Into the Groove, by lemurgrrrl (burning up challenge)
Title: Into the Groove
Author: lemurgrrrl
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Category: AU, pwp
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dancing as foreplay: a plot as old as time, now with added dorkiness. With tremendous apologies to Madonna, Madonna fans, Madonna haters, and pretty much anyone who's ever heard a Madonna song.
Word count: ~3000 (how'd that happen??)
New York City
August, 1984
All around him smoke swirled and reflections danced off mirrors. Rodney felt uncomfortable in his leather jacket--he'd gotten dressed in his air-conditioned hotel room, not realizing how hot it was outside. There was air conditioning here in the disco, but not a lot. He tugged at his collar and frowned. He was never very good at this.
Out on the floor bodies bumped and jostled, some in time, some looking good, some not. Their owners didn't seem to care. Rodney made his way over to the bar and put his hand up for the bartender. Maybe a beer would help smooth out his rough edges.
The beer came and he paid for it with some loose dollar bills. Taking a drink, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a man staring at him. The man had strange pointy hair, and he smirked when he saw Rodney noticing him.
"John Sheppard," the pointy-haired man said, making his way over to where Rodney stood and holding out his hand. Rodney regarded him cautiously as he shook it.
"I'm Rodney."
"Rodney what?"
"Just Rodney, for now."
"Ah. Mysterious." The smirk was back, but it was playful rather than insulting, somehow. John pointed toward the dance floor. "Dance?"
Rodney frowned worriedly. "Oh...ah... I don't really dance, per se."
John seemed amused. "No? What do you do?"
"Well, uh, I... drink beer?" Rodney held up his glass.
"No reason you can't drink and dance at the same time." John waggled his eyebrows and grinned. He took Rodney by the elbow and led him out onto the floor, where lots of very attractive men dressed in denim, silk, and leather moved various body parts in time to the music. Rodney took a very large gulp of beer, then turned and faced John, who had already started moving his arms and hips to the beat.
"Come on, there's nothing to it," John said. "Just move your arms like this." He took hold of Rodney's forearms and moved them in time to the beat, sloshing some beer out of the glass. "That's it. Now move your feet. Don't worry about how it looks, just move your body to the beat."
Rodney had not felt so massively uncomfortable since his senior prom. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that John was way hotter than his prom date. He finished off the rest of his beer and looked around for a place to put it.
"Here, let me," John said. He took the glass and was gone before Rodney could protest. He was suddenly completely alone in a sea of wriggling bodies. He felt like everyone must be staring at him, but looking around he saw that really, no one was. Somehow, that comforted him a tiny bit.
Then suddenly John was back, having thoughtfully brought Rodney a second beer. John started moving and gyrating in a way that might have looked silly on other men but looked somehow graceful and seductive on him. Rodney made some half-hearted attempt to move to the music, though really he just wanted to stand there and watch John.
Then the song ended and another one came on. John's face brightened with a smile. "I love this song," he shouted over the music. "Madonna!" He held up his right wrist, which was adorned with black loopy bands. Rodney had no idea what this meant, but he smiled and nodded, and did some kicking thing with his feet that he hoped looked like dancing. The second beer seemed to be taking effect.
John waved his hands over his head in rhythm, wiggled his hips, and sang along to the song. "Burning up, I'm burning up for your love." The hip-wiggling thing was most distracting, Rodney thought. He kept doing the kicking thing and added a little arm motion that he saw one of the other guys on the floor doing, but mostly he just wanted to watch John. For the first time, he noticed the way John wore his clothes, casual-looking but with obvious aforethought. There were the black rubber bracelets, which balanced out the black watch he wore on his left wrist, and a white linen shirt (much better choice for a hot night, Rodney realized) with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off tanned, muscled, and lightly haired forearms. He wore black Levi's and Doc Marten boots. His face sported just a touch of five o'clock shadow. And then there was that hair. Rodney found himself reaching out to touch it.
