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October 2009
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Feather [userpic]
Well, it's about time!

I started this fic way back in August! I had a long dry spell. :-( It's very good to be writing again.

This is an SGA fic, John and Rodney, NC17, about 7740 words.

Thanks to carron and catspaw_sgjd for the speedy betas!

Enjoy!


The air had that warm, dusty smell that always seemed to signal the end of summer. John breathed deeply as they walked cautiously into the simple village, weapons low but ready to be snapped up in an instant. These people, the Anolotons, grew a kind of root, very much like a yam or sweet potato. John's knees had actually wobbled at the thought of sweet potato pie. Rodney had fantasized about fries. Carson had been damned near insistent that they needed the vitamins and had already mentioned baking them and drowning them in butter. Even Elizabeth's eyes had gleamed. So here they were, heroically putting their lives at risk to satisfy a carb craving.

Okay, maybe not so heroic. The villagers were friendly and eager to trade, an amicable mob hustling them toward the village elder, asking about outside news, begging for stories, obviously happy to make new friends.

As always, like children everywhere, the kids seemed to gravitate to the one person they'd irritate the most. Rodney.

John grinned when a boy of about eight tugged at the tablet PC velcroed to Rodney's back, making the scientist spin around and protectively snatch the laptop up and out of reach. "Don't touch that!" he snapped. "It's a very delicate instrument!"

The child looked at him with wide eyes. "You're not treating it like it's going to break," he noticed reasonably.

"Yes, well, I know how to handle it," Rodney said defensively.

"I think you just don't like to share your toys," the kid pouted, and John had to stifle a laugh, because the kid had hit the nail directly on the head.

"This is not a toy!" Rodney said, clutching it close to his chest.

"Here," John said, taking a page out of Ford's book to try to defuse a playground brawl. He broke into his power bar stash, taking out a few chocolate walnut ones. "You guys like chocolate?"

A group of little eyes turned toward him, sensing something good. "Chocolate?" the little boy asked.

John broke off a piece and offered it to the child. The kid took it, sniffed suspiciously, then cautiously put it in his mouth, his eyes widening as the taste flooded over his tongue. His friends watched for a moment, saw his reaction, then started yammering for a piece of their own. John handed it out and caught Rodney's grateful look at distracting the obviously vicious horde, and was a bit distracted himself watching Rodney's fingers stroke absently over the laptop's screen.

The negotiations were going well, as they usually did when Teyla was allowed to take the lead. John stood behind her and did his best to look unthreatening and charming but not desperate. Sweet potato pie was on the line here. Rodney kept his usual snarky comments to himself. Hell, even Ronon was looking a bit hopeful, although nobody would be able to tell unless they knew him.

John casually studied the group doing the negotiating. Most of them seemed friendly enough, smiling easily, laughing at stories, serious when it was warranted, but there was one who made the hair on the back of John's neck prickle a bit. He was unkempt where the others were clean. When he smiled it was more like the baring of teeth. His eyes were wild, never making contact, always darting around. John made a mental note to keep an eye on him.

The sun dipped close to the horizon, shadows lengthening as dusk fell. The smells of cooking wafted over the village, and oh yeah, John was positive he smelled the tuber in there somewhere.

Rodney's stomach growled.

Bristic, the village elder, smiled in understanding. "These negotiations have taken much time, and they aren't concluded quite yet. It would be a great honor if you'd agree to share a meal with us and stay the night. We can continue tomorrow."

Teyla glanced at John right as Rodney nudged him in the ribs with his elbow. John rolled his eyes, pretending that he was humoring Rodney and not himself. He gave a quick nod, not bothering to hide the gleam in his eye.

Teyla turned to Bristic with a warm smile. "We would be honored to stay with you this night."

Bristic nodded approvingly. "I will have you shown to the place where you will sleep. The meal will begin as soon as the sun is below the horizon."

'Meal' was a bit of an understatement. It seemed like this village was in the habit of a weekly potluck, and they'd been lucky enough to arrive just in time for this week's festivities. The town square was transformed. Tables were set up, groaning with food. People mingled freely, chatting and laughing, kids darted around, going from table to table to find their favorites. John and his team found themselves at Bristic's table, John sitting next to a lushly curved brunette who blushed when he settled next to her. He spent the better part of the next hour charming her, pigging out, and enjoying himself immensely.

The lights flickered a few times and went out. People went quiet and then there was a rustling sound as torches were lit and placed around the perimeter of the square. Bristic gestured apologetically at the dark lamps. "Our power source is malfunctioning. We've been using rush torches more and more lately, but their light isn't as true. I was hoping the lamps would last one more evening."

When Bristic said 'malfunctioning', Rodney's head snapped up from the berry cobbler he was devouring. "I may be able to fix that for you," he offered, his eyes gleaming. Oh yeah, this might just be the edge they needed to secure regular shipments of the yams.

