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Morning sunlight is shining inside through the stained glass window panes of Atlantis. Into his home. Onto his bed… or rather, their bed. Casting its patterned glow of reds, oranges and yellows onto his sprawled out on his front husband. The one contented to reside in the land of dreams. Head of perpetual messy raven hair tucked sideways into the pillow. Grown out a touch longer too these days. Much like his bespeckled beard of greys and black. Ha. The joys of semi retirement, huh?
Speaking of, Rodney indulges himself by lingering. By sitting back down on the end of the bed to take in the scenery. Every inch of his six foot man is lying half nestled in the sheets, half bared as well. Because John? He's a menace to share a bed with… and yet Rodney doesn't want it or him any other way. Not anymore. He's grown way too fond of those strong arms cuddling a hold of him. Those legs as they cling onto him, encouraging him to drive in deeper. Harder. Faster. Like he'd done last night.
As if he could refuse him? No way. Because, John fucking Sheppard doesn't do sex by halves and he knows to find then push his every damned button too. For they each only speak the most elegant language when they kiss. Touch. Make love. Not that they don't talk when they have a need to voice their emotions, but sometimes the demons of the Pegasus life and past missions gone wrong can only be chased out by losing themselves in the heat of the night… in the desperate rejoining of their bodies. Affirmation of life. Yeah.
Rodney is feeling alive this morning. More than. Never mind the soreness of his body. No, there's no need for coffee to wake him up, even though he's had some, duh… of course he has. He too is dressed to go. Do his thing in the lab…
But why rush it? His team of scientists can do without him for a while longer, can't they?
They'd better, because he isn't ready yet to part from the temptation spread out before him. So, Rodney draws his fingers up over one hairy leg. Its warm skin. Sunlit. Beautiful. Muscles strong underneath it, except for where the two jagged, long scars on its outer thigh are reminders of how close Rodney has come to never know John the way he does today. Here. Inside of their private quarters. This bubble of borrowed time in which John has no pain, no limp, and no need for his cane, yet. Where he doesn't feel the restrictions thrown up by his injured hip never healed up right either. Not while he's still sprawled out under the cover of oblivion.
But, where Rodney can't ever forget again the sound of agony, time has a way of moving on. Of healing wounds. The old cliche is true on this one too. For him. For John as well. Since beyond the darkest hour and that world of hurt lies the period of recovery. Of their friendship deepening into more… into their admissions of love. Their shared, raw need to be alone no more. To be understood without having to explain themselves about what they each had lacked the words for. Ha.
Yeah, the language of John Sheppard is as inelegant as they come, but Rodney has learned to understand it along the way. The absence of verbal cues replaced by touch. Action. Gestures. Intentions disguised by a layer of spoken out sarcasm laid over his emotions. His husband is nothing if not an open book to Rodney these days. In this sweet moment more so than at any other hour. For now and here there is no duty. No worry. No pain. Only the glorious expanse of everything John.
Wincing on his behalf, Rodney eyes then feels up the bruises and scratches his hands have made on the sun kissed skin. Finger shaped dark spots around the good knee. On angled hips. Both of them. From where he'd held on as he'd pinned John down, underneath him. To kiss him silly. To bring their cocks together for round one. Their initial impatience now visible and worn with pride later today, underneath the cargo pants left forgotten on the floor. Oh, their apartment is a mess… but Rodney doesn't care. He only has eyes for his sleeping husband.
For the way John is licking his lips, making the most adorable sigh too as he shifts his legs in octopus style. Ha! Had Rodney still lain in the bed? He'd have no space left to reside in or whatsoever. Figures. As it is though, Rodney can but smile as he caresses those long limbs with his palms to feel John up properly. These days he knows where each freckle is. Where the sensitive spots on muscled inner thighs are as well. Yeah… but he's touching on these but gently so, since it won't do to wake John up before he's got him where he wants him.
Moving in between spread legs, Rodney leans in over his adorably sleeping husband to brush aside more of the sheets. To take in the sight of those round, but tight ass cheeks exposed for him. Oh, they fit so well in his palms too. All creamy white skin. Bruised around the edges. Washed clean in the after… which, allows for the idea in his mind to take shape… should he? Ha. Of course he will, because Rodney knows that John doesn't mind waking up to his greedy hands and lips. What though about his tongue?
Rodney watches the way John now curls one hand into the pillow, snoring gently as he does. Deep and even breaths. Oh, his fly boy may be a light sleeper on missions and before they had begun sharing a bed. But these days? Especially after nights like the one they've had? His fucked boneless husband is dead to the world on the morning after… which is how Rodney prefers it. For now he gets to worship every inch of John with kisses. With quiet whispers of awe too. Yeah. Ten years and change since their coming out as a couple, and he still can't always believe what a lucky bastard he is to have landed this handsome devil of a human being for a husband.
