But Never The Nights pt. 15/15 (McShep, NC-17)
Title: But Never The Nights - Night One
Author: lavvyan
Summary: And now - the conclusion. ;)
Cover: Here, by the lovely smuffster
Notes: This last chapter is just John, and back to usual length. Writing both of them would have either led to a huge amount of switching POVs, or having the exact same scene twice, and I really don't think that would have worked. So I was agonizing over whom to write, and decided on John - the poor guy was by far the more desperate of the two of them, and I felt he deserved some closure.
So, this is it. Thank you all for staying with me even though it took me months to finish this, for encouraging me, for asking for a new chapter when all I wanted to do was just push this aside and never think of it again. Thank you!
~~~
Night One.
There was no answer. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, in the middle of the night, heart in his fucking throat, and Rodney was sleeping the sleep of the happily oblivious. Figured, of course, that's what you got for waiting too fucking long, and he couldn't expect this to play out like he wanted it to just because he felt that he deserved a break. He couldn't expect anything, really, and that knowledge both terrified and angered him.
When the door finally opened after his fourth knock, John was nervous enough to wish for an emergency, an invasion, anything to justify his being anywhere but here. Except there was Rodney, standing in front of him wearing nothing but a faded t-shirt and his boxers, looking strangely vulnerable blinking into the light of the corridor, and John felt a fierce surge of protectiveness that almost made him stagger. And he couldn't go on like this; the constant emotional up and down was eating away at him, and Heightmeyer would have a field day with that if she ever found out. So he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Rodney beat him to it.
"Colonel. Is something wrong?"
"You called me John in your diary," John blurted out, and damn, way to do this right there in the corridor. "I mean. Can I come in?"
Rodney stared at him with a confused expression.
"You read the book," he said slowly, like he was trying to process the thought.
"Yeah. A few hours ago, actually," John answered honestly.
"Huh." And with that, Rodney stepped back into the room, turning to look at John with a light frown when he didn't follow immediately. So John gathered his courage and moved forward, only stopping when he heard the doors close behind him. The air in Rodney's quarters was warm, humid, smelling of shower gel, and John tried not to think about the nights he had spent in this room, in this bed, held together by memories and wishes. They were standing a few feet apart, both of them fidgeting, the very definition of uncomfortable, and then Rodney licked his lips, nervously, and damn it, this wasn't working.
"I watched the funeral," Rodney said suddenly, interrupting John's mental rambling. "Your speech."
"Oh."
The funeral. Hurt, loneliness, exhaustion, all wrapped up in one painful package, brought back by two words, and suddenly, John couldn't stand the distance between them any longer. He needed to touch, needed to feel that Rodney was alive and safe and back, needed to know that his world wasn't empty anymore.
He crossed the space between them with a few steps, drawing the startled man into a fierce hug, holding him close, enjoying the feeling of having him in his arms. Even if it might be just this one time.
"You were dead," he whispered, taking a deep, shaky breath and inhaling the warm scent he had missed so much. Rodney smelled like… Rodney, warm and familiar, like home. "You were dead, and I couldn't even say goodbye, and all I wanted to do was this."
"Hug me?" Rodney asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
"Well, actually, it was hug and kiss you, but I wasn't so sure you'd be receptive to the latter." John chuckled, trying to joke away the loneliness he had felt, the depth of the emotions that had haunted him. His friend froze in his arms, and he cursed himself for saying this, for reading it wrong, but then Rodney pulled back, grabbed John's head firmly with both hands and brought them together for a kiss. It was clumsy, far too short to mean anything, and John missed the contact as soon as Rodney's lips left his.
"What was-" he started, but Rodney interrupted him again.
"Shut up," he murmured, pulling John back in, trying a different angle, and when their lips met this time, it was soft and tender, and it hurt, and then Rodney's tongue flickered gently over his bottom lip, and with a sigh that wasn't quite a sob, John opened his mouth, letting him in. Their tongues met, and he sighed again, a broken sound, his fingers digging into Rodney's back, feeling warm skin under the thin t-shirt, his eyes stinging with relief as he let himself fall into the kiss. Rodney's mouth tasted like toothpaste, and John lapped the flavour away until all that was left was Rodney, pure and simple, uncomplicated like the man himself could never be. It was overwhelming, almost too much, and yet it wasn't enough, feeling Rodney pressed up against his own body, warm and there, feeling his heart race where their chests were separated only by two layers of fabric, and he needed more, needed to feel skin under his hands, and he needed it now.
