Author:
everagabyPairing: John/Rodney, implied John/OFC
Rating: NC-17
a/n: Written in part while I was attempting not to die during a Bikram class last summer.
Summary:
When John was 26 he had a girlfriend who did yoga. She did just about every type, but was obsessed with Bikram. She would come home from workouts sweaty and jittering from the endorphin high, gushing about the 110 degree room, 37 percent humidity, how she had been able to get her foot up three extra inches in Standing Bow… John would smile and hand her water and the only time he really thought about it was when he silently thanked her yoga classes for making her both extremely bendy and very inventive in bed.
That was, until he made a joke about it to his friends when she came in from class, shirt plastered to her body, hair curled against the nape of her neck. He doesn’t remember how exactly he worded it, just that it amounted to calling it “exercise light.”
Bad idea.
Next thing he knew she was glaring it him, snapping how she’d sure as hell like to see him try to survive a ninety minute workout in a sweat box with twenty other people. He gave her charming smirk number six and said he was combat trained for desert weather, ninety minutes would be easy. It wasn’t until the words were out of his mouth that he realized just how screwed he was. Or, technically, not screwed. Not for a while, since Julia had a habit of withholding sex after an argument and a celibacy streak that could stretch on for months. In a desperate attempt to shorten his time sleeping on the couch to just a week, he offered to go to her next class with her.
Hideously bad idea.
Five minutes into class he was wondering how just breathing was making him sweat. Ten minutes in his feet slipped on the towel during Awkward Pose and he wondered how much fluid it was possible to loose through your pores alone. Six minutes after that he was sure he was going to fall on his ass while doing Standing Bow. Thirty seconds after that he actually landed on his face when he overbalanced while trying to kick his leg back and up.
By the end of class he was shaking so hard he could barely walk. The next morning he was sore in places he didn’t think could ever hurt. That evening Julia stopped laughing her ass off at him long enough to accept his apology and agree to never discuss the matter again. Ever.
The only problem with that was that John wasn’t the type to admit defeat. Instead he found another hot yoga studio on the other side of the city and started going three times a week.
He’d never really thought much about it. At least not until now.
Right now his feet are being pushed back towards his head by Rodney’s broad shoulders as he curses and groans and starts fucking John harder and faster than before.
John can feel the steady rhythmic slap of Rodney’s hips as he buries himself all the way in John, pushing bright and hot up against his prostate, only to pull back and start over again. He can feel the press of Rodney’s shoulders against his calves, the surprisingly firm parabola of Rodney’s stomach against his own, the heat of Rodney’s breath against his face, and, every once in a while, the soft brush of Rodney’s forehead to his.
John had never been so grateful to Emily for being such a bitch about Standing Head to Knee pose before, because God who knew?
“God, oh God, John,” Rodney gasps like he’s the one with his feet over his head, being fucked three ways till Sunday.
John would mock Rodney if he wasn’t so busy desperately grasping at the headboard and curling his toes into Rodney’s short, short hair, trying to hold on while his eyes roll back and he forgets his own middle name.
Instead John says, “Nnnnn,” and gasps and begs for more by arching his back and pushing his hips into Rodney’s.
Rodney, genius that he is, shoves John’s legs down even more and goes for it, hips pistoning, stomach rubbing against John’s leaking cock, slamming against John’s prostate with his entire body was behind each thrust, pushing and pushing and pushing until John’s toes go numb and his spine turns to liquid fire and the world whites out.
John comes back down just in time to hear Rodney’s choked off scream and feel his entire body shudder and seize up, hips driving forward once, twice, before going completely still and coming inside John with a moan that reverberates against John’s neck.
It’s another thirty seconds before John realizes his legs are falling asleep, pressed against him by Rodney’s full weight. He shifts Rodney back just enough to slide his legs down off Rodney’s shoulders and around his waist, pulling the man to him and settling back on the pillows.
It takes Rodney another minute or so to come back to Atlantis enough to push up on his elbows and kiss John, slow and shaking and grateful, before rolling over onto his back next to John.
“I swear,” Rodney says a few minutes later, voice husky and still breathless, “that you just broke at least three basic laws of physics.”
John smirks and turns his head to look at Rodney before saying, “Next time I’ll show you downward facing dog.”
A/N: Bikram is the art of hot yoga, brought to America by the man it is named after. I affectionately think of it as "painful poses the silly white man will fail at." Downward Facing Dog, or Adho Mukha Svanasana, is not a pose usually done during a Bikram workout, but the pun was too good for me to pass up.