Strong arms, wide shoulders, large but delicate hands, gripping him, shaping him. Moans . . . someone calling his name, kissing him like he was the center of this vast universe, or this galaxy in the very least.

John Sheppard didn't cheat. But he couldn't cheat if they weren't together, could he? He couldn't cheat on a fuck-buddy who just used him and then insulted him afterwards.

Deep down, he supposed he knew it was a defense mechanism. John Sheppard knew all about defense mechanisms. But if he could work through his thick shell - built up after pushing so many girls away, a little bit of himself dying each time, leaving the shell even thicker- then so could Rodney, damnit!

But . . . you couldn't cheat on somebody who didn't care enough to be with you. Beckett wasn't Rodney, but he'd tasted good and kissed back so generously, making Sheppard want much more.

It felt good to feel wanted.