Feb. 5th, 2008 11:15 am
Fandom: SG: Atlantis
Rating: NC-17, I suppose
Warnings: PWP, slash, mention of rimming
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Beta: My wife, mgbutterfly. Who totally married me for the sex, right, baby?
Summary: "Do you taste this good all over?"
Author's Note: *cough* Almost seven thousand words of porn, okay? Just... Porn.
John's voice is gravel rough, a warm wet rasp against Rodney's neck, chapped lips dragging against overheated skin, "Gonna fuck you all night." John makes it sound like a threat, like a promise, topples Rodney face down into the waiting bed. "Gonna work you open until you're losing your mind and then I'm gonna fuck you until you forget what it feels like to not have my cock up your ass."
Rodney's pretty sure that this is not what's supposed to be happening. He has vague memories of needles sharp against the inside of his elbow and Sheppard going a little bit insane. He has an even fuzzier recollection of falling through the 'gate, of Sheppard—John, John—bearing him down to the floor and crouching over him, the Colonel strung tight as a piano wire, looking at the people around them with naked rage.
Rodney's pretty sure that Carter was supposed to get them separated and to the infirmary. Keller should be figuring out what got pumped into their bloodstreams, and why it's doing this to John. To Rodney. They should be heading back off-world to get Teyla and Ronon.
None of that is happening.
"Do you taste this good all over?" John's teeth are smooth, the edges catching sharp against the thin skin behind Rodney's ear. John's not taking the time to sooth the bite, is nosing up into Rodney's hair, breathing in deep and rumbling in his chest. John's cock is hard and thick, pressing into the curve of Rodney's ass, burning hot even through the layers of pants and underwear.
Rodney gasps, trying to remember why this is a bad idea, and arches his back, "I don't—I don't know—I—" John rumbles again, drives his hips down hard, his thighs squeezing closed on either side of Rodney's hips. John's breathing hot and wet and openmouthed against Rodney's scalp, and then moving, trailing biting kisses down the tight tendons in the back of Rodney's neck.
"Gonna find out." This sounds more like a promise than a threat. That's about right. John had relaxed off-world, too, like drinking in Rodney's touch was calming him, soothing him back to something closer to normal. "Gonna taste you everywhere, and then I'm gonna fuck you."
Rodney whimpers, digs his fingers into the sheets and tries really hard to be worried about the fact that they're not his and they're not John's. He knows John's sheets, plain white cotton, and these cool, slick, satin bastards are not John Sheppard's sheets. Rodney means to protest, and ends up bowing his head forward, stretching his neck as much as he can.
John's hands are big and warm and rough, sliding down Rodney's sides. Rodney thinks he can feel the other man's calluses through the thin fabric of his shirt, shivers and squeezes his eyes shut, bites his bottom lip hard to keep the insane, embarrassing sounds he can feel building behind his teeth where they belong.
"You like this? You want this? Let me hear you say it." John's got his thumbs up under the hem of Rodney's shirt, rubbing across his hips, against sweaty skin, firm even circles that wouldn't have to go far to be bruising. Rodney can feel each whorl on John's fingertips, thinks that they must be irrevocably burned into his skin, a brand that he'll never be able to get rid of.
John goes still over him, his teeth lingering above Rodney's shoulder, sharp even through Rodney's shirt, John's thumbs pushing in hard, his hips grinding down harder. Rodney swallows a breath, as deep as he can with John's weight bearing down on him, and means to say no, to say they have to go down to Keller's. What he says is, "Yes, yes, c'mon, I can't—"
Rodney can feel John's grin pressing into his skin, can feel John's fingers sliding under his belly, up under his shirt. John shoves his hands up, ignoring the fact that Rodney's shirt is effectively trapped between both their bodies and the bed, and wrestles it up to somewhere under Rodney's arms.
John chooses then to rock back, settling his weight over Rodney's ass, sliding his hands up over Rodney's shoulder blades and tracing his thumbs down the line of Rodney's spine. He's fanned his fingers out, like he's taking the span of Rodney's back, and Rodney presses back into the tease of pressure. Rodney protests, "Fucking me. You're supposed to be—you said you were."