"What?" John asked suddenly.
"Is it real?"
John looked puzzled. "The hair? Of course."
"No gel," Rodney looked amazed. It didn't have the hardened feel of gelled-up hair.
"No gel," John smiled that wicked grin again. "It's all natural." He was leaning in close now, and the next time he sang, he sang directly into Rodney's ear.
"Wow," Rodney said, his blue eyes growing wide, and he was talking about more than John's hair.
"Burning up, burning up for your love. Burning up, I'm burning up for your love," John sang suggestively, letting his hips bump into Rodney's. Rodney wasn't sure what the etiquette was for this situation. At first he just let John bump into him, but he was afraid John would take his discomfort for a lack of enthusiasm, and he felt his enthusiasm growing by the minute. So he tried his best to match John's rhythm, and moved his arms wildly out at his sides.
"Whoa there, cowboy," John chuckled. "The key to dancing is to focus your energy, not to let it out all over the place. Like this." He wrapped Rodney's arms around his own waist, then put his own hands on Rodney's hips, and moved their hips together to the beat. A jolt of electricity went through Rodney, starting at his groin.
"Oh!"
"Yeah, that's it," John smiled. Then he closed his eyes and sang into Rodney's ear again. "Burnin' up, burnin' up for your love. Burnin' up, I'm burnin' up for your love."
"John," Rodney pulled away from him slightly. It was a bit too much. He could feel the sweat running down his back, his leather jacket sticking to him.
"Hmmm?" John pulled back and opened his eyes. He must've liked what he saw in spite of the sweatiness, because he leaned in and kissed Rodney on the mouth. The song was ending. In the half-quiet of the break between songs he leaned in again and said, "Wanna get outta here? Go back to my apartment?"
Rodney's eyes grew wide again. All he could think to do was nod. Vigorously.
"Great," John said, slapping Rodney on the shoulder. "Let's go."
************************
Outside, the streets were hot with late-August mugginess, and cars whizzed past on their journeys home. Rodney took off his jacket, and now he felt the complete ridiculousness of his outfit. He wore a plaid short-sleeved shirt, blue jeans, and brown leather loafers. It was all wrong for a club, but the club had been a crazy bit of spontaneity. He hadn't expected to go anywhere except conferences and panels. He had nothing to wear anywhere else. He wondered bleakly if John was still interested.
But John didn't seem to notice. He was busy giving Rodney a sentimental tour of his neighborhood.
"And that place used to be a Kosher butcher, and the place next door was a barbershop. But the rents went up and they had to leave." He frowned.
"What about you? Did your rent go up?"
"Nah, I live a few blocks east of here. Rents are still dirt cheap. But some of my friends have had to move even further downtown, or across the river to Brooklyn." He wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Not that I live in a palace or anything. But it'll do." He glanced at Rodney, as if noticing his outfit for the first time. "A bit warmer than you thought? Uh huh. New York's always hotter than people think it'll be this time of year. Where're you from, anyway?"
"Toronto."
John raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah, Canada? What're you doing in New York?"
"Convention. Pharmaceuticals," and then before John had a chance to let his eyes glaze over as eyes always glazed over at the mention of that word, "it's how I'm making money while I work on my doctorate. In astrophysics. You know anything about astrophysics?"
John shook his head and smiled. "Not really. Has to do with space?"
Rodney nodded vigorously. "And quantum mechanics and black holes and... but anyway. Working for a pharmaceuticals company is about a hundred times better than working as a TA." He grimaced. "All those idiotic, pimply undergrads, hogging up your office hours, stealing your coffee. Plus, I get to go to conventions on the company dime." He smiled widely. "So here I am."
John agreed. "So here you are. And here we are." They'd arrived at John's building, a nondescript tenement with a blue outside door and no names on the buzzers. John pointed at it. "Safer that way. Keeps out the freaks." He unlocked the door and stepped into the semi-lit vestibule. Rodney hung back, nervous.
