Smitty (smittywing) wrote,

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[SGA fic] Beneath the Blue Suburban Skies (TBTILAF future)

Beneath the Blue Suburban Skies
By Smitty

Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Right, because that's exactly what this relationship needs," Rodney shot back with a grin. "Another level of dysfunction."

This is a future fic for The Best Things in Life Are Free, which is a high school AU. It take place two years after the original story. Like A Long, Cold, Lonely Winter, it spoils for the final resolution and probably will read oddly if you're not familiar with TBTILAF. Also, it's pretty much just porn.

Notes: I started writing this months ago on a whim and thought maybe I'd finish it for ficformona. But for some reason deadlines completely sap my ability to write so it's not until Mona's back on her feet and internet-capable that I finish. Go figure. But hey, isn't it International Slash Day or something? Thanks to lilac_way for the fabulous suggestions and to her and reccea for beta. The title is a line from the Beatles song "Penny Lane."

Beneath the Blue Suburban Skies
By Smitty

"I can't believe I get to stay overnight," John said, dropping his bag inside the door and wrapping his arms around Rodney. They kissed, long and messy and horny. He pressed himself up against Rodney, already hard.

"Okay," Rodney panted. "So. Sex. And then dinner. And then more sex. All night long."

"All night," John promised, grinding his erection against Rodney's.

"Oh, oh God," Rodney moaned. "Bed. Now."

John steered Rodney toward the bed and sat him down hard, then dropped to his knees. "What do you want to do tonight?" he asked, running hands up and down Rodney's thighs and hoping Rodney didn't have anything specific in mind. Because John did.

"Did you miss the part where I said have sex?" Rodney asked, leaning back on his elbows. "Maybe you should come up here. Not that I don't think way too much about this, but I really need to feel you right now."

John groaned and pushed himself up, then pushed Rodney's shoulders down to the bed and followed him. "God, Rodney," he said, licking his way up Rodney's neck. "Even you need some recovery time."

"You're going to all this trouble to talk about something other than sex why?" Rodney asked, pushing his hips up. "You must have some plan in mind, which means you don't need my input, which means you need to stop talking and take your pants off."

"God, Rodney," John said again, which was turning into his default response. He reached between them and tugged at Rodney's fly instead of his own, getting Rodney out first before fumbling with his own pants. Soon they were skin-to-skin where it counted and John was pushing his hips hard against Rodney's, holding himself up on his fists to get the angle right.

"Oh, god, oh god," Rodney chanted, both their dicks pressed in his hand. "Yeah, John, yeah. You're so good."

John dropped to his elbows, crushing Rodney's hand between them, and kissed Rodney's mouth, hard and artless.

"Oh, oh yeah," Rodney gasped, coming all over them both.

John felt the warm pulse flow over his cock and Rodney's hand convulsed just enough at just the right time, and he was following, his come mixing with Rodney's as his body shuddered out the last remnants of his desperation. He rested his head on Rodney's chest briefly, then lifted it to give Rodney a chaste kiss with dry lips.

"We should get out of these clothes," he said, pushing himself awkwardly off the bed.

"Wow," Rodney said dazedly, sprawled on his back with his dick hanging out of his pants. "You want to take a nap?"

John dragged his shirt over his head and tossed it on the other bed. "Yeah," he said, ignoring the non-sequitur nature of the remark. He pretty much always wanted to nap and Rodney knew it. "I'm beat." He stepped on the backs of his shoes to get them off and then pushed his pants and boxers the rest of the way down his legs. "I'm going to clean up."

He ran the water in the bathroom until it was warm and sponged himself off with a washcloth. Then he wet the second one and dropped it on Rodney's stomach when he went back into the room. "Get up," he prompted. "Sleep, remember."

"I remember," Rodney said, not moving. "But if I stay here, I can look at you naked."

John grabbed the top of the coverlet and threw it over Rodney's face.

"But I'm flexible," Rodney said, sliding out from under it and shucking his clothes. He swiped at himself with the washcloth and slid in behind John, spooning up around him and throwing an arm over John's chest. "I've never known anyone to approach naps with the same desperation as sex," he said to the back of John's neck.

It was the last thing John heard before he fell asleep.

It was late afternoon when he woke, and Rodney was gone.

"Rodney?" he said, rolling to his back.

"Over here." Rodney was sitting on the floor, surrounded by graph paper and school books and his slide rule and calculator.

