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Industrial Arts

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Rodney's in a distant lab, working on something with a wrench, leaning over to really get at its guts.

John's watching from the doorway. He'd meant to collect Rodney for lunch, but Rodney's all dirty and he's swearing and John's kind of paralyzed with lust.

"Son of a fuck," Rodney says, holding up an orange spring. "Where did you come from?"

The spring doesn't answer and Rodney leans back into the drum and just starts shoving stuff around. He's standing on his tiptoes and his butt's wiggling around and his pants have these flappy pockets on the back that just emphasize how full and round his ass is. John wants to bend him over a lab table and -- do things that'll probably get him kneed in the groin.

John tries to get himself under control. "Hey, McKay," he says. And it almost works except for how his voice breaks in the middle.

Rodney backs out of the drum and wipes his cheek on his arm. It leaves behind a smear of grease. John absolutely does not whimper.

"What?" Rodney says, giving John a quick once over. John shifts uncomfortably and Rodney immediately identifies his problem. "This?" Rodney says, waving at himself with the wrench. "Oh my god, you're like a teenage girl! How did you even survive shop? Or did you take home ec instead? How does the whole world not know you're gay?"

John didn't even know Rodney knew. Some days, John even forgets about it himself, though not lately. Not with Rodney hauling around his gigantic toolbox and banging away at the stubborn pipes in the desalinization plant. John shivers.

"Is it me or the wrench?" Rodney says. "Because if it's the wrench, I'll give it to you and you can go away and enjoy it in the privacy of your own quarters. If it's me -- is it me?"

"Yeah," John says, face hot.

"Come here," Rodney says. "Come here now."

John's dick twitches in his pants. He never had a thing for being ordered around before he met Rodney. Now he sort of likes it, especially because he knows if he ignores it, Rodney just gets more bossy.

Rodney snaps his fingers. "I don't have all day!"

John saunters over and Rodney grabs him by the shirt and kisses him. Rodney's getting grease all over John's face and neck, marking him with his fingerprints. John moans into the kiss, wraps his hands around Rodney's hips, slides them down to his ass and squeezes. It feels as good as he imagined.

"I really want to fuck you," John says.

"Yes!" Rodney says, pulling his shirt off. He jogs over to the lab table where his toolbox is and starts rifling through it. John comes up behind him to look over his shoulder and kiss his neck.

Then Rodney says, "No!" and John stops kissing his neck. "Not you," Rodney says, putting down a tub of his industrial strength sunblock. "We don't have any condoms. We could go get some?"

Some. John likes the way Rodney thinks. But John's on a mission. He needs to bend Rodney over a lab table and he needs to do it right now.

"Later," John says, reaching around Rodney and unbuckling his pants. Rodney pushes back against him and that leads to a brief tangent where they rub against each other for a bit, but then John gets them back on track and pulls Rodney's pants and boxers down to his knees and arranges him over the lab table so that he's stretched out across it and holding on to the far edge. His ass looks so good like that.

"Hurry up," Rodney says impatiently. "This table's cold, and probably dirty."

John doesn't give him a chance to rethink things, just warms up some sunblock between his hands and rubs it down the crack of Rodney's ass.

"Oo!" Rodney says, lurching forward a little.

John gets his own pants and boxers down, slicks up his cock, and then leans over and presses himself against Rodney from hips to shoulders, his cock fitting nicely between the cheeks of Rodney's ass.

They both groan, though Rodney's seems to be more than half frustration. "Take your shirt off!" he demands.

John's hips give a short thrust, because it turns out being ordered around is even hotter during sex, but he takes his shirt off and leans back over and Rodney's groaning happily now so John presses open-mouthed kisses across his big broad shoulders and slowly rubs himself off against Rodney's ass.

"You do, occasionally," Rodney pants, "have a good idea. Though, a little help here?"

"Yeah," John says, licking the back of Rodney's neck. "Sure." He reaches around with his slick right hand and finds Rodney's cock, gives it a nice slippery stroke. Rodney bucks against him, fingers tightening on the table edge. John jerks him off.

"Tonight," John says, "we're going to get some condoms and do this again. Except we're going to be in my bed, and I'm going to be in you."

Rodney cries out and comes in John's hand and John lasts a few more strokes before he's shooting all over Rodney's back.

"God, that was good," Rodney says into the table. "But I think you broke my spine."

John struggles upright and looks for somewhere to wipe his hands. He steals a rag from Rodney's kit, then uses it to give Rodney, who is now greasier than a greased pig, a quick cleaning. John pulls his BDUs up and gets Rodney to his feet.

"You okay?"

Rodney fastens his pants, leans one way and then the other. His back pops. "I'll live, but this converter needs fixing and you have just seriously fucked up my concentration."

"If it helps," John says, "that orange thing doesn't belong in there. It's part of a children's toy."

"Ah ha!" Rodney says, sticking his head and shoulders back into the drum. He waves a hand at John. "Give me that wrench."

John passes it over, then hops up on the table to sit and wait. Rodney will probably want to take a shower before lunch. The least John can do is be there to offer his assistance.