Five Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss
Title: Five Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss
Rating: R
Genre: Kissing, humor, fluff, romance. Which perhaps turned into a bit more.
Spoilers: No
Length: About 3,300 words
A/N: This is just - I don’t know what this is.*g* Blame Big Bang avoidance. And me wanting to do one more kissing fic for this round, because this McSmooch thing rocks like a rocking thing. And also Rodney was complaining in my head. A lot.
A/N: No beta - too quick a turnaround this time. As always, pointing out of errors is always welcome.
Five Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss
Thing Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number One: Food Product Involvement
This one began back in 7th grade, when Debbie Hubbell kissed him in a dark corner of the school gym after eating chocolate cake. Rodney was at the middle school dance, and she’d cornered him with a few of her mean girl pals giggling and egging her on.
“Do it,” they’d chanted, “We dare you, kiss the nerd,” and she had, advancing on him and laying one on him as he stuttered and stammered and turned red, all to the strains of some horrific disco hit.
And then it got worse, because it turned out there’d been orange in the cake, though Rodney didn’t learn that until much later. All he knew was that his throat felt scratchy, and then it closed up, and the dark gym spun and then went dark as he struggled for one last breath of air.
Thing Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Two: the Involvement of Beverages
A corollary of 1) really: kisses involving beverages. This one got added to the list a few years later. There’d been a guy - tall, blonde and popular - a frat boy. Rodney had started hanging around him some, because the guy seemed to tolerate it better than many. Rodney’s fourteen year old dick was sore from all the jerking off.
So, suddenly Rodney was at a party, even though he didn’t go to parties. And this guy - Kevin? Mike? - had cornered him and asked Rodney if he wanted to kiss him. Rodney had blushed and stammered and then said yeah, and the frat guy had stuck his mouth on Rodney and when Rodney opened his mouth, a stream of liquid poured in, and then the guy was holding Rodney’s nose closed and also his mouth, so Rodney was forced to swallow, and everyone was laughing at him. He choked and gasped for air, and threw up later, and the beer taste didn’t leave his mouth for weeks.
Thing Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Three: Use of Cliched Phrases
Okay, this one isn’t because of any humiliating memories - it just throws Rodney right out of the mood. And it’s not like he’s gotten that many opportunities, so yeah, it pisses him off when someone ruins a perfectly fine sexy scene by opening their mouth and talking. It’s always some trite, clichéd thing, and whether right before, right after, or god help them during the kiss, it knocks him right out of the experience. Really, people should leave the talking to him. Pretty much always.
Probably the worst example of this, ever, was the prospective girlfriend he’d finally landed late in his college years when he was about sixteen. Barbara. They were sitting on his bunk in the dorm, and they were really close, like inches apart, and Rodney was going to do it, he was going to finally kiss her. She looked right at him as he started leaning in, and whispered, “You’re so hot, Rodney. You’re one in a million.”
He’d closed his eyes against the stupidity, trying desperately to keep his mojo. The mood was lost, though, gone forever. Not only was it unbearably trite, it was patently untrue. He wasn’t actually hot, though it was true his new wide-lapel shirt was colorfully in fashion and his pants were pretty tight. He wasn’t one in a million either - he was one in fifty million, give or take a half million, according to all the studies he’d read about distribution of IQ scores.
They never actually kissed, possibly having something to do with him rolling his eyes and spitting, “Oh please, where do you get your dialog anyway, Soap Operas R Us?”
He’d had to wait another year before he had even a remote prospect of another kiss.
Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Four: Being Manhandled
So, this one. It hasn’t happened all that often, but since when did Rodney seem like the type who’d appreciate this? Since never, is when. What does he look like, anyway? Some girly-man who gets his kicks being thrown around?
Two people have tried this - both guys as it happens. That physics professor in grad school with the soul patch got this on the list in the first place. Rodney had been skinnier then, less substantial. He’d been lusting after the prof for a few weeks, and when the guy had cornered Rodney in his office, he’d gotten immediately hard. The beauty (albeit flawed) of the guy’s theories had Rodney entranced, and his powerful arms weren’t too bad either.
