icarus | SGA FIC: Out Of Bounds - John/Rodney

You can get caught up here: Out Of Bounds.

Title: Out Of Bounds
Author: Icarus
Rating: NC-17 (I promised, didn't I?)
Pairing: John/Rodney
Summary: Rodney could see the headlines now: "Skating Legend Dies On Ice."
A/N: Thank you to

perfica for playing OOB beta badminton with me,

amothea for listening to me whine,

teaphile for her birds eye view, as well as

enname and

monanotlisa for coming through in a pinch.

Previously in Out Of Bounds: Known more for his jumps than his artistry, figure skater John Sheppard hired ex-skating champion and 'artiste' Rodney McKay to be his coach. A teasing friendship (and perhaps more?) developed between them, and a late night practice session turned sensual and intense... and more successful than expected. John has made a decision about the situation with Rodney.

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Out Of Bounds
by Icarus

Rodney stood at center ice, hands on his hips, wondering what on earth was keeping John. Usually he couldn't wait to get on the ice but this time he'd dithered over his gym bag, head ducked down, delaying with his skates, plucking at the laces and retying them.

Rodney checked his watch with an audible – and loud – huff. He tipped his head, the wide line of his mouth dropping in a frown as he folded his arms, glaring across the ice to where John was apparently killing time.

John had mentioned over the phone that he had something to discuss. But when they'd met at the front reception desk after Rodney's last lesson, John had brushed him off saying, "It's cool."

John's eventual step onto the ice was slow, gradual, one leg swinging as he approached. He skated forward, hands on his hips, as he looked towards the ceiling. He took a deep breath.

"Um. Look, Rodney." He swiped at his mouth nervously, scratching at the corner of his lip.

"Mmm?" Rodney blinked up.

The sound of the group of children reminded Rodney of the zoo, or a flock of birds in a tree. The double doors to the rink swung open with a clank, banging off the wall, and the noise swelled in decibel level, the giggling, chattering, shouting of little kids. Two of them ran ahead down the stair with peals of delighted laughter. "You're mean!" one small voice shrieked.

Rodney and John pivoted to watch the row of colorful yarn pom-poms on various winter hats bounce as a handful of children raced around, chasing each other, while others hung back, holding their teachers' hands as they walked down the too-high steps. They were herded into putting on their skates, the slowest rocking on the seats while the more aggressive tumbled onto the ice, skates on, small legs working.

Wonderful. The grammar schools had let out.

Rodney made a wry face and wished for earplugs. This was the problem with his afternoon sessions. He was going to get nothing serious done today.

"You were saying?" Rodney prompted.

"Never mind," John mumbled, watching the children.

So they kept to basics, running through aspects of choreography in John's programs from last year that John had never felt comfortable with. He was awkward and more wooden than usual, not meeting Rodney's eyes, though he played along. They were both on edge, standing close, voices rising to be heard over bright shrill laughter.

"That whole thing where I push my hips forward just seems too...."

"Blatant?" Rodney supplied, adding a helpful, "Lewd, perhaps?"

"Yeah...."

"Ah. That is what's known in the wild as 'terribulus choreographus,'" Rodney said sagely. "The move's been dead since the 70s -- which I suspect was the likely age of your choreographer."

They worked out an alternate rendition where John swung his hip to the left, punching his fist down as he did so. Which was anachronous and had been out of style since the 50s but at least it had a kitsch Fonzie appeal. Then Rodney set John to work on spins, which would keep him in form for his jumps while those were still off limits.

Fortunately after only half an hour – there was some benefit to short attention spans – the munchkin herd was gathered towards the side of the rink again and rustled out of their skates, high voices complaining. One kid skated all around the rink, and the teacher shouted after for him. The kid pretended not to hear.

The silence once they left almost rang. John finished a picture perfect scratch spin, skating over to Rodney, breathing hard, and offered, "Let's take a break. We need to talk." He winced as he said it.

Oh. Those were never good words, even without the wince. Rodney's eyelashes fluttered as his bright blue eyes darted about, glancing at the ice, the walls, at John. This wasn't something that he could discuss at the front desk?

His mind started spinning through possibilities. A relative had died and John was going to miss precious days of training? Was he going to push to do the jumps again? Question Rodney's authority?

The Moves in the Field class wasn't slated to begin until two-thirty, but two girls arrived early, stepping onto the ice with an earnestness that came from an impending test. Rodney glanced over, automatically studying them as they began to repeat step sequences and basic crossovers -- their edges were weak, though the darker girl in warm ups had good power to her stroking. Waste of a test fee. Neither would be ready by Friday, Rodney deemed, though it was lucky for them he wasn't slated to judge it.