"Hey," John said, looking down at all the work and feeling a little bad that he dragged Rodney away from his studies most weekends.

Rodney looked up and his blue eyes beamed and his mouth curled up in a grin. "Hey," he replied. "Good sleep?"

"Yeah," John said, feeling better. He looked down at Rodney's homework. It still looked vaguely familiar to him, but he knew most of what Rodney did was already past him and next semester he'd be left in the dust. "I needed that."

"Well, obviously," Rodney said, pushing a book to the side and standing up. He wore his boxers and t-shirt and he knelt on the bed and kissed John. "Do you want to fuck before dinner?" he whispered as the heat rose between them and his erection brushed John's leg. Rodney had never been circumspect.

"What time is it?" John asked, glancing over at the clock on the bedside table.

"Around six," Rodney said, his mouth working its way down John's neck, as if this was a perfectly acceptable question and it wasn't unusual that John wasn't shouting, Yes!

"Are you going to be able to get it up after dinner?" John asked, which was really another stupid question, but he wanted to make sure.

Rodney leaned back and stared at him as if he had gone crazy. "I'm still sleeping with you, right?" he said and John felt something hot and achy squeeze in his chest.

He kissed Rodney's mouth and whispered, "Once we get started, I'm not going to want to stop."

"What? Is that a no?" Rodney asked, rubbing the back of John's neck. He looked vaguely affronted.

"I'm starving," John said, pushing himself off the bed and fisting his hand in Rodney's shirt. "And I stink. How 'bout I give you a hand in the shower?" He dragged Rodney off the bed after him. "And then," he leered, "you can give me one."

"Oh, well, hey," Rodney said, letting John tug him into the little bathroom. "That works, too."

John used his grip on Rodney's shirt to drag it off. Rodney's hair stuck up in disordered tufts and he reached out to touch John's bare chest. John tilted sideways, leaning into the shower to turn on the water without pulling away from Rodney's hands.

"Water's good," he said, twisting the faucet to full strength and shaking some of the water off his hand. He waited as Rodney skimmed off his shorts -- and yeah, Rodney was always ready to go -- and then pushed his fingers into Rodney's hair and brought him forward for a kiss.

He didn't usually get this, not all night. They were usually scrambling to put him together and get him back to Vandenberg Hall for taps on Saturday night. John slept fitfully in his bunk, which was fine the other six nights of the week when Rodney wasn't five miles away, spending the night in the hotel room that probably still smelled like sex. Rodney was always waiting for him bright and early the next morning, ready for breakfast and back to the hotel for another tumble into bed. It was more than he should hope for, but he resented those seven hours that regulations separated them. And that made his overnight pass, the token of freedom benignly termed a 'weekend' so extraordinary. He felt a little wild with this freedom, a little indulgent. It hadn't taken long to figure out that if they staggered things, two nineteen-year-old boys -- well, nineteen and almost nineteen, Rodney'd outpaced a grade or two in school -- could trade off orgasms for quite a while. And he wanted to get all other distractions out of the way before they got started on that. He'd spent too much time coming up with his surprise to let Rodney bulldoze over it without even knowing.

"Wasting time," Rodney said against his mouth so the vowels were gone and the consonants muffled, and steered John into the shower.

John smiled to himself and pulled Rodney against him, reaching low and pressing his mouth to the wet skin of Rodney's shoulder.

By the time they'd washed up for real and struggled into clothes, gotten out the door, returned multiple times for things Rodney had forgotten, and agreed on a restaurant, they'd missed the dinner crowd and come in slightly ahead of the hard-core Saturday night drinkers.

"I'm deathly allergic to citrus," Rodney said before they were all the way in the booth. "So not even a lemon slice on the plate, okay? Or in the water."

The waitress, a pretty blonde, smiled politely and nodded, leaving them with their menus. They had been to that restaurant before and John imagined the waitstaff had a mug shot of Rodney in the kitchen, right next to a picture of a lemon with a red circle around it and an equally red line cutting diagonally through.

"What are you going to get?" John asked instead of voicing his suspicion. It was polite and banal, and entirely reasonable. He didn't really care what Rodney got, but he sometimes worried that if he was too friendly, too affectionate, too normal, someone would figure it out. The fact that they'd made it through high school without suspicion somehow wasn't enough anymore.

"The strip steak and baked potato," Rodney said without looking at the menu. "No, maybe the beef tips in gravy. No, the strip steak, definitely."

