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sga_flashficTitle: Rollin'
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tzi & zaganthi
Pairing: McKay/Winchester. Dean. Winchester.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He really should have just ponied up the money for that Cobra.
Length: 8,256. Give or take.
It was all Major Sheppard's fault.
Everything, Rodney decided, could be called Major Sheppard's fault, up to and including the fact that he was going to die on a highway in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, far from home, instead of the death that he'd been expecting at the hands of a life-sucking alien creature.
If only his car understood the irony. It was supposed to be a good car, too. He'd been driving his clunker of an old Camry out of Colorado Springs, headed for Nevada to convince a military research scientist that yes, he did want to die in another galaxy -- and wasn't that the problem with letting people know too much about the mission before it happened? -- when he'd seen the car show.
Rodney didn't really want to show up in Area 51 driving a car he hated. He wanted to drive one of those cars he'd lusted over for years but never had the balls to buy.
Shelbys, Cobras, an Impala SS, this... conglomeration thing that, really, had looked pretty cool when he'd seen it... Well. He'd never actually gotten up the nerve to buy any of those things, even though he'd seriously lusted after the 1980 Corvette, but what twelve year old boy didn't? And now, he had all of this extra money -- hazard pay was good for something, apparently, and even the civilians got it -- that hadn't gone into savings, that was still just sitting there because he hadn't really thought about the fact that he was getting it, and...
It had only cost him a couple thousand dollars for the Mustang II Coupe. It was a '75, and it was infinitely less cool than a Shelby or the Cobra from the same year, but it was kind of fun, and for that amount of money, it was livable, more or less.
It was red, and the seats were comfortable and when he got behind the engine and gave it a test drive, that had been what had sold him. It purred, hummed with life, and when he drove it, it felt like it was flying. It felt amazing, and it filled the hole at the back of his head that missed the noise and tension and energy of Atlantis. At least, it filled in a little of the hole, enough for Rodney to buy the car and drive away in it after getting the guy to take some money off the top if he'd just take Rodney's Camry off his hands.
It had been wonderful... until it had broken down.
That left Rodney in the middle of nowhere on a road that was barely wide enough for one car, much less two, because he was an idiot and he had a crazy urge to race down winding mountain roads in his cool new car, and that left him exactly--
It left him elbows-deep in a combustion engine, cursing the thing silently in his head because he remembered all too clearly the taste of soap on his tongue when his mother had washed curse words out of his mouth as a child.
The engine had been re-bored, but some of the gaskets were loose, and one had outright burst. That left him up the proverbial creek, hot, sweaty, dirty, and even more cranky than usual.
He couldn't unburst a gasket, and while he had some tools, they were more of the change-a-flat-tire variety. Or replace a broken fan belt temporarily. Something simple that didn't leave him stranded without cell phone reception, which was just his fucking luck. Rodney knew he should have bought a satellite phone.
The deep rumble of another car came faintly to his ear, the sound of it making him shift. He stood up and rubbed the sweat from his cheek with one wrist. There was a haze in the distance, but the sound was getting louder, and so Rodney squinted, watching the furthest curve hopefully. Maybe whoever was coming would give him a ride into the nearest town. They were bound to have a parts store, and even if they didn't have anything specific for the year model, he could probably fake it.
No, he would fake it, and could make it, force it to work for long enough to get where he was going. It would take at least a day to convince Fredricsen that he wanted to die on a foreign planet, anyway, and that was long enough to force an overpriced actual grease monkey to fix it properly for him.
He just needed to get to the nearest town and back. He could fix 10,000 year old equipment while being shot at, he could handle a car.
That steady rumble came into view and, oh, that was an incredible example of automotive glory. It was a '67 Impala SS, black, and everything was just so. It looked like a bug had never had the guts to try splashing itself across the windshield, much less the hood.
Frankly, it made him feel like the geekiest kid on the block. That was a cool car.
He really should have just ponied up the money for that Cobra.
If not for the fact that it probably wouldn't have left him stranded there, then because it would have at least looked better when that drove up. Rodney shifted, and leaned against the closed hood of his car. Maybe the driver of that car could give him a ride in. He was desperate not to die in the mountains, or further on in the desert, and the road flares around his car should have been a good sign that he was honestly broken down.
It slowed down, coming to a stop beside him, and Rodney's mouth went dry while he waited for the window to roll down. "Huh. Car trouble's a bitch, innit?" It just went to figure that the man driving the car would be as gorgeous as the car itself. Hazel green eyes with lush lashes, a flirtatious grin, that tilt of head that made Rodney just a little breathless, and really, he wasn't thinking about other hazel eyes. Not at all.
Dammit.
Rodney lifted his chin a little, looking at the driver. "It is. The engine just died on me, I don't have the parts to fix it, and my cell phone isn't getting reception." And somehow he still couldn't quite say the words 'I need help'.
"Want me to take a look at it?" That heavy rumble cut off, and the door squeaked open, one jean-clad leg climbing out of it, and, okay, he was a little young for Rodney's taste, but frankly, he'd always had a thing for blonds in all of their various incarnations. This one was mostly dark-blond, but he had that mouth, and those eyes, and that car, and, well. He'd be kind of stupid to say no.
Rodney McKay was anything but stupid.
Except his tongue started to say 'no' on its own, while Rodney took a backwards step, eyeing the blond and rubbing at his face again. "If you think you can magically repair the gasket, be my guest. I'm sure it's dead."
"Well, you never know. Might be I can work a little magic, get you running at least enough to follow me to the next town. Wouldn't be fair to leave a fellow car enthusiast stuck out in the middle of nowhere, now would it?" He strolled over, leaned down to look in the open hood, and... huh. That was a pretty good view.
Ass, with those low-slung jeans that people seemed to wear nowadays. Younger people. None of the scientists except probably that base-jumping doctor Carson had been bitching about hiring, but Rodney had nothing against the young and the hot if they happened to be intelligent, too. It was a shame that physics and engineering geniuses tended to look like him and Zelenka. He could get an eyeful of that when he shaved in the morning.
But pretty blond younger guy leaning into his car with Sheppard-wild hair was something else.
"I have a doctorate in mechanical engineering. I think I can safely say the engine is blown -- at least, with my current lack of spare parts."
The kid was just grinning, though, low and lazy in a way that screamed dirty sex and made Rodney shift uncomfortably, reaching up to rub at his face self-consciously. His fingers came away smeared with dirty-laced grease, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Hey, so... you're a smart guy. My brother's at Stanford. I'm kinda on my way out there." His fingers were working at the engine, moving around the gasket, and yeah. Yeah, that was nice to watch, anyway. "So, you probably know what you're doing with these things. The older ones kinda have a different feel to 'em, don't they?"
"They have a great feel. This was made long before people decided to hide everything away in plastic sheaths to make the engines look neater. They're easier to work on, and the horsepower in them is the same and sometimes better." Rodney's mouth pulled down, and he had to add, "But seeing the one you're driving, you already know that."
"Belonged to my dad." There was something strained about the way he said that, but it was none of Rodney's business. Not really. "I've been in love with it since I was just a kid. He kept it stored for a while when we were younger. Kinda hard to cart around two kids and all their stuff in a car like that, you know? Picked up a truck he was a little less worried about destroying."
He said it in the same way that Rodney had heard his mother talk about his father picking up a hooker, and that was sort of amusing. "It's a good thing he didn't sell it. It'd be a shame if you didn't have it." It seemed to match him was what Rodney wanted to say and didn't quite actually say.
"Yeah, well. You know how it is. You get your heart set on something when you're a kid, and bam! Gotta have it. It's kinda the explanation for the car," the kid admitted, wiping a hand on his jeans and holding it out. "I'm Dean."
"I'm Rodney." Doctor and McKay seemed strange to bother with, when he was hot and sweaty and his face was covered in grease and there was nowhere to wipe the grease off because he'd spent so long trying to get some kind of workaround that the front of his pants were in the same shape as the hand he offered Dean to shake.
There was a firmness to the way those fingers held on, a suggestive glint in the eye that made Rodney shift, lick his lips, try to get comfortable in his pants again. "So, uh, Rodney. You wanna ride into town? Maybe you could buy me dinner, I could fix the car for you?"
"If you can really fix it, I'll do more than just buy you dinner. I know I can fix it well enough to get me to Nevada, but maybe not back." Not unless he could get the exact part and cars were something he hadn't worked on in a while. Wraith ships and puddlejumpers and wiring around Ancient control panels, sure, great, no problem, but he was being thwarted by a handful of Ford gaskets.
The way those eyes darkened made him swallow, realize exactly what it probably sounded like he was guaranteeing. "Leave your flashers on. We'll go and get back, get it fixed, and, uh... I'll let you keep that promise."
He'd meant money, or something more functional, normal payment sort of thing, but Dean was looking at him, and Rodney... nodded. He nodded, and took a step backwards to open the door so he could leave the flashers on. Hopefully it wasn't so far to town that the battery would die, too.
He could think about the payment thing later.
It was probably pretty twisted.
Okay, yeah, maybe more than a little twisted. The guy wasn't old enough to be his dad, not quite, but Dad didn't look all that old, so they were probably about on par as far as that went. He didn't look nearly as dangerous, either, a fork held loosely in his fist with dessert still underneath it. There was a feeling about him, though, something that filtered through the air and made his pulse flutter a little, and the guy was smart. Sam-smart, at the very least, and the fact that it was a turn-on as much as the looking-Dad's-age-thing, it didn't say good things about Dean's psyche.
