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Finally [SGA, McKay/Sheppard, adult][2nd.Apr.2008|08:20 pm]

PWP, a little less than 2,000 words.


Finally, Rodney thinks, and god and yes, oh and Jesus, that's - this is - oh. He says those things, too. (Except not Finally, he's pretty sure he doesn't say that one - he tries not to, anyway.) But oh, the rest of it - Sheppard is close against him, all those long lean lines pressed right up to him like one of the laws of physics - gravity, maybe - won't let them move away from each other.

There's no chance to wonder why now? but Rodney does anyway, of course: why now, why today, why this late-night wander around the city, why this day and not any of the others. Today's mission wasn't anything special, nobody nearly died, nobody found anything interesting. Why doesn't matter - not at all. Because he's here and so is Sheppard and they didn't even kiss: there's no time, because everything is urgent and needy and right now and oh god. Oh, god, Rodney thinks, and bites at Sheppard's neck, babbling out want and way too much desperation to be anything but uncool.

It doesn't matter - thank god. Sheppard is just as frenzied, movements rough and awkward and a little wild, even if he doesn't say much - just, "Jesus," and "yeah," and once, "right th - yeah. Christ."

Their hands are frantic, pulling at clothing, jerking at zippers, Sheppard's breath gusting over Rodney's shoulder as he curses, looking down, and fumbles at Rodney's thigh holster. Rodney is trying to undress Sheppard too - right now right now right now - but his hands keep getting sidetracked by the body under the clothes: rough-soft hair on Sheppard's belly, leading down into his pants. Warm smooth skin of his back, interrupted by a scar here, a small mole there, high on his shoulder blade. Rough brush of stubble against Rodney's fingertips as his drags them across Sheppard's jaw, and the lush wet softness of just-licked lips when his thumb rubs over Sheppard's mouth.

Sheppard parts his lips, darts his tongue out and sucks at Rodney's fingers. It's the hottest thing Rodney's ever seen, much less felt, and he goes still, vibrating, wide-eyed and stupid for a moment as Sheppard runs his warm, wet tongue around the pads of Rodney's fingers. Sheppard's eyes are dark, there's something needy there, melancholy in the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. But then he smiles a little, wicked, and Rodney's left gasping into thin air, staring at the empty shelves on the other side of the dim, empty armory, because Sheppard's gone: dropped to his knees in front of Rodney.

"I want -" Sheppard says, haltingly, fingers hesitant (although Rodney's pants are already a rumpled, half-open mess, and if he wasn't protesting when Sheppard was biting at his neck and yanking his belt loose, he's sure as hell not going to now), "is this - ?"

"What? Yes," Rodney says, snaps, gasps, "yes, yes, what, are you crazy, are you seriously asking me if you can suck my dick? Because -" Sheppard's grinning again, long fingers pulling Rodney's cock out of his boxers, shoving pants and underwear down to tangle on his half-unfastened thigh holster - "seriously, oh," Rodney hears his own voice crack as Sheppard goes down fast and dirty, "oh, oh."

Rodney stops talking just for the moment, because he's too busy watching Sheppard suck him, busy touching Sheppard's soft, crazy hair, his forehead, the line of his eyebrows, the bridge of his funny-looking nose. Sheppard pulls back, almost off, and in his own quiet, Rodney can hear Sheppard's in-drawn breath, noisy through his nose, and then Sheppard ducks down again, down, down, taking Rodney in so hard and deep Rodney swears he must be feeling Sheppard's throat, working around the head of his cock, tightwetwarm.

"Oh god," Rodney mumbles, and his fingers skitter over Sheppard's hot cheeks, down to where his lips are tight on the shaft of Rodney's cock. "Oh, seriously, anytime, you can - oh. Anytime you -"

Sheppard bobs his head up and down, gives an encouraging hum. Loosens his death grip on the fabric of Rodney's BDUs and touches his balls instead, gentle rubbing that makes Rodney gulp and stammer and try to spread his legs wider. Sheppard's other hand comes up, too, and he pulls back with his mouth and wraps his fist around Rodney's cock, which is wet and thick and stiff, shining flushed skin visible until Sheppard's paler, hairy knuckles cover it. Sheppard jerks Rodney's shaft with fast, tight little strokes and works the tip, tonguing the slit and the ridge around the head, sucking hard and then light and then hard until Rodney's dizzy, panting "Oh god oh god oh god," thinking Jesus Christ stop teasing, let me come every time Sheppard changes the suction or distracts Rodney from his fast-approaching orgasm with a firm tug at his balls.

Sheppard (finally, Rodney thinks again) sucks steady and hard, and makes that nice, vibrating, encouraging humming sound again. Rodney pats frantically at his face, his hair. "I'm getting close," Rodney manages, rapidfire babbling, "oh, oh god, oh Jesus, Sheppard, I'm -"

Thinking he's given fair warning, Rodney grabs Sheppard's shoulders and shudders, coming in hot, delirious spurts into Sheppard's mouth, the pleasure pouring through him, leaving him ragged and gasping. Sheppard keeps his mouth where it is, sucking lightly through Rodney's trembling and then pulling back to swallow quickly.

Rodney's limp against the wall, hands still on Sheppard's shoulder and hair. "Wow, that was. Hmm." He opens his eyes and looks down at Sheppard. Probably he's wearing the world's silliest smile, but screw it, he just got a blowjob from John Sheppard; it's kind of high on his list of wants and aspirations. "C'mere," Rodney says.

