Thanks to burningchaos and brandywine for the great beta jobs - you’re both, in the words of Sheppard, cool.
Sunday was practically sacred as far as John Sheppard was concerned, and not because it was the Sabbath day. Sunday mornings were meant for sleeping in for as long as you could until your body said enough was enough and forced you to get up, usually because you had to take a leak. Sundays were long hot showers and lazing around the house in whatever was old, ratty and comfortable. They were watching Sunday football with a bevy of snack foods spread out on the coffee table in front of you and, of course, a beer in hand.
Sundays were a full English breakfast, the way Nana used to make. Breakfasts complete with eggs, bacon, sausages, fried bread, mushrooms, fried tomatoes, and if you were really lucky, kippers and black pudding. You then washed it all down with freshly squeezed orange juice and a cup of Earl Grey. Now that was a real breakfast, an old-fashioned heart attack on a plate.
Of course the Air Force made it so Sunday morning rituals were an extremely rare and honored extravagance. Those Sundays when you weren’t on active duty were to be treated with all the reverence they were due. So when John actually got a Sunday where he could perform the ritual he took it very seriously, which he’d made a point of explaining to his lover in great detail Saturday night before they fell asleep.
But this particular Sunday morning made John reevaluate all the prior reasons as to why he found Sundays sacrosanct. And it was all because of Dr. Rodney McKay.
Had it only been two days ago that he’d finally gotten up the nerve to confront Rodney and claim him? Months of denial, angsting and fighting to survive were finally over and John had what he’d been so scared of admitting to; a partner in thought as well as deed, in body as well as in sentiment. He had a tart, prickly, pain in the ass scientist for his very own and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
Especially when it meant that someone who was clearly a morning person woke him with a hot and mobile mouth wrapped around his miraculously latex sheathed cock at an ungodly hour of the morning, sucking his brains out through the tip of his penis. Yup, his definition of Sunday traditions was being altered so fast he was pretty sure he heard the sonic boom. Or it might have simply been his gasp of bliss.
John gasped and his back arched clear off the bed as Rodney’s tongue slid underneath his shaft and searched out his frenulum, the one place sure to send him straight into orbit. God he was so close to... "Fuck, Rodney, what are you doing?" he demanded, his voice caught between a bellow and a moan as Rodney’s hand wrapped around the base of his cock and squeezed down hard enough to stop his orgasm. He’d been so ready to shoot, dammit all.
"Patience, young grasshopper," Rodney smirked from between John’s legs, licking his obscenely puffy lips with relish. "You’re the one who’s been fantasizing about me giving you a blowjob to end all blowjobs, or were you lying when you told me that last night?"
"I should have kept my fucking mouth shut," John whined. "You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?"
"That would be no. I have a whole series of lesson plans already mapped out for you. When I’m done with you, Colonel Sheppard, you’re going to have a repertoire that would make a porn star blush, I guarantee," Rodney purred, rubbing his morning shadow against the sensitive skin of John’s inner thigh and making the other man gasp with need.
The hand wrapped around the base of John’s cock loosened and began to stroke up and down gently, his fingers tickling his lover’s balls each time he reached the bottom of the shaft. Rodney shifted slightly and John actually whimpered as first one then the other of his testes was lapped, sucked and finally inhaled into the warm depths of an oh so willing mouth. Rodney’s free hand slipped underneath John’s ass and began to stroke and play with his anus, going so far as to slip inside up to the first joint of Rodney’s finger.
It didn’t take John long to stop thinking about how embarrassed he was by the variety of pleading, desperate noises coming from his throat. In fact, it took hardly any time to get John to stop thinking at all. He twisted and writhed and moaned and begged. John spewed pleas and threats and offered up every and anything to Rodney as well as any and all deities he could think of. If he could think John would swear he was losing his mind.
And Rodney’s mouth was still avoiding the one place where John wanted it to be most of all.
The man was intent on killing John. The coroner’s report would read ‘death by fellatio’ and his tombstone would say ‘John Sheppard, he died receiving the blowjob to end all blowjobs.’ Women would weep and men would be lining up by the droves at Rodney’s door, hoping to find out if he really was that good.
Actually, there was no way John Sheppard was going to kick the bucket and leave a world full of slavering sex maniacs panting after his McKay. The man was claimed, dammit! Besides, Rodney had plans for him. Good plans. Mind blowing, incredibly pleasurable and outrageously sexy plans. John had every intention of being the best student in the universe. He was ready willing and eager to learn. He wanted to have a perfect grade point average under the tutelage of Dr. R. McKay. Mmmm, he always did have a soft spot for naughty professor fantasies.
John was so distracted by his ‘not’ thoughts that he neglected to realize that Rodney’s mouth was on the move again. Suddenly his cock was once more surrounded by wet, sucking heat and he let out one hellacious howl of bliss. Which unfortunately caused Rodney’s mouth to vacate his hard-on.
"Shhh, this is military housing, remember? You want the MPs knocking on my door to arrest you for behavior unbecoming an officer? Sheesh, no brains, none whatsoever," Rodney groused before resuming what he was doing. He quickly decided to purchase some items that could be used as gags for when they got back to Atlantis, because apparently Sheppard was a screamer. The mental note firmly affixed in his mind, Rodney hummed happily as he sucked and licked and generally did everything he could to drive John crazier than he already was.
The vibrations on John’s shaft combined with Rodney’s all out assault on his cock pretty much ended any chance of him holding out for longer than a second or two. He could already feel the first warning tingles of impending orgasm. John would have been embarrassed by his lack of stamina except no one could hold out against the talents of Rodney McKay’s mouth.
Rodney looked up from beneath his lashes, and increased the humming. He could feel John’s balls tightening in his hand and the man’s anal muscles clamping down on the tiny portion of his finger that had actually penetrated. All the signs indicated that John was about to go off like Vesuvius. Too damned bad Rodney could only taste latex and not John’s come as it slid down his throat. Perhaps if this actually became something permanent he’d get the chance.
Stuffing his fist into his mouth John, although he’d never admit it ever, let out a strident wail which was thankfully reduced to a muffled whimper as his cock exploded, filling the condom almost to the point of bursting. Collapsing back on the bed, he finally let go his white knuckled grip on the bedposts of Rodney’s bed, panting in sobbing breaths of oxygen.
All John could do was watch as McKay crawled up his body and planted a wet one on him before collapsing next to him on the bed, a dark stain evident on his boxers to show that McKay had gotten off as well.
"And that, Colonel, is how to start a Sunday," Rodney informed John smugly.
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