When they tried to pass each other on the stairs for the third time that night – John with an armful of laundry, Rodney with paperwork in his hands – John gave up, swore colorfully, unceremoniously discarded his pile of boxers and socks on the steps, and pushed Rodney back against the wall. He kissed him, swallowed Rodney's wistful little "oh!" and pressed in close, chest to thigh, hands curled firm around Rodney's upper arms.
Rodney blinked, dazed, when they broke apart. "Um. Hi," he said unsteadily. "Hi."
John hummed agreement and brushed his nose against Rodney's own.
"I was – I had . . . " Rodney rustled the handful of papers he was clutching.
"Barely seen you," John said low, kissing his chin. "Meetings. Labs. Late nights."
Rodney meeped very softly. "Barely seen you either," he pointed out, once he managed to clear his throat. "You've been all – sawdusty. And with the paint."
The corner of John's mouth curved into a smile. "And with the paint?"
"Shut up," Rodney chided and kissed him again, sliding one leg between John's thighs. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."
"Yeah," John agreed, rocking into his body heat and letting himself be kissed the way only Rodney knew how – with sweet, lingering determination; with a focus that made affection pool beneath his hands; with whispered words and hitching breaths; with a clever tongue and a grateful smile.
"You need to do that laundry?" Rodney murmured, hand curled protectively at the back of John's neck, fingers scritching gently against his skin
John shivered, wanting. "You need to write that report?" he whispered dragging his lips down Rodney's rough jaw.
"Mmmnn . . .no, no, not – no," Rodney managed in a rush.
"Good, me either" John breathed into his mouth, and Rodney's papers joined the laundry on the stairs.