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Manly Hands


Title: Manly Hands

Author: chelle

Author's email:

Author's URL:

Fandom: Atlantis

Archive: Ask first

Pairing: John/Rodney

Rating: NC 17

Notes: Inspired by sheafrotherdon, betad by Grrrl.

John has hairy hands.

Rodney is sure he's noticed this before. It's not as though he's never looked at John's hands. Not that he was looking looking. They were just there, in his field of vision. Like they are now.

Except the jumper controls aren't really in his line of sight, or wouldn't be if he looked out the window, or at the panel in front of him.

But he doesn't lift his eyes. The hair is soft-looking. Fine and dark. It's a very male thing, really, hair on the back of one's hands. But John has that whole hairy guy thing going on pretty much everywhere.

Rodney's got hair, too, but not as much, and what he does have is falling out, at least from his head. He read somewhere that male pattern baldness is connected to testosterone, so he decided to take it as a sign of his overwhelming masculinity.


Jerking his gaze away from John's hands, Rodney looks up, expecting to find a knowing smirk or maybe exasperation on John's face. Instead, he finds curiosity in John's eyes and a nice smile, as in the kind of smile a person gives you when they're trying to be nice. "What?"

"You going to take those sensor readings?"

"Oh, right." The sensor readings, the reason they're out here. Turning away from John, he starts to work.


Rodney is only half-listening to Ronon. He knows he should focus because Ronon is talking about Sateda, and he almost never does that. As a friend and teammate, he should care about this stuff. And he does. Sort of.

But John is rubbing an apple on his shirt, nodding almost absently as he listens to Ronon. Nodding and rubbing.

There are other sounds in the mess besides Ronon's voice, silverware clinking against plates, voices, lots of voices chattering and laughing, but Rodney's not hearing any of it. He's just watching John's hand moving up and down, rubbing the apple against his chest--shirt. Rubbing the apple against his shirt, holding it with long fingers. Warm skin made to look even warmer by dark, contrasting hair.

John raises the apple to his mouth and takes a big, crunchy bite.

Now there's a drop of juice on the side of his finger, just above his knuckle, and Rodney wonders if it's sweet. "Good apple?" he asks, his voice sounding weirdly tight. He hopes it only sounds that way to him.

John gives him another of those nice smiles. "Yup."

"Maybe I'll go get one," Rodney says and jumps from his seat. He grabs an apple from the fruit section of the line, but he takes it to his lab.

When he gets there, he sets the apple next to his laptop and forgets about it, focusing all of his attention on the sensor readings, because he's an important man with important things to think about.

And Sheppard's hands, however weirdly attractive they may be, are not worth his attention.



Rodney looks up from his computer to find John leaning in the doorway. His hands are in his pockets, not that Rodney looked. A quick glance at the corner of his laptop screen shows the time as a little before 1800.

"Want to play some chess over dinner?" John asks.

"Sure," Rodney says, because he doesn't have a good reason to say no.


He'd never noticed before how much John plays with the pieces. John touches practically every piece before moving it, and rolls captured pawns between his fingers.

That had been bad enough, but now he's captured Rodney's bishop. John is resting his chin in his hand, but the fingers of his other hand are moving slowly up and down the length of the piece. All the way down to the base, then back up to the tip. John even slides them back and forth a little before returning to the base.

Calluses, Rodney should know if John's fingers have calluses, but he doesn't. Swallowing against the tightness in his throat, he says, "Will you just make a damn move?"

"I'm thinking."

"You're giving a hand job to a chess piece, that's what you're doing." That may have come out tighter and less teasing than Rodney intended.

John smiles again and moves his queen, fingers stilling but not leaving the bishop. "Check."

Finally. Rodney takes the queen with his remaining bishop. "Mate."

A flicker of surprise crosses John's face, but it's gone almost as soon as Rodney registers it. John will never admit that he didn't see mate coming. He tips over his king, acknowledging Rodney's victory.

Crossing his arms, Rodney lifts his chin. "You should know better than to try and distract me."

"Is that what I was doing?" John answers, and his smile isn't quite so nice this time. It's something else, but Rodney has no idea what. Other than that it makes him feel oddly pleased.

And a little turned on. But that's probably the hand job. Not that Rodney thinks of John's hairy, manly hands stroking things, because he doesn't. It's just been a while, for all of them, and John was practically masturbating a pointy, cylindrical object. It's totally not his fault if he reacted.

