(no subject)
Title: Hands Away
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Category: Sheppard/ McKay
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Rodney doesn’t kiss John."
Author's Notes: Thanks to krazykitkat for betaing the first (and very different) draft. Title from Interpol.
Will you put my hands away, will you be my man...
Rodney doesn’t kiss John. John kisses Rodney sometimes, mouth against Rodney’s shoulder, neck, ear. When he reaches Rodney’s face, Rodney turns away. John doesn’t seem to mind. He rests his hand against Rodney’s jaw, goes back to kissing his neck.
Rodney pins John against the wall, pushes John’s pants down around his thighs. He grinds his hips against John’s ass, let’s John feel him through his BDUs.
John says, “God - Rodney - please…”
Rodney undoes the clasp on his pants and lubes himself up with spit and semen. He pulls John’s hips toward him and John bends, braces himself against the wall, angling his ass for entry. John is always eager, always pliant and bending to Rodney’s will. John always wants him. Rodney doesn’t think about what that means.
Rodney works his fingers in first, flexing them, stretching John open. He enters John slowly, drawing out the sensation. He pulls out again and repeats the process, his pace measured, controlled. He wills himself to stay like this, stay in control.
It never works. One hard thrust and Rodney’s gone, mindlessly fucking John like they’re sex-starved teenagers. John makes a sharp noise, half-pleasure and half-pain. He pushes back to meet Rodney, like he wants more. When Rodney’s almost there, he takes John’s cock in his fist and jacks him until John’s breath comes in short gasps and his ass muscles tighten.
“Say it,” Rodney says. “Say it now.”
*
There was no kissing Rodney’s first time. He was seventeen, living away from home for the first time and sharing a dorm with a dark haired, blue-eyed and charming boy called Harley. Rodney never met guys like Harley and he certainly never drank vodka and apple juice with anyone remotely fitting Harley’s description. Harley drank from the bottle like a pro, never even flinched. They talked about science fiction movies, girls and Pink Floyd and Harley laughed at Rodney’s ignorance when it came to professional sport. At the time, it was the best night of Rodney’s life.
Rodney couldn’t taste the vodka in his juice so he drank it like it wasn’t there. He didn’t notice an effect until he stood up and promptly fell down again. Harley laughed and refilled Rodney’s glass. “I’ll make a man out of you, McKay,” he said. “If it takes all night.”
Harley was compelling and Rodney was drunk. Harley easily convinced Rodney to unzip his jeans so that Harley could dip his hand inside and massage Rodney’s stirring cock. Rodney was too scared to speak, mesmerised by the hunger in Harley’s eyes. Harley pulled Rodney’s jeans and underwear around his hips, took Rodney’s cock in his mouth and gave Rodney his first blowjob, stopping only to suck on his own fingers and trail them wet and slippery around Rodney’s ass until they were pushing inside him, one digit at a time.
“Feels fucking incredible, doesn’t it?” Harley said. Rodney concentrated on holding on to the feeling, god, just holding on to that feeling a little longer. Harley lazily finger fucked Rodney until Rodney came in his mouth.
Harley swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now you do me,” he said.
*
John came to Rodney. Rodney reminds himself that John came to him. It was after the suicide run on the hive-ship. John got him drunk too, appeared at Rodney’s door with a bottle of Johnny Walker and an invitation to drink John under the table. In Rodney’s experience such incitement was akin to a pick-up line, a veiled proposal, guaranteed to get the job done without asking questions.
Half a bottle later and John says, “I want you.” He says, “want” like it’s profound, like it’s more than sweat, semen and skin.
Rodney says, “What do you want to do?” and John gets to his knees on the floor, undoes the clasp on Rodney’s pants and frees Rodney’s cock from his boxers. John sucks Rodney until he comes and then he sucks him dry. Afterwards John guides Rodney’s hand to his pants and watches through lowered lids as Rodney jerks him off.
John comes back soon after. They survive a wraith attack or a retrovirus or a violently xenophobic Amish village and John is at Rodney’s door, sometimes knocking, sometimes walking straight in. In the beginning John brought vodka or bourbon or gin and they drank and talked about meaningless things like high school PE and the girl across the street who stole her father’s cigarettes and taught Rodney to smoke. But eventually the conversations grew shorter and shorter until the bottles remained untouched and John started stripping as soon as he walked through the door. It’s not really what John wants and John doesn’t like boundaries as much as his icy cool exterior suggests but Rodney never asked for pleasantries and he certainly never asked for a lover.
