Area 52 HKH


by dith

Summary: Pegasus B AU John and Rodney.

"Why didn't you eat the popcorn?"

"What?" John didn't even look up from the ancient device he was supposed to be making work. He wasn't even sure what to do with the thing, and he'd already touched it, fondled it, and poked it in so many ways that Rodney was starting to get turned on just watching.

Conversation might turn his mind to new topics.

"The popcorn. When we had it, you didn't even eat it. You let Ford eat the last of it."

"Oh. Yeah, I don't eat a lot of it."

"But you were all excited about it. Teyla told me that was what you mentioned first when we thought we might get to go home. But you didn't even eat it when we had it. Why was that?"

"Um." John prodded the thing a little longer. It didn't light, didn't hum, didn't even twitch. John was getting bored with it. "I don't like popcorn for the taste, Rodney. I like it for the pop."

"What on earth does that mean?"

"What do you mean what does that mean? It means just what I said."

"People don't like food for the sounds it makes, John. They like it for its taste or texture or psychological associations or --"

"I like the pop, Rodney." John frowned, rubbed his fingers back and forth across the artifact's surface, watched Rodney swallow. What was with Rodney, anyway? Weren't they down here to work? That was what Rodney wanted to do, work, right? That was all Rodney ever talked about, work.

"What, you like the sound of popcorn popping?" Rodney looked puzzled, but John couldn't tell if it was because of the ancient artifact not working or because of John's position on popcorn.

"You don't?"

"It reminds me a little too much of gunfire," Rodney said under his breath, and moved some of the electrical sensors he'd attached to the artifact.

"Well, it's not the sound."

"What is it then?" Rodney was considering actually breaking out in a sweat. He couldn't remember the last time John had touched him, and John's hands on the stone looked warm and strong and Rodney could barely remember what he'd even been trying to find out.

"I don't know." John took his hands away. Nothing was getting done. As with most things he tried to do for Rodney, it was a complete waste of time. He wondered what Rodney was thinking about as the guy's face bent toward his laptop. Those blue-grey eyes were flicking back and forth across the computer's screen, and John wondered if Rodney would even notice if he weren't there. "I guess I like the anticipation."

"The anticipation?" Rodney looked up, puzzled, and John wondered if he'd even been listening.

"Yeah. You know. You've got all those fat little kernels in a popper and you're just waiting for them to explode and when they do you've got something, I don't know, fluffy and white and totally different."

"Interesting," Rodney said in that tone he had that meant to John that it wasn't interesting at all. Rodney moved some of the sensors. "Why don't you try --"

"Maybe tomorrow, okay? I've got to get something real done today."

And Rodney watched John stalk out, wishing he were something real.


John's book pages fluttered as he dropped the book beside the bed. It wasn't holding his attention. He wondered, not for the first time, why these Russian novels were supposed to be so great. Shogun had to be longer, and it had made a better miniseries, too.

He was surprised by the knock at the door, but not as surprised as he was to find out it was Rodney.

"Um, hi," he said, as Rodney barged right in the way Rodney had used to do.

"Hi. I won't take up much of your time. Get naked."

"Excuse me?"

"I think it was sufficiently clear. Look, I'm not interested in taking up a lot of your time, I'm sure you're very..." Rodney looked around, raised his eyebrows at the rumpled bedcover and the book lying on the floor, "...busy. Just get naked, get in the bed, and I'll keep my interruption of your valuable time at a minimum, all right?"

For an instant John considered getting angry. Then he looked at Rodney. Rodney jutting out his chin, arms folded protectively across his chest, looking as if he wasn't at all sure that John wouldn't just hit him. Rodney, whose social graces would fit in a thimble.

John grinned.

"Okay," he said, and without preamble, stripped off his sweater.

Rodney swallowed as John shucked off his boots, peeled off the uniform pants, and lay back down on the bed, still on top of the rumpled cover. He was so long, so beautiful, and when he smiled his slow smile like that, so wicked.

If it weren't for the fact that his feet hurt, Rodney would be sure he was dreaming.

Was this all there was to it? Had John been waiting all this time for Rodney to stop by and tell him to get naked? Was that all he'd been waiting for?

Of course, it wasn't like Rodney had stopped by and demanded that John take him to the mainland, or play chess with him, or watch television, or even eat dinner. Maybe it was just that John was willing to do this. Maybe John still had nothing to say to Rodney, he was just willing to suffer Rodney's company for the sake of sex.