But, goddamn, he could talk.
That was okay because Dean hadn't heard a live human voice for quite that long since Corpus Christi, and Corpus Christi was four days and a couple of seedy hotel rooms behind him. But the guy just talked, like silence made him nervous, and every time a conversation dangled a little, he swept in and caught it back up, and his sentences were full of funny artifacts, pauses and stops like he had a mouthful of things to say that he couldn't.
Dean understood how that went, but he really hoped he hadn't picked up some strange preppy geek-vampire who sounded just a little like he was from Minnesota.
He really hoped Rodney wasn't. He'd hate to have to chop his head off and burn the rest.
"....so I had always wanted one of those cars but I just never had the time and there I was, so..."
It was this long, rambling monologue that was almost like being with Sam when he was a little high off of adrenaline and endorphins and whatever chemical cocktail their dad might have slipped him for an injury. Dean could practically taste it on his tongue, and God, he'd missed Sammy, but this was really a little perverted, even for him.
"So you just bought the car? Man. That's tough." Tough because it broke down, tough because who honestly bought a '75 Mustang II Coupe these days?
"It is. I was driving a Camry that's been in storage for the past year straight and probably seven out of the last eight, so it was really actually a step up. I think the floorboard of the Camry was rusting. Anyway, it was one of those impulse things, and I was thinking I could at least get a couple of weeks of use out of it before, uh." Another lingering pause, and Dean hoped the next sentence hadn't been, 'I crawl back into my coffin/grave/unholy place of rest'. "I go overseas again."
"Yeah, overseas." Just the thought of planes made him nauseated because, hey. Planes. Never mind water. Open water was almost as bad. If people had any idea what lived in those places, they'd keep out of them, he was damn sure of that. "Sounds like you lead a pretty eventful life." And like he obviously had money to burn, so Dean wasn't going to feel bad about the twelve ounce steak. No way.
"Huh. Actually, I sort of do. It's..." Rodney waved his fork a little. He'd just about killed the steak and the side of out-of-a-box mashed potatoes, but he was lingering over the huge chunk of chocolate cake. If Dean had been anyone else, he wouldn't have been wondering if Rodney was actually some sort of were-creature and not a vampire, maybe. So few of his chance meetings were with someone normal, whether they had money to burn or not. "Full. It's mostly very satisfying, even with all of the travel."
"Shame you'll have to leave the car behind. I guess it's worth it, though, for a couple weeks out of the year. Kinda like popping a cherry every time you slide into it." Yeah, and there was no way to say that with a straight face, his mouth quirking up in a smirk that as good as offered the fact that he didn't exactly have a cherry to pop. Hadn't had one in a long time, not since barely in high school, and that was a great sense memory to pull up while the guy sitting across from him turned faintly pink, and his mouth went slack before he filled the space in with another fork of cake.
"Uh, I guess so, except given this car's age, it was popped a long time ago. Maybe... some decade I could get around to restoring it."
"Well, you know, I'm always available. For pointers." And pointing. And poking. A hell of a lot of things, actually, because he was starting to get some pretty filthy ideas about Rodney's mouth. So long as it didn't sprout fangs, he could go along with it, really.
Rodney had ducked into the restroom of the shitty little diner, and he'd washed his hands and his arms and he'd tried to wash his face, but the soap dispenser was empty and water and brown paper towels could only put so much of a dent into a mess like that. Filthy ideas for a filthy mouth. "While I appreciate the offer, when I say decade I really mean it. It'll probably be another three years before I set foot on this continent again. And it's..." He waved the fork again, and little chocolate crumbs fell on the table. "It's things like this that I miss the most."
"Chocolate cake?" Conversation? Random guys in hot cars offering to let him fuck their asses? Dean was pretty sure that cake was high on that list of priorities. He could only guess at how high the rest was. Still, he leaned back in the chair, one arm slung over the back and gave a reckless grin. It was easy enough when he was full and just waiting. "Coffee?"
Waiting on a sure thing was easy. "Coffee. And chocolate cake, but seedy diners, and just..." He clicked the fork through some frosting that had ended up smeared on the plate, and licked it. "Just being here. There's no place else like this... country. Continent."
"You make it sound like you're not from around here. Maybe haven't been for a while." Conversation was an even easier way to wait in Dean's opinion. He was all about the easy, and that tongue was really making easy turn a little hard.
His face contorted, and the guy was no liar. He didn't seem to have a finesse for it, no flare for pulling an answer out of thin air, because it was easier to eat the last of the cake. Dean wondered what that mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock. "Well, uh. Siberia and McMurdo aren't exactly 'around here'. Or pleasant."
Okay, so that explained the whole icy-darkness thing he had going on then. "Huh. Military, then. 's kinda funny. My dad was in the Marines. Always kinda thought if I got tired of driving the roads, I'd pick up and go." He'd probably do okay in the Marines. He was pretty good at following orders, even if he had to admit he was kind of a smartass.
"There's some interesting things out there, if you ever did. You remind me of Major -- well, my commanding officer. Sort of. I'm actually civilian, but it hasn't felt like it in years." His eyebrows drew together, and he drained his coffee a little too-fast because Dean knew it was still hot from when the waitress had topped it off. "He's a complete smartass, and he can kill people with his hands in probably twenty different ways."
"I wouldn't say I could manage it in twenty different ways, but I've got a couple of other talents you might wanna try out." He could probably get Rodney off a lot easier than some military guy with great homicidal tendencies.
Rodney set the cup down, and his hand was unsteady before he set it on the table. And then he just said, "Yeah," in a softer tone, like he was hopeful. "Do you, uh, want to -- let me pay, and then, uh."
"Maybe we can head back. You know. Make sure nobody's run off with your car. Go upstairs for a while. Watch some tv." Fuck their brains out, because, hey, he was obliging like that.
He wanted to fuck, be fucked, and really, he wanted to see that wide mouth take his dick like a pro. There was no way the guy was straight, even if the words coming out of his mouth were circumventing reality. "Sure. But I really... doubt anyone is going to steal my car. Really."
Rodney pulled his wallet out, and he fished out a hundred, and god damn the man had to be stupid. Stupid or really, incredibly rich, and the temptation there was kind of phenomenal. Still. He could get rich or he could get laid, and considering where he was at this moment in time, getting laid was looking pretty good. Getting laid would mean no more thinking about where his dad was, or whether Sam would kick his ass out without hearing even part of the problem.
"Let's go."
Rodney paid, and Dean assumed he'd tipped the waitress, because he heard her call Rodney a sweetie, which wasn't what she'd called him when he'd asked if someone had pissed in the coffee. And then he was tucking his wallet away. Dean wanted to pick his pocket, just to see what was in it. If Rodney was even his real name -- probably, because he seemed that kind of open, honest -- and anything else interesting that might be in there.
Rodney gave him a broad grin as they stepped outside. "Let's go."
It was just the single weirdest day Rodney could ever recall having in his entire life. Okay, maybe not, but it was too much good luck in one fell swoop, and he was feeling just a little paranoid about it. After all. Hot car. Good steak. Chocolate cake.
Hot guy.
Things like that didn't happen to Rodney McKay. Rodney McKay was the guy who fumbled the ball, wrecked the car, got the last piece of carrot cake, and went home with the schoolmarm librarian even though he was lusting after the hot pi... blonde. Or something like that. He took what came at him because he wasn't the kind of guy who wasted chances on 'no' unless it was a really bad useless chance, but there he was, going into a hotel room with the guy who'd helped him fix the car.
And while he could have done it himself, it had gone faster with Dean helping him. And now Dean was looking at him, evaluating him, and maybe he'd read the whole scenario wrong.
Maybe this guy was going to slit his throat, take his car, and use his body for spare parts. There was something about that smirk, the lazy tilt of hips, and then there was a hand, tugging and pulling at the fly of those jeans, and oh. Oh, that was pretty incredible, outlined there by boxers, and Rodney felt more than a little breathless.
"Wanna get a hand in?"
It was almost a sick relief that he hadn't been wrong after all. That the guy wanted to have sex with him, or at least he wanted a hand job. Blowjob. No sane guy said no to that, did they? "Yeah." Which was the most stupid thing in the world to say because he was already stepping up to Dean to do just that, pressing his fingertips against the man's stomach above the waistband, and then down.
He was gorgeous.
He was the kind of beautiful guys like Rodney only wished they could be, or better yet, wished they could touch. The fact that he actually was made him shudder a little, and he slid his fingers through coarse curls and down just a little further to cock.
God. The sound Dean gave was the kind of thing he was going to have in his memories for a pretty long while, and if he was careful, looked just at the eyes through his own lashes, he could almost imagine, almost...
But that was cheap, and while Rodney disgusted himself sometimes, he decided this wasn't going to be one of them.
He had his hand on the cock of a man who was beautiful in his own right, and who'd helped Rodney fix his damn car with such flawless precision that Rodney couldn't get angry. He wasn't going to make the moment cheap, and he was going to lean up and take that kiss he'd wanted to take since the man had pulled his equally beautiful car up along side of Rodney's.
Dean was young, and that made him even more attractive to some people, Rodney supposed. He wasn't particularly fussy either way, and when Dean's mouth opened and let Rodney's tongue inside, he decided that being less fussy when it came to sex was a very good thing.
