[fic] Twenty eight letters, some of which are repeats (NC17)
Title: Twenty eight letters, some of which are repeats
Author: Devera
Rating: NC17
Words: approx 3000
Challenge: #22 Written Words
Notes: kinda my first PWP (and so not happy with the ending but oh well...) inspired by that lovely collection of user icons out there with words like 'Flyboy' etc plastered all over John's Sheppard's chest. Voted best use of a t'shirt ever.
Summary: I'm Incredible, Just ask McKay
Rodney's on his way to the labs in the north pier, tablet in hand, when he hears Sheppard's voice. He's laughing about something and the incongruent, somewhat abrasive sound carries down the hall like a minor klaxon. Rodney finds himself grinning, as much at the sound as the probability that John's going to love what he's working on right now, and if his theories are correct, then they-
Mid-thought, Rodney looks up and suddenly he is no longer moving, or thinking for that matter, because Sheppard is coming toward him, flanked by a group of young marines, all smiling and jostling around like a pack of barely disciplined puppies, and he's wearing a... he's got a...
"Oh, hey Rodney," Sheppard hails easily when he sees him, and Rodney is staring, he knows he is but he just can't seem to make himself stop.
"Hey," he says because he literally can't think of anything else.
"What's up?" Sheppard slows to a halt, and the marines gather around and this is not the place Rodney wants to be right now, not at all.
"What's..." Rodney starts, and it's like his brain has been reduced to Simple numbers. "I mean, I... You..."
"This?" Sheppard guesses, glancing down at himself. "Yeah, well, the guys got it for my birthday, so the least I can do is wear it."
Rodney blinks as that sinks in. "Birthday? It's your birthday?"
Sheppard shrugs and smiles. "So, what, you're saying when you gave me my present this morning, you didn't know?"
And Rodney opens his mouth to say 'What present, I had no idea, I didn't give you anything this morning' except right then he remembers he did and Jesus Christ Sheppard's just standing there grinning at him and there's a half a dozen marines looking on with varying degrees of amusement and Jesus Christ.
"Of course I knew!" he blusters, fighting the flush he can feel reddening his face and telling himself don't think about, don't think about it, don't look at his face, except that brings him back to the original problem and that's not much better. "I just... Are you going to wear that all day?"
The marines snicker, and that's enough of an answer, even when Sheppard backs them up.
"Well, it's kind of a tradition," Sheppard says innocently. "You don't like it?"
Oh, that's not the problem. That's definitely not the problem. "No, it's very funny," Rodney denies, only he's about as far from entertained as he could get. "Hilarious. I'm sure it took them since your last birthday to come up with it."
"I'm sure it did," Sheppard agrees dryly. "So, I'll see you later, yeah?"
Rodney nods. The letters in his field of vision; large, crisp, white, bob for a second and he thinks maybe he can look at John again, but perhaps he'd better not chance it.
"Sure, sure. Later."
And then Sheppard's walking away, marines in tow and Rodney turns, watches, like Sheppard's some kind of lodestone, like he couldn't possibly look anywhere else. It doesn't matter, in fact Rodney's relieved that it's like he's stopped existing the second Sheppard's moved on, because he can watch, watch Sheppard walk, watch the way he turns his head to talk to someone, the way he jostles one of the marines like he's part of their litter, the easy measured pace to his gait, his heavy army-issue boots, the fit of those black BDU's that Rodney tried so hard not to let get to him once upon a time. And he has no idea, none, how he looks, the hair, the bare arms, the wrist band, the black Chronograph, and the black regulation t'shirt which looks just like every other one of John's black regulation t'shirts, only with writing emblazoned in white across John's pecs that Rodney is pretty damn sure is about as far from regulation as you can get:
All Pilots Need Is A Little
T H R U S T
And he stares, can't not, until John is out of sight again, because Holy Mary Mother of God that's exactly what Rodney had given him this morning.
++++++
And Sheppard must think it is funny - hysterical, even, because after that, it's like he's everywhere. Rodney looks up from work in the North pier lab and there's Sheppard, delivering some new equipment from Lorne's last off-world adventure. He goes to lunch, and there's Sheppard lounging around with a couple of the officers from the Daedelus. He's called to the gate room, and there's Sheppard leaning over Chuck watching the dial-out readings.
