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Teeny, tiny almostporn commentfic snippet!
Rodney's shirt is clinging to his back, big damp patches stuck to the curves of his shoulders, the trough of his spine, and John can't stop thinking about touching him. He knows just how warm and slick the dip of Rodney's lower back would be; knows what the expanse of skin there would taste like, salt tang on his tongue; knows how Rodney would groan and clutch handfuls of the sheets and press his hips into the bed when John dug his thumbs in; knows exactly the way he'd gasp, "Oh god, it's too hot, I'm dying" and "Oh, oh, yes" and "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop" when John slid his mouth and hands lower-
John almost walks right into Rodney when he stops to swipe an arm over his forehead and snaps for John's canteen. He drinks deeply (obscenely), throat working, plucks at his shirt and says, "I don't think it could be any more humid if it were actually raining. Look at me, I'm practically soaked. Gross." John takes the canteen back and caps it without taking a drink, thumbs a trickle of sweat from his own temple, pushes his sunglasses up where they're threatening to slide down his nose, breathes out slowly, says, "Yeah, gross."
Rodney's shirt is clinging to his back, big damp patches stuck to the curves of his shoulders, the trough of his spine, and John can't stop thinking about touching him. He knows just how warm and slick the dip of Rodney's lower back would be; knows what the expanse of skin there would taste like, salt tang on his tongue; knows how Rodney would groan and clutch handfuls of the sheets and press his hips into the bed when John dug his thumbs in; knows exactly the way he'd gasp, "Oh god, it's too hot, I'm dying" and "Oh, oh, yes" and "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop" when John slid his mouth and hands lower-
John almost walks right into Rodney when he stops to swipe an arm over his forehead and snaps for John's canteen. He drinks deeply (obscenely), throat working, plucks at his shirt and says, "I don't think it could be any more humid if it were actually raining. Look at me, I'm practically soaked. Gross." John takes the canteen back and caps it without taking a drink, thumbs a trickle of sweat from his own temple, pushes his sunglasses up where they're threatening to slide down his nose, breathes out slowly, says, "Yeah, gross."