Yay! Thursday porn!
This isn't so much an actual story as... porn. Just a nice scenario that's drifted through my head a few times in the past week or so. SGA, John/Rodney, no spoilers. NC-17.
~*~
They fell asleep last night before cleaning up; ordinarily that would just mean grumbling and staggering to the shower in the morning, letting warm water rinse the dried come from John's chest and belly (it's a bitch once it's dried into the hair), letting Rodney's blunt, gentle fingers carefully slide around John's asshole, cleaning and teasing at the same time.
Instead, though, there's a pre-dawn emergency three hours after they fall asleep (sticky, bruised and sated), clothes pulled on in the dark and a stumbling run to the control room, John limping and loping along, buckling the thigh holster as he chases Rodney, who is already clutching his tablet and snapping at Radek over the radio.
The emergency is, thankfully, quickly assessed and dealt with - two hours of Rodney on his back under a console in the east pier, John crouched beside him, handing him tools as Zelenka and Espinoza direct him from the control room. Crisis averted (Atlantis won't sink any time in the next few days, anyway), the eastern sky is just barely paling when Rodney wriggles out from under the panel.
And wow, that's kind of hot, John thinks, a little punch-drunk with lack of sleep and the smell of Rodney, right there beside him in that tight little corner.
Before he can process the thought, much less do anything about it, Rodney has bitten off a "good job, I'm going back to bed, wake me and die" into the headset, slapped it to turn it off, and is hauling himself upright.
John echoes Rodney's sentiments to Radek and... what's her name (minus the death threats) and stands as well, rolling the toolkit up and tying it into a neat bundle as Rodney stretches and groans beside him.
Also hot. Maybe once they get back to John's quarters, John thinks, picturing the shower and what might happen. He slaps Rodney on the shoulder. "Good job," he says.
Rodney nods - short and sharp - and strides off down the hall, not before he reaches back and grabs John's arm, dragging him along. "Come on," he says, and John does, follows, trying to turn his goofy grin into something cooler and more smirky.
He expects Rodney to lead him to the transporter, but they pass it and then there's another door, one Rodney waves open without looking back at John or even breaking stride. Then they're inside and it's just a storage room, cramped and untidy (must be a science storage room, it's definitely not military) and the goofy grin vanishes as Rodney shoves John up against a handy patch of wall and goes for him. Rodney's mouth is hot and wet against John's throat, his whole body is heavy and rough against John, pressed to him from knee to neck.
John gasps as Rodney bites his shoulder, rough and eager; Rodney's already talking, mumbling into John's skin even as his hands tug and grab and shove at John's shirt, his pants. "Smell you," Rodney's saying, biting John, kissing his neck, jaw, ear, "I could just smell you, smell my come on you, yours, sex and sweat and Jesus, I want -" He's got John's pants unbuckled, and one big hand is shoving down the back of them, fingers sliding into the cleft of his ass, "yes, yes, still wet."
John's panting, hitching breaths as his hands finally twitch into action, clutching Rodney's arms and then sliding down to rub over his crotch. "Fuck, Rodney," John manages, and that's it for words; luckily Rodney can talk enough for two.
"I want to fuck you right now," Rodney says. He's gotten John's thigh holster undone, and it swings to one side, hanging on his belt, dragging it down as Rodney pushes his pants lower. The gun and holster and belt do the rest, and the pants tangle just below his knees. He didn't manage his tac vest earlier, when they got up, and Rodney shoves his t-shirt up and leans down, licking across his stomach, matted hair and oh god, it's so dirty.
John squirms and gropes at Rodney's shoulders, his head; John's cock is aching already, hard and jutting out, begging for attention. Rodney grabs it, pumps John twice, roughly, as he noses at his chest, bites at one small, tender nipple. John jerks, electricity zinging through him. He can feel the wetness at the tip of his cock, and Rodney's thumb smears through it without finesse - just want, just now.
"I want to fuck you," Rodney says again, standing up to mutter the words into John's ear, heated and heedless, "I want to smell my come on you all day, want you to feel it all day." John gets Rodney's pants open, gets Rodney's big, hard cock into his hand and just holds on. Rodney's still saying things, stripping John's cock roughly, fast and cruel and sweet. "I want you to feel my come running down your leg when you walk through the halls, want you to feel the burn whenever you sit down, want to fuck you all day, fill you all day."