*
Harley fucked Rodney at night. Only ever at night. Rodney would see him on campus sometimes and he would acknowledge Rodney with a nod, saying, “that’s my room mate,” to whoever he was with but never, “that’s Rodney.” To Harley Rodney was an abstraction, part of Harley’s fantasy life, strictly distinguished from his college reality despite appearances. Rodney hated him sometimes, but he wanted him more. Rodney hated himself sometimes too.
Harley liked girls and girls liked Harley. He talked about becoming pre-med and he surrounded himself with smart, classy girls whose parents were doctors or lawyers or both. He laughed about it, saying he had three girls and he couldn’t decide which to choose. Then he’d push Rodney to his knees, unzipping his jeans. “Do it slow,” Harley would say, and Rodney sucked slowly and carefully as instructed, until Harley grabbed him by the head and frantically fucked his mouth. After Harley came he would lean back against the wall and talk about his aspirations. He wanted his father to approve of the girl he married. He wanted his parents to think he was everything they wanted in a son.
“But it’s not real,” Rodney said.
“Sure it is,” Harley said. “Just as real as you and me.”
*
John doesn’t ask questions but he sometimes he looks at Rodney like he has something to say. Rodney blows up a planet and John doesn’t come. Rodney crashes into the ocean, nearly drowns and John is there as soon as Rodney is released from the infirmary. John says, “I never gave up on you,” and Rodney can hear relief in his voice.
He pushes John to his knees. “I know,” Rodney says. “You’re Colonel Never Give Up Never Surrender.”
“That’s me.” John undoes the clasp on Rodney’s pants. “Seriously, Rodney. I don’t know what I - what we would have done if you’d drowned back there.”
Rodney puts his hand at the back of John’s head, urges him forward. John takes the hint and lets Rodney fuck his mouth the way Harley fucked Rodney. John doesn’t protest. He puts his hands on Rodney’s hips and presses his fingers into Rodney’s bare flesh. Rodney finds marks there the next day.
Before John leaves, he says, “You’re okay, right?”
“I’m fine,” Rodney says. “Really. All systems normal.”
“I just thought…” John scratches his neck, contemplating the floor. And then he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
*
Harley bought Playboy and Hustler and a few other less tasteful magazines Rodney had never heard of. They looked at them together, page after page of naked women wearing lace and satin, eyes fixed on the camera, lids lowered like they were half asleep. Harley would get turned on and want to fuck Rodney afterwards, face into the pillow, ass in the air. Harley called him “bitch,” and yelled at him to “shut the fuck up,” when Rodney protested. In the end, Rodney took it because he always did.
One night Harley produced women’s underwear: black bra and panties. He told Rodney to put them on and Rodney, wordlessly, did as he was asked. The lace on the bra was stiff and irritating but the panties felt cool against his skin. He remembered feeling overly large and awkward, freakish. Harley told him to lie back on the bed, knees raised and apart. He knelt between Rodney’s legs, ran hands up his stomach and thumbed his nipples through the lace of the bra.
“Do you feel pretty, Rodney?” he said and he laughed. He pushed the crotch of the panties aside and worked his fingers into Rodney’s ass while he lubed up his cock. Harley fucked Rodney, leaving the bra and panties on. Harley told Rodney to wear them the next day under his clothes.
Rodney did as he was told but it hardly mattered. The next day Rodney didn’t see Harley at all.
*
At first it was blowjobs and mutual masturbation, hands in each other’s pants, always fully or partially clothed. And then one night John says, “Fuck me,” in a low voice and Rodney bends him over the desk, shoves his BDUs around his hips and fucks him, covering John’s hand with his own as they brace themselves against the edge. Rodney is too hard and too fast and John says, “Rodney - wait…” between gritted teeth. Rodney doesn’t stop. John says, “Rodney,” and this time there’s real pain in his voice. Rodney is too close to stop so he pulls out and finishes himself off with his hand. He comes over John’s ass and his t-shirt
John leans onto his elbows, catches his breath. “That hurt,” he says.
“You asked,” Rodney says.
John gets dressed. “You freak me out sometimes, McKay,” he says. He doesn’t stay long.