John and Rodney finished their break in silence. John capped his water bottle.

The rest of the class arrived, murmuring amongst themselves. Rodney saw why the two thought they were ready to test: they were significantly better than the rest of their group.

John circled back onto the ice, shifty-eyed and impatient.

They'd gone almost the entire session without hearing his mysterious pronouncement, and curiosity was starting to eat Rodney alive.

He couldn't afford Rodney any more? No, absurd; Rodney had deferred a lot of his fees.

Oh. Worse -- he'd found a job and would have to cut back his skate time. He risked losing himself in a "career." Rodney had seen it a thousand times. The "career" always started small but then it "needed" his skaters, until figure skating became the hobby and this "career" their lives.

Or else he was giving up competing? He'd decided to turn pro and was taking all Rodney's clients based on looks alone? That would explain the guilty cringe.

Or maybe he'd had an MRI and the damage to his knee was irreparable. No, no, couldn't be, or John wouldn't be skating now.

Or. It hit him. He was going to be fired.

A dismal look crossed Rodney's face as he realized it. He hated getting fired. But they hadn't made much progress; it was true. Rodney knew that. He'd had to experiment, feel his way. Teaching John to skate artistically was hardly scientific, required more than just tossing John into a dance class. It was a process of discovery, of unveiling something as unique to John as his personality. John knew how to skate already. He just didn't know who he was as a skater.

Now all that time and dedication was doomed to go down the drain, his efforts soon to be spoiled by some incompetent who'd placed 20th at Nationals once and thought he'd been treated "unfairly" by the judges, poor baby. He'd put more into John than any other student.

"Rodney...."

The rink was empty.

John had a serious expression on his face, his mouth in a tight straight line.

"Oh, no, no, you can't fire me!" Rodney said, cutting him off at the pass. "And if you do, trust me, I'll charge you for every millisecond of my wasted time." He swept his arm in a circle. "Both on and off the ice -- with interest."

"Rodney--"

"Compounded retroactively!"

"Rodney, look...." John put out a conciliatory hand.

"You think I can't do that, but I can, because it's in the contract you probably never read, since the type of moron who hires a coach that they can't possibly afford never, ever reads the contract!"

John grabbed him by the lapels. "Rodney, shut up for a second."

Rodney staggered forward, weight lifted off his skates.

His heart fluttered. A skater had never been violent with him before. John was deranged. Rodney could see the headlines now: "Skating Legend Dies On Ice." He should have asked Sonja to write his eulogy; Radek would be too honest.

For a moment he hung there, panicked, and then John pulled him in, and he felt John's lips on him, warm and devouring, tugging at his lower lip until Rodney unfroze, realized what was happening. Rodney stopped blinking and let his eyes close, tipped his head sideways, and held on to John's shoulders for dear life, soft and warm through his fleece, as the two of them turned lightly from centrifugal force.

With a shuddering breath, John let go. They pulled apart.

"That," John said, as if it were an explanation. Which it sort of was.

"So... not fired," Rodney said, his mind blank. He took John in, from his skates to the defensive set of his shoulders to the wary flicker in his eyes. How long had this been going on?

"Not today," John answered, his voice hoarse.

"Oh. Good."

They stared at each other, breathing hard. John had an intense look on his face, almost glaring, his lips parted.

John moved first, to slowly wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. Rodney's heart thumped as he followed the gesture, melting forward. Then without explanation, John turned and broke for the edge of the rink, Rodney hard on his heels, hoping John wasn't going to run because he was his ride home tonight, for one thing. They unlaced their skates in silence, side by side, Rodney just barely able to keep up, glancing over furtively at John, who kept his eyes firmly on the far wall when he wasn't looking down at his skates. Then, slinging his gym bag on one shoulder, John took the steps out of the rink two at a time, Rodney close behind him.

They'd both neglected to put their coats on before they stepped outside despite the fact that it was below freezing, an addled moment that gave Rodney a surge of nervous hope. They blew on their hands as John unlocked his car door and cast a sharp look around the empty parking lot like he was doing recon. Rodney recognized his intent. Sure enough, he reached for Rodney as they climbed in and they tumbled into the back seat.