But John just smiled that friendly grin of his and said, "Come on. I don't bite." He lowered his voice. "Unless you want me to."
Rodney swallowed thickly and stepped inside.
************************
"Make yourself comfortable," John had said as soon as they got inside his apartment, and he had started unbuttoning his own shirt, so Rodney did the same. Soon he was entirely naked and sitting on John's bed, waiting patiently for the water John had promised from the kitchen.
John's bed was full-sized and covered neatly with a light-blue and white striped duvet. On the window beside it an old fan struggled against the night heat, and curtains were tied back to let as much air in as possible. The apartment was neat without being fussy, and Rodney was intrigued by the pile of stretched canvases stacked against a far wall.
"Here's your water," John said, looking at him hungrily. He put his own glass down on the nightstand and began to take off his pants.
"Thanks," Rodney said, taking a long, cool drink. "Those yours?" He gestured toward the paintings.
"Mmm-hmmm," John answered, taking Rodney's glass and placing it next to his own. He licked his lips, sat down next to Rodney on the bed, and placed one hand on the back of Rodney's neck. He moved his own face very close. "If you want, I can show them to you. After." He bent in for a kiss, delicate, and then another, and another.
"Mmmm, after," Rodney agreed, and moved his own hand over John's shoulder, his bicep, his chest.
Soon their kisses became more urgent, and John positioned Rodney so he was lying flat on his back on the bed, with John above and over him, their chests and hips and feet aligned, so that John only had to move very slightly for Rodney to feel his cock against his own. A jolt of electricity shot up his spine, and he jerked upward. He felt John grin against his mouth.
"Mmm, you like that? You want more?" Not waiting for an answer, John moved against Rodney again, his cock stroking upward against Rodney's hip, his belly, his own cock.
Rodney whimpered and reached down with one hand to find John's cock and align it with his own. He held them both together and stroked, firmly but slowly, feeling John's belly above and his below, both slick with sweat. John moaned.
"Oh God yeah, that's it, keep doing that," John said between kisses, which were now deep and searching. Rodney could feel John's stubble scratch against his own smooth skin; he felt John's tongue probing deep, swirling around his own tongue, he felt John's soft lips firm against his. He felt one of John's hands splayed out against his chest, the other holding onto the headboard behind him for leverage. They moved in rhythm, John's whole body and Rodney's hand, up and down, wet from the heat, hot and humid air coming in through the window, car horns bleating and teenagers laughing, the sounds of the city at night.
Rodney wished it would go on forever, or at least for a really, really long time. Like till the next morning, when he had a sales rep panel at 11 to go to. But of course it couldn't, and eventually John and then Rodney sped up their movements, John grabbing onto the headboard with both hands now, grimacing in the dark as he rubbed off harder and harder against Rodney's hand and dick.
Then the explosions came, hot and sticky, first John, then a few moments later, Rodney. John collapsed on top of Rodney, not caring about the mess between them. Rodney stroked John's shoulder absently.
A few moments passed. Rodney listened to the sounds coming from the street; he stared out at the blue darkness filtered through the street lights.
He moved his hand up to John's hair.
"You have freakish hair. Your hair is freakish," he murmured.
"Thanks."
"It's not really a compliment."
"I'm gonna take it as one, though."
"It does somehow work for you. You're the hottest guy I've ever picked up at a bar."
John raised his head from Rodney's shoulder and looked at him. "You pick up a lot of guys at bars?"
Rodney blushed. "No. Not exactly. I mean, sometimes."
John smiled and put his head back down. "I didn't think so."
"Hey! Why not? You don't think I get offers? Oh, I get offers. Believe me, I get offers."
"Relax, Rodney. I didn't mean to impugn your manhood. I don't pick up a lot of guys, either."
"Oh really." Rodney was disbelieving.
