Tora (torakowalski) wrote,

New Fic: RPS JF/DH

Wow, I haven't posted fic in a long time. I should do something about that.

This here is my Ticket to the Special Hell fic, otherwise known as SGA RPS (if you don't know what either of those are, it's best just to skip this one ;)).

This was originally for the Hewligan Fest over on sga_6degrees (where posting starts tomorrow and which you should all check out) but when my recipient dropped out isiscolo gave me permission to post independently.

Title: The Telltale Stories in Your Eyes
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Joe Flanigan/David Hewlett
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~3800
Summary: David’s eyes are very blue and his eyelashes are ridiculously long. These are things Joe’s known for years now, but he never gets tired of rediscovering them. He’s never yet managed to get tired of looking at David, and that’s what freaks him out

A/N: m_lasha this is for you. Hope you get internet access again soon!
Thanks to nakedwesley for stepping in to beta this. Anything that's still wrong is 100% my fault.

[Disclaimer: This is fiction based on very little fact. No insult is intended.]

Joe has Friday afternoon off. Sheppard is in deep shit in the episode they’re shooting, and Martin’s spent all week pushing through Joe’s scenes, so while everyone else has to play catch-up, Joe’s been told to go home and, not very subtly, to rest.

Not that Joe can complain about subtlety; he knows everyone has noticed how washed out he looks at the moment. Hell, even the canteen lady offered him use of her bed; though whether that was purely altruistic, he still isn’t sure.

Joe knows the sensible thing would be to go home, get some sleep, but he can’t, won’t, doesn’t want to. Instead, he’s holed up in a corner of the canteen, learning next week’s script.

Or he’s trying to; his eyes aren’t really focusing.

He’s staring blankly at the page, watching the little black letters merge and spread, wiggle and blur, trying to make some sense of it, when a tray is dropped down in front of him.

David never says hi at the beginning of a conversation, hell, he never begins conversations. They said hi when they first met and that seems to have been enough for David. Now, he tends to arrive mid-way through impressively long monologues that (usually) give Joe time to work out the topic.

Today though, today Joe’s brain is a little slow and he’s still struggling for a clue when David finishes his soliloquy and looks up, clearly expecting an answer.

Joe’s answer is “What?” and, at the back of his mind, his mother is saying, Don’t say what, say pardon.

David pops a piece of cake in his mouth. Swallowing, he says, “My sister? She’s coming up next week to start shooting, remember?” He narrows his eyes and leans closer, breathing chocolaty breath over Joe’s face as he peers at him. “Are you even conscious?”

Joe tries to say something, but his mouth doesn’t want to co-operate.

Then David is rolling his eyes, stuffing the rest of the cake into his mouth and snagging Joe by the wrist. He pulls until Joe has to follow or let his arm go free for a life of its own.

“… an idiot,” David is saying, “People have been saying you looked tired, but I defended you. I said you were a professional, that if you were in trouble you’d do something about it. Turns out you actually are just trying to kill yourself with work.”

Joe must zone out there because the next thing he knows he’s inside his trailer, having his shoes removed by a scowling David, and being pushed him backwards onto the bed.

“Get some rest,” David is saying, hands on hips.

Joe struggles to sit up, because when he tries to sleep he remembers, but David’s hand is in the way, pressed to the centre of his chest, holding him down.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on, and for once I’m not going to make you tell me, but I doubt sleep deprivation will help.”

Joe’s head is sinking back into the pillow and his eyes are beginning to close; he think maybe he’s finally so tired he’ll be able to sleep without having to think first.

David’s expression is softening and he starts to step away. “Sleep well.”

Joe feels a fluttering of panic, barely noticeable, but there all the same. He reaches out, grips David’s wrist.

David looks down at Joe’s tanned fingers wrapped around his blue-pale wrist, a tiny frown of confusion between his eyes. Joe can’t do it, can’t ask him to stay, but David seems to read it in his expression because he looks honestly regretful when he shakes his head. “I can’t, they need me on set.”