One hand was on his wrist, moving it in a rhythm Dean obviously liked, and he was flexing himself slowly against Rodney's thigh. "God, I've been achin' to get your hands on me since this afternoon," he moaned, kissing Rodney again with a desperation that was surprising. "Fuck."
"We can," Rodney offered against Dean's mouth, and there was the awkward moment where teeth hit lip, but Dean kept kissing him, and that was wonderful. It really was, because he could and did just tilt his head down and suck on that bottom lip in apology.
"Oh, God, yeah. You're just what I needed." Dean was shoving against his hand, rocking, and his hands moved up, fingers sliding into the short hair at the back of Rodney's nape. "C'mon. Let's... c'mon..."
He moved, shifted, sliding towards the bed in a back step that was a lot more coordinated than Rodney would have been able to manage.
"Yeah. Let me -- I want to suck you." The words fell out of his mouth before his brain caught up with him, but he could suck Dean off and then maybe he'd be agreeable to letting Rodney fuck him, because he had an ass that Rodney wanted and it had been an inconceivably long time. So long, and he hadn't wanted to do it on Atlantis, surrounded by military types who were all so paranoid that a man might look at their ass that it was a miracle they didn't have their assholes permanently welded shut.
"Oh, fuck." That announcement made Dean's knees buckle, and it was a good thing that they were close to the bed. "I've been looking at your mouth since I stopped. You've got a.... Yeah. Suck my dick. I want..."
He wanted it. That officially made it the best one night stand of Rodney's life. Once Dean's ass was on the edge of the mattress, Rodney slid to his knees. It wasn't a graceful thing, but Rodney wasn't a graceful kind of guy, and he was a lot more interested in wrapping his fist around the hard dick, pulling it free.
That got him a groan and a shimmy of hips that seemed to magically leave Dean's ass bare, the jeans coming down just as easy as Rodney's might have if he had been standing up. It was something he wanted to see when he had time to appreciate it, but Rodney was nothing if not a guy who could make due with what he had, so he knelt down a little closer, tugged the jeans further with his hand and then opened his mouth and swallowed.
"Holy SHIT!"
Sucking a cock was something a man just never forgot.
It was probably Rodney's best exercised sexual experience because it was easier to suck a guy off, get him to suck back, than it was to fuck his ass, particularly in the situations Rodney was in and the people he was around. A lot of men swore they weren't gay when they had semen on their teeth and tongue and lips, because they'd never taken it up the ass. They weren't a woman, no way, but Rodney liked the feeling of a cockhead against his tongue, and he wasn't a woman. He had hands on the base of Dean's cock, one there and one sliding to play with his balls.
The sounds that earned him said he was free to explore at will, and Rodney had never been the kind of man to turn down learning of that sort, not when it was offered with lifted hips and a steady, thrumming pulse that pounded at the back of his own head, shifting into time with the thrust-thrust-push of Dean's body. He could hear words, meaningless murmurs, and he ignored them for the joy of experiencing something new to him.
Someone new to him. Pulse-related motions stirred them both, and that was the pounding in the back of his head and maybe the thrusting and pushing of Dean's body. He took him in deep, and pulled back with a slurp, fisting Dean's cock in the space that he left pulling back, keeping the other man from thrusting too hard, too far, from choking him.
"Oh, Jesus, fucking God, I knew you, I knew you'd, oh, man, knew that mouth would be so hot." There were other words, dirty phrases, spilling from above, but Rodney let them fall over him in a pattering rain of sound, didn't try and differentiate the words. Instead, he sucked a little deeper, tongue rubbing hard against the bottom side. It gained him a whimper, one that said more than anything that Dean was enjoying it, that he was close.
So close. Right on the edge there, right on the edge of coming and falling over. The dirty-mouthed pleas were interesting, but not as interesting as the whimper that was going to be fuel for fantasies for months, on the nights that he dreamt of Wraith sucking the life out of people with their hands. So much better to dream of cocksucking and whimpers and hands clutching tight to his skull while he repeated the suck and the tongue rub, rubbing one thumb just behind Dean's tight balls until he tasted cum, slick and salty and just a little sour on his tongue.
"FUCK! Fuck, fuck, oh, holy FUCK!"
The thumb always did it, and that was a nigh on affectionate thought as he continued rubbing, sliding back, back, even as he nuzzled against the softening flesh with his cheek.
"Oh. God." Hoarse voice, but so much pleasure that it was unmistakable. He sounded shaken, voice thick, that hoarse edge that made Rodney finally lift his eyes to see what Dean's expression looked like, because he already had a fairly firm memory tucked away of how his softening cock looked.
"So I guess that was all right."
"Ngh."
It was a pretty good answer, Rodney supposed, although it sounded as if Dean's brain had been sucked out through his dick. It was always good to know that he still had it, whatever it was, the ability to steal words away with his mouth, no matter how he chose to use it.
He pressed a kiss against Dean's thigh, let his lips linger on the coarse curls there, and then started to kiss his way up Dean's chest, pushing his t-shirt up. "That's eloquent. I want to fuck you. You have a really, just a perfect ass."
There were obviously still some brains remaining, because that remark got him a slow, tired grin and an arch of Dean's back. "Mmngh," he murmured, almost moaned. "Glad you like it."
"You say that like you don't know what you look like. You're... you're magazine beautiful. The whole world probably wants your ass." He leaned up, still on his knees, fingertips tracing over Dean's ribs, and finally the other man got with it and peeled his t-shirt up the rest of the way.
Beautiful. Really, just, sculpted, flat muscles and the edge of his hipbones drawing Rodney's eyes back down via the dark happy trail. That was very happy, actually, and his tongue couldn't seem to resist the need to lick over it, flatten it, ending with a slurping kiss at the pit of his stomach.
"Most people just wanna kick my ass." The way he said it was amusing enough, mostly because it was obvious Dean knew otherwise. How could he not? It was like John.
That thought took a little of the shine off of things, and he felt his mouth screw up as Dean shifted, sat on the edge of the bed to stroke one broad hand over Rodney's face. "I can turn over, if you want."
And wouldn't that be easy? Just to turn him over, close his eyes, and pretend. Easy didn't make it right, though.
"No. I want to see you. If..." And Rodney was in no position to demand, so he felt the words fall out of his mouth, quick-step. "If that's all right." Because maybe Dean wanted to fantasize about someone and then at least they'd both be doing it. That would almost make it all right.
Oh, god. Condoms. The way he smiled, slow and easy, almost smirking, made parts of Rodney want to forget about things like condoms and lube, but for all he knew, Dean did this with everybody he stopped to help by the side of the road.
"You got supplies?" Supplies, yes. No, actually, he didn't, and Dean could probably see that on his face. "Check my wallet."
Prophylactics didn't stand up well to body heat. On the other hand...
"I don't usually, uh, carry, uh..." Wallet, right. Rodney leaned back, and since Dean's jeans were puddled on the floor near Rodney's knees, it was easy to get his wallet out, easy to flip through looking for a condom and lube, shit, they could improvise because he wasn't going to leave to get some.
Carson would probably yell at him very loudly if and when Rodney confessed to all of this, but the need to fuck Dean's ass into the mattress was unfortunately winning at the moment. "No problem. I don't usually, either. Least not in my pocket." There was something about that smirk that made Rodney's pulse speed up, made him take a deep breath. "I pulled it out of my duffel earlier."
"Oh, good." God, god, that was really good, a relief that tangled with the speeding of his pulse as he found the one condom and that was good enough for Rodney. He held it up to Dean, and left the wallet on the floor, because he was still fully dressed.
He needed to be not-dressed as much as he needed not to pick up an STD, but not everyone could be Carson, who was probably on the phone with his mother while Rodney knelt there, still dirty and tired and excited, everything was exciting because, really, it could be his last one night stand ever. "They can break down with body heat, and there was one English guy who was excluded from the mis-well, kicked out of work because he'd come down with some festering..." He waved a hand, looking at Dean as he stood up, fumbling with his belt. "Condoms are good."
Dean's gaze roved over him from shoulder to feet and back again, and Rodney couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at him that way, as if he was some kind of gift to hot road-gods everywhere. Probably nobody had, actually, because it wasn't like there were physics groupies out there just waiting for his next brilliant idea. "You're kinda hot."
Kinda hot. That was, that was probably the singular best sexually-slanted compliment he'd heard in years. "I..." Rodney pulled up a nervous laugh as he started to unbutton his shirt. "I live in a lab. Well, not as much as I used to, but it amounts to the same. You're gorgeous and tanned and I'm..." Not.
Fair-skinned and not toned and lazy and comfortable with himself, but there he was, getting naked in front of a sex god and all was still going well. The twilight zone was being good to him.
That lazy grin sparked somewhere around his navel. "Broad and easy with yourself and really fuckin' good with your mouth?" Dean asked him, stretching out on the bed. The way he moved made Rodney even more desperate to get out of his clothes somehow.
Because he wanted that, wanted to fuck and feel and touch and taste that before Dean changed his mind, which he probably wasn't going to do. And Rodney was going to ad lib on the lube. Maybe the hotel had something he could use in the bathroom, and if push came to shove, Rodney would turn Dean over and go to town on his ass with his tongue.
It could work. It could definitely work, and when he came towards the bed, Dean scrambled back so that he rested comfortably with his heels at the lower end. "So, you comin'?" That invitation made Rodney reach down, hold tightly to the base of his erection.