"Yeah, really. I'm not that into casual sex."
"I find that hard to believe. You look like sex on legs."
Rodney felt John smile into his neck. "Oh, I don't mean I don't have sex! I have sex. But usually I have boyfriends. Or sometimes girlfriends. The casual sex thing doesn't usually work for me, that's all."
Rodney was quiet. He stroked John's shoulder, which was warm and moist and nicely muscled.
"But with you," John continued, "it was different. You seemed...familiar almost. Like I knew you from somewhere. Like you were waiting for me to arrive. Like it was fate or something." John paused. "Not that I believe in that crap."
"No?"
"No! It's stupid. Illogical. I believe in things I can see and feel. Touch. Smell. Other stuff is..." his voice trailed off.
"Unscientific," Rodney filled in.
"Yeah. Exactly. Unscientific. I can't get behind that kind of thing. Still, there was something about you..." again Rodney felt John smile, and this time the smile turned into a kiss. "Maybe it was your neck."
Rodney smiled too, but he had to admit the heat and the stickiness of their situation was finally catching up with his post-sex bliss. "You mind if I clean up a bit? Then I'll bring my neck right back here, so you can have your way with it."
John leaned back against the duvet. "Knock yourself out. Washcloths are in the bathroom."
************************
Later that night--early in the morning, really--they were both falling into a doze when Rodney said, "McKay. Last name's McKay. Meant to tell you that before. No big secret or anything."
John ruffled Rodney's thinning hair. " 's okay. I figured you'd get around to it, eventually." He kissed the tip of Rodney's ear. "Your energy is a lot more focused in bed than on the dance floor, McKay."
Rodney could feel John grinning against his cheek as he drifted off to sleep.
************************
Rodney didn't get much sleep that night, what with the strange bed, the humidity, and the very hot guy nibbling away at his neck. No one ever spoke of him leaving, so he found himself waking from a light doze at around 6am, morning light streaming in the window.
He looked over and John opened one eye. "Morning," he mumbled. His hair looked pretty much the same after a night of sleeping, but Rodney noticed his face was lined from a crease in the pillow. He wanted to reach out and muss John's messy hair, kiss his lined face, but he stopped himself. It seemed too... familiar, somehow.
John sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I'm starving. Hey, you wanna get some breakfast before you go back to wherever it is you need to be?"
"Midtown Marriott. Breakfast sounds great. Especially coffee. Coffee would be really, really good."
John smiled. "I think I can arrange that."
************************
Before they left the apartment, Rodney found himself lingering over the paintings he had noticed the night before.
"You do these?"
"Mmm-hmmm," John smiled goofily.
"I'm not much for art--"
"Yeah, you didn't strike me as the type--"
"But I like these. Bold colors. Organic shapes. Balanced composition. Very...scientific, almost."
John stared at him. "Yeah. Sciency. That's what I always thought. They're supposed to be organic crystals. I got the idea for them in a dream I had."
"A dream?"
"Yeah. I don't really remember it, but when I woke up I started sketching out the rough ideas that eventually turned into these paintings. They're not done yet," he added quickly. "But when they are, they're going to be called the Atlantis series."
"Atlantis? Why Atlantis?"
"Not sure. I guess some stuff is just meant to stay mysterious. Like dreams. And inspiration. And... people."
"Oh, I'm not mysterious. You can read me like a book," Rodney blustered. "In fact, I'll bet you know what I'm wondering right now." He looked at John with wide blue eyes.
John stared and smiled, and then he laughed. "You want to know if you can get in touch the next time you're in town."
Rodney blushed. "Yeah. October. Another convention. You wouldn't mind?"
But John was already scribbling his number on a scrap of paper. "I'd like that, Rodney. I wouldn't mind one bit. And New York is a lot more... welcoming in the fall."
But Rodney couldn't imagine it being any more welcoming than it had already been. He really, really couldn't.