Bristic looked doubtful. "It is very old," he cautioned.

Rodney smirked. "I'm good with ancient things."

Bristic looked at him, accessing, and decided that a reliable light source was worth the loss of negotiating power. He nodded and stood. "I will show you where it is housed."

John motioned for Teyla and Ronon to stay and relax. He heaved himself to his feet and smiled regretfully at Nalla, her name was Nalla, and said, "I hope this doesn't take too long."

She flashed him a smile, perfect white teeth, lush pink lips, and he felt his mouth water just a little before turning his attention back to McKay, who was babbling with Bristic as he followed him out of the square. John saw them enter a small building at the end of the darkened street and followed, entering to find McKay already bent down, hands deep inside some worn, rusty equipment, Bristic holding a flashlight. "Can you fix it?" John asked, bending close.

"What? Of course I can fix it," Rodney said disdainfully. He stopped moving his hands, waited for one breath, then turned his head to glare at John. "Might help if you get out of my light. What are you doing here anyway?"

John stared at him like he'd lost his mind. "Strange planet. New people. Never go off alone. Any of this ringing a bell?" He smiled politely at Bristic who was listening and watching with consternation.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes. And what are they going to do? Pelt me with potatoes? Fine. Since you're here, make yourself useful and get your flashlight out."

John got his light out and trained the beam on Rodney's hands. The shack smelled musty and dank, with the faintest metallic hint of rust. The humidity in the air was much higher than outside. In fact, John was sure he heard the faint drip, drip of water just at the edge of his hearing. He could see Rodney's shoulders moving, working underneath his clothes.

Rodney swore softly and braced himself, pulling strongly at something, straining, then stopped. He magically produced a small can of WD-40 from his vest pocket, sprayed it around inside the works of the machine, looked around and found an orderly pile of tools, went over to it, and picked up a heavy looking wrench-like thing. He went back to the generator, carefully chose a spot, and swung the wrench sharply, the sound ringing through the shack.

It was so unexpected that John jumped. "McKay!" he said, seeing the look on Bristic's face, then grinned when he heard a whirring sound and the small light above the machine lit up.

"The mechanism was frozen," Rodney said to the elder, ignoring Sheppard. "Doesn't anyone maintain this thing?"

Bristic shook his head sadly. "We did have someone responsible, a good man, but we lost him in a hunting accident before he could pass his knowledge to his apprentice."

Rodney, with the picture of yams floating in front of his eyes, kept the expected acidic comment to himself and instead offered to show them what needed to be done to keep the lights on, an offer Bristic accepted happily.

They were greeted with a round of cheering as they entered the square, Rodney accepting the congratulations graciously, well, at least graciously for him, and John searching the crowd for Nalla, her eyes lighting up when they met his. Both men were surrounded by a jostling crowd of excited people, so neither they, nor the rest of the team, noticed a man with over-bright eyes watching from the shadows.

The party revved up and the local home brew started flowing freely. Someone brought out some bongo-type drums and someone else produced a reed instrument, and before John knew it there was music and dancing.

He was taking a break, even though he'd mostly watched instead of participating, and scanned the crowd looking for his team. He immediately spotted Ronon, who towered above everyone, and found Teyla with no problems -- all he had to do was look for a salivating group of men, then looked for McKay.

Then looked over the crowd more carefully, because McKay seemed to be missing.

He touched his earpiece. "McKay? Report."

Nothing.

John pushed through the crowd toward Ronon, touching his arm to get his attention. "You seen McKay?" he asked when Ronon bent his head.

Ronon shrugged. "He went to take a leak," he said, then looked a little concerned. "That was a while ago." He scanned the gathering himself. "Maybe he got lucky," he said, his eyes still searching. "I did see him flirting with -- " he stopped when his eyes fell on the woman Rodney had been talking to. He touched his own earpiece. "McKay?" Then shook his head when he got no response.

"Let's go find him," John said, and pushed through the crowd toward Teyla.

The second she saw John's face she ditched her admirers and rose to meet him. "What is it?"

"McKay," John said in a clipped voice. "He's missing. I'm going to go check out the rooms they assigned us. You and Ronon look around here."

John struggled to quell the panicky feeling that was boiling up through his stomach as he strode toward their inn. He tried not to think about food allergies, and insect bites, and that maybe the cobbler that Rodney had eaten a gallon of might have some kind of citrus in it.

Rodney had just gotten tired, that's all, and had turned in early.

Without telling anyone.

Yeah, right.

He searched downstairs first, looking in the common room and even back in the kitchen before running up the stairs to their rooms, flinging the doors open, calling out.

John heard Ronon in his ear. He touched his earpiece. "Sheppard here."

"I found something on the north side of the village."

