chelle

Atlantis

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Sex? Later.

chelle

Title: Sex? Later.

Author: chelle

Author's email: chelle@chelle.slashcity.org

Author's URL: http://chelle.slashcity.org/

Fandom: Atlantis

Archive: Ask first

Rating: NC-17

AN: Thank you to Grrrl for the inspiration.

"Sex?" John asked hopefully.

Rodney glanced up from his laptop. "Later."

John frowned, because he didn't pout. "Later?"

Rodney didn't bother to look up. "That's what I said. Later."

"I was kind of hoping for now."

"Now doesn't work for me."

"Why not?" John knew he sounded petulant, but they'd been on that planet for three days, and he was a guy. Hell, Rodney was a guy. And three days.

Rodney looked up and his expression—well, it wasn't his 'damn, John, I can't wait to fuck you through the floor' look. "Because I have work to do, now. Later, assuming you either leave or sit quietly and do not force me to kill you, we can have sex." Rodney pointedly turned his attention back to his computer.

John gazed down at the back of Rodney's head. Rodney? Kill him? As if. Fortunately, his prick overruled his ego and closed his mouth before John could say anything.

Biting back a sigh, he looked around the room. He had to either stay quiet or leave. Leaving had a definite appeal, but he didn't want to risk being absent when Rodney finished and finding Rodney asleep, or worse, at work on a new project when he came back.

All of their quarters were spare—a bed, some storage, a small table. Rodney used his table as a desk. It was where he was currently sitting, typing away. There was a pile of books on one side of it, but John had looked at them before. They were all texts, mostly physics, and, even with his math skills, John only understood a fraction of what was in them.

Which left the bed. He could try taking a nap. Sitting on the edge of Rodney's bed, he removed his shoes. He settled into the center of the bed, closed his eyes, and listened to the click clack of Rodney's keyboard.

Click, click, clack, pause, clickety, clack, click.

Sitting up, he fluffed the pillow and lay back down on his side, closing his eyes once again.

Still uncomfortable, he rolled onto his other side.

Click, click, click, clack.

If John had been tired the clicking wouldn't have bothered him, but he wasn't tired, he was horny, and the clicking was annoying the crap out of him. Because the clicking was Rodney working when he could be in bed with John.

Turning onto his back, he stared at the ceiling. Three days and three nights of Rodney being within reach but off-limits. The days had been bad. Boring conversation with boring people made interesting only by Rodney's whispered asides and rolling eyes. The nights had been worse. They had shared a tent with Ford. Rodney had been so close John could smell him.

And John's dick liked the way Rodney smelled. A lot.

Trying to fall asleep with a hard-on wasn't John's idea of a good time.

And now that they could have a good time, Rodney was working. They could be sharing a nice, relaxing sixty-nine, but no…

John had never really liked sixty-nines with women. It was hard to concentrate on finding someone's clit when you're dick was being sucked. With Rodney, though, it was easy and fun. Whatever he did to Rodney, Rodney did to him, and vice versa.

Just thinking about it was making him hard, and John reached down to give himself a comforting stroke.

Then there was the fucking. He liked the fucking. He really liked the fucking, the feel of Rodney over him and in him, his weight pushing John into the mattress, and his cock…John sometimes worried that he was falling in love with Rodney's cock. It was thick and solid and often seemed to have a mind of it's own. Which wasn't surprising, really, considering whose cock it was.

John liked to touch it, liked to feel it jump in his hand. He liked the taste of it and the way Rodney's breath hitched every time John took it into his mouth.

But mostly he liked the feel of it inside him.

The thought of Rodney's cock, of what Rodney's cock could do to him, made his own cock ache and John gave it a reassuring squeeze.

Rodney's cock and that moment, when Rodney pressed into him, past his defenses and in. It made him feel wild, and exposed, and oddly human. When Rodney entered him he wasn't a major or an explorer or a hero. He was just a man taking his lover inside him.

Rodney always moaned when he entered John, always.

He loved it when Rodney moved, each thrust taking him deeper until he was as far inside in John as he could get.

John closed his eyes, remembering how it felt to have Rodney in him, his cock pushing at John's insides, touching him in places no one else had.

Undoing his pants, John drew out his cock, giving it a long, firm stroke. Rodney could turn around at any moment. Turn around and see him, on his back, fully clothed, with his cock in his hand. The thought of Rodney turning around, of Rodney watching him…

Because Rodney would watch. His eyes would be wide and he might stutter out a sentence or two, but Rodney would watch.

John would watch back, staring into Rodney's eyes as he stroked his cock, daring Rodney to touch him.

Rodney would abandon his work and move to the bed. He'd kneel at the end of it, between John's legs.

And he'd watch.

Rodney watching would send John over the edge. He'd come, shaking helplessly while his lover watched.

When John stopped coming, Rodney would kiss him, hard. Then he'd talk, low and fast, telling John that John jerking off was the hottest thing he'd ever seen, that he needed John, needed to touch him, to be inside him. "Please, John, please."

John loved it when Rodney got desperate, when Rodney begged.

Between them they'd remove John's pants and Rodney would grab the lube.

His strong, thick fingers would push into John.

John could feel the emptiness in his ass, the place where Rodney's fingers weren't.