"Yeah. I just..." Lube, right, lube, and he could explain that and it'd make sense. Rodney put one knee on the mattress, eyes travelling over Dean all over again. "Was trying to think of what to use as lube. Is there anything in the bathroom?"
"We can make due with spit." Saliva wasn't good. It dried too soon, left things stingy and aching, and Rodney didn't want to do anything that would hurt anybody. He didn't want to, but Dean's fingers were caressing his inner thighs, sliding back to touch that hole, the one Rodney wanted so badly to fuck, and he was a little lost, maybe, just at the sight.
Even his hands were gorgeous, square-shaped, with long fingers, big, agile fingers that he'd been eyeing when Dean had been leaned over his engine block. Spit could do. It wasn't as if he was going to last long, except spit and condoms, Rodney wasn't so sure about. But, but, Dean was spreading his legs, and Rodney was going to do it. He was going to do him, spit, condom, fine. Everything was going to be fine, but he had to touch that beautiful body, see those expressive eyes.
"C'mon in. Water's fine." The way he said it, that lazy grin, it was all filled with vague overtones that made Rodney pause, but then he reached up, spit into his hand, and pushed those fingers down again, and oh. Oh, that was really something. That was a show of phenomenal proportions, two fingers sliding in, slick and wet, and sultry eyes were watching him in a way that stole his breath. "Yeah."
"The water looks... very, very fine," Rodney agreed, and if his voice sounded a little strained, that was fine. He was hard as a tungsten carbide rod, and aching, and Dean was giving him a live porn show that finally got him to move, got him to kneel up between his legs, spreading them better. He sucked on one finger, sloppy and wet, and decided to see if he could slide it in beside Dean's.
"Ngh!" There was that sound again, half-grunt, half-swallowed moan, and he was starting to really love hearing it. Dean's head was tossed back, mouth open, and the color chasing up his face was like something out of a romance novel, not at all the same ugly mottled flush that came over Rodney in similar moments. "Guuuh."
"Yeah. You know how to take it, don't you?" Rodney turned his finger, pulled it out and pushed it in again and his fingertip brushed over the back of Dean's two fingers, and that was uncomfortably hot. That was new. "Keep your fingers there?"
"Oh, God." Yeah, just there, and Rodney leaned over and pushed his face down to meet their hands, lathing his tongue carefully around their fingers. It was awkward, and it was difficult, and it was the best thing ever when he slid in a second one and got a mewl that sounded something like a cat in heat. "FUCK!"
Fuck, yeah, and that was a great recovery time, but then, Dean was young enough that it probably wasn't an issue. Rodney wouldn't have been able to manage that, but he could support the leg that came up over his shoulder while he was bent in like that, and he could concentrate and not accidentally hurt Dean. The tonguing was more spit, a lot of it, and Dean could take four fingers at the same time. He was way past what Rodney used as a benchmark of ready.
For a moment, his mind skittered over the whys and wherefores of that before he damned it to the back of his brain and pulled back, pulled his fingers away, too, and the disappointed murmur that sounded made him smile despite himself. "C'moooon." Whiny, yes, but in a hot kind of way, and Dean was pulling his own fingers out of his ass, mouth parted, cock back to waving in the air.
Condom first. He'd handed it to Dean at some point, but it had to be on the bed, and it didn't match the sheets so it was an easy find. Rodney snatched for it , and tore it open. "Coming, coming soon..."
"Jesus, just... here, let me..." He didn't need the help, and he ended up slapping Dean's hands away while he held the condom to the head of his cock one-handed. "Dammit!"
The way he flung himself back in a huff was desperately attractive, and Dean obviously knew it.
"If this falls off, you don't want me to drag you down to a base for a full blood work-up, and I would, so let me just..." Put it on himself, rolling it down until the rolled edge was firm against the base of his cock and the hair there.
"Okay, okay." The lopsided smile was back, a wicked, gleaming thing. "My dad was a Marine, remember? So I've seen their idea of needles. One, two, six, eight..." Yeah, and he was squirming, planting his feet flat even as he grabbed one of the pillows and lifted his ass, sliding it underneath.
That was the perfect angle. Just, the perfect angle for fucking, and they both knew why they were there. Rodney held the condom on at the base, and spit into his palm, smearing it liberally over the latex. "I hope you're talking about needles and not math."
"If you wanna fuck me, let's not start adding and subtracting. I kinda sucked at school." And, okay, it wasn't nearly as attractive, fucking someone who couldn't do graduate level calculus in their head, but Rodney really thought this ought to be about the eye candy, anyway.
And practicality. He was practically smart and there was something in that, because who needed a theoretical physicist who peed himself when he was under stress? Dean was survival smart, or he seemed like, and that was attractive when you didn't want to be dead at the end of the day. "Right, no math. Right." He spit into his palm again, and there, that seemed like it would be enough to go for a while. If it wasn't, they'd just have to do their best. Maybe there was some conditioner or something in the bathroom, and...
"Hey. If you're gonna fuck me? Now would be good." The way he pushed up, ass an offering, muscles in his legs pulling tight, made it obvious that now would be more than good.
Now was great and things were as slick as they were going to get without real lube, and there was at least a condom involved. Rodney got close again, right between those legs, guiding the head of his dick up to the stretched hole.
He should have taken his time. He should have dragged it out because it was a one night stand on Earth and soon he was going to go back to the land of the dry spell -- coincidentally the land of the scientific breakthrough, and Rodney wondered if all he needed to be a successful genius was to be celibate -- and he needed to savor it. But he didn't.
He pushed, a hard, forceful thrust that made Dean give a wild groan underneath him, a sound that caught in Rodney's imagination and was immediately explosive, pushed up to one of his all-time favorite sounds ever. He paused, because Dean was clenched around him, mouth dropped open as he gasped, writhed, and god. Oh, GOD, his legs were wrapping around Rodney and pulling him in despite the fact that it had to hurt like hell.
"Fuck me." It was a throaty sound, nearly a growl, and Rodney had become accustomed to taking orders, at least when they suited him. Fucking Dean suited him, made him want to be wild like that even if he wasn't. He could act it, moving because Dean demanded it, rocking his hips back and forth sharply because it felt good, felt good to fuck someone without having to worry too much, bending Dean in half because he wanted to lean up to kiss him, taste his jaw. The faint sting of stubble didn't matter, didn't make him think, did not give him flashes of John behind his eyes, and the reverberating sound of grunts beneath him, the way everything just wasn't slick enough, turned him on even more. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
Rodney wasn't thinking. He was fucking, twisting and thrusting and stabbing his hips in again and again and it ached but Dean's voice was beautiful in his ears while he concentrated on the feeling of stubble and lips and ass tight around his cock. The words were a blur, but the hands scrabbling across his shoulders kept him grounded, kept him in the present, and when Dean squirmed hard, shoved at his arm and tried to shift a leg up over it, Rodney stopped just long enough to do it.
"You're gonna fuck me raw," and the sound of it said that he didn't care, that he couldn't care, that he never would, and so Rodney moved, pushed, and there was a knee at Dean's ear, and oh. Oh, OH.
Oh, fuck, he could feel it slipping, could feel himself letting go when he didn't want to, when he wanted it to go on forever, when he wanted to bend Dean in half like that and really, really fuck him raw, fuck him until it hurt them both, fuck him until Rodney hurt a little in his body like the inside of his head, but that really wasn't going to happen. His balls were tight, and he was trying to tell Dean how good it felt, how good his ass felt, his beautiful legs, but it wasn't working. His mouth wasn't working because his balls were the only thing working, drawing up tight, and when he felt Dean go crazy underneath him, that was all the sign he needed, everything he wanted that told him to let go and oh. Oh fuck, oh, fuck, oh....
Whitewash. Whitewash, or maybe blackwash, but it was a hell of a good orgasm in a way that left him unable to think or do anything except rest comfortably atop the body beneath him, and he wasn't entirely sure when Dean's knee had come off of his shoulder, but it was probably a good thing that it had.
"Unh."
"Uh-huh." Rodney pressed a loose-mouthed kiss against Dean's lips, and maybe he shifted off. He was definitely going to drift for a while, because he'd been driving straight and he didn't know how long he'd been up, but dinner, decent dinner and sex, and...
It was a good thing Rodney had gotten off when he'd gotten off. He was broad at the shoulder, broad through the chest, and Dean wasn't really sure he would have managed to squirm out from beneath him if he hadn't.
He hated to leave just yet. His ass was sore in a way that meant he wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon, though, and he had places to be and things to kill, and a guy had to do what he had to do.
Still, wow. What a night. Free dinner and a little side trip, a good fuck. He'd leave the guy where he was and get going soon, even if it was a sore and stretched out sort of get going. Rodney was an interesting kind of guy, and a great fuck in a way that made it a shame that he'd probably never see him again.
After all. From the look of his wallet, he wasn't exactly likely to do anything but move through from place to place.
Dean had more credit cards than this guy -- all he had was cash, and a funny I.D. card that Dean snapped a quick photo of with his cell phone. After all.
He didn't know what Stargate or Atlantis was, or what kind of 'teams' they might have, but a guy could never have too many fake I.D. cards.
Authors:
tzi & zaganthiPairing: McKay/Winchester. Dean. Winchester.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: He really should have just ponied up the money for that Cobra.