"On my way," John said, then spun and took the steps two at a time, his heart pounding.

A few of the villagers had noticed that something was wrong, including Bristic. They had gathered in a small cluster around Ronon. John slowed to a fast walk as he approached. "What'd you find?" he asked.

Ronon held up the can of WD-40.

John felt his heart stutter in his chest. Oh shit. "Any signs of what happened?"

"Looks like something was dragged out of the village," Ronon said. "Two indentations that are probably heel marks, and footprints leading that way." He pointed toward the forest at the edge of the village.

Bristic stepped forward, a concerned frown on his face. "I'll gather my people. We'll help you search."

John groaned inside his head. The last thing they needed was a herd of civilians stomping through the forest. However, he really couldn't refuse help, either. He turned to Bristic and forced what he hoped was a friendly smile. "We'd be grateful for your help, however, until we know what happened, it might be best to keep the search party small."

Bristic nodded in agreement. "I'll go find our best tracker. He will help you." He reached out and squeezed John's arm reassuringly. "We will find him."

John nodded shortly, struggling not to shrug off his hand, the skin beneath his clothes positively vibrating with tension. "Send him on. We're heading out now." He turned to Ronon and Teyla and gave a short twitch of his head, indicating the forest and the tracks. Ronon took point, leading the way. The air around them changed from the crisp feel of a late summer night to the damp, loamy feel of being among trees. A faint moonlight filtered down among the branches, but it was still incredibly dark, deep shadows covering everything. Ronon moved quickly but cautiously, stopping every now and then to examine a bent stalk of grass, a broken twig, a disturbance in the leaves lining the faint trail they followed.

John heard a sound behind him, a rustling of leaves, and whirled around, snapping his weapon up. Bristic and another man loomed out of the dark. "Colonel Sheppard!" Bristic said, a little breathlessly. "This is Heran. He'll help you with your search. Please, if you don't find him soon, come back to the village and allow us to organize a full search party."

John nodded curtly and turned back to Ronon. Heran walked up silently, squatted next to Ronon, then looked ahead into the trees. "The trail is a straight path, isn't it?"

"Yes," Ronon said. "Whoever did this has a destination in mind."

Heran nodded thoughtfully and stood up, ready to move ahead.

John didn't know how Ronon and Heran did it, following the trail in the dark. Even though they'd been away from the village and the lights for almost ten minutes now, he could barely see in the deep gloom of the forest. Those two didn't seem to have any trouble, though. He followed, a sick feeling in his stomach, his nerves coiled tightly, desperately wishing he had something to shoot at, something to focus on, could do something other than follow along passively.

Suddenly Ronon stopped and sank down low, signaling the others to do the same. John hunched over and moved cautiously up next to him, and saw a glimmer of light through the trees. He heard Heran come up beside him and breathe in sharply.

"That's Fallon's place," Heran whispered, motioning forward with his chin. "He's been strange since his partner died, but I can't believe he'd do this." John looked at him sharply so he continued. "His partner, Moyer, got killed in a hunting accident a month ago. He's . . . something snapped in his mind, but he's never been violent."

"Did Moyer maintain the generator?" John asked sharply.

Heran nodded bleakly, then drew in another sharp breath. "Your Doctor McKay favors Moyer."

John nodded in understanding and looked toward the light again, shining palely through a shuttered window pane. "How many windows and doors does that place have?"

Heran quickly told him the layout of the cabin and John outlined the plan -- Teyla and Ronon would cover the outside to make sure Fallon didn't escape, and Heran would go in after John. If the man really was that unstable, maybe a familiar voice would help talk him down. John growled at the shuttered windows. Goddamn, he hated going in blind.

They moved in, keeping low to the ground, moving as silently as they could. John pressed his back to the wall beside the front door, weapon ready, and counted to ten to give the rest of his team time to get into position. He nodded briefly to Heran, stepped in front of the door, and kicked it in, wood splintering, metal shrieking, and leapt into the room, weapon snugged underneath his chin, doing an initial sweep of the room, clearing the corners. He moved to the center of the room, sweeping again, then, seeing no threat, no sign of Fallon, went to Rodney's side.

Rodney was kneeling naked on the bed, bound by coarse rope, his wrists crossed, fingers clenched, his toes curling, trying to draw into himself, tension making his shoulders quiver. He was blindfolded and gagged, breathing harshly into the cloth, almost sobbing.

"It's me," John said quietly, taking off the blindfold and gag.

Rodney's fingers and toes flared out, demanding. "God! Get me out of this!"

John drew his knife and cut through the frayed rope just as Teyla and Ronon came in. Nobody had tried to escape. It seemed that they had come upon the cabin while Fallon was off on some errand, something which John didn't want to think about too closely.

