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Holding himself back was not something he was good at. He didn't do it often enough to be good at it, he realized, watching Sheppard bend over in front of him. Then, of course, there was the implication that he needed to hold back on occasion. Which, as far as he was concerned, was something only crazy people did. And cowards. And maybe, just maybe people, who wanted their relationships to last.
As Sheppard writhed again, he felt caught somewhere between all three. He was fairly sure that there was some sort of correlation between how long his relationships tended to last and how thoughtful he was being. Zelenka had mentioned it the other day, so it was probably worth paying attention to. Just, not at the moment, not when what he wanted was right there within arms reach.
"You know, I could've sworn I left them here," Sheppard mumbled like he had no idea he was responsible for the mental breakdown happening right behind him.
Rodney said, "Hmm, yes, I'm sure you did," praying that would be enough to see him through the conversation, because right then he struggling not to say those few extra words that were going to screw everything up.
He knew better than to push his luck with Sheppard. That way lay scowls and awkward silences and other things he didn't want to introduce into their relationship. It was just, whenever he tried to hold back, things had a habit of slipping out anyway. And sure enough, without meaning to, he blurted out: "I have a list!"
He spent the next few seconds kicking himself mentally and hoping Sheppard hadn't heard that. From the way Sheppard kept wiggling, it didn't seem like Sheppard had. Still, the weird thing was: he really did have one! It was a long, detailed, itemized list of all the filthy things he wanted to do to Sheppard in bed, and in the labs, and in the gateship prototype he was reverse engineering, maybe when Sheppard was flying it or just when—
Sheppard mumbled something at him again.
He had a feeling it was important and that he should probably have been paying attention. But Sheppard destroyed any hope of that happening with the extra writhing and wriggling; and after that, all he could hear was static.
God, he was embarrassingly in love with this man! It was bad enough that all his projects now had an *I wonder if Sheppard will like this* component to them, he had a horrible feeling he'd been deliberately inventing stuff for Sheppard to play with, just so he could see that goofy smile. What made it worse was that even though something told him that he was acting like a lovesick fool, he didn't want to stop. And that essentially was the problem.
He knew he would do anything to keep Sheppard happy, even if it meant sublimating his baser instincts and several hundred or so of his kinkier impulses. Especially the ones that tended to come out whenever Sheppard was naked and bent over in front of him, like Sheppard was right then. So, since that thing he'd almost been tempted to mention only ranked at 'twelve' in his top twenty list of 'really base things he wanted to do to John Sheppard', he pushed it to one side, telling himself never to bring it up again, because that was the considerate thing to do.
And, in the spirit of consideration, he sat back to observe the enigma that was John Sheppard searching for his socks.
***
Over the next few days, Sheppard kept doing incredibly suggestive things like smiling at him, and eating breakfast with him, and just generally hanging out with him, all of which made it hard not to think about that thing. Also, the sheer size of his brain meant he was naturally predisposed to thinking. So, he did think about it. A lot.
It was even harder in bed, where Sheppard became John, who gave every illusion of being open to things that the Sheppard outside their bedroom wouldn't be. John let him get close in ways that the harder, more secretive Sheppard would have kept him out. John welcomed his kisses, smiling into them where Sheppard would have flinched away with a scowl. Yet, whilst everything about John seemed more accessible, he knew enough to tread very carefully where John was concerned, because Sheppard was always there, lurking in the shadows under John's eyes.
He read those signs every day, using them to gauge just how far he could push with John. Only, sometimes when they were in bed, when he had John pinned to the mattress and when John was clutching at his back, giving it up with those harsh, low moans, it made him feel like what he wanted wasn't too much to ask. Like it might even be okay to ask, and that John wouldn't mind going several steps further to try out a couple of things on his list.
***
He managed to wait one more week before broaching the topic again. This time, though, rather than asking the question up-front, which was so stupid he couldn't believe he'd even contemplated that let alone tried it, he decided to take a more subtle approach: by alluding to 'lists' during a casual conversation over lunch.
After stealing Sheppard's Jell-O pudding cup, which he was pretty sure that Sheppard had picked up for him anyway, he said, "So, Sheppard, you remember that list I mentioned last week," going for casual cool and supremely nonchalant.