"You always get the strip steak," John said mildly, ignoring Rodney's brief detour to the beef tips. He'd learned early on that the trick to listening to Rodney was to pull out the important information and leave the rest by the wayside.

"New dishes are so unpredictable," Rodney said. "I'm working on ensuring that I have a safe dish, one I know that I like, at every restaurant I frequent. In fact, I've started to import that theory into my everyday life."

John raised an eyebrow over the top of the menu. "Really?"

"Yes, see, I've found that dining hall food is inherently dangerous since the people serving it have no actual idea what most of the stuff is made out of, so I've identified a handful of reliable entrees and created a weekly schedule. There are some constants for each meal, you know."

"Like what?" John asked, morbidly interested despite himself. Rodney had always had that effect on him, since the very beginning. John could never watch Back to the Future without thinking of Rodney's personal grudge against the flux capacitor.

"Well, there's a salad bar, of course," Rodney said, pushing his menu to the side, "but obviously I'm thinking of peanut butter. And cereal for breakfast, of course. And every Friday, when the university caters to a more orthodox brand of Catholicism by serving fish, which without fail comes doused in lemon, there's also a pizza bar, which tends to be substandard but infinitely safer than the alternative. Also, I've found that if I already know what I'm going to have, I spend thirty-two percent less time in the dining hall, which is time I can devote to labwork."

John blinked.

"I think I'll have the strip steak, too," he decided. It was a moderately-priced choice for the steakhouse and despite the significant increase in his cadet paycheck that came with his promotion -- or rather, survival -- to third-class, he was fairly sure Rodney would insist on paying. And it wasn't that he was a shrinking violet about such things -- hey, if Rodney wanted to pay, more power to him. But he wanted to pay every time and well, John had a little bit of a problem with that. A problem, but not necessarily the cash to back it up, especially when Rodney had some research job that he claimed paid astoundingly well. It was just one more thing that made him more comfortable with Rodney when they were alone in a hotel room than out in town.

"Get whatever you want," Rodney said, oblivious to John's internal monologue. "Not that there's anything wrong with institutionalized food, I mean I really like hospital food, but I'd imagine that after you spend a year memorizing the menus, it all gets a little old."

"It's actually pretty good," John said mildly. He was about to point out that not only had Rodney memorized his own institutional menus but was being a much bigger dork about it than John but the waitress appeared and Rodney launched into his order.

"Do you still have your fake ID?" he asked when they were back in the car.

"Of course I do, that's -- " Rodney stopped talking and his eyes went wide. "Oh, yeah. That'll be good. That'll be so good. Get drunk and just -- "

"Rodney!" John interrupted. "Focus!" Also, don't say anything loud enough to be heard through the glass of the car window, he thought.

"Right," Rodney said, tapping his palm against his fist a couple of times and starting the car. "Liquor store."

"Get a bottle of vodka," John said. "Something good." He had a twenty in his wallet and passed it over to Rodney.

"What are you giving me that for?" Rodney asked scornfully, not touching it. "I got it."

John rolled his eyes. "Rodney, please. Just this time."

Rodney glanced over at him, two quick darts of his eyes as he drove. "You really need to get past this inferiority complex," he said. "I'm going to be making more money than you for the rest of our natural lives. Now would be a good time to get over it."

"Would you shut the fuck up and just take the money?" John said, reaching over and tucking the bill between Rodney's legs, taking great care to cup and squeeze Rodney as he drew his hand back. "Pretend I'm buying your ass or something, okay?"

"Right, because that's exactly what this relationship needs," Rodney shot back with a grin. "Another level of dysfunction."

John smiled and settled back in his seat. If they weren't in public, weren't in a car weaving its way to the nearest liquor store, he would have put his hand on the back of Rodney's neck and pulled him back for a long, wet kiss, one with lots of tongue and shared breath and Rodney would do that thing where he licked his lower lip afterward, as if he could find the last bits of John's taste.

"Hello? Earth to Sheppard?"

"What?" John blinked. They had stopped somewhere in the middle of his fantasy and Rodney had his seatbelt off and the door open.

"I asked if you had a brand you wanted," Rodney said, his eyes asking a different question.

"No, whatever," John said. "Absolut's fine."

Rodney's eyebrows went up and he stared at John for another moment. John could tell he was trying to solve some mystery and schooled his own face into the most innocent expression he could muster.

"Okay," Rodney said, and slid out, slamming the door behind him.

