Fic: Counterattack
Sequel to Sneak Attack. You really should read that first.
Title: Counter Attack ~ 1830 words
Pairing: John/Rodney
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Rating: Eh, probably NC-17
So unbeta'd
Summary: John was minding his own business, getting ready for dinner with Rodney, just minding his own business, really. And then Tornado Rodney struck and left, promising to return.
Author's note: ::wide and glassy eyed:: You guys made me keep thinking about it. Holy cannoli!
~~~
What the hell it was, John thought, was incredibly hot. He sighed and shifted his hips against the bed and let himself press a hand against his aching cock.
So good, Rodney’s warmth and strength all around him, his mouth and hands knowing just where to touch, so good, so sure, that John could just relax and let Rodney drive.
It was a rare luxury for John, to let go like that. Not that he didn’t mind driving, himself, he liked to drive, loved it, loved to watch Rodney come apart under him, because of him. But sometimes, it was really, really nice, like that time when Rodney had that rope and…John arched up against his hand and groaned. He was not going to make it two hours - or two mintues - if he kept thinking like that.
He got up, washed his already clean face, looked at his shower for a long moment and thought about taking a cold one hard enough that the water came on, quite obviously freezing, which freaked him out and pretty much helped with the “crazy turned on” portions of his body.
John ambled to the mess and grabbed a light dinner, then took a long walk out along the south pier, where he watched the light on the water and thought about Rodney and Rodney’s hands and Rodney’s mouth and how Rodney pretended not to love having his hair finger-combed, although he really, seriously did.
He thought about that little noise Rodney made in the back of his throat right as he stopped “just” making out, a split second before his whole body melted against John’s. And the way Rodney always, always kissed the small of John’s back as he worked John open, what a goofy, sweet thing that was and how it caught John right in the chest, every single time.
John was half-hard again when he got back to his quarters, dreamy and electrified with anticipation. John brushed his teeth, freshened up a bit and wandered back to his bed. Smirking, he undid all of the buttons of his shirt except for the middle one, took off his shoes and flopped on his back. Rodney wanted to take it where they left off? Fine by him.
He woke in the dark, alone and still in his date clothes. Which, by the way, weren’t so comfortable to sleep in, judging by the way his shirt had come undone and somehow ended up under his face, buttons digging into his cheek.
He peered at his clock. Rodney had left for “an hour, two tops,” at seven. It was now 3:13 am. Jesus, Rodney.
He rolled out of bed, fixed his shirt and thrust his feet into his running shoes, grabbed some provisions and went to check on his scientist, who damn well better be in his lab up to his eyebrows in something.
What Rodney was up to his eyebrows in was sleep and the stuff Ancients used instead of motor oil. He lay sprawled uncomfortably across his lab table, looking like he had intended to just rest his eyes for a second then crashed headfirst into his computer.
“Come on, cowboy,” John said softly, shaking his shoulder. “Time to saddle up.”
Rodney came awake with a snort. “John? Wha?” He started rub his eyes, realized they were smeared with gunk and groped around for a rag to clean them. “Did you just call me cowboy?”
John looked at his pallor and handed him a power bar and a bottle of water. Rodney looked at his watch and his face fell. “Oh. You’re right, I only had a…” Sheepishly, he took a huge bite out of the powerbar, then blinked at John.
“You have…” he pointed clumsily to his own cheek. “Buttons?”
“Tattoos. So over,” John explained. “Come on.”
He got Rodney to shamble along beside him and kept one hand on his elbow, because Rodney had a tendency to list to the left like an unbalanced shopping cart and got really cranky when he ran into a wall.
“So, what was ‘the thing’ that you obviously had to take apart?” John asked.
Rodney moaned. “John…” he said, clearly apologetic.
