.. back for more stories ..

Title: The Wildly Circling Moon
Author name: Icarus
Author email: icarus_ancalion@yahoo.com
Count:
Category: Slash
Sub Category: Humor
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: It was a rule, apparently. Johnny Cash was played as low as heartbreak, while anything with an electric guitar had to test hull integrity.
DISCLAIMER: This story is just written for fun. The characters and universe contained in this story are Copyright MGM, Showtime, Gekko, Double Secret. What belongs to me are the words. Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved. Only the original ideas contained within the works on this nonprofit web site are the property of their authors, and please do not copy these stories to any other website or archive or print without permission of the author. Ask, guys. I'm easy to reach and usually generous.
Author notes: Thank you to Liz for the beta review.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The Wildly Circling Moon
by Icarus


John never did this when the rest of the team was here, or if they had a complement of Marines.

It's not that everyone wouldn't enjoy it -- Rodney was reasonably sure they would -- but it was just John being John. He needed to keep a measure of dignity and distance from the men he commanded. Rodney on the other hand fell into a different category altogether (quite different) and when they were alone in the puddlejumper, stars spinning outside their window, John's boyish grin would spread across his face. He'd reach over the jumper controls, and well, Rodney wasn't entirely sure where he'd stashed the boombox or if he'd bullied Zelenka into installing an mp3 player (bullied, because no way would Zelenka fritter away his time on anything so frivolous) but suddenly hard rock would fill the tight compartment.

Judas Priest. At top volume.

It was a rule, apparently. Johnny Cash was played as low as heartbreak, while anything with an electric guitar -- which comprised 90% of John's limited collection and even more limited tastes which didn't include, say, Mozart -- had to test hull integrity.

John always flew wilder when he did this, too, with unnecessary barrel rolls and sudden lurching maneuvers. Rodney's hands clawed at the edges of his seat, the inertial dampeners notwithstanding. His eyes told him everything he needed to know -- the ground was overhead, for Christ's sakes!

"You know I hate it when you do this!" Rodney shouted over the squeal of electric guitar and thumping double bass drum of "Exciter." He had to admit the jumper had excellent acoustics.

John just dipped his head and laughed, eyes lit up like a bad boy. He stood, backlit against a horizon that had mercifully righted itself. John licked his lips and his smile turned speculative.

He'd shifted the jumper to autopilot, Rodney realized, which was pointless unless they were going to be up here for a while and they were supposed to be back in just twenty... Rodney finally caught up with John, eyes widening.

"Oh, so help me, if you have some cheesy come on...."

"I thought maybe we could find something 'more interesting' to do." John raised his eyebrows, unrepentant.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "It's like you stay up nights thinking of these. Or have a book. A thousand and one bad pick-up lines." But it was hard to keep the smile off his face when John turned Rodney's chair around and his warm, strong arms bracketed him as the music switched to The Sweet's "Ballroom Blitz." Of course John liked them. They shrieked. John's knee pressed between his legs, forceful under the influence of rock n' roll and high speeds.

He kissed wet, open-mouthed, and with teeth.

"Wanna go for a ride?" His smirk was downright dirty. He rocked forward suggestively.

Rodney's mouth was raw from beard burn and kissing. "You're the one mom warned me about, aren't you?" he said, breathless. "All you need is the motorcycle and leather jacket."

"I have one," John said, dragging Rodney out of his seat by the front of his shirt. Rodney wasn't complaining.

"Which? The jacket or the motorbike?" Rodney asked between kisses as John pushed him to the floor. His back hurt where his shoulder blades connected with metal, but under the circumstances he almost didn't care.

"Both."

Rodney ground up, gritting his teeth as John straddled him. The buttons needed to be released immediately because he was getting crushed, and also the seam was digging into him uncomfortably. "You on a Harley. That figures. How stereotypically hyper-masculine and testosterone driven of you."

"No, no Harley."

John was handling the button problem, which made it only right that Rodney help him pull the BDUs the rest of the way down his thighs, not to mention unbuckle John's belt. Rodney's hands shook as he did so. "Oh?"