"What the hell happened?" Rodney demanded as he pulled the top bed sheet around him. "I went to take a leak and woke up here." He stood up and stumbled.

John gripped his arm, steadying him. "You okay?"

Rodney turned pale with a greenish cast. "Head hurts."

"Can you walk?"

Rodney swallowed. "Yeah, I think so. Let me put my boots on."

Teyla found his clothes piled in a corner and brought them to Rodney, who shakily pulled on his pants first, then stuffed his feet into his boots. He wrapped the sheet more tightly round his shoulders. "Let's get the hell out of here," and stumbled again until John gripped his arm and helped him through the trees to the gate and Atlantis.

Beckett said he had a concussion, that he'd been hit on the head, but apart from the abrasions on his wrists from the rope, no other damage. John breathed a deep sigh of relief. A part of him had been afraid of what might have happened while Rodney was unconscious. Rodney said he'd gone to take a leak when he'd been attacked. He woke up in the cabin naked and bound, a man petting him and calling him Moyer. Then the man had mentioned not being prepared, needing supplies, and had left, which is when John and his team had shown up.

The Anolotons had been mortified, saying that they were deeply sorry. They hadn't realized the depth of Fallon's mourning. They were dealing with him and hoped to continue negotiations, and hoped that Rodney didn't bear any ill will and would show them how to maintain their equipment, a suggestion Rodney initially snorted at. Fuck the fries, he could do without. He relented, though, and they sent Zelenka, along with Heightmeyer. She diagnosed Fallon as having a brief psychotic disorder, and started treatment.

Rodney saw her a few times himself. Nothing like being kidnapped, bound -- and who knows what else might have happened -- to bring some issues to the surface.

Two weeks later they were back at it, making contacts, exploring new planets, trying to find more power and new ways to fight the Wraith. They found themselves in yet another village on market day. Booths were set up, decorated with brightly colored sheets of cloth flowing in the breeze. Many different kinds of fruits and vegetables were on display, as well as baskets, textiles, pots, metalwork, and many other kinds of household goods.

Rodney found a booth selling glassware, but what had caught his eyes was the small section of exquisitely blown glass animals the artisan had on display, too delicate to touch, reflecting little rainbows on the curtains the merchant had secured so they wouldn't knock over his delicate wares. Rodney's mother had taught him well, because he instinctively put his hands behind his back before leaning over to get a closer look, his pants stretching tight over his ass.

With a catch of his breath John was back in that cabin, except without the fear and anger. This time he noticed what he hadn't before, things his subconscious mind had stored away-- the way Rodney's back curved and his muscles strained, the way the light gleamed off the sweat on his skin, that his ass was heart-shaped and perfect -- John's dick jumped in his pants.

Fuck.

John turned abruptly, mentally shaking himself. What the hell was wrong with him? Perving on a friend like that? A friend who'd been in a nasty situation, no less. He gave himself one more shake and examined the next booth over. It had leather goods-- clothing and satchels, footwear and belts. And cord-- cord John could imagine wrapping around Rodney's willing wrists.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

John was sweating, his heart thumping. He wanted to draw a shaky hand over his face but settled for chugging half his canteen instead. He stood for a moment, breathing steadily, trying to lock the lid back down on that particular mental box.

John jumped slightly when he heard Rodney say, low and husky, "You okay?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling, but knowing it was coming off weak. "Just a little dehydrated."

Rodney gave him an odd look but nodded anyway.

The next time it happened was in Rodney's lab. John walked in to find him on the floor with his head inside some piece of equipment, ass in the air, on goddamned display, really, and bam, just like that he was there again, only this time Rodney was on his bed instead of in the cabin, and John's face was a lot closer to that perfect ass, so close, in fact, that all he had to do was reach out with his tongue and lick . . .

He must have made a noise because Rodney jerked back, banging his head. "Ow," he complained, rubbing the tender spot, then looked back over his shoulder. "Oh. What are you doing here?"

John felt a moment's panic, his mind frantically casting about. What was he doing here? Oh, oh! He leaned casually against the wall, at least he hoped it looked casual, and said, "Didn't we have a meeting right now?"

Rodney gave him an odd look. "The meeting isn't until thirteen hundred."

John looked at him steadily until Rodney glanced at the clock and gave a guilty start. "You should have radioed me."

"That doesn't always work," John said, pushing off the wall. "C'mon. They're waiting."

That afternoon they had a catastrophic failure in the energy output. It wasn't the ZPM, but the conduits carrying the power. And yeah, right before the long range sensors had died they'd maybe detected something . . . So they spent the next week running around, Rodney frantically fixing things, John ranging far and wide for supplies, catching catnaps when they could, trying to get the damned thing working again. When they finally got the power on, the mysterious blip had disappeared, if it had even been there, and John collapsed on his bed without even taking his boots off. He woke up several hours later and mustered just enough strength to shuck his clothes, then crawled underneath the covers and gratefully fell back to sleep.