Rodney had leaned in for a kiss, heart pounding, thinking a bunch of romantic nonsense involving differential equations and tweed jackets, and then the guy had grabbed him and lifted him off the ground and thrown him against the closed door of his office.
Gasping, Rodney saw the prof advancing on him, weird leer on his face. Rodney said, “Stop it! Are you insane?” but his heart had broken a little, a fact that makes his face turn red even now if he thinks about it. The prof said, “You know you want it,” and Rodney had kicked him in the shins and escaped. He had also made sure to disprove the guy’s major theories publicly within the year.
There was the guy he’d met at a bar in Vancouver once, too, but he didn’t even want to think about that one. Hopefully that guy’s wrist still hurt.
Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Five: Groping in any Form
Seriously, what kind of caveman or woman has their hands all over someone when it’s the first kiss? Maybe after a while, after say seven or perhaps nine back-to-back kisses. Or better yet, maybe not the first kissing experience at all, but the second day there’s kissing - whatever. Despite outward appearances, Rodney has a romantic streak, and hands groping for his ass or his dick during the very first kiss just - it’s just rude.
That girl at his job that time? The one who dressed all in black and had multiple piercings, many of them in places he didn’t want to know about? Well, she’d been the one who put this one on his list.
You’d think, horny young guy, hot chick, what’s not to like about a grope?
But it was a first kiss, which really should be at least a little about liking someone. Only she - right, her name was Skye, undoubtedly with hippie parents who wandered vacantly through parenthood - anyway, she’d cornered him in the back room at the music store he was working in while writing his second thesis. He’d thought wow, because she was hot, seriously hot, with a black leather mini and great breasts. She’d kissed him and in the same moment, not even a millisecond in between, had her hand on his dick, pressing and squeezing, slightly too hard.
It should have been hot, it really should have, but it just wasn’t. He’d wanted to be able - just for a minute - to believe that she actually liked him, rather than was just some chick who’d do anyone who came into her line of sight.
He’d said, “Ow,” which pretty much ended the whole thing right then. He hadn’t even been able to dredge up much regret, despite the fact he’d likely not get laid for months to come.
** * *
Katie, Explained
One of the reasons he’d thought Katie might be the real deal was, she was the first person in a very long time who didn’t violate Rodney’s Rules. She wasn’t gross, and their first real kiss didn’t involve food or beverages. It was impossible to imagine Katie with chocolate-orange cake smeared all over her mouth, or a mouthful of beer. And she certainly didn’t say anything trite before, during or after their first kiss.
There had been no manhandling, by either of them, and no groping either. Their first kiss had been awkward and sweet and hesitant, and it had taken weeks for either of them to get to second base.
* * * *
The Thing That Happened to Rodney to Slightly Revise his List of Things he Hates in a First Kiss
So, one night on a planet known by its residents as Abundant Fruit (seriously), John kisses Rodney. It’s their first kiss, and if it were anyone other than John, it’d be their last.
They have their own little pavilion - really it’s more like a hut, just like all the other pairs selected by the local wise women. There’s a ceremony, and they both have to eat a purplish fruit dipped in something a lot like chocolate. But they can’t just eat it whenever or however they feel like it; they have to dip their fruits simultaneously into the faux-chocolate sauce, then wrap their right arms around each other’s and eat their fruit in unison. They have to stand and look at each other, and wait until the wise women hit large gongs in the central clearing, barely visible through the small door to the hut.
The second step involves chugging a sparkling fruity (of course) beverage from a large jug - five swallows each, precisely.
The fruit part goes fine. They each dip theirs in the chocolaty liquid, then quickly wrap their right arms around each other’s and bring it to their mouths. Doing that brings them very close together, and Rodney finds himself noticing (not for the first time) that Sheppard’s eyes in this kind of lighting - soft yellow light from tallow candles ringing the hut, in this case - are a gold-flecked green. His lips appear awfully close, and he seems to be licking them a lot, after. Still, he doesn’t get all the faux chocolate licked off. There’s a big patch right under the corner of his full lower lip. Rodney has to jerk his hand back from rising to brush it off, close his mouth to prevent his tongue from darting out. But this is all nothing new, really.