If so, Rodney wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

He ought to be able to tell John how gorgeous he looked, all lean muscle topped with that shock of black hair, and the look in those green eyes that could only be referred to as naughty. Rodney couldn't say naughty out loud. John would know what a dork he was if he said something like that. He couldn't say any of it. It wouldn't come out right anyway, and if there was one thing he knew John didn't like, it was listening to him rattle on.

"Okay then," was all he said as he shucked his clothes as well.

He hated getting undressed with John watching, but there was nothing to be done about it, so he endured it, keeping his eyes on the floor till he could flop gracelessly into the bed next to John, reach out and kiss him before he could see the expression on John's face.

Neither one of them could see, Rodney reflected, as they kissed each other, and it was tentative at first, weird, as if they'd never done it before, as if they didn't know each other.

But then one of them made a noise -- it wasn't clear which one -- and they rolled closer to one another and the feeling of all that bare skin against bare skin seemed to remind them of all kinds of things and then they were wrapped around each other, all heat and, as the moments passed, sweat, chest hair rasping against each other's nipples, cocks bumping and legs tangled up with one another as they kissed each other for all they were worth, then nibbling at each other's collarbones, stroking each other's shoulders, licking all the spots they knew behind each other's ears, below the throat, along the --

"Wait, wait," rasped Rodney, arching away suddenly.

"Huh? What?" John blinked, as if coming back from very far away. "If you leave as suddenly as you showed up, you should be warned that I'm going to follow you and kill you."

"No no. Just... hang on, hang on." Fighting for breath, Rodney held John's arm away, as if they were wrestling and Rodney was losing. Experimentally John flexed, seeing if he could get it closer. Rodney's eyes widened in alarm and the muscles in his own arm flexed as he struggled harder to keep John still. John liked the look of that.

He was considering trying it again when Rodney blinked, fast, and took a deep breath. "Just wait," he said, pushing himself upright on the bed.

Feeling his breathing slow down a little, John just watched, a little warily, as Rodney scooted closer, even closer, stroking his hands, God those hands, John had forgotten what they felt like, up over the tops of John's feet, along his shins, over his knees, along his thighs, and suddenly Rodney was sitting on John's bed with John practically draped over his lap. John's ass was balanced on Rodney's crossed legs, and John's breath caught as Rodney's hands stroked the inside of his thighs. Rodney's cock, hard and silky hot, bumping against John's ass, and John groaned. Rodney was going to fuck him, he knew it, and that was a great idea, a fantastic idea, one he wished he'd had himself --

"No," Rodney rasped, holding him down, and John's eyes opened disbelievingly.

"What the hell do you mean, no?" John's voice was rising.

"Just... just stop."

John pushed up with his feet, moving as if to shift his hips off Rodney's lap, but Rodney's hands held him down, holding the bones of his hips, and John's eyes came back to Rodney's, locked there.

Rodney was looking at him.

Right at him.

John's hands moved toward Rodney, maybe to pull him closer, maybe to push him away, and Rodney grasped one in his, threading his fingers through John's, kept holding him down with the other.

And still Rodney's eyes were fixed on John's face.

John couldn't remember if Rodney had ever looked at him like this.

He felt naked, vulnerable, silly, for a moment. Then Rodney's hand, the one on the point of his hipbone, slid down, one of those square strong hands sliding over the sensitive skin where his leg joined his groin and John jerked, startled.


Rodney's voice sounded soft, hypnotic, as that wonderful hand slid further down and closed around John and John couldn't help it, he had to groan, had to close his eyes, had to strain.


John's head rocked back and forth on the pillow. "I don't know what's with the zen master philosophy all of a sudden, Rodney, but --"

"Just hang on."

"You're not going to... you're not going to stop, are you?" John's eyes opened again and he looked at Rodney again. Still looking right at him. It was unnerving, the way Rodney's eyes were focused on him. It was the look Rodney used on equations, on Ancient crystals, and John felt pinned, and increasingly desperate, and... puzzled.

"Of course I'm not going to stop." Rodney looked surprised. "John, just... just relax. I just want to... I just want to give you this, okay?"

"Give me what?" John's eyebrows pointed in the middle as he pulled them together, staring at Rodney as if he'd never seen him before. Rodney, determined and somehow fragile at the same time. Cheeks flushed with arousal, and yet ignoring his own hard-on. Hand closed around John, holding John in his lap, eyes fixed on John's face.

Focused entirely on John.

John's chest spasmed; he drew in a fast, sharp breath. He'd had Rodney deep inside him who knew how many times and he'd never felt so surrounded, so invaded, so present.

Rodney pulled John's hand, tangled in his, up to his mouth, kissed his fingers. "Popcorn," said Rodney.