Length: 8,256. Give or take.
It was all Major Sheppard's fault.
Everything, Rodney decided, could be called Major Sheppard's fault, up to and including the fact that he was going to die on a highway in the middle of Nowhere, Colorado, far from home, instead of the death that he'd been expecting at the hands of a life-sucking alien creature.
If only his car understood the irony. It was supposed to be a good car, too. He'd been driving his clunker of an old Camry out of Colorado Springs, headed for Nevada to convince a military research scientist that yes, he did want to die in another galaxy -- and wasn't that the problem with letting people know too much about the mission before it happened? -- when he'd seen the car show.
Rodney didn't really want to show up in Area 51 driving a car he hated. He wanted to drive one of those cars he'd lusted over for years but never had the balls to buy.
Shelbys, Cobras, an Impala SS, this... conglomeration thing that, really, had looked pretty cool when he'd seen it... Well. He'd never actually gotten up the nerve to buy any of those things, even though he'd seriously lusted after the 1980 Corvette, but what twelve year old boy didn't? And now, he had all of this extra money -- hazard pay was good for something, apparently, and even the civilians got it -- that hadn't gone into savings, that was still just sitting there because he hadn't really thought about the fact that he was getting it, and...
It had only cost him a couple thousand dollars for the Mustang II Coupe. It was a '75, and it was infinitely less cool than a Shelby or the Cobra from the same year, but it was kind of fun, and for that amount of money, it was livable, more or less.
It was red, and the seats were comfortable and when he got behind the engine and gave it a test drive, that had been what had sold him. It purred, hummed with life, and when he drove it, it felt like it was flying. It felt amazing, and it filled the hole at the back of his head that missed the noise and tension and energy of Atlantis. At least, it filled in a little of the hole, enough for Rodney to buy the car and drive away in it after getting the guy to take some money off the top if he'd just take Rodney's Camry off his hands.
It had been wonderful... until it had broken down.
That left Rodney in the middle of nowhere on a road that was barely wide enough for one car, much less two, because he was an idiot and he had a crazy urge to race down winding mountain roads in his cool new car, and that left him exactly--
It left him elbows-deep in a combustion engine, cursing the thing silently in his head because he remembered all too clearly the taste of soap on his tongue when his mother had washed curse words out of his mouth as a child.
The engine had been re-bored, but some of the gaskets were loose, and one had outright burst. That left him up the proverbial creek, hot, sweaty, dirty, and even more cranky than usual.
He couldn't unburst a gasket, and while he had some tools, they were more of the change-a-flat-tire variety. Or replace a broken fan belt temporarily. Something simple that didn't leave him stranded without cell phone reception, which was just his fucking luck. Rodney knew he should have bought a satellite phone.
The deep rumble of another car came faintly to his ear, the sound of it making him shift. He stood up and rubbed the sweat from his cheek with one wrist. There was a haze in the distance, but the sound was getting louder, and so Rodney squinted, watching the furthest curve hopefully. Maybe whoever was coming would give him a ride into the nearest town. They were bound to have a parts store, and even if they didn't have anything specific for the year model, he could probably fake it.
No, he would fake it, and could make it, force it to work for long enough to get where he was going. It would take at least a day to convince Fredricsen that he wanted to die on a foreign planet, anyway, and that was long enough to force an overpriced actual grease monkey to fix it properly for him.
He just needed to get to the nearest town and back. He could fix 10,000 year old equipment while being shot at, he could handle a car.
That steady rumble came into view and, oh, that was an incredible example of automotive glory. It was a '67 Impala SS, black, and everything was just so. It looked like a bug had never had the guts to try splashing itself across the windshield, much less the hood.
Frankly, it made him feel like the geekiest kid on the block. That was a cool car.
He really should have just ponied up the money for that Cobra.
If not for the fact that it probably wouldn't have left him stranded there, then because it would have at least looked better when that drove up. Rodney shifted, and leaned against the closed hood of his car. Maybe the driver of that car could give him a ride in. He was desperate not to die in the mountains, or further on in the desert, and the road flares around his car should have been a good sign that he was honestly broken down.
It slowed down, coming to a stop beside him, and Rodney's mouth went dry while he waited for the window to roll down. "Huh. Car trouble's a bitch, innit?" It just went to figure that the man driving the car would be as gorgeous as the car itself. Hazel green eyes with lush lashes, a flirtatious grin, that tilt of head that made Rodney just a little breathless, and really, he wasn't thinking about other hazel eyes. Not at all.
Dammit.
Rodney lifted his chin a little, looking at the driver. "It is. The engine just died on me, I don't have the parts to fix it, and my cell phone isn't getting reception." And somehow he still couldn't quite say the words 'I need help'.
"Want me to take a look at it?" That heavy rumble cut off, and the door squeaked open, one jean-clad leg climbing out of it, and, okay, he was a little young for Rodney's taste, but frankly, he'd always had a thing for blonds in all of their various incarnations. This one was mostly dark-blond, but he had that mouth, and those eyes, and that car, and, well. He'd be kind of stupid to say no.
Rodney McKay was anything but stupid.
Except his tongue started to say 'no' on its own, while Rodney took a backwards step, eyeing the blond and rubbing at his face again. "If you think you can magically repair the gasket, be my guest. I'm sure it's dead."
"Well, you never know. Might be I can work a little magic, get you running at least enough to follow me to the next town. Wouldn't be fair to leave a fellow car enthusiast stuck out in the middle of nowhere, now would it?" He strolled over, leaned down to look in the open hood, and... huh. That was a pretty good view.
Ass, with those low-slung jeans that people seemed to wear nowadays. Younger people. None of the scientists except probably that base-jumping doctor Carson had been bitching about hiring, but Rodney had nothing against the young and the hot if they happened to be intelligent, too. It was a shame that physics and engineering geniuses tended to look like him and Zelenka. He could get an eyeful of that when he shaved in the morning.
But pretty blond younger guy leaning into his car with Sheppard-wild hair was something else.
"I have a doctorate in mechanical engineering. I think I can safely say the engine is blown -- at least, with my current lack of spare parts."
The kid was just grinning, though, low and lazy in a way that screamed dirty sex and made Rodney shift uncomfortably, reaching up to rub at his face self-consciously. His fingers came away smeared with dirty-laced grease, and he shifted uncomfortably. "Hey, so... you're a smart guy. My brother's at Stanford. I'm kinda on my way out there." His fingers were working at the engine, moving around the gasket, and yeah. Yeah, that was nice to watch, anyway. "So, you probably know what you're doing with these things. The older ones kinda have a different feel to 'em, don't they?"
"They have a great feel. This was made long before people decided to hide everything away in plastic sheaths to make the engines look neater. They're easier to work on, and the horsepower in them is the same and sometimes better." Rodney's mouth pulled down, and he had to add, "But seeing the one you're driving, you already know that."
"Belonged to my dad." There was something strained about the way he said that, but it was none of Rodney's business. Not really. "I've been in love with it since I was just a kid. He kept it stored for a while when we were younger. Kinda hard to cart around two kids and all their stuff in a car like that, you know? Picked up a truck he was a little less worried about destroying."
He said it in the same way that Rodney had heard his mother talk about his father picking up a hooker, and that was sort of amusing. "It's a good thing he didn't sell it. It'd be a shame if you didn't have it." It seemed to match him was what Rodney wanted to say and didn't quite actually say.
"Yeah, well. You know how it is. You get your heart set on something when you're a kid, and bam! Gotta have it. It's kinda the explanation for the car," the kid admitted, wiping a hand on his jeans and holding it out. "I'm Dean."
"I'm Rodney." Doctor and McKay seemed strange to bother with, when he was hot and sweaty and his face was covered in grease and there was nowhere to wipe the grease off because he'd spent so long trying to get some kind of workaround that the front of his pants were in the same shape as the hand he offered Dean to shake.
There was a firmness to the way those fingers held on, a suggestive glint in the eye that made Rodney shift, lick his lips, try to get comfortable in his pants again. "So, uh, Rodney. You wanna ride into town? Maybe you could buy me dinner, I could fix the car for you?"
"If you can really fix it, I'll do more than just buy you dinner. I know I can fix it well enough to get me to Nevada, but maybe not back." Not unless he could get the exact part and cars were something he hadn't worked on in a while. Wraith ships and puddlejumpers and wiring around Ancient control panels, sure, great, no problem, but he was being thwarted by a handful of Ford gaskets.
The way those eyes darkened made him swallow, realize exactly what it probably sounded like he was guaranteeing. "Leave your flashers on. We'll go and get back, get it fixed, and, uh... I'll let you keep that promise."
He'd meant money, or something more functional, normal payment sort of thing, but Dean was looking at him, and Rodney... nodded. He nodded, and took a step backwards to open the door so he could leave the flashers on. Hopefully it wasn't so far to town that the battery would die, too.
He could think about the payment thing later.
It was probably pretty twisted.
Okay, yeah, maybe more than a little twisted. The guy wasn't old enough to be his dad, not quite, but Dad didn't look all that old, so they were probably about on par as far as that went. He didn't look nearly as dangerous, either, a fork held loosely in his fist with dessert still underneath it. There was a feeling about him, though, something that filtered through the air and made his pulse flutter a little, and the guy was smart. Sam-smart, at the very least, and the fact that it was a turn-on as much as the looking-Dad's-age-thing, it didn't say good things about Dean's psyche.
