It's McShep; first time; NC-17. Beta thanks to janne_d
Scenes from an Accidental Courtship
ETA on 03/11/10 - reena_jenkins recorded a podfic! Download it here :)
[Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis belongs to lucky people who aren't me... not that I'm bitter]
Years later, when about a dozen regulations had been changed and the combined nagging of their friends proved too much, John would make a speech at their wedding – which they were absolutely not calling a wedding – in which he said it made perfect sense that their first kiss had been an accident.
At the time, however, all John knew was that one minute they’d heard a Wraith dart approach overhead and the next he’d knocked Rodney into the sparse copse lining the dirt path and covered Rodney’s body with his own. The minute after that John had turned his head to whisper in Rodney’s ear at exactly the same time that Rodney did the same. Their lips brushed and they both froze.
John didn’t know what to do. He didn’t move forward because that would be insane. That would be crossing a line he had no right even going near, but he couldn’t move back. They stayed where they were, breathing on each other’s lips.
Then John closed the half centimetre gap and kissed Rodney. Kissed. Rodney. It was a short, soft, chaste kiss, but it made John’s head spin. God, he really was insane. Then he was rolling away and standing up. He felt flushed and dizzy and just a little bit embarrassed as all hell.
Overhead, the whine of the dart got gradually quieter and quieter, heading back to the ‘gate.
“Umm,” Rodney said, and John discovered a sudden need to turn away from him and tap his radio.
“Ronon? Teyla? This is Sheppard.”
“Colonel,” Teyla’s voice hummed in his ear, “We are both here. Are you and Dr McKay safe?”
“Yeah,” John still couldn’t turn and meet McKay’s eyes, “Yeah, we’ll meet you at the ‘jumper.”
He strode forward a couple of steps, before slowing and gradually coming to a stop as he realised Rodney wasn’t following. He turned around, hands on his hips and his face deliberately blank, “Come on McKay, we don’t have all day.”
Rodney got up slowly, taking his time, brushing leaves and bits of twigs off his pants. When he lifted his head he looked bewildered, “Colonel, what just happened?”
John didn’t let his expression change, “You can’t recognise a kiss, McKay?” he asked, his voice falling just short of cocky.
Rodney glared at him, “Yes, of course I can. What I meant was why?”
He took his shades out of his pocket and flipped them on, “Adrenaline.”
“A heady combination,” Rodney deadpanned, “So adrenaline and proximity made you gay?”
John rolled his eyes and walked over, “No,” he hissed quietly, “That’s not the point. The point is that this,” he waved a hand between them, “Shouldn’t have happened. I know you’re straight and I’m sorry.”
“I…” Rodney looked like he had no idea what to say. John couldn’t say he blamed him. “Okay. That’s fine. Well the kissing me bit was fairly ill advised considering I am, as you said, straight, but what I mean is it doesn’t bother me. If you want to be gay that’s fine. Cool even.”
Rodney ran out of steam and ended up just blinking at him. John felt a tug of amusement despite how seriously he might have just screwed up, “Thanks for the permission, Rodney,” but he was smiling as he said it. Rodney’s reaction was a hell of a lot better than it could have been and John couldn't help riding the rush of relief.
John rode the relief all the way back to Atlantis, through the briefing, and into his room. Half the time when he’d let himself imagine telling Rodney, he’d been sure Rodney would turn away from him. John could count on one hand the number of people who’d truly been cool about it and he hadn’t let himself hope Rodney might be one of them. But it seemed he’d underestimated him. Yeah, Rodney hadn’t exactly been smooth in his acceptance, but he’d seemed genuine. And he’d followed John and Ronon into the communal showers after the mission like normal. John was so grateful he’d even foregone checking out Rodney’s ass. Mostly.
But now, back in his room, John was letting himself remember the other fantasy he’d had about telling Rodney. The one that ended up with a mutual declaration and lots of mutual orgasms. And yeah, John hadn’t really thought that one was likely, but a guy could dream. Now that fantasy was gone. And John had no one to blame but himself.