Maybe that's how John masturbates, using his fingertips instead of his whole hand.

"Want to go again?" John asks, and this time Rodney thinks his smile might be seductive.

No, there is no way John is smiling at him seductively. That would be crazy. "Are you sure your ego can take another defeat?" Rodney says, leaning back in his chair.

"Pretty sure," John answers, and begins resetting the board.


John doesn't manage to take either of his bishops. Rodney should be happy about that, and he is, except he can't stop thinking about John's fingers stroking things. It isn't being helped by the fact that John keeps touching half of his pieces every turn before finally choosing one to move.

Where Rodney's fingers are thick and square, John's are slender, like the rest of him.

Like his cock.

Rodney's never seen John's cock, although it stands to reason that it's shaped like his torso-- long and slender. Okay, that's just… Rodney is not going to think about this. Pushing back his chair, he stands. "You know, I just remembered that I needed to check on--" He points at the mess hall door. "Something. In the lab. I'll see you later."

He walks as quickly as he can from the mess to his quarters and drops onto the bed on his back, feet on the floor, and puts an arm over his eyes as if it can block the images in his brain.

He'd thought about John's penis.

John's very male penis. Not that a penis could be female. Except for strap-ons, but they weren't really penises.

Noticing John's hands, that was one thing. They were there, out in the open, where they could be looked at. But a penis, that was a private piece of equipment. And guys don't go around thinking about other guys' equipment.

Not the private equipment.

Oh God, John's hands had made him stupid.

Scrubbing his hands across his face, Rodney decides that he needs to stop freaking and think about this rationally. So he'd been watching John's hands, nothing weird about that. Hands were meant to be watched.

So he kind of, maybe, likes it when John smiles at him, and when John wants to hang out with him. There isn't anything weird about that either. John's his friend, after all, and wanting to hang with your friends isn't weird. It's normal. Very normal.

So he'd had a stray thought about John's penis. People have them. Stray thoughts, that is. Perfectly normal. It doesn't mean he wants to touch John's penis or anything. Doesn't mean he's going to start sitting around thinking about John's penis in his hands.

Or John's penis in John's hand.

Except, wow, is that hot. John's hand, his strong, surprisingly fine, hand, with its dark manly hair, sliding up and down a penis. A long, gently-tapered penis.

Rodney can see it in his head. Naked John, all warm-looking skin and hair and elegant lines, with his legs apart and his hand on his cock, stroking himself, rubbing his fingers over the head.

Clutching at his own cock, Rodney squeezes it roughly, because he isn't going to think about this. He isn't going to jerk off while thinking about this.

But John is so damn hot.

Maybe just a small stroke with his palm, through his pants.

In his mind, John smiles at him.

The door chimes.

For a moment Rodney thinks about not answering. Then he pushes himself from the bed and tugs his shirt down, hoping it'll be enough to cover his erection.

John is standing on the other side of the door, because that is exactly the kind of luck Rodney has. "Brought your chess set," he says, lifting it as if Rodney won't see it otherwise, even though John is holding it in front of his chest.

"Thanks," Rodney says, reaching for it.

John lets it go, but he steps past Rodney into the room. "Sure you don't want another go?" he asks, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. "Or do you still need to go to the lab?"

Everything about John is screaming "curious," his body language, the tone of his voice, the way he's looking at Rodney. Rodney wonders if it will look funny if he holds the chess set in front of his groin. "I, um, still need to go to the lab actually. I came back here first to, um… do…"

John's eyebrows are doing the twisty thing they do when he's thinking, and his gaze drops. "If there's something urgent that you need to take care of…" John says slowly, his eyes widening. Rodney thinks bizarrely that they're going to end up as big as Rodney's cock feels.

"It's all your fault," Rodney says, the words bursting out before he can stop them.

"What is?" John asks, sounding perfectly innocent.

That's just too much because John knows perfectly well what. He's still looking at it. "You know what. The urgent business." Sweeping a hand across his front, Rodney tries to keep the chess set from tipping with his other hand.

Everything about John shifts, his expression, his body language, into something really, really suggestive. For a moment Rodney's brain locks up, caught between trying to figure out how he did that without actually moving and… "You did that on purpose," he says.

John shrugs.

A shrug should not be suggestive, and that John can make it that way is incredibly annoying and something else that Rodney is not going to think about right now. "You gave me urgent business deliberately. I can't believe that you'd try to win by making me think about your fingers and hand and… and… penises."

