SGA fic
So months ago I promised hinokumo some SGA p0rn. I got about half way through with it and then I fell off the grid. Now I'm back in the saddle again (so to speak) but this one feels weird to me - disjointed, you know? And I don't know if it's because I left it alone for so long or because I'm rusty or because it's just crap (or hell, possibly all three). I'd appreciate any thoughts or critiques anyone cares to leave on this.
Thanks to hinokumo for enabling me and mgbutterfly for enabling and betaing and beer (BEER!).
Title: A Place for Everything
Rating: NC17, Slash, John/Rodney
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no profit
Summary: Neither would be accused later of having been the first to flinch.
Rodney stripped off his muddy clothes, threw them into the bottom of the shower with disgust and stepped in after them. He sighed when hot water hit his skin, cleaning away the muck and filth from their most recent visit to yet another hostile planet. It wasn’t enough that they often ran into hostile aliens, Rodney thought as he kicked his clothes, trying to rinse the worst of the mud out of them, now the planets themselves were getting decidedly hostile.
First, the volcano planet, then there was the planet with the pollen that made everyone try to claw their own eyes out and, most recently, the planet that was nothing but mud with a very thin, and very fragile, crust. Rodney groaned as he scrubbed the sticky black mud from a particularly spectacular bruise on his hip. Right, and the rocks that were hidden by the mud, let’s not forget those.
Grabbing a cloth, Rodney wiped the mud from behind his ears and then blew his nose repeatedly. The smell of the mud lingering in his nostrils was suffocating. He leaned his head against the wall of the shower and simply let himself breathe for a moment. If Sheppard hadn’t been right next to him, if his reflexes had been any slower… Rodney shuddered and pushed those thoughts from his mind. Sheppard’s hand had grabbed his, at the last minute of course because the man was a high school drama queen, but he had managed to keep Rodney from submerging entirely. There was a bad moment when the mud continued pulling on him, dragging him down, his head going under, his panic reflected in Sheppard’s eyes as he bellowed for Ronon.
Rodney took a deep breath and gave his muddy clothes a last futile kick before turning off the water. Sheppard would be here soon. He always came after something like this, his eyes unreadable, his touch rough and desperate. The first time it had happened Rodney had spent the following week slightly confused. After a month he had convinced himself it was a hallucination brought on by stress and vicodin. A hallucination that had somehow managed to break a picture frame and leave bruises on his shoulder.
The second time, Rodney was prepared with a list of questions, all of which flew out of his head the moment Sheppard’s mouth latched on to his neck. The third time, as they lay panting and tangled on the floor, he turned to Sheppard to ask, to demand, to understand. But his questions died when he saw Sheppard’s face - everything he needed to know was written there. Possession and terror and anger and doubt… but mainly what Rodney saw was regret. Regret for what he couldn’t do, regret for what he had done, regret for decisions that he had yet to make.
Christ. Near death experiences made him maudlin and introspective. And he felt that it was a sad reflection on his life in the Pegasus Galaxy that he not only knew this, but that he didn’t feel the need to freak out about knowing it. Shaking his head, Rodney grabbed a towel and cursed as his foot slipped on the damp tile.
Before he completely overbalanced, a hand grabbed his bicep and steadied him. Rodney startled a little, but not very much considering he’d been expecting Sheppard anyway. The hand on his arm stayed until Rodney had his balance and his towel, then it drifted down to his hip, tracing the bruise there. Rodney simply stood and let Sheppard’s fingers drift over his skin, smoothing over bruises, ghosting over his nipples.
Hands stilling, Sheppard looked at Rodney, his brow furrowed, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his jaw. Looking away, Rodney caught a glimpse of both of them in the bathroom mirror, looking nothing like themselves, looking fragile as paper dolls. Suddenly everything was too bright and too harshly real and he felt like Sheppard could tear him in half with a word. Rodney shuddered and covered Sheppard’s mouth with his hand, stilling whatever words might have tumbled out. He dropped the towel he was holding in his other hand and fell gracelessly to his knees, partly because he desperately wanted to suck Sheppard’s cock and partly because he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs were going to hold him.
