FIC!!!!!!
So a funny thing happened today . . . I wrote fic!
I'm very excited. Strange how it took a network crash and six hours otherwise spent twiddling my thumbs at work, but I'm not looking any gift horses in their metaphorical equine mouths.
I proudly present more of YES GODDAMMIT I *WILL* FINISH THE SGA EIGHTIES AU SOMEDAY!!!
So titled, I might add, because I see I started it in FEBRUARY 2006. I was gonna sparkle-font the words, but that seemed like going a bit overboard.
"Triumphant" should TOTALLY be an LJ mood.
God, I hope people are still interested in this. I want to finish it, but there's not as much of an impetus to do so when nobody else is interested. It's kind of a produce / reward mechanism, you know? Sorta Pavlovian, in a way.
Anyhow.
Unbetaed in the interests of posting-ness. Feel free to critique.
************************
It was more than two weeks before the bruises faded enough for John to take off his shirt in public.
Back on the beach, he tried to teach some of the guys how to surf, but the waves were all wrong and John spent most of his time swallowing salt water and getting dragged along the ocean floor with the sand crabs.
The summer was winding down, and the air had the tang of desperation to it, with everyone frantic to fit in the rest of their summer fun before heading back to the final year of school.
The sun burned hotter, but the breeze carried the hint of fall, and the warm ocean current washed up jellyfish onto the shore, like it always did this time of year.
The ice cream man who paced the beach was always out of orange Creamsicles, and he usually didn’t have Nutty Buddys, either.
Even the radio stations seemed to feel the sting of summer’s end, and the music they played never seemed as good as had been in the beginning of June. John had even gone to see The Karate Kid II, and he still hated that stupid Peter Cetera song.
He didn’t see as much of Rodney as he wanted. The other boy was cramming in hours at work and just didn’t have the time to tutor John as closely as he had in the beginning of the summer.
It was probably just as well. John didn’t want to think about what would happen to their friendship and his ridiculous, hopeless crush once Rodney went back to Canada.
Still, John swung by the big boardinghouse after he left the beach one afternoon, and was surprised when Rodney answered his door. He was wearing only shorts and was roughly toweling his hair, leaving blond tufts sticking up all over.
“You’re home,” John said stupidly.
“Disappointed?” Rodney shot back, and stepped away from the open door. “Are you coming in or are you going to stand in the hall with your mouth open like beached sea life?”
John rolled his eyes and entered, stubbing his bare toes on the threshold like he always did. “Aren’t you working tonight?”
Rodney was unselfconsciously rubbing the towel down his arms and across his shoulders as he moved around the room. “Hurricane’s coming up the coast, so the idiots closed the rides. It’s stupid, closing down the piers just for a bunch of wind and rain.”
John shut the door behind him and leaned against it. He was still sea-damp and sandy from the beach and was actually trying not to make a mess.
Rodney flung his towel carelessly into a corner, yanked on a t-shirt, and flopped facedown on the bed with a gusty sigh. “You wanna do something?” he asked, his voice muffled by the pillows.
“For sure,” John shrugged. “I’m totally gross, though.”
Without lifting his head, Rodney waved one arm in John’s direction. “Go take a shower,” he instructed. “Towels are under the sink. I’m sure no one will care if you use one.”
“You know, in twenty years, your back is going to be killing you,” John pointed out, like he always did when Rodney contorted his spine into ridiculous positions.
“In twenty years, I’ll rule the world, and I won’t *care*,” Rodney informed him loftily, like he always said, but he rolled to his side and curled around his pillow. “Go shower. I’ll get changed and then we can go somewhere.”
John chuckled and left the room, moving down the hall. He didn’t realize until he’d stripped off the salt-encrusted swim trunks and stepped into the tub that he hadn’t thought to borrow a t-shirt or something from Rodney.
God. Now he was going to have to walk into Rodney’s room, wearing nothing but a towel, and try to act like that wasn’t pretty much his biggest fantasy come to life.
