Seperis (seperis) wrote,

dvd commentary: disambiguation by yin-again

Okay, so! DVD commetary for yin_again. I'm going to try adn do one over the weekend as well for another story from those who volunteered on my original post, but it's tax free weekend and that means school clothes shopping! Yay school clothes!

Right, onward to fic.

Okay, the really fun part is--and also mildly disturbing--is that I have not read this before! I mean, I might have, but I don't remember! And when I realized that, why, it's like a virgin story! Which makes this more fun, as I shall record all my reactions as they happen.

Title: Disambiguation
Author: Yin
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC17 overall
Summary: “Maybe you’re a Rain God,” John said, smiling. “Maybe the clouds just love you and want to be near you and cherish and water you.”
Notes: Based on a series of prompts solicited a long, long time ago.

I. for darkhavens
The prompt: Rodney is soaked to the skin, dripping wet, and looking amazingly hot, and John has an epiphany.

In the confines of his head, John thought of it as Planet Monsoon. He just didn’t bother to share his personal names for planets anymore, not since the resounding flop of his remark that M7G-677 could be called Planet KidKill*. Nope, Elizabeth hadn’t thought that one was funny at all.

I thought it was *very funny*. But I think John is very funny. I have a weakness for terrible jokes.

Also, I recognize this bit. Hmm. Maybe I just read the first paragraph.

Planet Monsoon was a small, grayish planet whose chief export was rain, with a promising sideline in mud. The people were unremarkable and their technology was equally unremarkable, except for some advances in the area of waterproofing. For about the millionth time, John was happy to be the grunt, if being the grunt meant he got to stand inside the weatherproof hut while Rodney got to stand outside in the rain and get a fascinating lecture on seep rates and air and vapor barriers while getting soaked to the skin.

Aww. Geek, grunt, goon, the g-trifecta of common use. If SGA has done nothing else for me, it has brought me an appreciation for terms that a.) I hated or b.) I found very annoying. Except grunt. Okay, I mean, I do like it? But it feels like something you'd say to, say, I don't know. Someone who is larger than John. Someone mean. Someone whose nickname is Bubby Rex. You know. I'm stereotyping. Yes yes yes, going to the special hell.

Actually, I'd kill for more description here with like, the greys and the way the water falls, because I'm not terribly visual, so I need to be *told* so I can build the picture. This is very me. Me me me. Please cater to me!

I kind of want to know about their waterproofing technology, though. Hmm.

Okay, I'm stopping now.

The only upside of Planet Monsoon was that it was warm. The rain was warm, and it wasn’t all that unpleasant, really. The walk from the Stargate to the village had been okay, with the rain coming down in large, soft drops and the drone of Rodney’s complaints and Teyla’s good-natured teasing.

Mm. Large soft drops. Okay, in a shocking turn of events for anyone who knows me, I love rain and rainfic--also, I'm bitter, because how did I miss this or forget it? Rain fic. But okay. But this is a nice image. Not pouring down like a great and powerful flood, but big and soft and gentle and terribly, terribly wet. I've been in storms like this, or storms that really tried to be. You get really wet, but you really don't care. On the other hand, that's a lot of layers of clothes to get wet. Do we know if the field jackets are very waterproof?

Left to my own devices, I'd be worried about everyone's underwear, because I lied. You do care once it's your undies chafing.

John looked up at the sound of Rodney’s laughter. The waterproofing expert must have made a joke, because Rodney was laughing – an actual belly laugh, not the terse chuckles that were the norm for Rodney. His head was thrown back, droplets of water sparkling in his eyelashes, the muscles of his chest stretching his soaked tee shirt, his crooked mouth open and wet.

Ooh. Pretty.

And all John could think was, I want that.

Isn't that the truth spoken right there.

II. for iadorespike
The prompt: John watching Rodney's gesturing hands as Rodney is talking.

On the walk back to the gate, John pondered. He stayed to the rear of the group and watched as Rodney told Teyla about the years he’d lived in Vancouver, explaining how he’d set up a complex algorithm to predict which kind of rain would fall on any given day, with more than eighty-seven discrete types of rain identified.

That is terrifyingly Rodney. The only part he left out was that he was five and hadn't quite gotten past linear algebra yet, so of course he was wrong one tenth of the time. Frankly, he could have said he built a weather machine to keep it that way, because he has fond memories of rainy Vancouver.

Hey, that would actually explain a lot about Vancouver. Seattle, too, come to think.