He wasn’t sure what the hell he’d been thinking. Well, that was a lie; he knew exactly what he’d been thinking. His thought process had gone: Rodney. Rodney in danger from Wraith. Protect Rodney. Rodney under him on the grass, warm and soft. Rodney’s lips.
And yeah, the first kiss had been accidental, but the second certainly hadn’t. It had been good, which John really wished it hadn’t. And – and this was where John’s brain shorted out – Rodney had kissed him back. Just for a moment his lips hadn’t been the only ones moving. Not that it really meant anything – probably – most people responded to a surprise kiss at least for a moment, especially from someone they knew, someone they didn’t want to hurt.
But John’s ill-advised but manageable crush hadn’t read it that way. It had taken an injection of Rodney-Kissed-Me-Back and was suddenly much, much more than just a crush.
John had watched Rodney over the months and had stupidly allowed himself to hope. He’d watched Rodney and convinced himself Rodney was maybe a Kinsey two, but no, Rodney had said straight.
John threw the book he hadn’t really been reading across the room. It hit the wall with a muffled thud and Atlantis blinked at him disapprovingly.
Dammit it all to hell.
Over the next few weeks, John gradually learned to relax around Rodney again. He didn’t bring up the kiss and Rodney didn’t look set to tell the marines their commander was queer. And it was… nice having someone he could be open with.
Rodney no longer spent missions leering at pretty blond girls and expecting John to agree with him. He started leaning close to John and whispering low in his ear, pointing out the men he thought John might be interested in.
John appreciated the effort, even though the men were invariably male versions of the blond, intimidatingly well-proportioned types Rodney went for. John nodded and made the right noises and didn’t mention that Rodney’s leaning and whispering did more for him than any of the flexing Adonises Rodney seemed to want him to fuck.
But then, one evening, John got back to his room, tired and grimy from an endless day of sorting the armoury, and found a physicist sitting on his bed.
A physicist, but tragically not the one he was interested in.
This one was young, blond, and staring at John with something scarily close to infatuation on his face.
“Uh, hi?” John said, taking a step back and smacking into the door, which had closed behind him, “Can I help you?”
The physicist and God what was his name? Vaughn? Possibly. He was new, had arrived on the second to last Daedelus run, was one of the few both Rodney and Zelenka willingly worked with… John only knew he existed because he did occasionally listen to Rodney.
“Dr McKay said you wanted to see me,” Vaughn – yes, that was almost definitely his name – said, standing up and sorta gliding toward John.
“H-He did?” John was going to kill Rodney. Slowly.
“You look tired, have you had a long day?” Vaughn was half in John’s personal space by now and had a hand on John’s elbow. John had used this tactic himself; it was a soft come-on, one that could easily be denied if the recipient reacted the wrong way. Shit, weren’t physicists supposed to be bad at this?
“Pretty long, yeah.” John gulped. The kid was pretty hot, no doubt. And it had been a long time. “Did, uh, did Dr McKay say what I wanted you for?”
A soft smile from under long, blond lashes, “No, sir. He said I’d be able to work it out.”
John swallowed. Hard. Vaughn’s hand was creeping down his arm and getting alarmingly close to parts of his body no one but John had touched in a long, long time. It landed on his hip, warm fingers against the patch of skin above his pants that stubbornly refused to stay covered by his t-shirt. John did not squeak, but it may have sounded like he did.
“G-Good.” No, not good. Bad, bad, bad. “Look I… I’m sorry I have to go.” John Sheppard, decorated war hero, turned tail and fled.
Rodney was sitting in front of his laptop munching on a carrot. The sight was so incongruous John almost lost his train of thought. But not quite.
“Since when are you the science team pimp!?” he hissed, slamming his hands down on the lab table.
Rodney jumped, and the carrot sailed out of his hand and bounced across the desk. It landed in the centre of a paper Zelenka was studying. Zelenka didn’t look up from his notes, just frowned, picked it up, and began to nibble from the other end.
“Don’t be stupid,” Rodney hissed back at John, “I didn’t have to coerce him or threaten his drug supply; he went willingly.”