Author: lemurgrrrl
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Category: AU, pwp
Warnings/Spoilers: None
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Dancing as foreplay: a plot as old as time, now with added dorkiness. With tremendous apologies to Madonna, Madonna fans, Madonna haters, and pretty much anyone who's ever heard a Madonna song.
Word count: ~3000 (how'd that happen??)
New York City
August, 1984
All around him smoke swirled and reflections danced off mirrors. Rodney felt uncomfortable in his leather jacket--he'd gotten dressed in his air-conditioned hotel room, not realizing how hot it was outside. There was air conditioning here in the disco, but not a lot. He tugged at his collar and frowned. He was never very good at this.
Out on the floor bodies bumped and jostled, some in time, some looking good, some not. Their owners didn't seem to care. Rodney made his way over to the bar and put his hand up for the bartender. Maybe a beer would help smooth out his rough edges.
The beer came and he paid for it with some loose dollar bills. Taking a drink, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a man staring at him. The man had strange pointy hair, and he smirked when he saw Rodney noticing him.
"John Sheppard," the pointy-haired man said, making his way over to where Rodney stood and holding out his hand. Rodney regarded him cautiously as he shook it.
"I'm Rodney."
"Rodney what?"
"Just Rodney, for now."
"Ah. Mysterious." The smirk was back, but it was playful rather than insulting, somehow. John pointed toward the dance floor. "Dance?"
Rodney frowned worriedly. "Oh...ah... I don't really dance, per se."
John seemed amused. "No? What do you do?"
"Well, uh, I... drink beer?" Rodney held up his glass.
"No reason you can't drink and dance at the same time." John waggled his eyebrows and grinned. He took Rodney by the elbow and led him out onto the floor, where lots of very attractive men dressed in denim, silk, and leather moved various body parts in time to the music. Rodney took a very large gulp of beer, then turned and faced John, who had already started moving his arms and hips to the beat.
"Come on, there's nothing to it," John said. "Just move your arms like this." He took hold of Rodney's forearms and moved them in time to the beat, sloshing some beer out of the glass. "That's it. Now move your feet. Don't worry about how it looks, just move your body to the beat."
Rodney had not felt so massively uncomfortable since his senior prom. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that John was way hotter than his prom date. He finished off the rest of his beer and looked around for a place to put it.
"Here, let me," John said. He took the glass and was gone before Rodney could protest. He was suddenly completely alone in a sea of wriggling bodies. He felt like everyone must be staring at him, but looking around he saw that really, no one was. Somehow, that comforted him a tiny bit.
Then suddenly John was back, having thoughtfully brought Rodney a second beer. John started moving and gyrating in a way that might have looked silly on other men but looked somehow graceful and seductive on him. Rodney made some half-hearted attempt to move to the music, though really he just wanted to stand there and watch John.
Then the song ended and another one came on. John's face brightened with a smile. "I love this song," he shouted over the music. "Madonna!" He held up his right wrist, which was adorned with black loopy bands. Rodney had no idea what this meant, but he smiled and nodded, and did some kicking thing with his feet that he hoped looked like dancing. The second beer seemed to be taking effect.
John waved his hands over his head in rhythm, wiggled his hips, and sang along to the song. "Burning up, I'm burning up for your love." The hip-wiggling thing was most distracting, Rodney thought. He kept doing the kicking thing and added a little arm motion that he saw one of the other guys on the floor doing, but mostly he just wanted to watch John. For the first time, he noticed the way John wore his clothes, casual-looking but with obvious aforethought. There were the black rubber bracelets, which balanced out the black watch he wore on his left wrist, and a white linen shirt (much better choice for a hot night, Rodney realized) with the sleeves rolled up just enough to show off tanned, muscled, and lightly haired forearms. He wore black Levi's and Doc Marten boots. His face sported just a touch of five o'clock shadow. And then there was that hair. Rodney found himself reaching out to touch it.