Sheppard responded with the frowny look of confusion, which never failed to turn him on no matter how hard he tried not to let it. But the real problem with that look was that it also managed to derail him completely.
He wasn't sure how long he sat there smiling stupidly at Sheppard. He had a feeling it was probably far longer than was sensible for a closeted gay couple. Still, he couldn't help himself. His chest felt tight with emotion, and he knew everything he felt for Sheppard was right there in his eyes—right up till the moment when Sheppard growled, "McKay, not here," before pushing his chair away from their table.
Rodney came crashing back down to earth. "I'm sorry," he whispered, shaken. He'd always had such a terrible poker face. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," Sheppard cut in tight and sharp, glancing over both their shoulders. "Look, I'll see you around, okay?"
Rodney just nodded, knowing Sheppard was right. They couldn't do this now. God, he couldn't understand what he'd been thinking trying to talk about something so private in such a public place. Sheppard's parting squeeze to his shoulder let him know he hadn't screwed up completely, which at least was something.
He just hoped John would give him a chance to make things right later.
***
Later didn't quite materialize as planned, because Rodney decided to rein himself in entirely. He told himself that he was being considerate, that he was doing this for John, that he was putting John's needs first. And for a while, he almost got the hang of sublimating his baser needs.
But, as with all exercises in control, the tighter he held on, the more it seemed to slip through his fingers. And there came a night when he literally couldn't hold back any more and he just cracked.
Writhing on top of John, shuddering with want, he moaned, "Let me taste you," right into John's ear.
John groaned, "Sure, knock yourself out!" But from the way John spread his legs and lifted his hips, it was obvious John didn't get what he meant at all.
"No, I—" Rodney pulled back a bit, shaking his head. Then, he got a little distracted because John was lying there looking flushed and adorably confused by the lack of blowjob now. His fingers, though, weren't distracted at all. They kept trailing up between John's legs as though they had a mind of their own, sliding back to the curve of John's ass, showing John without meaning to exactly what he'd meant.
"Rodney?" John's eyes widened a fraction. "You want to . . . there?"
"Uh, maybe?" He took a deep breath. "I mean, if you—God, yes! Yes, I want to. Please." After John grunted quietly, Rodney knelt there, flushed and flustered, watching emotions he couldn't quite decipher flicker across John's face.
Part of him was relieved that it was out there at last, because this was it: no more hiding, and no more pretending. But John still wasn't saying anything, and another part of him—the part that worried about Sheppard—started yelling at him to take it all back, to promise not to bring up the topic ever again.
Before he could do that, John whispered, "Okay!" Then, John shuffled away from him and turned over onto his stomach, leaving him staring at the long, naked line of John's back and the way it curved temptingly into the muscled swell of John's ass.
After that, he didn't have a hope in hell of keeping his hands to himself. His fingers trailed down John's back, quickly followed by his mouth, which was aching to taste every inch of that smooth, soft skin. So, he did, licking his way up the length of John's spine before slowly mouthing his way back down.
Underneath him, John felt hot and perfect, and John smelled so good it was driving him crazy. But a strange kind of tension seemed to linger in John's frame, no matter how much he tried to tease it away. "You know, we don't have to do this," Rodney sighed, rubbing his cheek against the small of John's back.
When John, suddenly, huffed out a laugh, something told him it had nothing to do with John being ticklish.
"What?" he asked, drawing back a little.
"You want this, right?"
"Yes." It was a lot easier to admit that now. "Yes, I do."
"So," John shifted under him before settling down again, "I figure I might as well save myself some time, since I usually just end up letting you have whatever you want anyway."
Rodney smirked; he couldn't help it. "Are you saying I've got you whipped?"
"Something like that," John muttered into the folded cross of his arms. "And I say this at the risk of inflating your ego, McKay. Just try not to take too much advantage, please?"
He'd meant it as a joke: something to diffuse the tension. John, though, couldn't see his face, so John didn't know he'd been supposed to respond with something equally light-hearted. Not that, not . . ..
"John," he rasped, trying to breathe through the swell of emotion that was threatening to drown him. It was too much; suddenly, he felt overwhelmed and completely out of his depth, not sure which way to turn.
He had no idea how long he would have knelt there floundering like that, if John hadn't said, "You plan on keeping me waiting all night?" in that bored sounding tone of voice.
