The List

Author: Cathalin
Title: The List
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Warnings: Rimming, explicitness
Length: About 2,000
Spoilers: None – no context or plot whatsoever.


Note: No beta – I couldn’t ask someone to do it for this *g*. Will gratefully accept the pointing-out of mistakes, of course.
Author’s Note: Inspired by yin_again’s “shy” fest. She expressed a particular wish for stories about things one of them is shy about when horizontal.


THE LIST

“You have got to be kidding me,” Rodney says, exasperated.

“I’m not kidding, McKay,” John grits out, face turned resolutely toward the wall.

Rodney sighs and counts to three in his head in base seven. As part of his self-improvement program, he’s been working on not letting a stream of words leave his lips until he’s thought them through a little. Sometimes. When he’s really motivated.

He’s pretty damn motivated right now, but three is as far as he can get without breaking. “So you seriously won’t let me lick you there?”

“I don’t want to talk about it, either,” John mumbles into his pillow.

“I’ll add it to the list,” Rodney says. “Hmm, List of Things Sheppard Doesn’t Want to Talk About – oh gee, I’m sorry, no room, that list already has infinite entries!” He throws himself on his back and crosses his arms over his naked chest.

After a significant number of seconds go by, he glances over at John’s back. His beautifully naked back, muscles tight and tense. Rodney huffs out a breath of air and turns on his side. He scoots closer, reaches a tentative hand to John’s shoulder, lets it settle there, unthreatening. John flinches microscopically, then relaxes as Rodney makes no move towards further touching.

“Fine,” Rodney finally says, softly. “I just thought – I thought you’d. I wanted - .” He stalls out, helpless in the face of this heretofore-unknown feeling, the feeling he has about Sheppard. This is so new – they’re still finding their way, and he desperately doesn’t want to fuck things up. “I always fuck things up,” he blurts. “Even when I’m not trying to.”

John’s shoulders lose a little more of their tension, and he turns slowly under Rodney’s hand until he’s lying on his back next to him. “Not your fault,” John says.

Rodney stays quiet, and this time he has no problem with waiting. John finally turns his face a little and looks at Rodney. He grimaces. “Not gross to you?”

“You just had a shower,” Rodney says. “A very thorough one.” He smirks at John. “I made sure. Studies show there are more germs on countertops – you want the statistics? Because I’ve got them in my head.”

“I’ll pass,” John says dryly.

Rodney can’t help it, the corner of his mouth turns up. Sheppard does that to him all the time, makes him laugh, and that actually isn’t easy to do in the non-contempt-filled sense. He tries to fight it, but he can’t stop it, and then thank god, Sheppard is smiling too, so maybe he’s not fucked this up irretrievably. “Forget about it,” Rodney says lightly. “It was just an idea.”

Sheppard quirks an eyebrow at him. “A McKay idea.”

“Yes, so?” Rodney asks, letting his hand move ever so slightly on the hot golden skin of Sheppard’s arm.

“They’re usually pretty good bets, is all,” John says, eyes darting away from Rodney’s face to somewhere over his shoulder.

Rodney’s really really bad at this kind of thing, but he thinks, he’s pretty sure – definitely, John’s face is a little pink.

And oh, that’s hot. And kind of – sweet? But mainly, hot, John sort-of-asking. Apparently – astonishingly, shy about this. “Are you - ?” he blurts.

John nods once jerkily, still not looking at Rodney. “Yeah,” he croaks.

Rodney has to breathe deeply for a few seconds against the lust surging through his body. And his brain, because that’s the thing with John – it’s more all-encompassing than just body lust, though that’s definitely fully on board, thank you very much. “Sure?” Rodney manages as he cock stirs and begins to harden again.

“McKay!” Sheppard says, rolling onto his stomach, and right, no problem, Rodney’s already sliding back down John’s body, mouthing little kisses every third centimeter, letting his tongue flick out at random intervals. John is tense under him, but he starts to respond, begins to push his body up slightly into Rodney’s tongue. Rodney intensifies his efforts, letting himself lick circles down John’s salty back, nipping with his teeth a little once in a while.

