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maybe i'm in love
I am fifteen different kinds of bored. I've cleaned my room, changed my sheets, stolen a lamp from the computer room to put on my new desk and done the wiring, wrapped ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
immoralilly's birthday present, put laundry in, and showered - it's only noon. This is not normal! Usually I'm just beginning to contemplate getting out of bed!
Anyway. I think I've asked this before, but: is anyone from around the New York or Long Island-ish area?cid2065's coming on the 17th, and I think he might have plans for us, but that excitement's still over a week off. Ahhg, I miss my fangirls. :c
immoralilly's birthday present, put laundry in, and showered - it's only noon. This is not normal! Usually I'm just beginning to contemplate getting out of bed!Anyway. I think I've asked this before, but: is anyone from around the New York or Long Island-ish area?
cid2065's coming on the 17th, and I think he might have plans for us, but that excitement's still over a week off. Ahhg, I miss my fangirls. :c
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Okay. Phew. I just needed to get that out.
Hmmm. Well, I am not leaving until sometime in the afternoon on Sunday, so maybe we can finagle something then?
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I am still very very old. *siiiigh*
And yes! I think my bus doesn't leave until around 4, so that should be doable.
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Are you going out of port authority on eighth ave?
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He doesn't know how to get what he wants, because Rodney's only ever on his back, those solid shoulders rounded against the bed in submission. He can't say, "I want you to fuck me," because the words catch in his throat; he can't say, "I want you to hold me down," because that's not it exactly, and Rodney wouldn't understand the difference.
And so it goes for a while - strangely stilted, chaste sex that's only satisfying when John's too tired to want more. Still, he stays.
Rodney curls around him afterwards, warm and heavy, his head pillowed on John's collar bone like he has every right to use John's body however he pleases, and John wants to shout, "This, it's this!" He never does. His tongue is too heavy and big in his mouth, clumsy.
Then John falls off a cliff.
It's an accident, and he's no closer to actual peril than he normally would be on any given Wednesday, but there's a greater gap between 'presumed dead' and 'miraculously alive' than Atlantis is used to. When he steps into the gate room, ragged, dirty, and smelling like a barn, Rodney is so furious with him he actually backs John up against a wall, those big hands of his splaying out on either side of John's head to keep him there.
John's panting and shamefully hard before Rodney even opens his mouth to speak, and their bodies are so close together there's no way Rodney can't feel what's happening beneath his thin pants. He gets one glorious, beautiful moment of Rodney's wide eyes, the spark of wild blue that means his big brain is firing rapidly, coming to conclusions - and then Teyla is gently pushing them apart and guiding John past the startled marines and towards an equally startled Doctor Keller.
John steals a backward glance and catches Rodney – still standing exactly where they’d left him – staring back.
He doesn’t see Rodney that night: Keller keeps him in the medical wing despite his many grumpy protests, forcing liquids and pain pills on him in equal measure. The next night, however, Rodney waylays him just outside the mess hall as he’s heading in for a (doctor prescribed!) midnight snack. The corridors flash by, and then suddenly they’re in Rodney’s room and Rodney has him backed up against the computer chair, and it feels awkward at first – like new, fledgling – but when Rodney presses and presses until John’s forced to bend, gripping the edge of the desk behind him, it’s so good John thinks he might come in his pants.
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John shudders at the sound of his voice and scrambles to obey, pulling himself up onto the desk so Rodney can slip into the space between his legs, press their hips together hard enough John feels the harsh scrape of cotton and denim over his cockhead.
Rodney doesn’t let up, pushes him back and back and down until John’s shoulder blades are aching with the pressure and his spine is arched to maintain the angle he needs to bite and suck at Rodney’s lower lip.
It hurts a little, and John loves it – loves how real it is, how he can feel every skipping, imperfect beat of Rodney’s pulse against the pads of his fingers, how Rodney hasn’t even undone their pants, too frantic for John’s mouth and neck and the delicate shell of his ear.
