Tora (torakowalski) wrote,
Tora
torakowalski

To celebrate the job-getting thing and to thank you all for putting up with me being a whiny, unemployed bitch these last few months:

John/Rodney, NC-17, gratuitous outdoors porn, ~800 words

The Smell of Rain in Summer

The tree-bark is rough against the small of John’s back where his shirt’s been pushed up and out of the way, the rain is wet and tropical-warm, trickling from the ends of his hair and collecting in the v of his throat before running down his chest, tickly and uncomfortable.

But John really doesn’t care.

He’s barely noticed in fact, attention totally riveted on the sight of Rodney kneeling in front of him, the touch of strong thumbs massaging a fast, heavy rhythm into the dips of his hips, the feel of Rodney’s mouth on his cock, hot and strong, powerful in some indefinable way.

John’s pants are around his ankles; he wants to spread his legs wider, wants to slide down and onto Rodney’s lap, offer himself up but he stays where he is, presses his shoulders back against the trunk and bites his lip when Rodney slides a third finger inside him.

They’re out in the open, surrounded by forest but not exactly hidden. It sends a thrill down John’s spine, all the way down to Rodney’s fingers, that someone could come, might see Rodney down on his knees for John, see John held up by nothing more than a broad tree trunk, sprawled and wanton, taking fingers up his ass and so close to just fucking coming before anything else, before they get-

Rodney stands up, hands on his own thighs to support himself, dark stains on his knees from the wet ground, hair almost shower-wet, one hand going to John’s waist, pulling him in for a hard kiss then turning him around.

John braces his hands against the tree, not minding the scratch of bark against his palms, loving it really and curling his fingers into it, getting tiny chips of wood-splinters under his nails.

Rodney grunts when he breaches John, John moans a second later when he’s all the way in. Rodney’s saying things, muttering curses and endearments, licking the back of John’s neck, pushing his nose up under John’s hair and kissing him there, fitting his mouth around John’s shoulder and biting down hard, muffling his own moans and forcing some from John instead.

“Rodney,” John says and it’s a gasp and a plea all in one. He doesn’t know what he wants, needs to come but can’t remember how to get there, lost in the feeling of Rodney inside him and all around, gone from his own head and into that place he only goes when he’s getting fucked, where lights are brighter, colours sharper, every touch of Rodney’s hands or teeth magnified tenfold.

“Yes, yes, here,” Rodney pants into his ear and then there’s a hand on John’s cock and he’s coming so hard he forgets to breath, seeing stars and silver-edges darkness.

“Hot, hot, so fucking hot,” Rodney’s muttering, hands clamped tight to John’s hips and going for it, fucking John in short, hard jabs.

Something hard and sharp convulses through John, almost coming dry and Rodney moans aloud, going still, coming, falling against John who only just manages to keep them both upright. Then Rodney pulls out of him and he loses that battle, the both of them sliding gracelessly to the ground, Rodney’s hands seeking him out almost blindly, pulling him in and kissing him, messy and uncoordinated.

And apparently kissing John takes the last bit of energy Rodney has because he break away, falling backwards onto the grass with an oomph, slow enough that John gets the message and moves with him, ending up sprawled next to him, staring up and up some more – there are some very tall trees in this forest.

It’s stopped raining and the sky he can see beyond the leaf canopy is a light, milky blue, a watery sun turning the edges of the exposed leaves white-gold and emerald and transparent; down here on the grass, it’s warm and quiet, if still a little bit wet.

Rodney rolls onto his side, grunting and groaning all the way, reaching for John again, always touch-hungry after sex. His hands start making random paths through John’s hair, fingertips catching the nape of John’s neck every now and then and making him shiver. John grins; Teyla’s going to kill them for disappearing but that was totally worth it.

“Well, that was certainly better than a harvest festival.” Rodney says, echoing John’s thoughts and sounding blissed.

“Yeah,” John says, tipping his head to the side, kissing the first bit of Rodney he can reach – the strip of skin that isn’t quite shoulder and isn’t quite neck. Rodney squirms and smacks the top of John’s head and John grins, trying not to look too soppily smitten and probably failing really, really badly.

/End

A/N: I really wanted to call this "Rod McKay and Little John, Fucking in the Forest" but I decided I couldn't do that to my favourite Disney movie, plase be thankful.
Tags: fic, mcshep, sga
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