*
Rodney was caught with his hands in Harley’s pants. It was bad timing, mostly. Harley had a date with Gillian the doctors’ daughter and he wanted a blowjob to get him in the mood. He was on the bed with his jeans undone and Rodney’s hand on his cock when Gillian walked in.
“The door was open…” she said, and then she put her hand to her mouth and made a strangled sound.
Harley recovered quickly. “What the fuck are you doing, McKay?” He jumped off the bed. “I told you to stay on your side of the room when I’m sleeping.”
Gillian looked at Rodney, wide-eyed, not knowing what to believe. Rodney retreated to his side of the room, sinking down onto his bed, reaching for a pillow for security.
Gillian made up her mind. “You pervert!” she said, eyes filled with hatred. Rodney blamed it on his guilty demeanour but in retrospect he figured she believed what she wanted. “You should report him,” she said to Harley.
“It’s okay,” Harley said. He took a sweater off the back of a chair, swung it casually over his shoulders. “He’ll get his.” He put an around Gillian’s shoulders and never looked back.
Harley didn’t come home that night. Rodney saw him on campus the next day, surrounded by his usual adoring throng. He looked up and saw Rodney, his eyes glassing over the way they usually did whenever he saw Rodney in public. And then smiled and waved Rodney over, came toward him and put an arm around Rodney’s shoulder, asking him how he’d been. It was all wrong and in the pit of Rodney’s stomach he knew it was a warning. He just didn’t know what else to do.
They walked together, Harley apologising for the night before. He said he needed to keep things a secret. “You understand, right?” Harley said, and Rodney said he did.
They were walked away from the dorms, followed a path that went past the track and behind the gym. “Where are we going?” Rodney said.
They stopped. “Right here,” Harley said, smiling at a spot behind Rodney. Rodney turned around to see three of Harley’s friends, standing by the gym, like they’d been waiting
“Hey, fag,” one of them said, and then they came toward him, slowly surrounding him. He backed away instinctively until he felt Harley’s hand on his shoulders, holding him in place.
“Sorry, Rodney,” Harley said. “But someone has to teach you how to be a man.”
Rodney didn’t know where the first punch came from, but it hit him in the jaw, dislodging a tooth and filling his mouth with blood. The second sent him flying backwards and he landed on his side, struggling for air. They kicked and punched him while he was down, swore and called him names, some he’d never heard before. He pulled himself into a foetal position, concentrated on breathing and not crying out.
Eventually it stopped. He lifted his head and looked around, but they were gone. He closed his eyes, rested his head back on the ground and lay, unmoving, listening to the sound of far off voices and traffic. It was dark when the college grounds keeper found him.
Rodney spent two days in hospital with a cracked rib and a black eye he could barely see through. The police paid a visit along with the Dean of the college and they joined his parents in urging him to file a report. They said he couldn’t let them get away with this and what if they did it to someone else? Rodney imagined his parents’ faces when he told them why he was bashed, when he told them what college had done to him. He could never tell them that.
Harley was gone by the time Rodney was discharged from the hospital. Rodney heard that he’d moved off campus and was dating Gillian.
Years later, Harley’s wedding photos appeared in the college alumni magazine. Harley married a Dr Lynda Myer who was blonde and neat in her off-white bridal gown. There was no “Dr” before Harley’s name. Rodney kept the magazine.
*
There’s no real resemblance between John and Harley but sometimes John smiles and Rodney recognises Harley in the way John’s eyes shine and the corners of his mouth curl upwards, seductively slow. Their charm is rare like John’s genes. Women and men and aliens flock to them, basking in their glow.
Rodney knows there’s a difference, and John would abhor the comparison, but John attracts effortlessly and unabashedly and it’s too much like he’s laughing at Rodney, putting Rodney in his place once more.
And then he comes to Rodney like nothing has happened. He says, “You did good today.”
“Thank you,” Rodney says. “Your approval makes it all worthwhile.”
John strips off his t-shirt. “You’re not still pissed about Norina?” he says. “Because I told her I wasn’t interested.”
It’s not Norina. “Of course not. What you do with your conquests is your business.”
“Right,” John says warily. “Because it’s not like we owe each other anything.”
“Nothing at all.”
John takes off his boots and pants. When he’s naked he comes to Rodney, touches his shoulder and kisses his neck, dips his fingers into Rodney’s waistband.