The dream woke him up-- a dream of sweat-slicked skin, muscles working, straining, hands moving over his body, coaxing, urging, a mouth on his cock, tongue swirling, warm and insistent, then Rodney surging up, mouth tugging at his earlobe while clever hands stroked him, working him closer. John was just arching into the touch, just at that point of no return when he woke, gasping and panting, his dick hard and leaking, a tight coil of pleasure deep down in his belly. He reached down and curled his fingers around his cock, pulled once, twice, then arched back, heels digging into the mattress, and came hard, the pleasure crashing through him.

As the pleasure receded and he lay there panting, he groaned and slapped a hand over his face. Christ, he was so screwed. He flung back the covers and got out of bed, his knees still wobbling, and made his way to the shower, turning it on as hot as he could stand it, and climbed underneath the spray, letting the pounding water wash away the tension in his shoulders and the milky trails drying on his stomach. He grabbed the soap and worked up a good lather, scrubbing his skin. What he needed to do was lock that goddamned mental box back up. He'd done it quite a few times before-- back in high school, in college, the early days of his military career. Okay, in all honesty, it had just been the once-- in high school. He usually got whomever he wanted, but he'd gotten over it that one time and could do it again.

Yep.

Just close the lid, turn the key, and never look at the box again.

Ever.

It worked. Mostly. At least that's what John told himself. He was spending more time in the labs because, well, it was vital to the mission. Plus, he learned cool things while he was there. And, he felt he had a better finger on the pulse of the science stuff that went on because the vast majority of what happened in the labs never made it into reports.

Right.

And the fact he got butterflies in his stomach while he was making his way toward the labs had nothing to do with anything.

Uh huh.

Fuck. Okay, so the strategy wasn't working very well, but he hadn't woken up to another dream, and really, sometimes the best way to get over a crush was to spend time with the other person until you realized they were an asshole.

Except, he already knew Rodney, and knew he could be an arrogant jerk.

But he could also be a selfless hero, when needed. And he was smart and funny, and shit, John realized he was digging himself in deeper and deeper, but he couldn't seem to stop himself, and anyway, it was a way to fill up his free time.

That's how he found himself on his back on the floor next to Rodney underneath a console, touching components and thinking 'on' at them when Rodney demanded. It was kind of closed in, too, and he could feel the heat from Rodney radiating on his side and smell him, and god, his skin was tingling with pent up energy, like little electric currents were arcing between them.

"Okay, hold that there," Rodney instructed, making John reach above his head to hold a shiny metal component out of the way. Then he started wriggling around, squirming against John inside the small space, moving onto his stomach so he could see deeper inside the equipment. He reached past John to the back panel and John stayed utterly still, not breathing, not swallowing, not doing anything but trying to keep an iron control, because Rodney was stretched out above him, his face scant inches from John's, his thigh pressed against John's, his chest half on John's.

John took firm control of his cock and prayed that it listened, because if he got hard now, if there was even a twitch, Rodney might feel it.

Rodney's attention was focused deep inside the machine, his hands working, his shoulders flexing, a tiny bead of sweat forming on his upper lip.

John felt something underneath his fingers click, saw things flickering to life, and heard Rodney give a triumphant snort. He didn't move his fingers, though, didn't move at all, still frozen in place. Rodney smiled down at him. "I think that did . . . " his voice trailed off when he saw John's face.

John realized he must be showing something, that what he was thinking must be coming through. He felt a panicky fluttering in his heart and swallowed. "Rodney," he started.

Rodney focused on him, pinning him with his eyes, looked at him as intently as he ever looked at anything. "I've been getting these vibes from you lately," he said quickly. "Not bad vibes, good vibes. If you've been sending them. If you have, well, I just want you to know it's okay with me. More than okay. Unless you aren't sending them. In which case, never mind. But if you are, I wouldn't have any problems with it. Really."

Rodney was babbling, and for some reason, it made John's heart leap and his face split into a grin, and unfroze him. He moved his hand from the component.

"If I'm totally wrong, well just forget I said anything."

"Rodney."

"But if I'm right, I think it would be good. Maybe better than good."

"Rodney."

"Fantastic, even," Rodney continued at the speed of light, not even pausing to take a breath.

"Rodney!" John practically shouted, trying to get him to slow down, and suddenly that mental box burst open and all the want John had been trying to diligently suppress flooded out. Rodney was still babbling, saying really stupid things like he'd be okay with a one night stand, and he'd understand if John chickened out. John shut him up the best way he knew how. He slid his fingers along Rodney's jaw to cup his skull, and drew him down into a kiss. Rodney actually kept going for a few words until his brain caught up with the program and he stilled his lips. John waited a moment, then tilted his head, fitting their lips together more fully. He lightly sucked on Rodney's lower lip, then teased it with his tongue, asking.

