untitled drabble #81

Title: untitled drabble #81
Rating: R
Pairing: Ancient!John/Rodney
Warnings: after "Medici", really badly written sex
Summary: I call this "trying to fade to a slightly brighter shade of grey than my previous attempts at explicitly"
Notes: I have tried to write this for so many days now that I'm resigned to the fact that it's just not happening. It is immensely bad, I know, but popkin16 who has very kindly put up with all my moaning about it, said I should post and ask for feedback, and, well.... Here it is. You have been warned.

An Ancient!John Drabble

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“Anyone who is in love is making love the whole time, even when they're not. When two bodies meet, it is just the cup overflowing. They can stay together for hours, even days. They begin the dance one day and finish it the next, or--such is the pleasure they experience--they may never finish it. No eleven minutes for them.”
Paulo Coelho, Eleven Minutes
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21 February, 2007 / XXXVI Apr. a.f.c. I – Atlantis, Lantea, Pegasus

The lips on his are hot and incessant, technique long forgotten but more than making up for it in enthusiasm. Their hips start to lose their rhythm as they rock together, as sure a sign as their ragged breathing that they're close.

Eventually he has to pull away, the need for air momentarily overriding his desperate need to get closer, closer.

John's lips move to his neck, mouthing and biting and licking, and Rodney knows he's going to have to wear one of the ridiculous robes with a high collar tomorrow or else not hear the end of it from Zelenka for weeks, but he could hardly care less about any of that right now. All of his concentration is on the hand that's trapped somewhere between the slip and slide of their bodies and the one, two, three last sputtering strokes before John's biting into the meat of his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as rays of impossibly bright light leak from under his lashes as he falls apart above him.

That's all that Rodney really needs, and before too long he's coming too with a strangled sort of shout.

They lay like that for a long while, with John's face pressed into the hollow of his neck, the silence of their rest broken only by who sets of heavy breathing and the roaring of the waves from beyond the open window. Rodney knows four languages, but none of them have anything close to a word for the warm, exultant, bubbly feeing coursing through his veins. It's not afterglow, though that might be part of it; it's absolute contentment. Rodney thinks he could easily live in this moment for the rest of eternity if allowed.

John must feel the same way, because his expression is beatific when he finally moves away, shifting so that he's now on his side facing Rodney rather than a solid presence above him. "Ille emendatus erat."

I really don't think this is too bad. I'm not sure what about it has you so convinced it's horrible, but this is nowhere near as bad as some of the stuff I've read. I love the idea of Rodney having to wear high collared robes, and the ending was sweet :D
IDK why i think it's so terrible, i just KNOW in my heart of hearts that it is. Maybe not the worst ever written, but utterly beyond redemption nonetheless.
Won't Radek realize why he is wearing high necked robes and give him grief anyway?
I wouldn't call it very bad, either, I agree with Popkin. Not that I'm an expert on the subject of writing explicitly, but nothing jumped out at me and jarred me out of the flow of reading.

PS! You listed the last drabble as #81 :P
eh, IDk. I just don't like it. Maybe i'm just being too harsh. Just not worthy of posting as part of the series proper, I guess.