Fic: Diploma 21/25
Title Diploma
Part 21/25
Author Internetname
Rating NC-17
Pairing John/Rodney
Summary Sentinel X/O: Rodney McKay and John Sheppard have figured out how to live the lives they want, and things should probably stay that way.
Warnings Slash
Word Count for Story So Far 34,239
Disclaimer Er...if they were mine they'd still be on TV.
Part One is Here
Hero told me that Beatrice has often had dreams about being unhappy, and managed to wake herself from them by laughing. - Leonato, MAAN (II, i)
***
Why was it always raining? And it was cold rain too, cold and wet and in his eyes and completely all through his clothes while he rowed the boat towards the distant specter of Atlantis with a syphilitic (he assumed) clown in the back seat.
It was totally unfair, the way he knew the whale was coming to eat him at the exact same time he knew if he could only get to Atlantis everything would be all right.
Then the clown handed him a glass of Chardonnay, and he was showing off his first diploma.
"You think you'll be a Guide before you're twenty, do you?" the clown asked, though he sounded just like his second-grade meditation instructor.
"I would be honored," he said, just as he'd said then.
"You'd be lucky to find someone who'll tolerate that tongue of yours even stuck up their ass," his mother told him. "Look at your sister. Still a baby and already soothing everyone whenever she comes into a room."
"She's not a Guide," he told her, clutching his cheek where she would slap him. "They're calming down because I'm holding her. She's not a Guide!"
"But you're my Guide, Rodney," John said, holding him firmly in warm arms, breath ghosting over his neck and down into his bones. "You're mine now, and I'll never let you go." A strong hand smoothed over his hip and between his legs to cup his balls. "Hmm. Lookie here. These are mine too."
"Really?"
"Yup." The hand was joined by a friend, which grabbed a butt cheek. "And this one...and this one. All mine."
Rodney snorted. The second hand moved over and around to tweak a nipple.
"Mine."
Tweak.
"Mine."
Rodney was giggling now, half-concerned that he should be horrified. "Yes, yes. It's all yours."
Fingers danced over his lips. "Mine. Both of them. But mostly this bit here."
"That bit of my mips? Mhy?"
"Because it's the bit that goes all twisty. Makes me want to kiss it all the time. And I could, whenever I want. You know why?"
"M'cause it's yours?"
"Rodney, you're a genius."
"I know. Your genius."
"Yup."
They were quiet, warm and lost in each other. Some dim instinct screamed at him to leave it alone. When he felt his shoulders tensing, he said it almost defiantly.
"My Sentinel."
John hummed appreciatively, and Rodney felt - Oh, God, actually felt contentment and joy through the bond.
"Yours, Guide."
He opened his eyes, thinking back to that first moment when he'd seen Sheppard, all long body and spiky hair and fuckable as the day was long. He'd seen those raised eyebrows and ducked like a man in a fight. He'd seen Sheppard in pain, in the field, in command. And now John was here, all lean muscle, curled around him like Pajamas had been giving master sessions.
A green-hazel eye opened, considering him. Then, without a word, Sheppard rolled over on his back and pulled the sheet off before putting his arms out slightly from his sides.
Rodney's mouth watered and his dick got hard so quickly he felt a little dizzy.
John was just so...sex in the flesh. How did he do that? He wasn't even trying, for fuck's sake.
He could be some sort of model or movie star, somebody who spent five hours in the gym every day or lounged around in Calvin Kline underwear with his hand down the front for $1,000 an hour.
But even while his looks were a fantasy, he was just so damn real. Rodney saw an old, deep scar on his right hip, two light running lines of scar tissue down his right shin. There was a slight bump on his collarbone suggesting it had been broken years ago. His toenails, quite frankly, could do with a trim.
And the smell of him - salt-sweat and something just a little sweet that was both comforting and comfortable.
And there, below the lines down the sides of his stomach and between slender but corded thighs, a shock of dark hair around a smooth, straight cock oddly naked without its foreskin, the curved head soft and luscious.
"I love looking at you," Rodney said. "I love that I get to look at you."
"I can feel your eyes on me. I can feel how much you love the way I look."
Rodney hummed, leaning over while those skilled hands slid up and around him again.
"I can feel you want to be inside me," John whispered. "It's all right. I'm not one of those types of Sentinels."
"Thank God." For the first time, Rodney let himself wallow in how much he wanted to fuck John Sheppard, his Sentinel, with his ridiculously attractive body and incredibly strong spirit. Greedily, he rolled the man over and ran trembling hands down that smooth, sleek back to his pale, tight ass.