But, goddamn, he could talk.
That was okay because Dean hadn't heard a live human voice for quite that long since Corpus Christi, and Corpus Christi was four days and a couple of seedy hotel rooms behind him. But the guy just talked, like silence made him nervous, and every time a conversation dangled a little, he swept in and caught it back up, and his sentences were full of funny artifacts, pauses and stops like he had a mouthful of things to say that he couldn't.
Dean understood how that went, but he really hoped he hadn't picked up some strange preppy geek-vampire who sounded just a little like he was from Minnesota.
He really hoped Rodney wasn't. He'd hate to have to chop his head off and burn the rest.
"....so I had always wanted one of those cars but I just never had the time and there I was, so..."
It was this long, rambling monologue that was almost like being with Sam when he was a little high off of adrenaline and endorphins and whatever chemical cocktail their dad might have slipped him for an injury. Dean could practically taste it on his tongue, and God, he'd missed Sammy, but this was really a little perverted, even for him.
"So you just bought the car? Man. That's tough." Tough because it broke down, tough because who honestly bought a '75 Mustang II Coupe these days?
"It is. I was driving a Camry that's been in storage for the past year straight and probably seven out of the last eight, so it was really actually a step up. I think the floorboard of the Camry was rusting. Anyway, it was one of those impulse things, and I was thinking I could at least get a couple of weeks of use out of it before, uh." Another lingering pause, and Dean hoped the next sentence hadn't been, 'I crawl back into my coffin/grave/unholy place of rest'. "I go overseas again."
"Yeah, overseas." Just the thought of planes made him nauseated because, hey. Planes. Never mind water. Open water was almost as bad. If people had any idea what lived in those places, they'd keep out of them, he was damn sure of that. "Sounds like you lead a pretty eventful life." And like he obviously had money to burn, so Dean wasn't going to feel bad about the twelve ounce steak. No way.
"Huh. Actually, I sort of do. It's..." Rodney waved his fork a little. He'd just about killed the steak and the side of out-of-a-box mashed potatoes, but he was lingering over the huge chunk of chocolate cake. If Dean had been anyone else, he wouldn't have been wondering if Rodney was actually some sort of were-creature and not a vampire, maybe. So few of his chance meetings were with someone normal, whether they had money to burn or not. "Full. It's mostly very satisfying, even with all of the travel."
"Shame you'll have to leave the car behind. I guess it's worth it, though, for a couple weeks out of the year. Kinda like popping a cherry every time you slide into it." Yeah, and there was no way to say that with a straight face, his mouth quirking up in a smirk that as good as offered the fact that he didn't exactly have a cherry to pop. Hadn't had one in a long time, not since barely in high school, and that was a great sense memory to pull up while the guy sitting across from him turned faintly pink, and his mouth went slack before he filled the space in with another fork of cake.
"Uh, I guess so, except given this car's age, it was popped a long time ago. Maybe... some decade I could get around to restoring it."
"Well, you know, I'm always available. For pointers." And pointing. And poking. A hell of a lot of things, actually, because he was starting to get some pretty filthy ideas about Rodney's mouth. So long as it didn't sprout fangs, he could go along with it, really.
Rodney had ducked into the restroom of the shitty little diner, and he'd washed his hands and his arms and he'd tried to wash his face, but the soap dispenser was empty and water and brown paper towels could only put so much of a dent into a mess like that. Filthy ideas for a filthy mouth. "While I appreciate the offer, when I say decade I really mean it. It'll probably be another three years before I set foot on this continent again. And it's..." He waved the fork again, and little chocolate crumbs fell on the table. "It's things like this that I miss the most."
"Chocolate cake?" Conversation? Random guys in hot cars offering to let him fuck their asses? Dean was pretty sure that cake was high on that list of priorities. He could only guess at how high the rest was. Still, he leaned back in the chair, one arm slung over the back and gave a reckless grin. It was easy enough when he was full and just waiting. "Coffee?"
Waiting on a sure thing was easy. "Coffee. And chocolate cake, but seedy diners, and just..." He clicked the fork through some frosting that had ended up smeared on the plate, and licked it. "Just being here. There's no place else like this... country. Continent."
"You make it sound like you're not from around here. Maybe haven't been for a while." Conversation was an even easier way to wait in Dean's opinion. He was all about the easy, and that tongue was really making easy turn a little hard.
His face contorted, and the guy was no liar. He didn't seem to have a finesse for it, no flare for pulling an answer out of thin air, because it was easier to eat the last of the cake. Dean wondered what that mouth would feel like wrapped around his cock. "Well, uh. Siberia and McMurdo aren't exactly 'around here'. Or pleasant."
Okay, so that explained the whole icy-darkness thing he had going on then. "Huh. Military, then. 's kinda funny. My dad was in the Marines. Always kinda thought if I got tired of driving the roads, I'd pick up and go." He'd probably do okay in the Marines. He was pretty good at following orders, even if he had to admit he was kind of a smartass.
"There's some interesting things out there, if you ever did. You remind me of Major -- well, my commanding officer. Sort of. I'm actually civilian, but it hasn't felt like it in years." His eyebrows drew together, and he drained his coffee a little too-fast because Dean knew it was still hot from when the waitress had topped it off. "He's a complete smartass, and he can kill people with his hands in probably twenty different ways."
"I wouldn't say I could manage it in twenty different ways, but I've got a couple of other talents you might wanna try out." He could probably get Rodney off a lot easier than some military guy with great homicidal tendencies.
Rodney set the cup down, and his hand was unsteady before he set it on the table. And then he just said, "Yeah," in a softer tone, like he was hopeful. "Do you, uh, want to -- let me pay, and then, uh."
"Maybe we can head back. You know. Make sure nobody's run off with your car. Go upstairs for a while. Watch some tv." Fuck their brains out, because, hey, he was obliging like that.
He wanted to fuck, be fucked, and really, he wanted to see that wide mouth take his dick like a pro. There was no way the guy was straight, even if the words coming out of his mouth were circumventing reality. "Sure. But I really... doubt anyone is going to steal my car. Really."
Rodney pulled his wallet out, and he fished out a hundred, and god damn the man had to be stupid. Stupid or really, incredibly rich, and the temptation there was kind of phenomenal. Still. He could get rich or he could get laid, and considering where he was at this moment in time, getting laid was looking pretty good. Getting laid would mean no more thinking about where his dad was, or whether Sam would kick his ass out without hearing even part of the problem.
"Let's go."
Rodney paid, and Dean assumed he'd tipped the waitress, because he heard her call Rodney a sweetie, which wasn't what she'd called him when he'd asked if someone had pissed in the coffee. And then he was tucking his wallet away. Dean wanted to pick his pocket, just to see what was in it. If Rodney was even his real name -- probably, because he seemed that kind of open, honest -- and anything else interesting that might be in there.
Rodney gave him a broad grin as they stepped outside. "Let's go."
It was just the single weirdest day Rodney could ever recall having in his entire life. Okay, maybe not, but it was too much good luck in one fell swoop, and he was feeling just a little paranoid about it. After all. Hot car. Good steak. Chocolate cake.
Hot guy.
Things like that didn't happen to Rodney McKay. Rodney McKay was the guy who fumbled the ball, wrecked the car, got the last piece of carrot cake, and went home with the schoolmarm librarian even though he was lusting after the hot pi... blonde. Or something like that. He took what came at him because he wasn't the kind of guy who wasted chances on 'no' unless it was a really bad useless chance, but there he was, going into a hotel room with the guy who'd helped him fix the car.
And while he could have done it himself, it had gone faster with Dean helping him. And now Dean was looking at him, evaluating him, and maybe he'd read the whole scenario wrong.
Maybe this guy was going to slit his throat, take his car, and use his body for spare parts. There was something about that smirk, the lazy tilt of hips, and then there was a hand, tugging and pulling at the fly of those jeans, and oh. Oh, that was pretty incredible, outlined there by boxers, and Rodney felt more than a little breathless.
"Wanna get a hand in?"
It was almost a sick relief that he hadn't been wrong after all. That the guy wanted to have sex with him, or at least he wanted a hand job. Blowjob. No sane guy said no to that, did they? "Yeah." Which was the most stupid thing in the world to say because he was already stepping up to Dean to do just that, pressing his fingertips against the man's stomach above the waistband, and then down.
He was gorgeous.
He was the kind of beautiful guys like Rodney only wished they could be, or better yet, wished they could touch. The fact that he actually was made him shudder a little, and he slid his fingers through coarse curls and down just a little further to cock.
God. The sound Dean gave was the kind of thing he was going to have in his memories for a pretty long while, and if he was careful, looked just at the eyes through his own lashes, he could almost imagine, almost...
But that was cheap, and while Rodney disgusted himself sometimes, he decided this wasn't going to be one of them.
He had his hand on the cock of a man who was beautiful in his own right, and who'd helped Rodney fix his damn car with such flawless precision that Rodney couldn't get angry. He wasn't going to make the moment cheap, and he was going to lean up and take that kiss he'd wanted to take since the man had pulled his equally beautiful car up along side of Rodney's.
Dean was young, and that made him even more attractive to some people, Rodney supposed. He wasn't particularly fussy either way, and when Dean's mouth opened and let Rodney's tongue inside, he decided that being less fussy when it came to sex was a very good thing.