That… was flattering. But not the point. He looked around carefully. Zelenka was the only other person close enough to hear and he clearly wasn’t listening, “Rodney, did you actually tell him I’m gay?” John couldn’t help dropping his voice even lower on the last word. It was a reflex.
Rodney had the gall to look offended, “No. I said I wouldn’t tell anyone and I won’t.” He sighed and pushed away from the bench. Taking hold of John’s arm he dragged him into the alcove where the Really Scary Stuff was usually stored. John tried to decide whether to worry that it was currently empty.
“I didn’t need to tell him anything,” Rodney whispered, “He has a huge crush on you, and I thought the two of you would be able to work it out if I put you in the same room. It shouldn’t have been hard; neither of you are exactly stupid. Exactly.”
Yeah, well I have a huge crush on you, John very carefully didn’t say. “I can’t go around sleeping with the scientists,” he said instead. And really, it was a fair point, there was no need for Rodney to gape at him like that.
“You didn’t even sleep with him?” It came out loud and several people looked up.
“Shh,” John pleaded desperately.
“Why the hell didn’t you sleep with him?” Rodney demanded, thankfully quietly. “Wasn’t he good enough for you? Didn’t he meet your exacting military standards?” Rodney actually sounded offended. This was ridiculous.
“It’s not that,” John tried to pacify, “He’s just, he’s not my type and I can’t go around sleeping with people I’m in charge off. And yes, I know you’re directly in charge of the scientists, but I’m in the chain of command too.”
“So,” Rodney began, eyes narrowed, “What you’re saying is that your strange moral compass says you can only sleep with senior staff? That sucks.”
Rodney looked so alarmingly sympathetic, that John was forced to point out, “Well and the Athosians.”
As he’d hoped, Rodney’s expression cleared and he grinned. Thank God. Hopefully that had derailed any plans to set him up with Beckett, or shit, Caldwell. The fact that John had no desire to sleep with any of the Athosians, or in fact with anyone apart from the incredibly annoying man standing opposite him, was neither here nor there.
The day they lost three marines and two scientists to a stupid mistake that shouldn’t have been allowed to happen was not a good day.
People looked to John at times like this, expecting him to lead them through it. To be exactly the right blend of serious and laid-back and sorry and confident in the future. To have a small smile and a quiet word for anyone who needed it.
But John had nothing to say. His brain wasn’t saying anything except fuck, fuck, fuck and he didn’t think that would help anyone much at the moment.
He couldn’t remember a chunk of the afternoon, but he remembered Johnson and Klein dying in separate, screaming agonies and he knew he’d seen the others die too. Carson said he was suffering from a concussion and shock and had wanted to keep him in the infirmary. John had discharged himself.
He was beginning to think he’d made a mistake.
He’d spent the first hour or so back in his room puking his guts up and now he was sitting on the floor of the shower, knowing he had to get up, but shaking too much to work out how.
He let his head flop forward, felt water cascade down his back, felt it pound down hard on the back of his neck making his headache ten times worse. He wrapped his arms around his knees and wondered if it was possible for Atlantis to let him drown in the shower. When thinking that didn’t scare him, he knew he was in trouble.
“Colonel?” The water suddenly disappeared and cold air hit him from all sides, prompting a full-body shudder. “John?”
A hand was on his shoulder, so hot it burned his skin. Another hand was pushing his wet hair off his forehead, then firm on his chin making him look up. At Rodney’s face, pale and anxious and more beautiful than John knew how to cope with at the moment.
Rodney had taken off his shoes and was crouched down beside him on the floor of the shower, long toes turning pink as they supported his weight.
“Are you aware you’re still wearing your pants?” Rodney asked after a beat.
John looked down. Yep, there they were. Dark and heavy and clingy from the water. When he’d finally stopped throwing up, he’d needed to get clean; he hadn’t had time to finish getting undressed. The feel of ash coating his skin had been too much. Ash which used to be skin. Skin which used to be someone he worked with, knew, cared about.
