SGA fic: Entangled Particles 3/4 (NC-17)
Part 1/4
Part 2/4
John wasn’t sure exactly how it happened. It was the day after Rodney's little mishap and they were sitting on Rodney’s couch, watching an episode of Torchwood that they both had seen before. Rodney had been writing all day and was pretty zoned out. He was watching the screen through half-open eyelids whilst absentmindedly munching Cheetos. John had always been fascinated by the cyberwoman, and the first time she appeared on-screen, he leaned over and said to Rodney, “She’s kind of hot.”
Rodney turned his head to look at John and said with a mouth full of Cheetos, “You’re kind of hot.”
The next thing John knew, Rodney was kissing him. It was all a bit too much for John’s brain to process. Rodney smelled a little like sweat and tasted a lot like fake cheese, but the kiss was good, very good. John decided to worry about what this all meant at a later date and quickly got with the programme.
They sat on the couch and made out for a while. John wondered briefly if he should be a little weirded out about the whole thing, but this was Rodney, and it was Rodney’s mouth, and Rodney’s little noises, and hot and wet and oh so good and he was so hard he hurt.
Rodney suddenly broke the kiss, panting and staring at John like he was something beautiful and precious. “Oh god, you’re so, can I please, I have to…” and then slid off the couch to kneel between John’s legs, opened his pants, and swallowed his cock down whole.
John’s head fell back against the backrest with a thud. It was kind of surreal; half of his mind was occupied with the thought that this was his best friend, his very male best friend, giving him the best blowjob of his life, while the other half just kept repeating the mantra of oh god oh god oh god don’t stop. Then Rodney did something wicked with his tongue and Johns brain shorted out and liquefied as he came hard in Rodney’s mouth. Rodney moaned loudly, his mouth still wrapped around John’s cock. Then he shuddered and went limp, pressing his hot face into John’s inner thigh.
They were both breathing heavily. John stared up into the ceiling, waiting for his body to start working again. He was amazed that that Rodney had come just from sucking him off. The thought was almost enough to make him hard again.
After a few moments, Rodney moved back up onto the couch, staring at John with a mixture of horror and awe. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I just totally molested you, but you were looking so… with your stupid hair and your whole…” he waved his hands, seemingly to indicate the whole of John, “…and I just had to…” he trailed off.
John smirked at this. “Why Rodney, this is all so sudden, I don’t know what to say.”
Rodney stared at him for a moment longer, then narrowed his eyes and glared. “You’re a bastard and I hate you.”
They watched the rest of the episode with Rodney’s head resting comfortably on John’s shoulder. It slowly dawned on John that this whole thing he had with Rodney had just gone way past friendship and into something more. It was pretty cool, actually.
* * *
They spent the remaining part of the week in Rodney's bed, exploring exactly how far John was willing to go with the whole gay sex thing. Turned out he was willing to go pretty damn far, since he soon found himself lying on his back, totally blessed out with Rodney's mouth on his cock and two of Rodney's fingers in his ass. Life was good, and Rodney was so distracted by John's body, and all the things he could do to it, that he hadn’t written a single word.
"I've wanted you since the moment you came into that bookshop," Rodney said one afternoon, when they were lying in bed, wrapped around each other, all sticky and sated. "I ought to send the owner a thank-you card. If it wasn't for her and her stupid sign and her stupid shop with no customers, I would never have met you."
"You know, you should really send it to your brother-in-law," John answered. "If he hadn't taken you to that creative writing class, you would have never become an author and I would never have read your book.”
"You're right," Rodney said with a grimace. "Jeannie will never let me hear the end of this. She just has to be right about everything."
"Completely unlike her brother," John said, nodding sagely. Rodney shot him a look and seemed on the verge of launching into one of his endless rants. John just leaned forward and started kissing him.
* * *
The night before Laura and Carson were due back, John had a nightmare. He had been expecting something like that to happen ever since the crash, but with the hospital-stay and everything that had happened since, it seemed like his subconscious just hadn't had the time to realise what it had been through.
In his dream, he was back in Afghanistan, and all around him was fire, bullets and blood. The sand was blowing in his face, suffocating and blinding him, and he was alone. Alone and bleeding, with no help coming.
John jerked awake suddenly, gasping for breath. He could still smell the smoke and feel the sand against his torn skin. He realized he wasn't alone and started to panic. He tried to roll away from the body he felt pressed against his own, but only succeeded in getting trapped in the sheets. He was ready to rip the damn things to shreds, when Rodney's voice penetrated. "John! John, it's okay, it’s me. You’re fine, it was just a dream!"