One hand was on his wrist, moving it in a rhythm Dean obviously liked, and he was flexing himself slowly against Rodney's thigh. "God, I've been achin' to get your hands on me since this afternoon," he moaned, kissing Rodney again with a desperation that was surprising. "Fuck."
"We can," Rodney offered against Dean's mouth, and there was the awkward moment where teeth hit lip, but Dean kept kissing him, and that was wonderful. It really was, because he could and did just tilt his head down and suck on that bottom lip in apology.
"Oh, God, yeah. You're just what I needed." Dean was shoving against his hand, rocking, and his hands moved up, fingers sliding into the short hair at the back of Rodney's nape. "C'mon. Let's... c'mon..."
He moved, shifted, sliding towards the bed in a back step that was a lot more coordinated than Rodney would have been able to manage.
"Yeah. Let me -- I want to suck you." The words fell out of his mouth before his brain caught up with him, but he could suck Dean off and then maybe he'd be agreeable to letting Rodney fuck him, because he had an ass that Rodney wanted and it had been an inconceivably long time. So long, and he hadn't wanted to do it on Atlantis, surrounded by military types who were all so paranoid that a man might look at their ass that it was a miracle they didn't have their assholes permanently welded shut.
"Oh, fuck." That announcement made Dean's knees buckle, and it was a good thing that they were close to the bed. "I've been looking at your mouth since I stopped. You've got a.... Yeah. Suck my dick. I want..."
He wanted it. That officially made it the best one night stand of Rodney's life. Once Dean's ass was on the edge of the mattress, Rodney slid to his knees. It wasn't a graceful thing, but Rodney wasn't a graceful kind of guy, and he was a lot more interested in wrapping his fist around the hard dick, pulling it free.
That got him a groan and a shimmy of hips that seemed to magically leave Dean's ass bare, the jeans coming down just as easy as Rodney's might have if he had been standing up. It was something he wanted to see when he had time to appreciate it, but Rodney was nothing if not a guy who could make due with what he had, so he knelt down a little closer, tugged the jeans further with his hand and then opened his mouth and swallowed.
"Holy SHIT!"
Sucking a cock was something a man just never forgot.
It was probably Rodney's best exercised sexual experience because it was easier to suck a guy off, get him to suck back, than it was to fuck his ass, particularly in the situations Rodney was in and the people he was around. A lot of men swore they weren't gay when they had semen on their teeth and tongue and lips, because they'd never taken it up the ass. They weren't a woman, no way, but Rodney liked the feeling of a cockhead against his tongue, and he wasn't a woman. He had hands on the base of Dean's cock, one there and one sliding to play with his balls.
The sounds that earned him said he was free to explore at will, and Rodney had never been the kind of man to turn down learning of that sort, not when it was offered with lifted hips and a steady, thrumming pulse that pounded at the back of his own head, shifting into time with the thrust-thrust-push of Dean's body. He could hear words, meaningless murmurs, and he ignored them for the joy of experiencing something new to him.
Someone new to him. Pulse-related motions stirred them both, and that was the pounding in the back of his head and maybe the thrusting and pushing of Dean's body. He took him in deep, and pulled back with a slurp, fisting Dean's cock in the space that he left pulling back, keeping the other man from thrusting too hard, too far, from choking him.
"Oh, Jesus, fucking God, I knew you, I knew you'd, oh, man, knew that mouth would be so hot." There were other words, dirty phrases, spilling from above, but Rodney let them fall over him in a pattering rain of sound, didn't try and differentiate the words. Instead, he sucked a little deeper, tongue rubbing hard against the bottom side. It gained him a whimper, one that said more than anything that Dean was enjoying it, that he was close.
So close. Right on the edge there, right on the edge of coming and falling over. The dirty-mouthed pleas were interesting, but not as interesting as the whimper that was going to be fuel for fantasies for months, on the nights that he dreamt of Wraith sucking the life out of people with their hands. So much better to dream of cocksucking and whimpers and hands clutching tight to his skull while he repeated the suck and the tongue rub, rubbing one thumb just behind Dean's tight balls until he tasted cum, slick and salty and just a little sour on his tongue.
"FUCK! Fuck, fuck, oh, holy FUCK!"
The thumb always did it, and that was a nigh on affectionate thought as he continued rubbing, sliding back, back, even as he nuzzled against the softening flesh with his cheek.
"Oh. God." Hoarse voice, but so much pleasure that it was unmistakable. He sounded shaken, voice thick, that hoarse edge that made Rodney finally lift his eyes to see what Dean's expression looked like, because he already had a fairly firm memory tucked away of how his softening cock looked.
"So I guess that was all right."
"Ngh."
It was a pretty good answer, Rodney supposed, although it sounded as if Dean's brain had been sucked out through his dick. It was always good to know that he still had it, whatever it was, the ability to steal words away with his mouth, no matter how he chose to use it.
He pressed a kiss against Dean's thigh, let his lips linger on the coarse curls there, and then started to kiss his way up Dean's chest, pushing his t-shirt up. "That's eloquent. I want to fuck you. You have a really, just a perfect ass."
There were obviously still some brains remaining, because that remark got him a slow, tired grin and an arch of Dean's back. "Mmngh," he murmured, almost moaned. "Glad you like it."
"You say that like you don't know what you look like. You're... you're magazine beautiful. The whole world probably wants your ass." He leaned up, still on his knees, fingertips tracing over Dean's ribs, and finally the other man got with it and peeled his t-shirt up the rest of the way.
Beautiful. Really, just, sculpted, flat muscles and the edge of his hipbones drawing Rodney's eyes back down via the dark happy trail. That was very happy, actually, and his tongue couldn't seem to resist the need to lick over it, flatten it, ending with a slurping kiss at the pit of his stomach.
"Most people just wanna kick my ass." The way he said it was amusing enough, mostly because it was obvious Dean knew otherwise. How could he not? It was like John.
That thought took a little of the shine off of things, and he felt his mouth screw up as Dean shifted, sat on the edge of the bed to stroke one broad hand over Rodney's face. "I can turn over, if you want."
And wouldn't that be easy? Just to turn him over, close his eyes, and pretend. Easy didn't make it right, though.
"No. I want to see you. If..." And Rodney was in no position to demand, so he felt the words fall out of his mouth, quick-step. "If that's all right." Because maybe Dean wanted to fantasize about someone and then at least they'd both be doing it. That would almost make it all right.
Oh, god. Condoms. The way he smiled, slow and easy, almost smirking, made parts of Rodney want to forget about things like condoms and lube, but for all he knew, Dean did this with everybody he stopped to help by the side of the road.
"You got supplies?" Supplies, yes. No, actually, he didn't, and Dean could probably see that on his face. "Check my wallet."
Prophylactics didn't stand up well to body heat. On the other hand...
"I don't usually, uh, carry, uh..." Wallet, right. Rodney leaned back, and since Dean's jeans were puddled on the floor near Rodney's knees, it was easy to get his wallet out, easy to flip through looking for a condom and lube, shit, they could improvise because he wasn't going to leave to get some.
Carson would probably yell at him very loudly if and when Rodney confessed to all of this, but the need to fuck Dean's ass into the mattress was unfortunately winning at the moment. "No problem. I don't usually, either. Least not in my pocket." There was something about that smirk that made Rodney's pulse speed up, made him take a deep breath. "I pulled it out of my duffel earlier."
"Oh, good." God, god, that was really good, a relief that tangled with the speeding of his pulse as he found the one condom and that was good enough for Rodney. He held it up to Dean, and left the wallet on the floor, because he was still fully dressed.
He needed to be not-dressed as much as he needed not to pick up an STD, but not everyone could be Carson, who was probably on the phone with his mother while Rodney knelt there, still dirty and tired and excited, everything was exciting because, really, it could be his last one night stand ever. "They can break down with body heat, and there was one English guy who was excluded from the mis-well, kicked out of work because he'd come down with some festering..." He waved a hand, looking at Dean as he stood up, fumbling with his belt. "Condoms are good."
Dean's gaze roved over him from shoulder to feet and back again, and Rodney couldn't remember the last time anyone had looked at him that way, as if he was some kind of gift to hot road-gods everywhere. Probably nobody had, actually, because it wasn't like there were physics groupies out there just waiting for his next brilliant idea. "You're kinda hot."
Kinda hot. That was, that was probably the singular best sexually-slanted compliment he'd heard in years. "I..." Rodney pulled up a nervous laugh as he started to unbutton his shirt. "I live in a lab. Well, not as much as I used to, but it amounts to the same. You're gorgeous and tanned and I'm..." Not.
Fair-skinned and not toned and lazy and comfortable with himself, but there he was, getting naked in front of a sex god and all was still going well. The twilight zone was being good to him.
That lazy grin sparked somewhere around his navel. "Broad and easy with yourself and really fuckin' good with your mouth?" Dean asked him, stretching out on the bed. The way he moved made Rodney even more desperate to get out of his clothes somehow.
Because he wanted that, wanted to fuck and feel and touch and taste that before Dean changed his mind, which he probably wasn't going to do. And Rodney was going to ad lib on the lube. Maybe the hotel had something he could use in the bathroom, and if push came to shove, Rodney would turn Dean over and go to town on his ass with his tongue.
It could work. It could definitely work, and when he came towards the bed, Dean scrambled back so that he rested comfortably with his heels at the lower end. "So, you comin'?" That invitation made Rodney reach down, hold tightly to the base of his erection.