Click, click, click.

He needed more than this, more than just a hand on his cock. Rolling over, he grabbed the lube from its hiding place beneath the corner of the bed.

Not quite believing he was doing this, he pushed his pants down to his ankles. Hastily coating two of his fingers, he reached between his legs. It was awkward. Unable to get his legs far enough apart, he pulled one leg free of his pants. Then he slid his fingers inside.

Rodney's fingers, Rodney's cock, and John bit his lower lip to keep from crying out as his own fingers brushed his prostate. He closed his eyes.

Rodney fucking him, taking him with deep, sure strokes, his hand stroking John's cock while his cock caressed him.

Rodney babbling. He loved Rodney's babble. Loved the mixture of filth and affection that poured from Rodney's lips.

Rodney gave John everything he had. Every time. It wasn't surprising. Rodney didn't like half-measures, and he had a lot to give, passion and kindness, and there hadn't been enough people in Rodney's life for him to be kind to.

John pushed his fingers deep inside, as deep as he could get them.

What John hadn't known, what he was just finding out, was that that kind of generosity was addictive.

The bed moved and John's eyes flew open. Rodney was kneeling on the bed, between John's legs. His eyes were wide and a little wild. "Don't stop," he whispered, his hand wrapping around John's ankle.

John nodded, because he couldn't say anything, and continued moving his fingers in and out.

Rodney stroked his calf and John made an embarrassing, whimpering sound.

Rodney's eyes were on his ass, and John wondered what he looked like, what his fingers looked like.

"You are so fucking beautiful."

That was Rodney, babbling and generous, and John had to come, had to let Rodney see.

All it took was a single jerk of his cock and he was coming, half-dressed, with his own fingers in his ass, and his other hand on his cock, and his socks still on. With Rodney's perceptive eyes studying him, taking in every convulsion, every spurt.

He was panting when Rodney leaned over him, pressing his forehead into the pillow just above John's shoulder, and whispered, "Jesus Christ."

John laughed breathlessly.

"That was incredible, John. You, Jesus." Rodney kissed him fast and hard. "I think I should tell you no more often."

John shook his head and Rodney kissed him again. Not so hard this time, and not so fast. It made John want all over again.

"John, I want—"

John was already undoing the fastenings on Rodney's pants, and then he took Rodney's cock in his hand, giving it a long, slow stroke.

Rodney tried to pull back, probably to look for the lube, but John pulled Rodney's cock toward his ass. "I'm ready."

"You sure?"

John appreciated Rodney's consideration, most of the time. "Yes." He tugged on Rodney's cock and pressed the head against his opening.

"John," Rodney said, his voice choked with desire. Then he pushed and John opened for him, took him in, took him deep.

"Hottest," Rodney murmured as he pulled slowly back. "You, hottest thing I have ever seen."

"You," John answered. "I was thinking about you, the way it feels when—" Rodney began to push back into him and John lifted his hips to meet him. "When you do this." He wrapped his arms around Rodney's shoulders. He'd long since gotten over the fact that he was having sex with someone whose shoulders were broader than his. Now, he just held onto them, held onto Rodney.

Rodney was moving carefully; John knew he was struggling to hang onto his control. "Let go," he urged, "Fuck me hard, fast, whatever you want. It's okay."

Rodney groaned and kissed him, sloppy and needing. "Don't want it to end."

John didn't want it to end, either, didn't want to lose the feel of Rodney's cock caressing him. But it wasn't quite enough, he needed more. He kissed Rodney's shoulder and neck, working his way to Rodney's ear. He nibbled the lobe and then slipped his tongue inside. Rodney continued to fuck him with the same slow, deep strokes.

Rodney raised himself up onto his hands, pulling his ear out of reach and forcing John to let go of his shoulders.

John gazed up at him. Rodney looked as exposed as he felt. He cupped Rodney's cheek in his hand. It was the hand he'd used to fuck himself and he was leaving traces of lube on Rodney's face.

"No one—" Rodney's eyes fell closed as he slid all of the way into John. He didn't pull back, and after a moment he opened his eyes. "No one's ever made me feel like you do," he confessed.

"Rodney," John whispered, "me either, Jesus, Rodney." He lifted himself up, kissed Rodney hard. "Fuck me. Please."

Rodney pulled back and then slid home again, a little faster this time, a little less controlled.

John dropped back onto the pillows and just watched. He watched the flex of muscles beneath Rodney's shirt, and he watched Rodney's face. Watched pleasure and desire and need move across his features. Rodney was beautiful like this, and the thought was oddly comforting. John smiled. His lover was beautiful.

Rodney kept moving, his thrusts becoming faster and harder, and John gave himself over to Rodney's need, and Rodney's movements and Rodney's caring.

When Rodney came, John held him.

And when he was done, Rodney reached between them and took John in hand. After only three strokes John came, clinging to Rodney.

They fell asleep a tangled mess of sweat and come and clothes.

They woke sometime in the night. Rodney turned off his laptop and the lights, and they crawled, naked, beneath the covers.

"Rodney," John said as they settled comfortably together.

"Hmm?"

"You're not really going to say no to me more often, are you?"

"I'll tell you later."

John thought about that for a moment, decided he was okay with it, and closed his eyes.

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