Relief flooded through John at Rodney’s words. His heart was still racing and he tried to take long, slow breaths, to calm himself down. When he looked over at Rodney, he realised that he was frightened. John suddenly had the sickening thought that this was it; Rodney would decide that John was more trouble than he was worth and kick him out.
In his mind, he was already out on the street, on his way back to his own apartment, when he heard Rodney ask softly, "Is it okay if I touch you?"
John didn't trust his own voice and could only give a shaky nod in response. Immediately Rodney wrapped his arms around him and held him tight. It was strangely freeing, to be held so safely in Rodney’s strong embrace. Something inside of him that had been tangled up in knots finally broke loose and, before John knew it, he was crying. Rodney just held him and stroked his hair and mumbled soft, comforting things that John couldn't quite catch.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Rodney asked a little later, when John's tears had ran out and he was lying limp and exhausted in Rodney's arms.
"Not really," John said hoarsely, but somehow the words came anyway, slipping out of his mouth without conscious effort. He told Rodney everything about Afghanistan. All the things he’d kept bottled up deep down inside of him. All the things he’d never told the shrink they’d made him see. Rodney listened and didn't say a word until John was finished. Then he pressed his lips to the top of John's head and whispered gentle nonsense into John’s hair. John fell asleep, lulled by the sound of Rodney’s voice, feeling completely safe for the first time in years.
* * *
They slept late the following day and were having a late breakfast when Laura let herself into the apartment. She took one look at John and Rodney sitting at the kitchen counter clad only in t-shirts and boxers, and the sofa that had not been used as a bed in days, and exclaimed, "I go away for one week, and you two start having sex!"
Rodney went bright red and started sputtering, but John just smirked and sipped his coffee. Sometime during the past few days he had realised that, now that he was out of the military, it was nobody’s business with whom he chose to sleep but is own.
When Rodney excused himself and went to the bathroom, Laura gave John a big hug and whispered, "I'm so glad for you guys, I really am."
“I think it was only a matter of time,” John said, hugging her back and feeling very happy.
* * *
In the middle of March, Rodney went on a two-week tour of the East coast and took Laura with him. John stayed at his place to look after Newton. It wasn’t really much of a change since he spent most his free time at Rodney’s anyway.
Rodney sent him several e-mails each day, complaining about everything from the food to the stupid questions people asked during his lectures. "I think he misses us," John told Newton, who just yawned and fell back asleep.
John certainly missed Rodney. He had come to realize that his entire life in Sacramento revolved around Rodney, Rodney's work, and Rodney's friends. Carson was in the middle of something very important at work, so John was left to his own devices. He spent most of each day looking forward to Rodney’s nightly phone call. Usually, it consisted of just general ‘how was your day?’ talk, but on a few memorable occasions, the conversation turned into something that could have been the soundtrack to a porn video. Rodney, stroking himself to orgasm on the other end of the line, and describing it all to John in explicit detail, was possibly the hottest thing John had ever heard.
When the two weeks were finally over, John could hardly wait to see Rodney. He was watching TV when he heard the key turn in the lock, and quickly got to his feet to give Rodney a welcome home he would never forget.
It was clear, however, that something was wrong when Rodney stormed into the apartment, dropping his bags on the floor the moment he stepped inside the door. He held a wrinkled newspaper that he thrust into John’s hands before John even had time to say, ‘Hi, I missed you’.
"Look at this!” Rodney hissed. “Look what that asshole Kavanagh wrote about me!"
John scanned the page and read the passage Rodney had marked with angry red pen. Rodney sank down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands, the very picture of misery.
No one can deny that McKay is a fine technical writer, but there is something crucial missing in his novels. The feeling, the passion for literature is absent. He can make the words roll over and beg for him, but what good is that when you can't feel the love?
John looked up. "That's bullshit," he said. "This guy doesn't know what he's talking about."
"I know!" Rodney moaned, with his head still in his hands. "The only reason Kavanagh became a critic was because he couldn't get anything published. But the point is that people will read this piece of crap and form an opinion about my books without even reading them! I’ll go down in history as 'a fine technical writer', and nothing more!"
If this Kavanagh guy had been in the room with them, John would have gladly strangled him. Anyone who knew Rodney also knew that he poured his whole being, everything he was, into his books. To attack Rodney's writing was akin to attacking Rodney himself. John crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it on the floor. Then he kneeled down in front of Rodney and asked, "Who do you write for, Rodney? The critics? Or the people who buy your books, read them and love them?"
Rodney looked up, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Hmm... maybe you’re right," he said slowly.
"Of course I am," John replied, smiling. "We can send him anonymous hate-mail tomorrow, if you like. Right now I want to take you to bed and show you how much I missed you."
"I knew there was a reason I kept you around," Rodney said as John led him over to the bed.
Part 4/4