Their shirts are rucked up under their armpits, chests rubbing together with every clumsy, hasty thrust of their hips. It only registers in John’s mind as important because Rodney whines loud and shaking when he shifts to the right and John’s dog tags catch between them. John reaches up and hauls Rodney down by the back of his neck, and their teeth crash together with a bone-jarring sound, but they keep on kissing and kissing until John’s swallowing Rodney’s wild, hurt sounds – sounds he’s dreamt about coaxing from that mouth for weeks and months and ages – and Rodney’s hips are stuttering through his orgasm.
“Please,” John mumbles, voice slurred and desperate because he can feel it waiting just at the base of his spine, so ready, and Rodney isn’t moving.
He doesn’t wait long, because a minute later the heel of Rodney’s palm is pressing against the hard ridge of his cock through his pants, the round ball at the base of Rodney’s thumb below the head right where he needs it, and he’s coming with his head thrown back and Rodney’s mouth on his neck and Rodney’s sweat on his skin and Rodney, Rodney, Rodney above him, around him, holding onto him.
When he remembers how to open his eyes, he’s met with Rodney’s mouth on his as a reward. There’s something sharp digging into his back, a smear of ink on the side of his arm where a pen burst, but he can’t bring himself to move.
“Was that alright?” Rodney whispers.
He sounds nervous, and it’s enough that John makes some connections of his own, remembers the stiff way Rodney used to hold himself, as though afraid he’d do something wrong and John would leave.
“Perfect,” John says sincerely, and fishes out a pair of pliers from underneath him while he drags Rodney down for another kiss.
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Furthermore I think the line Then John falls off a cliff. should appear in every SGA fic forever and ever from now on.
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Rodney stomps down a corridor in Atlantis, grumbling quietly under his breath, intent on just getting to his quarters, where no morons will annoy him.
He rounds a corner and stops dead in his tracks.
There at the end of the corridor, right in front of the door to his quarters is John, leaning against a wall, jerking off for all the world to see. It's really quite a fetching sight and Rodney completely forgets what he was angry about. Probably Zelenka or not getting any meat for lunch or something.
Maybe he makes a noise, maybe it's the pile of hastily scribbled down notes falling to the floor or maybe John just senses he's there. Either way he looks up, hand still easily working his cock - his beautiful, thick cock - and he smirks at Rodney.
"Got bored waiting for you," he says and Rodney's sprinting down the corridor so fast it almost feels like he's breaking some laws of physics.
"You could have told me you were waiting," he gets out breathlessly as he sinks to the floor in front of John, pushing John's hand away and licking the precome from the head of his cock.
"More fun this way," John sighs happily as Rodney swallows him down, sucks him off hot and fast.
"Besides," John says, voice rough and excited, "I've always wanted to have sex in public."
Rodney's eyes go wide as he flushes bright red, realizing what they must look like; Rodney on his knees, John fucking his mouth, right here, like they were too desperate to get to Rodney's quarters in time, like they needed it too much. He hopes no one can see and hopes that someone does at the same time.
"Yeah," John gasps like he read Rodney's thoughts and it's all the warning he can give before he comes hard, shuddering brush of his dick over Rodney's bottom lip.
Rodney swallows John's come down, wide eyes on John's face, achingly hard in his pants, kneeling on the cold floor. Faintly he wonders why he was angry earlier, he can't remember for the life of him.
John makes a small content noise in the back of his throat when his breathing finally calms down again. He pulls Rodney up to him, gives him a sloppy kiss that tastes like adventure and John's come.
"Now, how about I fuck you, McKay?"
"What, here?!" Rodney gets even harder at the thought, heart beating hard in chest.
"Well, I was thinking more of your quarters but if you wanna stay out here..."
Instead of answering Rodney kisses the smirk off of John's face and fumbles his fly open.
Really, not a bad day after all.
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cool.
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Not to mention, why on Earth don't I have you friended? I read your journal *all the time*, and love your writing, and god, I'm like the worst lurker ever. Sometimes it takes me over a year to friend people.
*remedies*
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And EEEE! You make me all blush-y and stuff. It makes me happy if people like the crack I commit. Like, you know, people besides
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Yes. Yes yes yes.
Also, my brain may've melted out my ears...
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\o/
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That is all.
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i think eventually i will need a kash icon. :O
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I support that idea. Wholeheartedly.
*NODS*