Fantasy Life
by lamardeuse

Rating:  NC-17

Pairing: McKay/Sheppard

Warnings (highlight to view):  explicit sex


Special thanks to luvhandlz for inspiration.













Rodney couldn't stop staring at the handyman.

All right, so he could hardly be blamed, because the handyman was hotter than an exploding star: tanned and lean and slinky, with a mouth that looked made for blow jobs and a wicked twinkle in his eyes. He'd introduced himself, but Rodney was damned if he could remember his name now; all coherent thought had fled the moment the man had bent over to retrieve the rag he'd been using to wash the windows, and the cutoff shorts he was wearing rode up just that extra half-inch higher than decency permitted, and Rodney had suddenly been dropped head-first into Gay Porn Fantasy Number 124. Add the setting of a luxury beachfront bungalow on Oahu, and the only supplies you lacked were a camcorder and approximately a gallon of lube.

Unfortunately, he'd really been counting on spending the day working, and wasting it ogling the handyman, no matter how hot, hadn't been on the To Do list. The little pitchfork-bearing man on his shoulder argued that after all, he was supposed to be on vacation, and if he was too stupid to waste a  golden opportunity for getting spectacularly laid, he might as well burn those diplomas on his walls. On the other hand, considering that his regular job involved constantly trying to find new ways to keep himself and others from being killed, the chance to put in some time on more theoretical work was like a vacation for him. He didn't expect most people to understand that, but he'd thought –

Enough, he told himself. The question was moot, because he was no longer mentally capable of ironing out the problems in his grand unified theory, and the only thing that could restore him was a good orgasm, and that meant either retreating to the bedroom with his right hand and that tube of lotion or trying for something a little more satisfying and less lonely.

He opted for door number two: whatever the result, at least his right hand would still be available.

There was a brief, almost paralyzing moment of panic when he was checking himself in the mirror after a hasty gargle of Listerine, because as much as he'd like it to be, this wasn't a porn movie, and there was the very real possibility that the man outside would laugh in his face. Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and straightened his shirt – it was blue, and he'd been told it complimented his eyes – and marched out to the patio doors, because if he could face the worst horrors another galaxy had to offer him, he could certainly face the possibility of being turned down flat by the sexiest man he'd ever seen in his life.

Rodney stepped through the door and promptly stumbled over the threshold, because the handyman had finished with the windows. This in itself would not be distracting, except that he'd moved on to cleaning the deck with a huge power washer, which he was handling with practiced ease. His stance was slightly spread, and his arms were bent in such a way that showed off the bulges of bicep to best advantage, and his ass – his truly marvelous ass – was snugly if inadequately encased in his now very damp cutoff shorts. In fact, every inch of him, from the tips of his hair to his Converse-clad feet, was darkened or sheened with moisture. Evidently this was a messy job, or at least this particular handyman – Sheppard, yes, that was his name – was incapable of doing it and staying dry. Not that Rodney minded one bit.

Sheppard's back was turned to him, and he seemed oblivious to Rodney's presence, so Rodney just leaned against the railing with his arms folded and watched him. The other man was truly a thing of beauty, Rodney reflected: despite his slight build, his thighs were well-muscled, doubtless from running, and his proportions were undeniably masculine. He moved with a loose-limbed kind of grace that seemed effortless, unstudied, a trait Rodney usually envied but now only admired. While Rodney watched, he bent again, training the nozzle's stream on a particularly stubborn spot, and Rodney sucked in a breath at the obscenely perfect curve of his ass. He had a sudden, nearly irresistible urge to learn the geometry of it with his tongue. Rodney was sure he could discover a whole new form of calculus with that method, though how he'd ever manage to get it down in publishable form was anyone's guess.

Rodney was perfectly prepared to go on enjoying the view indefinitely, and working up the nerve to approach him, when Sheppard turned toward him. Unfortunately, he swung the washer nozzle around at the same time, and so before either of them had a chance to react, the water jet struck the deck about two feet from where Rodney was leaning, and the resulting spray fountained up over his legs, drenching him from crotch to toes in cold water.