John's hands slid up the inside of Rodney's shirt, kissing again, wet and sloppy, John tipping Rodney against vinyl that was cold on his lower back, rolling them over. Rodney wanted to get as many of John's clothes off as possible before he came to his senses, frustrated as he dug under a fleece top and found yet another layer. John's thigh slid between Rodney's knees as they squirmed for a better position and Rodney tugged at John's belt buckle, trying to undo it. John braced himself up on one arm just next to Rodney's shoulder to give him room – Rodney lost precious seconds, his gaze captured by the sensual line of John's lower lip – and John's palm caught a fold of his shirt, pinning him uncomfortably. Then John tried to stretch out his long legs, his heel bumping the window as Rodney struggled to sit up, elbow scraping the headrest – and suddenly the back seat was very small, he was squished, and it was too hot with John's breath panting between them.

They paused, staring at each other and around at the back seat. There were bottle caps and a newspaper on the floor. The window above Rodney was already steamed over.

"My place is closer," Rodney suggested, chest rising and falling, his eyes wide.

John lifted up on both arms now, looking down at Rodney. "My place is cleaner." Rodney slumped and gave the idiot an amazed look. "Right. Low priority."

John climbed between the two front seats, his belt still undone and jangling as he started the car. Rodney took a moment to yank his shirt back down and pull up his zipper, then scrabbled into the front seat. He braced himself on the dash and narrowly missed committing seppuku via stick shift as they lurched forward.

Rolling into Rodney's driveway, they left John's car unlocked. Rodney seized John's hand and tugged him into the house, drawing him into a kiss just inside the foyer. With a little moan, he mapped the warm press of John's chest and mentally revised every single last one of his fantasies as inaccurate. John kissed soft and eager, not at all rough. And he hadn't considered body heat, the humid pant of John kissing down his neck, or the way John was a little taller and his cock fit in the hollow of Rodney's hip. The glass storm door hissed to a close behind them, and Rodney's last doubt evaporated at that dainty click. Swinging the front door and hoping that maybe it had shut all the way, Rodney led John through the mess of the living room, John's hand on his waist, the heat of him just over Rodney's shoulder.

"This way," Rodney whispered.

"I know where it is," John murmured, leaning in close. "Getting there on the other hand...."

John's hand slid up his back once they reached the bedroom, turning Rodney. Kissing him again soft, with wet sounds, a huff of a sigh in his ear. John rubbed his cheek against Rodney's, the sweet scratch of five o'clock shadow, and pulled Rodney's shirt up and off, looking down his chest avidly. John grabbed the collar of his shirt, struggling out of it. His tee-shirt quickly followed, flung to the floor. Rodney whimpered, looking down more chest hair than expected to a dark teasing trail that led into his belt line. John gave him a raunchy grin, snickering.

The bed wasn't made, which made it easy for Rodney to kick the covers halfway off when they fell onto it with a gasp, John over him, cupped between his knees, and while there was much to be said for John's stretch fleece, the softness and the way it outlined his hard cock, with a little huff and squirm Rodney pulled it over the curve of John's ass. John rocked forward, arms scooped under Rodney's shoulders as he lifted and slid him further up onto the bed which squeaked under them. "There you go," he said as he nuzzled into Rodney's ear. Rodney's hands met wide smooth elastic at John's waist and stroked down his bare ass.

"Have I ever told you how much I love dance belts?" Rodney hummed, peeling the elastic down. On his knees, John stepped over it, rocking the bed, then sat back on his heels and gave a sharp tug on Rodney's pants, jerking them once to his thighs and then off easily.

"Going commando, Rodney?" John's smile was sly, looking him over. Rodney felt suddenly vulnerable, naked, heels off the bed, with his dick hard and red against his stomach.

"I need to do laundry."

John bent down and kissed him again, settling between Rodney's thighs, his mouth open wide, exploring now. Rodney leaned up to meet him. His cock pressed rhythmically on Rodney's balls, silk-sleek, while Rodney's hands greedily stroked all over his body, down his arms, across his back, then up again to hold John's head as they kissed, arching to press their cocks together with a gasp as he reached down to grip a handful of John's round ass.

With a sudden shaky breath John deepened their kiss, his tongue took up the rhythm of their motion as they rocked together. John tipped them sideways, a hand gliding down Rodney's hip. He paused meaningfully, asking. His thumb stroked a little circle on Rodney's hipbone.

Rodney's heart sped.

Seeming to read the "yes" in his silence, John bit Rodney's shoulder, a sharp pleasant sting as Rodney let himself be rolled onto his stomach in the soft sift of sheets, John's hand sliding down the crack of his ass. Pinned under John's weight, Rodney made a hum and helplessly pawed towards the end table drawer, and John got the message, sliding over to dig around for the lube.

"It's over--" Rodney murmured.