“Come to bed,” he whispers into the spot below Rodney’s ear.
Rodney undresses while John lies face down on the bed, chin resting on his folded arms. He closes his eyes and hums to himself, waits patiently with his legs spread, his hips occasionally shifting his erection against the mattress. The scene is unbearably sweet, too much like trust. Rodney holds himself back a moment, regains his breath. He never asked for this.
Rodney crawls between John’s legs, lifts him onto his knees and spreads lube between his ass cheeks. Rodney doesn’t waste time with foreplay. He fucks John without finesse, hard and unforgiving. John’s used to it by now, even pushes himself into Rodney’s hips, driving him deeper. When Rodney is close he slows down, takes John’s cock in his fist and works him to a climax.
“Say it,” Rodney tells him. “Say it now.”
“Rodney…”
“Say it.”
“I’m sorry,” John says. He chokes a little. “God - Rodney -sorry…” He comes and Rodney lets go, finishes himself off.
When it’s over John gets up and goes to the bathroom, starts dressing when he returns. “I don’t need to know what you’re about, Rodney,” he says. He sits down on the bed, laces up his boots. “Some guys would ask questions. I’m not one of those guys.”
Rodney gets dressed too; t-shirt and drawstring pants. “I know,” Rodney says. “Details can be so consuming.” It sounds stupid. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
John looks up. “But you’ll tell me one day, right? What this is about?”
Rodney wishes he knew. “There’s nothing to tell.”
John stands. “I guess I should go,” he says, only he doesn’t. Instead he comes to Rodney, puts a hand on the side of his face, thumb against Rodney’s cheekbone. Something holds Rodney in place, transfixes him. He blames it on the volcano, on yet another narrow escape from certain death. He blames it on anything but the warmth of John’s breath against his face, the lightness of John’s touch as he brushes Rodney’s neck with his fingers. John leans in and kisses Rodney on the lips, mouth slightly open.
It’s over quickly. John steps back, makes eye contact. Rodney looks away.
John leaves and Rodney turns out the light, climbs back into bed and lies awake listening to night on Atlantis. In a city surrounded by water, he wonders why he can never hear the ocean.
End
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Category: Sheppard/ McKay
Rating: NC-17
Summary: "Rodney doesn’t kiss John."
Author's Notes: Thanks to krazykitkat for betaing the first (and very different) draft. Title from Interpol.
Will you put my hands away, will you be my man...
Rodney doesn’t kiss John. John kisses Rodney sometimes, mouth against Rodney’s shoulder, neck, ear. When he reaches Rodney’s face, Rodney turns away. John doesn’t seem to mind. He rests his hand against Rodney’s jaw, goes back to kissing his neck.
Rodney pins John against the wall, pushes John’s pants down around his thighs. He grinds his hips against John’s ass, let’s John feel him through his BDUs.
John says, “God - Rodney - please…”
Rodney undoes the clasp on his pants and lubes himself up with spit and semen. He pulls John’s hips toward him and John bends, braces himself against the wall, angling his ass for entry. John is always eager, always pliant and bending to Rodney’s will. John always wants him. Rodney doesn’t think about what that means.
Rodney works his fingers in first, flexing them, stretching John open. He enters John slowly, drawing out the sensation. He pulls out again and repeats the process, his pace measured, controlled. He wills himself to stay like this, stay in control.
It never works. One hard thrust and Rodney’s gone, mindlessly fucking John like they’re sex-starved teenagers. John makes a sharp noise, half-pleasure and half-pain. He pushes back to meet Rodney, like he wants more. When Rodney’s almost there, he takes John’s cock in his fist and jacks him until John’s breath comes in short gasps and his ass muscles tighten.
“Say it,” Rodney says. “Say it now.”
*
There was no kissing Rodney’s first time. He was seventeen, living away from home for the first time and sharing a dorm with a dark haired, blue-eyed and charming boy called Harley. Rodney never met guys like Harley and he certainly never drank vodka and apple juice with anyone remotely fitting Harley’s description. Harley drank from the bottle like a pro, never even flinched. They talked about science fiction movies, girls and Pink Floyd and Harley laughed at Rodney’s ignorance when it came to professional sport. At the time, it was the best night of Rodney’s life.
