"Lazy Sunday" by Ras Elased
Title: Lazy Sunday
Author: Ras Elased
Pairing: Rodney/John
Rating: Um…light R? Nothing graphic, but lots of fluff and nudity.
Warnings: Slash, and did I mention the fluff and nudity?
Summary: “Just get your ass out of bed and dance with me, McKay.”
Author’s notes: This is an unrelated offshoot of my other (unfinished, and possibly becoming too long) story for the Song and Dance challenge, since I wanted to use the song “Moonlight Serenade” in that story but couldn’t work it in. (If anyone needs a different dl site for the song besides MegaUpload, let me know in the comments.) Blame sheafrotherdon for putting the idea of John as Austin Powers into my head. For all the rest, you can blame me. I have no excuse except shameless self indulgence. ;)
ETA: More links for the song: YSI, SendSpace
~#~
“Oh my god! Of course!” Rodney’s face lit up with the brilliance of discovery, the look only slightly dampened by the fact that he was currently stuffing said face with a giant handful of popcorn.
“What?” John asked, brushing a few stray kernels off his sheets. John couldn’t really get mad, considering it had been his idea to spend their day off together, but it didn’t stop him from glaring at Rodney as he absentmindedly wiped his buttery hands on a pillowcase. John made a mental note that the next time he suggested they spend all day naked in bed together, it would not include a movie marathon. “Seriously, what is it?” he asked again when Rodney failed to answer, eyes still glued to the open laptop.
“I just realized why this movie seems so familiar!” Rodney pointed one buttery finger at the screen. John leaned in to get a clearer view of Austin Powers atop a spinning bed, making their bare shoulders bump together. “Austin Powers reminds me of you!” The finger moved from the screen to John, adding a little emphatic wag that seemed to shout, “Aha!”
John flicked a well-aimed kernel at Rodney’s head, then grinned when Rodney threw him a death-glare in return. “Is that because I make you horny?” John asked in a horrible British accent, casting an appraising look down Rodney’s naked torso, lingering at the sheets wrapped around his waist.
Rodney just rolled his eyes. “Oh, please, don’t even try. You may have the refractory period of a teenager on Viagra, but right now I couldn’t even get it up with the help of that nasty stuff from M23-989!”
John manfully repressed a snort at the mention of the infamous planet the marines now referred to as ‘The Little Blue Pill of Pegasus.’ Instead, he grabbed the laptop and twisted it so that the screen faced him, but Rodney smacked his hand away with a huff and turned it back towards himself. Rodney had been hogging both the screen and the popcorn all morning. It seemed the closer John pressed along Rodney’s side, the more the laptop screen became angled just out of his view.
“Though I’ll probably regret this, care to fill me in on how you arrived at that little revelation?” John reached across Rodney to grab his drink off the nightstand, leaving his own glass untouched.
Rodney gave him a pointed glare at the theft, then said, “Aside from the obvious, you mean?”
John finished off Rodney’s drink, the ice clinking as he replaced the empty glass alongside his own full one. “The obvious?” he raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“You know, that whole,” he circled his wrist in an expansive motion, “inexplicable babe-magnet thing.”
John blinked. “Did you seriously just use the term ‘babe-magnet’?”
Rodney plowed on as if John hadn’t even spoken. “Despite all indications to the contrary, you’re both able to charm your way into just about anyone’s pants.” John was about to mention that Rodney hadn’t exactly complained when it had been Rodney’s pants he’d been trying to charm his way into, but then Rodney got a thoughtful expression and continued, “I wonder if your super-ATA gene gives you some sort of special mojo. We should run tests.”
John had a sudden, horrifying vision of Rodney dressed as Dr. Evil, trying to extract John’s ‘mojo’ for safe-keeping. “Try it, and I’ll make you watch the entire Back to the Future Trilogy with no snack breaks,” John threatened, then turned the laptop towards himself again.
Rodney leveled him with a glare, then twisted the laptop back. He grumbled something about hindering scientific progress and fought with John to get the last handful of popcorn. They watched the movie for several more minutes in silence before John eventually spoke. “You know Rodney, I’m not exactly the ‘babe-magnet’ you think I am.”