John's wet, choking breath stops for second; everything narrows as Rodney's teeth close on his shoulder. His right hand is jerking John off, ruthless and fast; his left hand palms John's ass, flat between that and the wall, and he's fingering John's asshole. It is still wet from last night, and John arches into Rodney's teeth and the thought of Rodney's cock, filling him thick and wet and hard. John comes, Rodney squeezing rhythmically just under the head of his cock, catching John's come in his broad palm as John groans, breathing again in short, shuddering gasps.
"Yes, yes," Rodney's saying; John's dazed, still trembling from the knees up when Rodney manhandles him around. Something wet and cool trickles over his hole, and John sags forward against the wall, hard and cool against one cheek as he braces his shaking legs, setting them apart, waiting.
"Oh, god, can I? Is this okay?" Rodney asks. His hand skates over John's back and hip, light and dry, and John hears the wet sound of Rodney's other hand, stroking himself, waiting for John's consent.
John reaches back, taking his weight against the wall with shoulders and cheek, and spreads his ass cheeks to Rodney's gaze, opening himself up.
A heartbeat's pause, then Rodney's breathless, high-pitched moan and the blunt pressure of his cock. His cock is wet - with spit and John's come, and John sucks in a shaky, excited breath at that thought - and there's a little burn, but not much, as he pushes slowly in, one long, ceaseless thrust.
"Oh, god," Rodney says, and his voice cracks, goes low and needy as his hands settle on John's waist. "Still fucked open, still wet, John -" He starts to move, short, sharp thrusts, hips snapping forward with the most wet, obscene sounds in the world.
John loves those sounds; takes his hands off his ass and braces himself better against the wall, shoving back as Rodney shoves in, trying to get him deeper. "Fuck, yeah," John slurs, Rodney's cock thick and hard in his ass, "come on, Rodney." Rodney's breathing is like a bellows, fast and deep and unsteady, and his fingers dig into John's skin. "C'mon, fill me," John demands, hoarse and pushy; Rodney chokes out a groan and slams into him three times in quick succession, falling forward over John's back to bite at his nape even as he shudders and empties himself into John.
"Ohhhh, fuck," Rodney slurs a minute later, pushing himself up. His cock slips out of John, still mostly hard, and John sighs a little, straightening cautiously. "Are you okay?" Rodney's hands pat at John's back, tugging his t-shirt down a little, tidying.
John turns, and he knows his smile is kind of goofy, this time - there's no help for it. "Sure, I'm good," he says. "I can't feel my legs, but I'm good."
"God, that was hot," Rodney sighs, and fists one hands lazily in John's shirt, reeling him in for a kiss. John stumbles over his pants a little, but makes it safely to Rodney's mouth, closing his eyes and falling into the wet stroke of his tongue, scrape of stubble; the way Rodney's hands come up to frame his face, cup his skull.
"Mmm," John says when they break apart, "bed now."
Rodney leans down and pulls John's pants up solicitously. "Maybe a shower first."
"Maybe," John says. "Although that kind of misses the point of this whole thing." He gestures around at the dim storage room, his loose belt and still-hanging holster and gun, Rodney's rumpled, red-faced appearance.
"Yes, I know," Rodney says, tugging his own pants back up and zipping them, "but we might reek too much to be able to sleep." He steps closer, reaches around to pat John's bottom through his BDUs. "Also, I need to make sure you're okay - make sure I wasn't too rough."
"You weren't," John says. His ass is sore, but it's a nice burn, the comforting burn of being fucked twice in just a few hours, hard and satisfying. John likes it.
"You'd say that no matter what," Rodney points out. John tilts his head in brief acknowledgment.
A few minutes later they're on their way to John's quarters, matching one another stride for stride. John squirms a little as they step into the transporter, feeling something wet slide slowly down the inside of his thigh. It's weird and a little clammy and a lot dirty, and damn, how did Rodney know?
That is hot.
~*~
And if you want to read aesc's incredibly hot retelling of this pornlet from Rodney's POV (and believe me, you do - you really, really do), please go here and then praise her with many praises, for it is hot like a burning hot thing.
