"I hope you're exhausted," Rodney called from the living room. D'Artagnan mewed from the kitchen and Rodney snorted. "Nice try, you menace, but it's only 6:30 and you know I won't feed you the gooshy food until 8:00. And don't give me that look, you have kibble."

He tossed his briefcase on the sofa and the mail on the coffee table and then glared at the rest of the living room. "You better be dead in there," he said. "Because...oh shit!"

It wasn't all that far to the bedroom but he made there faster than he expected, only to find John sprawled out on the bed on his back. Snoring.

"Jesus," Rodney muttered. "I was afraid...."

And well that was kind of foolish wasn't it? Because if John had had some kind of stupid surf accident, he'd have hardly come back to the house to die. "No, you'd be at the bottom of the ocean being eaten by some unknown but horrible form of marine life while I was left here with an overly hairy cat and nothing to distract me from the scary kinky neighbors."

John snored some more.

"Just so you know," Rodney continued, kicking off his shoes. "I am not sweeping the living room floor again. Why you have to bring your board into the house when we have a perfectly good garage, I don't know, but now there's sand and maybe even tar all over the floor and combined with the cat hair it really needs a good sweeping up in there."

He sat on the bed and looked at John. There wasn't sand all over the bed and John's towel was on the floor, so Rodney assumed he'd made it as far as the shower. Apparently he'd even thought about getting dressed, he was wearing a black shirt--all John's shirts were all black of course, but this one had the Sex Wax logo on it in bright yellow--in addition to a pair of Marvin the Martian boxers that Rodney usually mocked mercilessly.

"How you can sleep like that...." Rodney stripped off his jeans and pulled off his socks before sitting on the bed next to John. There was something reassuring about the sound of John's snores; he was so still otherwise and Rodney wondered just how long he'd been out on the water today.

"I hope you wore sunscreen," Rodney began and then yawned. The room was warm and John had pulled the drapes and left the windows open so the light was dim but the waves could still be heard. Rodney knew he had to get up; there were papers to grade and he really needed to pick at his latest article a little tonight.

Rodney yawned again.

"I blame you," he said, settling in on his side next to John. "You're tempting me with your snoring and your boxers and your...." John shifted and his shirt rode up just a little.

"And, oh my God, your pornographic belly."

John wore his boxers a little lower than his board shorts and Rodney couldn't help reaching out to run his finger along the sharp line that divided tan skin from the much paler skin of John's lower belly. There were maybe two inches at most of bare skin and Rodney couldn't help marveling at how, if he closed his eyes, he couldn't tell the difference between the part that never saw the sun and the part that saw too much of it. It was all soft skin and rougher hair and there was a faint give under his fingers because while yes, John was fit, he ran and surfed and rode a bike all over town, he didn't do crunches, which was just as well because Rodney didn't like guys with really well-defined six packs.

"Mmmmm...." Rodney hummed, wondering if he should go lower and wake John up with a hand job. But no, that could wait. Right now, all Rodney wanted to do was lie here and move his fingers over John's belly, tease himself with the feel of it as he ignored the rest of John's totally hot body.

"Mmmmmmm?" John echoed, his hand coming down to rest on Rodney's. "Whaaa...?"

"Shhhh," Rodney said, still stroking John's belly. "Go back to sleep."

"'kay." John moved to turn onto his side and Rodney moved with him, ending up nestled behind him with his hand splayed out across John's belly as his breathing slowed to match John's.

Papers, his article, the living room floor...they could all wait. Right now, Rodney was right where he needed to be.

-end-

Notes: This was originally written for Sheafrotherdon's Fesitval of Bellies.

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