The drinking part should have been a breeze, but when John swigs the liquid first, Rodney forgets himself and watches, mesmerized, as John’s Adam’s apple moves up and down in his throat, watches as a drop of fruit beverage slithers down from his lips, watches the muscles in John’s right arm flex as he tips the jug higher and higher.
John perhaps catches Rodney staring a little. A lot. His eyes go a little wide, and then narrow dangerously. Rodney’s throat is suddenly dry, so drinking actually sounds good. He tips the urn up and swallows, swallows, swallows, precisely five swallows, trying not to think of what John might have seen on his face, because really - mortification and all that.
He’s afraid to open his eyes, but he finally does, and when he does, all his breath leaves his body, because John - John is staring at Rodney, want painted clearly on his face. His eyes are locked on Rodney’s mouth, then travel slowly over his jaw and chin, where Rodney feels fruity beverage juice still dribbling a little.
And then - and then Rodney’s Rules are shot to hell, because John takes a fast step towards him, grabs Rodney’s vest with one hand and yanks him bodily toward him, curls the other hand behind Rodney’s neck and unceremoniously hauls him forward. Rodney gasps, “Wha - ,” but doesn’t get out any more words, because John’s tongue, tasting of chocolate and fruit beverage, is in his mouth, just like that, no buildup, no lead-in.
Rodney’s knees sag and his breath gushes out, and John’s tongue is impossibly hot in his mouth, pushing and licking into all its corners, sweet and hot and strong.
In some insane corner of Rodney’s brain, he notices that three of his Things have already occurred, but somehow he’s not hating this kiss. Instead, the fruity liquor and the chocolaty taste are blending with the taste of John, and it’s staggeringly hot being able to taste what was just in Sheppard’s mouth. And the way John hauled him towards him, passionate and aggressive - well, it plays quite well into some of his favorite fantasy jerk-off material, which involves an embarrassing amount of military gear. And John.
So, hmm, apparently as long as all Five Things aren’t involved, a kiss can still be great for Rodney if it’s with the right person.
But then Sheppard pulls back from the kiss, panting. Rodney gasps in air and stares at him. John’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes are dark and intense. Sheppard is mouthing something, maybe trying to form words, and Rodney thinks no, don’t ruin it by talking. Of all the people in the Universe, Sheppard is one person who really shouldn’t have a problem with that.
Sheppard looks straight into Rodney’s eyes, though, and whispers, voice husky, “You’re so fucking hot,” and Rodney gapes, because he can hear Sheppard’s sincerity. His heart stutters and races, because really, Rodney just isn’t actually hot to most people. Any people. Except perhaps this insane person with a death grip on his vest.
Sheppard looks a little shocked - a lot shocked, actually - that words of any kind left his mouth, but to his obvious horror, more words slip out. He sounds almost drunk, though the beverage’s total alcohol content probably didn’t exceed that of light beer. “I can hear you thinking when you’re doing that - that thing with your tongue,” Sheppard grates, and Rodney is flooded with heat. “Your brain is - .” Sheppard stops and ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed, like he’s said something wrong.
Rodney is still gaping, breath coming in short gasps, when John brings his mouth to Rodney’s ear, whispers low and broken, “One in fifty million brains like yours, if that,” and Rodney’s hips jerk helplessly against Sheppard. He turns his face blindly, lips seeking and finding John’s mouth again for a kiss that’s hot and wet and dirty. He can feel Sheppard coming unglued under his hands and his mouth, and Rodney is spiraling out of control, because how hot is it that Sheppard knows his level of genius? Really, really hot is how hot.
So it seems almost inevitable that instead of making Rodney recoil, Sheppard’s hand groping his ass makes him pant and shiver, and his other hand finding a nipple and rubbing through three layers of clothing zings some type of electric current down his spine.
Rodney’s hands are busy, too. One is feeling the devastating strength of John’s thighs and ass, flexing rhythmically under Rodney’s hand as he rubs against Rodney. The other is in Sheppard’s hair, alternately stroking its surprisingly soft disorder and clenching, startling little hisses out of John’s mouth into Rodney’s.
