![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
yet more fic!
Hey, so, feel free to tell me to stop writing fic. In fact, please tell me to stop writing fic. I have a paper that was due last Wednesday that I still haven't finished. IZ RLY SRSLY BAD FER MY GPA, GAIS. Yeah, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
schneestern, kashmir1, and chickypooh? I'm looking at you three especially. These two ficlets can be very specifically attributed to kashmir1, though, so you other two are off the hook. For now.
I vaguely remember a time when I used to write about other things in this journal. Alas. Someone needs to stick a cap in my ass. Or...something.
schneestern, kashmir1, and chickypooh? I'm looking at you three especially. These two ficlets can be very specifically attributed to kashmir1, though, so you other two are off the hook. For now.Unamaga: SWOLLEN DAVID MOUTH
Kashmir1: lskagjfeaiohebad i... i. i cant think too much on that
Unamaga: I WILL THINK FOR YOU
Kashmir1: if i think about it, i will slide RIGHT OFF OF THE COUCH
Unamaga: imagine what rodney’s mouth might look like after john'd got it in his head that they didn't do enough kissing.
Rodney hadn't really meant to complain – it's not like he didn't appreciate anything John let him have anyway - but once John's got an idea in his head (especially about something he can fix) there's no stopping him.
So that night when Rodney stumbles in from working late at the lab with Radek, John’s waiting for him with a quirked eyebrow and cocky smirk. Rodney opens his mouth to say something about how John needs to stop charming Atlantis into letting him in places he's not supposed to be, and John’s right there, his tongue slipping wetly over Rodney’s lower lip and cutting off whatever he was going to say so that all he can get out is a strangled ohh.
You wanted kissing, right? Sheppard murmurs, but it's less of a question than a reminder to Rodney that he is so not getting any touching tonight – and the fact that Rodney’s cock is already pressing against the fly of his pants has nothing to do with that, with the idea of Sheppard holding him down and kissing him until his mouth is tender and bruised and he can feel the friction burn of stubble against his cheeks, until he bucks up against nothing and whines and comes.
Nothing at all.
They step towards the bed slowly, but it's weird, alien, because they're not losing clothes as they go, and when Rodney tips back onto the mattress, he still has his shoes on; but John doesn't seem to care or even notice, so focused is he on stealing every inch of oxygen from Rodney’s lungs with the slow, measured flicks of his tongue and the gentle scrape of his teeth.
Rodney tries to tip his head to the side for a minute to catch his breath, but John just pinches his chin between thumb and forefinger and keeps him still, opening their mouths against each other again, pushing air into Rodney’s with a sigh, helping him get used to it. After a few minutes, Rodney does, and it's so much better than breathing by himself that he's not sure how he's gone so long just inhaling and exhaling without John’s mouth there to taste every breath first.
They fall into a rhythm – John’s tongue tracing the by-now familiar contour of Rodney’s lower lip, John’s teeth finding the divot just to the right of center, Rodney weakly trying to give it all back on a shaky moan – until, even when John breaks the rhythm and pulls back enough that their lips are just chastely brushing, Rodney’s overwhelmed and clinging to John’s hips.
Finally, finally, when Rodney’s about to burst out with a hysterical scream just to get John to do something, John sits back on his haunches, balancing himself with both hands pinning Rodney’s shoulders to the bed. Rodney doesn't even have the muscle control right then to untangle his fingers from John’s belt loops, let alone sit up, so he doesn't even try it.
You have no idea what you look like, John whispers, and his thumb stretches over Rodney’s jaw to press against Rodney’s lower lip. It hurts a little bit because John’s teeth were really persistent, but it feels good too, feels like something Rodney should pay attention to. He purses his lips and kisses the pad of that thumb as well as he can without lifting his head, and John makes a sound low in his throat, leans in to crush their mouths together again. It's not gentle this time, not the least bit sweet; it's filthy and possessive, a demand that Rodney obeys when he helplessly bucks up, seeking friction against the seam of his boxers, and comes so hard he can't even see.
When he can breathe again without moaning, he tucks his head under John’s chin and wraps his limbs around him, still shaking. Jesus Christ, he manages, and John, the bastard, just tilts his head down to kiss Rodney again.
Unamaga: rodney + melon baller = interesting mess to clean up
Kashmir1: OH MAAAAAAAAN.
Kashmir1: did he do this while john wasn’t at home?
Unamaga: *nods*
Unamaga: he had no parental supervision
Unamaga: it was pretty bad
Kashmir1: eee of COURSE
Kashmir1: i can IMAGINE
Unamaga: AND THEN there was the Pie Debacle, but we won't go there
Kashmir1: oh oh but i think we MUST
When the door to the apartment swung open under John's hand, he was expecting to see their living room how he'd left it a few hours before: messy, books strewn across every available surface, only challenged in their dominion by the various take out boxes and dirty dishes they hadn't gotten to yet this week.
What he got instead made him drop his bag of groceries and clutch his chest to make sure he wasn't having a heart attack.
"Hi, John," Rodney said sheepishly, covered head to toe in flour and random bits of gooey - well, John wasn't sure what the gooey stuff was, but it smelled a lot like apple pie filling, and wow, Rodney'd really outdone himself this time. "This...isn't what it looks like."
"You say that every time I come home to find one of your cooking fiascos in progress," John reminded.
Rodney held out a finger in what was probably meant to be a gesture full of authority; the smudge of batter along the nail and the curved way Rodney was holding it to accommodate for the gook smeared along the back of his hand took care of that. "But I always clean up," he pointed out. "You never have to do anything."
John carefully closed the door behind him, making sure to turn the key in the lock. If Rodney had managed to create something actually living this time, he didn't want it getting out of the apartment and wrecking havoc on Boston.
"What were you trying to make this time?" he asked, despite himself.
Rodney ducked his head, chewing on his lower lip like a child who's been caught with his hand in the Nuclear Explosions jar. It was ridiculously endearing, especially when his nose scrunched up in a sneeze and flour went everywhere. Not that John would ever admit it.
"I was - just going to make some pie," Rodney sniffed, as if this were something he did every day and not at all worthy of John's attention. "I followed the recipe very carefully, I don't know what went wrong."
John sighs and took of his shoes, settling them next to the door; his socks came off next, and then he rolled his jeans half way up his shins, undid the cuffs of his button down and rolled them up too, and headed into the kitchen to check the damage. It wasn't too bad, as far as these things went - definitely further down on the scale than that one time they'd both tried to cook at the same time. No way they were getting that security deposit back. But, still, the scope of the blast was pretty impressive. At the center, an electric hand mixer was sitting very innocently on its side.
"Tell me you didn't try to pimp this thing out, Rodney, please," John said sorrowfully.
Rodney peered around the door frame, wincing. "I...thought it might work better if I fiddled a bit, you know? The filling was getting caught between the hooks and it was very annoying. A little speed should have helped, right?"
"This is why you don't get to play with nice things," John said.
Unamaga: THE END.
Unamaga: oh, wait, no
Unamaga: Then Rodney apologized for getting dough and filling all over John's nice kitchen (WITH HIS MOUTH) and John forgave him for it, helping him clean off the flour (WITH HIS MOUTH).
Unamaga: the end.
Kashmir1: \o/
I vaguely remember a time when I used to write about other things in this journal. Alas. Someone needs to stick a cap in my ass. Or...something.
no subject
So um. I shall refrain from distracting you as much as possible while making you study. *firm nod*
no subject
no subject
Procrastinating? Or procrasturbating? ;)
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
deeaaamit, rawdnee! ahahah.
no subject