~*~
They fell asleep last night before cleaning up; ordinarily that would just mean grumbling and staggering to the shower in the morning, letting warm water rinse the dried come from John's chest and belly (it's a bitch once it's dried into the hair), letting Rodney's blunt, gentle fingers carefully slide around John's asshole, cleaning and teasing at the same time.
Instead, though, there's a pre-dawn emergency three hours after they fall asleep (sticky, bruised and sated), clothes pulled on in the dark and a stumbling run to the control room, John limping and loping along, buckling the thigh holster as he chases Rodney, who is already clutching his tablet and snapping at Radek over the radio.
The emergency is, thankfully, quickly assessed and dealt with - two hours of Rodney on his back under a console in the east pier, John crouched beside him, handing him tools as Zelenka and Espinoza direct him from the control room. Crisis averted (Atlantis won't sink any time in the next few days, anyway), the eastern sky is just barely paling when Rodney wriggles out from under the panel.
And wow, that's kind of hot, John thinks, a little punch-drunk with lack of sleep and the smell of Rodney, right there beside him in that tight little corner.
Before he can process the thought, much less do anything about it, Rodney has bitten off a "good job, I'm going back to bed, wake me and die" into the headset, slapped it to turn it off, and is hauling himself upright.
John echoes Rodney's sentiments to Radek and... what's her name (minus the death threats) and stands as well, rolling the toolkit up and tying it into a neat bundle as Rodney stretches and groans beside him.
Also hot. Maybe once they get back to John's quarters, John thinks, picturing the shower and what might happen. He slaps Rodney on the shoulder. "Good job," he says.
Rodney nods - short and sharp - and strides off down the hall, not before he reaches back and grabs John's arm, dragging him along. "Come on," he says, and John does, follows, trying to turn his goofy grin into something cooler and more smirky.
He expects Rodney to lead him to the transporter, but they pass it and then there's another door, one Rodney waves open without looking back at John or even breaking stride. Then they're inside and it's just a storage room, cramped and untidy (must be a science storage room, it's definitely not military) and the goofy grin vanishes as Rodney shoves John up against a handy patch of wall and goes for him. Rodney's mouth is hot and wet against John's throat, his whole body is heavy and rough against John, pressed to him from knee to neck.
John gasps as Rodney bites his shoulder, rough and eager; Rodney's already talking, mumbling into John's skin even as his hands tug and grab and shove at John's shirt, his pants. "Smell you," Rodney's saying, biting John, kissing his neck, jaw, ear, "I could just smell you, smell my come on you, yours, sex and sweat and Jesus, I want -" He's got John's pants unbuckled, and one big hand is shoving down the back of them, fingers sliding into the cleft of his ass, "yes, yes, still wet."
John's panting, hitching breaths as his hands finally twitch into action, clutching Rodney's arms and then sliding down to rub over his crotch. "Fuck, Rodney," John manages, and that's it for words; luckily Rodney can talk enough for two.
"I want to fuck you right now," Rodney says. He's gotten John's thigh holster undone, and it swings to one side, hanging on his belt, dragging it down as Rodney pushes his pants lower. The gun and holster and belt do the rest, and the pants tangle just below his knees. He didn't manage his tac vest earlier, when they got up, and Rodney shoves his t-shirt up and leans down, licking across his stomach, matted hair and oh god, it's so dirty.
John squirms and gropes at Rodney's shoulders, his head; John's cock is aching already, hard and jutting out, begging for attention. Rodney grabs it, pumps John twice, roughly, as he noses at his chest, bites at one small, tender nipple. John jerks, electricity zinging through him. He can feel the wetness at the tip of his cock, and Rodney's thumb smears through it without finesse - just want, just now.
"I want to fuck you," Rodney says again, standing up to mutter the words into John's ear, heated and heedless, "I want to smell my come on you all day, want you to feel it all day." John gets Rodney's pants open, gets Rodney's big, hard cock into his hand and just holds on. Rodney's still saying things, stripping John's cock roughly, fast and cruel and sweet. "I want you to feel my come running down your leg when you walk through the halls, want you to feel the burn whenever you sit down, want to fuck you all day, fill you all day."
