Rating: NC-17 for porn, again.
ETA: Forgot to mention: This fic and True Enough are both pretty spoilery for Progeny. Sorry 'bout that.
A/N: purelyironic asked for True Enough, the next morning
Light Of Day
Rodney came awake in a rush, jerking upright, something between a groan and a shout caught behind his teeth.
The memory of hands was fresh, hands slipping into his head, no fuck his brain, and messing around, touching places no one should know but him.
For a second, partway between dream and memory, he was relieved. It was good at least to know what wasn’t real. Then the dream bled away and he realised he was in bed, not a Replicator prison cell, but his own bed. And there was a strong arm wrapped around his shoulders and a warm hand rubbing his arm.
“Hey,” John said soft and sleepy against his shoulder, “S’okay.”
Rodney slumped back against John’s chest and told himself this was good, this was what he’d hoped for.
John kissed Rodney’s neck and Rodney had to fight not to give in to it.
After another kiss, John pulled away. He shifted around so Rodney could see him and Rodney winced; he wondered if he looked as bad as John did: tired, pale, hollow.
“Bad dream?” John asked. Rodney just looked at him and John lifted one hand off Rodney’s arm to rub at the back of his own neck. It was just beginning to get light, white light bleeding through the curtains. “So, that was a stupid question,” John said when Rodney didn’t say anything.
Rodney managed a small smile, but the dream was still licking at his edges and he had to get away. “I’m fine,” he said in the most unfine tone he had ever heard from himself. “Go back to sleep.”
He kicked his way free of the sheets and stumbled into the bathroom, coming to a stop at the washbasin and discovering that yes, he did look as bad as John. He gripped the edge of the washbasin hard and pressed his face to the mirror, both were cool and solid against his skin and he got his breathing under control.
When he looked up, there was another reflection in the mirror and he almost screamed before it came into focus.
“Hey,” John said, stepping back, hands up. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”
Rodney laughed harshly, stopping when John winced. “Do I look okay?” he demanded.
“You look pretty freaked,” John told him. “Do you want me to leave?”
Yes, Rodney almost said. Leave. Because if John were gone, Rodney could crawl back into bed, pull the sheets over his head and it wouldn’t matter if this were real or not. At least, it wouldn’t matter until the city fell apart through not having Rodney around; Rodney was fairly certain that even if the city were imaginary, he’d still be indispensable to its successful operation.
But if this were a Replicator trick, Rodney didn’t want to be left alone with it, even though this John wouldn’t be real, wouldn’t be his John, he was still a reassuring presence. And if this wasn’t a trick, Rodney didn’t want to lose John.
He shook his head, turned around and curled his hands around John’s arms.
John smiled at him, a tiny quirk of the lips.
“I know I’d say this either way,” John said softly, “But I feel pretty real.”
Rodney rubbed his hands up and down John’s arms, moved them to his neck and shoulders and chest, he knew it wasn’t any kind of proof but John was warm and solid under his hands. “Yes,” he said absently. “Yes, you do.”
John shivered under his hands and Rodney felt himself flush suddenly, realising what he was doing. The material of John’s t-shirt was thin, worn almost through in some places and Rodney could feel the soft springs of chest hair right beneath his fingers.
“Sorry,” he said and stepped back, but John stepped with him and Rodney found himself pressed up against the cold, tile wall, squashed between the washbasin and the shower cubicle.
“I’m real,” John repeated, and this time there was force behind it.
Rodney brought his hands up to John’s jaw, stroking the backs of his fingers against the grain of John’s stubble. “I hope so,” he said.
“I’m sick of wondering if any of this is happening,” John said. He sounded angry, but not with Rodney. “If I’m really touching you.”
“It’s only been a day,” Rodney reminded him. “Less than, really.”
John’s fingers clenched, they bit into Rodney’s shoulder hard enough to bruise and Rodney surprised himself by liking the feeling, craving it. “That’s a fucking long time to doubt reality,” John said and Rodney couldn’t really disagree with that because yes, god yes, it was.
John’s mouth was so hot on Rodney’s it almost burned, Rodney groaned and pushed up into it, needing this, getting his hands in John’s hair and pulling hard, harder than he meant, just to keep John here and real and kissing him.
They were both gasping by the time John pulled his mouth away, dropping his head to Rodney’s shoulder and biting him through his t-shirt, their legs tangling and hips grinding mindlessly together.
Rodney could hear himself babbling but he was too far gone to make out all the words, John, John, John seemed to be the most common though so he decided not to worry.
John’s cock was hard against Rodney’s hip, so hard he could feel himself bruise under each frantic thrust, he didn’t care though, wanting the bruises, wanting the evidence of all this, and he pushed his hands down the back of John’s boxers and around his ass, grabbing handfuls of smooth, sweaty skin, squeezing harder when John moaned low in his throat.
It didn’t take either of them long, both too hard, too desperate. Rodney bit at John’s lips, his chin, his tongue and John stuffed one hand into Rodney’s boxers, pulling free his cock and guiding it together with his own, held in his other hand. They both groaned as their cocks brushed and when John wrapped one hand around them both, Rodney’s orgasm thundered through him, dragged up from somewhere deep inside.
John swore and Rodney kissed him, feeling the post-coital sloppiness of his kisses but guessing John wouldn’t mind. John went tense a minute later, moaning almost silently as he came, and that was as much as Rodney’s knees could take, buckling and dropping them in a semi-controlled fall to the floor, where they sprawled out on their backs and gasped for air.
“Sorry,” John said at last. Rodney rolled his head to the side and saw John in the dim morning light, looking straight ahead, expression rueful.
Rodney stretched as much as he could in the space he had. “In my experience there’s no need to apologise for giving someone a mind blowing orgasm.”
John laughed, the sound ragged and still a little wild. “We were going to wait though,” he said, sounding a little sad, a little guilty. “And we kind of didn’t.”
“It’s fine,” Rodney said and when John just looked at him, still looking concerned, Rodney made himself roll his eyes. “Really, when have you ever known me to play something down?”
John was still looking at him like maybe he might break, or break down into a million separate tiny machines, Rodney wasn’t sure which John was worried about now.
The floor was cold and so was Rodney now, no heat of passion left to keep him warm. He rolled up onto his knees and used the side of the shower to pull himself to his feet. John took the hand he offered and obediently followed him into the bedroom.
Rodney crawled under the blankets and looked up to see John standing, lost and shivering in the middle of the room. “Come on,” Rodney said and held out a hand.
John’s hands were cold when he slid into bed beside Rodney and put his hands onto Rodney’s back and belly, trying to warm them. Rodney hissed at the contact, but didn’t complain. He felt tired all of a sudden, wondering dimly what time it was, but not wanting to check in case it was close enough to morning to keep him up. John was going rapidly boneless against his side, breath evening out.
They shifted around, tugging the blankets up to Rodney’s ears, all that was visible of John was a patch of dark hair against the shadowed pillow. Rodney got an arm around John’s shoulders and closed his eyes.
He was on the cusp of sleep when he heard John’s voice, soft against his shoulder. “This is real.”
And Rodney thought, maybe, he believed him.