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Title: Moving

Author: chelle

Author's email:

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Fandom: Atlantis

Archive: Ask first

Rating: NC-17

AN: This story is a sequel to "Standing," and picks up immediately after the end of that story.

Rodney was only mildly surprised when John turned up at his lab after a few hours. He glanced up at John and then went back to prioritizing the cleanup and repair projects based on the preliminary reports he was getting from the teams they had out in the city. He was honestly glad he was here and not out there, seeing the destruction and the death first hand.

John set a tray on the bench next to Rodney's laptop. "I brought dinner."

That was remarkably kind of him. Rodney wondered vaguely if he was trying to make up for the stunt with the jumper. Rodney almost wished he had the energy to still be angry about it. Although after last night, he wasn't sure he could have stayed angry with John even if he had the energy. "Thanks."

"You're welcome." John pulled a lab stool up beside Rodney's and sat down. "They're turkey," he said, unwrapping one of the sandwiches.

Rodney saved his work, thinking that at least they had a ready supply of Earth food again. In the face of all they'd lost, it wasn't much of a consolation. He picked up the remaining sandwich and began to unwrap it.

They ate in silence. Neither of them wanted to talk about the destruction and anything else seemed sacrilegious.


Rodney stared at his bed. Maybe he could try and work. There was more than enough to be done, but he was too tired to think straight. He knew Carson wouldn't give him any more stimulants and he was too worn out for mere caffeine to make any difference. He needed to sleep. He knew this. But he hated the thought of climbing into his bed alone.

He was being ridiculous. If you compared the number of nights he'd slept alone to the number of nights he'd spent with someone else, the percentage he hadn't spent alone was probably so small as to be statistically insignificant.

He hadn't been alone last night.

He didn't want to be alone tonight.

Grabbing his portable chess set, he left.

&nbsp John opened the door still fully dressed. He looked as worn as Rodney felt. Someone should tell him that wearing black accentuated the circles under his eyes. John didn't say anything. He simply took a step backward, silently inviting Rodney in.

"I couldn't sleep," Rodney said as he entered, because he couldn't say 'I didn't want to sleep alone.'

"Me either," John offered with a small smile.

Rodney held up the chessboard. "I brought this."

John shook his head. "I don't think I could concentrate."

"Me either," Rodney admitted.

"How do you feel about Larry Niven?"

Rodney frowned. "The author?"

"I was reading Ringworld. I could read it aloud."

John reading to him. It was an appealing thought, although he wondered what had happened to War and Peace, if John had finished it or simply decided to read something else. "I'd like that."

John tilted his head in the direction of his bed and began moving toward it. Rodney followed and they ended up sitting side by side on the bed, shoulders pressed together as they leaned against the headboard. John began to read and Rodney closed his eyes. It should have been weird, being with John like this. Being with John at all should have been weird. They'd kissed this morning and now here Rodney was in John's bed, leaning into him while John read to him.

John's voice was pitched low and it was surprisingly soothing. Rodney let it wash over him.

&nbsp "Rodney, Rodney."

Something was pushing against his shoulder and Rodney opened his eyes. "Hmmm?"

"If you're going to sleep, you might want to get under the covers," John said in a voice barely above a whisper.

That made sense. Rising from the bed, he pulled back the covers. He was about to climb back into the bed when John said, "Take your clothes off."

That made sense, too, so Rodney pulled his shirt over his head, towed off his shoes and pulled down his pants. He slid under the covers. John had gotten there a few seconds ahead of him, and Rodney lay beside him, his head almost on John's pillow.

"You've still got your socks on."

"Hmmm," Rodney answered, lacking the energy to point out that John still had his undershirt on, which gave them each two pieces of clothing, including their boxers. That seemed fair.

John pressed his hand to Rodney's cheek. "Go to sleep," he whispered.

Rodney closed his eyes.

He didn't know how much time had passed when he opened them again, but he and John had somehow gotten tangled up together and John's shoulder was cutting off circulation in Rodney's arm. Gently freeing his arm, he rolled onto his back. John shifted closer. Rodney stopped shaking his arm in an attempt to get feeling back into the lower half and rested it on the pillow above John's head and shoulders. John moved again, resting his head on Rodney's chest and sliding his leg between Rodney's. Rodney brought his arm down around John.

He was holding John. It had been so long since he held someone while they slept that he'd forgotten how good it could feel to have a warm, sleep-heavy body against your own. Rodney lifted a hand and stroked John's hair. It was softer than it looked. The feel of it was oddly soothing and Rodney repeated the caress again and again.

John stirred and Rodney stopped, holding his breath. Then John began to move his fingers. He was resting a hand on Rodney's chest and he began to move his fingers back and forth. It was a tiny movement, but it felt damned good. Rodney resumed stroking John's hair.

Gradually, almost infinitesimally, the movements of John's fingers became larger, covering more of Rodney's skin, pushing through more of his chest hair.

Rodney's caresses became longer, too, moving from John's forehead, over his ear and then down behind it to his neck. The first time Rodney's fingers had brushed skin, John had made a tiny, almost inaudible sound.

It was almost like the sound Rodney made when John's fingers brushed his nipple. John lifted his head then and a heartbeat later they were kissing. John's lips were as soft as they had been in the morning, but they weren't chapped this time. They kissed slowly, carefully. John's hand was still on his chest and Rodney slid his hand under the back of John's shirt.

John had really smooth skin. Rodney wasn't sure that guys were supposed to have skin that smooth, but it felt good beneath his palm. He kept touching John's shoulders and back, even his upper arm, anyplace he could reach and touch without risking a break in their kiss.

This was crazy. Rodney knew that. He and John lying in bed, almost naked, kissing and touching. But it felt good and Rodney needed to feel good. John needed to feel good, too. Rodney was sure of it.

They kissed and touched until John's hand brushed Rodney's cock through his boxers. Rodney gasped and John reached inside.

Rodney slid his hand into John's boxers, because he wanted John to come with him.

John did. He came groaning into Rodney's mouth, his come covering Rodney's hand and wrist. Rodney groaned even louder, shaking as John stroked him through his orgasm.

They drifted into sleep without saying a word.

The following night John came to Rodney's room, Ringworld in hand.

Four days later John blew him for the first time.

Twelve days later Rodney was on his hands and knees with John inside him.

One month later they were sharing a shower. Rodney was washing his hair when John said, "I love you."

Rodney said, "I love you, too," and rinsed the shampoo from his hair.