Rating: NC-17 - contains explicit sex and painplay
Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters and am not profiting from this story.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my lovely beta, shadowenangel!
Summary: John's just trying to stay afloat.
Rodney's door really likes John.
Much to Rodney's consternation, it doesn't really like to keep John waiting; petty things like locks and stern looks from Rodney don't seem to faze it at all.
So when John swings by on Rodney's day off, the door pops obligingly open, beckoning John to come on in. John takes a half a step in, enough to actually see into the dimly lit room, and freezes in his tracks.
Rodney's sitting up in his bed, on top of the covers, completely naked; in itself, that isn't anything new. What is new is that there's a neat line of clothespins tracking up the inside each of his solid thighs. And Rodney's got his face tilted up towards the ceiling, panting and sighing as he rakes his hand over the pins, making them move and pull at his skin.
John can't even move; he's just standing there, transfixed, clueless as to what to do, unsure what the hell he's even looking at.
Finally, he steps all the way in and frantically waves the door shut; that's what finally draws Rodney's attention. His gaze snaps onto John, his blue eyes wide.
"You're supposed to be at the range," he says, his voice flat and even, expressionless.
John can't even speak for a minute. "Lorne canceled," he responds finally. He knows he's staring- shit, he's not just staring, he's gaping- but he can't seem to stop.
Rodney crosses his arms over his chest- and Rodney is the only person John's ever known who could manage to look indignant and intimidating with no clothes on. "Like what you see, Colonel?" he says, his tone icy.
John knows he's on shaky ground, and he just doesn't know what to do at all; it's like he's standing at the door of the secret clubhouse and he doesn't know the password. "I don't- I mean, I never-" Rodney's staring coldly at him and his mouth is starting to take on that unhappy slant that it gets when he's feeling particularly disappointed and miserable. John swallows hard, before he blurts out, "I don't know why you look so fucking hot right now, and it's kind of freaking me out."
Whatever response Rodney had been expecting, it clearly wasn't that; he drops his arms, his shoulders slumping a little. "Um, well. That's better than nothing," he says carefully. "Do you, uh, what I mean is-" Rodney snorts in exasperation, tugging at his short hair. "Would you want to help?"
John feels exactly the same way he did when he was fourteen and just about to get his hands on Gillian Lewis's tits for the first time- terrified and a little queasy and so turned on he couldn't even think. "You really like this, right?" he asks, unsteadily.
Rodney raises an eyebrow at him, looking down at himself and back up to John. "Little far to go for a joke, don't you think?"
"I'm afraid I'm going to hurt you," John says, even as he's stepping closer to the bed; Rodney just gives him this look like he's not even going to dignify that with a response. "You know what I mean."
"I already did the hard stuff," Rodney points out. "If you can take in laundry, you can do this."
John swallows, nods. "What do you want me to do?"
"You just kind of," he gestures vaguely, "mess with them? Pull on them, twist them, that kind of thing? Just don't take them off until I say."
"Do you want- should I warn you?"
"No, don't. It's better if-" And before he can lose his nerve, John leans over and twists two of the pins. Rodney gasps, loud and shocked- and for a moment, John's terrified he's done something wrong, but then Rodney makes a noise of satisfaction. "You sneaky bastard."
Something unlocks in John's chest. Probably he'll freak out later, but for right now, he thinks he can maybe do this; it's different, but it's not any scarier or stranger than being with Rodney in the first place.
He kicks off his shoes and crawls onto the bed, right up between Rodney's spread thighs, careful not to bump into anything. He takes Rodney's face between his hands and kisses him, harder than he intends, desperate for something to ground him; Rodney opens right up for him, slipping his hand into John's hair and carding through it gently.
Feeling a little less terrified, he sits back on his haunches, gently passing his hand over the ends of the pins to make them shift, just like Rodney had done. "How does it feel?"
Rodney spreads his legs a little wider, relaxing even as the pain makes him gasp. "It's amazing. Better with you here."
"I haven't even done anything yet," John protests.
Rodney tilts his head back, closing his eyes. "Shut up and let me compliment you right now. I'll make sure to insult you double if it turns out you suck at this." John narrows his eyes and tweaks one of the clothespins; Rodney jumps a little, but he's grinning.
Rodney wraps one of his big, sure hands around his cock, stroking himself slowly while John plays with him, cautious and experimental, still trying to figure out what the hell he thinks he's doing. And John never, ever expected to get into something like this, not with Rodney or anybody, but he already knows it's not what he thought it was at all. Rodney doesn't look tortured or cowed or scared; he looks like he's having the time of his life.
And John's finding it hard to feel as guilty as he thinks he should, because he's making Rodney look like that- and anything that makes Rodney McKay look fucking peaceful can't possibly be a bad thing.
He brings his hand up, scraping his nails tentatively down Rodney's chest; Rodney grimaces, and for a horrible second John thinks he's fucked it all up.
"Oh god, John, you're so-" he moans. "Harder, John, I can take it."
There are already four neat pink lines appearing on Rodney's pale skin, and John can feel a freak-out coming on; but he shoves the feeling aside and does it again, deeper, his nails glancing over one of Rodney's nipples- and Rodney's so turned on that John almost forgets why he's supposed to be scared in the first place.
He leans forward and presses his face into Rodney's shoulder, because he doesn't need to see anymore- all he needs to do is touch and feel. Rodney's starting to sweat; he keeps making little achy "ah!" noises, working his hand faster and faster between them.
"Need them off, John," he says, a little hoarse and broken. "Can you?"
John nods, catching hold of one of the clothespins and tugging it off. It makes a crisp little snapping sound, but he almost doesn't hear it over Rodney gasping and panting. The next two come off just as easily, one after the other, and Rodney's just crazy for it, moaning and bucking his hips. One, two, three more, and John's focus narrows; there isn't anything in the world but building this up for Rodney, getting him closer and closer to the edge. And Rodney's losing control with every little snap, but it's okay, because John's got it, John's not going to fuck this up, John's going to make it good.
"I'm gonna- oh god, John-" John reaches out and pulls off the very last clothespin, right as he sinks his teeth into Rodney's shoulder, and Rodney goes off like a firework.
John's been holding off, but he can't anymore; he tears his fly open and shoves his boxers down, panting with relief when he finally gets his hand onto his aching cock.
"Gimme a second," Rodney slurs, still breathing heavily.
"Not gonna last that long," he answers, through clenched teeth, but Rodney hauls him closer anyway, encouraging him to fit his cock right into the crease of his thigh; John doesn't need any encouragement to start thrusting against him, sliding easily against Rodney's sweat-slick skin.
"Next time I want you in me," he murmurs, and John comes all over both of them.
He just stays there, curled right up against Rodney, until Rodney finally starts making noises about how John's going to crush his precious internal organs. He ends up with his head pillowed on Rodney's thigh, Rodney's hand idly petting his hair.
"That was good, right?" John asks, even though he thinks he probably already knows the answer.
Rodney's hand stills. "Would you get a complex if I told you you were a natural?"
He thinks about it. "Probably."
"We'll work on it," Rodney promises him.
John thinks he might be okay with that.