"Yeah. I just..." Lube, right, lube, and he could explain that and it'd make sense. Rodney put one knee on the mattress, eyes travelling over Dean all over again. "Was trying to think of what to use as lube. Is there anything in the bathroom?"
"We can make due with spit." Saliva wasn't good. It dried too soon, left things stingy and aching, and Rodney didn't want to do anything that would hurt anybody. He didn't want to, but Dean's fingers were caressing his inner thighs, sliding back to touch that hole, the one Rodney wanted so badly to fuck, and he was a little lost, maybe, just at the sight.
Even his hands were gorgeous, square-shaped, with long fingers, big, agile fingers that he'd been eyeing when Dean had been leaned over his engine block. Spit could do. It wasn't as if he was going to last long, except spit and condoms, Rodney wasn't so sure about. But, but, Dean was spreading his legs, and Rodney was going to do it. He was going to do him, spit, condom, fine. Everything was going to be fine, but he had to touch that beautiful body, see those expressive eyes.
"C'mon in. Water's fine." The way he said it, that lazy grin, it was all filled with vague overtones that made Rodney pause, but then he reached up, spit into his hand, and pushed those fingers down again, and oh. Oh, that was really something. That was a show of phenomenal proportions, two fingers sliding in, slick and wet, and sultry eyes were watching him in a way that stole his breath. "Yeah."
"The water looks... very, very fine," Rodney agreed, and if his voice sounded a little strained, that was fine. He was hard as a tungsten carbide rod, and aching, and Dean was giving him a live porn show that finally got him to move, got him to kneel up between his legs, spreading them better. He sucked on one finger, sloppy and wet, and decided to see if he could slide it in beside Dean's.
"Ngh!" There was that sound again, half-grunt, half-swallowed moan, and he was starting to really love hearing it. Dean's head was tossed back, mouth open, and the color chasing up his face was like something out of a romance novel, not at all the same ugly mottled flush that came over Rodney in similar moments. "Guuuh."
"Yeah. You know how to take it, don't you?" Rodney turned his finger, pulled it out and pushed it in again and his fingertip brushed over the back of Dean's two fingers, and that was uncomfortably hot. That was new. "Keep your fingers there?"
"Oh, God." Yeah, just there, and Rodney leaned over and pushed his face down to meet their hands, lathing his tongue carefully around their fingers. It was awkward, and it was difficult, and it was the best thing ever when he slid in a second one and got a mewl that sounded something like a cat in heat. "FUCK!"
Fuck, yeah, and that was a great recovery time, but then, Dean was young enough that it probably wasn't an issue. Rodney wouldn't have been able to manage that, but he could support the leg that came up over his shoulder while he was bent in like that, and he could concentrate and not accidentally hurt Dean. The tonguing was more spit, a lot of it, and Dean could take four fingers at the same time. He was way past what Rodney used as a benchmark of ready.
For a moment, his mind skittered over the whys and wherefores of that before he damned it to the back of his brain and pulled back, pulled his fingers away, too, and the disappointed murmur that sounded made him smile despite himself. "C'moooon." Whiny, yes, but in a hot kind of way, and Dean was pulling his own fingers out of his ass, mouth parted, cock back to waving in the air.
Condom first. He'd handed it to Dean at some point, but it had to be on the bed, and it didn't match the sheets so it was an easy find. Rodney snatched for it , and tore it open. "Coming, coming soon..."
"Jesus, just... here, let me..." He didn't need the help, and he ended up slapping Dean's hands away while he held the condom to the head of his cock one-handed. "Dammit!"
The way he flung himself back in a huff was desperately attractive, and Dean obviously knew it.
"If this falls off, you don't want me to drag you down to a base for a full blood work-up, and I would, so let me just..." Put it on himself, rolling it down until the rolled edge was firm against the base of his cock and the hair there.
"Okay, okay." The lopsided smile was back, a wicked, gleaming thing. "My dad was a Marine, remember? So I've seen their idea of needles. One, two, six, eight..." Yeah, and he was squirming, planting his feet flat even as he grabbed one of the pillows and lifted his ass, sliding it underneath.
That was the perfect angle. Just, the perfect angle for fucking, and they both knew why they were there. Rodney held the condom on at the base, and spit into his palm, smearing it liberally over the latex. "I hope you're talking about needles and not math."
"If you wanna fuck me, let's not start adding and subtracting. I kinda sucked at school." And, okay, it wasn't nearly as attractive, fucking someone who couldn't do graduate level calculus in their head, but Rodney really thought this ought to be about the eye candy, anyway.
And practicality. He was practically smart and there was something in that, because who needed a theoretical physicist who peed himself when he was under stress? Dean was survival smart, or he seemed like, and that was attractive when you didn't want to be dead at the end of the day. "Right, no math. Right." He spit into his palm again, and there, that seemed like it would be enough to go for a while. If it wasn't, they'd just have to do their best. Maybe there was some conditioner or something in the bathroom, and...
"Hey. If you're gonna fuck me? Now would be good." The way he pushed up, ass an offering, muscles in his legs pulling tight, made it obvious that now would be more than good.
Now was great and things were as slick as they were going to get without real lube, and there was at least a condom involved. Rodney got close again, right between those legs, guiding the head of his dick up to the stretched hole.
He should have taken his time. He should have dragged it out because it was a one night stand on Earth and soon he was going to go back to the land of the dry spell -- coincidentally the land of the scientific breakthrough, and Rodney wondered if all he needed to be a successful genius was to be celibate -- and he needed to savor it. But he didn't.
He pushed, a hard, forceful thrust that made Dean give a wild groan underneath him, a sound that caught in Rodney's imagination and was immediately explosive, pushed up to one of his all-time favorite sounds ever. He paused, because Dean was clenched around him, mouth dropped open as he gasped, writhed, and god. Oh, GOD, his legs were wrapping around Rodney and pulling him in despite the fact that it had to hurt like hell.
"Fuck me." It was a throaty sound, nearly a growl, and Rodney had become accustomed to taking orders, at least when they suited him. Fucking Dean suited him, made him want to be wild like that even if he wasn't. He could act it, moving because Dean demanded it, rocking his hips back and forth sharply because it felt good, felt good to fuck someone without having to worry too much, bending Dean in half because he wanted to lean up to kiss him, taste his jaw. The faint sting of stubble didn't matter, didn't make him think, did not give him flashes of John behind his eyes, and the reverberating sound of grunts beneath him, the way everything just wasn't slick enough, turned him on even more. "Jesus fucking Christ!"
Rodney wasn't thinking. He was fucking, twisting and thrusting and stabbing his hips in again and again and it ached but Dean's voice was beautiful in his ears while he concentrated on the feeling of stubble and lips and ass tight around his cock. The words were a blur, but the hands scrabbling across his shoulders kept him grounded, kept him in the present, and when Dean squirmed hard, shoved at his arm and tried to shift a leg up over it, Rodney stopped just long enough to do it.
"You're gonna fuck me raw," and the sound of it said that he didn't care, that he couldn't care, that he never would, and so Rodney moved, pushed, and there was a knee at Dean's ear, and oh. Oh, OH.
Oh, fuck, he could feel it slipping, could feel himself letting go when he didn't want to, when he wanted it to go on forever, when he wanted to bend Dean in half like that and really, really fuck him raw, fuck him until it hurt them both, fuck him until Rodney hurt a little in his body like the inside of his head, but that really wasn't going to happen. His balls were tight, and he was trying to tell Dean how good it felt, how good his ass felt, his beautiful legs, but it wasn't working. His mouth wasn't working because his balls were the only thing working, drawing up tight, and when he felt Dean go crazy underneath him, that was all the sign he needed, everything he wanted that told him to let go and oh. Oh fuck, oh, fuck, oh....
Whitewash. Whitewash, or maybe blackwash, but it was a hell of a good orgasm in a way that left him unable to think or do anything except rest comfortably atop the body beneath him, and he wasn't entirely sure when Dean's knee had come off of his shoulder, but it was probably a good thing that it had.
"Unh."
"Uh-huh." Rodney pressed a loose-mouthed kiss against Dean's lips, and maybe he shifted off. He was definitely going to drift for a while, because he'd been driving straight and he didn't know how long he'd been up, but dinner, decent dinner and sex, and...
It was a good thing Rodney had gotten off when he'd gotten off. He was broad at the shoulder, broad through the chest, and Dean wasn't really sure he would have managed to squirm out from beneath him if he hadn't.
He hated to leave just yet. His ass was sore in a way that meant he wouldn't be forgetting anytime soon, though, and he had places to be and things to kill, and a guy had to do what he had to do.
Still, wow. What a night. Free dinner and a little side trip, a good fuck. He'd leave the guy where he was and get going soon, even if it was a sore and stretched out sort of get going. Rodney was an interesting kind of guy, and a great fuck in a way that made it a shame that he'd probably never see him again.
After all. From the look of his wallet, he wasn't exactly likely to do anything but move through from place to place.
Dean had more credit cards than this guy -- all he had was cash, and a funny I.D. card that Dean snapped a quick photo of with his cell phone. After all.
He didn't know what Stargate or Atlantis was, or what kind of 'teams' they might have, but a guy could never have too many fake I.D. cards.
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Date: 2006-07-06 02:41 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-07-06 03:02 am (UTC)We're glad you enjoyed it, sweetheart *^_^*