"What?" John asked suddenly.
"Is it real?"
John looked puzzled. "The hair? Of course."
"No gel," Rodney looked amazed. It didn't have the hardened feel of gelled-up hair.
"No gel," John smiled that wicked grin again. "It's all natural." He was leaning in close now, and the next time he sang, he sang directly into Rodney's ear.
"Wow," Rodney said, his blue eyes growing wide, and he was talking about more than John's hair.
"Burning up, burning up for your love. Burning up, I'm burning up for your love," John sang suggestively, letting his hips bump into Rodney's. Rodney wasn't sure what the etiquette was for this situation. At first he just let John bump into him, but he was afraid John would take his discomfort for a lack of enthusiasm, and he felt his enthusiasm growing by the minute. So he tried his best to match John's rhythm, and moved his arms wildly out at his sides.
"Whoa there, cowboy," John chuckled. "The key to dancing is to focus your energy, not to let it out all over the place. Like this." He wrapped Rodney's arms around his own waist, then put his own hands on Rodney's hips, and moved their hips together to the beat. A jolt of electricity went through Rodney, starting at his groin.
"Oh!"
"Yeah, that's it," John smiled. Then he closed his eyes and sang into Rodney's ear again. "Burnin' up, burnin' up for your love. Burnin' up, I'm burnin' up for your love."
"John," Rodney pulled away from him slightly. It was a bit too much. He could feel the sweat running down his back, his leather jacket sticking to him.
"Hmmm?" John pulled back and opened his eyes. He must've liked what he saw in spite of the sweatiness, because he leaned in and kissed Rodney on the mouth. The song was ending. In the half-quiet of the break between songs he leaned in again and said, "Wanna get outta here? Go back to my apartment?"
Rodney's eyes grew wide again. All he could think to do was nod. Vigorously.
"Great," John said, slapping Rodney on the shoulder. "Let's go."
************************
Outside, the streets were hot with late-August mugginess, and cars whizzed past on their journeys home. Rodney took off his jacket, and now he felt the complete ridiculousness of his outfit. He wore a plaid short-sleeved shirt, blue jeans, and brown leather loafers. It was all wrong for a club, but the club had been a crazy bit of spontaneity. He hadn't expected to go anywhere except conferences and panels. He had nothing to wear anywhere else. He wondered bleakly if John was still interested.
But John didn't seem to notice. He was busy giving Rodney a sentimental tour of his neighborhood.
"And that place used to be a Kosher butcher, and the place next door was a barbershop. But the rents went up and they had to leave." He frowned.
"What about you? Did your rent go up?"
"Nah, I live a few blocks east of here. Rents are still dirt cheap. But some of my friends have had to move even further downtown, or across the river to Brooklyn." He wrinkled his nose at the thought. "Not that I live in a palace or anything. But it'll do." He glanced at Rodney, as if noticing his outfit for the first time. "A bit warmer than you thought? Uh huh. New York's always hotter than people think it'll be this time of year. Where're you from, anyway?"
"Toronto."
John raised his eyebrows. "Oh yeah, Canada? What're you doing in New York?"
"Convention. Pharmaceuticals," and then before John had a chance to let his eyes glaze over as eyes always glazed over at the mention of that word, "it's how I'm making money while I work on my doctorate. In astrophysics. You know anything about astrophysics?"
John shook his head and smiled. "Not really. Has to do with space?"
Rodney nodded vigorously. "And quantum mechanics and black holes and... but anyway. Working for a pharmaceuticals company is about a hundred times better than working as a TA." He grimaced. "All those idiotic, pimply undergrads, hogging up your office hours, stealing your coffee. Plus, I get to go to conventions on the company dime." He smiled widely. "So here I am."
John agreed. "So here you are. And here we are." They'd arrived at John's building, a nondescript tenement with a blue outside door and no names on the buzzers. John pointed at it. "Safer that way. Keeps out the freaks." He unlocked the door and stepped into the semi-lit vestibule. Rodney hung back, nervous.