Rodney’s hand flailed and moved as he talked, long fingers jutting up into the air, broad palms sweeping back and forth. His hands were shiny with water, and sometimes small drops would flick off the ends of his fingers on the wings of a particularly emphatic gesture.

I like the descriptions here. Especially that wings bit. That worked for me in a variety of ways. Mostly it's vivid--flicks of water flicking away, glittering arcs picking up light, blah blah blah. Did I mention pretty? Cause I like that.

John thought about Rodney’s hands. They were big hands, but John had watched them manipulate the tiniest of components with surprising gentleness. He’d seen those hands cradle a ZPM and look at it like some people would look at a newborn baby – like it was a real, live miracle. He’d seen those hands shake with fatigue and too much coffee, and seen them occasionally at rest, when Rodney fell asleep slumped over a laptop in the lab. He’d also seen those hands holding a weapon; seen the way their grip had changed over time from nervous to matter-of-fact, from shaking to steady.

Rodney seriously has kick-ass hands. After all the fic, I started watching on the show, and you'd think that would be easy, what with all the handporn Rodney does, but always in motion? Not so much with the easy. Or so much with anything but going, huh, flexible hands. Competent hands. Handporn hands. Hands made to work delicate machinery. And of course, smutty uses.

I always think of Rodney and ZPMs as Rodney the jealous lover--that look of lust and possession and appreciation of ownership. There's a very real part of me that worries that should they get like, four? One would totally be in Rodney's bed. Which just goes disturbing sex toy places. As opposed to healthy sex-toy places. I really need to stop thinking about this.

John wondered what those hands would feel like if they touched him.

III. for fallingfortruth
The prompt: Shep biting his lip and trying to keep from laughing at Rodney.

John sat back during the debriefing and let Rodney do the talking. The team had split up prior to the briefing for a quick run through the infirmary and back to their quarters, so everyone was dressed in dry clothes, though wet hair was the norm. John ran his hand up the back of his own neck and touched the damp strands of hair there, wondering if Rodney’s hair felt the same, cool against warm skin.

Yes. And you should check that out, John. Cause this is now a question that is on all our minds. Also, if I were you? I'd get him out of those wet undies before he catches cold. You're military commander. His health is important! Why didn't you drag him off and undress him as soon as you got back to the city?

Sometimes, John, you disappoint me. He could be catching a cold right now because of those underwear.

I really do worry about chafing underwear.

Teyla and Ronon were also watching Rodney, both hiding smiles at the way he managed to insult the Rain People and still make the whole thing sound funny. Elizabeth smiled her crooked half-smile, the one that eloquently said you’re wasting my time, but I like that you’re happy, so I don’t mind.

She really does have that smile. One day, someone has to post a directory of Elizabeth smiles. The indulgent-playful and the indulgent-surprised, and my personal favorite, the oh-God-we-survived-that?-HOW? Because one of the many things I love about Atlantis is everyone's genuine surprise they are still alive. Seriously, people, get some optimism there!

Rodney wrapped up his report with two mild insults and one sarcastic zinger, and John had to bite the inside of his lip to keep his indulgent smile on the inside.

And worry about the underwear! I cannot stress this enough. If Rodney's uncomfortable, John should take off his, too, like a good team leader does to make his people feel more comfortable.

IV. for darkhavens
The prompt: John dragging his thumb across Rodney's crooked lips while Rodney's all wide eyed and silent.

They left together, with Ronon and Teyla immediately splitting off to go to the gym, leaving John and Rodney in the wide corridor.

Go to the gym is actually Teyla code for 'foreplay'. Oh please. Do not tell me you really think they 'work out' that much. I mean, yes, burns calories. In very fun, non-wet-underwear ways.

'Go to the gym' is like 'check out if jumpers are submergible' or random Batman and catwoman references right before you drug your boyfriend. It's so totally obvious public porn.

“You’re cheerful,” John observed, sticking his hands in his pockets.

“I am,” Rodney said, only sounding a little surprised. “I forgot that I like rain. Well, some kinds of rain.”

I like Rodney happy. Just all simple, glowy happy here. It's rain, we're not dead, look, trees! He's in that place.

John knew from the small frown on Rodney’s face that he was remembering the hard, cold rain of the storm, and, with it, Kolya.

See, wet underwear is terrible memories of Kolya. It's kind of a duty to get him naked now.

“So, which kind of rain was that?” John asked.