“John,” Rodney’s fingers were almost unbearably loud when they clicked in front of his face. John lifted his head. “Are you tracking?”
John nodded slowly. He reached out blindly, found Rodney’s wide, strong thigh and clung as hard as one hand could cling.
“Okay,” Rodney said, voice weirdly gentle and un-Rodney-like. Two strong arms slid around John, stiff jacket material rough on John’s cold, wet, bare skin. It felt like a hug though, and John didn’t care if it was uncomfortable. He leaned into Rodney’s broad, solid chest and felt the warmth soothe away the worst of the shakes.
“Hey, you’re getting me all wet,” Rodney scolded, but his hands were warm and sure as they stroked up and down John’s back.
Feeling a sense of déjà vu and not caring that he hadn’t learned anything from the last time, John turned his head into Rodney’s neck. Rodney smelled safe and he drowned out the smell of death that was trapped in the air all around John. He pressed his lips to Rodney’s steady pulse and felt Rodney’s hands stutter on his back. He vaguely remembered he wasn’t supposed to do things like that, but he was warm and Rodney felt so good.
“John? What was that for?”
John shook his head. His head was floating off somewhere without him and he didn’t remember.
“Can you stand?”
Probably not, but he was willing to try for Rodney.
He swayed when Rodney pulled him to his feet, but it was okay; Rodney didn’t let go.
“Okay, I’m going to get you some clothes. Sit. Stay. And try not to keel over.” Rodney deposited John on the bed and the coldness was overwhelming when he let go. By the time Rodney returned, John was hunched over and shivering.
He warmed up when Rodney started towel drying his hair, attacking it as if it had done him a personal injury, and he was steady enough to drag himself into the sweats and t-shirt Rodney had got out for him.
He didn’t usually like being fussed over, but he felt too shitty to complain. He didn’t even protest when Rodney manoeuvred him around and pushed him into bed and under the covers. He definitely didn’t mind when Rodney sat down beside him on the mattress and began to slowly finger-comb his damp hair for no reason that John could find.
Rodney’s hands were soothing and his body was just as good to curl up around as John had always known it would be. Especially when Rodney sighed the sigh of the incredibly put-upon and hefted John up so John could rest his aching head on Rodney’s chest.
John closed his eyes, but the world was tipping crazily behind his eyelids and he forced them open again. The crazy tipping was just as real, but a bit easier to cope with, when his eyes were open.
“Comfy,” he murmured, pressing his face into Rodney’s stomach. He spread his fingers across the rise of Rodney’s belly. “Don’t ever stop being comfy,”
Rodney laughed, which made his stomach wobble. It felt funny under John’s face. “You’re crazy. Wait a minute,” Rodney’s voice took on a tone John was too floaty to identify, “I’m your type?”
“Mmm,” John agreed. He wasn’t sure where this was going, but Rodney definitely was his type.
“Why? Not that I’m not a fine figure of a man, because of course I am. But people like you don’t tend to see that.”
John shrugged. He closed his eyes. He was sleepy, why did Rodney keep asking him questions? “Cos I love you, I guess.” John stopped. He knew he wasn’t supposed to say that, but that seemed stupid because it was true, “Wow. I’m really out of it.”
Rodney didn’t answer and John was afraid he’d gone away. But no: warm, broad chest still under his head, large, surprisingly gentle hands on his neck, and in his hair, although now he thought about it they’d stopped moving. Rodney slowly started petting him again and John closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Rodney was still there in the morning, which if John had been thinking at all clearly last night he would not have expected him to be.
He was dressed and seemed to be going through John’s drawers.
“Rodney?” Wow, his head really hurt.
Rodney spun around, a guilty look on his face and a pair of John’s boxers in each hand.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Rodney looked frantic for a split second, then he beamed, clearly amazed at his own brilliance, “Tidying. Really, it’s a wonder you can find anything at all.” He trailed off at John’s raised eyebrow and sighed, “Fine. I don’t know what I’m doing. I wanted an excuse to still be here when you woke up. I need to ask you something and you’d probably much rather I did it here than oh, say, anywhere else.”