John shivered with excitement and hurried through washing his hair with the shampoo someone had left there. Prell was okay, but the heavily chlorinated water always left him feeling vaguely sticky, even when he lathered twice.
Mike’s younger sister had some stuff from Australia that the two of them swore by, even though it was like, totally made from kangaroo paws or something. They had really nice hair, though, both of them, even if Mike totally was an asshole.
John wondered what kind of shampoo Rodney used.
He jerked off quickly, like he always did when he took a shower, the pounding water hiding the sounds of skin on skin, ran it on cold, afterwards, for as long as he could stand to make sure than everything stayed down that should be down, and climbed out.
The towels were thin and raggedy, so John used two of them to make sure that he was reasonably dry before knotting one tightly around his waist. It was a good thing he was so damn skinny, or it never would have covered everything.
After a couple of deep breaths, he opened the bathroom door and sauntered down the hall, trying his best to act casual.
The doorknob turned loosely in John’s hand and he slipped inside Rodney’s room, a little chagrined to find that none of his preparations really mattered.
Rodney was sound asleep.
John tried to decide what to do. After a few moments, he cleared his throat. When that achieved no response, he tried a soft, “Rodney.”
Nothing.
Swallowing deeply, he made sure the door was locked and then moved over to the bed. “Rodney. *Rodney*. Wake up.”
Rodney’s face wrinkled and one hand twitched.
John knelt on the mattress and leaned over. Why did Rodney have to roll into the farthest corner of the bed? Against the wall like that, it was impossible to reach him any other way. He laid one hand on Rodney’s back and repeated, “*Rodney*. Come *on*.”
“Mmmph,” Rodney mumbled, and sat up so abruptly that John didn’t have time to react. The top of Rodney’s skull slammed into John’s nose, and he toppled sideways onto the pillows, shouting in pain.
“Ow!” Rodney yelled, holding one hand to his head and squirming away until he butted up against the wall. “What the hell are you *doing*, you hopeless moron? Get off my bed!”
“Shut up,” John snarled, trying to pinch his nostrils shut, bloody fingers slipping over his skin. “You broke my nose, jackass!”
Rodney snorted derisively. “I guess that makes us even,” he sniffed. “You broke mine when I *rescued* you. And what made you think that *hovering* over me when I was sleeping was a good idea?”
“I was *trying* to wake you up!” John snapped. “You sleep like a *dead thing*, Rodney, you know that!”
“So you should have yelled, or dropped books on the floor, or poked my feet or something!” Rodney retorted, his eyes shooting crazily around the room as if he expected someone else to leap out of the walls. “You don’t crawl into my bed all dripping wet and half-naked like some kind of fantasy come to life and expect me to not be at least a *little bit* startled!”
“I am *not* dripping!” John responded angrily, and then Rodney’s words caught up to him. “Wait-what do you *mean*, a fantasy?”
Rodney flushed and turned his head away. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Move over, let me get out-I need some ice.”
John turned over as best he could, propping himself on his left elbow and trying to keep his bloody nose under control with his right hand. He stuck out a leg and trapped Rodney against the wall; he’d have to actually climb over John to get out of the bed. “I woke you up too suddenly, and the first thing you noticed was that I was only wearing a towel,” John said softly, thinking it through. “That’s not-I don’t think that’s what most guys would notice about the situation, Rodney.”
Rodney reddened further and rubbed the top of his head where it had met John’s face. “You shouldn’t be in my bed,” he pointed out. “That’s like, like having a girl in the room. Well, you know, if either of us really liked girls. That way.”
John started to smile. His heart was pounding and he felt almost lightheaded with relief, because there was something there, something more in Rodney’s reaction than just surprise at his presence. He had to ask, though, he had to make sure. “Do you like me, Rodney?” he asked. “You know . . . *that way*?”