Not that John is perfect or anything. No. Truth is, Rodney loves him for all of his imperfections too. Some of which are endearing to him, like his habit to always wear his damned dog tags. Even now when away mission are off limits to John due to his busted hip and leg. Not that his prideful husband ever complains about his injures or his scars. No. On a surge of love Rodney leans in even closer to trace said scars with his mouth, determined to offer up his learned skills to massage the sore muscles later in the day to make up for pushing them so hard. Last night. In the heat of the moment. Not that he'd not supported the injured leg as he drove his cock deep inside of John. No. Because together they've learned what works for them. How to avoid spasms of pain to kill the mood and all that. Yeah…
Now though? Rodney sees no need to rush himself when it comes to taking what he wants… what he knows John loves to be on the receiving end of, despite his gruffness over letting anyone see into how lazy morning afters are his favourite. Both of theirs. Yeah. Because Rodney so enjoys it too to have John all pliant and sleepy. Open in ways he's not when awake.
In the still of the room Rodney thumbs over the nape of John's neck, touching the silver chain worn there with a wry smile. For all that John has sworn to serve when he signed up with the Air Force? For all that Rodney himself is not? Atlantis is the home which they have both protected with their lives. Blood, sweat and tears. Sorrow and injury. Hell yes, she owes John Sheppard more than most, or so Rodney believes. Since it is his impossible, naturally inherited ATA gene that's saved all of their asses more than once. His sheer determination. His selfless need to put his body on the line to keep her and her people alive… ugh. By now Rodney has lost count of the number of suicide missions his infuriatingly brave husband has flown, which he has then somehow survived against the odds too. So, in a twisted way of fate - as much as he hates them - he has these scars to thank for John slowing down. Yeah.
Lazily so, Rodney slides his thumbs into the dip between ass cheeks to tease them over the closed up rim. Fuck. How is John so tight again? So responsive even while asleep? For it gives in under the gentle press of his thumb as if begging for more… except that Rodney replaces it with his tongue. Leaning in further as he does. Licking over the sensitive skin there to slick it up. Warm it up from the outside. Shallow thrusts. Kisses. Bites near the gone wet opening too. A hint of pain to add onto the pleasure. Never too much of it though, 'cause he wants John asleep still. Pliant as he slowly licks his way deeper inside.
"Ah…", comes the soft whimpered moan. John stirs now. His good leg sliding outwards, giving Rodney even more space. Oh, his cock has taken a notice for sure. While Rodney can't see it where it's lying tucked away underneath John, he assumes it to be true due to the all-telling shallow thrust or two of those hips he's in answer grabbing a hold of.
"Be still", Rodney whispers at John in warning. Smiling when his order is met. As the deep, even breaths continue to speak for blessed semi unawareness. Good!
Flicking out his tongue once more, Rodney stabs it inside of the puckered opening to ease his way past the firm muscle. Again and again. Deeper now. Harder. Wetter. To caress the sensitive nerve endings, which will sooner rather than later have John squirming with pleasure. Yeah, any second now, and so Rodney digs in his blunt finger nails deeper to pin his husband down to this wake up call. Taking his delight from the soft yet lewd moan let out between heavy breaths of sleep.
Almost there, but not yet. Rodney savours each lick. Each tremor travelling outwards from within that sweet ass. The way John's once lazy grip on the pillow is getting firmer by the second… even when the rest of him stays lazy. Sleepy. Fluttering eyelashes aside? John seems rather contented to stay as, where and how he is. To let Rodney tease him. Lick his ass open, wet and pliant. No need to lube up his fingers any further, no, because Rodney can slide one of them inside without resistance or any other sign of complaint in sight. What comes out of John instead is a quiet plea of, "Fuck… yeah."
"Morning to you too."
Rodney breathes out over John's wet hole, grinning, even as he teases it open further by adding another spit slick finger. Oh, his husband is aware now. Awake. Swept up in the moment. Lost to the intimate pleasure, which Rodney is dishing out on him on this unguarded morning after. One touch at the time. One lick, one nibble and yet another promise of more. Of I've got you… which John seems to acknowledge by closing his eyes. By submitting his body further to Rodney without any shyness over his neediness. Over how close he is to purring over being worshipped.