“Spring: large drops, no wind, warm. I believe that was number 56.”

He has it memorized! OH MY GOD THE CUTE. But so very Rodney.

“Maybe you’re a Rain God,” John said, smiling. “Maybe the clouds just love you and want to be near you and cherish and water you.”

I won't sully anyone with my dirty, dirty thoughts. But I want to. God. Restraining myself here so much.

Rodney’s grin got broader, and his eyes sparkled, and the two of them had a quick, silent conversation that went something like…

You aren’t supposed to quote Douglas Adams; you’re not a geek.

I’m geekier than you think.

I like that about you.

I kind of want to curl up and purr. Everyone likes John when he's particularly dorky.

And John decided that waiting one more minute was madness, and steered them toward the nearest transporter before he died from the rightness of everything.

I am so with you, John. Save him from a terrible cold!

Rodney didn’t seem to notice that he was being led; he just kept up the usual chatter, mouth going a mile a minute, fingers snapping, quips flying. John held up his end of the conversation with a few well-placed remarks and a lot of nods. He herded Rodney to the transporter and inside, and hit the panel for the living quarters without Rodney even noticing. When the door opened, he led them to Rodney’s room and got them inside before Rodney caught on.

See, the thing is, Rodney would not notice he was being led. I have a theory that get Rodney talking about--oh, anything that takes a while--you could probably walk him off a pier and never notice. He'd bubble and then kind of wonder about the oxygen and then surface and think to himself, when did my lab flood?

Someone should write that one day.

“Wait – I was going to the lab. Why are we here?”

That is so sad. Next he'll ask, why are your pants down? What is that thing that's there? And we will all think, yes, Rodney, it has been too long since you had sex. Far, far too long.

John knew a good set-up when he heard it, and he wasn’t really one to waste chances. A light body-check put Rodney’s back against the door and John’s body against his front.

Favorite position for first-time sex ever. Wall, pinning, *warmth*. God yes.

“This,” John said. “We’re here for this.”

Think it's kind of obvious there, sparky. Wait. So very much the wrong term. Insert dorky endearment of your choice.

And, with no further thought whatsoever, John leaned in and kissed Rodney the way he’d kissed a world of blondes, brunettes, redheads and half-Ascended priestesses when he wanted to get into their pants. Robes, whatever. He was just a little bit shocked when kissing Rodney left all those other kisses in the dust. The shock didn’t, however, slow him down.

To be fair, Chaya was fully Ascended and kind of playing at a god. Wow, that's something to have on your sexual resume.

Rodney’s mouth was wide and lush, his lips soft. The stubble was new, but it felt great – a rough burn against his own that made John’s belly clench in a way that was scary but so damn good.

I love stubble. There should be more stubble mentioned. It's intimate and shows immediacy and that they had to do it now, damn stubble anyway. Which I totally support. I less support other ways of hygiene being neglected, but this? Can totally live with.

Apparently, Rodney wasn’t one to waste chances either, because he opened his mouth against John’s and licked his way inside while one big hand went for John’s hair and the other gripped his hip bruisingly hard.

Ah, now we are with the program!

Okay, the problem with porn commentary is that it's--well, porn commentary. But I am brave. I will break the flow and post my squee. Cause this is total squee.

John moaned when Rodney’s tongue slid into his mouth, and moaned again – harder – when he managed to get both hands onto Rodney’s ass to pull their hips together. John was hard, and Rodney was hard, and there was barely enough blood left in John’s brain to perform autonomic functions: breathing and heartbeat and kiss Rodney.

John pulled back for air and pressed his face into Rodney’s neck, kissing and licking and nipping. He tasted salt and soap and something both sharp and sweet – something good. Rodney panted harshly over his shoulder, his long fingers digging into John’s hair, exactly the way John knew they would. Rodney’s hair envy was anything but subtle.

Hair envy. Heh.

John stumbled onto a spot on Rodney’s neck – just below his earlobe, at the hinge of his jaw – that got him a gasp and a low, raw groan when he sucked on it, so he applied himself diligently, just to make Rodney squirm.

“Oh, god.” Rodney’s voice broke a little – the way it did sometimes when he was horribly stressed or the rare occasion when he didn’t have a ready answer in a crisis, but with a deep current of need thrumming through it instead of fear. “You’re so… oh, god.”

