John's hand on Rodney's chest. Refuses to be anything but post-coital in my head.

He woke with Sheppard sprawled asleep beside him, one boot dangling off the bed and his hand pressed firmly over Rodney's bare chest. When Rodney breathed, Sheppard's hand didn't quite match the rise and fall of his chest but stayed, a warm heavy pressure: so when he inhaled, it felt like he was pulling it in closer to him, pressing his heart into Sheppard's gun-callused palm. He lay there for a minute or two trying to keep his breathing shallow, and then John turned his head - a brush of soft hair, a scrape of stubble - and opened sleepy hazel eyes and said, a smile under his voice:

"Breathe, Rodney."

And Rodney did.

YUM. Thank you, anonymous purveyor of porn! It's all about the inhale and the gun-calloused palm pressing closer to Rodney's heart, and, and, and. And Rodney so still and nervous and John so cool and stubbly!

Who are you, under your mask, o anon? I must know!

Oh, sorry. This was me; I didn't intend to comment anonymously. Yay for my first ever bit of fic: hand-porn! Except not. Er.

*contemplates hand-porn*

John was gay and scruffy and Rodney wasn't sure the other man was aware of either quality, because he was also kind of inscrutable. And yet still oh so gay. Which was a quality Rodney approved of in military men. John slouched around, all laid-back and lanky, with that lazy little fuck you, sir smile on his face. Rodney wondered how his former COs had been able to put up with it, and how John had been able to get away with it for so long. It was admirable. Plus he had to get laid a lot, looking like that. Every closet case in the military probably left flowers on his bunk and slid notes through his locker door. Rodney only noticed all this gay lankiness about six weeks after they arrived in Atlantis--excusably late, since he'd been busy waking and then saving an city, not to mention saving their lives--but when he did, it occurred to him immediately that his personal odds for nailing a guy like Sheppard had to be improved by the restricted pool of available candidates. He considered the pros and cons of the idea for a while--three, maybe four minutes--before deciding to do him. He'd be doing the guy a favor, after all. Plus he was horny.

Wow, that's fast and bad. But I lay flowers on your bunk!

Oh, Rodney loved every quality, yes. It's the obvious gayness that drew Rodney's fascination, this paradox of a scruffy military flyboy. Mmmm, scruffy. Mmmm, gay! Man, Anna. Seriously. He was horny!

Cool! Will there be more?

Well, doubtful. But ai am doing scribbly silly comment fic with helenish over here right now. :)

I went there and read it so far, and indeed it is delightful! Thanks!

Thank you! (Dude, I'm getting a flow of very late commetns from LJ's servers. Grrr.)

That's some fabulous comment fic you've got going!

Great story and so is the comment fic which you absolutely need to write lots more of! Now!

:D

So it's <a href="http://www.livejournal.com/users/kormantic/107608.html>here</a>.

What is it? I must know.

The bad part about being a genius is that it's really hard to ask people about things you don't know, like sex. The other kind of sex, with guys. Rodney thinks about it, but he draws the line at stalking the skinny Astronomy major on the floor below him, who he's pretty sure has a boyfriend, because that would just be weird, so instead he takes a walk to the really good independent bookstore downtown, because while the campus bookstore is well-supplied with some things, like Oreos, it is lacking in others, like porn.

He feels sort of like when he built his first particle accelerator out of pie plates, only then he wouldn't let anyone even open the garage door and he prefers to think he's matured since then, so he just denies that he's looking for anything in particular when the clerk asks him. The gay-and-lesbian shelf is squeezed in next to the "science" fiction, which is weird, and he's sure the clerk is watching him in the big curved mirror, but he's doing nonchalant as hard as he can and ignoring her. He pulls out a few books that look likely, and grabs an Orson Scott Card to laugh at, on the way past, and takes the whole stack over to the counter and thunks it down and pays cash. And asks if he can get a bag.

Reading this at his desk seems -- it's not that he doesn't take it seriously, but that's a little too serious, and besides, the desk is already covered in experimental graphs. So he sits on his bed with his back against the wall and The New Joy of Gay Sex in front of him, and at first he's reading, and then he's reading, and he flips ahead a little, and impatiently, reluctantly, gracefully, clumsily, and he feels heavy and warm in the arches of his feet and behind his eyes and in his dick when he opens his fly and slides his hand inside, glossy from the thundering water, his hair never lies flat, even soaking wet under the emergency shower when the vial of iron-59 smashed, and oh god, he smelled good when Rodney got close to ask if he was okay, he pulls you still closer and the permanent wrinkles around warm brown eyes from the way he squints at things too close even though he doesn't need to, and the tiny accidental ballpoint-pen tattoo on his right palm, and Rodney comes curling forward, comes all over his hand and his shirt and on the edge of the book where it's on the floor now, and the high-pitched noise can't be him, because he doesn't make noises like that, but oh god.

Rodney sits for a minute, breathing hard, and then he stands up and cleans up and gets a beer out of the tiny fridge, because it's midafternoon and Paul's still engaged to the pretty Biochem major with the glasses and the thick blonde braid down her back.

He keeps the books anyway.

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(Brought to you by Run-On Sentences R Us.)

Oh, I love this, and the books, and Paul and all those relentless adverbs driving Rodney gay and crazy. It's exactly right.

YUM, dude. Thank you!

Thank *you* -- I am glad you liked! (And I hope you don't mind me co-opting your character -- but as soon as I read your snippet, I was all, "His name was Paul!" and it kind of snowballed from there.) The breathless adverbs are actual quotes from a delightful little fantasy scenario in TNJoGS. (I love search-inside-the-book, ohhh yes I do. *g*)