"Tasting first." There's a twist of movement, John's hips grinding down against him, and Rodney catches a flash of color out of the corner of his eye as John's shirt goes sailing across the room. Rodney reaches for his own, bunched up uncomfortably against his collar bone, and John rumbles, braces a hand between Rodney's shoulder blades and presses down hard.
Rodney opens his mouth to protest, but then John's sliding his hands again, following the line of Rodney's shoulders to his arms, dragging Rodney's shirt off painfully slowly. John balls Rodney's shirt up when it's finally off, and it gets tossed somewhere across the room as well.
John's chest is warm and hard against Rodney's back, his coarse hair trapped between them, his nipples hard and pressing into Rodney's skin. John's hands are wandering, fingertips tracing the swell of Rodney's triceps down to the inside of his elbow, palms dragging flat down the soft skin on the inside of Rodney's arms. It's natural to grab John's hands, to thread their fingers together and hold on for dear life.
John hisses, "Jesus fucking Christ," and then closes his lips and sucks hard on the side of Rodney's neck. Between the teeth and the sucking Rodney's pretty sure he's going to be sporting all kinds of pretty bruises. He stretches his neck to the side, offering up more skin without thinking.
John's apparently serious about the tasting, moves with stunning deliberation. His tongue is tracing patterns down Rodney's spine, he pauses every few inches to suck skin into his mouth and close his teeth around it, hard enough to swirl pleasure and pain together in nearly equal amounts. Rodney presses up into the touch, his fingers tightening around John's, their palms sliding slickly together. He whines, "C'mon, I'm ready, I'm so ready."
John's thumbs rub comforting circles over Rodney's knuckles. John blows a puff of warm air across the wet path his mouth has left, soothes, "Sh. Sh. I'm not done..." and proceeds to open his mouth as widely as he can and close his teeth over Rodney's hip.
Rodney's skin dries in the wake of John's attentions, tightens and chills and tingles. It feels new, like it's not his, and he untangles one of his hands from John's, reaches back and traces his fingers down his own neck. The bruises ache, sweet pain that floods his system, that makes him push harder just to feel the thrill of it down his spine.
John hums, nibbling along the bottom line of Rodney's ribs, finds Rodney's hand again with his and covers it with his own. John presses down hard, and the bruise burns like fire under the pressure. John murmurs, "I like this," and squeezes Rodney's hand, "Don't stop this. Like touching you while you're touching you."
John's lips curl against his skin, and Rodney shivers, drags their joined hands across the top of his shoulder, finding all the tiny little bruises and bites that John's mouth left behind. John's managed to make it back up his other side, slides his mouth across until his cheek is brushing against their hands.
John's stubble is rough, his lips soft, as he paints kisses across their hands. His mouth is warm and wet around Rodney's thumb, and Rodney can feel John's fingers twisting beside his and groans. Rodney's sure that in any sane world he would have lost it already, came in his pants from the searing touches and John's clever mouth, but he hasn't. No amount of grinding down into the mattress is helping, either.
When John starts licking, sucking, biting his way down Rodney's other side, Rodney decides it really doesn't matter. John rumbles, laving attention across Rodney's already tingling skin, "Gonna keep my fingers wet for me? Gonna need 'em wet."
Rodney whimpers, doesn't mean to, but Sheppard's taking him apart. He turns his face in the blankets, mouth open and searching for their joined hands. It takes him three tries to coordinate himself properly, and then he manages to get three of John's fingers and two of his own between his lips and he curls his tongue around them and sucks.
John freezes, breaths, "Motherfuck. Son of a bitch, Rodney. Turn over. Turn over, keep 'em in your mouth, but—"
Rodney swallows, and John makes a broken sound, pushes himself up to his knees. Rodney squirms and twists his way onto his back, letting go of John's hands, moving too fast because he wants John's weight against him again.
John's eyes are dark, pupils huge. His mouth is bruised, spit slick, and there's color high in his cheeks. He settles himself back over Rodney's hips, and Rodney reaches out, grabs John's hand and pulls John's fingers back into his mouth before he slides his fingers up through John's chest hair.
John hisses, head dropping, his fingers curling up against Rodney's tongue. Rodney smiles, as best he can, and John makes a more desperate sound, drops forward and kisses the corner of Rodney's mouth. Rodney gets his hand around the other man's neck, tries to hold him in place but John's having none of that, sliding away, nudging Rodney's head back with his chin and resuming his taste test down Rodney's chest.