Rodney groaned. He opened his lips and met John's tongue with his own.

John had meant for it to be gentle and tender, but it didn't quite work out that way. Before he knew it, Rodney had shifted on top of him, wormed a knee between his thighs, fisted his hair, and was plundering his mouth, his other hand moving restlessly over his body, so fucking hot.

John should have known it would be like that. Rodney never did anything worthwhile by half measures.

It ended with them both breathing hard, bodies plastered together, John's hands gripping Rodney's ass, both cocks hard and aching, pushing against each other.

"I was right," Rodney panted, nuzzling underneath John's ear. "This is going to be fantastic."

John caught Rodney's face in his hands and kissed him again, a little softer this time, but no less hungry. "Unless you want this to happen here underneath this console, you'd better get off me," John said, bucking his hips.

"God," Rodney said, groaning as he rolled to the side before scrubbing his hand over his face. "Okay," he raised up on his elbows. "We get off in an hour. I mean, work ends in an hour. No, I mean, I was planning to stop working in an hour."

He was babbling again. John hoped that the run-on sentences would end after they'd been together a while and Rodney relaxed.

Or maybe not.

It was kind of hot knowing he affected Rodney that way.

"Tell you what," John said, sliding out from underneath the console and rolling to his feet. He reached out a hand and helped Rodney up, his dick jumping because there was that little jolt of electricity when their hands met. Rodney's lips looked red and swollen, his hair was all fucked up, he was still panting, and it was hotter then all hell. "Why don't we get together in an hour, then? I need to do a last security check anyway."

Rodney's face sort of crumpled but he nodded anyway. "Yes, in an hour. That would be best."

"My place," John said.

"Your place," Rodney agreed.

John had made good use of his hour, doing a lightning-fast security sweep before making his way to his quarters for a shower and a shave, butterflies in his stomach, groin constantly threatening to tighten into an erection. He pulled his jeans on over still-damp skin and left the fly undone, then ran his fingers through his hair, separating the strands into spikes. He scrutinized his reflection, having to wipe the fog off the mirror a few times. He glanced at his watch. Rodney should be here any minute.
Hopefully.

A tiny flutter of anxiety combined with the butterflies in his stomach. Rodney might change his mind about coming over. Or, oh god, he might not. John tried to convince himself that it was no big deal, that it was just sex-- if it even happened, and nothing would change.

Except he knew it would, because the sexual chemistry he'd been feeling-- and Rodney had been feeling, too, if their conversation underneath the console was any indication-- combined with their friendship, which had grown to maybe a little more than a casual friendship over the last few years, was a potentially explosive combination, and he couldn't lie to himself enough to not acknowledge that.

Fuck.

John scrubbed his fingers through his almost-dry hair. What had he done? This could be bad. He cursed his lack of self control.

Or worse yet, it could be good.

Really good.

Amazing, even.

He stepped back from the mirror and walked out to the main room. A quick glance at the clock let him know that Rodney should be showing up any minute. He made his way to his bedside table and double checked to make sure he had enough lube, pausing a moment while his mind pondered the possibilities. How would it all work? Top? Bottom? Switching off? Blowjobs? Rimming? The litany of possibilities ran through his head and his dick took it as permission to do what it had been trying to do for the last hour, thickening against the soft material of his jeans.

John shook himself. Shit. Maybe he should go jerk off before Rodney got here, because he was working himself up and he was afraid he'd last all of an embarrassingly short ten seconds once they got started. He glanced at the clock again and frowned. Rodney was late. He felt a hollow pit start in his stomach, and a surprisingly bitter taste in his mouth. Right up until that moment he hadn't realized how much he'd wanted this. He stepped to his door and flattened his palm against it, trying to feel, see if he could sense if someone was on the other side.

Rodney stood outside John's door, wracked by indecision, shifting from foot to foot. He lifted his hand to ring then pivoted sharply, taking three steps away before turning back. For the third time.

Shit.

Why was this so hard?

Because it was John Sheppard, that's why, and Rodney knew that this would be no casual fuck. There was too much history, too big of a friendship, and Rodney knew himself well enough to acknowledge that a part of him was already maybe a little bit in love.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

But it wasn't like that for John. He was the hero, the space cowboy, the guy who got all the chicks -- and guys, apparently. Rodney swallowed hard. He was just one in a long line, wasn't he? He turned away and made it three steps before turning back. Even if it was just a fling, it would probably be astonishingly good, and really, could he afford to turn that down? He raised his hand to ring but hesitated yet again. This was stupid. He must look like a fucking pinball, pinging around the hallway. He had just firmly resolved to actually reach out and wave over the doorbell when the door whooshed open and John started to step out, looking irritated and sulky and completely, utterly edible, because he was wearing soft, faded jeans, fly undone, and nothing else-- feet bare, chest covered with hair, nipples dark and inviting, a deep shadow where the vee of his fly stopped, the barest hint of pubic hair peeking out.