"Got it, got it," John insisted. "Just a sec."

And he kept digging, shifting papers and clutter loudly with a growing frown and what looked suspiciously like a pout. With a complaining huff of a sigh – wondering, did he have to do everything? – Rodney got up to help, found it easily, and handed him the lube and condoms with a graceful gesture and a sarcastic smirk.

"Better?"

Squirming his shoulders, John said, squinting and discomfited, "Thanks."

Rodney pillowed his head on his arms and edged his hips into the sheets with a happy little sound, feeling the soft-slick trickle of oil. He sighed as John began to work his fingers in, let go and rose up to slide his cock along the wet trail, teasing him. Rodney's hands fisted the pillow, John's hot gasp raising the short hairs on the back of his neck. John kneeled over Rodney, his warm body bracketing him. His palm dented the pillow next to Rodney's chin as he brushed his cheek through Rodney's hair and his fingers stroked in and out slowly. Rodney exhaled, letting him in.

Then Rodney blinked, startled. "This won't undermine my authority, will it?"

John's puff of laughter blew a strand of Rodney's hair.

"Yes, Rodney." He pressed his cock against Rodney's hip and leaned down to growl in his ear, "I fully intend to think of this moment every time you're an asshole."

Rodney's long lashes fluttered as he thought this over. "Okay," he sighed musically. "Just so we have clear..." He moaned as John's fingers drove in deeper. "...boundaries."

"Yeah. Boundaries," John echoed, his cock slick and warm as he moved behind Rodney. He bent down and nibbled both cheeks of Rodney's ass before he lined himself up. Then he had the head of his cock snubbed up against him, dipping just a little inside. "Ready?"

"For over a month now," Rodney confessed into his arms.

John's answer was a sultry, inarticulate moan as he sank in on a long, slow push. His chest hair was damp against Rodney's back. He slid back out an inch and grit his teeth on a gasp just over Rodney's shoulder. Rodney arched his hips back against him as he pushed back in.

John's groan was louder this time, and more enthusiastic.

Rodney smiled. John was used to lazy, passive bottoms, was he? Rodney smirked and licked his lips devilishly. He lifted up on his elbows for more leverage as John started to give it to him hard, his strong arm gripped around Rodney's chest. Someone was going to learn a thing or two.

~*~*~

The light through Rodney's curtains had shifted from the brightness of mid-afternoon to angle from somewhere behind the house, softer and indistinct. John had taken up residence on Rodney's spare pillow, awake, breathing softly as his hand explored down Rodney's bicep, tracing the square of his palm. He trailed his hand down Rodney's side over the slight bump of love handles that made Rodney twitch.

Rodney wasn't sure if he could touch, a hesitation he couldn't explain, though he watched John, his whole body humming. John had a habit of folding his lower lip over his teeth and licking along the inside which he was doing now, eyes half-lidded. His hand slipped lower, reaching around to cup one of Rodney's better assets and squeeze his ass with an appreciative sigh.

He sat up, kneeling, drawing Rodney up with him, the sheets whispering as he nudged Rodney on top and Rodney found himself straddling John's thighs, John's lips against his in gentle, teasing kisses.

Rodney whispered between kisses, in a voice like a confession, "I want you to keep doing what you're doing." They kissed again, Rodney's forearm sliding over John's back. "Really, hey, don't let me stop you." He leaned down for more kissing, John's tongue a gentle sweep inside before pulling back. "But let me be the first to admit that this is, um--" Rodney ducked his head, running his hand down John's arm. "--nothing less than foolhardy. Not to mention, ah--" his eyelashes fluttered as John took this opportunity to kiss and nibble down his neck and Rodney really, really liked that. "--staggeringly unprofessional on my part."

"Oh, I think you're a pro," John murmured, the laugh rumbling in his throat.

"Cute." Rodney gave him a sour look. "I'm sure someone is holding up the 'Applause' sign. And, yes, all right, your bedroom charms have more than measured up to my fantasies but that's not the subject at hand."

"Bedroom charms?" He could feel John's smile against the curve of his shoulder.

Rodney rolled his eyes in frustration. "You have the attention span of a gnat."

John took a deep luxurious breath. "Can we not talk about this now? I'm kind of busy." His hands stroked up Rodney's chest gliding delicately over his nipples.

"I find it impossible to concentrate when you do that."

John quirked an eyebrow at him and his smile was unsurprised. "Oh, really?" There was a smirk to his voice.

"When this ends in disaster I at least want credit for having predicted it."

"Let me handle that," John promised him.

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