“Um,” Rodney said, and stopped. John couldn’t have imagined a more satisfying result than to leave Rodney McKay speechless, and he beamed before saying softly, not really trying to be seductive, but kind of hoping it would work, anyway, “’Cause, you know, I’ve been liking you that way all summer.”
John didn’t think it was possible for Rodney to blush any darker, but he managed a few shades deeper anyway before bursting out, “How could you think I *didn’t* like you? How many times do I have to rescue you and patch you up before you get the hint? Do you think I just run around performing first aid on every moron in the States who manages to get himself in some kind of trouble?”
He took a breath and continued, “Do you think I have the *time* to tutor every idiot on the East Coast who doesn’t have the sense to realize how smart he really is? These are some of the best years my mind will have-I can’t be wasting *months* on this kind of stupidity when I have a chance to set the foundations of my academic career, you know!”
Rodney was on a roll now, mouth obviously running well ahead of his brain, and John just grinned wider before he reached up, grabbed hold of the back of Rodney’s neck, and whispered, “Shut *up*, Rodney,” and kissed him.
Rodney’s mouth was wide and mobile and surprisingly soft, and John forgot about everything except how good it felt to finally, *finally* be doing what he’d been fantasizing about, practically since he’d returned to consciousness on the beach that first day.
It wasn’t until he tried to pull Rodney down against the pillows with him that they broke apart. Rodney still had his eyes closed, and he licked his lips thoughtfully before grimacing and then glaring at John. “You know, that would have been a really awesome first kiss for us,” he said accusingly, “if you hadn’t been *gushing blood* all over me!”
John swiped at his nose and sniffed back the tang of salty iron. “First kiss for us, huh?” he repeated. “So that means you’re expecting more kisses from me?”
“Oh, shut up,” Rodney grumbled. “And go wash your face-you might think that sharing blood is romantic and everything, but mostly it’s disgusting and completely unsanitary!”
John barked out a laugh and rolled out of the bed, crossing to the sink in the corner while Rodney muttered under his breath about how John laughed like a seal. He washed up thoroughly and returned, still mopping his face dry as he stood, and then tossed the towel aside.
Rodney was staring at him, and John felt the flush rise hot in his cheeks. “What?” he asked, and he meant for it to sound demanding, but his voice came out soft and kind of wobbly. He crossed his arms over his chest and felt, suddenly, more than a little chilled. “You, um-you still want to go out?”
“Ah, no,” Rodney croaked. He cleared his throat and added, “Can you . . . do you want to take that towel off?”
John glanced down and saw the twitch as his cock began to swell in response. He swallowed hard, a couple of times, and his hands were at his waist before he stopped, feeling a little shy, and suggested, “Maybe you could, you know-take off your shirt or something. So I’m not the only one naked, here?”
Rodney shifted a little and nodded before awkwardly stripping off his shirt and tossing it away. He leaned back against the wall and looked like he was holding his breath as John climbed onto the bed on his knees, and then Rodney burst out, “I know I don’t look as good as you-“
John jerked up his gaze from where he’d been staring helplessly at the bulge in Rodney’s shorts and yelped, “Oh, for *sure*! Rodney, you’re-you totally, you have *no idea* how long I’ve wanted-“
He saw the crooked little tilt to Rodney’s lips before he interrupted, “Okay, okay, John, I get it, I’m, like, *totally awesome* and you really need to be over here kissing me, *right now*.”
John felt the relief sweep through his body like an electric shock as he lunged forward, and then they were both laughing and kissing and rolling around on Rodney’s bed, messy and crazy and hot, so hot that John didn’t even notice when his towel fell away. He only realized it when Rodney pushed him back against the pillows with surprising strength and said hoarsely, “No, wait-stay there, I just, I have to *look* at you, I need to see you, make sure you’re really here.”
“God, Rodney, I’m *here*,” John said impatiently, grabbing for him. “Take off your damn clothes and come over here with me!”