Okay, my big love here is the way it feels short. Wait, not in a bad way. There is porn that I am kind of--well, kind of squinting and saying get on with it already, and by the time everyone's orgasmed, you kind of want to yawn. I call this metaporn, where every action has a deep and meaningful significance that must be pointed out to the reader, cause otherwise, there is no way you can know that a kiss on the neck just below the collarbone reflects John's need for control or what have you. Okay, bad example, but we are not having that problem. I am in the zone.

John lifted his head and really looked at Rodney – looked at his wide, shocked eyes and his flushed cheeks and his mouth - his mouth - pink and a little wet from the kisses. He forced himself to remove one hand from Rodney’s ass and brought it up between them, smoothing the pad of his thumb across the soft, crooked curve of Rodney’s lower lip. Rodney stood stock-still, his fingers clenching on the back of John’s head, his eyes growing even wider as John’s thumb stroked slowly back and forth. On the fifth or sixth pass, the tip of Rodney’s tongue flicked out and his eyes closed, his whole body easing and relaxing into the touch.

Visuals. Nice visuals. Pink wet mouth, smoothing thumb, crooked curve.

Finally, John couldn’t stand it any more. He brought both hands up to cradle Rodney’s face and leaned back in for more tender kisses. Rodney’s hands moved to his waist, and their bodies seemed to snap together – puzzle pieces or tongue-and-groove – finding the sweet spot and settling into it.

Rodney’s hair felt surprisingly soft under John’s fingers, his skin hot and smooth against his palms. Their mouths fit together and found a slow, exploratory rhythm of give and take that echoed the gentle wash of the ocean against the city. John felt almost drugged, slipping into a blissful place in his mind, hearing only the soft sounds of their breathing and Rodney’s mouth moving against his.

Mm. Ocean echoing. Atlantis' oceans just aren't used enough. No, really. These people live on, for lack of a better term, a small island. They should be more affected by it.

Kissing Rodney was somehow not what he’d expected. Oh, he had expected that Rodney’s mouth would be soft and wet and wide, but he hadn’t exactly expected the level of focus. Rodney kissed like it was the only thing in the world, which really didn’t compute for John, because conventional wisdom suggested that Rodney multi-tasked in his sleep. But Rodney kissed like he had all the time in the world and like there wasn’t one thing he’d rather be doing. His fingertips described tiny circles on the back of John’s neck and on the arch of bone behind his ear and his knees opened just enough for his thighs to bracket John’s with solid warmth.

Did I not call Rodney-concentrating-walking-into-the-ocean? Yes. That is very Rodney.

Described little circles--I love that. Just love that verb. Right there.

John got his own hand between them to unzip Rodney’s uniform shirt, spreading the wings of cloth enough to expose light brown chest hair and soft, pale skin to his exploring fingers. Rodney’s own hands followed his lead, and they moved just far enough apart to get rid of their shirts. John leaned back in for more of those sultry kisses, but was stopped by Rodney’s hand, splayed flat against his chest; stroking the hair there, fingers following the dog tag chain and finding a nipple, which hardened instantly.

It occurred to John that he was in over his head at just about the same time that he realized his knees were slowly bending. He lowered himself to kneel between Rodney’s feet, his hands coming to rest naturally against the buckle of Rodney’s belt. He tilted his head down and let his cheek rest against the gentle swell of Rodney’s belly, his breath stirring the hair there.

That is freakishly hot. Kneeling. Voluntary kneeling. An act of vulnerability, sometimes chosen submission, worship, adoration. Yeah. This is hitting all my best spots.

“You… you don’t have to,” Rodney said, his hands moving restlessly at John’s neck and shoulder.

Are you nuts? You don't talk the man who wants to blow you out of blowing you? God, Rodney, sweetie, I love you, but John on his knees. I'm sorry, but how are you talking? Do what the rest of us do; keep breathing and quietly thank God for what you're seeing.

“I want to,” John said, almost completely sure it was true. “I’ve just never done this before.”

Virgin-to-men-and-blowjobs!John. Yes. My life is now complete.

Rodney jumped a little and brought his own hands down to cover John’s. “And telling me that just guaranteed that this will end more quickly than it should,” he said, his voice tight and a little exasperated.

For a first blowjob, honey, not a bad thing. People get turned off if their jaw cramps up during, you know?

John looked up into Rodney’s flushed face. “Me being inept turns you on?”

It's like he's never seen a mirror in his life. Ever. Or ever heard of such a thing as too pretty to live. God, John.

Rodney smiled and tilted his head. “You turn me on. You on your knees turns me on more than any three things have ever turned me on.”