John’s apparently decided to try to let go, because he’s turning sinuous underneath Rodney, practically rippling under his mouth, and Rodney lets his hands get into the act. One strokes softly up a hairy thigh, the other snakes around John’s other leg, pulling it up a little, reaching underneath, and finds his cock, which – yes, definitely is interested.

Rodney hardens more thinking about John letting him do this, what he’s about to do. He tugs on John’s leg a little more, pulling him up and back just enough, and has to breathe hard and fast, because this is Sheppard, whose body gives things up almost grudgingly. This is also one of Rodney’s secret things, as improbable as it might seem for someone who hates germs as much as he does, though maybe that’s part of the charge, the dirtiness of it, the illicitness. The idea of taking John apart like this – if he can, if it works – leaves him breathless.

Suddenly impatient, and figuring if he delays too long John might change his mind, Rodney just goes for it, licking gently over, and then around John’s asshole – keeping it light, keeping his hand on John’s hip loose, trying to convey that it’s no big deal if John doesn’t like it. This time, Sheppard doesn’t pull away, but he’s not moving into it yet, and Rodney can still feel tension in his thighs.

On impulse, he rubs his cheek against John’s butt, just rubbing, sort of a friendly check-in, and John must get what he means, because he hums softly, sort of a, “I guess it’s okay so far” hum.

Rodney smiles, then licks a slow stripe over to his target, makes the touch of his tongue feather-light, just this side of tickling, as he repeats the pattern he established before – one lick down, one around.

Slowly, slowly, he feels the tension drain from John’s legs, feels the first tiny push of John’s body into Rodney’s tongue. Rodney lets his hand move on John’s cock just a little, and yeah, it’s harder, and John’s legs move fractionally further apart.

It seems like it’s going to be okay, so he lets his brain switch off, lets himself follow his own desires a little, lets his tongue swirl a little harder, push just a little, signaling intent. John groans softly and his cock throbs a little in Rodney’s hand, and Rodney is suddenly drowning in sensation – the musky taste under his tongue, John’s little noises, the hair on John’s thighs pricking against his skin, the hard velvet glide of John’s cock in his hand.

Now he lets his tongue push in, at first just a little, and then more on John’s stuttered moan. John is rocking back against him now, angling to get Rodney’s tongue deeper, then rocking forward, trying to shove his cock harder into Rodney’s hand.

It’s wet and noisy and messy and somehow sort of primal, and Rodney’s coming a little unglued himself now, rutting first against the sheet, then against Sheppard’s strong leg.

John’s pushing back hard now, whining a little, gasping in choked-off little breaths, and Rodney feels deprived of oxygen himself, bringing all his focus to bear on making this good, making this great for John – John who needs to let go, needs to once in a while loosen his iron control and just – just feel.

John’s saying words now, mainly indecipherable, mainly nonsense, but Rodney hears fuck and oh god, and best of all, Rodney. It goes straight to his cock, and makes something clench in his chest at the same time. He tightens his hand around John, pushes in a little deeper with his tongue, and now John is practically writhing underneath him. He has to use all his willpower to not come yet, not to rut furiously against John’s leg and let the white heat inside him come spitting out.

Not yet, not yet, and his patience is rewarded, because John is turning liquid underneath him, practically sobbing, oh fuck, oh fuck. He’s covered in sweat, and Rodney can smell him through all the other sensations – purely male, purely John.

He feels John’s orgasm right before it hits, in the clenching of muscles inside and outside, the tautness of his back, the slickness of his cock. He rides it, still thrusting in with his tongue even as he gentles his hand around John, draws it out, draws it out. John’s groan is guttural, not controlled at all, desperate.

John collapses underneath him finally, panting, and Rodney licks a stripe up to an ass cheek, lets his mouth kiss and lick and bite there, frantically letting his cock have the friction it needs, finally, against John’s leg.

John says, hoarse, “I’ll – ,” but it’s too late; Rodney’s coming, back arching, rutting desperately into John’s taut calf, stifling a deep groan in John’s hot slick skin. He comes for what seems like forever, then collapses, dead weight, on top of John.