“Oh?” John asked warily, sitting up and pulling his knees up in front of himself.
“So, uh, you said something last night, I don’t know if you…?”
Yeah, John remembered, “I said I love you.”
“Yes,” Rodney turned bright red, “Do you? Not that it’s any of my business, not really, but do you?”
Shit, this was going to be humiliating, but John owed him the truth, “Yeah,” he said quietly, refusing to lower his eyes; this wasn’t something to be ashamed of.
“Oh,” Rodney sat down hard; luckily the desk chair was there to break his fall, “Wow. That’s… I mean, I knew you felt something. The whole Kiss Incident gave that away. But love? That’s really… flattering.”
Flattering. Great. “Well,” John said, exuding forced cheer, and swinging himself up and out of bed, “Assuming I’ve fulfilled my quota of embarrassment for the morning, I’d better be getting dressed.”
But Rodney had stood up as well and John suddenly found all the breath knocked out of him as he was pulled into a brief, hard hug.
“Thank you,” Rodney said fiercely in his ear, sounding terrified and determined all at once, “I can honestly say that’s most incredible thing anyone has ever said to me.”
There were reasons why the military had rules against fraternisation and today John finally understood them all. Not that he and Rodney actually were fraternising. But if the US military believed their officers could have stupid teenage crushes they would probably have had rules against them too.
John was damn good at his job. He was a trained professional. But he forgot even basic training the moment the sweet, demure, nun-like representatives from MG5-9IJ dropped their skirts revealing Genii-grade weaponry – and, much more scarring to John’s brain, distinctly male crotches beneath tight leather shorts– and pressed the muzzle of a sort-of-semi-automatic against Rodney’s forehead.
“What is the access code?” The leading non-nun said, backing toward the nearest computer terminal, bringing Rodney with him/her, gun still snug against Rodney’s skull. “Tell me or I’ll shoot him.”
There was no doubt in John’s mind that s/he meant it. Rodney’s eyes were wide and scared and furious and looking at John like he trusted him to have a plan. Elizabeth’s eyebrows were doing a little dance obviously intended to convey something, but John’s brain was frozen.
“Let him go,” he snapped, hand tight around his P90.
S/he laughed. “No. Tell me the access codes.”
This was where John was supposed to say no. Instead he said, “Uh,”
“You’re wasting your time,” Rodney told his captor, tone almost conversational. “We’ve faced down the Wraith, there’s no way Colonel Sheppard’s going to give you anything.”
“Uh,” John said again.
Rodney was staring at him now, eyes narrow and calculating and seemingly completely distracted from the gun pointed at his head. His eyes got very wide, very suddenly and he shook his head a tiny fraction.
John did his best to look reassuring and not at all like he was about to do something stupid. He wasn’t really going to sell Atlantis out to save Rodney’s life. He wasn’t. He just wasn’t sure he knew that yet.
Then the world exploded and John’s next coherent thought, nearly ten minutes later, was thank God someone on this base had kept a cool head. The would-be hostage takers were now a pile of dead would-be hostage takers and Major Lorne and Ronon Dex were standing in the middle, guns still smoking, looking kind of smug.
John checked everyone was okay, crossed MG5-9IJ off their go-to list, made a few snappy remarks and slunk out the back way.
Rodney caught him in his room less than an hour later.
“Look,” Rodney snapped, striding into the room, and making the door whiz shut behind him, “It’s not that I mind you having a high regard for my safety, in fact I think everyone could do with having a higher regard for it, but you have to stop.”
John laughed sharply. His body was still buzzing with adrenaline and reaction, “Stop? How the hell do I stop? I’m in love with you, Rodney, that’s not something you can just turn off. I wish to God it were.”
“And I’ve already told you, that’s very flattering,” Rodney interrupted, “But…”
John finally snapped. “It’s not supposed to be flattering, McKay! I don’t want it to be fucking flattering. I want you to love me back.”