He mouthed Sheppard’s cock through the rough fabric of his trousers, his hands scrabbling at the fasteners. Sheppard’s hands joined his but they were mainly getting in the way so Rodney batted one aside impatiently and captured two fingers of the other hand in his mouth, sucking them and nipping at the callouses. His own hands, now free, made short work of Sheppard’s pants and underwear, jerking them down forcefully and causing the other man to stumble back two steps until his ass hit the vanity.
After that, Sheppard just gripped the counter with both hands and Rodney’s coherent thought processes pretty much ended. Everything was just heat and want and now, god, please now. He could feel Sheppard tensing but as he let go of Sheppard’s hips to grasp his own aching cock, strong hands grabbed his wrists. His rhythm faltered as he looked up, Sheppard’s dick popping free of his mouth as he met Sheppard’s eyes. They were wild, gleaming with something predatory, and Rodney felt his heart hammer in his chest with the sudden knowledge that this is freefall.
His bearings completely gone, he waited for Sheppard to give him a sign, show him the exit, pull the ripcord, anything. But Sheppard simply stared at him, his whole body tense and Rodney felt the weight of this silence. Seeing something in this in-between space they existed in, feeling for a moment like he was the only thing in the universe that was keeping this man from shattering into a thousand pieces.
They breathed together for a moment. Maintaining eye contact, Rodney slowly rotated his hands out until he reversed their hand positions, his hands on Sheppard’s wrists, and he anchored them, pinning the pilot’s hands against the edge of the counter.
Sheppard’s eyes went hooded and dark, flaring with want, his pupils wide and possessive. The raw intensity of it sent an electric spark straight down Rodney’s spine and he shuddered, lowering his mouth back to the cock bobbing in front of him. He couldn’t give the other man assurances, not for the past nor the future, it just wasn’t his nature to lie. He couldn’t give him blind obeisance or empty promises but he could give him this. Rodney concentrated, trying to express his, well, his everything through touch. Because words came easily to Rodney but the right words, real words, they stayed veiled behind double entendres and quantum analogies.
Rodney licked, sucked and breathed Sheppard, trying to convey everything his words couldn’t. Trying to convince the colonel that he was here, he was real and solid, that no one had failed yet, that they were still, for the moment, untouched. Eyes locked together, Rodney gripped Sheppard’s wrists harder, certain that he was leaving bruises and absurdly turned on by the fact.
They had sex like they did everything else, like it was half dare and half competition. Sheppard refused to back down from Rodney’s stare, his eyes scrutinizing and challenging right back, giving as good as he got. Rodney got off on that, on the way Sheppard could be completely vulnerable and just ignore it, just balls his way through anything, daring you to question his strength.
Holding on to that strength, manipulating it, it was like holding live wires and Rodney fucking loved it. He never had anything in his life that was this raw and sharp; burning away everything unimportant and leaving only need. Rodney quivered with the need to be touched or to touch himself. Fuck, at this point he’d gratefully rub up against the floor, germs be damned. He couldn’t help the little whine that escaped as he sped up his rhythm, fingers digging in to Sheppard’s wrists. He gave up then, letting his eyes flutter closed and tipping his head back just that much further.
Rodney felt Sheppard’s cock slip just a fraction deeper into his throat on every thrust and then Sheppard came, his hips stuttering, his head thrown back. He always came without warning, without sound and Rodney found that he liked it, liked the silence and the clarity it brought. Everything between them was defined and clear. This is how we fight; this is how we fuck. A place for everything and everything in its place.
Sheppard slid down the vanity, half-tackling Rodney as he went. They managed a controlled fall without adding any extra bruises to their already impressive collections. Before he could catch his breath, Rodney found himself pushed flat, Sheppard grasping both of his wrists in one hand and pinning them to the floor over his head. He opened his mouth to protest but then Sheppard’s free hand found his aching cock and set up a punishingly fast rhythm. He bit his lip and arched into it because he needed this, needed it hard and fast and dirty and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t care if it was on the floor of the Greyhound station in Toronto as long as Sheppard kept doing that thing with his wrist.
He knew he wouldn’t last long and he was right. Less than a minute later he came with a soft gasp, shuddering hard as Sheppard stroked him roughly a half dozen more times, wringing every last bit of over-sensitized pleasure from his body. Rodney struggled briefly against the hand still holding his wrists but Sheppard stilled him with a glare.