"Rodney," he whispered shakily as he broke their kiss, his hands already scrambling at Rodney's t-shirt, finding the hem and slipping under and then skin, warm and soft and smooth and, "Rodney…"
Rodney responded by yanking John's own shirt out of where he had tucked it into his jeans, one broad hand gliding over the naked skin of his back, the other worming its way between them, skimming over John's ribs and tweaking a nipple. John shuddered against Rodney, pressing his face into the crook of Rodney's neck, painfully hard within the confines of his jeans, and he needed, he needed…
He pushed, hard, ignoring Rodney's surprised exclamation as he landed sprawled on top of the mattress, John already climbing up to straddle his friend's legs.
"John…" a moan as John mouthed Rodney's erection through his boxers, hungry, greedy, "John, you… oh God… you're going to fast. There are still some issues-"
"I know," John panted, fingers fumbling with Rodney's boxers, pulling them down, "I think it's best to sweat them out."
"John! At least-" a gasp as John accidentally brushed Rodney's balls, "at least let's both get naked."
And yeah, Rodney didn't call himself a genius for nothing, because he really had the best ideas, and John's jeans were starting to become a serious problem. He scrambled off the bed again, stripping himself in record time, turning around to find Rodney watching him with quiet awe, eyes sweeping over his naked body with obvious admiration.
"You're so... God, look at you," Rodney whispered, staring at John like he might vanish, and really, he was one to talk. Rodney had lost some weight, and while that made him not quite slender, he looked fit and healthy, hard muscle under soft, toned skin, his erection firm and solid, and John felt his breath catch at the sight of Rodney stretched out just for him.
He climbed onto the bed again, his heart pounding as he straddled Rodney's knees, leaning down, licking his lips as he closed one hand around Rodney's cock. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he had never done this before. He gave a tentative squeeze, and Rodney groaned, and John thought that yes, he could totally do this. Flicking his tongue over the hot, round head, he could taste the salty liquid that had gathered there, trying its flavour and deciding he was okay with that.
Rodney made the most amazing sounds as John started to lick and nibble at the silky flesh, hand still squeezing, and John revelled in those little gasps and moans and half-words, closing his lips around the head of Rodney's erection and starting to suck lightly, careful to keep his teeth away from the sensitive skin. He groaned when Rodney's hips jerked, reflexively thrusting into his mouth, and he rubbed himself against Rodney's thigh, desperately needing some friction.
Then Rodney's hands were in his hair, pulling at him, and he made a protesting sound around the salty heat in his mouth, but Rodney started yanking and it hurt, so he let go of Rodney's erection, albeit reluctantly, and looked up to see what the hell was wrong.
Rodney's eyes were very blue when they met his, staring at him with something akin to desperation, and he was still tugging at John, demanding without words, breathing heavily. John obeyed, stretching out across Rodney's body, stopping at his friend's chest to kiss the scars the Wraith had left there, wishing he could make them disappear. Rodney moaned, pulling him up, pulling him in, a hand sliding between their bodies as their lips met for a hungry kiss, sloppy and wet, and God, how had they ever lived without this? Then Rodney's hand brought their cocks together, the meaty heads bumping, smearing liquid as he started to stroke, his grip strong and sure, hand not quite as warm as the firm erection pressed against John's. And John was lost, in the sounds they both were making, in the sensations that were running through his body, in the feeling of Rodney, Rodney, under him and around him and everywhere, tongue pushing into his mouth in the swift rhythm of his stroking, and oh, oh…
He tensed for an impossibly long second, breaking the kiss and letting his head drop onto Rodney's shoulder as he shuddered, moaning, feeling himself spill over Rodney's hand, slick and hot, feeling Rodney's answering gasp more than hearing it, and then the wet pulse of Rodney against his belly. And he let himself fall, collapse on top of Rodney, trapping his hand between them and panting through the aftershocks. Rodney's hand was twitching, squeezing their soft flesh together, too much, and with a groan, John rolled himself over, still half draped over Rodney's body, because otherwise he would have fallen off the narrow bed.
Rodney was staring at the ceiling, still breathing hard, and John wondered what he could possibly say after this. This was nice, we have to do it again some time. Welcome home. I got used to your bed, can I stay here?
I love you.
"So. Foolish crush?" was what came out instead, and Rodney smiled, still not looking at him.
"I missed you," he said softly. "I tried not to think about you, but you kept coming back. It was really annoying."
