(no subject)
Finish Line (John/Rodney, 350 words, wee tiny tag to 5x14 - The Prodigal)
Rodney can't remember the last time he laughed so hard. (He has a vague impression of the east pier, of his legs dangling over the ocean, but it slips away.)
Sheppard, somehow, gets his car to do a near-perfect backflip, and he lets out a surprised roar-"DID YOU SEE THAT?"-and then they're both dissolving into guffaws even as their cars jockey to stay in the lead.
Then Rodney's car makes a little farting noise as it skids around a corner, and that's it, game over, because they're doubled over, hands loose on the controls, shouting laughs echoing off the corridor walls and bouncing back at them.
Rodney's eyes are tearing up; the muscles of his jaw ache. They stumble against each other and then bump up against the wall; the controls clatter to the floor as Sheppard grabs Rodney's arm to steady himself, or maybe to steady Rodney, and then they're kissing, mouths pressed together wet and messy, sucking in air loudly through their noses, John's hand wrapped tight around Rodney's bicep, Rodney sliding his fingers over the back of John's neck, where his hairline is damp with sweat.
They ease down into a clumsy heap on the floor but don't let go; Rodney gets a hand under John's shirt, skims it along the smooth, warm skin covering his ribs, and John executes a complicated twist and shimmy, shying away from the tickle and bucking against Rodney at the same time, and it's so hot, and the corners of Rodney's eyes are still leaking a little, and there's a weird welling ache in his chest, like there's too much joy and it's trying to find a way out.
Rodney starts to giggle. "Teyla-" And John laughs again too, hot puffs of breath against Rodney's cheek-if she caught them now, she'd probably claim they'd scarred Torren for life.
"Maybe we should-" Rodney feels himself go pink as he thinks about his quarters, his bed, about John in his bed, about John laid out and waiting for Rodney to put his hands on him . . .
John looks back at him seriously. "Race you."
Rodney can't remember the last time he laughed so hard. (He has a vague impression of the east pier, of his legs dangling over the ocean, but it slips away.)
Sheppard, somehow, gets his car to do a near-perfect backflip, and he lets out a surprised roar-"DID YOU SEE THAT?"-and then they're both dissolving into guffaws even as their cars jockey to stay in the lead.
Then Rodney's car makes a little farting noise as it skids around a corner, and that's it, game over, because they're doubled over, hands loose on the controls, shouting laughs echoing off the corridor walls and bouncing back at them.
Rodney's eyes are tearing up; the muscles of his jaw ache. They stumble against each other and then bump up against the wall; the controls clatter to the floor as Sheppard grabs Rodney's arm to steady himself, or maybe to steady Rodney, and then they're kissing, mouths pressed together wet and messy, sucking in air loudly through their noses, John's hand wrapped tight around Rodney's bicep, Rodney sliding his fingers over the back of John's neck, where his hairline is damp with sweat.
They ease down into a clumsy heap on the floor but don't let go; Rodney gets a hand under John's shirt, skims it along the smooth, warm skin covering his ribs, and John executes a complicated twist and shimmy, shying away from the tickle and bucking against Rodney at the same time, and it's so hot, and the corners of Rodney's eyes are still leaking a little, and there's a weird welling ache in his chest, like there's too much joy and it's trying to find a way out.
Rodney starts to giggle. "Teyla-" And John laughs again too, hot puffs of breath against Rodney's cheek-if she caught them now, she'd probably claim they'd scarred Torren for life.
"Maybe we should-" Rodney feels himself go pink as he thinks about his quarters, his bed, about John in his bed, about John laid out and waiting for Rodney to put his hands on him . . .
John looks back at him seriously. "Race you."