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Title: Glass

Author: chelle

Author's email:

Author's URL:

Fandom: Atlantis

Archive: Ask first

Pairing: John/Rodney

Rating: NC 17

Notes: Written for the GPFP Studios community. Follows after Kind of Beautiful.

Scene 1

Interior: Colonel Stone's quarters. Small, neatly made bed. Guitar and skateboard stuffed in the corner. Johnny Cash poster over the bed. JOHN is sitting on the end of the bed, talking quietly with SAMANTHA CARTER.

"You can do this," Sam said, patting his knee.

John nodded. Of course he could. He'd done it before, jerked off in front of the camera. He could do it again. Except this was for GPFG and everything about working with them was weird, even after five films it was still weird. All this acting made him feel naked in a way that ordinary porn never had. Which made no sense at all, but there it was.

"Ready?" Sam asked with a gentle smile.

She was beautiful, and the best director he'd ever worked with, if he did women he'd totally want her, but he didn't. "Sure."

"A few shots of you getting undressed, then you get into bed in your boxers, under the covers. You start thinking about Dr. Mensa, missing him--"

"I'm a little worried," John cut in, "about him being off-world without me."

Sam patted his knee again. "Yes, Colonel, you are."

Except Rodney wasn't off-world. He was at the funeral of his favorite aunt in Canada. John should have been with him, but Rodney had said that bringing his porn star boyfriend along would just make things worse. John had pointed out that Rodney was a porn star, too.

At least the make-up sex had been good.

Aware of Sam watching him, John forced a smile. "Thinking about him turns me on, and I start jacking off. Then as I get more turned on, I get out a dildo and use it on myself while thinking about Rodney-- Dr. Mensa."

"Exactly. I'll talk you through it, let you know when it's time to move on to the next part. Remind you what it is you're supposed to be thinking about."

"Sounds good," John said. He was grateful for the support. He hadn't done a sex scene without Rodney since they'd started this series for GPFG, and Rodney was the actor. Jerking off he could do, jerking off with feeling that was harder.

"Great." Sam squeezed his shoulder and stood. "Let's get started."

John stood, waiting while Sam called the crew in and they took their places. Then he started undressing, removing the Colonel's thigh holster and belt, dropping his shirt into the Colonel's fake hamper. It wasn't a strip tease, just a man getting ready for bed.

He sat on the bed to untie his boots and remove his socks. Standing again to strip off his pants. Down to his boxers, he pulled back the blankets on the neatly made bed and climbed into it, turning off the bedside lamp.

Sam was all about making it look real so she'd had the lighting folks create the illusion of moonlight coming through the window and onto Colonel Stone's bed.

Drawing in a deep breath, John turned onto his side and closed his eyes.

"You're thinking about Dr. Mensa," Sam said quietly. "About saying good-bye to him at the gate."

John thought about that, about the good-bye scene they'd shoot when Rodney got back, about how Colonel Stone wouldn't be able to kiss his lover good-bye, or show anything more than concern for a friend.

He remembered taking Rodney to the airport, the hurried kiss they'd shared just before Rodney had gone through security into the boarding area.

Knowing he was supposed to be getting aroused, John wrenched his thoughts away from the airport and Rodney.

"Now you're thinking about how you feel about him, about the first time."

Colonel Stone and Dr. Mensa's first time. That had been hot. Fingering Rodney, thinking about how much Colonel Stone wanted Dr. Mensa. Rodney bent over, showcasing that incredible ass as he held onto the shelves in front of him. Rodney opening for him, wanting more, making John forget all about who they were supposed to be.

"That's it," Sam said softly. "You're starting to get hard. Run your hand over your chest. Think about the way Ryan touches you."

Ryan, right. Ryan not Rodney. Ryan's hands on Jake's chest, strong, wide fingers sliding through his chest hair, brushing a nipple. John didn't think many men had ever touched Jake like that. It was always about the fuck, about getting off. Then he met Ryan and suddenly it was about Ryan.

"Touch yourself the way Ryan touches you," Sam said, and John rubbed a nipple with his thumb, feeling it harden. His nipples hadn't been that sensitive before Rodney had gotten his hands and mouth on them. Rodney liked to play so John had let him. All of the attention had created new nerve endings or something because after a while John had started to like it. Now all Rodney had to do was touch his tongue to John's nipple and John's breath would catch.