The words exploded like a nuclear bomb and they both stared at the debris, stunned. There it was, floating between them. The fact they’d been ignoring.
The fact that there could come a time when John’s stupid, unrequited crush wasn’t enough for him. When it could screw up their friendship.
“Oh,” Rodney said very quietly. Then he turned around and left.
It wasn’t that John wanted Rodney to stay away forever, but right now, when his wounds were still raw and mortifying he’d been hoping for a break. But no, Rodney was back invading John’s room later that afternoon.
John was sprawled on his bed eating his way through the chocolate cookies he sometimes stockpiled – almost exclusively for Rodney, except for when he really needed something from Elizabeth – and watching Mission Impossible. Most people’s comfort movies involved sappy love stories, John’s had lots of explosions.
“Okay so look,” Rodney said, crossing to the foot of John’s bed where the laptop was propped and pausing the movie.
“Hey,” John protested, hastily wiping cookie crumbs off his shirt and surreptitiously checking the corners of his mouth for residue chocolate, “I was watching that.”
“Yes, well, I’ve got something to say that might interest you. I’ve been talking to Ronon,”
John slumped further into his pillows and frowned, “Actually, that doesn’t interest me at all.”
“For goodness sake, Colonel,” Rodney huffed, putting his hands on his hips, “I’ve been talking to Ronon and it doesn’t sound that hard and I think we should give it a go.”
“Give what a go?” Maybe John had kept those chocolates too long and they’d become hallucinogenic. This really made no sense at all.
John choked on the bite of cookie he’d taken in an attempt at appearing casual. He coughed and pushed himself up, “Sex?” he rasped.
“Yes. Sex. You and me. I know you understand the concept.”
“You asked Ronon for tips on gay sex.” John knew that wasn’t the biggest picture here, but it was the only one he felt safe exploring.
“Yes,” Rodney’s expression clearly said well, duh, “He and Radek have been at it like bunnies for months now.”
This time John choked on air.
“What? Doesn’t Zelenka have a thing for Elizabeth?”
“Oh yes,” Rodney shrugged casually, “I think she gets in on the act sometimes.”
Jesus. And John had thought that was the safer conversational route to take.
“Which isn’t really the point,” Rodney was saying. His hands were moving and he was unzipping his shirt, “The point is we should have sex.”
“What?” John drew his legs up to his chest, protectively. This was all wrong. “Why? No!”
Rodney’s hands stopped moving on his shirt, thank goodness. John could already see much more of Rodney’s smooth, pale chest and the way the fine, golden hairs glowed in sunlight than was good for his sanity.
“I thought you wanted to.” Rodney actually had the nerve to look hurt.
“I don’t want… I want… I don’t… I… this…” John flailed helplessly. Finally he formed a coherent sentence and snapped, “I don’t want a pity fuck.”
Something flashed across Rodney’s face, but he still sounded like his usual self when he said, “That’s not what this is.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s me trying to make sure you can do your job. You nearly gave away Atlantis, Colonel. For me. And while I’d say that was a fair trade I’m not sure anyone else would agree.”
“I can do my fucking job, Rodney.” John pushed off the bed and grasped Rodney by the shoulders, hustling him toward the door.
When the door slid open for him, Rodney started hastily rezipping his shirt. He glared at John, “This isn’t over.”
Then the door was closing and he was gone.
John collapsed back against it, heart hammering. God, that’d been hard. He staggered back to the bed, restarted the movie and delved into his box of cookies. This was definitely a double-chocolate-chip moment.
As Rodney had promised, it really wasn’t over. In fact, he was back the same afternoon – John wasn’t really sure how much later, he’d sort of maybe dozed off before the credits finished rolling.
Rodney was inside his room when he woke up, and really this was getting ridiculous. They weren’t hang-out-in-each-other’s-rooms kind of people, but lately it seemed Rodney was never not here.
“Now what?” John asked, rolling off the bed and standing in front of him.
Rodney had his hands on his hips and he looked determined. He was also wearing no shirt. Shit.
“We are going to have sex.”