It's like he's a fangirl.

“No pressure,” John groused, hiding a smile in the warm flesh of Rodney’s waist. He felt a broad hand cup the back of his head briefly, and then Rodney was unbuckling his belt. John watched those long fingers work the leather out of the buckle, then watched them unfasten the button and zip of Rodney’s uniform pants, revealing dark blue boxer briefs, their front distorted by the press of Rodney’s erection.

John brushed Rodney’s hands aside and worked the trousers down, letting them fall to the floor. He sat back on his heels and looked at Rodney, flushed and aroused and leaning back against the door.

“I saw you, on the planet,” he said, his hands tracing gently up the outside of Rodney’s legs to his hips. “I saw you wet and laughing, and I figured something out.” He knelt up again, and pressed his lips to the skin above the boxers’ waistband. “We’re going to die out here.”

Huh. See, this is the place where you get why John's not too much into relationships. Possibly because his romance needs some work.

“You are very bad at pillow talk,” Rodney said, fingers tightening down on John’s shoulders.

John laughed and bit warningly at the soft flesh of Rodney’s hip. “Probably,” he said, letting go. “I mean, this is it for us. We’re not – at least I’m not - planning to go back to Earth for good.” He leaned in and lipped along Rodney’s waistband to the soft flesh below his navel. “And since I’m going to die here, I figure I should probably start living here, right?”

God, John. There are so many far less traumatizing ways of saying "I like you!"

“Okay,” Rodney said, and John thought that sex-befuddled Rodney might possibly be his favorite flavor of all.

He eased his fingers under the waistband of Rodney’s boxers and slid them down. And there it was: Rodney’s cock. It looked big, but John figured anything would look imposing from that angle. It looked pretty much like his own, and that was somehow reassuring. He reached out and touched the side of it, letting his fingers press in enough to feel the silkiness of the skin and the firmness underneath.

“That’s… oh, feels good,” Rodney said, watching with bright eyes.

It's always nice to have the verbal confirmation.

John tilted his head, examining the problem from all angles. He was nearly certain that there was no way the whole thing was going to fit in his mouth, no matter how many volume calculations he did in his head. But he hadn’t gotten to Atlantis on logic, he’d gotten there completely by chance, so he decided to take another one. He wrapped his hand around the base and took a deep breath. He glanced up at Rodney, seeing the hope and longing on his face, and that worked – that was just as good as flipping a coin, except that he knew the outcome. Heads – John Sheppard sucks cock.

The scary part is, I can see him flipping a coin and do that. My God, John.

It felt surprisingly good. The head of Rodney’s cock was broad and slick and a little salty. He learned the shape with lips and tongue, letting his eyes drift shut at Rodney’s quiet gasp. After a moment, he found a gentle rhythm, breathing through his nose and sucking his way up and down, taking a little bit more each time he bobbed his head. It still felt good – smooth and hot – and the repetitive motion was soothing and arousing at the same time.

Rodney made the best noises when he was getting a blowjob. Little breathy moans and small grunts every time the head of his cock rubbed against the roof of John’s mouth. John could feel the tension in Rodney’s body, could feel how rigidly he was holding himself against the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see one of Rodney’s hands pressed against the silvery metal hard enough to whiten the knuckles.

He pulled off with a lick. “Touch me.”

Hottest words ever.

Rodney’s eyes were very blue in the golden, late afternoon light that filtered through the stained glass window, and the color only seemed to deepen as he smiled down at John. He lifted his hand from the wall and placed it gently against the side of John’s face, fingers curling around earlobe and stubbled jaw. John closed his eyes and leaned into the touch briefly before opening his mouth and taking Rodney back inside in a long, slow glide.

“Jesus,” Rodney moaned, and his other hand landed on John’s shoulder, clutching hard.

John let his free hand curl naturally around the back of Rodney’s thigh, feeling rough hair and the clench and play of muscles beneath the skin as he urged Rodney to thrust into him. Rodney took the hint, but kept his motions controlled, hips rocking just enough to make John’s lips touch the edge of the hand still wrapped around Rodney’s cock on each stroke.

John dragged his hand down the back of Rodney’s thigh and then into his own lap. He was so hard it hurt, but his fingers felt huge and clumsy as he fumbled at his fly, so he wound up just pressing the heel of his hand to his cock for a little desperately needed pressure. He was forced to grab back onto Rodney’s leg when the shallow thrusts sped up and Rodney started cursing under his breath.