* * * *
Later that night, Sheppard lets himself into Rodney’s quarters just as Rodney is closing out a document on his laptop. They’ve both showered, and it looks like John shaved. Rodney has mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he’s glad, because it means John’s not come here to say they can’t. On the other hand, the thought of John’s stubble rubbing against him - well. But, tentatively speaking, it looks like there might be chances for that another time, so overall, it’s going in the “good” column.
They’d managed to stop what they were doing back on Abundant Fruit when the wise women banged the gongs a few extra times in the Ending Signal. From all the noise, it sounded like they were getting rather insistent. They’d untangled themselves, waited awkwardly for their erections to subside, and agreed without words to go to their quarters and meet later. At least Rodney hoped that was what they’d agreed to. Since there weren’t words involved, it was a little hard to know for sure.
Now John’s standing in Rodney’s quarters with a gleam in his eye, but with a little hesitation in his stance. Rodney swivels his chair around and gives John a once-over that should leave no question as to his desires. Sure enough, John relaxes, shoulders releasing, his body smoothing into a slouch. “So you were working?” John asks, a weird tone to his voice.
Rodney feels his face heat a little. “Not exactly. Couldn’t have,” he admits, scaring himself with his honesty, but figuring John deserves it.
Sheppard advances on him, slithering across the floor, or that’s what it looks like to Rodney, sitting poleaxed and immobile in his chair. “So, what then?” John purrs, advancing on Rodney like a targeted missile.
“Um,” Rodney says.
Sheppard pounces all at once and clicks the mouse, leaning over Rodney in a frighteningly sexy way. Rodney can smell shampoo and aftershave and something ineffably Sheppard.
The document disloyally appears on the screen in all its embarrassing glory. Sheppard scans it quickly, huffs out a laugh and exits it, then lowers himself slowly into Rodney’s lap, all sinuous height and sleek muscle.
Rodney is mortified, knowing Sheppard saw his stupid document, the one he’d finally forced himself to write and save, back when he kept making disastrous relationship choices. Sometimes his dick wants to lead him places that aren’t a good idea to go, and the list actually helped, as ridiculous as he’d felt keeping it.
But Sheppard doesn’t seem to be gloating over having a new source of material for humiliating Rodney, and he isn’t even laughing any more. Instead, he’s wrapped his long fingers around both sides of Rodney’s face, and his long legs are straddling Rodney’s hips, and he’s tipping Rodney’s face up gently.
Next thing Rodney knows, Sheppard’s lips are on his, no tongue this time, just soft warm pressing. Sheppard’s hands are stroking his face, carding through his hair; gentle and strong. Rodney is melting underneath him, heart hurting a little from the tenderness.
This time when Rodney’s mouth opens, Sheppard’s tongue slips inside softly; no fevered exploration, but a slow warm glide, and Rodney’s hands reach up to John’s face, his neck, his hair, stroking him like he’s something precious - because he is.
After a long time, John pulls back, and their foreheads tilt toward one another, rest in the Athosian greeting. Their hands are still on each other, their breath almost in sync. Rodney feels John smile, and then John’s murmuring, “Sorry about your list.”
Rodney laughs softly, decides to go for it, because he can, and Sheppard already knows anyway. He says, “I’ve got a new one,” picturing the addendum he’d written just a few minutes ago in a moment of extreme dorkiness: “Addendum to List: the Sheppard Exception: apparently List does not pertain to one John Sheppard.” It had tickled the part of him that occasionally (admittedly very rarely indeed) suspected he was a bit absurd. And maybe he’d wanted to see it there in black and white, to decide one more time. Because they hadn’t done anything yet which would make it impossible to go back to what they’d always been. Oh sure, there’d be a little awkwardness for a while, but nothing irreparable.
“So, wanna hear my list?” John breathes into his face, and Rodney’s pulse skips wildly faster.
He can’t stand it any longer, and licks a slow stripe across the fullness of John’s lips, savoring the gasp and the thrust it elicits. “Later,” Rodney manages. “A lot later.”
“Sounds good,” John rasps, tilting his head up and leaving the long column of his neck open for Rodney’s mouth. “Always did like a guy who knew what he wanted.”