“I will, I will,” Rodney promised, his eyes roaming John’s body greedily as he struggled out of his baggy khaki shorts. It was the same kind of look that he gave to the smorgasbord at that restaurant on the boardwalk, and John shivered to see that kind of hunger directed at him. He was sufficiently distracted that it took him a second to notice something else, though, and then he said, kind of stupidly, “Huh. I’ve never known anybody who wore boxer shorts except for my granddad.”
Rodney rolled his eyes, thumbs hooked in the waistband as he wriggled free, and said, “Yes, well, the things you don’t know could fill a whole *library* worth of books, so can we move on to the good part?”
John burst out laughing again, and Rodney reached over to smack him on the forehead, and before he knew what had happened, he’d pulled Rodney down and was wrapped up in his arms, miles of naked tanned skin pressed up against him. John was hard, so incredibly hard, and it was the easiest thing in the world to hook one leg around Rodney’s waist, heel digging into his ass, pushing up when he gasped, “John-oh, my God, John, *so* good!”
“Rodney,” John panted, his cock riding the groove of Rodney’s hip, sweat slicking the way. He bucked up and suddenly, Rodney’s dick-oh, God, it was *right there*-pressed between his thighs, snugged up tight against his balls and just barely rubbing the crack of his ass, and John cried out and came and came and came.
“John,” Rodney wheezed, “oh, my God, *John*.” He stuttered out of rhythm, thrusts suddenly awkward, and John felt each pulse of Rodney’s cock as he came, too, and then collapsed heavily right onto John’s chest. Not that it was a bad thing, or anything, and John put his arms around Rodney’s shoulders and held on tight.
He stared at the ceiling over Rodney’s shoulder as they struggled to catch their breath, and couldn’t think of anything to say while Rodney shifted slightly to one side, his head on John’s shoulder and one arm slung across his chest, the other arm somehow tucked beneath John’s neck.
Rodney nuzzled against John’s throat and whispered, “Go to sleep.”
So John did.
************************
I'm very excited. Strange how it took a network crash and six hours otherwise spent twiddling my thumbs at work, but I'm not looking any gift horses in their metaphorical equine mouths.
I proudly present more of YES GODDAMMIT I *WILL* FINISH THE SGA EIGHTIES AU SOMEDAY!!!
So titled, I might add, because I see I started it in FEBRUARY 2006. I was gonna sparkle-font the words, but that seemed like going a bit overboard.
"Triumphant" should TOTALLY be an LJ mood.
God, I hope people are still interested in this. I want to finish it, but there's not as much of an impetus to do so when nobody else is interested. It's kind of a produce / reward mechanism, you know? Sorta Pavlovian, in a way.
Anyhow.
Unbetaed in the interests of posting-ness. Feel free to critique.
************************
It was more than two weeks before the bruises faded enough for John to take off his shirt in public.
Back on the beach, he tried to teach some of the guys how to surf, but the waves were all wrong and John spent most of his time swallowing salt water and getting dragged along the ocean floor with the sand crabs.
The summer was winding down, and the air had the tang of desperation to it, with everyone frantic to fit in the rest of their summer fun before heading back to the final year of school.
The sun burned hotter, but the breeze carried the hint of fall, and the warm ocean current washed up jellyfish onto the shore, like it always did this time of year.
The ice cream man who paced the beach was always out of orange Creamsicles, and he usually didn’t have Nutty Buddys, either.
Even the radio stations seemed to feel the sting of summer’s end, and the music they played never seemed as good as had been in the beginning of June. John had even gone to see The Karate Kid II, and he still hated that stupid Peter Cetera song.
He didn’t see as much of Rodney as he wanted. The other boy was cramming in hours at work and just didn’t have the time to tutor John as closely as he had in the beginning of the summer.
It was probably just as well. John didn’t want to think about what would happen to their friendship and his ridiculous, hopeless crush once Rodney went back to Canada.