John made a hushing noise. “It’s 3:30 am, it had to be important, and you know I’m just asking so you won’t fall asleep on your feet.” He let Rodney’s explanation wash over him, and by the time he followed Rodney into his quarters, Rodney was relatively alert and growling about how the whatever had been ill-maintained by one of the maintenance crew and that now, it clearly hated said crew and wouldn’t let anyone but Rodney touch it, although Rodney suspected this to be a ruse to cover gross incompetence and laziness, but really, the whatever was too important to making potable water.
“Huh,” John said sympathetically. “And yet it this possibly semi-sentient piece of equipment rewards you by eating up your free time.”
“Plans,” Rodney groaned. “I had plans.” It reminded John so strongly of that scene in “On The Waterfront,” when Brando says, “I coulda been a contender!” that he had to duck his head to hide his smile. To cover, he kicked Rodney’s foot.
“Buddy,” he said, feeling all warm with affection, “I know,” and started helping Rodney out of his jacket.
“No, you don’t know,” Rodney said earnestly, as he toed off his shoes and stumbled backwards. John caught him by the biceps and helped him get his shirt past his nose. “I…looking forward all day, I swear, knowing…only thing preventing me from killing and then, and then…and I had to and then you were all clean.”
“I do wash now and then. In fact, I recommend it,” he steered Rodney to the bathroom and then went to turn down the covers.
“Shu uh, ou don no,” Rodney huffed while he brushed his teeth.
John wandered back, propped himself against the doorjamb and smiled. “Sure I do,” he said softly.
Rodney’s eyes got big and happy and a little shy as he wiped the foam off his mouth. “Yeah, I guess so. Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So, I suck as a date.”
John wiggled his eyebrows. “Yes, please?”
“Shut up.”
“We’ve done this bit.”
“Oh, right.” Rodney hooked a finger between the buttons of John’s shirt and tugged. John drifted forward. Rodney’s eyes wandered from John’s mouth to his throat, down his chest and back and John just barely held back a shiver.
“You had a plan?”
“Mmm,” Rodney replied absently, leaning in to lick a stripe up John’s neck, then placed a swirling bite right over the pulse point. John made a noise that came out as sort of “hnnngghhh,” which Rodney found hilarious, so he kept doing incredible things to John’s neck until John’s eyes rolled back in his head and had to press up against the doorjamb so he wouldn’t slither to the floor.
“Mmmm,” Rodney growled low, maneuvered them through the door and trapped John right up against the wall. “I walked into your quarters,” he breathed in John’s ear, “and I could smell you, all warm and clean and that cologne that is not Aqua Velva and, Jesus, this shirt.” He leaned back to work on the buttons and left his knee in between John’s thighs, pressed in and up, to keep him company. John bit his lip and tried not to grind shamelessly against him.
“This shirt and, your neck, Christ, John, your neck, it’s like being a freaking Victorian, getting the vapors over a sliver of your stupid chest.”
Rodney had the shirt open and was murmuring something, but mainly, doing that thing again where his hands and his mouth and oh my, he’d found a nipple. Oh. John curled his fingers around Rodney’s shoulders and hung on.
“I thought…I thought you were talking about my neck.”
“Hmmm? Yes. I’ll get back there, but more really about how hard it was to walk in there and look at you and walk away.”
John grinned, pushed off the wall and reversed their positions. “You didn’t just look,” he pointed out, and started his own exploratory mission.
“No,” Rodney said faintly, as he tipped his head back. John brushed his lips from Rodney’s shoulder all the way up his neck, just enough pressure to make him shiver, which he did. God, Rodney was so responsive. John kept brushing and nuzzling with nose and lips, right over that little spot just under Rodney’s jaw, until Rodney made his own hilarious half-sigh, half-moan of frustration and shivered beneath John’s hands.
“I couldn’t,” he whispered, “I couldn’t just go and not, not, ah, not have a taste, see?” John dove in for a kiss while he worked on Rodney’s pants, a nice, long, lush kiss, long enough to lick some of the toothpaste flavor out of Rodney’s mouth and get to just him.