John mirrored his stance, “No. We’re not.” And huh, if John had ever let himself imagine this scenario he would have bet money on the roles being reversed at this point. “I thought you didn’t want me to put you above Atlantis – which I totally wasn’t by the way – how is us fucking going to stop that exactly?”
“‘Fucking’? Charming.” Rodney said, disgruntled. “And no, Colonel, that’s no longer the plan. I am obviously too overwhelmingly attractive for you to get over, so if you’re going to put me above Atlantis anyway – which you were – you should at least get some fringe benefits out of it.” He nodded once, appearing satisfied with his conclusions. “Now. I know I’m the inexperienced one here, but I’m sure this works better with pants off.”
John yelped when Rodney’s hands started doing inappropriate things to his belt and jumped backwards, “What are you doing?”
“What am I…? Oh my God! You’re not gay at all; you’re a virgin!”
“What? I am not! I mean I am gay. I am not a virgin. I meant why are you trying to undress me? I already told you I don’t want a pity fuck.”
“Oh, didn’t I say? It’s okay; I worked it out. This isn’t a pity fuck. I mean, why would I pity you? You’re in love with me, which shows excellent taste and should be praised not pitied. I, uh, I think I want to do this.”
“Rodney,” John’s very valid and sensible argument was derailed as Rodney took off his pants and folded them neatly over the back of John’s desk chair.
That was playing dirty; how was John supposed to think, let alone think honourably, with Rodney standing there mostly naked and – from the quick glance John most certainly didn’t take – fairly interested. Not that John was deluding himself; Rodney’s body was reacting to thoughts of sex, not sex with John, but still. Rodney was hard. John’s mouth watered and he gulped.
“Yes? You were saying?” Rodney was grinning at him and his expression said he knew very well what John was thinking. Smug bastard, John’s short circuited brain thought, I’ll show him.
Rodney’s hips were round and cushy under his hands and the bone fit snug against his palm as he pulled Rodney closer and sank to his knees.
“What, oh, OH.” Rodney muttered somewhere above him, but John wasn’t really listening. He pressed his face against the front of Rodney’s rapidly distending boxers and sucked on the fabric and the hint of heat underneath it.
Rodney’s hands scrambled in John’s hair, and John took pity on him, carefully removing the boxers and wrapping one fist around Rodney’s full, erect cock, leaving the other hand on Rodney’s hip.
“Shit, John,” Rodney’s voice melted away into gasps and grunts as John slipped him into his mouth and dredged up every trick he knew to give Rodney the best blowjob ever. If this was going to be his only chance at this – and he couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t be – he wanted it to be memorable. Some small, vindictive part of him wanted Rodney spoiled for anyone else.
Rodney’s hands had slipped to John’s shoulders, gripping and releasing in spasmodic desperation, but suddenly they were back in his hair, trying to tug him away.
John smacked at the hands, working his tongue harder, no way was he missing a second of this. But all too soon it was over, Rodney was jerking in his mouth and swearing in his ear and John reluctantly released him, rising stiffly to his feet and guiding Rodney down onto the bed.
Post-coital suited Rodney and John looked his fill, memorising everything for future use.
Rodney’s eyes cleared slowly and he grinned at John, smile almost blinding, “Come here,” he said, reaching forward and snagging John by the belt-loops.
Some of John’s surprise must have shown on his face, because Rodney’s blissed-out look was rapidly replaced by a frown. “Oh, that’s just typical,” he snapped, tugging harder until John had no option but to go to him. He tried to stop before he landed on Rodney, but one more – in his opinion unjustifiably vicious – tug saw him sprawled on top of Rodney, semi-straddling him.
Rodney grabbed his face, and kissed him hard, all teeth and tongue and nothing like the accidental kiss or the soft one that had followed it. John could only blink, dazed, when Rodney suddenly pulled away.
“You,” Rodney said, jabbing him in the chest, “Don’t want a pity fuck. And I don’t want a whore.”
