guess it's just that kind of day

[unamaga]

I have a massive headache and some dude at the food store tried to surreptitiously grope me while I was looking at the frozen dinners; I guess it's all I deserve for even thinking of eating that much sodium. Needless to say, I'm feeling kind of shitty! So what do I do but throw together a quick manip of John Sheppard without his shirt on titled "Foxy Gardener John Wants to Mow Your Lawn". Don't judge me.

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[unamaga.livejournal.com]

"Sure," John says, like it's just that easy - and maybe it is.

Rodney twists around quickly to press their mouths together before John changes his mind, and stills, caught by the surprising softness of John's lips, the gentle way John tilts his head and pushes forward for more. John's hand curls loosely in the collar of his shirt, knuckles brushing the line of Rodney's neck, and pulls him closer, probably stretching the hem irreparably. Strangely, Rodney doesn't think he'll be bothered by wearing an ill-fitting t-shirt if it'll remind him of John’s mouth gliding slick and languid against his.

When they break for air, Rodney’s too dazed to do more than rest his forehead against John’s and pant, and then John’s on him again, tongue tracing the crease of Rodney’s lips and coaxing them apart, kissing deeper and more urgent now, and oh, Rodney thinks, yes.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

John's mouth is warm, and sly, and tastes like fresh water, and his hair leaves thin, damp traces across Rodney's temple. The noises John makes against his mouth, these quiet, distracted sounds, make Rodney's heart do weird things, make him want even more than what he's already got, John's naked, summer-hot chest against him, his body twisting awkwardly on the lounger so any second they'll probably fall over and kill themselves, and so long as they don't stop kissing and John doesn't stop working his hand under Rodney's shirt, Rodney doesn't care.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

Somehow they end up lying squished together length-wise on the lounger, one of the arms digging into Rodney's back painfully; he barely registers it. John's strong arms come around him and pull him in until their legs are tangled together, a thigh wedged between Rodney's and rubbing against his cock through layers of fabric.

"We should - pants, off," Rodney manages, tangling his fingers in John's slippery hair and guiding those biting kisses across his jaw and down towards his neck. "Oh, god, that's -" His voice breaks when John licks at the hollow of his throat.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"Good," John finishes for him, and keeps going, encouraging Rodney's shirt up and off, "It's only fair," John says, eyeing Rodney's very pale chest greedily. The licking and nipping starts again, lower this time, almost a distraction from the snap of Rodney's khakis coming undone.

Definitely, Rodney thinks hazily, not a distraction from the hand John insinuates inside. John's hand is warm and callused and tanned dark against Rodney's somewhat embarrassing avocado boxers.

"Nice ones, McKay," John says, managing to sound sarcastic, approving, and needy all at once, and slips a finger in.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

A sarcastic retort dies in Rodney's throat, turning into an embarrassing, hitching moan when John finds the damp head of his cock and rubs a thumb over it in tight, slow circles that do nothing to ease the ache low in his gut. "Don't tease," Rodney whines, shifting his hips restlessly. He's been ready for what feels like hours from watching John show off, and now he's got John up against him, skin prickling under his fingertips, he can't wait; needs it now.

John inhales sharply, then Rodney's boxers are being wrestled down past his ankles and John's pushing him down on his back, looming over him like a big cat, kissing him so deep and wet that Rodney's light headed and struggling to keep up.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

John doesn't back off and doesn't give Rodney a break, is all mad nipping and licking and stubble scraping Rodney's lips, and muscle and hair and sleek, taut skin settled atop him. Blunt fingers fumble at Rodney's hip, John trying to get a hand between them; Rodney shifts to give him room, pushing up into John's chest, and the sound John makes when Rodney rubs against a nipple is very satisfactory. Even better is how John's cock rides the cradle of Rodney's groin, slick and smooth as John flexes his hips, and best is John getting a hand around him, tease of callused fingers, one rough thumb stroking just so to make Rodney whimper and push and tug at John to keep going.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

“Yeah, okay,” John says, breath hot against Rodney’s cheek; his fist tightens at the head of Rodney’s cock deliberately, squeezing a drop of moisture from the slit and smoothing it down the shaft, and Rodney hadn’t even known he was capable of making that noise, but then John does it again, and again, quickening his strokes abruptly, and Rodney’s moaning constantly, squirming under John with both his feet planted flat on the chair so he can arch up, fuck into John’s hand.

John’s watching raptly now, his damp hair hanging down over his eyes and shadowing the sweep of his nose. He’s murmuring something Rodney doesn’t have the brain power to make sense of, but Rodney can hear the rough, throaty tone of it, and, Jesus, John sounds like he loves this.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

And he looks like he enjoys it, mouth slightly open and empty of its usual sarcasm, and he moves hard against Rodney now, noises that come soft and deep and almost get lost in the slickness of moving flesh and Rodney's racketing heart.

C'mon, c'mon, he thinks John says, encouragement Rodney doesn't need because everything in him is headed toward where John is taking him with each deliberate stroke, the fascinated glitter in his eyes and the curve of his lower lip that Rodney wants to bite. He does, leaning up awkwardly to catch John's mouth, pull him down, tug and nip that make John moan and twist against him and makes his hand go tight, tight, tight just as Rodney thrusts up into his fist one last time.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

It’s over in a rush of pleasure that curls Rodney’s toes, sets off white sparks behind his eyes that have nothing to do with the sun burning bright and hot in the sky. John slumps down over him, legs and arms giving out simultaneously, and nuzzles into the curve of his neck despite the fact that they’re both sweaty and sticking to each other and the chair.

“Mmm,” John mumbles.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"Nnnff," Rodney agrees. He realizes dimly that there are going to be fabric lines on his ass, and that peeling himself off the chair will hurt like hell, and also, it is far too hot to be wearing another human being. John is warm and solid and lazy above him, sort of like wearing a big, drawling coat that mumbles incoherent things like how great that was, wow, hey, McKay, was good.

"Goff," Rodney says indistinctly. John gives no sign of understanding, drowsy breath at his collar bone; Rodney raises a hand to push at him, but the shove turns into smoothing a path along John's sweaty arm, which makes John sigh and purr and stretch some more, and that's okay.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

Eventually, when Rodney can't feel his legs and he's sure he's going to lose skin when they peel themselves apart, he forces a dozing John off him. As predicted, the separation hurts (the potential joke there isn't lost on Rodney), but thirst and hunger drive him into the house nonetheless, John in tow. They settle at the kitchen table with tall glasses of water, knees kissing under the table whenever one of them moves.

Rodney hesitantly ventures, "You're not mowing anyone else's lawn today, are you?" and John smiles and curls his foot around Rodney's ankle.

"Nope," he says, "just yours."

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"Oh," Rodney says, "oh," and he can't stop his own smile or the warm rush of pleasure when his instep brushes the fine skin at the top of John's foot, where there are fine pale lines from flip-flops.

"Well," he says to John and his impossible smile, wonders if John wants to stay for dinner, if he likes pizza, "that's good, then."



eeep, I don't know if I should do anything more! I feel like if I write anything I will destroy it utterly *flaps*