Licking the pad of his finger, he rubbed it across a nipple. It wasn't as good as Rodney's tongue, but it still sent little sparks straight to his cock.

"Slide your other hand lower, rub your stomach."

John did as he was told, rubbing his hand across his stomach just above the waistband of his boxers. Rodney liked to kiss him there sometimes, when they were being slow and lazy. Ryan probably did that for the colonel, too. It would have confused Jake at first, all that affection, but John figured he was growing to like it.

Moving his fingers to his other nipple, he rubbed his stomach again, this time letting his fingers slip beneath the waistband to brush the head of his cock.

"Keep going," Sam said softly.

He touched the head with his fingers, then edged his hand lower, running his fingers up and down the underside, cock and hand still beneath his boxers. In the corner of his eye, he saw Sam nodding at one of the camerawomen. Once they had a mood going, she hated to disturb it. He and Rodney had decided it was one of the cool things about working with her.

But he was still aware of the camera following the movements of his hand, capturing everything he did. He wished he had a live feed directly to Rodney's computer. Closing his eyes, he imagined Rodney watching, unable to touch or encourage, forced to stay silent and still. John would get him so hot. Picturing Rodney's wide eyes, he stroked himself slowly, making sure Rodney could see the motions of his hand.

Opening his legs a little, he shifted his hips, pushing his cock into his hand, thinking of Rodney biting his lip to keep from urging John to go faster. Rodney had greedy hands. He was always eager to palm John's cock, to slide his fingers over the shaft, but once his fist was wrapped around him he went for it, stroking steadily, pushing John straight to the edge, watching him with those wide eyes the entire time.

"That's great, John. Now ease your boxers down."

Letting go of his cock, John took hold of his boxers and lifted his hips, pushing his boxers down and then sitting up to take them completely off. Lying back on the bed, he curled his hand back around his cock, giving it a long slow stroke.

"Lovely," Sam said quietly.

Cupping his balls in his free hand, he lifted them, spreading his legs, exposing himself to the camera, to Rodney.

"Jake's thinking about being fucked. About having Ryan inside him. About how it feels to be filled with that nice, thick cock."

Groaning softly, John rubbed that spot just beneath the head with his thumb. Filled, he wanted to be filled. Wanted Rodney in him. Rodney always opened him so damn much.

Jake liked it, too, liked being taken, even though he wasn't sure he should. But Ryan just blundered into the places Jake had always been able to keep private. Blundered in and stuffed his cock into Jake and made Jake want it.

Letting go of his balls, John lifted his fingers to his lips and sucked two of them into his mouth, sliding them back and forth, getting them nice and slick. The angle was awkward when he lifted himself up onto his elbow, but he managed to find his hole and pushed both fingers inside, head falling back as he felt the stretch.

Rodney would be breathing so damn hard by now.

He drew his fingers back, then eased them back in. John loved being fingered, especially by Rodney, who had thick, strong fingers and knew exactly what to do with them. Sometimes John suspected Rodney knew his body better than he did.

Opening his eyes, he looked down but there wasn't any way he could actually see his fingers moving in and out. Rodney could, though. Rodney could see him, would see him. Rodney would see him and get hard and hot and have to bite his lip to keep from moaning.

"You've got beautiful eyes, John," Carter said quietly. "Keep them open. Let us see."

John started to shake his head, because he didn't want them to see. He wanted Rodney to see. But he stopped himself in time, using the motion to tilt his head back again as he pushed his fingers against his prostate, making himself moan.

He did it again and again, wanting more, not quite ready to give it to himself. Besides, he was pretty sure Colonel Stone was good at self-denial.

But Rodney wasn't.

Fingers still in his ass, John fumbled for the drawer in the bedside table. Reaching unbalanced him, and he slipped from the elbow he was resting his weight on to the bed. He slid his fingers free with a vaguely annoyed sigh and rolled onto his side, closer to the edge of the bed. Opening the drawer, he pulled out a glass dildo and a bottle of lube. Pouring lube into his palm, he wrapped his hand around the cool glass, stroking it as if it were a cock, getting it warm and slick.

