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stargateficrecRec Category: Sheppard/McKay
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Category: Aliens Made Them Do It, Explicit Sex
Warning: Slash
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
amireal and seperis
Authors' Websites: http://seperis.illuminatedtext.com and http://www.unrealwords.com/
Link: Sychronicity
Why This Must Be Read:
Beneath the slow, sweet, perfect sensual feast tempting John and Rodney to abandon their mission lies a subtle menace. Their struggle against an alien planet's evil plot and their own desire is layered with smoking hot sex and humor.
Be prepared to melt along them.
Excerpt:
Rodney pinches his thigh; the pain helps him focus on something other than wet, pink lips. "What are we looking for?" The words want to stick in his throat.
"I dunno, Rodney," John says and this time, the slowness isn't that weird replay action slow, but John's own brand of sarcasm. "You didn't tell me, you just," he leans forward, well into Rodney's space, "looked at your scanner thing and jumped up and down excitedly."
Something--the scanner, spikes, the slow, crawling haze of pale white air ghosting past their faces, heat crawling up his spine, John saying to Teyla and Ronon, okay, but we're only waiting an hour, and Rodney saying, fine, whatever, but I need that equipment, so hurry.
"This isn't a valley," Rodney says, fighting the words out between teeth that try to crack every one before he can say it. "It was hot." With frightening chances of UV exposure and slow death by skin cancer.
A cool breeze wafts past him, smelling of spring flowers and fresh trees, and Rodney realizes that he hasn't sneezed even *once*.
"Rodney?"
Rodney turns his head, dark hair brushing against his cheek, John bent just enough to peer into his face and kiss, maybe--kiss, definitely, because Rodney's allergic to everything and hence, has never participated in any kind of outdoor sex. He wonders if John ever has.
Kiss, yes. Touch, yes. Stop, God no, God, no, no...
"Wait," and peeling himself off John Sheppard is the hardest thing he's ever done--even his skin hates him, only giving him room to breathe, not room to think, fingers clinging. "We--it's hot. It's supposed to be *hot*. There was--we--"
Belatedly, Rodney realizes his fingers, twisted in John's hair, have tightened, pulling him in again, and he can taste John's pleased smile.
It's the best kiss ever, John's lips fit his perfectly, and there's a feeling of rightness that settles over Rodney; even the press of his flack vest disappears into it all and joins to become part of the wrong--no, no this is wrong.
"Stop," Rodney muffles into the kiss. "No." He wrenches away, but he's uncoordinated and slow and he can't seem to get all of himself to work at once, so his hands are still twisting in John's hair and his body can't seem to pull far enough away before John just moves to a new target. Hot breath on his neck, Rodney's eyes begin to flutter shut, because it's like that spot under his jaw is wired. Wired and electrified and made for John's tongue.
"Why?" John asks, stopping long enough to breathe into Rodney's skin. "We can finish looking later."
Later, yes. Later sounds good.
The grass, it turns out, is very, very soft.
...
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Category: Aliens Made Them Do It, Explicit Sex
Warning: Slash
Author on LJ:
amireal and seperisAuthors' Websites: http://seperis.illuminatedtext.com and http://www.unrealwords.com/
Link: Sychronicity
Why This Must Be Read:
Beneath the slow, sweet, perfect sensual feast tempting John and Rodney to abandon their mission lies a subtle menace. Their struggle against an alien planet's evil plot and their own desire is layered with smoking hot sex and humor.
Be prepared to melt along them.
Excerpt:
Rodney pinches his thigh; the pain helps him focus on something other than wet, pink lips. "What are we looking for?" The words want to stick in his throat.
"I dunno, Rodney," John says and this time, the slowness isn't that weird replay action slow, but John's own brand of sarcasm. "You didn't tell me, you just," he leans forward, well into Rodney's space, "looked at your scanner thing and jumped up and down excitedly."
Something--the scanner, spikes, the slow, crawling haze of pale white air ghosting past their faces, heat crawling up his spine, John saying to Teyla and Ronon, okay, but we're only waiting an hour, and Rodney saying, fine, whatever, but I need that equipment, so hurry.
"This isn't a valley," Rodney says, fighting the words out between teeth that try to crack every one before he can say it. "It was hot." With frightening chances of UV exposure and slow death by skin cancer.
A cool breeze wafts past him, smelling of spring flowers and fresh trees, and Rodney realizes that he hasn't sneezed even *once*.
"Rodney?"
Rodney turns his head, dark hair brushing against his cheek, John bent just enough to peer into his face and kiss, maybe--kiss, definitely, because Rodney's allergic to everything and hence, has never participated in any kind of outdoor sex. He wonders if John ever has.
Kiss, yes. Touch, yes. Stop, God no, God, no, no...
"Wait," and peeling himself off John Sheppard is the hardest thing he's ever done--even his skin hates him, only giving him room to breathe, not room to think, fingers clinging. "We--it's hot. It's supposed to be *hot*. There was--we--"
Belatedly, Rodney realizes his fingers, twisted in John's hair, have tightened, pulling him in again, and he can taste John's pleased smile.
It's the best kiss ever, John's lips fit his perfectly, and there's a feeling of rightness that settles over Rodney; even the press of his flack vest disappears into it all and joins to become part of the wrong--no, no this is wrong.
"Stop," Rodney muffles into the kiss. "No." He wrenches away, but he's uncoordinated and slow and he can't seem to get all of himself to work at once, so his hands are still twisting in John's hair and his body can't seem to pull far enough away before John just moves to a new target. Hot breath on his neck, Rodney's eyes begin to flutter shut, because it's like that spot under his jaw is wired. Wired and electrified and made for John's tongue.
"Why?" John asks, stopping long enough to breathe into Rodney's skin. "We can finish looking later."
Later, yes. Later sounds good.
The grass, it turns out, is very, very soft.
...