And everywhere Sheppard is, there's his t'shirt, and every time he sees Rodney, whether there's a reason for them to talk or not, his mouth quirks a bit at the corner and one eyebrow goes up slightly and Rodney wants to push him down and kiss him right where he's standing, wants to pinch his nipples through that black tee somewhere in the vicinity of the double l in 'all' and the double t in 'little' and hear Sheppard's breath hitch the way it always does when Rodney gets a bit rough. Jesus, Rodney wants to pin him down - or maybe even tie him up - in nothing but that goddamn tee, push his legs open and just- It's all he can think about, and it's all due to some accidental semantics and twenty-six harmless letters, twelve of which aren't even in use!
It's a wonder he makes it through the day. Every time he manages to get his erection to go away, there's Sheppard again. Rodney is not a strong man.
"So," he manages to ask when, for once, the two of them are alone, travelling in the same direction at the same time. "What did you tell them?"
Sheppard looks over a little bemused, smiling that damn half-smile at him again. "What?"
"The marines," Rodney reminds. "They asked what I gave you for your birthday, right? So what did you tell them?"
Sheppard's smile quirks a little more. "I told them you pushed me over the back of my sofa and fucked me until I ruined the upholstery," Sheppard says mildly, and the corridor around Rodney washes out white for a second with a rush of noise in his ears. When everything comes back, he's stopped walking. Sheppard's stopped a couple of paces on, and Rodney knows that look on his face - the bastard - knows he knows exactly what he's doing.
"I told them you gave me Sudoku for my DS and the Zombie Survival Guide with personal annotations for Wraith, what do you think I-"
Rodney doesn't even know what the room's for, doesn't even know if it's empty; he's got John through the door and up against the wall before John's even finished speaking, and his mouth on his before he can finish. John sucks a breath in, surprised maybe, and then his hands are scrabbling at Rodney's arms and he's moaning in protest around the slick thrust of Rodney's tongue and Rodney doesn't care, can't care, just shoves John up a bit harder and pushes his leg between his thighs and yeah, that's good, John's hip and his half hard cock and his breath panting against Rodney's face. God, he could just do this until they both come in their pants...
Except now he thinks about it, that's not what he wants at all, not by a long shot.
"Right," Rodney says, stepping back abruptly and letting John go all in one motion because it's the only way to disengage at this point. John stumbles forward a bit, blinking at him and his mouth is slack and open and a little red from the somewhat enjoyable abuse Rodney just subjected it to, and he wants to again, so badly that he needs to leave right the hell now.
"Right," he repeats. "Well, just in case, someone, you know. I'll see you... later. Yes, later. Probably."
And as he's walking away down the corridor, being grateful that it's still as traffic-free as it was a couple of minutes ago because there's no way to hide his hard-on at this point, he realises that was the first time today he hadn't even noticed Sheppard's tee...
++++++++
Sheppard is conspicuously absent for the rest of the day; it's something of a relief actually, because at least now Rodney is getting work done, rather than pretending to work while being simultaneously acutely aware of exactly where Sheppard is and what he's doing. It gives him time to formulate a plan, which really isn't all that complicated in the end. It involves a brief email, his room, and Sheppard. It involves Sheppard turning up in that tee, and the second he does, Rodney figures there's no point in messing about. It's getting late and it's been a long and trying day and Rodney's been hard for almost half of it and if Sheppard's going to participate willingly in these kinds of jokes, he's going to have to understand that not everyone has the same sense of humour.
"Mmph!" Sheppard is forced to complain around Rodney's tongue the moment he's inside and the door is shut behind him. "Hey! Rodney!"
Rodney just manhandles John over to the bed, pushes him down and strips him out of that bloody tee.
"Hey," John grins as the shirt comes off, rearranging his hair in a way that hardly cramps its style, and he kind of looks like all his Christmases have come at once. "If you like my present that much, you can have it."
Rodney snorts, and shifts up to straddle John's chest and ignores the way John's eyes drop to the bulge in his pants as he grabs John's hands and pulls them over his head.
"It's okay," Rodney decides. "It's got its uses." And he uses it to tie John's wrists together at the base of the head board.
"Hey!" John objects. "You'll stretch it!"