Rodney tugs on John's hair, sucking on his fingers, tries to get his feet flat on the bed so he can thrust up against the other man's body. His boots keep slipping on the sheets, and he opens his mouth say so and John chooses that moment to circle one of Rodney's nipples with his tongue before closing his entire hot mouth over it.
Rodney groans, throws his head back and makes himself not bite John's fingers only by a feat of desperate will power. John grins, makes a deeply pleased sound and moves his free hand, sliding it around the back of Rodney's neck, finding the bruises he left and pressing hard.
It's really more than Rodney can be expected bear with his mouth closed. He can hear the tiny desperate noises he's making, can feel John's fingers slide slick and wet out of the side of his mouth, fingertips tracing patterns over Rodney's cheek and chin. John rumbles, "So good, so good," low and reverent en route to Rodney's belly button.
Rodney's aware that his fingers are tangled in John's hair, and that he's not being subtle at all about trying to push the other man's head down lower, and also that he's being summarily ignored. John's still trailing wet patterns across his cheek, and Rodney leans his head to the side, kissing John's knuckles, pleading between each soft brush of lips and tongue, "Please, please, I need, God, I need you."
John, the useless no good bastard, stretches up instead of scooting down, sliding their chests together and bumping his nose against Rodney's. He's smiling, something wide and feral, his eyes very dark when he says, "Hi."
Kissing John is insane. His mouth is warm and wet and perfect, but Rodney already knew that. His tongue is wicked fast, his teeth sharp and teasing and Rodney melts into it, winds his arms around the man's neck and pulls him close.
John finally pulls back, licking his lips and looking obscenely pleased with himself. He leans forward to brush kisses across Rodney's cheeks, eyelids, forehead, down the slope of his nose, the tip of his chin. Rodney whispers back, "Hello."
Rodney's not prepared for it when John turns his head, presses a kiss to the side of Rodney's bicep and then says, "You're gonna have to let me go so I can finish my work here." Rodney makes a softly protesting sound, tightens his hold on John's shoulders. John apparently decides to suck a hickey into his arm in retaliation, pulls off with a wet sucking sound, "C'mon, don't you want me to fuck you?"
Rodney shivers, feels it start in the base of his feet and race up his spine. His arms go limp, boneless. John drags one of Rodney's arms down to the bed, presses a kiss against the inside of Rodney's wrist, nuzzles into his palm, stubble scratching along the sensitive skin, making Rodney's fingers curl up against the side of John's face.
John's watching his face, eyes so, so dark, just letting Rodney pet his cheek and jaw. Rodney's chest feels tight, he feels lightheaded and John says, rough, "Breathe, Rodney." He's still sucking in desperate breathes, sweet air filling his lungs, when John chuckles and starts kissing down his arm.
Rodney's not sure that anyone has ever sucked on the inside of his elbow before. He does know that he's never had a hickey there before, but John hums over it after it's done, licks his red, red, mouth and looks pleased with himself.
Rodney curls his free hand around the back of John's head, rubs little circles into the man's scalp. John makes a soft sound, bends over Rodney's arm, and everything that had been moving so fast is suddenly slow as molasses. Rodney can feel each strand of John's hair between his fingers, can feel his skin bruising under John's mouth, can feel John's heart pounding.
John rumbles, shifting his weight across Rodney's body, grabbing his other arm and pinning it to the bed. Rodney's going to have matching bruises on the insides his elbows, he's going to have teeth marks on the inside of his wrist, but it doesn't matter. Rodney runs his knuckles up and down the line of John's neck, traces his thumb over the other man's jaw.
When John finally settles back, Rodney slides both hands up, frames John's face. John says, "I'm gonna take your pants off now."
Rodney manages to nod, and John smiles, rolls smoothly off the side of the bed. John's skin is painted in shadows in the dark room, his smile catching the light when he bends to pull Rodney's boots off and tosses them towards the wall instead of just dropping them. Rodney rolls his eyes, and then groans when John leans forward and tugs at the waistband of his pants.
It's one of the most fascinating things Rodney's ever seen, John tugging his pants and briefs down. There's none of the rush that came with their shirts, and John throws the BDUs off to the side before straightening and reached for his own zipper with an eyebrow raised in question. Rodney's voice is a rasp, "God, yes, please. Naked, naked is very good."