Still, John swung by the big boardinghouse after he left the beach one afternoon, and was surprised when Rodney answered his door. He was wearing only shorts and was roughly toweling his hair, leaving blond tufts sticking up all over.
“You’re home,” John said stupidly.
“Disappointed?” Rodney shot back, and stepped away from the open door. “Are you coming in or are you going to stand in the hall with your mouth open like beached sea life?”
John rolled his eyes and entered, stubbing his bare toes on the threshold like he always did. “Aren’t you working tonight?”
Rodney was unselfconsciously rubbing the towel down his arms and across his shoulders as he moved around the room. “Hurricane’s coming up the coast, so the idiots closed the rides. It’s stupid, closing down the piers just for a bunch of wind and rain.”
John shut the door behind him and leaned against it. He was still sea-damp and sandy from the beach and was actually trying not to make a mess.
Rodney flung his towel carelessly into a corner, yanked on a t-shirt, and flopped facedown on the bed with a gusty sigh. “You wanna do something?” he asked, his voice muffled by the pillows.
“For sure,” John shrugged. “I’m totally gross, though.”
Without lifting his head, Rodney waved one arm in John’s direction. “Go take a shower,” he instructed. “Towels are under the sink. I’m sure no one will care if you use one.”
“You know, in twenty years, your back is going to be killing you,” John pointed out, like he always did when Rodney contorted his spine into ridiculous positions.
“In twenty years, I’ll rule the world, and I won’t *care*,” Rodney informed him loftily, like he always said, but he rolled to his side and curled around his pillow. “Go shower. I’ll get changed and then we can go somewhere.”
John chuckled and left the room, moving down the hall. He didn’t realize until he’d stripped off the salt-encrusted swim trunks and stepped into the tub that he hadn’t thought to borrow a t-shirt or something from Rodney.
God. Now he was going to have to walk into Rodney’s room, wearing nothing but a towel, and try to act like that wasn’t pretty much his biggest fantasy come to life.
John shivered with excitement and hurried through washing his hair with the shampoo someone had left there. Prell was okay, but the heavily chlorinated water always left him feeling vaguely sticky, even when he lathered twice.
Mike’s younger sister had some stuff from Australia that the two of them swore by, even though it was like, totally made from kangaroo paws or something. They had really nice hair, though, both of them, even if Mike totally was an asshole.
John wondered what kind of shampoo Rodney used.
He jerked off quickly, like he always did when he took a shower, the pounding water hiding the sounds of skin on skin, ran it on cold, afterwards, for as long as he could stand to make sure than everything stayed down that should be down, and climbed out.
The towels were thin and raggedy, so John used two of them to make sure that he was reasonably dry before knotting one tightly around his waist. It was a good thing he was so damn skinny, or it never would have covered everything.
After a couple of deep breaths, he opened the bathroom door and sauntered down the hall, trying his best to act casual.
The doorknob turned loosely in John’s hand and he slipped inside Rodney’s room, a little chagrined to find that none of his preparations really mattered.
Rodney was sound asleep.
John tried to decide what to do. After a few moments, he cleared his throat. When that achieved no response, he tried a soft, “Rodney.”
Nothing.
Swallowing deeply, he made sure the door was locked and then moved over to the bed. “Rodney. *Rodney*. Wake up.”
Rodney’s face wrinkled and one hand twitched.
John knelt on the mattress and leaned over. Why did Rodney have to roll into the farthest corner of the bed? Against the wall like that, it was impossible to reach him any other way. He laid one hand on Rodney’s back and repeated, “*Rodney*. Come *on*.”
“Mmmph,” Rodney mumbled, and sat up so abruptly that John didn’t have time to react. The top of Rodney’s skull slammed into John’s nose, and he toppled sideways onto the pillows, shouting in pain.
“Ow!” Rodney yelled, holding one hand to his head and squirming away until he butted up against the wall. “What the hell are you *doing*, you hopeless moron? Get off my bed!”
