ass on Rodney's lap, hips tilted up, legs splayed. Rodney pushed in an index finger. John felt tight and smooth on the inside, amazingly so. Rodney reached in as far as he could, and John seemed to really like it, closing his eyes and laying his head back. "Gimme more. Come on, Rodney."
Rodney worked another finger in past the snug ring of muscle, and John stretched his arms out over his head, placed his palms flat against the wall and shoved himself down on Rodney's hand. "That's it," he said, voice breathy.
Rodney pulled his fingers out partway, then pushed back in, again and again. John moaned, muscles flexing as he writhed. "Is that good?" Rodney asked. "What does it feel like?"
"It's good. It feels like--it feels like you're about to fuck me." He raised one leg, resting it on Rodney's shoulder and slid his ass further into Rodney's lap. "Do it now. Right now. Please, Rodney."
Such an urgent plea, and there was nothing Rodney wanted to do more, but the logistics were a little confusing--his cock was still fairly distant from the target. Obviously it could be done, somehow, but he wasn't sure. "Okay, let me just--" He got more lotion, applied it to his cock, then rose up on his knees, which seemed to help. "How do I get there?"
John slung a second leg over his shoulder. "Here, wait." He grabbed the pillow and pushed it under his ass.
"Ah, yes, good, very good with the ass placement," Rodney said, and was pleased by the resulting grin. A little more maneuvering, and, with John's hard, hairy thighs pressed against his chest, Rodney was able to get his cock right up against John's hole. He pushed, and watched as John's grin faltered, lips parting and then John moaned with pleasure as Rodney's cock slipped inside.
Rodney pushed harder, sliding all the way in, and oh god, so tight, so warm, John's flesh enveloping him, taking him in. "God, that's good."
"How's it feel?" John whispered, raising his head. "Do you like it?"
Rodney rocked his hips, and a shivery burst of pleasure swept through him. "Oh god." Fucking John--he was fucking John, and if he didn't stop thinking that he was going to come any minute. "Oh god," he repeated, hoping that was answer enough, because he couldn't come up with another damn thing to say.
John reached out to him, and Rodney realized he could shift forward, practically folding up John's body and not lose the rhythm. He could let John pull him all the way down into a kiss, a wet, sloppy kiss, and it was fantastically hot and weird and just plain fucking hot, to be fucking John, to be able to thrust his dick deep inside his body, as if he owned it.
"I wanted you to do this," John told him, his lips moving against Rodney's mouth. "I wanted you to hold me down with that stick and fuck me hard."
A thrill ran through Rodney's body, right down into his cock. "Yes," Rodney said, because he had wanted the same thing. He began to thrust faster.
"I want you to--don't you see, this is what I wanted and I shouldn't want it--" John's voice broke off.
"Stop it." Rodney planted a hand on either side of John's head and kissed him. "Just stop it," he grunted out between thrusts. John turned his head away. Frustrated, Rodney grabbed his hair and bit his neck, hard.
With a low whimper, John began jerking himself off. Rodney wanted to help, but he had his arms full of John's legs, and it was so complicated, too complicated. So he pulled back and let John go at it. If John looked beautiful before--now, with his eyes screwed shut, mouth open and panting, he was breathtaking, and how could John not think this was the most absolutely right thing for them to be doing?
John ground out a harsh moan, then another. His body strained, neck arched and his hand moved faster over his cock. Rodney watched him come, watched his face go tight with pleasure, felt his hips jerk incoherently. And whoa, muscles squeezing his cock, and Rodney didn't know that was going to happen, didn't realize how powerful it would be, that he would feel it all, each surge of pleasure while he was inside of John. "Oh my god, John--that's just amazing," Rodney blurted out.
"Oh yeah." John looked a little dazed himself, Rodney noted with satisfaction.
Hooking his hands under his knees, John drew his legs up against his chest, exposing himself even more. Rodney could look down and watch his dick disappearing into John's body, that tight little space, and he knew he wasn't going to last another minute, seeing that. He grabbed John's hips, dug his feet in and went for it, thrusting wildly until it all blew apart in his brain. He came hard, and noisily, shoving himself up against John's body as if he could climb inside of it. He was trembling when he finished, head hanging down, heart beating wildly and oh yes, possibly the best sex he had ever had.