John takes no time squirming out of his own pants and boots, and Rodney lets his thighs fall open in invitation.
John's hands are steady when he leans forward to brace his palms on Rodney's thighs and crawls onto the bed between them. Rodney's aware of John pulling one of his knees up, of John pressing more kisses into his skin, but he's kind of distracted by the line of John's erection, heavy and thick and arching up towards his belly. He whimpers.
John gets his attention when he pushes Rodney's leg up and back, and Rodney hisses at the stretch. John's voice is a murmur, almost lost against the inside of Rodney's thigh, "This is really weird."
"Yeah," Rodney's skin is jumping under John's touch, the slow caresses and the sharp nip of his teeth onto delicate, white skin. "Are you—do you still want—"
John's head pops up, his mouth hard and set. His grip on Rodney's thighs slips from firm to bruising, his voice is a low growl, "Yes. That's—yes. You still want me to?" John leans forward, dropping kisses onto the juncture of Rodney's hip and leg, like he thinks he needs to convince Rodney.
Rodney's hands catch at the other man's shoulders, in his hair, he manages, "Yes. Oh God, that's—that's a stupid question." John makes a happy, humming sound, and slides his mouth back down, trailing kisses and bites down Rodney's other leg.
Rodney drifts, heavy and blown somewhere so far past arousal that he aches with it from his scalp to his toes, jumping at every brush of John's teeth, every warm press of his mouth. When John rocks back onto his heels Rodney hears himself make a soft, protesting sound, curls towards the other man's warmth.
John's pulling at his hips, rumbling, "Turn over, c'mon, need to get you open, get you loose and ready for me."
Rodney's pretty sure that he's never actually been anywhere near this loose in his entire life. But John is tugging at his hips, fingers pressing into bruises he put on Rodney's skin, and Rodney rolls over. John's still pulling at his hips, and Rodney mumbles a soft protest, but goes with it when John coaxes him up to his knees. He manages, "Hey, I'm not, I haven't done, I mean, long time here—"
John presses a messy, wet kiss to the base of his spine, rubs his hands up the outsides of Rodney's thighs, and rumbles, "Got you." Rodney still makes a sound of protest when John shifts away, even if it's just to the nightstand beside the bed, and Rodney wonders again, in some distant corner of his mind not drowning in John and sex, whose room they're in and why they have lube in their bedside table. And satin sheets.
Then it seems unimportant, because John's dropping the lube by Rodney's hands, rumbling, "Hold this," and resettling behind Rodney. Rodney has time to realize that wow, John was really serious about the tasting everywhere thing, and then John's just there. Rodney's sure there should be freaking out, but it's John, John who's kissed him everywhere else, and it just makes sense that he'd do this, as well.
Rodney groans, braces his forehead against the mattress and balls his hands in the sheets and feels himself melt a little more. John's hands are hard, his fingers digging into Rodney's thighs, and there'll be bruises there too, come morning. Rodney pushes back into the pressure, pleads, "Just—Christ—Just fuck me, please."
John makes a negative sound, more felt than heard, his tongue busy doing obscene, filthy, dirty things. Rodney clenches his hands in the sheets, panting like he's run a goddamn marathon, still able to hear the wet sounds John's making. Rodney's trembling, shaking apart at the seams, and John pulls away, rests his forehead against Rodney's back and says, "Gimme—"
The little grabbing motions John makes with the hand he drops down to the sheet should not be enough for Rodney to put together what the other man's asking him for in his present addled state. But Rodney is a genius, and he fumbles for the lube, passes it back with trembling fingers.
John pauses, his fingers curling around Rodney's, "You okay? I think—I can probably make it to the infirmary." John's shivers, as if to belie his words, his arm sliding around Rodney's waist and squeezing, fingers tracing patterns over Rodney's hip as his chin digs into Rodney's back.
Rodney shakes his head, because it would be bad to go to the infirmary. He'd get all shaky and confused again and John would get all angry, and really this is much nicer all around. His voice is a gasp, trying to make his throat relearn words after the senseless moaning that it'd become accustomed to, "Stay. Stay. This is—we need this."
John groans, turns his face against Rodney's skin, a rasp of stubble over sensitive flesh that has Rodney's toes curling up and a chill climbing his spine. He can feel how hard John's breathing, it's pushing his body forward with each breath, rocking Rodney on the bed. John finally moves with a pained sound, dragging the lube out of Rodney's hand.