John watched him disappear into the store and leaned his head back on the seat. Dating Rodney wasn't even a little like dating Elizabeth or Vala or Teyla. It was complicated and messy, with much unsaid and even more undone. But it was easy, so easy, to collapse into Rodney on weekends like this, to sleep and have sex and watch movies and not be required to do one damn thing. It made it easy to wonder what Rodney was doing at school, to ask because he was curious, not because he was obligated. He didn't usually have to ask, though, because Rodney was always more than willing to run at the mouth.

"Oh, my God," Rodney announced getting in the car and breaking John's train of thought. "They've got this new thing, Absolut with lemon in it. Whose brilliant idea was that? And when I say brilliant, you know I mean, flamingly idiotic!" He shoved the bottle of Absolut -- plain -- into John's lap and started the car. "I swear," he muttered, dragging the seatbelt across his chest. "The whole world's conspiring to kill me before I win my Nobel."

John rolled his eyes because Rodney was easy, too, perfectly predictable and perfectly amusing. "To the room, Einstein," he said, just to irritate Rodney further.

Rodney grumbled only a little as he drove back to the hotel and let them both into the dark room.

"All right," he said, locking the door behind them. "Let's get wasted and fuck like bunnies."

"You're such a romantic," John said cheerfully. He hauled his backpack up on the bed and dug inside to find the two shot glasses and the little plastic container of sugar he'd tucked inside a rolled shirt.

"I just don't see the point of wasting time -- what are you doing?" Rodney asked, frowning at the sugar.

"I know you remember this," John said, pulling an apple out of his bag and flipping open the blade on his pocket knife. He carved out a wedge, then reached over and jammed it in Rodney's gaping mouth. "Hold that for me."

Rodney made a helpless sound that went right to John's cock. He managed to get the top off the bottle of Absolut with not-entirely-steady hands, and slosh a bit into the glass. "This, too," he said, setting the glass against Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney tilted his head obediently, his eyes wide and awed. Even with the occasional whimper and breathy sounds, the room seemed oddly silent without Rodney's constant steam of chatter. John leaned down and dragged his tongue against the exposed side of Rodney's neck. He lingered, feeling Rodney's pulse against his mouth, tasting the salt of his skin and pulling away with a light suck and a quick kiss. Rodney's pupils were dilated when John reached for the sugar and he smoothed the granules onto the wet skin with two fingers. He dove back in, lapping up the sugar against Rodney's neck, his other hand cupping Rodney's bicep, and investigating very seriously until he was sure he'd found every last sugar crystal. The glass was cool in his mouth and the vodka burned going down. He curled his hand around the back of Rodney's neck and bit the apple away from his lips, crunching it into his own mouth with only a brush to Rodney's skin.

"Oh, my GOD," Rodney said, sitting down hard on the bed when John released him. "Oh, my God, that was so hot, you don't understand, that was, that way -- "

"I've wanted to do that for years," John said around the last of the apple wedge.

"Oh, my God. That was even hotter," Rodney said faintly.

The apple didn't do much to cut the vodka but John didn't care. Watching Rodney go to pieces was so much better.

"Can I -- I mean, it is my turn, right?" Rodney asked, already standing again.

"Yep," John said, sitting down on the opposite bed. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it away. It was a calculated move -- he knew Rodney liked how he looked without a shirt and playing to that made him feel a little immodest. "Collar," he said ingenuously, gesturing to his neck. "It would be in the way."

"Right, right, of course," Rodney said hurriedly. He poured a shot and set it carefully on John's shoulder. John tilted his head obediently to the side. Rodney studied him for a long moment, tongue moving thoughtfully along his upper lip before he leaned forward and dragged it up the ridge of John's collarbone.

John started to draw in a deep breath, then froze, mindful of the shot perched precariously on his shoulder. Rodney looked right at him, eyes big and anticipatory as he sprinkled sugar the length of John's collarbone. Then he bent his head and licked, slow and teasing, as thorough as John had been, maybe more. Then he dumped the shot down his throat, wrapped his hand possessively around the back of John's neck, and took the apple. He wasn't shy about kissing John as he did it.

"Take your shirt off," John said, as Rodney bit the apple chunk in half and took the second half out of his mouth while he chewed the first.

"Impatient are we?" Rodney asked, popping the second half in after the first.

John didn't point out that Rodney had been the one rendered verbally incompetent earlier. He just stood up and dragged Rodney's t-shirt over his head.