"Shut up," Rodney tells him, and climbs off and starts stripping him out of the rest of his clothes as well, boots, then socks, then BDU's and John's hard, twists his hips a little in suggestion as Rodney yanks off his boxers as well. Rodney totally ignores him, in favour of getting up, getting his own clothes off and grabbing the lube.
"I totally had no idea," John is saying, arms stretched above his head, dick turgid and leaking a little against his stomach, legs spread a little as he tracks Rodney as he gets back on the bed and slicks his fingers up with the lube. "That kind of thing, it's just a joke. It's not like they really... Christ, Rodney, a little foreplay?!"
Rodney ignores him in favour for pushing his two fingers further in, and John's legs fall further apart. Rodney's only careful enough to make this as fast as possible, scissoring his fingers gently, sliding them out then back in, spreading the lube around, pushing the pads of his fingers against John's prostate and watching as John's head lolls back, exposing the line of his throat.
"You can't be..." John pants, shuddering, and rolls his head forward again to fix him with a feverish sort of look. "You're not mad I didn't... fuck... tell you?"
Rodney almost laughs, because that's ridiculous. "Of course not."
"They why the... oh, God... why the rush?"
"Well, I'm just..." Rodney starts, then has to stop while he slips his fingers out of John, squeezes out some more lube, slicks up his cock and then shifts forward, pulls John's thighs up over his and lines himself up. "I'm just doing what it said on the front."
"What?" John says distractedly, and Rodney pushes in.
And Christ, Jesus Christ it's good. How can it be so good, when only this morning... He's too old for this; it's crazy. Twice in one day and he could hardly think of anything else in between and they've been doing it for months and if it doesn't get easier than this, it's going to kill him. Probably.
"Fuck. Oh, fuck," John moans as Rodney slides out a bit and thrusts in again. "That's..."
"All day," Rodney says, watching with avid interest the way John arches into a curve, skin pulling tight across his torso as Rodney thrusts in, not hard, not yet. Rodney doesn't intend for this to be over in a flash; he's going to do this for as long as humanly possible, maybe longer if he can manage it. "All day, since I saw you in that damn thing... this is all I've been able to... think about. But you knew that."
John grunts a bit, tries to shift but the t'shirt doesn't have enough give left to let him loose. "Yeah, I... Yeah. I wanted..."
"Wanted me to fuck you like this?"
John shudders again and spreads his legs even wider, giving Rodney as much room, and possibly all the encouragement, he needs. "Yeah," he groans. "All day... I was wearing it... I kept thinking about... Christ. Could you go... a little harder? You know how I..."
Rodney does know; he really does, just how John likes it, much harder, much faster than this. But that would mean they were rushing towards the conclusion, and for once, it's not the conclusion Rodney's interested in; it's this, the feel of John, every inch of him, inside and out, the slickened heat gripping Rodney's cock as he slides in, the feel of him against his balls as he bottoms out, the strain in his thighs split around Rodney's hips, the shiver in his belly and the way he twists to feel it as Rodney slides out again. Rodney gets lost in it, like he's hardly ever done before and John is so amazing, just so amazing and he hardly even realises it, but Rodney knows it, hardly needs a t'shirt to remind him. It could have said 'I'm incredible, just ask McKay' and Rodney would have hardly disagreed, would have listed in detail and with algorithms the reasons why John, why this, this slick hot slide into John's body, the sound of John's voice and the feel of his skin and muscle and bones under Rodney's hands is something that probably could never be articulated enough to do it justice no matter how much anyone tries.
"You're making me crazy," Rodney tries to tell him, "without even trying." But John's not listening, he's gone, is groaning, "Oh God," and, "Rodney, come on, please, Christ, what are you, fuck, this is, God, God, come on, fuck me." And Rodney wants that, but this is something he wants more, may never stop wanting, which is scary as all fuck but there it is.
"John," he breathes, leaning over for the kind of angle that makes John's breath freeze and his eyes snap open.
"Fuck. Like that. Rodney."
Rodney thrusts again, and good is possibly an understatement of epic proportions for how it feels.
"I'm not going to touch you," he says and John makes a distressed little sound in the back of his throat, closes his eyes again and his hips rise jerkily to meet Rodney's. "I want you to come like this, just like this, on my cock."
"I can't. I..."