Rodney acquiesced to the unspoken command and left his hands where they were placed, even after Sheppard released them. Tongue and fingers sought and soothed bruises and scrapes, seeking out every hurt, every mark that wasn’t there six hours ago. Each lick, each stroke deliberately measured out, not in apology, but in reluctant acceptance. And Rodney took that at face value because he had earned those marks and had earned that respect; decisions made and consequences to bear.
Too soon the ceremony was over, Rodney had been taken apart, cataloged and replaced, if not with reverence then at least with kindness. They dressed in silence, not seeking each other’s gaze but not actively avoiding it either. This had, in some fucked up way, become the acceptable norm and neither was one to shy away from a challenge. Neither would be accused later of having been the first to flinch.
Sheppard finished dressing, which consisted mainly of pulling up his underwear and trousers, and gathered himself. He took a moment to put away the need and the regret and replace them with professionalism and indifference. Rodney simply looked on with unabashed envy and annoyance that anyone could do that; simply tuck parts of themselves into an envelope and seal them away.
As he turned to the door, Sheppard gave him the customary farewell, a wry twist of his lips and a murmured, “Rodney.”
Rodney raised his chin in acknowledgement. “Sheppard.”
Sheppard paused at the door and Rodney paused also, unconsciously mirroring the other man’s actions. Because this was new and different. This wasn’t their pattern. And it had taken Rodney long enough to figure their pattern out and wasn’t it just like the colonel to fuck it up now.
Sheppard tensed, eyes forward but body language screaming indecision. He spoke quietly, without turning his head, without acknowledging anything. “You know, you just had my dick in your mouth, I think you could call me John.”
Rodney’s breath caught in his throat in something that was straddling a fine line between a hysterical laugh and a whimper. Before he knew it, his mouth was open and the words were out there, too late to call back. “I’ll be sure to do that if you ever decide to let me meet him.”
Rodney closed his eyes for a brief second, knowing the words were exactly wrong and exactly right, wishing Sheppard had kept his damn mouth shut, wishing he could call a do-over. And when he opened his eyes, the colonel was gone.
Rodney laughed then. There were no do-overs, no cosmic reset buttons. Just this. Them fucking. Them fucking up. Just this.
Thanks to hinokumo for enabling me and mgbutterfly for enabling and betaing and beer (BEER!).
Title: A Place for Everything
Rating: NC17, Slash, John/Rodney
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I make no profit
Summary: Neither would be accused later of having been the first to flinch.
Rodney stripped off his muddy clothes, threw them into the bottom of the shower with disgust and stepped in after them. He sighed when hot water hit his skin, cleaning away the muck and filth from their most recent visit to yet another hostile planet. It wasn’t enough that they often ran into hostile aliens, Rodney thought as he kicked his clothes, trying to rinse the worst of the mud out of them, now the planets themselves were getting decidedly hostile.
First, the volcano planet, then there was the planet with the pollen that made everyone try to claw their own eyes out and, most recently, the planet that was nothing but mud with a very thin, and very fragile, crust. Rodney groaned as he scrubbed the sticky black mud from a particularly spectacular bruise on his hip. Right, and the rocks that were hidden by the mud, let’s not forget those.
Grabbing a cloth, Rodney wiped the mud from behind his ears and then blew his nose repeatedly. The smell of the mud lingering in his nostrils was suffocating. He leaned his head against the wall of the shower and simply let himself breathe for a moment. If Sheppard hadn’t been right next to him, if his reflexes had been any slower… Rodney shuddered and pushed those thoughts from his mind. Sheppard’s hand had grabbed his, at the last minute of course because the man was a high school drama queen, but he had managed to keep Rodney from submerging entirely. There was a bad moment when the mud continued pulling on him, dragging him down, his head going under, his panic reflected in Sheppard’s eyes as he bellowed for Ronon.
Rodney took a deep breath and gave his muddy clothes a last futile kick before turning off the water. Sheppard would be here soon. He always came after something like this, his eyes unreadable, his touch rough and desperate. The first time it had happened Rodney had spent the following week slightly confused. After a month he had convinced himself it was a hallucination brought on by stress and vicodin. A hallucination that had somehow managed to break a picture frame and leave bruises on his shoulder.
