A
Hard Risin' Morning Without Breakfast
by lamardeuse
Rating:
NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Warnings
(highlight to view):
explicit sex
For Kitestringer
A/N: The title is from a song by Chicago.
Rodney woke to the feeling of a nose pressing into his spine.
It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation per se, but he had to fight the urge
to squirm as the nose shifted a little, creating an odd, electric
not-quite-tickling sensation under his skin. The nose, of course, was
John’s, because they’d fallen asleep last night and John obviously
hadn’t woken up to sneak back to his own quarters. It wasn’t the first
time it had happened, but it was the first time Rodney had woken up
before John.
Rodney blinked and took in his surroundings. Lifting his head, he read
the time on his alarm clock. They had about forty minutes before they
had
to be up, maybe an hour if he grabbed coffee and a muffin on the way to
the
briefing instead of sitting down to a full breakfast.
The arm that was slung around his middle tightened. Rodney smiled.
“Hey,” he said softly. “You awake?”
“Mmmphhhhh,” John answered.
Slowly, Rodney rolled onto his back, careful of John’s nose in the
process. As he came to rest, John’s leg shoved forward and rested on
Rodney’s thighs, while the arm rose to his chest. It was like sleeping
with an octopus, only not at all slimy and much warmer, and octopi
didn’t have morning erections, and okay, so the analogy sucked.
“It’s morning,” Rodney said, a little louder. John was always pissed
off at himself when he realized he’d slept the whole night in Rodney’s
bed,
and Rodney was therefore loath to have him regain consciousness.
However,
the longer he delayed the inevitable, the more pissed off John was
going
to be, so there was nothing else to do. Giving John a gentle prod in
the
chest with his index finger, he said, “You have to get up.”
“Nnnnppphhhssssshhhh,” John replied. It seemed to be a negation, but
Rodney couldn’t be sure.
Rodney ghosted his fingers along John’s arm where it lay against his
chest. The man was getting hairier every year, not that Rodney minded
much. He
just wished he could transplant some of the hair John seemed to grow in
abundance to his own head. “I hate to do this, but you have to get up.
Come
on. It’s after six-thirty.”
John’s answer this time was to slide his leg up, brushing his knee over
Rodney’s groin. Rodney’s fingers tightened convulsively on John’s arm.
“Oh, you’re doing that on purpose,” he accused.
“Mmmmhhhhhmmphhh.”
Rodney tried to sound stern, but it was incredibly difficult with
John’s leg moving like that. “You’re not really asleep, are you?”
John’s hips wiggled, nudging his cock against the side of Rodney’s hip.
“Nnnnppphhhssssshhhh.”
Normally Rodney wasn’t much for tricks, especially if they were being
played on him, but he swiftly decided this was one he could live with.
He didn’t know why John had decided on this day of all days to not
freak out over
the possibility of discovery, and he didn’t much care. All that
mattered
was that he had. With a move that Ronon had taught him last week in
hand-to-hand
training, he slid out from under John’s limpet-like hold and threw off
the
covers, then shoved John onto his stomach and straddled him. John
emitted
something like a yelp, but it was muffled in the pillows.
“Shhhh,” Rodney said, pressing his lips to John’s spine. “There’s
plenty of time.” His tongue darted out and began licking over John’s
vertebrae
one by one. John groaned into the pillow and spread his legs, and
Rodney
went from half-mast to full mast in about five seconds, and suddenly
there
was no time at all. He bit John’s shoulder, reached for the condoms and
lube, and settled himself between John’s legs. John attempted to rise
to
his knees, but Rodney stilled him with a hand on the small of his back.
“Don’t move,” he commanded softly, and John froze, then melted onto the
bed again with a small grunt. Rodney had never been this – acrobatic –
with John before; in fact, he hadn't been acrobatic in bed since he'd
been about twenty-one, but this morning, he wanted John to stay exactly
like this, drowsy and sleep-warm and relaxed, such a welcome contrast
to the anxious, tense John who’d greeted him every other morning they’d
woken up together.
This John was his, and for the first time, Rodney could enjoy him in
the daylight, when the bright Lantean sun could make his skin glow,
show the
dips and hollows and valleys of muscle and bone, show the long, lean
lines
of him, beautiful, perfect.
Rodney prepared himself hastily, then braced himself over John and
guided himself into John’s body, already loose and still a bit slick
from the night before. His supporting arm was shaking by the time he
was far enough in
to let go of his cock, and he got his other hand on the mattress just
in
time.
“Ohhhhh,” John sighed, breathily. John’s sighs, when he let them out,
were the best sighs Rodney had ever heard, because he knew John only
made them for him.
Carefully, Rodney set up a slow, easy rhythm. He couldn’t thrust
particularly hard in this position – hell, he could barely move without
overbalancing
– but John didn’t seem to mind. He pressed his face into the pillow and
gripped the top of the mattress with both hands, the muscles on the
backs of his
forearms standing out, creating a small line of shadow under the hair.
Rodney
pushed forward with his knees, thighs straining at the angle, and back
with
his hands and arms, wrists screaming in protest, and it was all worth
it
because John was shuddering and shaking and coming apart under him by
slow
degrees.
When John’s body rippled around him, Rodney was already most of the way
to coming, and John’s last grateful sigh took him the rest of the way.
“Rodney?”
“Mmmphhhhh?
“You want to get off me sometime soon?”
Rodney grinned and pressed his nose into John’s sweat-damp back.
“Nnnnppphhhssssshhhh,” he said.
"Okay, then," John murmured, a matching smile in his voice.
Rodney didn’t even have time for the coffee and muffin. He didn’t mind
one bit.
End
June 2007
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