"You can," Rodney insists, not that John ever has but there's been a couple of times when he was close, when just one touch had him shooting his load and Rodney wants to see it happen, just like this. "You can, because, Christ, John. John. I want you all the time, you have no idea. It's not fair. It's crazy, but I want you, I want you."
"Oh God, fuck, please," John moans, high and pained and because Rodney is more human than he sometimes wants to be, on the next thrust he grinds and John's breath stops again and his back bows up sharp and rigid and his body clenches around Rodney and then he is coming and Rodney can't take his eyes off him, not even long enough for his own orgasm to barrel up and rattle through him until he's shaking with the effort of not collapsing and John is limp beneath him, breath ragged, face flushed, hair plastered down with sweat and if Rodney had full use of all his faculties right now, he'd be disappointed that went a lot more quickly than he wanted it to.
By maybe... maybe... Right, priorities, priorities. First, restore the circulation to John's hips, which means getting off him, then his hands, which means struggling with the knot in the t'shirt John pulled way too tight, and then clean up and then collapse. And then maybe he'll do it all again, for a lot longer the second time.
"Hey, not tha'," John slurs and Rodney holds the t'shirt he was just about to use to clean John up with above the mess on John's stomach and chest. "Never get the stains out."
Rodney glances blearily at the shirt, and that's probably true. "What? You're that fond of it already?"
John smiles then, groggy and kind of sweet, and takes the shirt from his hand and tosses it at a corner, then somehow he's got Rodney shifting up and lying down, half draped across him and he's still smiling as he presses a slow, thorough kiss to Rodney's mouth.
"It's okay," he says easily. "But y' never know; might want to wear it again."
Rodney settles down, because he hasn't got the energy right now to tie John up again or something, despite how it seems like it might be a really good idea.
"I really hope you don't," Rodney mumbles. "Ever. I'll get you something better, much better, I promise. See if I don't."
And John laughs a bit and Rodney takes that to mean as presents go, he's not all that attached to the tee after all.
"s' okay," he mumbles in return. "Already got everything I need," and Rodney would answer that - probably with a scathing retort about tacky joke shirts and their literal readings, and the fact that if John's going to wear stuff like that around in public then there's going to be consequences, but in the end, it's too much trouble and anyway, he's pretty sure what he has to say is already loud and clear, even without having to spell it out.
Author: Devera
Rating: NC17
Words: approx 3000
Challenge: #22 Written Words
Notes: kinda my first PWP (and so not happy with the ending but oh well...) inspired by that lovely collection of user icons out there with words like 'Flyboy' etc plastered all over John's Sheppard's chest. Voted best use of a t'shirt ever.
Summary: I'm Incredible, Just ask McKay
Rodney's on his way to the labs in the north pier, tablet in hand, when he hears Sheppard's voice. He's laughing about something and the incongruent, somewhat abrasive sound carries down the hall like a minor klaxon. Rodney finds himself grinning, as much at the sound as the probability that John's going to love what he's working on right now, and if his theories are correct, then they-
Mid-thought, Rodney looks up and suddenly he is no longer moving, or thinking for that matter, because Sheppard is coming toward him, flanked by a group of young marines, all smiling and jostling around like a pack of barely disciplined puppies, and he's wearing a... he's got a...
"Oh, hey Rodney," Sheppard hails easily when he sees him, and Rodney is staring, he knows he is but he just can't seem to make himself stop.
"Hey," he says because he literally can't think of anything else.
"What's up?" Sheppard slows to a halt, and the marines gather around and this is not the place Rodney wants to be right now, not at all.
"What's..." Rodney starts, and it's like his brain has been reduced to Simple numbers. "I mean, I... You..."
"This?" Sheppard guesses, glancing down at himself. "Yeah, well, the guys got it for my birthday, so the least I can do is wear it."
Rodney blinks as that sinks in. "Birthday? It's your birthday?"
Sheppard shrugs and smiles. "So, what, you're saying when you gave me my present this morning, you didn't know?"
And Rodney opens his mouth to say 'What present, I had no idea, I didn't give you anything this morning' except right then he remembers he did and Jesus Christ Sheppard's just standing there grinning at him and there's a half a dozen marines looking on with varying degrees of amusement and Jesus Christ.
"Of course I knew!" he blusters, fighting the flush he can feel reddening his face and telling himself don't think about, don't think about it, don't look at his face, except that brings him back to the original problem and that's not much better. "I just... Are you going to wear that all day?"