Rodney looked up and caught his eyes, watching as they changed from irritated to questioning.

John tried to school his features, all too aware of what had been on his face when he'd opened the door. He tried for cool/casual, and missed by a mile. He gave up and smiled instead, letting the warmth and want he felt show on his face. Still, Rodney stayed frozen in place, hand poking out to ring, eyes locked with his. Finally, after several seconds, John asked very softly, "You coming in?"

"Yeah," Rodney said, just as softly, then cleared his throat. "Of course I'm coming in." As he said the words he felt a funny kind of release, like the tension of not knowing bleeding out of him, because yes, he did want this, and yes, it was happening, and all of the sudden any apprehension about it blew away under the warm affection he saw in John's eyes.

John stepped aside and gestured, which finally broke Rodney's frozen stance and allowed him to move. John watched Rodney walk past him and saw that he was practically vibrating with tension. He felt his heart sink. Maybe Rodney didn't want this? "This doesn't have to happen," he said.

Rodney spun around to face him, an almost panicky look on his face. "No! Yes! I mean, yes, I want to. You do, still, right?"

"Yeah," John said, "I do." They looked at each other uncertainly for a moment, then Rodney stepped up to him, hand raised, and ran a finger down John's jawline.

Suddenly, they were kissing, and Rodney surprised John again, because he'd expected hard and urgent, like under the console, but instead Rodney was kissing with a tenderness that made his heart ache, soft and deep, lips and tongue exploring, asking, coaxing. John groaned and responded, curling his arms around Rodney's back, his tongue gliding with Rodney's, a slow, sensual dance.

It all felt so damned good. Rodney solid against him, warmth engulfing him, muscles moving and flexing underneath his hands. He felt a shock of cold against his back and realized that Rodney had crowded him against the wall, and felt his dick jump, because for some reason it was way hotter than it should have been. Rodney hands were all over the place, sliding up his arms, down his sides, worming their way in between them -- not restless, just exploring, testing, touching. Rodney's fingers brushed down low on John's belly, and he groaned into Rodney's mouth, pushing his hips forward instinctively, asking for Rodney's touch, and getting it, fingers brushing lightly over the head of his dick, sliding down further to cup him inside his snug jeans, and suddenly he realized there wasn't enough room, not nearly enough for Rodney's hands and his growing erection.

Rodney broke the kiss to nuzzle John's jaw, then moved lower still to drag his tongue over John's collar bone, biting lightly at the juncture of his neck, and John's breath caught in his throat, his cock leapt to full hardness, and his knees shook, wildly turned on.

Rodney kissed him again, and John was still surprised by Rodney's mouth. He'd expected Rodney's lips to be firm and quick, moving as fast as they did when he talked, especially when he was excited, but Rodney's lips were incredibly soft and pliant, responding to every move of John's mouth, sucking lightly on his, tongue tracing the edge of his lips, and the thought of that soft pressure on his dick made him moan again. He reached for Rodney's shirt, the need to feel more skin on his almost overwhelming in its intensity.

Rodney's lips clung to his for one more moment before reluctantly pulling back. John caught his eyes and felt his heart beat faster, because Rodney's eyes were stormy with arousal, his lips kiss-swollen, his face flushed, and best of all, his hand was still in John's pants, still caressing the head of his dick. Then he moved it back, slipping his fingers around the edge of John's hipbone to fit over the curve of his ass, fingertips barely caressing the crease between his cheeks.

John's could feel his asshole, feel it pulsing hungrily. "Rodney," he gasped, his whole body flushed and thrumming and alive. He tugged at the hem of Rodney's shirt, desperately needing to get him out of his clothes, get rid of his own jeans, give them both some space to work and feel.

Rodney reluctantly slid his hand out of John's pants and lifted his arms, letting John get rid of his shirt, then moved his hands to his pants, his nimble fingers fumbling with the buttons, shivering when John's fingers joined his in getting the fly undone. They pushed Rodney's pants down together and John got his first look. Rodney was about average length, but thick. Really thick. And uncut. John's mouth watered as he pushed Rodney's pants down, sinking to his knees. He buried his nose in the crease, inhaling deeply, then reached out with his tongue and licked, one broad stripe from base to tip before unceremoniously sucking the head into his mouth.

"Shit!" Rodney gasped, his hands on John's head, fingers carding through his hair. John could feel his thighs quivering under his hands. John stood up and stepped on Rodney's pants. "Step out," he commanded, then waited only long enough for Rodney to toe off his shoes and free his legs before pushing him toward the bed. He shoved his jeans off and followed.