“Fuck. Oh, god, John,” Rodney moaned, his hips jerking forward. John just sucked harder, sliding his hand up and down the base of Rodney’s cock, slick with his saliva. Rodney stiffened and pulled away, dragging his cock out of John’s mouth and turning his body just enough to come all over John’s neck and shoulder with hot splashes.

John rocked back onto his knees and tore at the fastenings of his uniform pants, desperate to get to his neglected cock, panting harshly. He could hear his own breath whistling through his nose, and he was making short, sharp noises that would have been embarrassing, if he’d had enough presence of mind to give a damn.

“Don’t,” Rodney said, his hand tightening in John’s hair. “Don’t come yet.”

John almost but not quite managed to bite back a frustrated whine, but he dropped his hands onto his tensed thighs.

Rodney’s hand slid from his hair to his neck, smearing come and sweat against John’s skin. John turned his head and licked at Rodney’s fingers, tasting salt and bitter. Rodney groaned and moved his hand closer, sliding his wet thumb against John’s lips.


John licked Rodney’s thumb clean, then looked up, pleading. “Rodney. I’m dying here.”

“Okay, bed,” Rodney said, stepping out of his crumpled pants and boxers and kicking off his shoes. He hauled John to his feet and stripped him out of the rest of his clothes before pushing him down on the bed on his back.

Assume a lot of guh here. A lot of guh. Guh everywhere.

John let himself be manhandled, taking the chance to calm down a little. He’d been so close when Rodney had made him stop – incredibly hard, more than ready to come – that his guts ached, and his balls felt like lead. He looked up at Rodney helplessly, sighing when Rodney took mercy on him and crawled up his body, letting their chests and thighs brush lightly. John could feel every hair on Rodney’s body against his skin; every touch felt like an electrical shock.

“Please, Rodney,” he begged. “Oh, please.

“Shh,” Rodney said gently. ”I’ll take care of you. I promise.”

“Oh, god – hurry,” John said, throwing one forearm over his eyes and arching his hips up.

“Soon,” Rodney said, laying a line of soft kisses down the side of John’s throat. His lips were wet and soft, and John’s skin felt like it was lighting up under the gentle onslaught. Rodney lifted up slightly and pushed John’s arm away, over his head. John arched his back as hard as he could, pushing up against Rodney’s weight, feeling the brush of Rodney’s renewing erection against his own over-sensitized dick.

Finally - finally - Rodney took the hint and snaked his hand between them, wrapping his long fingers around John’s cock, squeezing and stroking. John felt his blood pounding like the waves against Atlantis in a storm – felt it in his temples, in his chest, in his cock, and he knew he was babbling a steady stream of nonsense as Rodney finally pushed him over into an orgasm so hard his breathing faltered as he came all over his own belly and chest.

Rodney’s hand kept moving, fast, then achingly slow, and John’s body felt like it was going to shake apart. Just when he couldn’t take another second, Rodney knelt up, wet his hand in the pool of semen on John’s belly and took hold of his cock, pumping himself hard and fast over John’s exhausted body.

Fast refraction. *thinks about this* Very fast. I can totally understand. John pretty.

John watched Rodney’s face through slitted eyes, taking in the almost pained expression as Rodney reached his second climax, spilling against John’s slick belly before collapsing down onto him with a deep groan. John oofed out a surprised breath, and Rodney slid over to one side, gathering John close and burying his face in John’s sweaty, disheveled hair.

John felt Rodney’s mouth open and close several times, and he knew that the inevitable talking part was coming, so he decided to nip it in the bud. He pushed Rodney back far enough to kiss him softly, to gently pull Rodney’s lush lower lip between his for a second.

“Shower?” he asked, releasing Rodney’s lip.

“Uh… yes?” Rodney looked adorably confused.

I bet. *grins*

“Good,” John said, smiling smugly. “You look good wet.”

Rodney shook his head and gave John a small grin. “I don’t understand this at all.” When John opened his mouth to answer, Rodney closed it with gentle fingers. “Tell me later,” he said. “I want to see you wet.”

John nodded and led the way to the shower.

And one day, John may explain how it all started in the rain.

Pretty fic. I really don't have much else I can say. I enjoyed the rain and the characterization was solid. It was a fun, enjoyable read that hit the right note all the way through. And God, pretty. So pretty.
Tags: fandom: stargate:atlantis, project: dvd commentary
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