He shoved John off his lap and onto the bed, rolling on top of him, and John had just enough time to wonder if he should worry how much an aggressive Rodney turned him on, before Rodney stripped him of his shirt and started lapping at his nipples. At that point, John decided it would be stupid to worry about anything at the moment.
John woke early the next morning, more than half convinced last night had been a dream. It wasn’t as if Rodney were an unheard of subject for his dreams, or even an unusual one. But no, his muscles were sore enough to suggest more than just a dream.
And then there was the heavy arm slung across his chest and the almost snores in his ear.
He shifted to give himself some room and couldn’t help grinning when Rodney shifted with him, the arm tightening almost possessively.
John rolled over and found Rodney waking up. Long, golden eyelashes fluttered apart, revealing sleepy blue eyes. Eyes, which widened when they focused on John.
John held his breath, expecting an explosion. He was not expecting the soft smile or the scratchy-whispered “Hey,”
“Uh, hi.” John had to wonder why some people saw him as some sort of intergalactic Casanova when his brain could produce nothing more suave than that.
Rodney stretched experimentally, wincing when his muscles obviously protested, “Okay, ow,” he complained, giving John an irrational desire to apologise. “So last night was good,” Rodney said conversationally, when he’d given up moving and collapsed back against the pillows.
The hand he’d somehow snuck under John’s waist was drawing lazy patterns on the small of John’s back, making it very hard to think.
“You, uh, really?” Well done, brain, next week we’ll work on complete sentences.
“Mmm. I can see why you like it. I think I’m ready to move to more than handjobs next time though. You can teach me that thing you did with your tongue.”
“Rodney,” really, the petting was very nice, and Rodney had said next time, “You can’t just decide to be gay; it doesn’t work like that.”
Rodney frowned, “Says who?”
Rodney’s frown deepened and the petting stopped, “I kissed a boy once. April Bingham’s brother.”
“Had you even reached puberty?” Rodney’s blush told John all he needed to know. “Doesn’t count.”
“Fine. I got a blowjob from a labtech in Russia.”
Huh, that was more interesting, but still, “Did you do anything for him?”
“Then it doesn’t count, do you know any guy who would turn down free sex?”
“Okay,” Rodney’s jaw was set and determined, “I think Daniel Jackson looks hot in his glasses,”
Winding Rodney up was far too much fun, “Everybody has a crush on Dr Jackson. Even General O’Neill has a crush on Dr Jackson. Hell, probably even that big silent guy with the scary tattoo.”
“Teal’c,” Rodney supplied mechanically. Suddenly, his face lit up and he rolled over, pinning John on the mattress below him. He grinned at John, all teeth and evil promise, “I have quite a thing for this smart, sexy, infuriating Air Force Lieutenant Colonel.”
John felt his breath catch. But he forced his voice to stay even, “Rodney, you shouldn’t talk about Colonel Carter like that.”
Rodney turned gradually more and more purple. He mouthed helplessly for a while then hit John with a pillow. “Asshole,” he glared down at him, obviously aiming for intimidating, but only making John laugh more. “I pour my heart out to you and you mock me.”
“When did you pour your heart out?” John asked, finally reducing his laughter to nothing more than a few hiccoughing giggles.
“I… I… When I told you how I felt.” Rodney pouted. It was adorable, and that more than anything told John how completely lost he was.
“You mean, when you said you had, and I quote, ‘Quite a Thing’?”
“Yes,” Chin jut and more pouting.
“That’s pouring your heart out?”
“Yes,” and for the first time since John had know him Rodney looked truly uncertain, his eyes fixed on a spot above John’s shoulder, “I thought you’d get what I meant.”
And okay, there was a time for teasing and then there was a time for lots and lots of sex. This was one of the latter.
He slid a hand around Rodney’s neck, gently cupping the back of his head and pulled him down until their lips met. Rodney might be embarrassed, but he kissed back eagerly, which John took as an excellent sign.
“I get it Rodney,” John breathed the words over Rodney’s face as he mouthed kisses across Rodney’s jaw. John had opened his eyes, but Rodney’s were still closed. He looked content and not like he was going to freak out any time soon. “I really do get it.”