“Mmmm,” John said appreciatively, as he had to pull away to work on a stubborn button. Rodney hummed happily and pushed the shirt of John’s shoulders so that it hung off his elbows again. He brushed his hands up John’s arms and shoulders and down his chest.
“Need some help with that?”
The button finally made it through the buttonhole, and John eased the zipper down. “Nope,” he replied, and leaned in for Rodney’s mouth.
“And if I had to pine and work,” Rodney whispered.
John’s trajectory faltered. What?
“I wasn’t going to pine alone,” he added, and leaned into John’s kiss.
Something bright and gleeful and downright mean flared into life in John’s brain and he stomped it down pretty hard, so he could concentrate on having really fantastic sex, please, and kiss Rodney like he’d been waiting for all day, because he had. And it was good, really good, Rodney’s sounds and his fantastic mouth and the hot, silky feel of him in John’s hand. He twisted his wrist and Rodney broke the kiss to gasp and arch his back.
“Ahhh, it was awful.”
“What?”
“Having to see you like that, touch you like that, and then go back to work.”
“Mmmm.” John pressed in close, stroking Rodney long and slow, and leaned in to kiss him as sweetly as he could, as sweet as possible. They were both gonna need it.
“You know what’s awful?” John asked, peppering little kisses along Rodney’s jaw.
“What?”
One last long, slow, kiss with everything John had. “What’s awful,” he whispered against Rodney’s skin, “is,” he pushed himself away and shrugged his shirt over his shoulders, “a tease.”
He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“You, you, you! On purpose!”
John turned back and adjusted himself, let Rodney try not to whimper while glaring blue murder, smiled a thin smile, and worked on a few shirt buttons. Slowly. “Actually, didn’t occur to me until you ‘fessed up.” He shrugged.
“But that was…fuck.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” John said brightly, and shot him with a finger gun. “Oh, and hey,” he added, waving at Rodney’s still quite enthusiastic crotch. “Same rules apply."
~~~
Title: Counter Attack ~ 1830 words
Pairing: John/Rodney
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Rating: Eh, probably NC-17
So unbeta'd
Summary: John was minding his own business, getting ready for dinner with Rodney, just minding his own business, really. And then Tornado Rodney struck and left, promising to return.
Author's note: ::wide and glassy eyed:: You guys made me keep thinking about it. Holy cannoli!
~~~
What the hell it was, John thought, was incredibly hot. He sighed and shifted his hips against the bed and let himself press a hand against his aching cock.
So good, Rodney’s warmth and strength all around him, his mouth and hands knowing just where to touch, so good, so sure, that John could just relax and let Rodney drive.
It was a rare luxury for John, to let go like that. Not that he didn’t mind driving, himself, he liked to drive, loved it, loved to watch Rodney come apart under him, because of him. But sometimes, it was really, really nice, like that time when Rodney had that rope and…John arched up against his hand and groaned. He was not going to make it two hours - or two mintues - if he kept thinking like that.
He got up, washed his already clean face, looked at his shower for a long moment and thought about taking a cold one hard enough that the water came on, quite obviously freezing, which freaked him out and pretty much helped with the “crazy turned on” portions of his body.
John ambled to the mess and grabbed a light dinner, then took a long walk out along the south pier, where he watched the light on the water and thought about Rodney and Rodney’s hands and Rodney’s mouth and how Rodney pretended not to love having his hair finger-combed, although he really, seriously did.
He thought about that little noise Rodney made in the back of his throat right as he stopped “just” making out, a split second before his whole body melted against John’s. And the way Rodney always, always kissed the small of John’s back as he worked John open, what a goofy, sweet thing that was and how it caught John right in the chest, every single time.
John was half-hard again when he got back to his quarters, dreamy and electrified with anticipation. John brushed his teeth, freshened up a bit and wandered back to his bed. Smirking, he undid all of the buttons of his shirt except for the middle one, took off his shoes and flopped on his back. Rodney wanted to take it where they left off? Fine by him.