Rodney couldn’t taste the vodka in his juice so he drank it like it wasn’t there. He didn’t notice an effect until he stood up and promptly fell down again. Harley laughed and refilled Rodney’s glass. “I’ll make a man out of you, McKay,” he said. “If it takes all night.”
Harley was compelling and Rodney was drunk. Harley easily convinced Rodney to unzip his jeans so that Harley could dip his hand inside and massage Rodney’s stirring cock. Rodney was too scared to speak, mesmerised by the hunger in Harley’s eyes. Harley pulled Rodney’s jeans and underwear around his hips, took Rodney’s cock in his mouth and gave Rodney his first blowjob, stopping only to suck on his own fingers and trail them wet and slippery around Rodney’s ass until they were pushing inside him, one digit at a time.
“Feels fucking incredible, doesn’t it?” Harley said. Rodney concentrated on holding on to the feeling, god, just holding on to that feeling a little longer. Harley lazily finger fucked Rodney until Rodney came in his mouth.
Harley swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Now you do me,” he said.
*
John came to Rodney. Rodney reminds himself that John came to him. It was after the suicide run on the hive-ship. John got him drunk too, appeared at Rodney’s door with a bottle of Johnny Walker and an invitation to drink John under the table. In Rodney’s experience such incitement was akin to a pick-up line, a veiled proposal, guaranteed to get the job done without asking questions.
Half a bottle later and John says, “I want you.” He says, “want” like it’s profound, like it’s more than sweat, semen and skin.
Rodney says, “What do you want to do?” and John gets to his knees on the floor, undoes the clasp on Rodney’s pants and frees Rodney’s cock from his boxers. John sucks Rodney until he comes and then he sucks him dry. Afterwards John guides Rodney’s hand to his pants and watches through lowered lids as Rodney jerks him off.
John comes back soon after. They survive a wraith attack or a retrovirus or a violently xenophobic Amish village and John is at Rodney’s door, sometimes knocking, sometimes walking straight in. In the beginning John brought vodka or bourbon or gin and they drank and talked about meaningless things like high school PE and the girl across the street who stole her father’s cigarettes and taught Rodney to smoke. But eventually the conversations grew shorter and shorter until the bottles remained untouched and John started stripping as soon as he walked through the door. It’s not really what John wants and John doesn’t like boundaries as much as his icy cool exterior suggests but Rodney never asked for pleasantries and he certainly never asked for a lover.
*
Harley fucked Rodney at night. Only ever at night. Rodney would see him on campus sometimes and he would acknowledge Rodney with a nod, saying, “that’s my room mate,” to whoever he was with but never, “that’s Rodney.” To Harley Rodney was an abstraction, part of Harley’s fantasy life, strictly distinguished from his college reality despite appearances. Rodney hated him sometimes, but he wanted him more. Rodney hated himself sometimes too.
Harley liked girls and girls liked Harley. He talked about becoming pre-med and he surrounded himself with smart, classy girls whose parents were doctors or lawyers or both. He laughed about it, saying he had three girls and he couldn’t decide which to choose. Then he’d push Rodney to his knees, unzipping his jeans. “Do it slow,” Harley would say, and Rodney sucked slowly and carefully as instructed, until Harley grabbed him by the head and frantically fucked his mouth. After Harley came he would lean back against the wall and talk about his aspirations. He wanted his father to approve of the girl he married. He wanted his parents to think he was everything they wanted in a son.
“But it’s not real,” Rodney said.
“Sure it is,” Harley said. “Just as real as you and me.”
*
John doesn’t ask questions but he sometimes he looks at Rodney like he has something to say. Rodney blows up a planet and John doesn’t come. Rodney crashes into the ocean, nearly drowns and John is there as soon as Rodney is released from the infirmary. John says, “I never gave up on you,” and Rodney can hear relief in his voice.
He pushes John to his knees. “I know,” Rodney says. “You’re Colonel Never Give Up Never Surrender.”
“That’s me.” John undoes the clasp on Rodney’s pants. “Seriously, Rodney. I don’t know what I - what we would have done if you’d drowned back there.”
Rodney puts his hand at the back of John’s head, urges him forward. John takes the hint and lets Rodney fuck his mouth the way Harley fucked Rodney. John doesn’t protest. He puts his hands on Rodney’s hips and presses his fingers into Rodney’s bare flesh. Rodney finds marks there the next day.
Before John leaves, he says, “You’re okay, right?”
