John watched as Rodney moved the bishop to take his knight, those deft fingers decisive, sure.
A minute ago, John had a plan. A minute ago, it would have been checkmate in ten moves. Now, he found his brain emptying of everything except the thought of Rodney’s fingers.
This happened periodically, no matter how John tried to stamp out the little fires that would start up, thinking of Rodney’s hands. Imagining Rodney’s hands on him. When they moved confidently over Ancient machinery, sometimes John's mind briefly wandered to what they might be like on his skin. Or when – John gulped – when Rodney snapped his fingers at John, all demanding, John imagined how pushy Rodney would be in a whole other context...
As if he was reading John’s mind, McKay snapped his fingers right in John’s face, and he was suddenly, painfully aware he was hard.
"Ground control to Major Space Cadet!" Rodney said, his face amused.
"Um... Sorry, Rodney, I was just thinking about..." John couldn't imagine how to end that sentence, though.
"Sheppard?"
Rodney looked at him like he was an equation to solve, and John felt stripped bare, all his secrets so easily readable.
"Oh," Rodney said, his voice a little breathless, as he found his answers. "I, um..."
He tipped his king. Carefully packed away the board that sat like a chaperone between them on Rodney’s bed. Each piece placed just so in the box, fingers methodical, precise, unhurried. The air in the room was so thick with... something, that it was suddenly hard to breathe and getting warmer by the moment.
Rodney snapped the little case shut, sliding the catch into place. John watched his fingers, rivetted, wanting.
And then he was caught. Rodney saw, really saw, the intensity of his look. He smiled shyly, and his eyes became bluer as his pupils dilated.