The marines snicker, and that's enough of an answer, even when Sheppard backs them up.
"Well, it's kind of a tradition," Sheppard says innocently. "You don't like it?"
Oh, that's not the problem. That's definitely not the problem. "No, it's very funny," Rodney denies, only he's about as far from entertained as he could get. "Hilarious. I'm sure it took them since your last birthday to come up with it."
"I'm sure it did," Sheppard agrees dryly. "So, I'll see you later, yeah?"
Rodney nods. The letters in his field of vision; large, crisp, white, bob for a second and he thinks maybe he can look at John again, but perhaps he'd better not chance it.
"Sure, sure. Later."
And then Sheppard's walking away, marines in tow and Rodney turns, watches, like Sheppard's some kind of lodestone, like he couldn't possibly look anywhere else. It doesn't matter, in fact Rodney's relieved that it's like he's stopped existing the second Sheppard's moved on, because he can watch, watch Sheppard walk, watch the way he turns his head to talk to someone, the way he jostles one of the marines like he's part of their litter, the easy measured pace to his gait, his heavy army-issue boots, the fit of those black BDU's that Rodney tried so hard not to let get to him once upon a time. And he has no idea, none, how he looks, the hair, the bare arms, the wrist band, the black Chronograph, and the black regulation t'shirt which looks just like every other one of John's black regulation t'shirts, only with writing emblazoned in white across John's pecs that Rodney is pretty damn sure is about as far from regulation as you can get:
All Pilots Need Is A Little
T H R U S T
And he stares, can't not, until John is out of sight again, because Holy Mary Mother of God that's exactly what Rodney had given him this morning.
++++++
And Sheppard must think it is funny - hysterical, even, because after that, it's like he's everywhere. Rodney looks up from work in the North pier lab and there's Sheppard, delivering some new equipment from Lorne's last off-world adventure. He goes to lunch, and there's Sheppard lounging around with a couple of the officers from the Daedelus. He's called to the gate room, and there's Sheppard leaning over Chuck watching the dial-out readings.
And everywhere Sheppard is, there's his t'shirt, and every time he sees Rodney, whether there's a reason for them to talk or not, his mouth quirks a bit at the corner and one eyebrow goes up slightly and Rodney wants to push him down and kiss him right where he's standing, wants to pinch his nipples through that black tee somewhere in the vicinity of the double l in 'all' and the double t in 'little' and hear Sheppard's breath hitch the way it always does when Rodney gets a bit rough. Jesus, Rodney wants to pin him down - or maybe even tie him up - in nothing but that goddamn tee, push his legs open and just- It's all he can think about, and it's all due to some accidental semantics and twenty-six harmless letters, twelve of which aren't even in use!
It's a wonder he makes it through the day. Every time he manages to get his erection to go away, there's Sheppard again. Rodney is not a strong man.
"So," he manages to ask when, for once, the two of them are alone, travelling in the same direction at the same time. "What did you tell them?"
Sheppard looks over a little bemused, smiling that damn half-smile at him again. "What?"
"The marines," Rodney reminds. "They asked what I gave you for your birthday, right? So what did you tell them?"
Sheppard's smile quirks a little more. "I told them you pushed me over the back of my sofa and fucked me until I ruined the upholstery," Sheppard says mildly, and the corridor around Rodney washes out white for a second with a rush of noise in his ears. When everything comes back, he's stopped walking. Sheppard's stopped a couple of paces on, and Rodney knows that look on his face - the bastard - knows he knows exactly what he's doing.
"I told them you gave me Sudoku for my DS and the Zombie Survival Guide with personal annotations for Wraith, what do you think I-"
Rodney doesn't even know what the room's for, doesn't even know if it's empty; he's got John through the door and up against the wall before John's even finished speaking, and his mouth on his before he can finish. John sucks a breath in, surprised maybe, and then his hands are scrabbling at Rodney's arms and he's moaning in protest around the slick thrust of Rodney's tongue and Rodney doesn't care, can't care, just shoves John up a bit harder and pushes his leg between his thighs and yeah, that's good, John's hip and his half hard cock and his breath panting against Rodney's face. God, he could just do this until they both come in their pants...
Except now he thinks about it, that's not what he wants at all, not by a long shot.