“Shut up,” John snarled, trying to pinch his nostrils shut, bloody fingers slipping over his skin. “You broke my nose, jackass!”
Rodney snorted derisively. “I guess that makes us even,” he sniffed. “You broke mine when I *rescued* you. And what made you think that *hovering* over me when I was sleeping was a good idea?”
“I was *trying* to wake you up!” John snapped. “You sleep like a *dead thing*, Rodney, you know that!”
“So you should have yelled, or dropped books on the floor, or poked my feet or something!” Rodney retorted, his eyes shooting crazily around the room as if he expected someone else to leap out of the walls. “You don’t crawl into my bed all dripping wet and half-naked like some kind of fantasy come to life and expect me to not be at least a *little bit* startled!”
“I am *not* dripping!” John responded angrily, and then Rodney’s words caught up to him. “Wait-what do you *mean*, a fantasy?”
Rodney flushed and turned his head away. “Nothing,” he muttered. “Move over, let me get out-I need some ice.”
John turned over as best he could, propping himself on his left elbow and trying to keep his bloody nose under control with his right hand. He stuck out a leg and trapped Rodney against the wall; he’d have to actually climb over John to get out of the bed. “I woke you up too suddenly, and the first thing you noticed was that I was only wearing a towel,” John said softly, thinking it through. “That’s not-I don’t think that’s what most guys would notice about the situation, Rodney.”
Rodney reddened further and rubbed the top of his head where it had met John’s face. “You shouldn’t be in my bed,” he pointed out. “That’s like, like having a girl in the room. Well, you know, if either of us really liked girls. That way.”
John started to smile. His heart was pounding and he felt almost lightheaded with relief, because there was something there, something more in Rodney’s reaction than just surprise at his presence. He had to ask, though, he had to make sure. “Do you like me, Rodney?” he asked. “You know . . . *that way*?”
“Um,” Rodney said, and stopped. John couldn’t have imagined a more satisfying result than to leave Rodney McKay speechless, and he beamed before saying softly, not really trying to be seductive, but kind of hoping it would work, anyway, “’Cause, you know, I’ve been liking you that way all summer.”
John didn’t think it was possible for Rodney to blush any darker, but he managed a few shades deeper anyway before bursting out, “How could you think I *didn’t* like you? How many times do I have to rescue you and patch you up before you get the hint? Do you think I just run around performing first aid on every moron in the States who manages to get himself in some kind of trouble?”
He took a breath and continued, “Do you think I have the *time* to tutor every idiot on the East Coast who doesn’t have the sense to realize how smart he really is? These are some of the best years my mind will have-I can’t be wasting *months* on this kind of stupidity when I have a chance to set the foundations of my academic career, you know!”
Rodney was on a roll now, mouth obviously running well ahead of his brain, and John just grinned wider before he reached up, grabbed hold of the back of Rodney’s neck, and whispered, “Shut *up*, Rodney,” and kissed him.
Rodney’s mouth was wide and mobile and surprisingly soft, and John forgot about everything except how good it felt to finally, *finally* be doing what he’d been fantasizing about, practically since he’d returned to consciousness on the beach that first day.
It wasn’t until he tried to pull Rodney down against the pillows with him that they broke apart. Rodney still had his eyes closed, and he licked his lips thoughtfully before grimacing and then glaring at John. “You know, that would have been a really awesome first kiss for us,” he said accusingly, “if you hadn’t been *gushing blood* all over me!”
John swiped at his nose and sniffed back the tang of salty iron. “First kiss for us, huh?” he repeated. “So that means you’re expecting more kisses from me?”
“Oh, shut up,” Rodney grumbled. “And go wash your face-you might think that sharing blood is romantic and everything, but mostly it’s disgusting and completely unsanitary!”