But John just smiled that friendly grin of his and said, "Come on. I don't bite." He lowered his voice. "Unless you want me to."
Rodney swallowed thickly and stepped inside.
************************
"Make yourself comfortable," John had said as soon as they got inside his apartment, and he had started unbuttoning his own shirt, so Rodney did the same. Soon he was entirely naked and sitting on John's bed, waiting patiently for the water John had promised from the kitchen.
John's bed was full-sized and covered neatly with a light-blue and white striped duvet. On the window beside it an old fan struggled against the night heat, and curtains were tied back to let as much air in as possible. The apartment was neat without being fussy, and Rodney was intrigued by the pile of stretched canvases stacked against a far wall.
"Here's your water," John said, looking at him hungrily. He put his own glass down on the nightstand and began to take off his pants.
"Thanks," Rodney said, taking a long, cool drink. "Those yours?" He gestured toward the paintings.
"Mmm-hmmm," John answered, taking Rodney's glass and placing it next to his own. He licked his lips, sat down next to Rodney on the bed, and placed one hand on the back of Rodney's neck. He moved his own face very close. "If you want, I can show them to you. After." He bent in for a kiss, delicate, and then another, and another.
"Mmmm, after," Rodney agreed, and moved his own hand over John's shoulder, his bicep, his chest.
Soon their kisses became more urgent, and John positioned Rodney so he was lying flat on his back on the bed, with John above and over him, their chests and hips and feet aligned, so that John only had to move very slightly for Rodney to feel his cock against his own. A jolt of electricity shot up his spine, and he jerked upward. He felt John grin against his mouth.
"Mmm, you like that? You want more?" Not waiting for an answer, John moved against Rodney again, his cock stroking upward against Rodney's hip, his belly, his own cock.
Rodney whimpered and reached down with one hand to find John's cock and align it with his own. He held them both together and stroked, firmly but slowly, feeling John's belly above and his below, both slick with sweat. John moaned.
"Oh God yeah, that's it, keep doing that," John said between kisses, which were now deep and searching. Rodney could feel John's stubble scratch against his own smooth skin; he felt John's tongue probing deep, swirling around his own tongue, he felt John's soft lips firm against his. He felt one of John's hands splayed out against his chest, the other holding onto the headboard behind him for leverage. They moved in rhythm, John's whole body and Rodney's hand, up and down, wet from the heat, hot and humid air coming in through the window, car horns bleating and teenagers laughing, the sounds of the city at night.
Rodney wished it would go on forever, or at least for a really, really long time. Like till the next morning, when he had a sales rep panel at 11 to go to. But of course it couldn't, and eventually John and then Rodney sped up their movements, John grabbing onto the headboard with both hands now, grimacing in the dark as he rubbed off harder and harder against Rodney's hand and dick.
Then the explosions came, hot and sticky, first John, then a few moments later, Rodney. John collapsed on top of Rodney, not caring about the mess between them. Rodney stroked John's shoulder absently.
A few moments passed. Rodney listened to the sounds coming from the street; he stared out at the blue darkness filtered through the street lights.
He moved his hand up to John's hair.
"You have freakish hair. Your hair is freakish," he murmured.
"Thanks."
"It's not really a compliment."
"I'm gonna take it as one, though."
"It does somehow work for you. You're the hottest guy I've ever picked up at a bar."
John raised his head from Rodney's shoulder and looked at him. "You pick up a lot of guys at bars?"
Rodney blushed. "No. Not exactly. I mean, sometimes."
John smiled and put his head back down. "I didn't think so."
"Hey! Why not? You don't think I get offers? Oh, I get offers. Believe me, I get offers."
"Relax, Rodney. I didn't mean to impugn your manhood. I don't pick up a lot of guys, either."
"Oh really." Rodney was disbelieving.