"I didn't know," John whispered back, not sure why he had to say this, but knowing that he did. "I didn't know until you were gone, and I tried to let you go, but I couldn't."
"I know."
"How?"
Rodney's smile turned into a rueful grin.
"I hacked into the surveillance system."
John stared at his friend, not quite believing he had actually heard that right.
"You… what?!" Rodney just shrugged, and John took in a deep breath. "I can't believe you-"
"John." Blue eyes looking at him with open affection, even as Rodney let out a put-upon sigh. "I'm tired, I'm more than a bit drunk, and I think my digestive system is planning a surprise rebellion against cake, chicken, and coffee, so can we just get some sleep?"
John's good mood vanished. Sleep. Right.
"Sure." No problem. He'd just leave and try not to let his hurt show too much, then. "Good night."
John pushed himself up and half-rolled out of the bed, looking for where he had dropped his clothes. Rodney's hand around his wrist stopped him from moving any further. He stood still, waiting, as Rodney clambered off the mattress and pulled back the covers, not releasing his hold on John. Not even when he shimmied back under the blankets, making room, tugging on John's wrist until he climbed in as well, and they lay tangled up in each other, trying to find a comfortable position on the narrow bunk. John sighed, resting his chin on top of Rodney's head, slowly stroking his back. It wasn't relief he was feeling, not quite, more a sense of belonging, of finally coming to rest. He didn't have to leave, that was all that mattered right now.
"We'll need a bigger bed," Rodney muttered, but John could hear that it was no complaint, not really.
"I'll ask the Daedalus to bring a larger prescription mattress," he answered lightly, ignoring the way his heart was pounding again at Rodney's casual planning of their future, together. All it got him was a soft snore, Rodney's warm naked body already completely relaxed against his own, his soft breath a moist warmth against John's neck. And he closed his eyes against the sudden sting, feeling lost in the midst of some emotion he vaguely identified as happiness.
All he had wanted: His, just like that. And he knew that it wouldn't be easy or happily ever after; they were both far too headstrong for that. But he would fight to keep Rodney safe, to keep this thing they had alive, and if that meant he would have to talk about his feelings some day, well. Sometimes, a man had to do and so on. Right now, though, there was really only one thing to do.
He slept.
~~~
End. Yes, Really. :)
Author: lavvyan
Summary: And now - the conclusion. ;)
Cover: Here, by the lovely smuffster
Notes: This last chapter is just John, and back to usual length. Writing both of them would have either led to a huge amount of switching POVs, or having the exact same scene twice, and I really don't think that would have worked. So I was agonizing over whom to write, and decided on John - the poor guy was by far the more desperate of the two of them, and I felt he deserved some closure.
So, this is it. Thank you all for staying with me even though it took me months to finish this, for encouraging me, for asking for a new chapter when all I wanted to do was just push this aside and never think of it again. Thank you!
~~~
Night One.
There was no answer. He was standing in the middle of the corridor, in the middle of the night, heart in his fucking throat, and Rodney was sleeping the sleep of the happily oblivious. Figured, of course, that's what you got for waiting too fucking long, and he couldn't expect this to play out like he wanted it to just because he felt that he deserved a break. He couldn't expect anything, really, and that knowledge both terrified and angered him.
When the door finally opened after his fourth knock, John was nervous enough to wish for an emergency, an invasion, anything to justify his being anywhere but here. Except there was Rodney, standing in front of him wearing nothing but a faded t-shirt and his boxers, looking strangely vulnerable blinking into the light of the corridor, and John felt a fierce surge of protectiveness that almost made him stagger. And he couldn't go on like this; the constant emotional up and down was eating away at him, and Heightmeyer would have a field day with that if she ever found out. So he took a deep breath and opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Rodney beat him to it.
"Colonel. Is something wrong?"
"You called me John in your diary," John blurted out, and damn, way to do this right there in the corridor. "I mean. Can I come in?"
Rodney stared at him with a confused expression.
"You read the book," he said slowly, like he was trying to process the thought.
"Yeah. A few hours ago, actually," John answered honestly.
"Huh." And with that, Rodney stepped back into the room, turning to look at John with a light frown when he didn't follow immediately. So John gathered his courage and moved forward, only stopping when he heard the doors close behind him. The air in Rodney's quarters was warm, humid, smelling of shower gel, and John tried not to think about the nights he had spent in this room, in this bed, held together by memories and wishes. They were standing a few feet apart, both of them fidgeting, the very definition of uncomfortable, and then Rodney licked his lips, nervously, and damn it, this wasn't working.