End
Rating: R
Genre: Kissing, humor, fluff, romance. Which perhaps turned into a bit more.
Spoilers: No
Length: About 3,300 words
A/N: This is just - I don’t know what this is.*g* Blame Big Bang avoidance. And me wanting to do one more kissing fic for this round, because this McSmooch thing rocks like a rocking thing. And also Rodney was complaining in my head. A lot.
A/N: No beta - too quick a turnaround this time. As always, pointing out of errors is always welcome.
Five Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss
Thing Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number One: Food Product Involvement
This one began back in 7th grade, when Debbie Hubbell kissed him in a dark corner of the school gym after eating chocolate cake. Rodney was at the middle school dance, and she’d cornered him with a few of her mean girl pals giggling and egging her on.
“Do it,” they’d chanted, “We dare you, kiss the nerd,” and she had, advancing on him and laying one on him as he stuttered and stammered and turned red, all to the strains of some horrific disco hit.
And then it got worse, because it turned out there’d been orange in the cake, though Rodney didn’t learn that until much later. All he knew was that his throat felt scratchy, and then it closed up, and the dark gym spun and then went dark as he struggled for one last breath of air.
Thing Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Two: the Involvement of Beverages
A corollary of 1) really: kisses involving beverages. This one got added to the list a few years later. There’d been a guy - tall, blonde and popular - a frat boy. Rodney had started hanging around him some, because the guy seemed to tolerate it better than many. Rodney’s fourteen year old dick was sore from all the jerking off.
So, suddenly Rodney was at a party, even though he didn’t go to parties. And this guy - Kevin? Mike? - had cornered him and asked Rodney if he wanted to kiss him. Rodney had blushed and stammered and then said yeah, and the frat guy had stuck his mouth on Rodney and when Rodney opened his mouth, a stream of liquid poured in, and then the guy was holding Rodney’s nose closed and also his mouth, so Rodney was forced to swallow, and everyone was laughing at him. He choked and gasped for air, and threw up later, and the beer taste didn’t leave his mouth for weeks.
Thing Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Three: Use of Cliched Phrases
Okay, this one isn’t because of any humiliating memories - it just throws Rodney right out of the mood. And it’s not like he’s gotten that many opportunities, so yeah, it pisses him off when someone ruins a perfectly fine sexy scene by opening their mouth and talking. It’s always some trite, clichéd thing, and whether right before, right after, or god help them during the kiss, it knocks him right out of the experience. Really, people should leave the talking to him. Pretty much always.
Probably the worst example of this, ever, was the prospective girlfriend he’d finally landed late in his college years when he was about sixteen. Barbara. They were sitting on his bunk in the dorm, and they were really close, like inches apart, and Rodney was going to do it, he was going to finally kiss her. She looked right at him as he started leaning in, and whispered, “You’re so hot, Rodney. You’re one in a million.”
He’d closed his eyes against the stupidity, trying desperately to keep his mojo. The mood was lost, though, gone forever. Not only was it unbearably trite, it was patently untrue. He wasn’t actually hot, though it was true his new wide-lapel shirt was colorfully in fashion and his pants were pretty tight. He wasn’t one in a million either - he was one in fifty million, give or take a half million, according to all the studies he’d read about distribution of IQ scores.
They never actually kissed, possibly having something to do with him rolling his eyes and spitting, “Oh please, where do you get your dialog anyway, Soap Operas R Us?”
He’d had to wait another year before he had even a remote prospect of another kiss.
Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Four: Being Manhandled
So, this one. It hasn’t happened all that often, but since when did Rodney seem like the type who’d appreciate this? Since never, is when. What does he look like, anyway? Some girly-man who gets his kicks being thrown around?
Two people have tried this - both guys as it happens. That physics professor in grad school with the soul patch got this on the list in the first place. Rodney had been skinnier then, less substantial. He’d been lusting after the prof for a few weeks, and when the guy had cornered Rodney in his office, he’d gotten immediately hard. The beauty (albeit flawed) of the guy’s theories had Rodney entranced, and his powerful arms weren’t too bad either.
Rodney had leaned in for a kiss, heart pounding, thinking a bunch of romantic nonsense involving differential equations and tweed jackets, and then the guy had grabbed him and lifted him off the ground and thrown him against the closed door of his office.