"That was good," Rodney gasped, astonished. "I mean, really good. Am I right, here? Did you think it was good?"
To Rodney's delight, John didn't retreat. He actually smiled. "It was good." He tugged on Rodney's arms and pulled him close. "Come here," John insisted.
Rodney pulled out and crawled next to him. He found himself enveloped by a hug, and relaxed into it, snuggled against John's warm body. Boneless and spent, legs aching, bruised wrist throbbing, Rodney couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so good. "You *should* want this," he murmured. "You should want sex with me all the time, because clearly, I'm damn good at it."
"Clearly," John agreed. He seemed amused, and then, with a contented sigh added, "Yeah, pretty damn good."
"I mean it," Rodney said, already beginning to drift off. "I don't understand this 'shouldn't want it' business."
"Let's not talk about that." John kissed Rodney's forehead. "Old habits die hard."
"Time to make new habits," Rodney insisted. He tucked his head against John's chest, and despite his best efforts, his eyes fluttered shut and he fell asleep.
When Rodney woke, he didn't have to open his eyes to discover that space beside him was empty. Not a huge surprise that John had left him, and he wasn't even angry, just--weary.
Okay, maybe a little angry. He sighed, rolling over, knowing that deep down inside he had expected this, it had all been too good to be true. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, wondering what the time was. The room was growing dark, it was most certainly dinnertime. Then he blinked at what he saw next--standing there, looking out his window, was John. Gorgeously naked John, looking over his shoulder at Rodney and smiling--smiling at him, damn it.
"I thought you left," Rodney said, more crossly than he should have but John had scared him, badly.
John crossed the room and sat on the bed. "I almost did," he said. "But then I realized, even if I did go, I couldn't go far--well, I live across the hall, and you would know exactly where to find me."
"You're right, I would." Rodney frowned, not sure where this was all going.
"And you would come after me, looking indignant and scornful and sexy and--" John scratched his head, "sexy and indignant--and I wouldn't be able to resist and we'd just end up in bed together anyway."
Rodney had been accused of many things, but irresistible never had been one of them. "Really?"
John nodded. "Why fight the inevitable?" he asked.
"And here I was worried I'd have to go and get those sticks." Rodney grinned, scooted over and wrapped his arms around John's shoulders.
"That would work, too." John leaned back against Rodney's chest. "Listen, Rodney, I can't promise anything, and life here is kind of crazy to begin with--"
"Just one day at time, okay?" Rodney said. "That's all I ask."
"That, I can do," John told him. "Now how about some dinner?"
Long day, Rodney thought as he headed toward his room. Eyes burning from staring at computer screen well into the night, shoulders aching from tension, he was tired, dead tired. Power issues--force fields, water supplies, gate travel--they were all taxing the naquada generators. And taxing him, too, along with the rest of his team.
Despite his exhaustion, Rodney paused in front of John's door. It was late. Surely John was sound asleep.
But niggling doubts were there, always in the background. He hadn't seen John all day, and now he felt the need to touch him, to seek comfort in his presence--odd, how quickly he had become used to that, after only a couple of weeks. Hell, he still didn't know if things would work out between them. So much uncertainty, from one day to the next. Maybe he should have more faith, but it wasn't like he was so great at this relationship business either and in a sudden burst of pessimism, he wondered why he even bothered to try.
He turned sharply and entered his own room, leaving it dark. Shedding his clothes, he fell into his own bed, alone.
His sheets smelled like John.
Rodney thought he wouldn't be able to sleep with calculations running though his mind, sticky power distribution issues, software compatibility problems, a finicky Ancients database. Sleepy, his mind grew undisciplined, going back to the feel of John's body against his, the surprisingly shy smile, the way John's body trembled against his when he came, and the thought that maybe it was more wondrous than anything he'd found in the Ancient city.
Sappy, he thought with despair. He got sappy when he was exhausted.
On the vague, disconnected edge of sleep, Rodney heard a sound, something that could have been the sound of his door opening. He held still, eyes closed, listening to the soft rustle of clothes hitting the floor. He wondered if he were already asleep, and he was having a vivid dream. The bed dipped, and that felt real, very real. Then John slid under the covers, curling up against Rodney. An arm slid around Rodney's waist, hand resting on his chest and soft breath puffed against Rodney's neck.
Content, Rodney placed a hand over John's, and slept.