John never cared much for porn. It was too impersonal, too forced, too focused on all the wrong things. Maybe it was the result of living under DADT for so many years and getting by on a heated look or a brief touch. Or maybe he was just wired differently, he didn’t know.
Ever since the day he sat in the control chair in Antarctica and changed his life, the majority of his jerk-off fantasies involved Rodney McKay.
John reclined on his new, larger bed with his pants undone and his legs spread, applying gentle pressure to his half-hard cock with the heel of his hand, boxer briefs providing a necessary barrier so he wouldn’t come too soon.
Rodney had been in rare form when John had gone to get him for lunch. One of the new brainiacs dropped off by the Daedalus had touched something he shouldn’t have and almost killed himself. John had leaned in the doorway of the lab and taken it all in, cataloguing every detail.
“…any idea what you did? Can you even read any of the letters that come after your name? I can only presume your degree comes from a clown college.”
Rodney had very expressive hands, they waved and dipped and pointed while he talked, and always drew John’s eye. So big and yet capable of such delicate work. John imagined one cupping the side of his face, thumb stroking along his cheekbone, while the other wrapped around his wrists and held his arms over his head.
John wrapped his fingers around his cock, squeezing through the cotton. Just thinking of Rodney’s hands on him was enough to bring him to almost full hardness, and he let out a shaky breath.
“I wish the SGC would save me from half-baked idiots who think they know everything! Zelenka, how many morons like this guy have we lost?”
The natural downturn to Rodney’s mouth grew more pronounced when he was upset. Or really focused, as he often was. Sometimes when he was sitting in front of his computer he’d suck his bottom lip in just a little, worry at it with his teeth. John imagined Rodney turning that gaze on him, studying him intently to see what reaction he received from touching John here or there.
His pants suddenly became far too restrictive, and John shimmied out of both them and his underwear, using one foot to push everything off the side of the bed. Naked now from the waist down he ran both hands down his thighs and then back up again, to cradle his balls. He reached over to the bedside table and fished out the jar of lube he kept there, slicking up one hand. He shivered at the feel of the cool cream against his hot cock, and made long, slow strokes with just the right amount of pressure. He closed his eyes.
“So don’t you come in here all cocky and arrogant, thinking you’re going to show anyone up. You need to learn from our mistakes, unless you want to end up with exploding internal organs, or brain bleeds, or any number of other horrific methods of dying that have nothing to do with the Wraith.”
Rodney could say a lot without ever speaking at all. His blue eyes could be hard as ice, or sparkling with excitement at a new find. They gave him away, especially when he was thinking about the men under his command that he’d lost since coming to Pegasus; his eyes turned soft and misty then.
John imagined Rodney’s eyes turned dark with lust, looking down at John as he straddled him with those strong, muscular thighs. John sped up the strokes just a little, thumb running over the head of his cock to capture the beads of precome there. He made a needy noise in the back of his throat but refused to move things along and rush the ending.
“Now get to the infirmary and have Dr. Keller check you over. Then I suggest you spend some time reading over past accident reports. You’ll find them on the server. Pay special attention to science department fatalities. I don’t want to see you back here for three days, do I make myself clear?”
Rodney had really broad shoulders. John had seen them squared with determination, and bowed with grief. At times they bore the responsibility for the safety of the whole expedition, and even under that kind of pressure Rodney never faltered.
John imagined gripping those shoulders, bracing himself as Rodney moved over him, inside him, driving him on to the edge. They’d both be slick with sweat and John would have to hold tight, tight enough to leave bruises maybe. Marks that no-one else would see but he would know were there.
He was so close. Little sparks of electricity jiggered up his spine, and his lube-slick hand made a squelching sound as he jerked himself with shorter, faster strokes.
“You started without me,” Rodney said. John hadn’t heard the door swish open, and he was too far gone to care. “Jesus, look at you.”
John opened his eyes, watched as Rodney crossed the room and snagged the jar of lube as he climbed on the bed between John’s spread legs. “Finish it,” he panted.
“If you get this worked up every time I give someone a dressing-down in the lab, I’m going to have to ban you.” Rodney nudged John’s hands away and took over.
“Yeah,” John breathed. He had Rodney’s deft hand on his cock, doing the pull and twist that felt so good, and one slick finger circling back behind his balls, over his hole. He moaned and moved his hips in time with Rodney’s strokes, building up a rhythm that immediately stuttered when Rodney’s finger breached him and pressed inside.
“Come for me, John,” Rodney said in a low, heated voice.
“Little more,” John gasped. “Just a little…yeah…”
Rodney’s finger hit John’s prostate and he writhed, come pulsing over his abdomen, staining his shirt. Rodney milked him through his orgasm until his cock grew too sensitive and he started to squirm.
John floated in a boneless haze, only peripherally aware that Rodney was stripping quickly out of his clothes. Rodney ran a hand through the mess on John’s stomach, which was followed by the unmistakable sound of him stroking his own cock.
John opened his eyes, watching as Rodney rocked back and forth on his knees, cock in hand. Rodney’s pupils were blown wide; regardless of his complaints, watching John masturbate was a huge turn-on for him. It didn’t take long before Rodney was coming, his spunk mixing in with John’s. Marking him in a different way. John’s cock gave a little twitch of interest, but that was just wishful thinking. It would be a while before he could get it up again.
“Why do you have to be so damn sexy?” Rodney complained. He flopped down beside John on the bed, breathing hard. “You’re going to kill me, you know that? Death by excessive orgasms.”
“Worse ways to go.” John peeled off the soiled shirt and used the clean parts to wipe the come off his exposed skin. He dropped it off the side of the bed and rolled on his side, resting his hand on the soft swell of Rodney’s stomach.
There wasn’t a single piece of Rodney that John didn’t appreciate, from his nubby toes to his receding hairline. Hell, he could spend a whole day just worshipping the man’s fine, fine ass.
Rodney glared at him. “Stop looking at me like I’m a buffet. It’s weird.”
“Your own fault for being so damn sexy,” John said with a smirk, throwing Rodney’s words back at him. He leaned over and kissed Rodney, a slow, easy sweep of tongues and press of lips. Later there’d be heat and fervor and the slap of skin on skin, but for right now John enjoyed the quiet between them.
“Yeah, right.” Rodney scoffed, as always, at the thought of being considered sexy. But his cheeks flushed red and John could see he was pleased by the compliment. “You still owe me for getting an early start.”
“I’m overseeing some target practice tomorrow for the new batch of Marines,” John said. “You could come and watch.”
Rodney groaned. He tugged on John, pulled him over so that John was sprawled on top of him. “I’ll be there.”
John grinned and kissed Rodney again. He, for one, had no problem with excessive orgasms.