Gasping, Rodney saw the prof advancing on him, weird leer on his face. Rodney said, “Stop it! Are you insane?” but his heart had broken a little, a fact that makes his face turn red even now if he thinks about it. The prof said, “You know you want it,” and Rodney had kicked him in the shins and escaped. He had also made sure to disprove the guy’s major theories publicly within the year.
There was the guy he’d met at a bar in Vancouver once, too, but he didn’t even want to think about that one. Hopefully that guy’s wrist still hurt.
Things Rodney Hates in a First Kiss Number Five: Groping in any Form
Seriously, what kind of caveman or woman has their hands all over someone when it’s the first kiss? Maybe after a while, after say seven or perhaps nine back-to-back kisses. Or better yet, maybe not the first kissing experience at all, but the second day there’s kissing - whatever. Despite outward appearances, Rodney has a romantic streak, and hands groping for his ass or his dick during the very first kiss just - it’s just rude.
That girl at his job that time? The one who dressed all in black and had multiple piercings, many of them in places he didn’t want to know about? Well, she’d been the one who put this one on his list.
You’d think, horny young guy, hot chick, what’s not to like about a grope?
But it was a first kiss, which really should be at least a little about liking someone. Only she - right, her name was Skye, undoubtedly with hippie parents who wandered vacantly through parenthood - anyway, she’d cornered him in the back room at the music store he was working in while writing his second thesis. He’d thought wow, because she was hot, seriously hot, with a black leather mini and great breasts. She’d kissed him and in the same moment, not even a millisecond in between, had her hand on his dick, pressing and squeezing, slightly too hard.
It should have been hot, it really should have, but it just wasn’t. He’d wanted to be able - just for a minute - to believe that she actually liked him, rather than was just some chick who’d do anyone who came into her line of sight.
He’d said, “Ow,” which pretty much ended the whole thing right then. He hadn’t even been able to dredge up much regret, despite the fact he’d likely not get laid for months to come.
** * *
Katie, Explained
One of the reasons he’d thought Katie might be the real deal was, she was the first person in a very long time who didn’t violate Rodney’s Rules. She wasn’t gross, and their first real kiss didn’t involve food or beverages. It was impossible to imagine Katie with chocolate-orange cake smeared all over her mouth, or a mouthful of beer. And she certainly didn’t say anything trite before, during or after their first kiss.
There had been no manhandling, by either of them, and no groping either. Their first kiss had been awkward and sweet and hesitant, and it had taken weeks for either of them to get to second base.
* * * *
The Thing That Happened to Rodney to Slightly Revise his List of Things he Hates in a First Kiss
So, one night on a planet known by its residents as Abundant Fruit (seriously), John kisses Rodney. It’s their first kiss, and if it were anyone other than John, it’d be their last.
They have their own little pavilion - really it’s more like a hut, just like all the other pairs selected by the local wise women. There’s a ceremony, and they both have to eat a purplish fruit dipped in something a lot like chocolate. But they can’t just eat it whenever or however they feel like it; they have to dip their fruits simultaneously into the faux-chocolate sauce, then wrap their right arms around each other’s and eat their fruit in unison. They have to stand and look at each other, and wait until the wise women hit large gongs in the central clearing, barely visible through the small door to the hut.
The second step involves chugging a sparkling fruity (of course) beverage from a large jug - five swallows each, precisely.
The fruit part goes fine. They each dip theirs in the chocolaty liquid, then quickly wrap their right arms around each other’s and bring it to their mouths. Doing that brings them very close together, and Rodney finds himself noticing (not for the first time) that Sheppard’s eyes in this kind of lighting - soft yellow light from tallow candles ringing the hut, in this case - are a gold-flecked green. His lips appear awfully close, and he seems to be licking them a lot, after. Still, he doesn’t get all the faux chocolate licked off. There’s a big patch right under the corner of his full lower lip. Rodney has to jerk his hand back from rising to brush it off, close his mouth to prevent his tongue from darting out. But this is all nothing new, really.