"Kawasaki, actually." If there was one thing John could do fast, it was strip. The shirt was still on, but one roll off of Rodney and his pants were at his knees and blessedly out of the way. Rodney pushed John's shirt half-way up his chest, revealing dark nipples and a furred chest, while John stretched back on top and returned to the business of licking Rodney's sensitive neck. His breath there sent ripples of shivery sensation down Rodney's spine. "A dirt bike. I liked to tear it up off-road."

"Mmm... more fatalities that way, I'm sure."

"Probably." John thumbed Rodney's nipples through his shirt. He had a fascination with them that bordered on fetishism. His cock pressed against Rodney's abdomen, the hair around his balls crisp and somewhat ticklish. "I didn't check."

"Of course not." Rodney solved the ticklish problem by seizing John's hips and moving against him, pressing upwards, his eyes rolling back.

Their hands bumped against each other by John's hip and tangled as they both reached down with the same idea. They paused and looked at each other, and then laughed.

"After you," John said, with a gracious nod worthy of an Athosian.

"Don't mind if I do," Rodney said, encircling John's cock, letting his forefinger drag over the head that way John enjoyed. He was rewarded with John's open-mouthed pause, mouth breathing. Rodney turned gleeful, eyes crinkling, and did it again. John rolled to his side with a laughing groan.

"Man, this floor is hard," John said after a long moment of mutually satisfactory stroking.

"You noticed." They needed lube, but John never planned ahead and Rodney hadn't planned on this at all.

"Well, I had this comfortable padded couch up until a minute ago."

"Aha! You're not truly a top, you're merely selfishly hedonistic."

"It's a reallllly comfortable couch," John drawled.

"Atlantis Base to jumper one, come in, please."

John and Rodney froze -- as if all of Atlantis could hear them from here.

Chuck's voice turned concerned, "Is everything all right? You've been up there thirty-five minutes."

Unfortunately, John could also dress very quickly. He was already buttoning his pants as he dipped his head and said with contrived seriousness, "Everything's cool." Cool? Rodney mouthed at him, still struggling to get his achingly hard dick into his pants. "Rodney just found some anomalous readings. Nothing to worry about."

What? Rodney mouthed to him as John gave a sharp see if you can do better wave to the comm.

So Rodney said, "Um, yes, I, uh, found some tertiary spikes in the power grid. Nothing to worry about. McKay out."

But that didn't get rid of them. "I'm sorry, sirs, I'm having trouble hearing you over the music—is that Black Sabbath?"

"We're fine, don't worry about it! Back in five!" John mercifully cut the comm before Rodney could correct him. It was Guns and Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle" and couldn't he get anything right—starting and ending with his poor sense of timing. Rodney couldn't believe they'd grown so used to the music they hadn't thought to turn it down.

"Power grid?" John laughed at him. Disgruntled, Rodney tucked his shirt in, scowling at the floor. "Jumpers don't have anything resembling a—"

"Shut up, it's harder to invent techno-babble when you know the real thing!"

John rolled the jumper hard to port, bringing it around towards Atlantis.

"Besides, my mind wasn't exactly on matters at hand." Rodney gestured to his lap. John chuckled.

"Don't worry, Rodney. I'll make it up to you later."

"Oh, great." Rodney shut his eyes and cringed, fingertips braced on his forehead, sagging onto his hand. "Thanks a lot. Now I wish I had the Daedalus' beaming technology so you could send me direct to my quarters -- because at this point everyone's going to notice my, um, that I'm ah... well, you know."

John continued in a sing-song voice, as if telling a children's story, an evil glint in his eyes as Atlantis grew on the horizon. He spun lazily in his chair. "First, I'll lick a stripe from the back of your knee, all the way up the inside of your thigh. Then I'll suck on your nuts. First one... then the other one...."

"I hate you."

Comment in Livejournal here

~*~*~*~*~

Or email Icarus with your review.

Subject: 
Your email (for reply): 

I appreciate any and all of your thoughts and comments on the stories (I work for feedback and the occasional chocolate bar). This will be sent directly to my email, and I generally do reply. Well. If you give me an email of course.

Thanks!
Icarus