Fic: Shouldn't

[lierdumoa]

Title: Shouldn't
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/Mckay
Rating: NC -17
Summary: Post "Duet." John and Rodney make up for lost time in a porny way. Banter. Some angst. No plot.
A/N: Thanks to seperis for the beta and the ego boost.



New military personnel in Atlantis, new regulations, and more surveillance, and John and Rodney find that the frequency in which they have sex drops from twice a day to once in a blue moon.

Rodney yells more, John lets a little more sarcasm filter into his mellow drawling, and they both pretend it's because they're hardened worriers fighting a losing battle.

Warriors.

Right.

Eight weeks in and three hours in front of a punching bag in the dead of night hoping to exhaust himself into sleep, John wonders if getting his brain sucked out through his cock every once in a while is really so much to ask. His knuckles are beginning to develop a permanent throb.

Rodney starts dating women around week ten, or at least, makes a valiant effort. Two horrendous first dates later, the second of which ends with him getting Athosian wine tossed in his face, followed swiftly by panic and Beckett arriving with an eyewash kit, and Rodney finds himself breaking into John's quarters at 3:00 in the morning, slapping John's book out of his hand, and yanking down John's underwear. With his teeth.

Which is actually kind of awkward and not as sexy as he thought it would be, but whatever. John's easy. Especially when Rodney swallows John whole, humming in the back of his throat as he goes down. The almost tune seems vaguely familiar. John finally identifies it as the lilting manner in which Rodney said, "In-vul-nerable!" the day he found the fugly green Ancient brooch.

He's always wondered what it would feel like ejaculating on a belly laugh.

Well, not really, but for future reference? Weird but good.

"I missed your cock," Rodney mumbles into John's left hip divot afterwards. "I missed your cock so much."

John feels like there's something in that statement he ought to be offended about, but he's just had his brain sucked out through said cock, and he's been pining for that all week, so he lets it slide for the moment and replies, "I noticed. Where'd you learn to do that anyway?"

Rodney nudges his face deeper into John's skin before taking an odd, snuffling breath and lifting his head. "What? Oh, that? Russia."

John remembers Rodney telling him about Russia. Specifically, he remembers Rodney bemoaning his miserably long stretch of abstinence in Russia -- a factoid that popped up somewhere inside a scathing rant covering everything from Russia's terrible coffee to its terrible science facilities to its terrible coffee.

"I thought you said there weren't any --"

"Oh, yeah, well one month we got this giant shipment of cucumbers and I figured if the food was going to be that horrendously awful I might as well learn something while I ate..." Rodney trails off into a mortified silence. He never could get the hang of not revealing shameful and embarrassing things about himself in bed.

Luckily for him, John is too nice a guy to give that information the consideration it deserves. At least, not right after Rodney was so kind as to ambush him in the middle of his nightly reading. He revels in afterglow for a moment before nudging Rodney lightly in the side with his foot and saying, "Fuck me?"

"Uh, I can't. That is, I've already, um, finished, so to speak." Blushing. John likes the blushing. "But you can fuck me if you want."

"We're making awfully large assumptions about my refractory period, I see."

Rodney snorts. "Oh, come on. You're like a fifteen year old even when you haven't gone without sex for three and a half months.

"I'm just feeling a little used here, is all."

"Well, if that's your kink. Whatever you need to think to get your dick in my ass is perfectly fine by me." John hates it when Rodney deliberately misinterprets him.

Except when he doesn't hate it. Right now seems to be one of those latter instances, considering the way Rodney is pulling himself into a straddle over John's legs and bending forward in a way that lets John see the flex of his shoulders as he strips off his shirt. Rodney reluctantly detatches himself from John to stand at the side of the bed so he can shuck his pants. He grimaces delicately at the mess in his underwear. He then turns to John and asks him where his lube is in a tone better suited, John thinks, for impatient foot tapping in very loud heels than for awkward shuffling in ankle socks.

John eyes said shuffling and thinks to himself that it really shouldn't be looking that funny and that hot at the same time.

But then, that's just Rodney in general.

"Bedside table," John murmurs in his bedroom voice, also known as his regular voice, and rolls onto his side to better admire the curve of Rodney's ass. He starts stroking himself lightly, long fingers curling teasingly around the base of his cock, tongue sliding out to lick at his bottom lip. Rodney pauses for a moment in his search to stare at John's reclining form, eyes gone glassy, then abruptly returns his attention to the top drawer, forehead scrunched in an expression of deep concentration. John wonders why they weren't doing this last night, or the night before, or the night before that.