The drinking part should have been a breeze, but when John swigs the liquid first, Rodney forgets himself and watches, mesmerized, as John’s Adam’s apple moves up and down in his throat, watches as a drop of fruit beverage slithers down from his lips, watches the muscles in John’s right arm flex as he tips the jug higher and higher.
John perhaps catches Rodney staring a little. A lot. His eyes go a little wide, and then narrow dangerously. Rodney’s throat is suddenly dry, so drinking actually sounds good. He tips the urn up and swallows, swallows, swallows, precisely five swallows, trying not to think of what John might have seen on his face, because really - mortification and all that.
He’s afraid to open his eyes, but he finally does, and when he does, all his breath leaves his body, because John - John is staring at Rodney, want painted clearly on his face. His eyes are locked on Rodney’s mouth, then travel slowly over his jaw and chin, where Rodney feels fruity beverage juice still dribbling a little.
And then - and then Rodney’s Rules are shot to hell, because John takes a fast step towards him, grabs Rodney’s vest with one hand and yanks him bodily toward him, curls the other hand behind Rodney’s neck and unceremoniously hauls him forward. Rodney gasps, “Wha - ,” but doesn’t get out any more words, because John’s tongue, tasting of chocolate and fruit beverage, is in his mouth, just like that, no buildup, no lead-in.
Rodney’s knees sag and his breath gushes out, and John’s tongue is impossibly hot in his mouth, pushing and licking into all its corners, sweet and hot and strong.
In some insane corner of Rodney’s brain, he notices that three of his Things have already occurred, but somehow he’s not hating this kiss. Instead, the fruity liquor and the chocolaty taste are blending with the taste of John, and it’s staggeringly hot being able to taste what was just in Sheppard’s mouth. And the way John hauled him towards him, passionate and aggressive - well, it plays quite well into some of his favorite fantasy jerk-off material, which involves an embarrassing amount of military gear. And John.
So, hmm, apparently as long as all Five Things aren’t involved, a kiss can still be great for Rodney if it’s with the right person.
But then Sheppard pulls back from the kiss, panting. Rodney gasps in air and stares at him. John’s chest is rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes are dark and intense. Sheppard is mouthing something, maybe trying to form words, and Rodney thinks no, don’t ruin it by talking. Of all the people in the Universe, Sheppard is one person who really shouldn’t have a problem with that.
Sheppard looks straight into Rodney’s eyes, though, and whispers, voice husky, “You’re so fucking hot,” and Rodney gapes, because he can hear Sheppard’s sincerity. His heart stutters and races, because really, Rodney just isn’t actually hot to most people. Any people. Except perhaps this insane person with a death grip on his vest.
Sheppard looks a little shocked - a lot shocked, actually - that words of any kind left his mouth, but to his obvious horror, more words slip out. He sounds almost drunk, though the beverage’s total alcohol content probably didn’t exceed that of light beer. “I can hear you thinking when you’re doing that - that thing with your tongue,” Sheppard grates, and Rodney is flooded with heat. “Your brain is - .” Sheppard stops and ducks his head, like he’s embarrassed, like he’s said something wrong.
Rodney is still gaping, breath coming in short gasps, when John brings his mouth to Rodney’s ear, whispers low and broken, “One in fifty million brains like yours, if that,” and Rodney’s hips jerk helplessly against Sheppard. He turns his face blindly, lips seeking and finding John’s mouth again for a kiss that’s hot and wet and dirty. He can feel Sheppard coming unglued under his hands and his mouth, and Rodney is spiraling out of control, because how hot is it that Sheppard knows his level of genius? Really, really hot is how hot.
So it seems almost inevitable that instead of making Rodney recoil, Sheppard’s hand groping his ass makes him pant and shiver, and his other hand finding a nipple and rubbing through three layers of clothing zings some type of electric current down his spine.
Rodney’s hands are busy, too. One is feeling the devastating strength of John’s thighs and ass, flexing rhythmically under Rodney’s hand as he rubs against Rodney. The other is in Sheppard’s hair, alternately stroking its surprisingly soft disorder and clenching, startling little hisses out of John’s mouth into Rodney’s.
