Summary: Sometimes Rodney longed for a little input.
Info: Written for the BJ Fridays challenge on LJ: prompt was Educating.
"I'm gonna take a shower," John announced, rolling off the bed where the two of them had just finished watching Casino Royale. They'd both made noises of great pain when the Aston Martin was demolished and Rodney noted that John had gotten very still during the torture scene that followed shortly thereafter. He'd made a mental note to start screening some of these movies a bit better in the future, but in the end, the film had received a thumbs up from both of them.
Rodney had watched John pad over to the bathroom on bare feet, peeling his t-shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor, pausing at the door to shuck his BDU's completely and step naked into the bathroom.
It had been a sight to behold. Rodney had smirked to himself over the fact that John had gone commando that day and that there had been nothing between Rodney and the view of that very nice ass indeed as John had walked away. There was a sort of animal grace about John that Rodney knew, try as he might, he could never in a million years duplicate.
Only he'd begun to feel a little apprehensive as soon as he heard the water running. This could be tricky—reading John. Sometimes after a disappearing act like this, he might enter the room and kick Rodney out, citing the fact that it had been a long day or that an early day was expected tomorrow. Sometimes John would come back from where ever he'd gone off to with a smirk on his face and before Rodney knew it, they were naked and sweaty and Rodney still could not believe his good luck to be in John's bed. Sometimes John would re-enter the room, not really seeing Rodney as he sat down, lost in his own head somewhere and yet turning gratefully into Rodney's careful touch. Sometimes, from the moment he left, Rodney felt that it would be a good idea not to be present on John's return.
There was no predicting which scenario Rodney would get either. He'd seen John speculative with lust after a brutally hard mission when Rodney wanted to do nothing more than huddle on the floor of his shower with his arms wrapped around his knees. He'd had John ask him to leave when as far as Rodney could tell, they'd been having a great time together. And sometimes, just for pride's sake, Rodney chose to leave without waiting to see what John wanted. Well, okay, just that once.
It would be nice to have a little more input sometimes.
The shower continued to run. Rodney quickly decided that this was going to be one of John's longer showers, not one of his military-efficient ones. He was propped up against the headboard, with one of John's pillows behind his back. He stretched a bit on the bed, adjusting his legs and wincing at the soreness there. He could do with a long, hot shower himself. He morosely grabbed hold of the roll of belly fat at his waistline and jiggled it.
Ronon had been after him for a while to get into better shape. Rodney could still hear his teasing, "I can't believe how you've let yourself go, McKay." And that short haircut he'd gotten (secretly hoping it would make him look like Daniel Craig) just emphasized the fact that he was losing his jawline. When the hell had that happened? He used to be skinny, damn it! Skinny to the point that his classmates mocked him, and he'd remained that way all through college, even when the other students put on their 'freshmen twenty'. He'd always eaten a crappy diet, subsisting off junk food and sodas and it had never affected him until he came to Pegasus.
And he was getting old to boot. And as much as he liked the thought of growing old together with John, he knew that John at 50 was going to look a lot like Pierce Brosnan whereas he would look more like Mr. Rogers. A fat Mr. Rogers. Complete with slippers and a little brown cardigan, he was sure. It seemed patently unfair that here he was, having the best goddamned sex of his life and he was rapidly declining into old age. He couldn't help the persistent little thought in his head, like rats gnawing within his walls, that if he didn't start to make an effort with his appearance soon, John would get tired of him. After all, his best features were starting to become his only good features. And wouldn't John eventually decide that the difficulties of being with Rodney outweighed the dwindling benefits? Everyone else seemed to eventually come to that conclusion...
A raised, red little mole on his rib cage had sent him running to Carson a few days before. Carson had taken a look at the lesion and identified it as a cherry angioma, a benign growth common in areas of friction on aging skin.
"Excuse me, what?" Rodney had asked. No matter what Carson said, he did not squawk.
"It's a sign that you're getting older, Rodney," Carson had said patiently. "We all get these sorts of things as we age."
He'd made Carson give him a stress test then and there.
And since he passed it successfully, much to Carson's highly unprofessional amusement ("You dinna think running for your life nearly every week was enough of a stress test, Rodney?"), he'd begun a serious program of getting into better shape. Perhaps a little too serious a program. Because after the first 24 hours, during which he ran (okay, shuffled) three miles, swam 500 meters as fast as he could and lifted weights for thirty minutes, he'd been nearly crippled with muscle pain.
John had been surprisingly nice about it. "Rome wasn't built in a day, Rodney. You've had years to get out of shape; it takes time to reverse that. You wouldn't rush an experiment simply because you wanted the results sooner, now would you?" And he'd given Rodney a full body massage with some sort of warming liniment that smelled like almonds. It had been worth the pain to feel John's strong fingers working out the knots in his muscles.
Ronon had laughed his ass off.
The water shut off and Rodney had moment's panic where he wondered whether or not he should have left while John was in the shower. The last thing he wanted was to back John in a corner where he was forced to ask Rodney to leave. A saner part of his mind asked him to recall when the last time that had happened and Rodney had to concede that it had been a while. He was just about to push himself off the bed when John re-entered the room.
He was gloriously naked, walking into the room unselfconsciously as he toweled his hair and then dried out an ear, making a face as he did so. Rodney let his gaze trail down John's lean, lanky form, following the dog tags around his neck to the generous amount of chest hair that tapered down to his groin, where his cock stood at half-mast. Not aroused, but certainly capable of being talked into coming to the party.
"What do you want?" Rodney blurted out before John could speak.