Something he didn't recognize nudged his mind, and with a start he looked over at Kavanagh's little black box. But no, everything was working fine. In fact, he doubted even if the jury-rigged device failed that it would be able to do much to his Guide abilities now.
With a frown, he set the feeling aside in favor of running his right hand down John's right leg, feeling the tickle of dark hair, the solidity of muscle, the thin stretch of sinew.
"For Orpheus' lute was strung with poets' sinews,/Whose golden touch could soften steel and stones,/Make tigers tame, and huge leviathans/Forsake unsounded deeps to dance on sands."
"What?" John murmured, already drowsy with pleasure.
"A lost moment of my youth spent in a drama class," McKay said. "If I hadn't been a Guide, I might have gone pro."
"I'm glad you didn't. Not much call for actors here."
"You put on an act every day, John," Rodney said, tracing a lazy Celtic pattern on John's back. "Looking so laid back, drawling your way through meetings, acting like you have it covered."
"You saying I don't have it covered?" The tone was light, but Rodney felt the tension in his muscles.
"I'm saying you make it look easy, like a ballet dancer or a WWI flying ace in your Sopwith Camel. But I know what you put yourself through, how you torture yourself every day."
"Rodney."
"It's true. And I know it's been necessary." In one smooth motion, Rodney straddled John's thighs, settled into his perch, and began to rub the tension from John's shoulders.
His feedback was the usual hum of approval at first. Then he started to warm up, and John's reactions took on a more satisfying tone.
"I get to take care of you," Rodney sing-songed under his breath. "I have waited so long to have you to take care of."
"Ow."
"Ow? You want me to stop?"
"Agh...oh, no, I don't. Please."
"Don't ask; don't say please. I don't need that."
"What...ooohhhh...what do you need?"
"To touch you. I've been waiting to touch you my whole life. I used to practice kissing on pillows. I gave my parents back rubs. I have a little sister, Jeanie. She used to let me do body checks on her all the time - pulse, heart rate, respiration."
"I thought I'd get a Guide when the time came," John said. "My father, he was pretty pissed when I tested positive, started grooming Dave to be the heir apparent. He used to make comments about sons and rebellion, like I'd chosen to be a Sentinel. One day I told him I hoped my Guide was some hippy with a prison record just to watch him flip out."
"I was interrogated by the CIA once."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I wrote a paper in middle school about the duties of a Guide, and they said I couldn't know that much unless I'd illegally hacked the GSC."
"How long were you on ice?"
Rodney snorted, gently nudging the point of his bent elbow right into that spot below John's right shoulder blade.
"Oooh, oh! I thought you were going to fuck me."
Rodney really wanted to say something clever in response, but considering he was already hard as a rock and John's words sent a jerk through his whole body...there was the strange nudge again, but this time an image accompanied it: John Sheppard on all fours, ass high, as Rodney rammed into him.
The image was hot, but he felt a wash of shame and shied away.
"I could blow you," the Guide whispered. "You'll never have it so good."
The distraction was a failure, of course. John looked at him deeply while Rodney's stomach tried to reach his toes.
And then John smiled.
"We don't have much control over what trips our trigger, baby."
"I don't -"
"Shhh." John never stopped smiling. "It's fine." An image came through the bond, strong and clear, with John submitting, head bowed and a smirk still dancing on his lips. Rodney's cock tried to drill a hole in the sheet.
Soon, though not soon enough, he had John's ass between his palms, his hips slamming into a hot, tight, strong, fucking perfect fucking body. The slap of flesh, the clamp of the inferno around his cock, even John's breathy moans were wonderful, but not as wonderful as the sight of his bowed head, his loose muscles, his relinquishing of control.
"Take it," Rodney muttered, even while he told himself to shut up. "Take it. Take it."
John groaned and went down to his elbows. "I've got you," he murmured. "I've got you."
All those fucking Sentinels, the endless line of seekers who tried him on like a pair of shoes and then decided he wasn't worth his price tag, who decided he wasn't right, wasn't enough. And now he had John Fucking Sheppard dancing on his cock and begging him for more.
Shame stabbed him, but John laughed. "Fuck me, Rodney. Fuck me all you like."
"You'll never leave me," Rodney grunted, thrusting harder, fucking as hard as he could.
"I couldn't. I could...never want to."
The Guide fell over the edge, emptying himself even as he was filled, replaced with someone who had never been turned away, and the pleasure came back at him twice as strong as the lithe, solid body of his Sentinel bucked in pleasure and they were falling together so deeply they would never truly again emerge.
***
Part 22 is Here