“I’m fine,” Rodney says. “Really. All systems normal.”
“I just thought…” John scratches his neck, contemplating the floor. And then he nods. “Okay,” he says. “Okay.”
*
Harley bought Playboy and Hustler and a few other less tasteful magazines Rodney had never heard of. They looked at them together, page after page of naked women wearing lace and satin, eyes fixed on the camera, lids lowered like they were half asleep. Harley would get turned on and want to fuck Rodney afterwards, face into the pillow, ass in the air. Harley called him “bitch,” and yelled at him to “shut the fuck up,” when Rodney protested. In the end, Rodney took it because he always did.
One night Harley produced women’s underwear: black bra and panties. He told Rodney to put them on and Rodney, wordlessly, did as he was asked. The lace on the bra was stiff and irritating but the panties felt cool against his skin. He remembered feeling overly large and awkward, freakish. Harley told him to lie back on the bed, knees raised and apart. He knelt between Rodney’s legs, ran hands up his stomach and thumbed his nipples through the lace of the bra.
“Do you feel pretty, Rodney?” he said and he laughed. He pushed the crotch of the panties aside and worked his fingers into Rodney’s ass while he lubed up his cock. Harley fucked Rodney, leaving the bra and panties on. Harley told Rodney to wear them the next day under his clothes.
Rodney did as he was told but it hardly mattered. The next day Rodney didn’t see Harley at all.
*
At first it was blowjobs and mutual masturbation, hands in each other’s pants, always fully or partially clothed. And then one night John says, “Fuck me,” in a low voice and Rodney bends him over the desk, shoves his BDUs around his hips and fucks him, covering John’s hand with his own as they brace themselves against the edge. Rodney is too hard and too fast and John says, “Rodney - wait…” between gritted teeth. Rodney doesn’t stop. John says, “Rodney,” and this time there’s real pain in his voice. Rodney is too close to stop so he pulls out and finishes himself off with his hand. He comes over John’s ass and his t-shirt
John leans onto his elbows, catches his breath. “That hurt,” he says.
“You asked,” Rodney says.
John gets dressed. “You freak me out sometimes, McKay,” he says. He doesn’t stay long.
*
Rodney was caught with his hands in Harley’s pants. It was bad timing, mostly. Harley had a date with Gillian the doctors’ daughter and he wanted a blowjob to get him in the mood. He was on the bed with his jeans undone and Rodney’s hand on his cock when Gillian walked in.
“The door was open…” she said, and then she put her hand to her mouth and made a strangled sound.
Harley recovered quickly. “What the fuck are you doing, McKay?” He jumped off the bed. “I told you to stay on your side of the room when I’m sleeping.”
Gillian looked at Rodney, wide-eyed, not knowing what to believe. Rodney retreated to his side of the room, sinking down onto his bed, reaching for a pillow for security.
Gillian made up her mind. “You pervert!” she said, eyes filled with hatred. Rodney blamed it on his guilty demeanour but in retrospect he figured she believed what she wanted. “You should report him,” she said to Harley.
“It’s okay,” Harley said. He took a sweater off the back of a chair, swung it casually over his shoulders. “He’ll get his.” He put an around Gillian’s shoulders and never looked back.
Harley didn’t come home that night. Rodney saw him on campus the next day, surrounded by his usual adoring throng. He looked up and saw Rodney, his eyes glassing over the way they usually did whenever he saw Rodney in public. And then smiled and waved Rodney over, came toward him and put an arm around Rodney’s shoulder, asking him how he’d been. It was all wrong and in the pit of Rodney’s stomach he knew it was a warning. He just didn’t know what else to do.
They walked together, Harley apologising for the night before. He said he needed to keep things a secret. “You understand, right?” Harley said, and Rodney said he did.
They were walked away from the dorms, followed a path that went past the track and behind the gym. “Where are we going?” Rodney said.
They stopped. “Right here,” Harley said, smiling at a spot behind Rodney. Rodney turned around to see three of Harley’s friends, standing by the gym, like they’d been waiting
“Hey, fag,” one of them said, and then they came toward him, slowly surrounding him. He backed away instinctively until he felt Harley’s hand on his shoulders, holding him in place.
“Sorry, Rodney,” Harley said. “But someone has to teach you how to be a man.”
