Work Header


Work Text:

As a man who’s gone through many, many years of schooling, Rodney understands that midterms are a stressful time in any student’s life. He can empathize to a degree, especially if that particular “any student” happens to have him for Physics 352 – he takes great pride in the fact that his tests require a student’s brain actually be put to critical use rather than just made to memorize facts out of the back of the text book.

However, any empathy he might have had is constantly crushed by the rampant stupidity that seems to seize the undergraduate body as soon as midterms are announced. Rather than getting actual work done, “study groups” congregate in the main library lounge to talk about who’s been making out with Bradley Thompson and which celebrity is most likely to fall prey to the siren call of Botox injections next.

At one point he hears velocity and ratio enter the conversation, but he’s almost positive that has more to do with the mechanics of really good sex than theoretical physics.

And because someone has it out for him, as soon as the thought enters his mind, he catches sight of John standing at the information desk with his hip cocked out enticingly and a familiar smirk curving that full mouth up at one side.

Their eyes meet.

“Kinematics, kinematics,” Rodney chants to himself, briefly overwhelmed with the desire to rip John’s pants off. “I am all about kinematics and particle dynamics and...rigid bodies.” He pauses to put his face in his hands. “Oh god.”


If you ask Rodney, there’s a damn good reason work place romances aren’t usually the best way to go – and it has nothing to do with the potential messy break ups. Oh no.

If you ask Rodney, the real reason is: you want to have sex everywhere.


“This is a really bad idea. Unhand me,” Rodney says.

Despite his protests, he lets John pull him through the stacks – although ‘lets’ is such a friendly term when John is practically dragging him along by the scruff of his neck and, okay, this is just unnecessary violence, shouldn’t they be setting a better example for the students? Not that the students are children or anything, but they’re still very young and what if one of them sees?

He loses his train of thought when John shoves him up against non-fiction three hundreds and sinks to his knees.

“Oh, uh, but someone could –”

Rodney squeaks (in a manly way) and pushes John away by the forehead when John’s teeth manage to undo the top button of his pants. John doesn’t end up sprawled on his ass by some miracle, but he does knock the back of his skull on the non-fiction seven hundreds and glare.

“Uh,” Rodney says again, sheepish, but John just huffs, climbing to his feet again; he catches Rodney’s face between his big hands and holds him still through a few hungry, slick kisses, thumbs tucked under Rodney’s jaw to tilt his head up at the right angle for John’s tongue.

It’s an obvious ploy to get Rodney to calm down – John’s used the same trick hundreds of times already and Rodney’s cottoned on – but it works anyway, and by the time John pulls back, Rodney’s ready to strip down to his skin and let John take him with nothing more than spit and a little elbow grease.

John gives him a sly, knowing grin and murmurs, “I’m not going to fuck you, Rodney.”

His fingers are just as knowing, suddenly between their hips, working Rodney’s pants zipper down and folding the flaps of khaki back with deliberate movements that have his knuckles teasing Rodney’s cock through a thin layer of cotton.

Rodney sucks in a loud, rattling breath. “What – what are you going to do then?”

John’s palm covers Rodney’s mouth. “Shh, shh, have to be quiet,” he whispers, smirking. “This is a library, you know.”

This time when John sinks to his knees, Rodney doesn’t have it in him to do anything more than stare blindly across the aisle and whimper. John draws his boxers out of the way, curls a hand around the base of Rodney’s cock and gives it a long, tight stroke, his thumb catching just under the head; pressing, pressing until Rodney arches and grasps at the metal bookcases with clumsy fingers. A soft puff of air against his belly, and then John’s mouth is on him, hot and wet and so goddamn clever.

The hand not holding him steady reaches down, touches the slick red of John’s lips where they’re stretched wide around his cock.

“Oh fuck,” Rodney exhales, “look at you.”

John flicks a glance up at him and goes deeper, tongue doing something wicked and impossible against the vein along the underside. Rodney grits his teeth and keeps it together as long as he can with John working him over, every little trick he’s learned since they started doing this piled one on top of another until Rodney’s biting the inside of his cheek copper so he doesn’t beg. Then John sucks at just the tip of his cock, upper lip curling back to reveal a bare hint of teeth, and Rodney’s done for. He has no idea what kind of sound he makes, but John’s watching him with transparent shock when he gathers the energy to focus his eyes again.

He manages a muzzy, “Wha?” before John’s on him again, their fronts pressed together so tightly Rodney can feel the shape of John’s erection against his hip through two layers of clothing. Each kiss is more drugging, desperate than the last, John’s teeth tugging on his lower lip again and again, so that when Rodney swipes his own tongue over it, it stings.

“Okay,” he manages, strained, “okay, alright, just –”

They spin inelegantly around – John’s back against the books now with Rodney’s hands fumbling his pants open – and the hot flush that spreads across John’s cheeks and creeps up his neck to his pointed ears is the best thing Rodney’s seen all day. He corrects himself absently when he pulls John’s cock out of his boxers, red and needy at the tip, flared head just the perfect size for Rodney’s mouth: that is definitely the best thing Rodney’s seen all day.

He’s less graceful about getting down on his knees than John, but once he’s there, he spares no time getting settled, just leans forward and swallows John’s cock down as far as he can. A muffled yelp from, an aborted twitch of John’s hips; he’s close already.

Rodney draws it out as long as he dares, pulling off every few strokes to suck hard kisses down the underside of John’s shaft, to nip teasingly at the jut of John’s hipbone over his waistband, but soon John’s got a hand in his hair and the fist stuffed in his own mouth isn’t keeping John quiet enough for where they are. Taking pity on him, Rodney wraps his fingers around John’s dick and jerk, quick and hard and twisting, his mouth sealed over the head.

John comes, his body shaking so badly that a few of the books behind him tumble to the floor, and, god, it’s amazing to watch.


Displaying his complete lack of shame once again, John doesn’t even have the decency to look embarrassed when the two of them sneak out of the stacks together, disheveled and bruised in very interesting places.

“It’s not like they want to know about their teacher’s sex life,” John reminds him when they’re safely behind the information desk. He looks smug. And really well fucked.

“You can’t just say that!” Rodney yelps, attracting a few nearby students’ attention. “Anyone can hear you!”

John’s grin stretches impossibly wider. “Let ‘em talk, McKay. So what?”

“I knew you’d be like this,” Rodney says gravely. “The very first second I laid eyes on you, I knew it.”

“Be what? A really great boyfriend?” John asks guilelessly, and Rodney narrows his eyes and crosses his arms, going for ‘affronted’ but only managing ‘uncombed’. John touches the back of Rodney’s thigh, tugs him surreptitiously forward. “Your one true love? Specificity, Rodney.”

“Mbelston,” Rodney mutters.

“What was that?” John asks.

Maybe the last one,” Rodney repeats in his you moron voice because it makes him feel less like his heart is lodged somewhere near his left knee. A quick peek shows John’s face softened by a different sort of smile, one Rodney’s not sure he’s ever seen before. It’s goofy and a little lopsided, completely unselfconscious.

“Oh,” John says happily.