John slung the towel around his shoulders, catching both ends in his hands as he raised an eyebrow at Rodney. "Whirled peas," he said with a half-smile.
"Ha-ha, oh so droll," Rodney snapped, sitting up on the bed. "I'm serious here. I never know what you want from me. I'm always so vocal during sex; there's never any question as to whether something feels good or if I like what you're doing to me. And if I don't like it, I'm quick to redirect you to something I do like. But you, you're so quiet and half the time I'm not sure you like what I'm doing and sometimes it feels so one sided, like you're doing all the work and I'm just lying back and soaking it in."
"It's not like that, Rodney," John said easily, tossing the towel on the back of a chair. He took his hands to his hair, scrunching it up until it stood in its familiar chaotic mess and Rodney wanted to point out to him that despite all his protests to the contrary, it was hard to control something that you secretly took pride in. The light from above caught a glint of silver in John's sideburns and Rodney noted that John wouldn't just go gray, he'd go salt and pepper and that would be even sexier than ever and that was so unfair.
He also noted John's cock seemed to be interested in the conversation.
"Tell me what you want from me," Rodney said firmly. "I want to know what turns you on. I want to know what you like me to do to you."
"I don't know." John looked embarrassed but he came over to the bed and sat down on the edge, folding one long leg under the other as he rested on one hip with one foot still on the floor. Rodney could see a little crinkling of skin at the corners of his eyes, but given how much time John spent outdoors, Rodney thought he still looked older than John, the curse of being fair skinned, good sunscreen or not.
"Tell me what you want," Rodney persisted, his voice dropping unconsciously lower as he gazed at John's cock, lifting out of its thatch of dark hair, becoming fuller and harder at Rodney's words. "I'll go first," he added when John just sort of sat there. "I like it when you give me a massage. God, you're good at that. You could quit your day job and make a decent living from your hands, you know that, right?"
John just grinned. "Maybe I like giving you massages."
"What about receiving them? Mine that is. I always worry that you're like Chandler, pretending you enjoy them when in reality they're the worst massages ever."
John gave a snorting chortle that threatened to turn into the donkey laugh, but he managed to restrain himself instead. He shifted position, making himself comfortable against the headboard beside Rodney, adjusting the second pillow behind his back, seeming unaware of the dichotomy between his nakedness and Rodney's fully clothed state. "You realize that makes you Monica, right?" he snickered.
"You didn't answer my question," Rodney admonished.
John sighed quietly. "Okay. You sometimes seem a bit...tentative. Like you're afraid you'll hurt me. Sometimes you just need to go for it."
Rodney was pleased with this response. "Okay, that's good to know. No, seriously. What else?'
"I don't know." John shrugged helplessly.
"What do you think about when you're alone?" Rodney suggested. "What do you wish I would do to you?"
He thought maybe he'd hit paydirt because John's eyes suddenly dilated and his cock thrust upwards a bit.
"Okay," John drawled in that sexy, bedroom voice that sent a jolt of pure sensation straight to Rodney's cock whenever he heard it. "I think about your mouth on my dick."
Rodney's mouth began to water in sympathy.
John put one hand behind his head, the position delineating the muscles of his arm and exposing the dark gathering of hair in his arm pit. Rodney had always found the contrast between John's body hair and the creamy, golden color of his skin visually appealing; this too, caused his cock to stir in his pants.
"I like it when you take it slow," John continued, his voice smooth like the finest whiskey and his words causing a similar comfortable burn and afterglow in Rodney. "I like it when you act as though you can't get enough of me, when you lick and suck and pull until I know your jaw must be aching and you make those little sounds and try to take in even more until you gag with the effort but that still doesn't stop you."
Rodney's glance dropped to John's cock, which had undulated slightly as he spoke. Rodney found himself fascinated by the tiny gleam of precome gathering on its tip. When John began to speak again, it was John's smoky, hazel eyes that caught Rodney's attention once more. "I like it when you do that thing with your tongue, where you push it against the underside of my cock and just when I think I can't take any more, you switch gears and begin sucking or licking again. And god, when you take my balls in your mouth and finger me at the same time...Jeezus, Rodney. It's like they're hard-wired to my dick and you're the only one who knows it and you've got me coming harder than I've ever come before in my whole life."
Rodney was starting to breathe hard at John's words and John was looking at him in that sleepy, half-lidded way that was just sex personified and John's cock was begging, just begging for Rodney to take it into his mouth and perform the very acts John was describing.
"But I like it when you fuck me too."
"Excuse me, what?" Rodney was momentarily staggered; John's words had made his own cock press forward against his fly, becoming uncomfortable in the confines of his pants.
John's pose remained casual, but he flushed, his ear tips turning bright red. "Yeah," John said quietly. "I think I like it best when you fuck me."
Rodney rapidly recalculated his entire relationship with John. "But you almost always...I thought you preferred...damn it, I thought..."
John took pity on him. "You have a great ass," he smiled his sexy smile at Rodney before it changed into something more vulnerable. He shifted a little on the bed, bringing his arm out from behind his head and draping it across his abdomen. "But I like it when you fuck me too, okay?"
"Okay. Okay." Rodney tried to figure out in his head what was the shortest period of time it would take for him to get completely naked with John right now. "So," he added slowly. "You like blow jobs and you like being fucked...I'm thinking then that the combination of the two would be your definition of the best sex ever?"
John reached for him, pulling at his shirt, freeing it from the waistband of his pants. "Anyone ever tell you you're wearing too many clothes, genius?" John asked with a sly grin.