Rodney keeps expecting John to break, to lose his control and just hold him down and fuck him. But the circle of John's finger around his ass is a barely there touch, and he can feel John's breath brushing against his skin, fast desperate gasps. The tease of pressure is killing Rodney, he groans, tries to rock back into the touch and John grumbles, tightens his hold around Rodney's waist.
John's voice is a purr, a vibration that chases the heat from his touch up Rodney's spine, "Slow."
Rodney growls, "Bastard," and feels the brush of John's breathy laughter. John's finger is slick, but Rodney can't tell if it's from John's spit or lube, maybe both. All he really knows is that it's not enough, not anywhere close to enough, and he's not above pleading, "Please, please, slow is—" his voice breaks around the tip of John's finger to the first knuckle pressing into him, "slow is so overrated."
John hums, agreeable for all that he's just twisting his finger around, moving in tiny little circles that slide him in slow-slow-slow. Rodney clenches around the intrusion, huffs out either a laugh or a gasp when John rumbles and rocks against him, hips thrusting in empty air. John's voice is a whisper, suddenly gone all tight and desperate again, "I need, Christ, I need to be in you."
"Not arguing." John crooks his finger, easing it out as slowly as he slid it in, the sensation a low drag that dances all along Rodney's nerves. There's a twist to the movement when John circles back in, every bit as slow, but with the barest edge of greater pressure. "I think you should. Right now. I can—I can take it."
John's grip around his waist tightens again, he rasps, "No, no, gotta be—" another slow slide out, push in, twist on the end that has Rodney seeing spots, "—looser than this."
Rodney's pretty sure this is actually torture. His hips are jerking in John's hold, helpless little thrust looking for something, anything more than he's being given. He gasps, trying to distract himself from the pressure building at the base of his spine, the way his whole body is tightening up, "Think this is—is this dangerous?"
John shrugs, the movement shifts Rodney forward, slides his knees further apart on the slippery sheets. "Don't care. God. I need you. I'm gonna—" John slides his finger all the way out, and Rodney groans, braces his arms and pushes back hard and John bites the top of his ass. When he presses the tips of two fingers in, slow and languid as before for all his talk about needing, they both sigh.
Rodney opens his mouth, and loses track of what he was going to say as John sinks his fingers in. He makes a strangled sound, claws at the sheets, and comes. The pressure that had been building so slowly crests over the edge before he's even aware how close he is, and he feels his body shudder and jerk, feels the hot wet mess on his stomach.
John is moving, sliding up over his back, pushing him down flat on the bed and pressing sloppy kisses against the base of Rodney's neck. Rodney feels warm all over, tingly, aware of the spread of wet heat under his belly and chest and John's fingers, still moving lazy as sin in his ass.
He mumbles, when he can manage something besides half-slurred pleas of John's name, "Really, really loose now."
John laughs, low and thick against his shoulder, says, "Pushy," and twists his fingers. John's weight feels good, secure and warm, and Rodney melts into the bed, because fine, if John wants to spend a lifetime finger fucking him open, who is he to protest. John makes a surprised, awed sound, slides his fingers out and whimpers when he pushes a third in beside them. "Christ."
Rodney smiles, enjoying the feel of John's forehead against his shoulder, the feel of the other man's hand trapped under his body, the way he can feel John shaking. He says, voice thick and rough, "Told you," just to hear the soft desperate sound John makes in response.
John chokes out, "I have to—" swallowing a breath between each word, sliding his fingers free and pushing Rodney's thighs further apart. "—oh, God. Rodney." John yanks his hand out from under Rodney's body, grabs his hips and tilts them back.
There's got to be lube everywhere, and Rodney's distantly sorry for the mess they're making all over whoever's bed this is. But then John's pushing into him, rocking his hips in little circles that slow progress to tiny fractions of inches. Rodney gasps, hard again by the time John's half in him, "Breathe, John."
John sucks in a huge breath, loud above him, and falls forward, catching himself with hands braced on either side of Rodney's ribs, sliding the rest of the way in. Rodney can feel the tension in John's arms, the heat radiating off the other man's body, drops of sweat dripping off John's chest and landing on his back.