"I watched the funeral," Rodney said suddenly, interrupting John's mental rambling. "Your speech."
"Oh."
The funeral. Hurt, loneliness, exhaustion, all wrapped up in one painful package, brought back by two words, and suddenly, John couldn't stand the distance between them any longer. He needed to touch, needed to feel that Rodney was alive and safe and back, needed to know that his world wasn't empty anymore.
He crossed the space between them with a few steps, drawing the startled man into a fierce hug, holding him close, enjoying the feeling of having him in his arms. Even if it might be just this one time.
"You were dead," he whispered, taking a deep, shaky breath and inhaling the warm scent he had missed so much. Rodney smelled like… Rodney, warm and familiar, like home. "You were dead, and I couldn't even say goodbye, and all I wanted to do was this."
"Hug me?" Rodney asked, disbelief evident in his voice.
"Well, actually, it was hug and kiss you, but I wasn't so sure you'd be receptive to the latter." John chuckled, trying to joke away the loneliness he had felt, the depth of the emotions that had haunted him. His friend froze in his arms, and he cursed himself for saying this, for reading it wrong, but then Rodney pulled back, grabbed John's head firmly with both hands and brought them together for a kiss. It was clumsy, far too short to mean anything, and John missed the contact as soon as Rodney's lips left his.
"What was-" he started, but Rodney interrupted him again.
"Shut up," he murmured, pulling John back in, trying a different angle, and when their lips met this time, it was soft and tender, and it hurt, and then Rodney's tongue flickered gently over his bottom lip, and with a sigh that wasn't quite a sob, John opened his mouth, letting him in. Their tongues met, and he sighed again, a broken sound, his fingers digging into Rodney's back, feeling warm skin under the thin t-shirt, his eyes stinging with relief as he let himself fall into the kiss. Rodney's mouth tasted like toothpaste, and John lapped the flavour away until all that was left was Rodney, pure and simple, uncomplicated like the man himself could never be. It was overwhelming, almost too much, and yet it wasn't enough, feeling Rodney pressed up against his own body, warm and there, feeling his heart race where their chests were separated only by two layers of fabric, and he needed more, needed to feel skin under his hands, and he needed it now.
"Rodney," he whispered shakily as he broke their kiss, his hands already scrambling at Rodney's t-shirt, finding the hem and slipping under and then skin, warm and soft and smooth and, "Rodney…"
Rodney responded by yanking John's own shirt out of where he had tucked it into his jeans, one broad hand gliding over the naked skin of his back, the other worming its way between them, skimming over John's ribs and tweaking a nipple. John shuddered against Rodney, pressing his face into the crook of Rodney's neck, painfully hard within the confines of his jeans, and he needed, he needed…
He pushed, hard, ignoring Rodney's surprised exclamation as he landed sprawled on top of the mattress, John already climbing up to straddle his friend's legs.
"John…" a moan as John mouthed Rodney's erection through his boxers, hungry, greedy, "John, you… oh God… you're going to fast. There are still some issues-"
"I know," John panted, fingers fumbling with Rodney's boxers, pulling them down, "I think it's best to sweat them out."
"John! At least-" a gasp as John accidentally brushed Rodney's balls, "at least let's both get naked."
And yeah, Rodney didn't call himself a genius for nothing, because he really had the best ideas, and John's jeans were starting to become a serious problem. He scrambled off the bed again, stripping himself in record time, turning around to find Rodney watching him with quiet awe, eyes sweeping over his naked body with obvious admiration.
"You're so... God, look at you," Rodney whispered, staring at John like he might vanish, and really, he was one to talk. Rodney had lost some weight, and while that made him not quite slender, he looked fit and healthy, hard muscle under soft, toned skin, his erection firm and solid, and John felt his breath catch at the sight of Rodney stretched out just for him.
He climbed onto the bed again, his heart pounding as he straddled Rodney's knees, leaning down, licking his lips as he closed one hand around Rodney's cock. Belatedly, it occurred to him that he had never done this before. He gave a tentative squeeze, and Rodney groaned, and John thought that yes, he could totally do this. Flicking his tongue over the hot, round head, he could taste the salty liquid that had gathered there, trying its flavour and deciding he was okay with that.
Rodney made the most amazing sounds as John started to lick and nibble at the silky flesh, hand still squeezing, and John revelled in those little gasps and moans and half-words, closing his lips around the head of Rodney's erection and starting to suck lightly, careful to keep his teeth away from the sensitive skin. He groaned when Rodney's hips jerked, reflexively thrusting into his mouth, and he rubbed himself against Rodney's thigh, desperately needing some friction.