"I'm okay," Sheppard replies; he leans his head against Rodney's thigh and closes his eyes. Rodney looks down, sees Sheppard fumble his own cock out of his pants and start jerking off with short, hard pulls, like he's already close.

"No, no," Rodney says, and slides down the wall, pushing Sheppard back and then pulling him close again, closing his own fist around Sheppard's, wanting to feel him. "I want to - can I?"

Sheppard's eyes open, hazy but bright, and there's the quick flash of a smile. "Anytime," he says, and moves his hand, giving Rodney some room.

Sheppard's dick is narrow and long, and it curves to the left. It's hot in Rodney's hand, pre-come leaking steadily from the slit, getting everything damp and sticky, and Rodney kneels awkwardly and jerks him off as Sheppard kneels in front of him. "God, you're hot," Rodney offers up after a moment, staring down at his own hand on Sheppard's cock.

Sheppard leans forward a little and braces his hands on Rodney's shoulders. He rests his forehead in the crook of Rodney's neck, and Rodney turns his head and presses his nose, his cheek, into Sheppard's hair, against the side of his face. Sheppard's eyes are closed again, and his face has the blank, furrow-browed look of someone right on the edge of a really decent orgasm.

"Is this okay?" Rodney murmurs into Sheppard's pointy ear. He brings his free arm and hand up, gathering Sheppard close, almost like they're dancing - fingers curved around his waist, thumb on the bare skin of his hip.

"It's - yeah," Sheppard croaks, and Rodney adds a little twist to the end of each pull, massaging the head of Sheppard's cock. Sheppard's hips twitch forward and he gives a little choked-off groan into Rodney's neck as his cock seems to harden and swell even further within Rodney's grip. An instant later his come spatters Rodney's thighs, the floor; a second and third spurt come more slowly, dripping over his knuckles, thick white fluid that makes Rodney's mouth water a little; it smells like sex, like the ocean, like he thought John would smell.

"Wow," Rodney slurs. "That was hot." He gives a few more light, gentle pulls, staring down at Sheppard's still-hard cock. "That was hot, right?" He turns his head a little, nosing at Sheppard's hair, his ear. "Seriously."

"Yes, Rodney," Sheppard says, a laugh lurking in the consonants, in the way he stretches the vowels and sounds deliciously out of breath. "Seriously."

"And we haven't even kissed yet," Rodney points out. He unwraps his fingers and brings them to his mouth, giving them an experimental lick. Sheppard's head shifts on his shoulder; he's looking up, watching as Rodney makes a considering face. "Hm."

"What?" Sheppard asks. He looks tired, blissed out, still smiling a little.

Rodney wipes his hand on his pants' leg. "Just checking. I mean, you swallowed, so - just. I wanted to know. It tastes okay."

The lines at the corners of Sheppard's eyes don't look melancholy anymore - they're crinkling up as he laughs at Rodney. "Good to know," he says, and Rodney thwacks him gently on the shoulder.

"Shut up," Rodney says. It's scary, how affectionate he feels right this minute. Endorphins are pretty interesting, really. He smiles at Sheppard. John. He should call him John, probably. "We can do that again soon, right?"

"I don't know about soon," John says, looking down at his now-soft cock. "But again?" He looks back at Rodney and smiles. "Yeah."

They stand up and do their best to straighten their clothes, wipe away John's come, which somehow got onto both their pants, smooth down their hair (a hopeless enterprise, in John's case). They don't have to look too perfect, luckily, since it's 2 a.m. and they both know all the quiet routes back to the personnel quarters.

It's surprisingly awkward once they're both as neat as they're going to get, standing at the still-closed doors of the armory; Rodney shifts from foot to foot. "Um - thanks," he mumbles, and Sheppard - John - looks at the floor, smirking a little, uncomfortable, doing everything but scuff the concrete with his toe.

"You, too," John manages.

They stand there for another long moment, and John looks up; meets his eye and looks away, reaches out to swipe his hand over the door sensor.

"So - okay," Rodney says. Words bubble up in his mouth, things he doesn't know how to say right, knows he shouldn't say at all. He coughs, trying to hold them in, and manages to keep it to: "But we can do this again, right? You said - we said. So."

John pulls his hand back and turns to Rodney. "Yeah," he says, and it's like it was at the start: gravity pulling them closer to each other. "We haven't even kissed yet, remember?"

"Oh," Rodney says. John is right there - again! - warm and faintly mussed, smelling like sex and tiredness and himself. "Maybe we should do that now." Rodney blinks at John. "I think we should do that now."

"Okay," John says quietly.

His eyes close before Rodney's, so Rodney gets to see him too close, fuzzy, dark lashes fanned out on his cheeks. Rodney closes his eyes, too, just as their mouths meet. It is like gravity: a dark, deep well that draws him, drowns him, stretches time out of whack and turns him upside down in all the best ways. John's mouth is soft against his, full lips and tentative, slow stroke of his tongue, wet and warm inside. They kiss and kiss - no urgency to it, just a sweet, endless present moment - until they have to breathe properly. When their mouths part, Rodney has his hands on John's shoulders, and John is cradling Rodney's head gently.

Finally, Rodney thinks, and John says, smiling again, right into his eyes, "Good to have that done."

"Yes," Rodney says, "absolutely."
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