Oh yeah. These kind of uncensored mornings are the sweetest to Rodney. For this is the so private side of his husband only he gets to see and have. So no, he's still not in a hurry to end him. Rodney wants to savour every quiet moan. Feel John giving in to his every touch. Tremble from the effort it takes him to not move for a change… because to do so will break the spell. Teeth biting on lips. Moans tumbling out anyway, because of the so sinful torment Rodney is wringing from within his still sprawled out husband. Oh, the sight of him is doing things to him, even when his still too spend cock is staying soft in his pants. His heart however? Is soaring with love. His soul too. For this is where and when he feels whole. Alive. Trusted and so respected.
As such Rodney keeps giving back. With slow thrusts of his joint fingers. By curling them up to the spot where John wants to feel them the most… again and again until there is the sweet, warning gasp of pained pleasure. Of raw need.
"Rodney… fuck… I need…"
"I know."
Easing off to make the morning last, Rodney drags his fingers outwards only to slide them almost back home. No, his massage dished out on John's prostate and ass alike isn't about release in itself. It's about indulging himself as well. Because watching each wave of arousal spreading out into his flushed over husband? Is a delightful sight to behold. One he can't ever get enough of, and so Rodney delays the inevitable by retreating his fingers every time John is holding his breath to signal that he's on the edge. Oh, he's so not ready yet to let him fall over it. Maybe next time… or the one after it. Maybe.
"Rodney… please. Let me touch myself", comes the whined out plea for mercy. "I can't…"
"Yes, you can and you want to."
Rodney calls it as he sees it. Yeah. By now John lies trembling and writhing around his fingers. Clenching every other trust to feel it all. The stretch. The fullness of every thrust made by the fingers Rodney uses to drive the pleasure from within his core. Hell, the mind-blowing fact alone that John still hasn't even tried to touch himself is a dead giveaway. His husband too is savouring the denial of his orgasm despite himself. This sweet morning of torment in which time itself seems to hold its breath. In which Rodney keeps giving and John takes and takes so they can hold on to pleasure. To the pure intimacy of knowing each other so well. Nothing said. Nothing needs saying…
His twisting, sliding and curling fingers are enough to render John to this sensual creature stretched out on the bed. Skin flushed over. Ass clenching around each one of his thrusts now, for Rodney is fucking his fingers to precision now. Yeah… he's pulling the sweetest sounds and curses from his so desperately aroused husband by now. Oh, he knows what he is doing. Feels the effect it has on John and his so stunningly pliant body too. Fuck, his bittersweet agony of denial is so hot to Rodney, but maybe the time has come for him to have mercy on the one who's been so good for him since - and even before - waking up. 'Cause truth be told? He's aching too for John to shatter apart around his fingers.
"Now, Colonel", Rodney whispers at last, leaning in to taunt John with his order while he drives his joint, three fingers home. Hard. Deep. To wring the orgasm out of his husband with one perfectly timed thrust. Ha!
Oh, its a delight to Rodney to see John tensing up in the pleasure of a delayed and therefore all the more powerful orgasm. To feel him clenching harder than ever, trapping his fingers buried within. It's as good as the final cry of his name pouring out of the mouth he's yet to kiss good morning. Soon. At present Rodney wriggles his fingers again to milk wave after wave of pleasure from his squirming husband, who's making even more of a mess of their sheets. Their bed, which is getting soiled by fresh semen all over again. Huh. Good thing they haven't yet bothered with changing them. Later…
In the now, Rodney retreats to wipe clean his fingers on said sheets. Stretching out next to John after, he pulls him in for a hug to hold him close upon his chest while he tries to catch his breath. And when finally those so stunningly open eyes are glaring at him? They are all soft. Bright. As is the morning itself. Lazy as they close again while John drawls out a rumbled, "Mornin'… gimme another five minutes, yeah? Someone blew my brain out."
"Sure."
Why not? They have earned the right to be late, haven't they? So, Rodney surrenders to being pinned down in turn. Crowded. Used for a pillow by his naked husband, whose eyes framed by crinkles and lazy mirth now seek out where he's soft in his pants. Dressed for the day. Yeah, that. Rodney winces over how age is a touch less kind for him than it has been for John. His receding hair. His cock needing more time to recover from nights like their last one. How his reading glasses are lying on the bedside table… which forces him to squint back at the one who's too close by for him to see his handsome, silver bearded face at full sharpness. Ugh.
Still, John is the one to look away first… and so Rodney puts his finger under that bearded chin to call for his attention and kiss him firm on the lips to reveal what his morning greeting had been about. Oh, he knew what he was doing when he worshipped every flawed inch from his husband's flesh and soul alike, and why. Not to get off in the physical sense, but to sit in awe over being able to please John so much. To know him so intimately. To watch him submit to his touches without a hint of hesitation, because of the implicit trust they've build up between them after all these years.
Yeah. On this so private morning for two Rodney fears that he loves his husband more so even than science. For John? He's become his favourite thing about life.
THE END