He felt like a pretzel trying to get the dildo into place, one leg folded and lying flat against the bed, his other knee in the air, foot pressing into the mattress, weight again resting on his elbow. It was worth it when he slid the dildo inside.

The glass was cool and unyielding, nothing like a cock. It didn't give as John pushed it inside, didn't adjust to his body's twists and turns. Instead, John was the one who adjusted, who shifted and wiggled until the dildo was comfortable, then shifted again until it was more than comfortable.

Slowly, he began to slide the dildo back and forth.

Then he made the mistake of looking up. All those female eyes on him. John had never been all that attracted to women, but he'd gotten used to the crew looking at him. But it had always been him and Rodney together, acting, pretending to be someone else.

That's what he was doing. He was pretending to be Colonel Stone, a man who missed his lover, who was jerking off and thinking about him. About Ryan, not Rodney. He was Colonel Jake Stone and his lover was Dr. Ryan Mensa.

Dr. Mensa, who would probably go off in his pants when he found out what Colonel Stone had done. John didn't think Ryan had gotten laid all that much before Jake had come along.

They'd have wild sex when Ryan found out. John was sure of it. His eyes would get wide and his mouth would fall open. He'd stammer a bit and then he'd kiss Jake like they were already mid-fuck, turned on and out of control. Ryan would grab Jake's ass and rub against him, and Jake would have to slow it down. Would whisper in Ryan's ear about how he'd imagined Ryan fucking him, how he wanted Ryan to fuck him hard and deep.

Shifting his grip on the dildo's handle, John pushed it in deep, straight into his prostate, making himself gasp. "God, Ryan."

"Oh, that's good," Sam said. John barely noticed.

He turned the dildo, rubbing it against that spot, sending pleasure shooting through him. Rodney had fucked him like this once, taken a dildo and just kept pressing it into John's prostate until John had shot all over both of them.

They needed to do that again. John wanted to do it again, wanted Rodney to take him, to make him writhe, to make him come. He wanted to feel Rodney's eyes on him, studying him like he was under some kind of microscope.

He started moving the dildo back and forth again, pounding now, fucking himself. Closing his eyes, he imagined Rodney there with him, leaning down to stroke his hair, to kiss him, wild and deep, letting John cling to his lips as he pushed himself closer and closer for Rodney.

Eyes locked on John's ass, Rodney would squeeze a nipple, and John would cry out. But Rodney wouldn't touch him anywhere below the waist. He'd make John do it all on his own.

Rolling onto his knees, John rested his upper chest on the bed, cheek against the mattress, and wrapped his free hand around his cock. He worked the dildo as fast as the position would allow, frustrated at his own inability to make his hands work in the same rhythm. Slowing, he managed to get enough coordination to push the dildo in just as he jerked his fist over that spot on his cock, the one that sent pleasure straight through his dick to the base of his spine where it ran smack into the dildo coming at him from the other direction.

Moaning, he moved his hands back and forth, working the dildo in and out, stroking his cock, until he was right there. He came with a groan, turning his face into the mattress as his ass tightened around the dildo and his cock jerked in his hand.

He kept still for several minutes after his orgasm ended, breathing hard, not wanting to look at the women around him, wishing Rodney was there.

Sam cleared the room the way she often did at the end of an intense scene, yet another reason John liked working with her, and John eased the dildo free, dropping it onto the sheet next to him. He'd clean it himself before he left. Pulling out the towel Cadman always left under the corner of the bed, he wiped himself up before rising from the bed and pulling on Jake's uniform for the walk back to his dressing room.

He washed the dildo in the bathroom sink, drying it and leaving it on the table in his dressing room. Cadman would undoubtedly have it sterilized before it was used again. Changing quickly, he went in search of Sam, catching up with her in her office, a room that was little more than a desk covered with scripts and notes.

She smiled brightly at him as he stepped inside. "Good work today."

"Thanks," John said, flushing a little. He'd been in this business long enough that he shouldn't flush, but talking to someone who'd just watched him fuck himself with a dildo felt a little awkward. "Listen, I was wondering if you could do me a favor."

"Of course."