John barked out a laugh and rolled out of the bed, crossing to the sink in the corner while Rodney muttered under his breath about how John laughed like a seal. He washed up thoroughly and returned, still mopping his face dry as he stood, and then tossed the towel aside.
Rodney was staring at him, and John felt the flush rise hot in his cheeks. “What?” he asked, and he meant for it to sound demanding, but his voice came out soft and kind of wobbly. He crossed his arms over his chest and felt, suddenly, more than a little chilled. “You, um-you still want to go out?”
“Ah, no,” Rodney croaked. He cleared his throat and added, “Can you . . . do you want to take that towel off?”
John glanced down and saw the twitch as his cock began to swell in response. He swallowed hard, a couple of times, and his hands were at his waist before he stopped, feeling a little shy, and suggested, “Maybe you could, you know-take off your shirt or something. So I’m not the only one naked, here?”
Rodney shifted a little and nodded before awkwardly stripping off his shirt and tossing it away. He leaned back against the wall and looked like he was holding his breath as John climbed onto the bed on his knees, and then Rodney burst out, “I know I don’t look as good as you-“
John jerked up his gaze from where he’d been staring helplessly at the bulge in Rodney’s shorts and yelped, “Oh, for *sure*! Rodney, you’re-you totally, you have *no idea* how long I’ve wanted-“
He saw the crooked little tilt to Rodney’s lips before he interrupted, “Okay, okay, John, I get it, I’m, like, *totally awesome* and you really need to be over here kissing me, *right now*.”
John felt the relief sweep through his body like an electric shock as he lunged forward, and then they were both laughing and kissing and rolling around on Rodney’s bed, messy and crazy and hot, so hot that John didn’t even notice when his towel fell away. He only realized it when Rodney pushed him back against the pillows with surprising strength and said hoarsely, “No, wait-stay there, I just, I have to *look* at you, I need to see you, make sure you’re really here.”
“God, Rodney, I’m *here*,” John said impatiently, grabbing for him. “Take off your damn clothes and come over here with me!”
“I will, I will,” Rodney promised, his eyes roaming John’s body greedily as he struggled out of his baggy khaki shorts. It was the same kind of look that he gave to the smorgasbord at that restaurant on the boardwalk, and John shivered to see that kind of hunger directed at him. He was sufficiently distracted that it took him a second to notice something else, though, and then he said, kind of stupidly, “Huh. I’ve never known anybody who wore boxer shorts except for my granddad.”
Rodney rolled his eyes, thumbs hooked in the waistband as he wriggled free, and said, “Yes, well, the things you don’t know could fill a whole *library* worth of books, so can we move on to the good part?”
John burst out laughing again, and Rodney reached over to smack him on the forehead, and before he knew what had happened, he’d pulled Rodney down and was wrapped up in his arms, miles of naked tanned skin pressed up against him. John was hard, so incredibly hard, and it was the easiest thing in the world to hook one leg around Rodney’s waist, heel digging into his ass, pushing up when he gasped, “John-oh, my God, John, *so* good!”
“Rodney,” John panted, his cock riding the groove of Rodney’s hip, sweat slicking the way. He bucked up and suddenly, Rodney’s dick-oh, God, it was *right there*-pressed between his thighs, snugged up tight against his balls and just barely rubbing the crack of his ass, and John cried out and came and came and came.
“John,” Rodney wheezed, “oh, my God, *John*.” He stuttered out of rhythm, thrusts suddenly awkward, and John felt each pulse of Rodney’s cock as he came, too, and then collapsed heavily right onto John’s chest. Not that it was a bad thing, or anything, and John put his arms around Rodney’s shoulders and held on tight.
He stared at the ceiling over Rodney’s shoulder as they struggled to catch their breath, and couldn’t think of anything to say while Rodney shifted slightly to one side, his head on John’s shoulder and one arm slung across his chest, the other arm somehow tucked beneath John’s neck.
Rodney nuzzled against John’s throat and whispered, “Go to sleep.”
So John did.
************************