Summary: The staff meeting is not as stimulating as Rodney had hoped.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Word Count: 1226
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, slutty Rodney
A/N: So here's what happened: 1. kashmir1 asked for blowjob recs. 2. Theory class was really awfully frustrating (generativity FOR THE LOSE). 2a. I got through it by ogling m'colleague and writing "fuck Chomsky" in lovely cursive script in my notes. 2b. M'colleague has dark, short, messy, cowlicky hair and a generally dorky outlook on life. 3. Today was the last day of classes of the first year of my (five year, sigh) PhD. So, consequently, I came home and I wrote this porn.
Rodney is sitting at one corner of the table. To his right is John; to John's right, Carson. Carson is talking- has been talking for at least the past fifteen minutes.
Rodney has not heard a single word of it.
Rodney so rarely gets to look at John. John is constantly in motion, constantly doing, constantly public, constantly in danger. But now he's right there in Rodney's view, his head turned to look at Carson; and if Rodney just keeps his face turned towards the good doctor, he can just stare at John as much as he likes, because no one else will ever notice.
No one else will notice that Rodney's eyes are not on Carson's face, but John's neck. No one else will notice how the strong muscles there are thrown into gorgeous relief as John turns his head to listen to Carson speak. Rodney is starting to think, though, that he doesn't even care if anyone else notices; his need for secrecy is almost starting to be overruled by his need to scrape his teeth along John's throat, to listen to him whimper, feel his moans right there at the source.
John's hands rest casually in his lap, right over his crotch, and what Rodney wants is to push them out of the way. John would never see it coming, because John never does. He wants to get right down on his knees- not in the conference room, never in the conference room, not because he doesn't want to get caught, but because he's just too goddamned greedy to share it with anybody else. It would be a little uncomfortable- Rodney isn't getting any younger, and honestly, kneeling was never comfortable even when he was half the age he is now- but it would be totally worth it to see the way John looked down at him, eyes wide and almost confused.
He'd run his hands up the insides of John's thighs, his fingertips pressing in enough to be felt through the worn fabric of John's BDUs, before he unbuttoned John's totally infuriating fly- seriously, no pants in the world should have that fucking many buttons. He wouldn't even bother getting rid of John's boxers, not at first, not when he could just settle his mouth over the thin material and suck at the wet patch right at the head of John's cock.
He'd look up at John, who'd be staring raptly at him, his eyes just starting to glaze over, his mouth hanging open- half from shock and half from lust. He wouldn't ask for John's permission, because he just doesn't need John's approval as much as he needs John's dick, hard and thick and just so ready for him. He considers clambering into John's lap and riding him, hard as he can- but no, no, that'd ruin the lines of it, mar the comfortable perfection of John's body, all sprawled out in his chair.
He wouldn't be able to stand it for long, though; he'd have to let John up for a second so that he could rip down his boxers and get his hands on him. He'd just stroke him at first, feel John's cock heavy and right in his hand. Everything else about John is gorgeous, so there's no reason to think that his dick wouldn't be, too. Maybe Rodney'd take a second just to look at it, trace his fingers up across the shaft, maybe follow them with his tongue.
When he was satisfied, he'd wrap his lips around it, take in just the head, lap at it just enough to tease him. He'd keep it up until John groaned in frustration; but he wouldn't put up with John's protests. He wouldn't even let John move at all- there's a time and a place for face-fucking, but what Rodney really, really wants is to have John completely at his mercy. John would be so desperate for it, though, that Rodney wouldn't even need to hold him down. He'd push at his hips once- just once- the first time John tried to buck up, dig his fingers in enough to hurt; and John wouldn't dare after that, would be too far gone from Rodney's tongue and lips to even think about protesting. And that would almost be the best part, the way John would sit back and take it, clench his hands in the bedspread and just let Rodney have whatever he wanted.
And what he'd want is to sink his mouth over John's cock, nice and slow, drawing it out as much as possible, until he was all the way inside Rodney's mouth. And Rodney might have to moan then, because it'd be just right, the way it rounded and stretched his lips out, making the corners of his mouth burn just a little bit. And fuck, John wouldn't be able to look away from him, how his cheeks hollowed as he sucked; Rodney would cut his eyes upwards and catch him at it, just to hear him swear softly, brokenly, into the quiet of the room.
That'd be about all the teasing that Rodney could stand, honestly, because he'd rather get to the good part- bobbing his head for all he was worth, John's dick bumping and pushing along the roof of his mouth, way back into his throat. Since this is a fantasy, there's no harm in thinking that he could swallow around it, just to make John swear and moan and shake. And he's pretty sure this is the part where John would start talking- not dirty, exactly, but low and desperate and so earnest, whispering how much he loved this, loved Rodney's mouth, how good it was.
John would just be hanging there, too caught up, maybe wondering if he was even allowed to come before Rodney let him. He'd keep John right on the edge like that for as long as he felt like it, until John was panting and sweating and begging, just babbling for Rodney to hurry up and bring him off, please, god. And right when he didn't think John could stand it any longer, then he'd slide one finger right behind John's balls, press in at just the right spot, and that would be it. He'd pull back so that it would stripe across his tongue, sharp and bitter and awful and exactly what he wants.
Then maybe John would be pliant enough to fuck, totally okay with letting Rodney lay him out in his bed and take him from behind, watching the smoothness of his back as he arched and writhed into it.
Carson is still talking, droning on about- something, something that's probably really important. But suddenly John turns his head, and Rodney can't even pretend to remember to act like he cares, because their eyes lock, and Rodney knows he's just been caught.
John looks away again, aping concern over bandages or Wraith DNA or whatever, but he picks up his pen and brings it to his lips. The expression would look thoughtful, except for the way he's trailing it idly back and forth across them.
Oh, he is asking for it; not as much as he will be, though.
The meeting ends, finally. John stands first; he looks at Rodney, raising one eyebrow at him in silent challenge, before he turns and leaves.
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