Scene 2

Interior: RODNEY MCKAY'S hotel room. Rodney has just entered. He's wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black and red tie.

Loosening his tie, Rodney dropped it onto the bed, then sat heavily, half on the tie, and rubbed his temples with one hand. He was tired and he'd eaten too much. Why did everyone seem to think the answer to death was food?

There was a vague, headachy feeling behind his eyes and he wanted to talk to John, but he wasn't quite up for hearing about how everything would have been easier if he'd just allowed John to come with him. Not that John ever said the words. He just listened to Rodney bitch, asked a question here and there, and was generally supportive and annoying.

Closing his eyes, Rodney dropped back onto the bed. Aspirin, check email, then call John. That's what he needed to do. But first he had to get up and the bed was oddly comfortable for a hotel bed.

Forcing himself to his feet, he opened his suitcase, rustling around in his shaving kit bag until he found a small bottle of ibuprofen. He carried the bottle into the bathroom and took two, washing them down with water, avoiding looking too closely at his reflection. He knew there were circles under his eyes. He didn't need to see them again.

Maybe if he called the airport he could get a flight tonight instead of tomorrow and avoid another family breakfast.

This morning's had been so much fun. Jeannie sitting there all perfect and smiling with her Ph.D. and her perfect daughter and her too nice to be real husband, while Rodney hunched down in his chair, the family disappointment. That he liked acting had never mattered. It had always been a waste of his genius. Now that he made porn his liking it mattered even less.

Grabbing his laptop off the desk, he sat on the edge of the bed and watched it boot. Internet access at the hotel was free, but it still took at least three mouse clicks before he was online. Rodney contained his irritation, waiting until he was fully connected to open his email program.

Viagra spam, like he needed a pill to get it up.

Tax info from Radek. Oh, joy.

Something from John with the subject "My Day." Rodney clicked it open. It was a link to the GPFG website with a user ID and password, signed "Thought about you, John." Puzzled and, okay, pleased that John was thinking about him, Rodney clicked on the link and entered the requested password.

Streaming video showed John in Colonel Stone's quarters stripping to his boxers and then lying on the bed. This must be what they had come up with to cover his missed days. John slid his hand across his chest. A John masturbating scene, Rodney heartily approved. He shuffled back on the bed until he was leaning against the headboard, pillow stuffed behind him, his eyes never leaving the screen

Wetting a finger, John rubbed a nipple. Rodney wanted to be there, wanted to close his mouth around that tiny bit of flesh and suck until John arched beneath him.

The camera drew back, showing all of John stretched out on the bed, his erection straining his plain blue boxers. He was gorgeous. Sometimes Rodney tended to forget how gorgeous. Then he'd catch sight of John and something in his chest would tighten, just for a moment.

John's fingers slid beneath the waistband of his boxers, and Rodney thought about calling him. Maybe John would tell him what he'd been thinking about as he touched himself, or Rodney could tell John what seeing him like this did to him.

Because it was doing all kinds of things.

Except he didn't want to share this, not yet. John moved his entire hand into his boxers, and Rodney lifted the computer in one hand, using the other to lower his zipper. His cock immediately pushed its way upward, demanding attention. Rodney shoved the waistband of his boxers out of the way, but kept his hand away from his cock as he settled the computer onto his thighs.

John was stroking himself. Rodney could see his fist moving beneath the boxers, even, steady strokes. Knowing but not being able to see was incredibly hot. Maybe John would give him a repeat performance when he got home, when he was in the same room.

Sliding his boxers down, John looked straight into the camera, and it was like he was looking right at Rodney, right into Rodney, like he could see the places inside where Rodney missed him.

When John began sucking on his own fingers, Rodney's cock twitched. John usually sucked on his fingers before sliding them into Rodney.

John had fucked him in every way possible, with fingers, with his cock, with dildos and vibrators and plugs, and Rodney had loved them all. He liked it when John played with him. He wanted John to play with him. Genius IQ or not, he loved being John Sheppard's fuck toy.