Oh, yeah. His career. It hits John, suddenly, that this is a very, very bad idea. His hand pauses mid-stroke. Rodney, in a sporadic flash of psychic ability, senses the change in mood and turns to John with a concerned look. "Are you alright, John?" The curves and edges of his body are limned in a strange angelic light. John wonders for a moment if his eyes are playing tricks on him and he's in fact hallucinating this whole thing out of sexual desperation before realizing it's just backlighting from his lamp that he turned on earlier to read. He catches the worried and fiercly protective expression on Rodney's face, then glances down to see where Rodney is holding his bottle of lotion like a 9.0 mm.

"I'm fine, Rodney. Give it here, yeah?" He lets go of his dick and holds up his hand to catch.

Rodney relaxes out of his concerned stance and tosses the bottle to him, deliberately missing John's outstretched hand to smack him in the stomach. "Okay, we spent enough time back on earth for you to buy some actual lube."

"Yeah, well maybe I figured it would be a bad idea to bring with me excuses to have illicit homosexual relations while Col. Caldwell was breathing down my neck."

Rodney crosses his arms over his chest, straightens his back and stares down at John, wreathed gloriously in his own ire. John's dick twitches. "This sucks, you know that?"

John sighs. "Just get on the bed, would you?"

Rodney mercifully complies.

John's lips twitch into a charming, wicked little smirk and he yanks Rodney down. A few quick military maneuvers and John has Rodney sprawled out nicely on his hands and knees. Granted, this is perhaps not the intended use for all those lessons he was given in hand-to-hand back at academy. John smiles at the thought. Sex is always hotter when he's flipping off The Man in the process.

Or maybe sex is always hotter when it's Rodney, all white skin, flanks drawing together towards exquisitely curving ass and gracefully arching spine and just. Nice. John hurredly slicks his fingers in lotion and pushes two in at once, waiting for Rodney to tell him it's too much, too much, too soon and doesn't really know how to respond when Rodney doesn't protest, doesn't say a word, just bows his head and. And. Shudders like that, long back muscles quivering pale, stomach jumping visibly beneath soft belly, erection twitching back to life.

John feels himself shaking, shaking but his hands are steady when he pulls out to add in one more long finger, find that bud of nerves and tease his way across it with blunt nails. Rodney is making noises now. Strange hybrid gruntpantwhimpers and pleading exclamations of, "John, John, now would be...God, now would be good."

John circles the base of his cock with thumb and index and constricts his fingers, fighting for patience. He is momentarily bemused at the sight of his hand squeezing his dick in a pornographic "okay" sign. Thinks of how pathetically funny that is, how maybe it's a metaphor for this whole fucked up situation.

"Now, John."

Or maybe he's overthinking. He swipes one lotion wet hand from base to tip of his erection, kneels up, and pushes in.

He falls into rhythm easily. Like riding a bike, he thinks, too turned on to laugh at his own joke. Not that funny anyway. Just hot. It's so goddamn hot. He can hear himself panting, off in the distance, feel sweat trickling down his skin in a strangely detached way, like it's not his body really, like he doesn't exist except for that part of him thrusting into Rodney and that thing in his chest throbbing like a bruise, like busted knuckles, and he feels they way he does dancing around a punching bag at four o'clock in the morning, only whole.

Rodney braces himself on one arm and swings back with the other to curl his fingers around John's thigh, digging into the muscle punishingly hard, holding John in place. He lets out one agonized groan and comes. John is right behind him.

Twenty minutes later, when they're still lying together smooshed over the wet spot and post coital languor has faded enough for John to make whole sentences again, he cards his fingers through the short hairs at Rodney's nape and says, "You know, you could totally have made me lose my page."

"What?" Rodney says, though it ends up a muffled "Mmph?" with the way his face is buried in John's pillow.

"My page. When you so considerately smacked my book out of my hand."

Rodney turns his head to the side to better enunciate. "Well, I'm a considerate guy."

"You might even have given me a paper cut."

"But I didn't give you a paper cut, and you know exactly what page you were on because it's a number and you can't help keeping track of numbers."

"It's the principle of the thing."

Rodney sighs, then grunts, and rolls out from under John to sit on the edge of the bed. "I should get going."

"Stay." John hears the pleading note in his own voice and cringes internally.

"I'd love to, but at least one of us should be thinking about your career here. What if someone wants to visit you?"

"At this hour? I guess I could just stuff you under the bed."

"I wouldn't fit under your bed."

"Okay, so next time we do this in your room."

"My room?" Rodney sounds almost hopeful.

"Yeah, your room. With all those creepy pictures of you with your beady eyes that follow me around no matter where I'm standing."

"My eyes are not --" and John is shutting Rodney up with his tongue.

Breathing Rodney's air.

He drifts.