Then Rodney's hands were in his hair, pulling at him, and he made a protesting sound around the salty heat in his mouth, but Rodney started yanking and it hurt, so he let go of Rodney's erection, albeit reluctantly, and looked up to see what the hell was wrong.
Rodney's eyes were very blue when they met his, staring at him with something akin to desperation, and he was still tugging at John, demanding without words, breathing heavily. John obeyed, stretching out across Rodney's body, stopping at his friend's chest to kiss the scars the Wraith had left there, wishing he could make them disappear. Rodney moaned, pulling him up, pulling him in, a hand sliding between their bodies as their lips met for a hungry kiss, sloppy and wet, and God, how had they ever lived without this? Then Rodney's hand brought their cocks together, the meaty heads bumping, smearing liquid as he started to stroke, his grip strong and sure, hand not quite as warm as the firm erection pressed against John's. And John was lost, in the sounds they both were making, in the sensations that were running through his body, in the feeling of Rodney, Rodney, under him and around him and everywhere, tongue pushing into his mouth in the swift rhythm of his stroking, and oh, oh…
He tensed for an impossibly long second, breaking the kiss and letting his head drop onto Rodney's shoulder as he shuddered, moaning, feeling himself spill over Rodney's hand, slick and hot, feeling Rodney's answering gasp more than hearing it, and then the wet pulse of Rodney against his belly. And he let himself fall, collapse on top of Rodney, trapping his hand between them and panting through the aftershocks. Rodney's hand was twitching, squeezing their soft flesh together, too much, and with a groan, John rolled himself over, still half draped over Rodney's body, because otherwise he would have fallen off the narrow bed.
Rodney was staring at the ceiling, still breathing hard, and John wondered what he could possibly say after this. This was nice, we have to do it again some time. Welcome home. I got used to your bed, can I stay here?
I love you.
"So. Foolish crush?" was what came out instead, and Rodney smiled, still not looking at him.
"I missed you," he said softly. "I tried not to think about you, but you kept coming back. It was really annoying."
"I didn't know," John whispered back, not sure why he had to say this, but knowing that he did. "I didn't know until you were gone, and I tried to let you go, but I couldn't."
"I know."
"How?"
Rodney's smile turned into a rueful grin.
"I hacked into the surveillance system."
John stared at his friend, not quite believing he had actually heard that right.
"You… what?!" Rodney just shrugged, and John took in a deep breath. "I can't believe you-"
"John." Blue eyes looking at him with open affection, even as Rodney let out a put-upon sigh. "I'm tired, I'm more than a bit drunk, and I think my digestive system is planning a surprise rebellion against cake, chicken, and coffee, so can we just get some sleep?"
John's good mood vanished. Sleep. Right.
"Sure." No problem. He'd just leave and try not to let his hurt show too much, then. "Good night."
John pushed himself up and half-rolled out of the bed, looking for where he had dropped his clothes. Rodney's hand around his wrist stopped him from moving any further. He stood still, waiting, as Rodney clambered off the mattress and pulled back the covers, not releasing his hold on John. Not even when he shimmied back under the blankets, making room, tugging on John's wrist until he climbed in as well, and they lay tangled up in each other, trying to find a comfortable position on the narrow bunk. John sighed, resting his chin on top of Rodney's head, slowly stroking his back. It wasn't relief he was feeling, not quite, more a sense of belonging, of finally coming to rest. He didn't have to leave, that was all that mattered right now.
"We'll need a bigger bed," Rodney muttered, but John could hear that it was no complaint, not really.
"I'll ask the Daedalus to bring a larger prescription mattress," he answered lightly, ignoring the way his heart was pounding again at Rodney's casual planning of their future, together. All it got him was a soft snore, Rodney's warm naked body already completely relaxed against his own, his soft breath a moist warmth against John's neck. And he closed his eyes against the sudden sting, feeling lost in the midst of some emotion he vaguely identified as happiness.
All he had wanted: His, just like that. And he knew that it wouldn't be easy or happily ever after; they were both far too headstrong for that. But he would fight to keep Rodney safe, to keep this thing they had alive, and if that meant he would have to talk about his feelings some day, well. Sometimes, a man had to do and so on. Right now, though, there was really only one thing to do.
He slept.
~~~
End. Yes, Really. :)