John simply smiles, the not-nice smile, the one that does weird things to Rodney's insides. It's just too much. Slamming the chess set down on the desk, Rodney stalks toward him. It isn't funny. Giving other guys, giving Rodney, urgent business is not something to smile about. Rodney doesn't even like guys, and John made him think about John's penis. And Rodney is going to wipe that smile off his face.

Apparently, he's going to do it by kissing him. Really kissing him, deep and hungry and maybe a little wild. Where did that come from, he thinks a little desperately, but he keeps kissing.

John keeps kissing back. His arms are wrapped around Rodney, pulling him in tight to John's chest. Rodney has no idea when or how that happened but he doesn't care. John doesn't feel as lean as he looks. He feels strong, solid, like Rodney can squeeze as tight as he wants to and John won't flinch.

He doesn't want to squeeze. He wants to get closer. His cock feels even bigger than it did before and he pushes his hips forward, finding a bulge that matches his own.

John groans and Rodney pulls back just far enough that he can see John's face, not so far that his cock loses contact with John's. "You weren't trying to win at chess."

John shakes his head.

"You were trying to seduce me by fondling a plastic bishop."

"Worked, didn't it?" John gives him a crooked grin. A sexy, crooked grin.

Rodney wants to argue the point, but it did work, even if he has no idea how. Or how John knew it would work. He'll sort it all out later, when most of his blood isn't concentrated below his waist. Right now he has kissing to do.

John captures Rodney's lower lip with his, sucks gently, matching the rhythm of his hips which are pushing into Rodney's. He slips his hand beneath Rodney's shirt, pressing against the small of Rodney's back, drawing Rodney into his rhythm as his lips leave Rodney's, landing on the side of his neck. The rhythm's the same, and Rodney's moving with it, his whole body responding to John's.

So much for not being gay.

Not that it matters because John feels good, amazing, fantastic, and Rodney has to touch, too. He pulls John's t-shirt free of his pants and pushes it up, moving his fingers through the hair on John's stomach. It's soft around his fingers. He goes higher, brushes a nipple with a fingertip.

John pushes into the touch, but only for a moment. Taking Rodney's shirt in his hands, he pulls it up and Rodney lets go long enough for it to be tugged over his head. Then John's hands are on him, stroking across his chest and down his arms. His touch is gentle, but not tentative. He touches Rodney's body like he knows exactly where he wants to go. Where he wants Rodney to go.

Rodney wonders if this is how the jumpers feel.

It's a stupid thought because jumpers can't feel, but if they could Rodney's pretty sure that they'd all want John to fly them all the time.

John mouths the place where neck meets shoulder and a soft, shuddering groan escapes before Rodney can stop it. Rodney wants John to keep mouthing his shoulder, wants to kiss him, wants to touch John with his hands, and cover John's body with his own. Wants John over him and against him. Wants John's hands, and his mouth, and his cock.

He still hasn't seen John's cock.

He fumbles with the buckle on John's belt, fingers clumsy with lust. John's hands cover his, surprisingly warm. "Do you want me to take them off for you?" John asks, pressing his cheek to Rodney's, keeping Rodney from seeing his face. It's the first time all night that John's seemed uncertain. It's bizarre, because who wouldn't want to see John naked.

"Please," Rodney says, convinced he can feel his heart pounding all the way down in his cock.

A quick kiss and John takes a step back. He pulls his shirt off first, dropping it to the floor. Then he removes his thigh holster, working quickly, not looking at Rodney.

Rodney stares, because John's fingers are brushing his own thigh. It's hot. Then the holster is gone and John bends down to untie his boots. He toes them off before finally reaching for his belt. Rodney watches the undoing of each button. John's still not looking at him, making it the most bashful strip tease Rodney's ever seen.

Finally, the buttons are all undone and Rodney can see John's cock push forward, trying to get free, to get out in the open where Rodney can give it the attention it deserves.

John bends forward to push his pants off, obscuring Rodney's view, but not for long. Because when he stands he's naked except for his boxers. Rodney steps toward him and cups John's cock through the fabric. "These, too."

"You do it," John says.

Rodney doesn't hesitate. He eases John's boxers down past his cock, then his thighs, before letting them drop to the floor. He trails his fingers up John's thigh. John's hairy here too, but it isn't quite as soft as his chest hair.

Easing his legs apart, John clutches Rodney's shoulders, staring between them as Rodney brushes the underside of John's balls with his fingers, drawn in by their softness.