Rodney just snorted incredulously, and though it was a nice boost to John’s ego, he figured he needed to set the record straight. While this particular incident was something John had sworn he’d take to his grave, he had seen Rodney crash and burn with women enough times that he felt he owed it to Rodney to prove it happened to the best of them. “Did I ever tell you about my junior prom?” he asked.
“Oh, god,” Rodney groaned. “If you tell me that you had women getting into mud-wrestling catfights to see who could be your date, I will never give you another blow job. Ever.”
John just rolled his eyes. “That’s not exactly what happened,” he sighed. “My date’s name was Tammy Parsons. She was head cheerleader, cute, great smile, very sweet.” John rubbed the back of his neck. “At least, that’s what I thought.”
“I’m failing to see how this makes you less of a babe-magnet,” Rodney said, his tone implying John’s lifetime expectation for number of blow jobs was dwindling.
“Well maybe if you’d shut up and let me finish,” John replied, mildly exasperated. Rodney said nothing, but turned down the volume on the movie, which John took as his indication to continue. “At the end of the night, when we were about ready to…well…you know…” John felt his cheeks flush. “I, uh…I couldn’t…”
Rodney stared at him a second, uncomprehending, then his jaw dropped and his eyes bulged, gaping at John in shock. “YOU?”
John groaned, putting his fiery face in his hands. “I know, okay! It’s just…there were expectations, and I was nervous…”
“Wow,” Rodney mouthed.
“There’s more,” John mumbled, then dropped his hands from his face to look at Rodney. “Tammy was upset, obviously, and well…she took it a little personally.” John winced at the memory. “On Monday, I went to open my locker, and a…a huge dildo fell out.” There was a harshly stifled burst of laughter at his side, but John just cast Rodney a sidelong glare and continued. “I stuffed it back in my locker, but by the time I’d gotten through first period it was already all over the school. But the crowning glory came after lunch. The damn thing disappeared out of my locker and reappeared in the trophy case, wearing a sign that said, ‘John Sheppard is a dick!’”
This time, Rodney didn’t even try to hide the howl of laughter at John’s expense. John endured it stoically for the first few minutes, but when Rodney showed no signs of letting up anytime soon, John remarked, “C’mon, it wasn’t that funny!” That just sent Rodney into a new wave of hysterical giggles, and despite the absurdity of Rodney giggling (or perhaps because of it) John found himself reluctantly joining in.
“I take it back,” Rodney finally managed to choke through tearful chuckles. “Everything I ever said about you being Kirk, about your mojo…oh god, I take all of it back!” With another burst of laughter, Rodney collapsed into John’s side, and John felt himself warm at the touch.
“I swear, Rodney, if you tell anyone about this, they’ll never find your body!” John’s affectionate smile may have hindered his threat somewhat.
“I think you win the award for worst prom story I’ve ever heard. Even Jeannie’s disastrous experiment with taffeta can’t beat that!” Rodney wheezed into John’s shoulder, finally coming down a bit.
“What, no bad prom story of your own?” John teased. “You didn’t nearly blow up the gym, or accidentally set fire to the decorations, or-”
“Oh, please! I didn’t even go to prom. I had better things to do than shuffle around the dance floor like some brain dead zombie in a bad tuxedo.” Rodney rolled his eyes, but his earlier mirth hadn’t quite left him, taking the sting out of his words.
John just stared at him for a long time, then slowly grinned. “You can’t dance. That’s why you didn’t go.” It wasn’t a question.
Rodney sobered immediately at the affront to his dignity. “I can dance! It just so happens that I’m an excellent dancer!”
John cocked one eyebrow suspiciously. “Prove it,” he challenged.
John didn’t wait for Rodney to answer, he just hopped out of bed, warm sheets sliding off his frame as he walked naked to his CD case. He knew Rodney’s eyes were on his back as he flipped through the discs, and he felt his skin flush with heat at the small thrill. And if he tilted his hips slightly more than usual, he really couldn’t be blamed.
