kbk

Porn! she cried. No, really, I've been sitting here for hours and I just said that out loud. It's not the first thing I've said but I haven't been talking much. Anyway. I was out - jobseeker interview thing, meh, started out terrified, ended up all right, had to do stupid residency thing because of the amount of time I'd spent in Mexico, whatever, and my sign-on time is in the morning, good god, these people - and before that I was hiding from parentals and I was cold, because it's still pretty damn cold here and oh joy of joys the boiler's broke, so the heating's off, the hot water's off, and so I didn't shower this morning even though I felt like I should because, y'know, official, but I washed my hair two days ago so it's not too bad. Anyway, again, I was cold, so I started trying to think of hot things, like, aiming for that flush of heat you get when you're reading something good and maybe kinda embarrassing but really really hot, y'know? Maybe that's overshare, but I'm sleep-deprived and whatever.

And now I'm gonna go to bed because it's cold, dammit, and I'm really tired and I'll get woken in two hours or less but I don't care, because it really is cold, I have on like four layers, this house is, like, 14 degrees C tops.

So anyway. Porn. Gratuitousness.

"See you later," Sheppard says, voice the tiniest fraction strained, and just like that he's wheeling around and walking away - or maybe it's closer to stalking - and Rodney's left blinking in his wake. He hates that.

So he follows, because Sheppard was just telling him to take a break, and what do you know? Rodney's finally convinced. He doesn't make any effort at stealth, but Sheppard doesn't look back once, and he's moving at such a clip that he's out of sight before long. But Rodney knows where Sheppard's going, to a good degree of certainty, so he just keeps walking, and it's not far, so he can't be more than a minute or two behind when he reaches Sheppard's quarters.

The door slides open for him, sweet and easy, without his even asking. And he sees Sheppard, from out in the corridor, sees him sitting on his bed with his head down and his shoulder jerking and his hand...

"Holy shit," says Rodney, and steps inside, closing the door immediately and telling it that it'll damn well stay shut until he tells it otherwise if it knows what's good for it. Sheppard looks up and freezes, stills completely, it doesn't look like he's even breathing. "Don't stop on my account," Rodney tells him. "I mean, that is, ah, in reaction to me, isn't it?"

Rodney's right, he knows he is, it's the only thing that makes sense even though he didn't know he knew it until it came tumbling out of his mouth, but his heart is pounding with fear for those instants until Sheppard - hmm, maybe John, now - gasps in a breath and starts to move again. Rodney's heart keeps pounding, but now it's something else.

Dear Jesus. The man's practically fully dressed, just his fly undone and his boxers pushed down so he can stroke his cock. And he's looking at Rodney, and Rodney's looking at him, and then Rodney sets his radio aside, takes three steps forward and sinks to his knees, feeling himself smirk as John's legs splay wide open to accommodate him, invite him closer.

He looks John in the eye, and there's heat there, and disbelief, and a couple of other things Rodney isn't too sure about. "Pretend I'm not here," he says. John's hand pauses for a moment, and he swallows, frowning down at Rodney, but by all the gods he doesn't believe in, Rodney is very serious, and it has to show.

It has to, because John tries to look at the ceiling and slumps down and starts going for it, fast hard strokes that are all about getting off as quickly as possible, and Rodney's OK with that because he really wants to see John come.

Rodney wants to do more than see it, but there will be other chances. Still... He leans in, drawing a hiss from above, and he presses his lips lightly against each strap of John's thigh holster, and then he rests his cheek there and looks up, and oh yeah. John is not going to be looking away from him any time soon. And from this close, the smell of John's arousal is thick and dizzying, layered as it is over detergent and leather and gun oil.

Rodney's hands clench on his own thighs and he thinks about undoing his own pants, but the pressure is kinda working for him, and he might as well just wait because John? Is very close.

And anyway. "Next time, I'll suck you," he promises, and John groans, shuttered in his throat. "I'd do it now," Rodney continues, "but I want to take my time about it. Take you all the way from soft to hard and back again. Lick you elsewhere, too. Really want to touch you, now, want you jerking me off, want you... mm. Want to see you come."

John shudders. His hand moves faster. Rodney whispers, "Come for me, John," and John does, and Rodney watches. Watches John grimace, tense and release, his eyes glazing over but still fixed on Rodney, and then they sharpen again when Rodney reaches up for John's come-covered hand and pulls it towards his mouth. He licks over John's palm, tongue broad and flat, and then he sucks in a single finger.

Rodney presses his free hand against his crotch, and keeps licking until John's hand is clean. Then he sits back on his heels and looks up expectantly.

"Yeah, Rodney," says John. "Show me."

And he does.