This isn't the best position for anything athletic, but John seems content to lay over him, nestled between his thighs, breathing deep and ragged. Rodney's own erection is throbbing, but his entire body is all lit up with arousal, and somehow that makes it easier to ignore, to just let John take the time he needs.
John slouches slowly forward, until he's pressed completely up against Rodney's back, his cheek lying against Rodney's neck. When he finally moves, the slow rock of his hips back, and then forward, Rodney can feel the way the other man's voice hitches, catches in his chest.
John's hands are clenched in the sheets, fingers opening and closing spastically as he shifts, exquisitely deliberate. When John speaks, his voice is low, reverent, "This is—God, you're perfect. This is perfect. Never ever want to stop this. Tell me I—" his voice cracks.
Rodney shivers, the slow movement of John's cock, the rough timbre of his voice, driving him slowly, beautifully, insane. He works a hand down, grabs one of John's and tangles their fingers together. He's babbling, "Yes. You can, this, forever."
John groans, fingers closing painfully tight around Rodney's, but that's okay. It's all okay, it's perfect all over and the fear and paranoia from the planet are gone. Rodney's warm and content and so turned on he's not sure how he hasn't managed to come again and he never, ever wants to not be lying here like this.
It's perfection to rock his hips slowly back up against John's in time with his slick slow thrusts. He can feel John mouthing kisses across his shoulder again, no teeth now, just open wet kisses that keep getting interrupted by the whining sound in the back of John's throat.
Rodney's barely managing thought, lost somewhere in the smell of sex all around them and the weight of John pressing him down into the mattress. He manages, between gasps as John pulls out, pushes in, steady and slow and perfect, "How—how are you?"
John grunts, his mouth twisting up into a smile over the edge of Rodney's shoulder blade, "Good."
Rodney wonders if he should be irritated, but can't bring himself to be anything but drowsy and on fire, "I mean..." he trails off when John shifts down, pushes up to his elbows and changes the angle of his thrusts to something deeper, slower. "I meant something else." He doesn't remember what.
John hums, his fingers are tracing patterns over Rodney's sides, rough fingertips, the scrape of short fingernails. John is quite possibly undulating his hips which Rodney has never ever felt anyone do before, cock barely sliding out at all before he's grinding back in, breathing fast and ragged. "I'm not—not angry. Anymore. I just—want to do this. Forever."
"Yeah," Rodney knows the feeling. He shivers, chilled now that John's not blanketing him any longer, "Can I turn over? I want to be able to—"
John's response is immediate, he's sliding his cock free, literally whining in the back of his throat as he paws at Rodney's hips with slippery, desperate fingers. The fear that floods back in at the lack of contact with John's skin is sharp, and Rodney chokes, pressure squeezing around his heart as he scrambles to flip onto his back.
Rodney's reaching for his own knees without thought, and John's sagging forward, pushing back into him with a shudder. The first half dozen thrusts are hard, John's putting his whole body into it, and the bed bangs against the wall, loud. The relief of the contact and the glorious pressure is dizzying. Rodney grabs for John's biceps, arches his back, and comes.
John rumbles, hips thrusting hard and bending Rodney nearly in half, landing a kiss high on Rodney's cheeks, lips uncoordinated as he shivers and shakes and follows Rodney into the daze of orgasm. Rodney's vaguely aware of running his fingers through John's messy, sweaty hair, of John's face buried against the side of his neck, of the fact that John is still hard inside him. Hell, he's getting there himself, cock trapped between their bellies.
John's mouthing at his collarbone, making soft broken sounds, and Rodney tightens around his cock just to see what he'll do. John's hips jerk immediately, already buried balls deep in Rodney's ass and trying to sink deeper. Rodney can feel himself grinning, dangerously wide, "So when you said all night..."
"Meant it. Pacing myself." John pushes up onto one elbow, smiles down at him. There are none of the lines of stress on his face that Rodney's gotten used to seeing. John looks young and stupidly happy, and he's grinding his hips in tormenting little circles.
Rodney's still got a hand on the other man's hair, he tugs, traces the shell of John's ear, follows the line of his throat down to his collar bone, out to the edge of his shoulder, back in. John's eyes fall half closed, and he shifts again, up onto his hands over Rodney, grabbing at one of Rodney's legs and sliding it over his shoulder. John slides out until just the head of his cock is in, and then slides back in, a fast snap of his hips.