This time John was sliding those fingers into himself, and Rodney gasped into the silent hotel room. He knew John fucked himself sometimes. Who didn't? But he rarely did it where Rodney could see. Now he was doing it on camera, with close-ups and DVD sales. It was a gut-churning thought, all those strangers seeing John like this, except those same strangers would know that John was his. That they could look, but it was Rodney he lived with, Rodney who got to touch him. It was Rodney he bitched at when they ran out of half and half for his coffee, and Rodney he put his cold feet on in the middle of the night.

Rodney wanted to be there right now, wanted to slide his fingers in beside John's, wanted to feel John's ass clench around his fingers and the smooth softness inside, the tiny swell of his prostate, begging to be touched.

He knew that was exactly where John's fingers were. It was obvious from the look on his face.

Unable to hold back any longer he curled his fingers around his cock, stroking lightly, teasing himself.

Then John turned onto his side and Rodney groaned, tightening his hold on his cock as John lifted the dildo from the drawer.

John pushed the glistening dildo up against his hole and Rodney watched it slide in, his lower lip caught in his teeth. He'd done that to John more than once, and he wondered if that was what John was thinking about as the dildo disappeared from view, John's ass stretched around it.

Rodney knew John's body better than he'd ever known anyone else's. He knew how hot John got once he finally let someone inside him. It took him a while to get there, but once he did, he was responsive as hell, moving into Rodney's touch and Rodney's thrusts.

Leaning forward, his hand curled unmoving around his cock, Rodney watched John turn the dildo, no doubt rubbing it against his prostate the way Rodney had taught him. With his lean legs angled open, the muscles in his arm flexing as he worked the dildo, erect cock peeking out from under his forearm, mouth parted in pleasure, he was the hottest thing Rodney had ever seen.

That Rodney knew him, knew him intimately, had called him a jackass, made him eat when he was sick, held his hand at his hand at his mother's graveside, only made seeing him like this hotter. This wasn't some guy with a big dick who spent hours in the gym. This was John, who had a nice dick, and only went to the gym when he was between books.

John started to move the dildo faster, working it back and forth. Staring at his computer screen, Rodney moved his own hand in time to John's rhythm.

Then John rolled onto his knees.

His legs were apart, his ass in the air, the dildo sticking out of it, but then John took hold of the handle and pushed it deeper. He'd seen John in this position countless times, admired the curve of his ass, rested his hand on that curve as he worked his way into John. But John was alone this time, without Rodney there to place himself between John and the camera, completely exposed.

John's strokes were slower in his position, but Rodney didn't slow his own. He couldn't, not with John looking like sin itself.

John was moving his hips, rocking between the hand on his cock and the dildo in his ass. Rodney lifted his own hips, pushing his cock through his fist like he was pushing up into John.

Then John came, his cock spurting, and Rodney couldn't hold back any longer. He jerked himself hard and fast, plunging straight into a wrenching orgasm that left him panting, eyes closed, suit spotted with come.

Wiping his hand on the sheet, he searched his pocket for his cell phone. Finding it, he flipped it open and hit one on the speed dial.

John answered on the third ring. "Hello."

"You're coming with me next time."

"Okay," John said as if he had expected Rodney to change his mind.

Rodney rested his head on the wall behind him, his gaze tilted up to where the wall met the ceiling.

"How was the funeral?" John asked.

"It was a funeral." Rodney paused. "You had a much better day than I did."

"You watched it, huh?" John sounded nervous, something Rodney hadn't expected.

"Of course I watched it. My suit may never recover."

"I'll get you a new one."

"Yes, you will." It wasn't what Rodney wanted to say at all. He wanted to tell John what it had felt like to see him on the screen. What the last few days had been like without him. "I miss you."

"Me, too."

"You…" Rodney drew in a deep breath. "You make me happy. Not just when you're naked, but, you know, all the time. Or most of the time, when you're not waking me up because your feet are cold."

"I promise to keep my cold feet to myself for at least a week after you get back."

Rodney snorted.

"What?" John asked.

"I'll be impressed if you make it one night."

"They aren't that cold. You exaggerate."

"Yes, because I'm exactly the type of person who is prone to exaggeration."

John laughed. "Two words: Yale drama."

"Ha-ha." Sinking lower in the bed, Rodney pressed the phone tight to his ear and listened to John list off all the times Rodney had responded with a completely appropriate amount of volume and bluster. By the time John reached his third example, Rodney was smiling.