Tora (torakowalski) wrote,
Tora
torakowalski

SGA Almost-PWP

You know how I've been moaning about my inability to write satisfactory porn a lot lately? I've finally achieved something closely remsembling almost-but-not-quite-a-PWP. Take a look, you know you want to!

Pairing: John/Rodney (ish)
Raiting: Hard R / NC-17
Length: 1073
Warnings: Light voyerism (really nothing squicky)

This was beta-ed by the lovely janne_d and is for threequarters 'cause she's poorly and porn makes all things better.

"Better remain silent, better not even think, if you are not prepared to act" Annie Besant

The lab is empty at this time of night. Empty of everyone save Rodney. He sits on his stool, the hard plastic edges pressing slightly into his generous ass, compressing the flesh, exaggerating the play of muscle and tight BDU pants.

John licks his lips.

A part of him, the reckless part, wants to crawl across the dusty lab floor on hands and knees and press his face into all that flesh. Breathe Rodney in. Inhale his warmth. Rodney has the best damn ass in Atlantis.

But that isn’t how this goes.

John shifts in the enclosed space, shuffling around so he’s facing the lab full on, legs crossed, cock hardening against the inside of his jeans. He could wear sweats when he comes here. Could wear nothing at all, it’s not as if anyone sees him come in or out. But he always wears jeans; the constricting material adds to the excitement.

In the lab, Rodney sighs and mutters to himself. It’s a soft sound, breathy. John spends a lot of time watching Rodney; he knows that his energy starts to flag around this time every night. That any minute now, Rodney will get up to make another pot of coffee. His second since John took up position here, just over an hour ago. And…

Yes. There he goes. Rodney staggers to his feet, moaning slightly when he straightens. Hands going to the small of his back as he stretches. The soft material of his t-shirt is pulled tight over his nipples. They perk right up at the brush of cotton, and John nearly whimpers.

If he was a better person he could say he watched Rodney like this because he was at his most open now. Alone. In a darkened lab. That’s certainly part of it. John is amused by the way Rodney talks to himself, entranced by the slight smiles and soft frowns he gives his work, enthralled by the way he runs his fingers over Ancient tech, crooning to it like a lover. But that’s not all there is to it. It’s not all hearts and romance.

He gets off on looking at Rodney. On watching his round, firm ass; the way his nipples harden gracefully under infinitesimal pressure; the hint of belly curving softly over the waistband of his pants while he stands by the coffee machine. His surprisingly smooth skin; the dusting of blue/grey stubble on his chin and cheeks; the promise of soft, wiry hair peeking over the round neck of his t-shirt.

All of it has John aching and needy from the get-go.

He shifts again and presses the heel of his hands against his crotch. Rodney’s standing by the coffee pot. He’s so close John could reach out and touch, if it weren’t for the wall separating them. It’s like a two-way mirror from cop movies. John can see Rodney, Rodney can’t see John. None of the scientists know this cubbyhole exists behind their bland, whitewashed walls. John only knows because he asked Atlantis nicely.

Rodney’s so tired he ends up slumping down against the wall, newly filled coffee cup in his hand. Not the wall John’s sitting behind, but the one at a ninety-degree angle to it. He sits with his legs drawn up in front of his body, one arm dangling loosely over his knees, while the other moves the mug mechanically to and from his lips.

Rodney takes a final sip then sets the cup down, lays his chin on his knees and closes his eyes. His lips are red from the heat of the coffee and John imagines crawling over and kissing those lips. Imagines the way the artificial heat from the drink would warm his own cool lips, soon replaced by the lustier heat of Rodney’s mouth. How Rodney’s tongue, pink-tipped and coffee-flavoured would slip into John’s mouth. How the graceful, squared-off fingers now rubbing tiredly at Rodney’s still-closed eyes would slide through John’s hair, rubbing tiny electric charges into John’s scalp.

The way Rodney’s sitting, his legs are slightly parted. John imagines pressing his face into the dark cave they create. Letting first his nose then lips brush Rodney’s groin, currently nothing more than the promise of the shadow between heavy, muscular thighs.

John presses the tip of his tongue to the sensitive skin covering his own wrist, runs the flat of his tongue up the centre of his palm, from the heel of his hand to the tip of his middle finger. He swirls his tongue around the pads of two fingers and pretends it’s Rodney’s tongue swirling around his dick, or John’s tongue on Rodney’s dick. He’s not fussy.

John’s had a long day, he’s bone tired. He wasn’t going to come here tonight, but his brain was racing and he needed something to help him sleep. He’s at the edge almost too quickly, the imaginary scent of Rodney’s musk filling his nose and making his head spin, the phantom feel of his/Rodney’s fingers ghosting up his sides, across his chest, touching his nipples, before sliding down and forcing their way into his pants. The first touch of his/Rodney’s hand on his dick is all it takes to make him come; ramming the fingers he was sucking full into his mouth to muffle the noise. He thinks the wall is soundproof, but this would be a damn embarrassing way to test it.

When John’s recovered, he glances up at Rodney and smiles. Even with the help of the coffee, Rodney’s lost his battle against sleep. He’s slumped over, head resting on his knees, face hidden behind folded arms. His breath rises and falls slowly, evenly. He’s almost peaceful. John pushes himself up awkwardly, cramped muscles protesting, and leans against his glass wall for a moment, just watching.

Every now and then, and only when Rodney falls asleep, John lets himself go into the lab before following the tunnels back to his own room. Lets himself look at Rodney without the barrier in the way. If the Wraith ever come again he’ll tell the others about these passages, but at that moment they’re his secret. He’ll need them if something like the Genii siege ever happens again, and he tells himself that’s why he’s keeping them private.

One day, maybe, he’ll wake Rodney and then there’ll be no need for the cloak and dagger stuff, because then they’ll do this together.

One day, maybe, but not tonight.
Tags: sga fic
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