“Jesus Christ!” Rodney yelled, while Sheppard swung the nozzle away from Rodney, then ran to the generator and flipped the kill switch. “Oh, that's just – that's perfect,” he muttered, toeing off his now-ruined sneakers and cursing under his breath. God, as if he needed another reason why he wasn't a gay porn star.

“Damn,” Sheppard said, striding over to Rodney and inspecting him thoroughly. “I didn't hit you, did I?”

“It was only a glancing blow,” Rodney muttered, turning on his heel and stomping back into the beach house. His shorts were actually squishing with each step; lovely.

“Hey, hold up,” Sheppard said, having followed him into the house, and the next thing Rodney knew he felt a warm, gentle touch on his arm. “Let me look at you.”

“It's really not – ” Rodney began, turning back around, but then Sheppard sank to his knees in front of him and Rodney's words stuck in his throat.

Sheppard used that same gentle touch on Rodney's legs, trailing his fingertips down his calves, thumbing over his kneecaps, gliding a featherlight touch over his thighs until they quivered. When he reached the hem of Rodney's shorts, Rodney was surprised he was still standing.

“These're pretty wet,” Sheppard said, giving them a brief tug. “Better get 'em off.”

“I think the likelihood of my contracting pneumonia on Hawaii is extremely un-oh, God,” Rodney babbled, because Sheppard's talented fingers had just popped the button on his shorts.

“Well,” Sheppard drawled, and when Rodney looked down he saw the bastard was smiling at him, “there's always the danger of jungle rot,” and then he was peeling Rodney's shorts and boxers down his legs in one smooth motion. Rodney's cock, already at half-mast, swiftly snapped to attention under Sheppard's frankly appreciative scrutiny, and before he could summon a suitable comeback, Sheppard had taken him unceremoniously into his mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Rodney breathed, because really, that was as incredibly hot as he'd imagined it would be, and then Sheppard wrapped a hand around Rodney's cock and began bobbing his head with practiced enthusiasm, and it occurred to Rodney that maybe he should stop thinking and start fucking Sheppard's face.

Sheppard groaned when Rodney's hips began to thrust gently, which Rodney took as a good sign, and after a few moments he risked a hand in Sheppard's hair, which made Sheppard groan even louder. His hair was still wet, which reminded Rodney that he wasn't the only one who was risking jungle rot, and so with a great effort he stilled his hips and pulled back. Sheppard's mouth slid off him with an obscene popping sound, and he glared up at Rodney like Rodney had just stolen his favorite toy, which really shouldn't have been as arousing as it was.

Rodney gestured at him. “You should take off your clothes, too,” he said, tugging at Sheppard's t-shirt-clad shoulder. “I mean, you might catch cold in the air conditioning,” he babbled, feeling like a twit. Sheppard looked up at him for a moment, gaze softening, and Rodney's breath caught for no good reason.

Sheppard rose to his feet, then spread his hands in a well? gesture, and as Rodney's hands fumbled at the hem of his shirt, Sheppard leaned in and kissed him, hard and dirty. Rodney could taste himself in Sheppard's mouth, and he may have whimpered a little at that before Sheppard drew back so that Rodney could lift the t-shirt over his head.

The shorts were a trickier proposition, because they were practically glued to him by the water, and Sheppard's erection was bulging against the zipper, and Rodney was a little nervous about the possibility of injury to important equipment. “You'd better, um,” Rodney said, and Sheppard pouted but complied, shimmying as he tugged the zipper down, and as he rolled the sodden shorts down over his hips, Rodney bit back a moan, because holy shit, Sheppard had been commando under there.

When Sheppard had finally kicked off his sneakers, Rodney lunged at him, grabbing two handfuls of that gorgeous ass and reeling him in until their cocks brushed. Sheppard kissed him again, then let his mouth roam over his chin, neck and shoulder as Rodney began to thrust against Sheppard's thigh.

Sheppard rolled his hips, and Rodney's fingers slipped and inadvertently strayed to his cleft, which Sheppard didn't seem to mind at all, if the bite to Rodney's jugular was any indication. Emboldened, Rodney pressed in, experimentally, and Sheppard whispered, “Yeah, Rodney,” against Rodney's skin, and Rodney almost came right there.