"Mmph, okay, then," Rodney said. He was already hard -- John could tell by the way his jeans distorted at the waist.

"Lay down," John said, pushing at the center of Rodney's chest.

"I take it back," Rodney said. "Bring on the dysfunction."

John sat the shot glass in the center of Rodney's chest and poured the vodka to the brim. He braced himself on both hands and licked at Rodney's nipples, dragging his tongue over both of them in quick succession, then going back to make concentric circles around them.

"John," Rodney whispered.

John ignored him. He knew Rodney was trying not to spill the shot by talking through his teeth. He reached blindly for the sugar and shook a little onto each of Rodney's pectorals when he found it. He took his time lapping it all off while Rodney tried to keep his breaths shallow enough to keep the shot intact. When his mouth was going dry, he took the shot and pushed his way up Rodney's body, pressing up hard between Rodney's legs.

Rodney blinked at him, eyes and mouth wide. John had forgotten the apple.

He kissed Rodney instead, sliding his tongue in deep, dragging the taste of Rodney's mouth into his own.

Rodney groaned hard, the kind of sound that shivered down John's throat and through his whole body, and slid his hands down the back of John's jeans.

John's muscles tensed involuntarily and he dragged himself away from Rodney's mouth, drawing back slowly, until he could straighten up again. His body was tight and hot with tamped-down desire. John had physicals and group runs and obstacles courses and flying and most of all, questions he didn't want to answer, so if they fucked, Rodney usually did the catching, ordering John around the entire time. But Rodney's hand on his ass and his entire weekend away made him feel rebellious and indulgent and that was dangerous. "Your turn," he said, backing up until his knees hit the other bed and sitting down. It was better, calmer then, without Rodney's body there, pushing up under him.

Rodney sat up, looking dazed. "You're so hot," he said. "So crazy, insanely hot."

John started to say, "That doesn't make any sense," but Rodney had him pinned to the bed and was kneeling over him.

Rodney mouthed his nipples and licked up and down between his pecs, combing John's chest hair back with his fingertips. It felt great, even though John had never gotten the kind of pleasure from his nipples that Rodney seemed to. Maybe two healthy shots of vodka were kind of useful for that. Rodney sat the shot glass down on John's chest and sloshed vodka into it. Then he shook sugar over the rest and lapped it up like a hungry cat.

"Oh, yeah," John sighed, when Rodney slid just the right way between his legs and couldn't stop his hips from lifting.

"Stop, you'll spill," Rodney said, catching the glass before more than a couple of drops spattered John's chest. He bent his head and licked up the spilled vodka, finished the sugar, and did the rest of the shot. He hesitated for a moment over John's mouth, licking his lips, and then, when John nodded, dove in.

John gasped around Rodney's mouth, air a secondary consideration to kissing Rodney more and more and more.

"Hold on, hold on," Rodney said, pulling back. John sat up easily, following his mouth, but Rodney was back on the other bed. "C'mon," he said. "It's your turn again." He flopped back on the bed, spreading his arms wide and gasping for breath, which only made his chest and stomach heave.

"Hold still," John said, the shots a warm fuzz in his body. He balanced the glass over Rodney's diaphragm and licked over and around his navel. Rodney didn't hold still, he shook with silent laughter and John knew he was ticklish there. "Hold still," he said again, and kept his hand on the glass as he poured. "Hold still," he whispered as he licked the sugar carefully from Rodney's skin, eyes tilted up to his face. Rodney did an admirable job of nearly biting through his lip in an attempt to keep still and just barely made it to John taking the shot from his stomach before he broke into helpless giggles. "That was terrible," John told him, trying to kiss his mouth.

"Oh, I'd like to see you try it, Mr...Mr...." Rodney flipped him, sprawled over him, still laughing and still kissing him.

"Oh, nice," John replied, when he had enough mouth free to form the words. "Insulting me when you're the one with no self-control. Let's try this again." He rolled, pressing Rodney into the mattress, and reached down to tug at the button and zipper of Rodney's jeans. Rodney bucked against him, difficult as usual, and then got in the way trying to help.

John batted his hands away and managed to drag his jeans down to his knees. He took the boxers next, easing the elastic waistband over Rodney's erection. Rodney squirmed and flailed and managed to kick John in the middle of his thigh.

"Hey," John said, putting one hand on Rodney's knee and pushing it toward the bed. He stroked his palm up the length of Rodney's cock and glanced up at Rodney's face. He looked bright and eager and suffering none of the low, painful desire that John was harboring.