He strokes his hand over Joe’s forehead, brushing back his bangs and squeezes his shoulder, “Get some sleep.”


Joe’s asleep maybe two hours, which isn’t the longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep he’s had this past fortnight, but comes pretty close. He wakes to a loud, clattering explosion and is at the door of his trailer, thinking of his kids and high-topped counters before his brain gets back online and he remembers where he is.

A truck of canteen supplies has overturned just past his trailer. The driver’s obviously unhurt, standing amidst a mess of juice crates, water bottles and cutlery, berating a guy in full Wraith-warrior outfit. Joe guesses he wandered into the road; those guys just can’t see when they’ve got their masks on.

Jason joins him after a minute, bouncing up the steps to Joe’s trailer and stopping one step down, matching Joe’s height.

“Man, he’s pissed,” Jason says.

Watching the guy wave his hands about, reminds Joe of McKay.

“Yeah,” the adrenaline’s fading and he feels worn out again.

“At least it’s not us this time.” Jason’s grin is like a nudge, prompting him to join the fun.

Joe manages a weak smile back. Whenever things go wrong on set, it’s always them and their skateboards that get the blame.

Jason frowns at him; people keep doing that. “You should go back to bed, man.”

It’s harder to get to sleep this time; thoughts he doesn’t want to be thinking keep circling around in his head. Frustrated, he rolls onto his back and pulls the pillow over his head, hoping to smother himself to sleep.

He remembers the first time they let their eldest sleep with a pillow, remembers how Katherine was up every ten minutes to check he was okay. Joe’s eyes are prickling, but he tells himself it’s lack of sleep. He furiously counts sheep until he manages to doze off again.


Next time he wakes, he opens his eyes to see David, rumpled and making coffee in his kitchenette.

David’s obviously trying to be quiet, because he’s making loads of noise and wincing each and every time. He must know he’s woken Joe, but Joe stays quiet anyway, watching. David always looks good when he’s finished filming: flushed from the lights and radiating smug satisfaction. It’s a look Joe knows and lo… likes.

“Hey,” Joe says, his voice is scratchy so he must have been asleep a while.

David turns and grins. His eyes flick to Joe’s hair and his smile turns wide and evil when Joe can’t help but reach up to smooth it down. “Coffee?” he says mildly.

Joe still feels foggy, caught up in sleep that wasn’t quite long enough, so he nods. “How was filming?” he asks, as David fills two mugs and sets them on Joe’s table made of packing crates.

David straightens up and smiles. He pulls an imaginary card from his pocket. “Rodney McKay: exposition quick-timed while you wait.”

He makes a little flourish and Joe laughs.

“What about you?” David’s looking at him disturbingly intensely. “Have a good sleep?”

Joe reaches for his mug so he doesn’t have to look David in the eye. “I’m fine.”

When David doesn’t reply, Joe gets uncomfortable; he’s not used to leading conversations with David, with any of their crowd. They’re all pretty chatty and Torri never stops. He’s got a bad feeling David’s waiting for him to bare his soul or something.

“Did you see that truck turned over?” Joe really isn’t the soul-baring type.

David sighs, but he allows the conversation to turn, immediately getting caught up in a rant. “See it? I heard it. I was right at the end of a two-page monologue. I was going to be finished for the day, it was word-fucking-perfect, when that idiot decided to crash. They made me start over from the beginning.”

Joe winces in sympathy; they don’t tend to give Sheppard exposition, but he’s watched David enough times to know it’s damn hard work.

They sit and drink their coffees, chatting idly about nothing, David relaying all the gossip Paul’s slipped him this week.

Joe’s feeling better, more alive, but he still drags the chat out as long as he can, not wanting to go back to reality.

Eventually, though, they empty the coffee pot and David asks if he needs a ride home. Joe hates being pampered, fussed over, but he hates the ringing emptiness in his head more, so he shrugs, says sure, and they walk out together.


They take David’s car, and he flicks on some music the minute they get moving, keeping up a low-level commentary on everything they pass, the music and the words coming together to sooth Joe. He wonders if David’s doing it deliberately, then decides he probably is, especially as David is letting him get away with sitting back in his seat in near silence.