Rodney feels his whole body jerk with the movement, feels the slow burn building in his muscles again. John's grinning, more than a little smug, as he sets his rhythm, painfully slow out, making up for it on the fast slide in. Rodney's hands slide on John's shoulders, hot slick skin that he can't get a grip on.
Rodney gasps, timing his words between John's thrusts, "Not gonna be able to walk in the morning," not if John's planning on fucking him that many hours on end. He thinks he should probably be upset about that. He's surprised that he likes the idea, too sore from this to move.
John likes the idea, too, if the way he squeezes his eyes shut and bites his bottom lip is any indication. Rodney keeps talking, because he likes the way it makes John's breath more ragged, the way it makes his hands claw at the sheets, "You're gonna have to tell everyone why. What're you gonna tell them all?"
John's eyes snap open, dark rimmed in startling white, "Tell them the truth. Tell them I fucked you until you broke." Another quick snap forward, slow slide back, Rodney's legs jerking helplessly with the movement, an involuntary sound escaping his lips.
"I think a week," John's radiating smug superiority, it's dripping off his voice. Rodney almost hesitates to ask what, but he's been driven completely out of his mind and can't be held at all responsible for anything else that comes out of his mouth.
"A week what?"
John pushes into him hard, bends Rodney in half again, hips managing a constant grind as he rasps into Rodney's ear, "Until you can walk again." John drags his teeth along Rodney's ear, blows cool air across the overheated skin, eases his hips back and then snaps them forward and Rodney's already all folded up.
Rodney scrambles at the other man's shoulders, seeing spots behind his eyes, trying for words and managing a long, low moan. John stays there, driving into him with perfect little thrusts until Rodney's sure that his spine is just going to give up and snap, and then the other man eases back, breathing hard, head hanging down almost to Rodney's chest.
Rodney pets at his hair at his neck, feeling the shivers under John's skin, the muscles that jump at just the hint of his touch. Rodney slides his ankle across John's back, smiles sloppy, "Pacing yourself?"
John whimpers, hips jerking in a quick one two three of force and pressure before he catches himself and sinks back into a slow grind. John's slurring his words now, head still hanging, "'s'right." The constant pressure, shifting barely noticeably back and forth, has Rodney's shoulders curling off the bed, because it feels like John's managed to lean all his weight on Rodney's prostate.
Rodney's aware of the tiny sounds he's making, seeing spots behind his eyes and trying to pull himself up and John down and John shifts, thrusts and some of the impossible fire along Rodney's nerves eases. Rodney's surprised to find that he's managed to rock them upright, to find himself bent impossibly in John's lap, one leg sticking incongruously over John's shoulder.
John's eyes have gone wide, his mouth is hanging open and he's panting against Rodney's mouth, arms wrapping around him and clinging, like John's not sure how he got Rodney in his lap but he doesn't want him to go anywhere. John says, "I—" and his voice cracks, his cock twitching, his hands fluttering over Rodney's shoulder, "Didn't know you were this flexible."
Rodney hadn't known either, "Yeah, I think it's the stuff." Whatever it is that had made him sure everyone was going to kill him back on the planet, that John was the only safe haven, the only one that was going to take care of him. Whatever it is that had made John so furious. Whatever it is that's driving them to some truly insanely awesome sex.
"Can you? Please?" John's hips twitch, pushing up into him as John's eyes roll back in his head, and Rodney grins. It barely takes any pressure at all to tumble John onto his back, though Rodney only remembers at the last moment to drag his leg off the other man's shoulder.
John curls up, gasping, and Rodney braces his hands on the other man's shoulder and holds him down. John's hands are closing around Rodney's hips, digging in, bruising and it makes Rodney's eyes flutter. He raises himself, none of the slow restraint that John had been tormenting them with.
John's head is rolling back, all the tendons in his neck standing out and Rodney laughs, breathless, driving himself down on the other man's cock just to watch the way it makes John's throat tighten. It's surprisingly easy, slick, even though he can feel the burn of it up his back and in his hips and thighs because God, he doesn't know how long they've been going at this but he knows it's been a long time.