They ended up with John flat on his back, Rodney's weight pushing him into the mattress, Rodney's tongue caressing his, Rodney's cock jerking against his when John's hands glided down his back. Rodney worked his way down, licking and nibbling jaw and neck and collarbone before settling on John's nipples, tongue strokes so light John could barely feel them in his chest.

He felt it in his groin, though.

It was like Rodney was opening a connection, creating a pathway of sensation, carefully measuring the flow of energy between John's nipples and cock. Every time Rodney ghosted his tongue over the tight nub, John's dick twitched against Rodney's thigh, a tight coil of pleasure deep down. Then Rodney latched on and pulled strongly.

John gasped with sensation, his body arching into it. It was like pleasure was being pulled from his groin, his whole groin -- balls, dick, prostate-- through his body and out of his nipples.

His dick was so hard it hurt, and if Rodney kept it up, he'd come just from this.

He sat up and kissed Rodney's frown away, then knelt up, wrapping his arms around Rodney when he knelt up, too. They kissed again, a belly-clenching combination of tender and urgent, soft yet dirty at the same time. He wound up behind Rodney, his cock nestled between his cheeks, his hands roving all over-- down Rodney's arms, up his chest, low on his stomach, tracing along his inner thighs, cupping, stroking, feeling the quivering and shudders all through Rodney's body, seeing what he liked, what got the best reaction, what made Rodney groan and gasp. Finally, he allowed himself the one thing he really wanted. His hands moved back around Rodney's waist and down, stroking lightly over the sweet curve of Rodney's ass.

John almost lost it when Rodney whispered, "God yes," and pushed back into his touch, grinding himself against John's dick and hands. He dragged his hands up to Rodney's shoulders, pushing forward, urging, "Please," he asked, begged.

Rodney groaned and complied, bending forward to rest his weight on his hands first, then down on his elbows, ass in the air, completely open and exposed.

John sat back on his heels for a moment, hard cock jutting out, and looked -- took in the flawless skin, the perfect shape, the tight little vulnerable hole surrounded by a smattering of hair. He ran his hands down Rodney's back and over the curve of his ass, then leaned forward, kissing each cheek before focusing on the center, dipping his tongue to taste. He felt Rodney tense with pleasure then relax, so he did it again, stroking and teasing the delicate hairs with his tongue, his own hips moving restlessly.

Rodney started stroking his own cock when fingers got involved, and John felt Rodney's whole body shuddered when he lined up his cock and pushed in deep, one long, hot stroke. Rodney collapsed forward on the next stroke, so John followed him down, covering him, fucking slow and careful, building the pleasure until his body took over and he lost it completely, giving in to the need he'd been feeling for months.

It ended with John sucking Rodney's shoulder, one hand holding Rodney's hips steady, one final push forward, then blinding, intense pleasure carrying him away. Rodney was still moving, rubbing off against the sheets, and John felt him come, felt him contract around him, milking the last of his orgasm from his body.

They both lay panting harshly, glued together by sweat, until John pulled out carefully and moved to the side, collapsing against the mattress. He took a moment to catch his breath, then looked over to find Rodney's head turned toward him, a warm, soft look in his eyes. He smiled back and ran a hand down Rodney's back, resting his fingers on the curve of Rodney's ass.

"You like my ass, don't you?" Rodney asked.

"No," John said, struggling with his thoughts. That wasn't it at all.

"You don't like my ass?"

"No," John said again. "I mean yes," he turned toward Rodney, wanting to explain but not really able to find the words. "Yes, I like your ass, but mostly because it belongs to you."

Rodney got a sort of dazed look. "You like my ass because it's mine?"

"Yeah."

"You like me," Rodney said, with more smugness than a normal human could muster.

John winced. It somehow sounded so sixth grade. "I'm not really good at this touchy-feely stuff."

"Oh, I don't know," Rodney said, reaching to caress his cheek and pull him into a kiss. "You seem to be doing fine to me."

John wrapped his arm around Rodney's back, pulled him in, and kissed him back.

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Comments

Okay, it was hot like wow, but I expect that from you ;-) I also enjoyed the way you very visually described them - Rodney all tied up, John in his jeans...

Yeah. That was just...

::collapses::

Thank you! I hope I painted enough of the picture you could see what I saw in my head. It was really all very pretty. *g*

I'm glad you enjoyed it! *Hugs you*

awwww!

So, I decided to check out some of your other fics because I liked the other one so much and this one was utterly sweet and hot, too! my favorite line was "you like my ass because it's mine?" hee! It sounds silly, but i love those kind of revelatory moments!

:D

It totally was a revelation! Because right then Rodney really got it that John wanted him, and not just a fuck. I'm glad you're enjoying my smut fic! *g*