He was considering how best he could maneuver Sheppard to the bedroom while still keeping his dick in close contact with Sheppard's delectable body when Sheppard licked Rodney's earlobe and husked, “So you gonna fuck me or what?” and Rodney moaned and jerked and shot all over Sheppard's belly.

“Oh, crap,” Rodney breathed, annoyed at himself. Sheppard, however, didn't seem terribly traumatized by this turn of events, because he groaned and backed Rodney against a wall. Once Rodney was firmly pinned, Sheppard reached a hand between their bodies and smeared the slickness over Rodney's skin, then lined up his cock and started rutting against him. Rodney was completely fine with this, especially when Sheppard braced his hands on either side of Rodney's head and kissed him again, so deeply Rodney couldn't do anything but let him. Rodney's own hands slipped down to fondle Sheppard's balls, and Sheppard whimpered and shoved hard one last time before Rodney finally felt the warm spurt of wetness that heralded Sheppard's orgasm.

Sheppard finally stopped kissing him and moving against him, and Rodney rested his head briefly against Sheppard's shoulder, catching his breath.

“So,” John drawled in his ear, “was it the shorts or the power washer?”

“A little of both,” Rodney admitted, “but mainly the shorts.”

“Hunh, okay, good. I was a little worried you had some kinda golden showers kink you weren't telling me about.”

Rodney lifted his head to glare at him. “Oh, ha ha ha,” he said. “As if you don't know all my secret fantasies by now.”

John rested his arms on Rodney's shoulders and grinned. “I got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

“And use them to play me like a violin,” Rodney muttered, oddly put out by Sheppard's smug attitude.

John nipped at his chin. “Don't be like that.”

“You distracted me from important work.”

This time it was John's turn to glare. “Yeah, I did. It isn't called a vacation for nothing, Rodney.”

“Well, I'm sorry,” Rodney snapped, “but I'm not – I don't know what to – ” He deflated, suddenly sagging against the wall. What was the point of explaining it? “Never mind.”

John's fingers caressed his cheek. “Hey. Talk to me.”

Rodney shook his head and closed his eyes. The truth was, he’d never had anyone who knew his fantasies and deliberately catered to them, and the reality of that – along with everything else John did for him without thinking about it – was sometimes a hell of a lot more terrifying than fighting Wraith and Replicators. But the thought of admitting it was even more frightening. “I'm sorry you spent the money to rent this place. I'll be happy to pay you back. It's just – it's wasted on me.”

“That could get kind of expensive,” John said softly, his hand still on Rodney's face. “Considering I own it.”

Rodney's eyes flew open. “You – what?”

John's mouth curved in a wry smile. “Yeah. I thought it might be nice to have a little piece of Earth we could call ours. A place to kick back in every once in a while. Do some surfing.” He kissed Rodney on the nose. “Laze around. Get laid.”

“Ours?” Rodney squeaked. “As in – ”

“Yours and mine, doofus,” John murmured.

Rodney's throat closed up briefly. “When did you – ”

“Almost a year ago,” John said. “I asked Dave if he'd find me a place. Told him what I was looking for.”

“You bought this,” Rodney said slowly, “for us.”

“Hey, if it's not your thing, it's not your thing. I can call him tomorrow, and – ”

Suddenly, without stopping to think about it, Rodney wrapped his arms around John's neck and kissed him, shutting them both up for a minute, because John had bought a house nearly a year ago and he'd done it for both of them, and Rodney didn't even know what to do with that, but he suspected he was going to enjoy getting used to the way it made him feel. After a moment's hesitation, John got right with the program and kissed him back, burying his hands in Rodney's hair and pressing close to him again.

“You know what I'd like to do now?” Rodney murmured against John's lips. “I'd like to spend some quality time with you, a hot shower and a bar of soap.”

“Let me guess,” John said. “You're gonna drop it and make me bend over to get it.”

Rodney trailed his fingertips over John's left ass cheek, and was rewarded with a shiver. “Maybe,” he allowed, “and maybe not. You don't know all of my fantasies.”

“I'll show you mine if you show me yours,” John murmured, grinning into Rodney's mouth.

“Deal,” Rodney murmured, as his hands began the important and groundbreaking work of mapping John Sheppard's perfect curves.





End


August 2008

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