"Yeah, really. I'm not that into casual sex."
"I find that hard to believe. You look like sex on legs."
Rodney felt John smile into his neck. "Oh, I don't mean I don't have sex! I have sex. But usually I have boyfriends. Or sometimes girlfriends. The casual sex thing doesn't usually work for me, that's all."
Rodney was quiet. He stroked John's shoulder, which was warm and moist and nicely muscled.
"But with you," John continued, "it was different. You seemed...familiar almost. Like I knew you from somewhere. Like you were waiting for me to arrive. Like it was fate or something." John paused. "Not that I believe in that crap."
"No?"
"No! It's stupid. Illogical. I believe in things I can see and feel. Touch. Smell. Other stuff is..." his voice trailed off.
"Unscientific," Rodney filled in.
"Yeah. Exactly. Unscientific. I can't get behind that kind of thing. Still, there was something about you..." again Rodney felt John smile, and this time the smile turned into a kiss. "Maybe it was your neck."
Rodney smiled too, but he had to admit the heat and the stickiness of their situation was finally catching up with his post-sex bliss. "You mind if I clean up a bit? Then I'll bring my neck right back here, so you can have your way with it."
John leaned back against the duvet. "Knock yourself out. Washcloths are in the bathroom."
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Later that night--early in the morning, really--they were both falling into a doze when Rodney said, "McKay. Last name's McKay. Meant to tell you that before. No big secret or anything."
John ruffled Rodney's thinning hair. " 's okay. I figured you'd get around to it, eventually." He kissed the tip of Rodney's ear. "Your energy is a lot more focused in bed than on the dance floor, McKay."
Rodney could feel John grinning against his cheek as he drifted off to sleep.
************************
Rodney didn't get much sleep that night, what with the strange bed, the humidity, and the very hot guy nibbling away at his neck. No one ever spoke of him leaving, so he found himself waking from a light doze at around 6am, morning light streaming in the window.
He looked over and John opened one eye. "Morning," he mumbled. His hair looked pretty much the same after a night of sleeping, but Rodney noticed his face was lined from a crease in the pillow. He wanted to reach out and muss John's messy hair, kiss his lined face, but he stopped himself. It seemed too... familiar, somehow.
John sat up, rubbing his eyes. "I'm starving. Hey, you wanna get some breakfast before you go back to wherever it is you need to be?"
"Midtown Marriott. Breakfast sounds great. Especially coffee. Coffee would be really, really good."
John smiled. "I think I can arrange that."
************************
Before they left the apartment, Rodney found himself lingering over the paintings he had noticed the night before.
"You do these?"
"Mmm-hmmm," John smiled goofily.
"I'm not much for art--"
"Yeah, you didn't strike me as the type--"
"But I like these. Bold colors. Organic shapes. Balanced composition. Very...scientific, almost."
John stared at him. "Yeah. Sciency. That's what I always thought. They're supposed to be organic crystals. I got the idea for them in a dream I had."
"A dream?"
"Yeah. I don't really remember it, but when I woke up I started sketching out the rough ideas that eventually turned into these paintings. They're not done yet," he added quickly. "But when they are, they're going to be called the Atlantis series."
"Atlantis? Why Atlantis?"
"Not sure. I guess some stuff is just meant to stay mysterious. Like dreams. And inspiration. And... people."
"Oh, I'm not mysterious. You can read me like a book," Rodney blustered. "In fact, I'll bet you know what I'm wondering right now." He looked at John with wide blue eyes.
John stared and smiled, and then he laughed. "You want to know if you can get in touch the next time you're in town."
Rodney blushed. "Yeah. October. Another convention. You wouldn't mind?"
But John was already scribbling his number on a scrap of paper. "I'd like that, Rodney. I wouldn't mind one bit. And New York is a lot more... welcoming in the fall."
But Rodney couldn't imagine it being any more welcoming than it had already been. He really, really couldn't.