He woke in the dark, alone and still in his date clothes. Which, by the way, weren’t so comfortable to sleep in, judging by the way his shirt had come undone and somehow ended up under his face, buttons digging into his cheek.
He peered at his clock. Rodney had left for “an hour, two tops,” at seven. It was now 3:13 am. Jesus, Rodney.
He rolled out of bed, fixed his shirt and thrust his feet into his running shoes, grabbed some provisions and went to check on his scientist, who damn well better be in his lab up to his eyebrows in something.
What Rodney was up to his eyebrows in was sleep and the stuff Ancients used instead of motor oil. He lay sprawled uncomfortably across his lab table, looking like he had intended to just rest his eyes for a second then crashed headfirst into his computer.
“Come on, cowboy,” John said softly, shaking his shoulder. “Time to saddle up.”
Rodney came awake with a snort. “John? Wha?” He started rub his eyes, realized they were smeared with gunk and groped around for a rag to clean them. “Did you just call me cowboy?”
John looked at his pallor and handed him a power bar and a bottle of water. Rodney looked at his watch and his face fell. “Oh. You’re right, I only had a…” Sheepishly, he took a huge bite out of the powerbar, then blinked at John.
“You have…” he pointed clumsily to his own cheek. “Buttons?”
“Tattoos. So over,” John explained. “Come on.”
He got Rodney to shamble along beside him and kept one hand on his elbow, because Rodney had a tendency to list to the left like an unbalanced shopping cart and got really cranky when he ran into a wall.
“So, what was ‘the thing’ that you obviously had to take apart?” John asked.
Rodney moaned. “John…” he said, clearly apologetic.
John made a hushing noise. “It’s 3:30 am, it had to be important, and you know I’m just asking so you won’t fall asleep on your feet.” He let Rodney’s explanation wash over him, and by the time he followed Rodney into his quarters, Rodney was relatively alert and growling about how the whatever had been ill-maintained by one of the maintenance crew and that now, it clearly hated said crew and wouldn’t let anyone but Rodney touch it, although Rodney suspected this to be a ruse to cover gross incompetence and laziness, but really, the whatever was too important to making potable water.
“Huh,” John said sympathetically. “And yet it this possibly semi-sentient piece of equipment rewards you by eating up your free time.”
“Plans,” Rodney groaned. “I had plans.” It reminded John so strongly of that scene in “On The Waterfront,” when Brando says, “I coulda been a contender!” that he had to duck his head to hide his smile. To cover, he kicked Rodney’s foot.
“Buddy,” he said, feeling all warm with affection, “I know,” and started helping Rodney out of his jacket.
“No, you don’t know,” Rodney said earnestly, as he toed off his shoes and stumbled backwards. John caught him by the biceps and helped him get his shirt past his nose. “I…looking forward all day, I swear, knowing…only thing preventing me from killing and then, and then…and I had to and then you were all clean.”
“I do wash now and then. In fact, I recommend it,” he steered Rodney to the bathroom and then went to turn down the covers.
“Shu uh, ou don no,” Rodney huffed while he brushed his teeth.
John wandered back, propped himself against the doorjamb and smiled. “Sure I do,” he said softly.
Rodney’s eyes got big and happy and a little shy as he wiped the foam off his mouth. “Yeah, I guess so. Hi.”
“Hi.”
“So, I suck as a date.”
John wiggled his eyebrows. “Yes, please?”
“Shut up.”
“We’ve done this bit.”
“Oh, right.” Rodney hooked a finger between the buttons of John’s shirt and tugged. John drifted forward. Rodney’s eyes wandered from John’s mouth to his throat, down his chest and back and John just barely held back a shiver.
“You had a plan?”