* * * *
Later that night, Sheppard lets himself into Rodney’s quarters just as Rodney is closing out a document on his laptop. They’ve both showered, and it looks like John shaved. Rodney has mixed feelings about that. On the one hand, he’s glad, because it means John’s not come here to say they can’t. On the other hand, the thought of John’s stubble rubbing against him - well. But, tentatively speaking, it looks like there might be chances for that another time, so overall, it’s going in the “good” column.
They’d managed to stop what they were doing back on Abundant Fruit when the wise women banged the gongs a few extra times in the Ending Signal. From all the noise, it sounded like they were getting rather insistent. They’d untangled themselves, waited awkwardly for their erections to subside, and agreed without words to go to their quarters and meet later. At least Rodney hoped that was what they’d agreed to. Since there weren’t words involved, it was a little hard to know for sure.
Now John’s standing in Rodney’s quarters with a gleam in his eye, but with a little hesitation in his stance. Rodney swivels his chair around and gives John a once-over that should leave no question as to his desires. Sure enough, John relaxes, shoulders releasing, his body smoothing into a slouch. “So you were working?” John asks, a weird tone to his voice.
Rodney feels his face heat a little. “Not exactly. Couldn’t have,” he admits, scaring himself with his honesty, but figuring John deserves it.
Sheppard advances on him, slithering across the floor, or that’s what it looks like to Rodney, sitting poleaxed and immobile in his chair. “So, what then?” John purrs, advancing on Rodney like a targeted missile.
“Um,” Rodney says.
Sheppard pounces all at once and clicks the mouse, leaning over Rodney in a frighteningly sexy way. Rodney can smell shampoo and aftershave and something ineffably Sheppard.
The document disloyally appears on the screen in all its embarrassing glory. Sheppard scans it quickly, huffs out a laugh and exits it, then lowers himself slowly into Rodney’s lap, all sinuous height and sleek muscle.
Rodney is mortified, knowing Sheppard saw his stupid document, the one he’d finally forced himself to write and save, back when he kept making disastrous relationship choices. Sometimes his dick wants to lead him places that aren’t a good idea to go, and the list actually helped, as ridiculous as he’d felt keeping it.
But Sheppard doesn’t seem to be gloating over having a new source of material for humiliating Rodney, and he isn’t even laughing any more. Instead, he’s wrapped his long fingers around both sides of Rodney’s face, and his long legs are straddling Rodney’s hips, and he’s tipping Rodney’s face up gently.
Next thing Rodney knows, Sheppard’s lips are on his, no tongue this time, just soft warm pressing. Sheppard’s hands are stroking his face, carding through his hair; gentle and strong. Rodney is melting underneath him, heart hurting a little from the tenderness.
This time when Rodney’s mouth opens, Sheppard’s tongue slips inside softly; no fevered exploration, but a slow warm glide, and Rodney’s hands reach up to John’s face, his neck, his hair, stroking him like he’s something precious - because he is.
After a long time, John pulls back, and their foreheads tilt toward one another, rest in the Athosian greeting. Their hands are still on each other, their breath almost in sync. Rodney feels John smile, and then John’s murmuring, “Sorry about your list.”
Rodney laughs softly, decides to go for it, because he can, and Sheppard already knows anyway. He says, “I’ve got a new one,” picturing the addendum he’d written just a few minutes ago in a moment of extreme dorkiness: “Addendum to List: the Sheppard Exception: apparently List does not pertain to one John Sheppard.” It had tickled the part of him that occasionally (admittedly very rarely indeed) suspected he was a bit absurd. And maybe he’d wanted to see it there in black and white, to decide one more time. Because they hadn’t done anything yet which would make it impossible to go back to what they’d always been. Oh sure, there’d be a little awkwardness for a while, but nothing irreparable.
“So, wanna hear my list?” John breathes into his face, and Rodney’s pulse skips wildly faster.
He can’t stand it any longer, and licks a slow stripe across the fullness of John’s lips, savoring the gasp and the thrust it elicits. “Later,” Rodney manages. “A lot later.”
“Sounds good,” John rasps, tilting his head up and leaving the long column of his neck open for Rodney’s mouth. “Always did like a guy who knew what he wanted.”
End