So, who isn't going to Harry Potter tonight?

[aesc]

Like the subject says, who isn't going (or depending on time zone, hasn't gone) to the midnight release?

Anyone?

Bueller?

Crickets?

Comments

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

Oh shit. He just thought the words "John, in whose mouth" and now it's going to be nothing but cocksucking dreams 'til sunup.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

The problem with being a genius (a supergenius) is that Rodney remembers things really well. Things like John's mouth, moist like he'd licked it when sweat beaded on his upper lip. Also things like John's tongue, which Rodney really hadn't seen but can imagine very clearly, licking salt water away.

And John's stubble, which would be rough against Rodney's thighs, and John's breath, which would be warm.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

Rodney swallows and gathers his dignity around him - he is not going to jack off, again, alone, thinking of John the Beyond The Telling Of It Hot Delivery Guy. He's going to get a good night's rest - after drinking two, three beers - and tomorrow this will all be a bad dream.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

At least it will be a bad dream until John shows up wearing that grin and his... his tarty brown shorts, carrying his electronic clipboard and Rodney's absolutely very necessary books.

Maybe, he thinks, he should switch to hard liquor. Vodka-induced amnesia would almost be worth the hangover. But the problem with that is that vodka makes him stupid and horny (which he already is, but this is completely beside the point), and so it'll be a horrible vicious circle of drinking and imagining John's moise mouth wrapped around his cock and jerking off and drinking and imagining and jerking off until it finally stops at unconsciousness.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

Bad unconsciousness. The kind he experienced on that exchange trip to Siberia in '92 when he woke up without his shirt and 'I love Ivan' written across his nipples in lipstick.

He shivers. Maybe if he just stays awake all night and watches - something. On TV. He has 1286184 channels of cable and -

Why is the doorbell ringing at this hour?

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"Ignoring. Ignoring!" Rodney stomps into the living room and is about to graft himself onto the couch when he realizes it's quite possible that, in his John-induced fugue state, he'd ordered pizza or flowers or something and had forgotten about it. He's done weirder things under far less influence.

Hoping he's at least ordered something palatable and not involving citrus, Rodney pulls open his door.

"Oh," he says, because there's not really anything else to say.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"It's a bit unconventional," John says, hitching one shoulder in something Rodney supposes is nonchalence. "But you looked like a guy who could use a beer." He lifts the six pack in his hand.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"I could -- yes. Yes I could."

John's decently covered up now, in indecent dark jeans that hang off his ass and a shirt that hints delicately at the long torso underneath it. It's weird, seeing him holding a pack of--Rodney squints.

"Please tell me that isn't Budweiser. Please."

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

"Nah," John says. "Local microbrew—it's got raspberries in it." He waggles his eyebrows ridiculously, and Rodney can feel his face scrunch up.

"I think that's actually worse. And also, really surprisingly girly."

John looks like he's possibly slightly irritated now, or maybe he's just worn out from a long day of delivering things to people, but he sounds exceedingly bland when he says, "Well, Rodney, I can take my girly beer and go home if that's the way you – "

"No! No, I mean, I have a couch. It's a really nice couch."

[aesc.livejournal.com]

(Raspberries! asdjlkf!)

One of John's eyebrows lifts. That's all it does, this speaking, silent arch that makes Rodney hear what he just said (I have a couch, and I think it would be great if the two of us could be on it together) and try to take it back.

"Well, I mean, if you want to watch TV. But if you don't I have chairs. In the kitchen."

"Whichever," John says complacently, tapping his girly microbrewery raspberry beer against one thigh and being absolutely no help at all.

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

And when he stands aside, stops blocking the doorway with his body, John takes it for the invitation it is, steps over the threshold, drifts naturally in the direction of Rodney's den, and all Rodney can do is follow.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

John's the kind of guy who has a beer pull on his key chain - of course he is, Rodney thinks a little desperately - and he pops the caps from two beers, falls back onto Rodney's couch, kicks up his feet onto Rodney's coffee table, and all in all makes himself at home as if this is his twentieth late-night visit, not his first.

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

Rodney finds himself groping desperately between the couch cushions for the remote, until he realizes that he's groping awfully near John's person, at which point he snatches his hand back and holds the remote to his chest like it might somehow protect his virtue, and oh my god, what is wrong with him?

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

John's smiling at him - smiling almost kindly, which is so unexpected and strange that Rodney's brain goes completely offline - and all he can do is sit obediently when John pats the sofa right beside him.

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

John's thigh is warm all along where it's pressed to Rodney's, and John's weird raspberry beer isn't actually all that bad, and Rodney stares at John's throat when he swallows, at the hair peeking out of the vee of his shirt collar, at John's hand resting on his knee: his battered knuckles, his crooked middle finger, the black spot on the fingernail of his pinky.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"Is this a pity visit?" Rodney blurts, prepared to be mortified.

[dogeared.livejournal.com]

John shifts his hand to Rodney's knee and squeezes a little, sounds exasperated and maybe a little fond when he huffs, "McKay. I don't do this, okay?" John abandons his beer so that he can rub the back of his neck with his other hand. "I don't just show up at people's houses on my route unless I'm bringing them something."

You brought me beer, Rodney thinks. He says, "Then why are you here?"

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

John smirks, looking a little bewildered. "I just - guess I wanted to . . ." He shrugs. "Know you better."

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"That's a new one," Rodney says, painfully aware that John's bewilderment is transmogrifying into annoyance, but he can't help it, and it's embarrassing to explain.

No one wants to get to know me better, unless for purposes of writing on me with lipstick and leaving me drunk and unconscious on the floor, Rodney wants to say. But the words will not come out and John's sitting there, holding his beer with one hand and playing with Rodney's Power Ranger figure with another and waiting.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"I - I just . . . I'm - not . . . " Rodney blows out a long breath, aware that pink is creeping up his throat from his chest. "Good at - at . . ."

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"Yeah," John says, plainly teasing, and Rodney bristles. "I kinda got that."

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"Yes, well," Rodney splutters, "I apologize for the unfortunate freak of genetics that wired my brain to be, oh, let's see, brilliant at matters of physics and rather sub-par at matters of flirting with the delivery guy." He tilts his chin in defensive defiance.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"We all have our strengths," John says, that infuriating smirk flirting with the corner of his mouth. He puts the Power Ranger back and picks up the Supreme Court pencil. Its gavel is mostly gone, and it's dented where Rodney's chewed it.

[sheafrotherdon.livejournal.com]

"Oral fixation, much?" John asks, and twirls the pencil between his long fingers. Rodney ducks his head and tries to order his stomach to stop with the fluttery butterly things. When he looks up, John's leaned in closer, and oh god, that's mesmerizing, the shadow of stubble along his jaw and the flecks of gold in his eyes and and and - "So we are flirting, right?" John asks.

[aesc.livejournal.com]

"I--I guess?" Also mesmerizing: John's long, tan arm along the back of Rodney's couch, his shirt that gapes at the collar so Rodney can look down and imagine what John's body feels like under the fabric of it. He swallows. "Genetically deficient, remember?"