Something tight and dark in John's chest let go, and he smiled. A slow, sweet smile, one that dazzled Rodney to the point where Rodney wondered if he'd ever be able to see anything again that wasn't that blinding smile.

And John laughed.

"Popcorn?" he said, and as Rodney licked one of his fingertips, John grunted, his cock jumping in Rodney's hand. "What the hell are you talking about?" John half-moaned, half-rasped, the sound of a man aroused almost beyond bearing.

But he couldn't tear his eyes away from Rodney's. Rodney's, looking right back at him. Into him.

"I just thought, you know, we never made it back to Earth so you're not going to get any popcorn. And I thought, well, you wouldn't even want to KNOW what I'd do for a pound of peanut M&Ms, seriously, just to eat them all and never worry about where we'd get more? And I figured I couldn't get you popcorn - well at the very least it's going to take us several years to breed through enough generations to modify that native grain even into something that will pop, even if we try - but you said it wasn't the taste, it was the anticipation. And I thought, well, that I can give you. You know. If you let me."

And the sound of Rodney's voice, and the thought that Rodney would be willing to start a grain breeding program just to provide him with popcorn, and how much better this was, just made John feel even lighter inside, and even hotter in Rodney's hand, and if anticipation was the goal, it wasn't going to last much longer.

"Sure," said John, but the look on his face said an awful lot that he didn't put into words.

And Rodney smiled.

John's skin in his hand somehow turned even silker, sliding over a shaft even harder, and Rodney fought the urge to squeeze. He slid his hand down, feeling John's hand clench, and licked his lips. Oh, he was hard as a rock himself. But this was too good to pass up, too good to spoil. If he could stay like this forever -- well, his back would start to hurt pretty soon, and his legs were kind of cramping up. But aside from that it would be heaven, sheer heaven.

Gently, very gently, he brushed his thumb over the silky smooth head of John's cock, feeling the moisture there. John's eyes slid shut involuntarily and his back arched, and he tried, tried hard to thrust, but Rodney wouldn't let him.

"Isn't there a song about this? Anticipation?" Rodney licked his lips again.

"Y--yeah." John's hips flexed, and Rodney admired the movements of the muscles but moved his hand too, so that John couldn't produce the desired friction.

"Rodney, you're a --"

Green eyes locked with blue again, and this time it was Rodney who smiled. "I'm a what?" he said, moving his hand just the tiniest bit.

"I -- I don't remember what I was going to say," groaned John.

Rodney kept smiling, a quiet secret smile, as he stopped moving, entranced by the feel of John's heartbeat.

He wondered if he should count the breaths, count the hearbeats, wondered how long they could stay like this.

John's face was red, his muscles strained toward Rodney but he didn't let himself move either. He was willing to wait. Willing to be --

"Mine," whispered Rodney, suddenly stroking John hard.

John's orgasm hit him like a hurricane wind, like a brick wall, like love.

Rodney's hands held him and Rodney's eyes watched him as John shook apart, completely out of control. John felt like he was freefalling, like he was shattering, even as he wondered, when it was all over, whether he would laugh or cry or even remember his own name.

Rodney just stroked him, his softening cock, his trembling legs, his belly, his ribs, his thighs. Rodney looked unbearably pleased with himself.

"I always thought --" John rasped, trying to catch up to his breath, trying to move despite muscles sheerly melted from pleasure, then stopped.

He couldn't say what he was thinking, that he'd never been able to imagine what it would really be like to have Rodney's undivided attention, that it was almost more than he could handle, that no, he didn't really remember his own name.

"Thought what?" said Rodney, rubbing his cheek on John's knee, and John realized that Rodney looked a little concerned.

"I can't remember," John said honestly. "I can't remember anything I've ever thought."

Rodney grinned, flat-out grinned, and John was as lost as he'd ever been.

"That sounds fine to me," said Rodney.

"It is fine," John sighed. "It's perfect, in fact."

"Perfect?" Rodney looked worried again. No one had ever associated him with the word perfect, except of course for he himself, and it seemed out of place somehow.

"You heard me."

John's lips were flushed such a lovely dark pink that Rodney wanted to go back to kissing him. He wasn't sure how he would do it, because he had to get out of this position and his back had stiffened up and now John had come all over him and really it was all a little complicated.

But there was nothing wrong with John's smile, or John's absolutely satisfied body, or John's apparent opinion that this moment was perfect.

"Better than popcorn?" Rodney inquired. Because really, he'd had a goal.

"I have to say, even better than popcorn." And John meant it. Because it was. He'd been right, it was the anticipation that was the best part. But when corn popped, all he had was, well, popcorn.

As it turned out, now he had something way, way better.

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