John's wet, choking breath stops for second; everything narrows as Rodney's teeth close on his shoulder. His right hand is jerking John off, ruthless and fast; his left hand palms John's ass, flat between that and the wall, and he's fingering John's asshole. It is still wet from last night, and John arches into Rodney's teeth and the thought of Rodney's cock, filling him thick and wet and hard. John comes, Rodney squeezing rhythmically just under the head of his cock, catching John's come in his broad palm as John groans, breathing again in short, shuddering gasps.
"Yes, yes," Rodney's saying; John's dazed, still trembling from the knees up when Rodney manhandles him around. Something wet and cool trickles over his hole, and John sags forward against the wall, hard and cool against one cheek as he braces his shaking legs, setting them apart, waiting.
"Oh, god, can I? Is this okay?" Rodney asks. His hand skates over John's back and hip, light and dry, and John hears the wet sound of Rodney's other hand, stroking himself, waiting for John's consent.
John reaches back, taking his weight against the wall with shoulders and cheek, and spreads his ass cheeks to Rodney's gaze, opening himself up.
A heartbeat's pause, then Rodney's breathless, high-pitched moan and the blunt pressure of his cock. His cock is wet - with spit and John's come, and John sucks in a shaky, excited breath at that thought - and there's a little burn, but not much, as he pushes slowly in, one long, ceaseless thrust.
"Oh, god," Rodney says, and his voice cracks, goes low and needy as his hands settle on John's waist. "Still fucked open, still wet, John -" He starts to move, short, sharp thrusts, hips snapping forward with the most wet, obscene sounds in the world.
John loves those sounds; takes his hands off his ass and braces himself better against the wall, shoving back as Rodney shoves in, trying to get him deeper. "Fuck, yeah," John slurs, Rodney's cock thick and hard in his ass, "come on, Rodney." Rodney's breathing is like a bellows, fast and deep and unsteady, and his fingers dig into John's skin. "C'mon, fill me," John demands, hoarse and pushy; Rodney chokes out a groan and slams into him three times in quick succession, falling forward over John's back to bite at his nape even as he shudders and empties himself into John.
"Ohhhh, fuck," Rodney slurs a minute later, pushing himself up. His cock slips out of John, still mostly hard, and John sighs a little, straightening cautiously. "Are you okay?" Rodney's hands pat at John's back, tugging his t-shirt down a little, tidying.
John turns, and he knows his smile is kind of goofy, this time - there's no help for it. "Sure, I'm good," he says. "I can't feel my legs, but I'm good."
"God, that was hot," Rodney sighs, and fists one hands lazily in John's shirt, reeling him in for a kiss. John stumbles over his pants a little, but makes it safely to Rodney's mouth, closing his eyes and falling into the wet stroke of his tongue, scrape of stubble; the way Rodney's hands come up to frame his face, cup his skull.
"Mmm," John says when they break apart, "bed now."
Rodney leans down and pulls John's pants up solicitously. "Maybe a shower first."
"Maybe," John says. "Although that kind of misses the point of this whole thing." He gestures around at the dim storage room, his loose belt and still-hanging holster and gun, Rodney's rumpled, red-faced appearance.
"Yes, I know," Rodney says, tugging his own pants back up and zipping them, "but we might reek too much to be able to sleep." He steps closer, reaches around to pat John's bottom through his BDUs. "Also, I need to make sure you're okay - make sure I wasn't too rough."
"You weren't," John says. His ass is sore, but it's a nice burn, the comforting burn of being fucked twice in just a few hours, hard and satisfying. John likes it.
"You'd say that no matter what," Rodney points out. John tilts his head in brief acknowledgment.
A few minutes later they're on their way to John's quarters, matching one another stride for stride. John squirms a little as they step into the transporter, feeling something wet slide slowly down the inside of his thigh. It's weird and a little clammy and a lot dirty, and damn, how did Rodney know?
That is hot.
~*~
And if you want to read aesc's incredibly hot retelling of this pornlet from Rodney's POV (and believe me, you do - you really, really do), please go here and then praise her with many praises, for it is hot like a burning hot thing.