The second time, Rodney was prepared with a list of questions, all of which flew out of his head the moment Sheppard’s mouth latched on to his neck. The third time, as they lay panting and tangled on the floor, he turned to Sheppard to ask, to demand, to understand. But his questions died when he saw Sheppard’s face - everything he needed to know was written there. Possession and terror and anger and doubt… but mainly what Rodney saw was regret. Regret for what he couldn’t do, regret for what he had done, regret for decisions that he had yet to make.
Christ. Near death experiences made him maudlin and introspective. And he felt that it was a sad reflection on his life in the Pegasus Galaxy that he not only knew this, but that he didn’t feel the need to freak out about knowing it. Shaking his head, Rodney grabbed a towel and cursed as his foot slipped on the damp tile.
Before he completely overbalanced, a hand grabbed his bicep and steadied him. Rodney startled a little, but not very much considering he’d been expecting Sheppard anyway. The hand on his arm stayed until Rodney had his balance and his towel, then it drifted down to his hip, tracing the bruise there. Rodney simply stood and let Sheppard’s fingers drift over his skin, smoothing over bruises, ghosting over his nipples.
Hands stilling, Sheppard looked at Rodney, his brow furrowed, unconsciously clenching and unclenching his jaw. Looking away, Rodney caught a glimpse of both of them in the bathroom mirror, looking nothing like themselves, looking fragile as paper dolls. Suddenly everything was too bright and too harshly real and he felt like Sheppard could tear him in half with a word. Rodney shuddered and covered Sheppard’s mouth with his hand, stilling whatever words might have tumbled out. He dropped the towel he was holding in his other hand and fell gracelessly to his knees, partly because he desperately wanted to suck Sheppard’s cock and partly because he wasn’t sure how much longer his legs were going to hold him.
He mouthed Sheppard’s cock through the rough fabric of his trousers, his hands scrabbling at the fasteners. Sheppard’s hands joined his but they were mainly getting in the way so Rodney batted one aside impatiently and captured two fingers of the other hand in his mouth, sucking them and nipping at the callouses. His own hands, now free, made short work of Sheppard’s pants and underwear, jerking them down forcefully and causing the other man to stumble back two steps until his ass hit the vanity.
After that, Sheppard just gripped the counter with both hands and Rodney’s coherent thought processes pretty much ended. Everything was just heat and want and now, god, please now. He could feel Sheppard tensing but as he let go of Sheppard’s hips to grasp his own aching cock, strong hands grabbed his wrists. His rhythm faltered as he looked up, Sheppard’s dick popping free of his mouth as he met Sheppard’s eyes. They were wild, gleaming with something predatory, and Rodney felt his heart hammer in his chest with the sudden knowledge that this is freefall.
His bearings completely gone, he waited for Sheppard to give him a sign, show him the exit, pull the ripcord, anything. But Sheppard simply stared at him, his whole body tense and Rodney felt the weight of this silence. Seeing something in this in-between space they existed in, feeling for a moment like he was the only thing in the universe that was keeping this man from shattering into a thousand pieces.
They breathed together for a moment. Maintaining eye contact, Rodney slowly rotated his hands out until he reversed their hand positions, his hands on Sheppard’s wrists, and he anchored them, pinning the pilot’s hands against the edge of the counter.
Sheppard’s eyes went hooded and dark, flaring with want, his pupils wide and possessive. The raw intensity of it sent an electric spark straight down Rodney’s spine and he shuddered, lowering his mouth back to the cock bobbing in front of him. He couldn’t give the other man assurances, not for the past nor the future, it just wasn’t his nature to lie. He couldn’t give him blind obeisance or empty promises but he could give him this. Rodney concentrated, trying to express his, well, his everything through touch. Because words came easily to Rodney but the right words, real words, they stayed veiled behind double entendres and quantum analogies.
Rodney licked, sucked and breathed Sheppard, trying to convey everything his words couldn’t. Trying to convince the colonel that he was here, he was real and solid, that no one had failed yet, that they were still, for the moment, untouched. Eyes locked together, Rodney gripped Sheppard’s wrists harder, certain that he was leaving bruises and absurdly turned on by the fact.