Rodney didn’t know where the first punch came from, but it hit him in the jaw, dislodging a tooth and filling his mouth with blood. The second sent him flying backwards and he landed on his side, struggling for air. They kicked and punched him while he was down, swore and called him names, some he’d never heard before. He pulled himself into a foetal position, concentrated on breathing and not crying out.
Eventually it stopped. He lifted his head and looked around, but they were gone. He closed his eyes, rested his head back on the ground and lay, unmoving, listening to the sound of far off voices and traffic. It was dark when the college grounds keeper found him.
Rodney spent two days in hospital with a cracked rib and a black eye he could barely see through. The police paid a visit along with the Dean of the college and they joined his parents in urging him to file a report. They said he couldn’t let them get away with this and what if they did it to someone else? Rodney imagined his parents’ faces when he told them why he was bashed, when he told them what college had done to him. He could never tell them that.
Harley was gone by the time Rodney was discharged from the hospital. Rodney heard that he’d moved off campus and was dating Gillian.
Years later, Harley’s wedding photos appeared in the college alumni magazine. Harley married a Dr Lynda Myer who was blonde and neat in her off-white bridal gown. There was no “Dr” before Harley’s name. Rodney kept the magazine.
*
There’s no real resemblance between John and Harley but sometimes John smiles and Rodney recognises Harley in the way John’s eyes shine and the corners of his mouth curl upwards, seductively slow. Their charm is rare like John’s genes. Women and men and aliens flock to them, basking in their glow.
Rodney knows there’s a difference, and John would abhor the comparison, but John attracts effortlessly and unabashedly and it’s too much like he’s laughing at Rodney, putting Rodney in his place once more.
And then he comes to Rodney like nothing has happened. He says, “You did good today.”
“Thank you,” Rodney says. “Your approval makes it all worthwhile.”
John strips off his t-shirt. “You’re not still pissed about Norina?” he says. “Because I told her I wasn’t interested.”
It’s not Norina. “Of course not. What you do with your conquests is your business.”
“Right,” John says warily. “Because it’s not like we owe each other anything.”
“Nothing at all.”
John takes off his boots and pants. When he’s naked he comes to Rodney, touches his shoulder and kisses his neck, dips his fingers into Rodney’s waistband.
“Come to bed,” he whispers into the spot below Rodney’s ear.
Rodney undresses while John lies face down on the bed, chin resting on his folded arms. He closes his eyes and hums to himself, waits patiently with his legs spread, his hips occasionally shifting his erection against the mattress. The scene is unbearably sweet, too much like trust. Rodney holds himself back a moment, regains his breath. He never asked for this.
Rodney crawls between John’s legs, lifts him onto his knees and spreads lube between his ass cheeks. Rodney doesn’t waste time with foreplay. He fucks John without finesse, hard and unforgiving. John’s used to it by now, even pushes himself into Rodney’s hips, driving him deeper. When Rodney is close he slows down, takes John’s cock in his fist and works him to a climax.
“Say it,” Rodney tells him. “Say it now.”
“Rodney…”
“Say it.”
“I’m sorry,” John says. He chokes a little. “God - Rodney -sorry…” He comes and Rodney lets go, finishes himself off.
When it’s over John gets up and goes to the bathroom, starts dressing when he returns. “I don’t need to know what you’re about, Rodney,” he says. He sits down on the bed, laces up his boots. “Some guys would ask questions. I’m not one of those guys.”
Rodney gets dressed too; t-shirt and drawstring pants. “I know,” Rodney says. “Details can be so consuming.” It sounds stupid. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
John looks up. “But you’ll tell me one day, right? What this is about?”
Rodney wishes he knew. “There’s nothing to tell.”
John stands. “I guess I should go,” he says, only he doesn’t. Instead he comes to Rodney, puts a hand on the side of his face, thumb against Rodney’s cheekbone. Something holds Rodney in place, transfixes him. He blames it on the volcano, on yet another narrow escape from certain death. He blames it on anything but the warmth of John’s breath against his face, the lightness of John’s touch as he brushes Rodney’s neck with his fingers. John leans in and kisses Rodney on the lips, mouth slightly open.
It’s over quickly. John steps back, makes eye contact. Rodney looks away.
John leaves and Rodney turns out the light, climbs back into bed and lies awake listening to night on Atlantis. In a city surrounded by water, he wonders why he can never hear the ocean.
End