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Dream Catch Me

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John loves days like this, days when he can awaken slowly, no missions or important tasks around the city to interrupt his sleep. Even rarer are the days Rodney has off too, when John can persuade him to stay away from his labs until midmorning or later. No radios to wake them prematurely, just this.

John savors it, the slow drag into wakefulness. Mornings like this, with his mind relaxed, he can almost feel the living thrum of the city, the current of the ocean beneath. The cadence of his heartbeat seems to match it. He could lose himself in that, if not for Rodney’s comforting presence. Rodney, of course, has occupied the majority of the bed in his sleep, his body taking up space in a possessive sprawl. John can’t bring himself to mind, loves draping himself over the broad expanse of Rodney’s back, lips pressed into one of Rodney’s strong, freckled shoulders.

John loves it, loves how deceptively powerful Rodney’s arms and shoulders are, even if Rodney won’t own to it, choosing instead to place value in his mental abilities. And John loves that too, don’t get him wrong, but he’s the only one who gets to appreciate this.

Rodney murmurs something in his sleep, and John lifts his head. The movement shifts his body, bringing his hips flush with Rodney’s ass. His cock, half-hard from sleep, slides into the groove between Rodney’s ass cheeks. John lets out a stuttering groan, blood rushing south as he shifts his hips in a leisurely thrust.

It’s too much and not enough, and John is filled with an overwhelming sense of need, want—closer, faster. Under other circumstances, John might take his time, slowly kiss and touch his way down Rodney’s body, pull him apart and rim him until he was fully awake, cursing and writhing on the too-narrow Atlantis bed. John might finger him open slowly, driving them both mad with need. Still other days Rodney might be slick and stretched from the night before, allowing John to simply push in, smooth and unhindered.

This isn’t one of those mornings; John doesn’t have the patience for it, his needs are too pressing. Instead he contents himself with the way his cock is sliding along the cleft of Rodney’s ass, passage eased by the slickness of precome.

Rodney groans beneath him, shoulders tensing, hips hitching up as he moves to meet John. It makes the muscles of his ass tighten and John gasps as he urges his own hips faster, rutting against him.

Rodney’s half-awake now, has to be, but there’s none of his normal bitching about being woken up, or really, Colonel, you couldn’t wait? Always Colonel when he wants to sound extra condescending. Instead of that, Rodney is letting out soft, desperate sort of gasping noises, breath hitching into a whine.

“Oh, fuck, John.”

And John loves the way Rodney says his name, but even more like this, drawn out and ragged like it’s being torn from him. That’s what does it for him, the sound of his name on Rodney’s lips—he quickens the pace of his hips until he’s faltering, rhythm lost, as he paints his release on Rodney’s ass.

John goes rigid, muscles tense as he takes in the sight in front of him. He reaches a hand out, trails it through the mess, and his cock gives an involuntary twitch, an after-echo of pleasure. John’s slickened finger slides along the cleft of Rodney’s ass and traces haltingly around the ring of muscle there. He would love nothing more at this point than to do it, to press fingers inside and spread Rodney open, but even he’s not that optimistic that he’ll be ready to go again so soon. Rodney gives a desperate-sounding whimper beneath him.

“Yeah, c’mere, I’ve got you,” John says, pushing and pulling at Rodney until he’s turned over on his back, completely disregarding what state the sheets will be in after this. He swallows Rodney’s cock down without even a preemptive exploration, enjoying the broken gasps Rodney makes in response.

Rodney’s hands come down to tangle in John’s hair, insistent and demanding, and John doesn’t mind, just sucks Rodney deeper, relaxing his throat and nuzzling closer until his nose is brushing at Rodney’s belly. Rodney won’t last long, John can feel it from the way his hips are twitching in agitation beneath John’s fingers, and John takes advantage of that fact, humming around Rodney in his mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, John, I’m—” Rodney tries to warn, and then he is, spilling down John’s throat while John grips tighter, holds on and takes it.

John holds himself there for several long moments, gentling Rodney through it while his hips spasm in John’s grip. Finally, he pulls off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Rodney’s face is glazed, and he’s looking at John with an expression close to wonderment, like he’s just discovered the algorithm that will solve all his problems and a fully-charged ZPM to boot.

“Morning,” John drawls, breaking the moment.

Rodney shifts on the bed, and then his face falls into a lopsided frown. “Oh, gross.”

It’s so Rodney, and John can’t help the surge of overwhelming fondness he feels. He crawls up Rodney’s body, nuzzling at him and wrestling him into something resembling a hug, though at this point Rodney is shifting and twitching, trying to get away from the wet spot on the bed. He holds Rodney through his protestations, knows that soon they’ll have to move, have to get cleaned up and start their day.

But for another moment, this.