"Right," Rodney says, stepping back abruptly and letting John go all in one motion because it's the only way to disengage at this point. John stumbles forward a bit, blinking at him and his mouth is slack and open and a little red from the somewhat enjoyable abuse Rodney just subjected it to, and he wants to again, so badly that he needs to leave right the hell now.
"Right," he repeats. "Well, just in case, someone, you know. I'll see you... later. Yes, later. Probably."
And as he's walking away down the corridor, being grateful that it's still as traffic-free as it was a couple of minutes ago because there's no way to hide his hard-on at this point, he realises that was the first time today he hadn't even noticed Sheppard's tee...
++++++++
Sheppard is conspicuously absent for the rest of the day; it's something of a relief actually, because at least now Rodney is getting work done, rather than pretending to work while being simultaneously acutely aware of exactly where Sheppard is and what he's doing. It gives him time to formulate a plan, which really isn't all that complicated in the end. It involves a brief email, his room, and Sheppard. It involves Sheppard turning up in that tee, and the second he does, Rodney figures there's no point in messing about. It's getting late and it's been a long and trying day and Rodney's been hard for almost half of it and if Sheppard's going to participate willingly in these kinds of jokes, he's going to have to understand that not everyone has the same sense of humour.
"Mmph!" Sheppard is forced to complain around Rodney's tongue the moment he's inside and the door is shut behind him. "Hey! Rodney!"
Rodney just manhandles John over to the bed, pushes him down and strips him out of that bloody tee.
"Hey," John grins as the shirt comes off, rearranging his hair in a way that hardly cramps its style, and he kind of looks like all his Christmases have come at once. "If you like my present that much, you can have it."
Rodney snorts, and shifts up to straddle John's chest and ignores the way John's eyes drop to the bulge in his pants as he grabs John's hands and pulls them over his head.
"It's okay," Rodney decides. "It's got its uses." And he uses it to tie John's wrists together at the base of the head board.
"Hey!" John objects. "You'll stretch it!"
"Shut up," Rodney tells him, and climbs off and starts stripping him out of the rest of his clothes as well, boots, then socks, then BDU's and John's hard, twists his hips a little in suggestion as Rodney yanks off his boxers as well. Rodney totally ignores him, in favour of getting up, getting his own clothes off and grabbing the lube.
"I totally had no idea," John is saying, arms stretched above his head, dick turgid and leaking a little against his stomach, legs spread a little as he tracks Rodney as he gets back on the bed and slicks his fingers up with the lube. "That kind of thing, it's just a joke. It's not like they really... Christ, Rodney, a little foreplay?!"
Rodney ignores him in favour for pushing his two fingers further in, and John's legs fall further apart. Rodney's only careful enough to make this as fast as possible, scissoring his fingers gently, sliding them out then back in, spreading the lube around, pushing the pads of his fingers against John's prostate and watching as John's head lolls back, exposing the line of his throat.
"You can't be..." John pants, shuddering, and rolls his head forward again to fix him with a feverish sort of look. "You're not mad I didn't... fuck... tell you?"
Rodney almost laughs, because that's ridiculous. "Of course not."
"They why the... oh, God... why the rush?"
"Well, I'm just..." Rodney starts, then has to stop while he slips his fingers out of John, squeezes out some more lube, slicks up his cock and then shifts forward, pulls John's thighs up over his and lines himself up. "I'm just doing what it said on the front."
"What?" John says distractedly, and Rodney pushes in.
And Christ, Jesus Christ it's good. How can it be so good, when only this morning... He's too old for this; it's crazy. Twice in one day and he could hardly think of anything else in between and they've been doing it for months and if it doesn't get easier than this, it's going to kill him. Probably.
"Fuck. Oh, fuck," John moans as Rodney slides out a bit and thrusts in again. "That's..."
"All day," Rodney says, watching with avid interest the way John arches into a curve, skin pulling tight across his torso as Rodney thrusts in, not hard, not yet. Rodney doesn't intend for this to be over in a flash; he's going to do this for as long as humanly possible, maybe longer if he can manage it. "All day, since I saw you in that damn thing... this is all I've been able to... think about. But you knew that."
John grunts a bit, tries to shift but the t'shirt doesn't have enough give left to let him loose. "Yeah, I... Yeah. I wanted..."
