Jul. 31st, 2008
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Sometimes, ever so rarely, they have good days. Days where Rodney knows who he is, and who John is, and, if he's not in the present then he's at least somewhere nice. John holds onto those days as tightly as he can, soaking in the good because he knows it won't last.
Now Rodney is kissing him, making needy little desperate sounds against John's mouth. John gives everything he can in the kiss, one hand around the back of Rodney's head, cushioning it against the hard floor. With his other, he twists, three fingers buried inside Rodney's body, hot and soft and tight.
Rodney bites at John's bottom lip, his body arching up off the cold floor, hands gripping at John's shoulders and arms. John gasps, sliding his fingers in and out again, aching with need, and Rodney babbles against his mouth, "You can, John, I want you to."
John groans, kissing Rodney as hard as he can before shifting back just a little. He has to watch when he slides his fingers out, has to look at Rodney, just to make sure he's still there behind his eyes. Once, just once, Rodney's mind had shifted while John was in him. The memory makes John flinch.
"I'm here, John," Rodney arches up enough to kiss him, sweet and comforting, his words a soft promise, "I'm right here with you," and John groans, his hands shaking when he gets himself lined up, hand clenching tight at Rodney's hip.
Rodney gasps and moans with each shift of John's hips, body responding like this is the first time they've ever done this. And it's perfectly possible that for Rodney it is. Rodney cups John's face in his big hands, blue eyes bright and shining, "It's not, John, I remember," and John kisses him in relief, curling over him and rocking his hips slow and deep.
Their skin slides together, and the only sound is the rough rasp of their breathing, the slap of their bodies meeting and shifting just a little apart. John buries his face against the curve of Rodney's neck, driving into him, holding on, wishing that they could always be like this.
Rodney is stroking John's hair, his shoulders, his voice getting tight as he meets each of John's thrusts, "Me too, I want, I want that too," and John bites at Rodney's collarbone, working a hand between them, curling his fingers around Rodney's cock, hard and familiar in his grip.
Rodney groans, curling his shoulders up off the floor, and John kisses the bite, and thinks he would do anything to protect this. Anything. And Rodney gasps, "I know, John, I never had a doubt," and John twists his wrist and Rodney shakes apart beneath him.
When John follows him over the edge, they curl up together, and John holds Rodney as tightly as he can, waiting for the inevitable shift.
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