The house has been empty for over a week but now, as David pulls into the driveway, it looks colder and darker and more lifeless than ever before.

David follows him in without being asked, parks himself on the sofa in front of the TV, and seems content to stay there while Joe grabs a shower, trying to make himself look, if not feel, more human.

He very carefully doesn’t examine why he’s letting David invade like this, nor why it makes him feel better, warming a corner of the space that’s been cold and empty since Katherine left.

When he gets out of the shower, David’s standing in the middle of his bedroom, arms crossed, foot tapping. It’s such a McKay pose that for a minute, Joe flashes to the dream where he’s at work in just his underwear. True, right now he’s wearing a towel, but it’s spookily similar.

“Katherine called,” David says pointedly.

Joe feels the good mood he’s managed to conjure fade away. “Oh,” he says, reaching for his pants.

“You should have told me,” David snaps.

Joe tugs his pants up over wet legs, jerking them a bit too hard and nearly causing a nasty accident. “Why?” he asks when he’s done, turning around and matching David glare for glare. “So Paul could act awkward around me and Jason could teach me some koans, so Rachel and Torri could offer sympathy and Nykl could say I told you so?”

“Torri would offer you comfort sex, not sympathy,” David corrects him absently, “And I didn’t say you should have told us, I said you should have told me. I’ve been here, Joe.”

“Yeah,” Joe says, deliberately misunderstanding, latching on to an excuse to offer at least some explanation, “You being here was kind of the problem.”


“Here,” Joe says, indicating himself, the room, the bed.

David stares at him, apparently speechless before finally spluttering, “You told her? What the hell?”

Joe leans heavily against the wall, shrugs, “She’s my wife.”

“But it was a one night stand; we’re actors, it’s what we do. We have one night stands with our cast mates, it doesn’t mean anything.”

Not to you. Joe stays silent and David crosses over to him, puts a hand on his arm.

“Why?” he asks at last.

“Because I’m a coward,” Joe says, so low he’s impressed that David hears him.

“What do you mean?”

Joe really, really wants to lie right about now, but this is David and Joe’s realising he’s maybe used him a little bit. Or at least used the stupid thing they did two months ago. The stupid thing that didn’t feel stupid when they were doing it, that Joe wants to do again every time he thinks about it.

“This has been coming for months,” he says quietly, “But I didn’t have the guts to make it happen. So I took the decision out of my hands.” And I didn’t have any doubts until it was too late.

“Idiot,” David says, but it’s soft, and when Joe looks at him, David’s expression is fond.

David’s eyes are very blue and his eyelashes are ridiculously long. These are things Joe’s known for years now, but he never gets tired of rediscovering them. He’s never yet managed to get tired of looking at David, and that’s what freaks him out more than the fact he’s approaching forty, soon to be divorced, and in the middle of a sexual identity crisis.

David clears his throat and Joe starts to pull back, embarrassed, aware he’s staring, but David’s hand cups the back of his neck, gently so it would be easy to brush him off if Joe wanted.

“So, uh.” David looks bashful. David never looks bashful. “If I kissed you right now, would it help or would it fuck things up more?”

“Fuck things up more,” Joe says, no hesitation, but he’s leaning into it and so is David and then, just like that, they’re kissing.

David’s a slow kisser, deliberate, licking his way around Joe’s mouth, leaving Joe feeling tasted, used, taken in the best way.

Joe reaches back, braces himself on the doorframe, as David pushes forwards. He brackets Joe’s hips with his hands, thick, warm fingers finding pant material and skin.

He’s still shower wet and half dressed, but Joe can’t really care. He hooks a hand behind David’s neck, uses the other to grip David’s bicep, surprisingly firm, helping Joe stay on his feet.

When David pulls back, he’s flushed and breathless. Joe feels light-headed and anxious with want.

His fingers find the front of David’s shirt and begin tugging on the buttons, while Joe and David are still staring at each other.