“Mmm,” Rodney replied absently, leaning in to lick a stripe up John’s neck, then placed a swirling bite right over the pulse point. John made a noise that came out as sort of “hnnngghhh,” which Rodney found hilarious, so he kept doing incredible things to John’s neck until John’s eyes rolled back in his head and had to press up against the doorjamb so he wouldn’t slither to the floor.
“Mmmm,” Rodney growled low, maneuvered them through the door and trapped John right up against the wall. “I walked into your quarters,” he breathed in John’s ear, “and I could smell you, all warm and clean and that cologne that is not Aqua Velva and, Jesus, this shirt.” He leaned back to work on the buttons and left his knee in between John’s thighs, pressed in and up, to keep him company. John bit his lip and tried not to grind shamelessly against him.
“This shirt and, your neck, Christ, John, your neck, it’s like being a freaking Victorian, getting the vapors over a sliver of your stupid chest.”
Rodney had the shirt open and was murmuring something, but mainly, doing that thing again where his hands and his mouth and oh my, he’d found a nipple. Oh. John curled his fingers around Rodney’s shoulders and hung on.
“I thought…I thought you were talking about my neck.”
“Hmmm? Yes. I’ll get back there, but more really about how hard it was to walk in there and look at you and walk away.”
John grinned, pushed off the wall and reversed their positions. “You didn’t just look,” he pointed out, and started his own exploratory mission.
“No,” Rodney said faintly, as he tipped his head back. John brushed his lips from Rodney’s shoulder all the way up his neck, just enough pressure to make him shiver, which he did. God, Rodney was so responsive. John kept brushing and nuzzling with nose and lips, right over that little spot just under Rodney’s jaw, until Rodney made his own hilarious half-sigh, half-moan of frustration and shivered beneath John’s hands.
“I couldn’t,” he whispered, “I couldn’t just go and not, not, ah, not have a taste, see?” John dove in for a kiss while he worked on Rodney’s pants, a nice, long, lush kiss, long enough to lick some of the toothpaste flavor out of Rodney’s mouth and get to just him.
“Mmmm,” John said appreciatively, as he had to pull away to work on a stubborn button. Rodney hummed happily and pushed the shirt of John’s shoulders so that it hung off his elbows again. He brushed his hands up John’s arms and shoulders and down his chest.
“Need some help with that?”
The button finally made it through the buttonhole, and John eased the zipper down. “Nope,” he replied, and leaned in for Rodney’s mouth.
“And if I had to pine and work,” Rodney whispered.
John’s trajectory faltered. What?
“I wasn’t going to pine alone,” he added, and leaned into John’s kiss.
Something bright and gleeful and downright mean flared into life in John’s brain and he stomped it down pretty hard, so he could concentrate on having really fantastic sex, please, and kiss Rodney like he’d been waiting for all day, because he had. And it was good, really good, Rodney’s sounds and his fantastic mouth and the hot, silky feel of him in John’s hand. He twisted his wrist and Rodney broke the kiss to gasp and arch his back.
“Ahhh, it was awful.”
“What?”
“Having to see you like that, touch you like that, and then go back to work.”
“Mmmm.” John pressed in close, stroking Rodney long and slow, and leaned in to kiss him as sweetly as he could, as sweet as possible. They were both gonna need it.
“You know what’s awful?” John asked, peppering little kisses along Rodney’s jaw.
“What?”
One last long, slow, kiss with everything John had. “What’s awful,” he whispered against Rodney’s skin, “is,” he pushed himself away and shrugged his shirt over his shoulders, “a tease.”
He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“You, you, you! On purpose!”
John turned back and adjusted himself, let Rodney try not to whimper while glaring blue murder, smiled a thin smile, and worked on a few shirt buttons. Slowly. “Actually, didn’t occur to me until you ‘fessed up.” He shrugged.
“But that was…fuck.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” John said brightly, and shot him with a finger gun. “Oh, and hey,” he added, waving at Rodney’s still quite enthusiastic crotch. “Same rules apply."
~~~