He loses touch with reality for a while, coming back slowly when John shifts a little underneath him. “Sorry,” he murmurs into John’s back, and attempts to shift a little off him.

“S’alright,” John murmurs back, voice raspy.

Rodney shifts some more, slides fully off John, who’s lying boneless in the same position he’s been in for quite a while. Rodney feels a twinge of worry, then feels it grow into more than a twinge. Pushing John’s not a good idea, ever, if it’s something he doesn’t want to be pushed on. Rodney knows he gets carried away by his enthusiasm – he’s been told that by ex-girlfriends and especially boyfriends, not that there’ve been many of either. “You okay?” he manages lamely, still panting a little.

John shifts a little, turns his head so he’s facing Rodney. His eyebrow arches, but his face looks relaxed. “Still don’t want to talk about it,” he rasps.

“Okay, fine,” Rodney blurts. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed, I get carried away sometimes, or so I’m told, and I don’t mean to, but it was just, I thought, I wanted - .”

John hits him, a ridiculous weak flailing of his hand against Rodney’s bicep, says, “Countertops?”

Rodney feels his face warm. “Well, yes, you’re right, technically that’s perhaps not completely true, but I really think – mrmph.” The last part of his sentence is forcefully cut off by John gathering him in and kissing him deeply, soundly, right on the mouth, his mouth which has been - . “John!” he attempts, pulling away forcefully, “Think where it’s been – mrmph.” Because John’s pulled him in again, made the kiss even dirtier this time, plunging his tongue into Rodney’s mouth, holding Rodney’s face still between his big hands. Rodney gives up, goes with it, lets John do whatever the hell he wants, because whoa, seriously hot, again.

Apparently John’s trying to tell him everything’s okay, so fine, he’ll go with that, and it’s a rush, because maybe he’ll get to do it again sometime, and he can add refinements, some things with his tongue that - .

He lands on his back forcefully, John on top now, grinning down at him. Any remaining brain cells take that moment to flee, because Sheppard in full grinning mode – well, the brain cells are forgiven. “Idiot,” John says softly. “I’m – .” He grimaces, says quickly, words slurred together, “I’m sort of - shy, okay? About some stuff. Doesn’t mean I don’t - . Well.” He looks at Rodney’s shoulder, and Rodney feels that tightness in his chest again, a sharp pang of feeling – something that’s never been part of his post-coital repertoire before.

“Shy is good,” he says softly, more gently than most people would probably think he was capable of, letting his fingers reach up to stroke John’s sweat-soaked hair from his temple. “Though if that was shy,” he adds, trying to lighten his voice, lighten the mood, “I suspect not-shy would cause me a heart attack. Myocardial event, definitely.”

John looks straight down into his eyes now, finally. John’s eyes are very bright and warm and his hair is sticking up in patches. “Okay then. I’ll stay shy if you don’t mind.” He doesn’t phrase it as a question, but Rodney thinks maybe John’s gotten a lot of grief for this part of himself in the past, just like Rodney’s gotten grief for his own personality.

Rodney clears his throat. “I don’t mind,” he says, throat a little tight. “I didn’t mean it, about the list, the - .”

“You meant it,” Sheppard growls, looking momentarily fierce, and Rodney’s stupid heart clenches again. John breaks into another grin. “But I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?” Rodney squeaks. “Because I know my tendency for sarcasm is something that – mrmph.” It’s almost annoying, how Sheppard keeps interrupting him with kisses, but considering how hot they are, and how John’s body is blanketing Rodney’s now, his tongue licking Rodney’s lips, his hips grinding, just a little, down into Rodney – well, forgiveness is a virtue.

With the small fragment of his brain which can think anything other than warm, sweet, wet, mouth, John, Rodney reflects happily that - maybe, probably – hey, this is John, so definitely – there are other things – sex things - that are on John’s list of things he won’t talk about, that he is shy about.

Hopefully, lots of them. Lots and lots.

End