"Two-nine-three-seven-one-zero-five-three-six-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine," murmurs John against the skin of Rodney's inner thigh.  His tongue sweeps a little circle, tasting the salt and musk.  The muscle jumps under his touch.

"What?" says Rodney, distracted.  His hands are fisted in John's hair, strong fingers massaging John's scalp with a pressure that's almost, but not quite, painful.  His hips judder and jerk when John's tongue swirls around the head of his cock, and his fingers dig in harder, making John hiss with pleasure.  His own cock twitches with the memory of Rodney's whole-hearted application of physics earlier that night – friction, Rodney had murmured, and pressure and siphoning and John had yelled and come into Rodney's clever, clever hands.

"Just keeping track," says John.  He dips his head and blows out softly. and Rodney's hips jerk again as the cooler air ghosts over the head of his cock.  "Two-nine-three-seven-one-zero-five-three-six-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine orgasms to go.  I figure we can work backwards to the point of origin, and then work our way forwards again."

Rodney's only reply is a sort of uuhhning noise as John stops the count and gets back to the task of licking Rodney's cock, up and down, up and down.  Rodney's cock is thick-shafted, the head flaring out red and hungry.  John's tongue trails back down the underside as he goes down, swirls around the flaring head each time he pulls back.  Carefully, he lets his teeth drag lightly, painlessly over the tip.  Rodney's hips buck hard this time, and John pulls his head back, laughing, to avoid getting his face bashed by Rodney's groin.

"Get back to work!" scolds the tyrant.  His big hand splays across the back of John's head, pushing down until John, still laughing, closes his mouth over Rodney's cock again.  It's leaking pre-come now, and he licks it all up, tasting Rodney.

Rodney starts to thrust.  John matches the rhythm, sliding his lips and tongue down Rodney's cock to match every thrust, taking in as much as he could without gagging.  For a few moments they move together steadily, Rodney's breathing harsher and harsher, catching on every intaken breath now.

John changes the rhythm.  Now when Rodney thrusts up, he swipes at the swollen head with his tongue, teasing and provoking to the point where the low, guttural muttering that fills his ears probably isn’t a rehearsal of the principal findings from Rodney's research into universal theory. 

When he works a finger in, Rodney stiffens like a board, his whole body tense before his backside clamps around John's finger in a tight, velvety grip.  John loves it when he can make Rodney – Rodney! – abandon words.  He pushes in harder, and Rodney groans loudly.  When he pushes hard against Rodney's prostate, Rodney goes wild, thrashing on the bed and kicking his legs, yelling things no polite Canadian should even think, much less allow himself to actually say. 

John's laughing as his head bobs faster, as his fingers move faster, as Rodney thrashes faster.  And Rodney's yelling and yelling, then gives a shout of almost-anguish, and is coming in John's mouth, his hips jerking and stuttering.  John swallows and sucks, sucks and swallows, while Rodney's hips gradually slow and stop and Rodney lies still, the muscles of his thighs shaken with fine little tremors, like aftershocks.

John withdraws his finger carefully, and with a final kiss to the softening cock, slides up Rodney's sweat-slicked body to kiss that slanted, crooked mouth.

"Two-nine-three-seven-one-zero-five-three-six-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-eight," says John, planting another kiss on the crooked corner of Rodney's mouth.

Rodney's eyes open and for a moment their brightness is dulled with lethargy.  He looks sleepy, sated.  It's only a second though, before they sharpen with intelligence and humour.  "Two-nine-three-seven... you mean two-point-nine times ten to the power twenty."

"I mean two-nine-three-seven-one-zero-five-three-six-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-eight," says John.  "I don't like to rush these things. I want the value of every single numeral."

"Hmmph," says Rodney, then after a minute he pulls John down beside him and wraps around him like John's own personal blanket.  "Then you’d better get some sleep.  You're going to need it to get through that many orgasms."

John smiles, tucking the top of Rodney's head under his chin.  "Oh, I'm aiming for higher than that, Rodney.  I'm aiming for that many each."

 

 

746 words                                                                              22 October 2008

 

 

 

Note : The picture used in the header was today's "Astronomy Picture of the Day", from the daily RSS APOD feed and really is the Pegasus Galaxy, aka NCG 7331. About 50 million light-years distant in the northern constellation Pegasus and similar in size to our own Milky Way Galaxy, NGC 7331 is often imaged as the foreground of a visual grouping that includes an intriguing assortment of background galaxies some ten times farther away. This striking image of the well-studied island universe and environs was produced using data from the Calar Alto Observatory in southern Spain.

Now I'm no John Sheppard and I couldn't do this in my head.  I just sat down with a piece of paper and worked out how many miles away it is.  Assuming that light travels at 186,270 miles a second, then the Pegasus Galaxy, at 50 million light years,  is a stunning 293,710,536,000,000,000,000 miles away.  Give or take a mile or so. That's 2.93710536 x 1020 miles (or 2.9 x 1020 if you're into rounding).

Smut ensued.