"Of course not, I was just—" Rodney bristled a little at the implication, until he realized what John was up to. By then, the ostentatious writhing John was doing only made him scoff with laughter. "Fine, fine! Just, don't rush me; this is important."
"Well, I'm glad someone thinks my ass is important," John murmured, still sounding a little bored.
For that, Rodney gave John's ass a smack.
"Rodney!" John glared a warning at him over one shoulder.
And, okay, apparently 'number fourteen' on his 'top twenty list' would have to wait a while longer. In the meantime, he settled for brushing his lips against the faint mark his palm had left on John's skin. From there, it was quite natural for his attention to shift to the rest of John's ass. John didn't seem to have any complaints about that, so he took things a little further by flicking his tongue out, holding John open with both hands and tasting him right there with one long, slow stroke.
"Fuck," John whispered, when he did it again. And after raising his head, he watched a series of shivers roll through John from head to toe.
"You okay?" he asked, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to the small of John's back.
Whatever John said in response was lost in the rustle of sheets and the desperate way John writhed underneath him. Not that it mattered much, since Rodney knew he couldn't hold himself back any more. He was so far past the point of no return, all he could think about now was John lying there on his bed, laid out just for him.
He slid back down to taste him again, shivering a little himself because, God, John was really letting him do this. Then, he pressed his tongue into John as deep as it could go, moving into the helpless bucking motion John made against him. He could hear the way John's breath suddenly seemed to tear itself ragged, and by the time he eased up, John was sweating and gasping and trembling with the same need that had him mouthing helplessly at John's skin.
"Can I have more?" he whispered, stroking a thumb between John's buttocks, making John shudder all over again. "Please, John," he said very softly, closing his eyes for a moment. "Please, I need more," he begged, pressing in a little.
John hitched out a shaky moan, sounding absolutely broken. But he spread his legs wider, lifting his ass up high—to just the perfect angle for him to take what he needed.
So he took John again, using both hands to keep him steady, because John went wild with the next sweep of his tongue and just sagged chest-down onto the bed, breathing in ragged sobs. And even though he was getting desperate himself, he knelt there for a very long time, eating John out slowly, ruthlessly, splaying one hand low on John's belly to hold John up through those uncontrolled shudders.
In the end, he had to draw back for a moment, because he needed to breathe—because he was so turned on he knew he would come right then if he didn't stop.
But John didn't seem to get that at all, and John rolled over and just grabbed at him, whispering, "Inside me, hurry," before getting them both slick and ready—enough for him to slide his cock all the way into John.
"Oh, God!" Rodney threw his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold on as the heat of John's body tightened all around him. But it was too good, and he'd been too close for too long, and he lost it completely when John drew him back down, coming deep inside John in slow, sweet pulses that left him gasping and shuddering with pleasure.
He pulled out as soon as he'd finished, making John let out a long, plaintive whine. And while John was still trying to reach for him, he slid down and pushed John's legs up and back, shooting straight from 'twelve' down to 'four' on his 'top twenty list' as he pressed his tongue in hard to taste himself inside John.
"Jesus, Rodney!" John clenched up tight, trying to get away. "You can't—you've just—"
"I want to," Rodney admitted quietly, easing back a little, mouth trembling against John's skin. "Please, I need—" he curled one hand around John's cock, knowing John wouldn't be able to fight that too. Then, he started jerking John off, giving John the kind of hard, fast rhythm he knew John loved.
This time, when he pressed his tongue inside John, John froze up against him for several fraught seconds. Until, all of a sudden, the tension broke and John just unfurled for him, shaking soft and open, and spilling out his pleasure in white-hot spurts.
***
After it was all over, once he worked up the nerve to face John again, Rodney looked up to find John lying there, still panting, with one arm thrown across his face.
As a shield, it didn't accomplish much, since the rest of John's body telegraphed so many things through sweat-soaked skin and John's come splattered chest and the way John's legs couldn't seem to stop shaking. The wealth of information was blinding, and so much more than he was used to getting from John. Still, he wasn't quite sure whether it was Sheppard or John he saw after that arm finally came down.
"You've wanted that for a while, huh?"
Rodney just nodded, too drained to speak.
"Anything else I should know about?"
Rodney frowned at him for a moment, considering his options. "I have a list," he said in the end.
"Tell me about it."
So, Rodney did.
The End.