They were hot together the first time, but still there’d been nagging doubt, guilt, at the back of his mind, stopping him from fully surrendering. There’s nothing stopping him now.

Well, nothing except David, who’s suddenly pushing him back, holding him at arm’s length, licking his lips and saying “Wait”.

No, no, no, I’ve been waiting, Joe’s brain protests, but he does as David asks, stepping back and crossing his arms over his bare chest, feeling exposed, knowing his tight jeans do nothing to conceal his hard-on.

“You really want to do this?” David asks, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

Joe rolls his eyes and indicates himself, how he must look. It makes David flush, which is surprisingly satisfying to Joe’s sexually frustrated self.

“I mean, it’s not like a rebound thing?”

Oh. “No, David, shit no,” Joe steps back into David’s space, looping his arms around David’s shoulders, pressing their chests together. “Yeah, I’m feeling pretty fucked up about everything, but this isn’t because of that. This, us, is the reason why all the rest of it is happening.”

Joe’s an articulate man; it bugs him the way he fumbles with words when he’s nervous.

David frowns, “I’m not sure how I feel about that,” he says. He’s looking at Joe with wide eyes, guilt and worry and want warring within them, but then he’s untangling himself from Joe’s arms and running his hands up and down Joe’s chest.

Joe shivers.

The next few minutes are a blur as Joe’s tipped backwards onto his bed and stripped of the jeans he just put on. Joe watches, amused, surprised and aroused as David quickly strips himself of his own clothes before climbing onto the bed and settling on top of Joe.

David’s lips find Joe’s neck, sucking lightly, until Joe groans, shifting, trying to find something without knowing what he’s looking for. His cock brushes David’s and the shock of it makes him gasp, trying and failing to think of anything that’s ever felt like this: sexy, right and strangely sweet.

“Okay?” David asks against Joe’s throat and Joe realises David’s being careful with him. Fuck that. Using one of the moves Bam Bam has been trying to drill into him for weeks, Joe flips them around, so he’s straddling David’s lap, David’s erection trapped along the v of Joe’s groin.

David stares up at him, breathing hard, eyes dark. “God,” he mutters, “That was really hot.”

Joe grins and shuffles down, stretching himself out so he’s blanketing David, David’s thighs between Joe’s parted legs, their cocks snug together.

Then he kisses him again.

The kiss goes on forever, changing depth and speed but never quite coming to an end, providing a focus, something to keep Joe centred and not freaking out, while they fondle and grope each other. Joe breathes into the kiss, thinking only about this, as David’s hot hands smooth down Joe’s body, cupping his ass, finger tips dipping into the crack.

“Okay?” David asks, turning his head to kiss Joe’s ear.

Joe chases him with his mouth, incapable of answering, something inside telling him it’s scarier to agree than just to do it.

David lets him get away with it for the length of a kiss, then he moves his hands back up to Joe’s shoulders and says, “You’re gonna have to give me an answer, Joe, or I’m not going to do it.”

Joe did this with Katherine once. She’d wanted to try it and he’d thought why not. And he’d liked it, really really liked it. Liked it so much he’d freaked out and they hadn’t done it again, despite Katherine assuring him it didn’t mean anything.

“Okay,” he says wanting to look away, but forcing himself to meet David’s eyes even though he can feel his cheeks getting hot.

“You’re sure?”

“Jesus,” Joe’s embarrassed and nervous, but not really annoyed, “Do you want to keep talking about it, or do you want to do it?”

David raises his eyebrows, gives him a look that says, What do you think?, and Joe laughs, feeling freer. He rolls to the side, pulls the box of condoms out of his cabinet. The box came with a free sachet of lubricant, which until now he hadn’t found a use for. Now he pushes them both into David’s hands and settles himself back on top of him.

“We can do it like this, right?”

David nods, “To start with at least.”

Joe starts kissing and sucking on David’s neck, aware of David’s hands behind him, working on getting the lube open, using Joe’s back as a make-shift table.