Rodney uses both hands when he gets to John's cock, wrapping one around the base and using the other to explore the head, the ridge, the shaft. He was right. John's cock is long and slender, with a slight leftward curve.

He gives it an experimental stroke and John's hands tighten on his shoulders. It may be slender but John's cock is still firm in his hand, solid. It feels so good against his palm that Rodney has to stroke it again. And again.

John covers Rodney's hand with his own. "Not yet." With his other hand he reaches for the button on Rodney's pants.

Letting go, Rodney drops his hands to the side, lets John undo his pants, staring at John's hands the entire time.

He thinks John is brushing Rodney's dick with his fingers more than necessary. Not that he minds, because John's fingers are the best kind of tease.

As soon as his fly is open, John tugs his pants down, gets them as far as Rodney's thighs before he goes back for Rodney's boxers. His cock is so hard it's practically pushing through the slot in front all on its own. John eases the elastic over Rodney's cock, the fabric brushing his skin.

John's hand closes around him and Rodney shudders, resting his head on John's shoulder and staring down at the hand stroking him, slow and easy. His pants and boxers are still around his thighs, and that John couldn't wait until he was completely naked to touch him makes it hotter, makes Rodney's brain reel a little.

He rests his hands on John's waist, surprised at how smooth the skin beneath his hands is. "I'm still half-dressed," he whispers, not wanting to spoil the moment, but wanting to be naked with John, wanting to feel all of John against all of him.

"I can fix that," John whispers back. Taking hold of Rodney's shoulders, John guides him backwards until the backs of his knees bump the bed. He sits and John kneels gracefully in front of him, something which is going to feed his fantasies for months.

Then John lifts one foot, unties Rodney's sneaker and pulls it off. He pulls off Rodney's sock before repeating the action on the other side. Rodney's still trying to decide if anyone has ever removed his shoes before when John reaches for his pants and boxers and slides them the rest of the way down Rodney's legs.

Rodney's naked but John's still kneeling, sliding his hands slowly up Rodney's thighs. It's crazy how good they look, John's golden dark hands on his pale skin. But Rodney wants to touch too and he slides from the bed to his knees in front of John, close enough that their chests brush and his cock slides along John's stomach. They're kissing as soon as Rodney's knees touch the floor.

Rodney holds John close, loving the way John's skin feels against his, tilting his head for a deeper kiss, trying to get more.

John gives it to him.

When it feels like there isn't a cell in his body that isn't lusting after John, Rodney pulls away. With a shaky breath, he says, "Why didn't you tell me I was gay?"

John laughs.

It's a good sound, lighter than John's usual laugh, and Rodney finds himself smiling. "Seriously, you're my friend. It's your job to tell me these things."

Nodding, John leans in until his lips are close to Rodney's ear, not that he has to lean far. "Rodney," he says.


"I think it's possible you might like having sex with men."

"What evidence do you have?"

John flexes his hips, rubbing himself against Rodney's cock.

"That's definitely evidence," Rodney concedes, causing John to laugh again.

"Come on," John says, kissing him quickly. "Let's get on the bed."

Since his knees are the one part of him that isn't happy, Rodney doesn't argue. He clambers to his feet while John rises with that same dorky grace he always has. John lies down on his back on one side of Rodney's small bed. He is about to climb in beside John when he stops and just looks.

John is beautiful.

It throws him, because Rodney doesn't think he's ever thought of a man as beautiful before. Not beautiful and desirable. Not beautiful in a way that makes his heart pound and his dick ache. Or maybe it's the other way round.

Giving him a questioning look, John turns his hand palm up, lifts it an inch or two from the bed.

Rodney climbs into the bed on his side, his hand catching John's as he leans over to kiss him. John's answers him with an easy sensuality that makes Rodney let go of John's hand and slide his palm across John's stomach, up the center of his chest, down along his arm.

John moves into his touch, not a lot, just enough motion that Rodney can feel it. John is reaching for him and Rodney reaches back.

He touches John everywhere his hand can reach, fingers grazing John's cheek as they kiss, his whole hand curving around John's hip bone, sliding over the stretch of John's thigh.

When John parts his legs, Rodney cups John's balls in his hand, feels the weight of them, their softness. He brushes the base of John's cock with his thumb and John makes a noise that's swallowed by their kiss.

Rodney pulls away from John's lips as he eases his hand upward, palm gliding along the curve of John's shaft, because he wants to see John's face, wants to hear John's sounds.