"Shoes," Rodney grunted, the tangle of jeans and underwear bumping at John's knees as Rodney wriggled around on the bed.

"Hold still," John said, pressing one hand to Rodney's stomach and standing against the tangle of clothes to pin Rodney's legs against the bed. He reached for the shot glass and found Rodney's fingers around his wrist, soft and damp from the vodka and spit.

"My turn," Rodney reminded John. His eyes were bright with intoxication and color was high on his cheeks.

Heat flushed through John. Three shots had blurred his peripheral vision -- and apparently his ability to count -- and Rodney's grip on his wrist made his cock throb. "Yeah," he said thickly, and leaned down to kiss Rodney, thrusting his tongue deeply into his warm, welcoming mouth.

Rodney chuckled -- rather evilly, John thought muzzily -- and flipped them both. John might be stronger, but his long-ago assumption that Rodney's arms were nothing to laugh at had been correct. Rodney pushed away and stepped out of his clothes, leaving John to undo the top button on his own jeans.

"Hey, I want to do that," Rodney said, pushing his hands under John's and wrestling with the rest of the buttons.

John closed his eyes, reveling in the vague dizziness from the vodka and the backs of Rodney's hands under his own palms as Rodney's fingers flew over and against his cock. It all felt so good, he didn't want to think about one single other thing. He lifted his hips on command and let Rodney draw off his pants and boxers, and pull off his shoes with all the rest of it. The motel bedspread was scratchy against his bare skin when he settled back down and he shifted, looking for the best position.

"Hold still," Rodney said, bracing John's hips with two hands. He lapped at the head of John's cock and then slid down over the whole thing.

"Oh. Wow," John gasped, gripping at the bedspread with both hands.

Rodney glanced up and then drew off slowly, as if he didn't want to let go, either. "Hold very still," he instructed.

John opened his eyes and lifted his head to see Rodney sprinkling a line of sugar down his cock. "Rodney," he croaked, not sure what his actual protest was.

"Shut up," Rodney ordered, setting the shot glass in the hollow of John's hip. He poured a little of the vodka into it -- it had to only be a half shot, John was pretty sure, and sat back between John's legs.

"Do it," John said, tensing in anticipation.

Rodney dragged his tongue up the length of John's cock, licking up the sugar, and then kissing up and down, lapping up every last granule, one hand steadying the glass.

John took deep, controlled breaths, concentrating on the sensations and trying not to thrust into Rodney's mouth.

"Okay," Rodney said, and took the shot, tilting his head way back and setting the shot glass on the bed before sliding his mouth down over John's dick again.

"Oh!" John groaned, letting himself arch up against Rodney's hands. Rodney's tongue was doing some really fantastic things and John just let himself go with it for a minute, rolling into the warm and wet and wonderful until he couldn't stand it any longer. "Up," he grunted, lifting a little too hard into Rodney's mouth.

"Uh," Rodney replied, lifting off. "Okay, fine, don't you think it's time we got down to business?" he gasped, sliding his own dick against Johns' leg.

"One more," John said, putting his hands on Rodney's hips and steering him away and standing up. "On the bed."

"You know," Rodney remarked, flopping back on the bed and letting his arms fall wide, "it's really hot when you get all dictatorial."

"I'm dictatorial?" John asked, pausing in arrangement of shot glass and sugar. "I'm dictatorial?"

"Shut up and lick," Rodney said.

"Yes, sir," John drawled with as little actual respect as he could drum up and dragged his tongue over Rodney's cock. "Scoot up," he said, making sure Rodney's hips were firmly on the bed. He reached for Rodney's backpack and found the little tube of lubricant in the front pocket, where it always was. He wasn't sure when he'd consciously made the decision but the anticipation was running the blood hot in his ears.

He took Rodney's cock as far into his mouth as he could -- which granted, wasn't far, even after he'd been doing it for over a year -- and distracted Rodney while he did what he needed to do, pushing back awkwardly against his own hand. Then he drew off and wrapped his slick fingers around Rodney's dick and drew upward, leaving a sheen of gel in its wake. Rodney lifted his head at the new sensation.