They had sex like they did everything else, like it was half dare and half competition. Sheppard refused to back down from Rodney’s stare, his eyes scrutinizing and challenging right back, giving as good as he got. Rodney got off on that, on the way Sheppard could be completely vulnerable and just ignore it, just balls his way through anything, daring you to question his strength.
Holding on to that strength, manipulating it, it was like holding live wires and Rodney fucking loved it. He never had anything in his life that was this raw and sharp; burning away everything unimportant and leaving only need. Rodney quivered with the need to be touched or to touch himself. Fuck, at this point he’d gratefully rub up against the floor, germs be damned. He couldn’t help the little whine that escaped as he sped up his rhythm, fingers digging in to Sheppard’s wrists. He gave up then, letting his eyes flutter closed and tipping his head back just that much further.
Rodney felt Sheppard’s cock slip just a fraction deeper into his throat on every thrust and then Sheppard came, his hips stuttering, his head thrown back. He always came without warning, without sound and Rodney found that he liked it, liked the silence and the clarity it brought. Everything between them was defined and clear. This is how we fight; this is how we fuck. A place for everything and everything in its place.
Sheppard slid down the vanity, half-tackling Rodney as he went. They managed a controlled fall without adding any extra bruises to their already impressive collections. Before he could catch his breath, Rodney found himself pushed flat, Sheppard grasping both of his wrists in one hand and pinning them to the floor over his head. He opened his mouth to protest but then Sheppard’s free hand found his aching cock and set up a punishingly fast rhythm. He bit his lip and arched into it because he needed this, needed it hard and fast and dirty and he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t care if it was on the floor of the Greyhound station in Toronto as long as Sheppard kept doing that thing with his wrist.
He knew he wouldn’t last long and he was right. Less than a minute later he came with a soft gasp, shuddering hard as Sheppard stroked him roughly a half dozen more times, wringing every last bit of over-sensitized pleasure from his body. Rodney struggled briefly against the hand still holding his wrists but Sheppard stilled him with a glare.
Rodney acquiesced to the unspoken command and left his hands where they were placed, even after Sheppard released them. Tongue and fingers sought and soothed bruises and scrapes, seeking out every hurt, every mark that wasn’t there six hours ago. Each lick, each stroke deliberately measured out, not in apology, but in reluctant acceptance. And Rodney took that at face value because he had earned those marks and had earned that respect; decisions made and consequences to bear.
Too soon the ceremony was over, Rodney had been taken apart, cataloged and replaced, if not with reverence then at least with kindness. They dressed in silence, not seeking each other’s gaze but not actively avoiding it either. This had, in some fucked up way, become the acceptable norm and neither was one to shy away from a challenge. Neither would be accused later of having been the first to flinch.
Sheppard finished dressing, which consisted mainly of pulling up his underwear and trousers, and gathered himself. He took a moment to put away the need and the regret and replace them with professionalism and indifference. Rodney simply looked on with unabashed envy and annoyance that anyone could do that; simply tuck parts of themselves into an envelope and seal them away.
As he turned to the door, Sheppard gave him the customary farewell, a wry twist of his lips and a murmured, “Rodney.”
Rodney raised his chin in acknowledgement. “Sheppard.”
Sheppard paused at the door and Rodney paused also, unconsciously mirroring the other man’s actions. Because this was new and different. This wasn’t their pattern. And it had taken Rodney long enough to figure their pattern out and wasn’t it just like the colonel to fuck it up now.
Sheppard tensed, eyes forward but body language screaming indecision. He spoke quietly, without turning his head, without acknowledging anything. “You know, you just had my dick in your mouth, I think you could call me John.”
Rodney’s breath caught in his throat in something that was straddling a fine line between a hysterical laugh and a whimper. Before he knew it, his mouth was open and the words were out there, too late to call back. “I’ll be sure to do that if you ever decide to let me meet him.”
Rodney closed his eyes for a brief second, knowing the words were exactly wrong and exactly right, wishing Sheppard had kept his damn mouth shut, wishing he could call a do-over. And when he opened his eyes, the colonel was gone.
Rodney laughed then. There were no do-overs, no cosmic reset buttons. Just this. Them fucking. Them fucking up. Just this.