John is gazing at him with want in his eyes, in his whole face.

It's humbling, John wanting him, wanting his touch, trusting Rodney with his desire.

Fingers closing around John's cock, Rodney starts to stroke.

John looks down, away from Rodney's face. He watches Rodney stroke him a few times before bringing his own hand to Rodney's. He doesn't cover Rodney's hand or try to guide his strokes. Instead, he caresses the back of Rodney's hand with his fingers, touches the spaces between Rodney's knuckles.

His own cock is pressed into John's hip, trapped between them. Rodney barely notices it. His entire focus is on the cock in his hand, the way it caresses his palm while John's fingers caress the back of his hand. His hands are erogenous zones. Rodney should probably have known that, but he didn't.

When John looks up, his eyes meeting Rodney's, Rodney kisses him. He pours it all into the kiss, every crazy thing he's feeling. Desire. Tenderness. This weird need to keep John safe and take him apart all at the same time.

He strokes faster, firmer, and John gasps.

He's got his hand curled around Rodney's biceps now.

"Like that," John says, leaning up to kiss the base of Rodney's neck. "Just like that." The kissing turns to sucking. He's sucking on Rodney's skin with the same rhythm Rodney is using to get him off.

John's going to leave a mark, but Rodney doesn't care. He can feel John getting closer with every stroke. He wants it, wants John to come more than he wants to come himself. Wrapping his free arm around John's shoulders, he whispers, "Please."

John lets go of Rodney's neck, shudders, pants in Rodney's ear, and comes, his cock pulsing in Rodney's hand, warm fluid easing the friction as Rodney takes him through it, stroking lighter and slower, but still stroking, still feeling it.

Sliding his hand up until his arm is around Rodney's shoulders, John buries his face in the crook of Rodney's neck.

Holding John's softening cock, Rodney whispers, "You okay?"

"Nope," John answers, "better."

Rodney can feel John's smile against his skin. "Good."

John kisses the side of his neck again. "Now it's your turn."

"So it is."

Drawing back until he can see Rodney's face, John grins and says, "Want a blow job?"

Rodney hadn't thought it was possible for any more blood to abandon his head in favor of his cock, but apparently he'd been wrong because just the suggestion makes him woozy. He shakes his head. "Another time?"

"Sure," John says, but his lower lip is starting to stick out.

"I want you to touch me. I really want you to touch me."

Even though his smile is answer enough, John says, "I can do that." Letting go of Rodney, he moves back, giving Rodney room. "Here. Lay down."

Rodney does as he was told, stretching out on his back, surprised when John kneels above him on all fours, one knee between Rodney's thighs, his hands on either side of Rodney's shoulders.

Then John starts to touch him with just one hand, rubbing a thumb across Rodney's lips, brushing the mark he left on Rodney's neck with his fingertips, teasing first one nipple and then the other.

Rodney tries not to squirm. As good as John's touches feel it's not what he wants, not what he needs. John must get that, because he slides his hand down Rodney's stomach to his cock. His fingers curl around it and he starts to stroke. Rodney moans with relief and pleasure.

John's good at this. He touches Rodney like he did earlier, sure and strong, guiding Rodney to where John wants him to go.

Which is apparently crazy.

Clutching at the sheets, Rodney lifts his hips and John slows his strokes. But he keeps going over that place, the one where all the nerves come together, and Rodney lifts his head, watches John's hand on his cock. It's nothing like the way he stroked the bishop. This isn't teasing; it's pure sex. It's John figuring out what Rodney likes and doing it, and doing it.

It feels like the pleasure is doubling with every brush of John's hand, but his orgasm still catches Rodney off-guard. He shakes when it hits. Shakes harder when John leans down and licks the head of his cock while Rodney's still coming. Then John covers the head with his mouth, and he's sucking and stroking, and Rodney's lifting his hips, giving it up to John, for John.

There are still tiny aftershocks making muscles pulse in weird places when John lets him go. John slides up his body and Rodney wraps his arms around him, pulls John on top of him.

At first he doesn't do anything but breathe.

Then John kisses his temple.

"So, blow job," Rodney says.

John laughs.

It feels really good, so Rodney kisses his shoulder, which is right there within kissing range, and strokes John back with his hand. "I can't believe you tried to seduce me with a chess piece," he mutters.

"Worked," John says, the laughter lingering in his voice. "You can't argue with success."

Rodney can, and if he had the energy he would, but he doesn't. So he just closes his eyes and lets himself feel.