Finding the disc he was looking for, John came back to the bed, crawling over Rodney to snatch the computer away. Rodney emitted a reluctant objection, but John just popped the DVD out of the drive. “It’s not like we were even watching it anyway,” he said before shoving in the disc he’d retrieved from his personal stash. He turned the volume up and the tinny speakers of the laptop filled the room with soft music.
“What the hell is this?” Rodney asked, dubious. “You actually own this? It sounds like something out of an old 1940s black and white movie!”
John grinned. “Glenn Miller,” he answered proudly. “I have it on good authority that it works every time. Sets the mood,” he added, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. Holding out a hand to Rodney, palm up, John threw down the gauntlet. “C’mon, Rodney. Show me your stuff.”
Rodney balked. “What? You can’t possibly mean-are you insane? You seriously expect me to traipse around your quarters wearing nothing but a sheet?”
John’s grin turned evil. “Who said anything about a sheet?” John made a ‘Come on’ motion with his hand. “Just get your ass out of bed and dance with me, McKay.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes, but he took John’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. John reeled him in close, pressing the length of their bodies together. He held their joined hands loosely out to the side, placing Rodney’s free hand on his shoulder. Rodney protested predictably, “Why do I have to be the girl in this scenario?”
John just grinned. “Because I’m taller.”
“Only because your hair adds four inches,” Rodney mocked, and John retaliated by lifting their joined hands to lead Rodney in a twirl. He resisted, and John grabbed one broad shoulder and shoved him the rest of the way under John’s arm. When John pulled him back in, chest to chest, he was met with a razor-sharp blue-eyed glare of death. “I hate you.”
John just winked and leaned in close, pressing their rough cheeks together. He began slowly moving them around the room, a gentle, carefree swaying motion of bodies and hips. He kept his free hand flat in the middle of Rodney’s back, deftly avoided his surfboard and guitar and golf clubs, and tried not to wince when Rodney stepped on his bare feet. Against his skin, he felt Rodney’s dark scowl gradually morph into something softer, felt the line of tension along Rodney’s spine slowly melt under John’s fingertips. He smiled and buried his face in Rodney’s neck, breathing him in deeply and masking it as a sigh. Rodney mimicked the action, pressing his forehead into John’s shoulder and just resting it there.
John reveled in the easy familiarity he found in touching Rodney, in just holding him. John was warm everywhere their skin met, and he began tracing a small line up and down the small of Rodney’s back, trying to stretch the warmth out. He released the hand that Rodney held in a death grip but didn’t move it away. Instead he met Rodney’s open palm with his own, lightly grazing their fingertips before he threaded their fingers together, then dropped their interlocked hands to their side. The dance was less a dance now and more a gentle, rocking embrace. They held each other, skin to skin, and John felt Rodney’s slow, steady heartbeat against his own. John smiled, settling in closer as Rodney’s thumb began tracing unconscious patterns on the back of John’s neck. It was nice. Rodney still stepped on his feet, but it was nice.
As the song began to wind down, John pressed a light kiss to where he’d been nuzzling Rodney’s collarbone and stood up straight, looking Rodney in the eye. Something of what he was planning must have shown on his face, because Rodney’s expression morphed into apprehension. “John? John, what-ah!”
He dipped Rodney backwards, holding him over the edge of the bed. John grinned down at him as Rodney squirmed in protest, and that was when he began to feel something firm press against his thigh. With a mischievous quirk of his lips, he pushed his leg further against Rodney’s hardening cock. “Rodney?” he asked, the picture of innocence.
Rodney instantly stilled, giving John a piercing blue glare. “Oh, shut up. This has nothing to do with you and your mojo, it’s just…friction,” he finished feebly. John cocked one eyebrow and smirked knowingly, then dropped Rodney without any warning. He flopped back against the bed with a startled, “Oof!”
John settled his body on top of Rodney’s, looming over him, grinning smugly. “I told you,” he said softly against Rodney’s lips, “It’s Glenn Miller. Works every time.”