Compromising Positions | Into the Black | Contact

Sk8ter Boi

Notes: Big thanks as always to Eleanor K. for the beta. I was totally NOT going to call this Sk8er Boi and then I did. Apologies to Avril Lavigne for stealing her song title.

It’s been quiet all day, so Rodney decides to investigate the weird power fluctuations that have been coming from the west pier on and off for the last few months. He grabs the all-purpose repair kit – a scanner and several basic tools that should allow him to repair any kind of minor issue – and heads for the transporter.

The doors open, and he can hear the faint sound of what might be music coming down the hall. As Rodney approaches the external doorway, he partially identifies the music throbbing through the door as one of the pseudo-punk emo bands that have become so popular in the last decade or so. He sighs, rolls his eyes in irritation, opens the door and steps out onto the pier.

Rodney stops dead in his tracks. He thought he’d be dealing with one of the new and ridiculously young Marines. Instead, he finds John Sheppard. John’s more or less in his BDUs, stripped down to the tight black t-shirt that clings to the long, taut lines of his torso. He’s even still wearing his combat boots instead of sneakers with no sign of any kind of safety equipment. Rodney’s breath catches in his throat as John pushes towards a curled ramp at high speed, goes up and over and does this impossible twisting thing and somehow, impossibly lands on the ground, on the board. John spots him and rolls over to him. He pulls out what looks like a remote control and points it at the stereo system that’s been jury rigged to a console on the pier (which totally explains the weird power readings), and the music fades into the background.

“Hey, Rodney,” he says, grinning.

It takes Rodney about five seconds to get enough air back into his lungs to reply. “Are you INSANE? Are you trying to kill yourself? You’re not even wearing a helmet!”

John laughs and steps off his board, flips it up with one foot and holds it upright against his leg. “Relax Rodney; I’ve been doing this since I was fourteen.”

“Of course you have,” Rodney replies, rolling his eyes. It figures that Sheppard was one of those kids.

“Want to try? It’s a lot of fun.”

Rodney blinks at John a couple of times and then says, “Are you high, too?” and peers into John’s eyes, because it’s the only explanation for John even asking him such an absurd question.

John laughs again and says, “No, but I heard that Botany...”

“Stop! Stop right there, as the head of the science department I do not need to know that someone in Botany might be misusing supplies for a grow-op. It would be really unfortunate if I had to put a stop to it,” Rodney says, waving his hands around.

John looks at him with an odd, soft look in his eyes.

“What?” Rodney asks.

John doesn’t say anything, just reaches out, grabs Rodney by the front of his shirt and pulls him in for a gentle kiss. Rodney’s head fills with white noise and he’s only vaguely aware of a clattering sound that must be the skateboard falling to the ground because suddenly, John’s other hand is cupping the back of his head.

Rodney briefly wonders if *he* might be high, because there’s no way that John Sheppard is kissing him, except somehow, he is, and then Rodney stops thinking and just sinks into the kiss, his lips opening to the slow pressure of John’s. He knows he makes a really embarrassing sound when their tongues touch for the first time, but Rodney really doesn’t care as he wraps his arms tightly around John and kisses him back with every ounce of desire he’s been holding onto for the past four years.

They part reluctantly, still holding on to each other, both looking a little shell-shocked. “Wow,” John finally says, smiling softly.

“Yeah,” Rodney replies – pretty much all he’s capable of at this point.

“Maybe we should take this somewhere...” John starts.

“Yeah, good idea,” Rodney finishes. It takes them a couple of minutes to let go of each other. John tips his board back up into his hand while Rodney turns off the stereo.

“So, who helped you with that?” Rodney asks, waving his hand over his shoulder at the system in an attempt to keep it from touching John on their way back indoors.

“How do you know I didn’t do it myself?” John asks.

“Because if you had that level of technical skill, I’d know about it by now and would have put you to work in the labs during emergencies. Fess up.”

John laughs. “Stop plotting death to a minion, one of the new Marines has a background in electronics.”

“Who?” Rodney asks.

“Like I’m going to tell you. You’re not stealing one of my Marines, McKay,” John replies. The transporter doors swoosh open, and they step in.

“Oh, like I wou - ” The doors close and they’re kissing again, a fierce and desperate press of lips that lasts the few moments it takes for the transporter to take them to the residential area. They step apart just as the doors open again.

John raises a brow and Rodney answers the unasked question by turning towards his quarters – John’s bed is laughably small, and there’s no way the both of them will fit on it without serious contortions.

If they move down the corridor at a slightly faster than usual pace, there’s no one there to notice. They walk into Rodney’s room, and as soon as the door closes, Rodney presses John up against it and kisses him again. John’s board clatters against floor as it drops, but Rodney doesn’t spare a thought for it as he trails light, sucking kisses across John’s jaw and down his neck that make John groan and arch against him.

John slides a hand up Rodney’s shirt and pulls Rodney closer. Rodney gasps softly at the skin-on-skin contact and starts tugging at John’s t-shirt.

“Off, off, too many clothes,” Rodney declares and starts in on his own after he’s sure John has gotten the message. They trail clothes to Rodney’s bed, and drop down on it, reaching for each other. They end up a tangle of arms and legs, touching from chest to thigh, erections pressed between them.

Rodney knows he’s being too grabby, his hands moving all over John’s body, but he just can’t believe that this is for real, and if it is, then it can’t be more than a momentary lapse in judgement on John’s part, so he’s making the most of it by touching John everywhere he can, committing the long, lean lines of John’s body to sense memory. John arches into his touch and moans softly.

“Oh, God, please tell me you fuck,” Rodney groans, and then clamps his mouth shut, horrified that he just said those words out loud.

John looks at Rodney, eyes bright with desire, and then he leans in and gives Rodney the filthiest kiss he’s ever had. “Yes,” John answers roughly, “and you can fuck me next time, but right now I just need to come.”

Rodney gets distracted for about half a second by the words ‘next time’, realizing that this may not actually be a one-time thing, before John gets his attention again by grabbing his ass and grinding against him. They kiss and rock together, bodies twining closer and closer, fingers grasping, quiet gasps and moans escaping from their mouths when they are not pressed against each other’s skin.

Rodney’s getting close. He buries his face against John’s neck and thrusts against him. He’s totally not expecting it when John’s hand worms between them and strokes over the head of his cock. At the first contact of John’s fingers, Rodney starts coming. John strokes him slowly through it, drawing it out. By the time he’s finished, Rodney is limp and boneless, barely able to breathe, let alone move. John rolls over on top of him, holding himself up with his arms, and grinds down into the cradle of Rodney’s hip. A few short strokes and John’s whole face goes slack and his hips jerk against Rodney.

John collapses on top of him, and lies there about a half second before he makes a face and says, “Eww,” and shifts off of the wet spot on Rodney’s stomach.

Rodney laughs. “Yeah, I hate that part, too.” He grabs some tissues and cleans himself up and then offers some to John. They toss them in the general direction of the garbage can and then John reclaims his spot more or less on top of Rodney.

“Hey! There’s a perfectly good mattress on this bed, you know,” he grumbles.

“Yes, but you’re nice and warm,” John replies, shifting so that he fits more comfortably against Rodney.

Rodney flips the blankets up around them and says, “Better?”

John sighs, and nods. The room grows quiet. After a few moments of silence, Rodney says, “So, about next time...”