John's apparently reading his mind, possibly a side effect to having his dick so far up Rodney's ass, gasps, "'s my come in your ass, slicking us up, Jesus Christ, Rodney, you're—"
Rodney's not sure what he is, he's too busy enjoying driving himself out of his mind with John to bother finding out. John's gasping, anyway, sucking in a quick breath every time Rodney raises himself up, so Rodney doubts he could answer.
Rodney's arms are burning from the strain, his shoulders and chest and back aching from fucking himself down onto John's cock, his thighs tensing up further and further. He thinks that he's going to come for the third time without anyone even thinking about touching his cock, and like his brain had just been waiting for him to consider the option, he's coming hard and messy all over John's stomach.
Rodney starts to slump forward, locks his elbows and tries to get his breathing somewhere near steady. John whines, long and low, and Rodney can feel him shifting, can feel John's legs tensing between his and then John's jerking his hips, thrusting up into him hard, lifting him off the bed with each snap.
John's grunting out Rodney's name, it's tumbling off his lips in a tangled mess, vowels drawn out, consonants clipped off as John breaks beneath him. When John comes his eyes and mouth all fall open, like he's dumbstruck and dying and Rodney lets himself finally collapse, kisses John messy and deep.
They're still kissing, John's tongue fucking into his mouth, and Rodney rolls them sideways because he's pretty sure that'll be more comfortable for John. John, who is impossibly, improbably, getting hard inside him again. John pulls back, brushing butterfly gentle kisses across Rodney's cheeks, murmuring, "That...that was not pacing ourselves, Rodney."
Rodney snorts, tracing his hands up and down John's back, "Fuck you."
John's laughter is loud, his deeply amused laugh and Rodney forgives the abrasiveness of it due to the marvelous things it does to his cock. He snugs their foreheads together, stares into John's laughing eyes and finds himself grinning helplessly back.
John's hips are starting to twitch again, and Rodney can see the barely there shadows of pain in the corners of the other man's eyes. He doubts he'll be the only one walking funny for a while, leans forward and kisses the tip of John's nose to distract him from the discomfort, says, "Sorry I wasn't gentle enough with you."
This time it's a snort instead of outright laughter. John closes the distance to kiss him again, slow and lazy, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of Rodney's head. It's soft and almost chaste and Rodney grins against John's mouth. John looks indignant and sleepy and deliciously fucked out when he pulls back enough to demand, "What?"
Rodney shrugs, leans back in for another kiss. He kind of wonders how it's possible to feel this ridiculously sated and this desperate all at the same time. Rodney nibbles his way along John's lower lip, enjoying the other man's fingers carding through his hair, the ghost of pressure that's John's other hand just resting on his hip. John sighs into his mouth, still rocking up into him, but so gently it might be an afterthought.
By the time John shifts, pulling back enough to mumble, "Turn over, c'mon, I have an idea," Rodney's lost somewhere above cloud nine. He complies, sliding off John and whimpering at the loss before managing to get completely tangled because John doesn't want to let go of him and that's not conducive to turning over.
John's plastered up against his back almost instantly, one leg slung over Rodney's hip, shaking right up until he slides back in. Rodney's heart is pounding, too fast with fear and adrenaline, and he grabs one of John's hands, pulls it over his chest and clings to him desperately. John's teeth are closed over the back of his neck, Rodney can feel each heavy brush of his breath.
When his pulse slows, when some of the panic bleeds out of Rodney's system, he licks his lips, says, "So. Is it the sex or the contact, do you think?"
John's still panting, biting at the back of Rodney's neck, "Don't care, just glad it works." Rodney can agree with that, at least. The swell of need and want throbbing through him is infinitely more preferable than the cold dread that creeps in as soon as he stops touching John.
"Think Teyla and Ronon are, you know?" Rodney knows it's none of their business, but John's got his dick up Rodney's ass. Today is not a normal day. John snorts at the question, cuddles in closer, hooking his chin over Rodney's shoulder and just holding him.
John's still pushing his hips, just slick lazy thrusts. Rodney can feel himself melting again, sinking against John and the bed. The memory of the fear is already draining away, replaced by comfort and warmth. Rodney sighs, content, and pulls John's hand up to kiss along the back of his knuckles.
Morning is a long way from now, and John's solid and strong behind him, and things will be alright just as long as they keep touching. John kisses up behind his ear, says, slow and lazy as the movement of his hips, "Forgotten yet?"
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