"Shh," John said, before Rodney even had a chance to say something, and crawled up on the bed, straddling Rodney's body. "Here." He tucked the bottom of the shot glass in Rodney's open mouth and tilted a half measure into the cup, blithely ignoring Rodney's murderous glare. He lowered his weight onto Rodney's stomach and found Rodney's hand. He licked the palm and let go long enough to grab some sugar with his clean hand and drop it onto the wet patch. He wrapped his fingers around Rodney's wrist again and brought it to his mouth. He licked up between the fleshy parts of Rodney's hand, then licked crossways to get it all. Rodney made an impatient sound from behind the glass so John leaned forward and took the shot glass with his own mouth, leaning back to swallow the shot.

"What the hell was -- " Rodney asked as John leaned down and slid his tongue smoothly into Rodney's mouth. "Mmoh."

John was breathing hard, even as he kissed Rodney. He pulled back when he started to feel lightheaded and looked down. Rodney was breathing hard, too, and his mouth was pink. John inched back and reached behind him until he felt Rodney's dick slip into his hand.

"Oh." Rodney's eyebrows went up and his mouth opened. "John."

"Yeah," John said, easing back and feeling the head of Rodney's cock slide between the cheeks of his ass. He bit his lip and pushed down, feeling himself stretch for Rodney, fill up. Rodney's eyes were huge and fixed on his face and John couldn't help staring back as he eased himself down. It hurt, but he didn't wince. When he felt the hair of Rodney's thighs against the skin on the back of his own, he let himself exhale. Still in charge, he thought, still in control although he knew that he'd be driven to pieces, clutching at Rodney and shaking hard, before the night was over.

Rodney reached over and squeezed one hand on John's right knee. John took his own cock in his slick hand and held it as he lifted himself up on his knees a little and sank back down on Rodney. It burned in a world-shattering sort of way and John shuddered as minutely as he could.

"Let me," Rodney said, sliding his hand, damp from John's tongue, up the inside of John's thigh and curled around John's cock, fingers brushing up against John's own.

The squeeze of Rodney's hand brought a rush of heat to the base of John's spine. He lifted up and slid back down with a little more force than before and it paid off spectacularly, despite the slight twinge.

"John," Rodney murmured, rolling his hips under John, setting off a whole new set of sparks and shivers, and then he said, "I'm not sure -- I don't think -- I'm not going to last," and he looked up at John as if in apology, as if John wasn't struggling with the same problem himself.

John sped up, riding Rodney for as long as he could stand it, then he tilted forward and caught himself on his hands, driving himself back onto Rodney's cock until Rodney said, "John -- John," and squeezed his fist around John's cock a little too tightly. John tightened every conscious muscle he had and after a long, charged moment, he felt Rodney come inside him and his peripheral vision grayed out as he drove forward into Rodney's grip, groaning out the last of the tension thrumming through his body.

"Oh," he said, broken and raw, when the random lights and blurry vision had passed and he found himself in a very uncomfortable and awkward position. "Hold on. Let me." He sat up a little and eased himself off Rodney as slowly and carefully as he could manage, balancing on his knees. He swung one leg over and collapsed on his back next to Rodney, a little surprised to find actual oxygen in the air of the motel room. His ass throbbed a little, and would the next day. He didn't have to get up and do anything the next day, though. He just had to lie in bed with Rodney and maybe forage for some food at some point, and he was free until taps. "Hey," he said, reaching out and brushing the sweaty skin of Rodney's shoulder.

"Yeah, well, that was maybe the best idea in the history of ever," Rodney said, blinking hard several times.

"Yeah?" John grinned lazily and turned his head to look at Rodney. "Here's one. Let's get under the covers before we pass out like this."

"Hm, yeah," Rodney said, showing no signs of moving. "Passing out sounds good."

John reached blindly for the covers and found one of the washcloths from earlier that day. He tossed it on Rodney's stomach, which was slick with John's come, and dragged down the coverlet and the sheets. "C'mon," he prodded, nudging Rodney and sliding between the sheets on his stomach.

Rodney mopped up his stomach with the cloth and tossed it toward the other bed before climbing in next to John. "I didn't know you were going to do that," he said.

"Me either," John said although that wasn't entirely true. "Maybe some of it." He curled his arm around his pillow. He still felt a little battered, a little split open.

Rodney mirrored John's position, curling up to face him. "So," he said in the obnoxious voice John recognized as teasing, "what do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Well, obviously," John said in a voice too dry and hoarse to actually mimic Rodney well, "we need to have more sex."

"Funny," Rodney said. "I was just thinking the same thing."

The End
Tags: fic, porn, sga, tbtilaf
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