A Grave Undertaking, A WalkThis Way story by Yin (NC-17)

A Grave Undertaking, a Walk This Way story
For cesperanza, because she lights up my life is the wind beneath my wings lifts me up where we belong rocks. And is nice to me.
Sheppard/McKay
NC-17
No beta (see: lazy)
Summary: Age ain't nothin' but a number, baby.



A Grave Undertaking
by Yin, for Ces

"Do you think I'm too old for you?"

John had spent the previous hour trying to figure out what Rodney was brooding about, and now there it was.

"Who called me your boytoy?" John asked flatly.

"Nobody," Rodney replied with a shrug.

"Cradle robber?" John laid his hand on Rodney's leg.

Rodney sighed. "Sugar daddy."

John rolled his eyes. "Let me guess...Kavanagh?"

Rodney nodded.

John squeezed Rodney's leg. "Seriously, that guy's a dick."

Rodney nodded again. "I know. But he may have a point. Eight years is a big difference."

John stood and paced back and forth in front of Rodney for a minute before crouching on the floor, pushing Rodney's knees apart to balance himself between them. "For Christ's sake, Rodney - you're thirty."

"And you're twenty-two."

"Twenty-two and a half," John protested.

"Falling back on half-birthdays isn't making me feel like less of a pervert," Rodney said.

John leaned forward to settle on his knees and press a kiss to Rodney's leg. "You're not a pervert because I'm young; you're a pervert because you're perverted."

Rodney huffed out a little laugh and ran his hand into the hair at the back of John's head. John moaned when he tightened his fingers and tugged exactly the right way. When Rodney pulled his head down to rest on one jeans-clad thigh, John's breathing hitched and his cock hardened in his sweat pants. He whined when Rodney tightened his hand again and pulled John higher between his legs.

"I want you to blow me," Rodney said, his voice gone low.

"Okay," John said, and he wasted no time, lifting his head and getting his hands on Rodney's belt as fast as he could. He knee-walked backward to tug Rodney's jeans and boxers off, then moved back in and just looked at Rodney's cock. He fucking loved Rodney's cock.

Rodney just petted John's hair and let him look for a moment, then squeezed the back of John's neck.

When the head of Rodney's cock bumped against his lips, John opened his mouth just a little - just enough to get his lips around it and no more. Rodney obediently waited, but he groaned when John's tongue stroked the ridge.

"Maybe I should have let you get your tongue pierced," Rodney said, and John flicked the tip of his tongue against the slit, tasting salty skin. He opened his mouth wider and let Rodney's cock slide in about halfway, stopping at the perfect point to press the flat of his tongue against the prominent vein on the underside, a move that never failed to make Rodney's thighs flex and the muscles twitch.

Once Rodney was moaning in an almost unbroken stream of sound, John finally opened wider and pushed down, taking Rodney's cock in as far as he could.

"Jesus," Rodney said, "let me fuck your mouth."

John knew that it was more of a warning than a question, and he just let his neck relax as Rodney gripped his hair and started moving his head up and down. John's fingers clenched on Rodney's thighs and he shut his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of Rodney pushing him down and pulling him up by his hair, each rough tug sending sharp lines of white fire through his body.

"Jesus," Rodney repeated. "You are so fucking hot. You're all I think about. All day - all I want to do is think of new ways to make you come. I want to come home and strip you naked and touch you and kiss you and jerk you off and blow you and fuck you."

His words - all said in a rough, deep voice - made John shake. His days were just as filled with longing daydreams of getting back to Rodney. Getting under him or over him, doing whatever Rodney could think of or anything he could think of, as long as the end result was orgasms and stickiness and the earned exhaustion of the fucked-out.

Rodney pulled his hair harder, meeting each downstroke of John's head with an upward thrust of hips. John could barely breathe, and he was so hard his dick ached. He let out a yelp when Rodney roughly pulled him off and folded over him, streaking John's tee shirt with his come. Rodney dragged in a couple of harsh breaths, then shoved, pulling John's back tight against his chest.

John let his head fall back onto Rodney's shoulder, reaching up to hook his arms up and around Rodney's neck, bowing his back. John sagged back in relief when Rodney got his pants open, one big hand wrapping around his cock, the other pushing down into his pants to cup his balls. John was already close, and within a dozen fast strokes he was adding his own come to the mess on his shirt.

"Fuck," John huffed out. "Christ, Rodney."

"You sure you don't want to call me 'daddy'?" Rodney said, biting John on the side of the neck.

"God, no," John said. He tilted his head to one side, silently begging for more bites and kisses. Rodney obliged him.

After a while, John's back started to hurt, and he reluctantly stood. He was pulling his tee shirt off when a thought struck. "Hey," he said. "If you're a cradle robber, does that make me a grave digger?"

Rodney slapped John's thigh with the back of his hand. He rolled his eyes up and smirked. "I'll go get you a shovel."

~end