David curses and Joe feels a blob of something cold and slick hit his lower back. He jumps. “This is fucking messy,” David tells him, scooping up the blob with his finger nail, which makes Joe jump for an entirely different reason.

“I’ll change the sheets tomorrow,” Joe promises, trying to keep his voice even.

David laughs and the small sound rumbles between their chests. “I think you were going to have to do that anyway.”

Joe’s about to answer, when David’s palms curl around his ass cheeks again and then one slick finger tip is sliding back and forth between them, slowly gaining access to his body.

Joe starts to tense, but David kisses the side of his mouth, the bow of his top lip, the swell of his bottom lip and Joe feels himself unwind, sliding one hand under David to hold on and playing with all the interesting places on David’s chest while they kiss and David carefully opens him up.

Being fucked isn’t something Joe ever consciously let himself think about, but obviously some distant part of his mind has been considering it, because he finds himself surprised at how little it hurts, at how much he likes it as David rolls him onto his back and slides inside him, how easy and natural it is to spread his thighs wider, to hook his ankles behind David’s back.

David comes first. They’ve got a rhythm going; Joe’s cock, which wasn’t too sure about the whole cock up his ass thing at first, is back to full mast. He’s getting the hang of which muscles to clench when David’s all the way in, learning the things that make David stutter and swear in his ear. When David hisses “Fuck,” in a way that’s more desperate and less awed than his previous expletives have been, his cock starts pulsing in Joe’s body, four long spasms that feel really weird, but the good kind of weird.

David drops his head onto Joe’s chest, groaning, “I’m sorry, God, that’s embarrassing.”

Joe tugs on his hair and kisses him when their mouths are level. “Yeah,” he says sarcastically, “Real embarrassing.” He pushes his aching cock against David’s belly. “So embarrassing I really need to come right fucking now.”

David grins at him, blush rapidly fading. He sits up, pulling his softening cock out of Joe’s body, and, out of everything, that’s what feels the weirdest.

“What do you like?” David asks. He asked that last time too, but Joe, embarrassed, had just waggled his eyebrows and avoided the question. The look in David’s eyes says he’s not going to get away with evasion this time, and too late he realises the mistake of being the last one to come.

“S-suck me?” he asks, toes curling, “Do you do that?”

David’s answer is a wet, lewd-sounding slurp of a kiss in the centre of Joe’s chest before he slides down the bed and flicks his tongue over the head of Joe’s cock.

Joe makes a noise that he’ll never admit to, that he’d never be able to describe anyway, and arches up to meet David’s mouth. David backs off, only lowering himself again when Joe drops his hips back onto the bed. He uses one hand to hold Joe to the bed, fingertips soft and not quite tickling the hollow of Joe’s hip.

David’s other hand gently massages Joe’s balls, while his mouth takes more and more of Joe inside. He’s not deep-throating, not like the girl Joe dated in Paris, but he’s going deeper than anyone Joe’s been with since then, and Joe feels his thigh muscles start to shake.

His head tosses frantically on the pillow, hands kneading David’s shoulders, clenching desperately before his orgasm rips through him, making him cry out. His shoulders curl up from the mattress before collapsing back against it.

David rolls off and flops onto his back, while Joe gasps in air and listens to his heart rate slowly decrease. The euphoria of sex and orgasm is fading now. He’s been caught up in the moment, in the lust and in David, but now his brain is back on line.

“What do I do?” he asks the ceiling.

“Hate to tell you,” David’s voice says from his left, “But we already did it.”

Joe manages a smile, but shakes his head. “I mean about… everything.”

Joe’s not really expecting an answer, but David rolls over and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him closer. Joe sighs and tucks his head into David’s shoulder. “You sign whatever they tell you to sign,” David says quietly, stroking Joe’s back, “And you make sure you talk to your kids. And you convince Brad that Sheppard and McKay really should be fucking on screen.”

Startled, Joe chokes out a laugh. “David,” he says, slurs.

“Mm?” David’s voice is soft.

Joe smiles into his neck. “How are you so awesome?”

He’s still laughing when David hits him with a pillow.

Tags: fic, rps
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