"Wanted me to fuck you like this?"
John shudders again and spreads his legs even wider, giving Rodney as much room, and possibly all the encouragement, he needs. "Yeah," he groans. "All day... I was wearing it... I kept thinking about... Christ. Could you go... a little harder? You know how I..."
Rodney does know; he really does, just how John likes it, much harder, much faster than this. But that would mean they were rushing towards the conclusion, and for once, it's not the conclusion Rodney's interested in; it's this, the feel of John, every inch of him, inside and out, the slickened heat gripping Rodney's cock as he slides in, the feel of him against his balls as he bottoms out, the strain in his thighs split around Rodney's hips, the shiver in his belly and the way he twists to feel it as Rodney slides out again. Rodney gets lost in it, like he's hardly ever done before and John is so amazing, just so amazing and he hardly even realises it, but Rodney knows it, hardly needs a t'shirt to remind him. It could have said 'I'm incredible, just ask McKay' and Rodney would have hardly disagreed, would have listed in detail and with algorithms the reasons why John, why this, this slick hot slide into John's body, the sound of John's voice and the feel of his skin and muscle and bones under Rodney's hands is something that probably could never be articulated enough to do it justice no matter how much anyone tries.
"You're making me crazy," Rodney tries to tell him, "without even trying." But John's not listening, he's gone, is groaning, "Oh God," and, "Rodney, come on, please, Christ, what are you, fuck, this is, God, God, come on, fuck me." And Rodney wants that, but this is something he wants more, may never stop wanting, which is scary as all fuck but there it is.
"John," he breathes, leaning over for the kind of angle that makes John's breath freeze and his eyes snap open.
"Fuck. Like that. Rodney."
Rodney thrusts again, and good is possibly an understatement of epic proportions for how it feels.
"I'm not going to touch you," he says and John makes a distressed little sound in the back of his throat, closes his eyes again and his hips rise jerkily to meet Rodney's. "I want you to come like this, just like this, on my cock."
"I can't. I..."
"You can," Rodney insists, not that John ever has but there's been a couple of times when he was close, when just one touch had him shooting his load and Rodney wants to see it happen, just like this. "You can, because, Christ, John. John. I want you all the time, you have no idea. It's not fair. It's crazy, but I want you, I want you."
"Oh God, fuck, please," John moans, high and pained and because Rodney is more human than he sometimes wants to be, on the next thrust he grinds and John's breath stops again and his back bows up sharp and rigid and his body clenches around Rodney and then he is coming and Rodney can't take his eyes off him, not even long enough for his own orgasm to barrel up and rattle through him until he's shaking with the effort of not collapsing and John is limp beneath him, breath ragged, face flushed, hair plastered down with sweat and if Rodney had full use of all his faculties right now, he'd be disappointed that went a lot more quickly than he wanted it to.
By maybe... maybe... Right, priorities, priorities. First, restore the circulation to John's hips, which means getting off him, then his hands, which means struggling with the knot in the t'shirt John pulled way too tight, and then clean up and then collapse. And then maybe he'll do it all again, for a lot longer the second time.
"Hey, not tha'," John slurs and Rodney holds the t'shirt he was just about to use to clean John up with above the mess on John's stomach and chest. "Never get the stains out."
Rodney glances blearily at the shirt, and that's probably true. "What? You're that fond of it already?"
John smiles then, groggy and kind of sweet, and takes the shirt from his hand and tosses it at a corner, then somehow he's got Rodney shifting up and lying down, half draped across him and he's still smiling as he presses a slow, thorough kiss to Rodney's mouth.
"It's okay," he says easily. "But y' never know; might want to wear it again."
Rodney settles down, because he hasn't got the energy right now to tie John up again or something, despite how it seems like it might be a really good idea.
"I really hope you don't," Rodney mumbles. "Ever. I'll get you something better, much better, I promise. See if I don't."
And John laughs a bit and Rodney takes that to mean as presents go, he's not all that attached to the tee after all.
"s' okay," he mumbles in return. "Already got everything I need," and Rodney would answer that - probably with a scathing retort about tacky joke shirts and their literal readings, and the fact that if John's going to wear stuff like that around in public then there's going to be consequences, but in the end, it's too much trouble and anyway, he's pretty sure what he has to say is already loud and clear, even without having to spell it out.