SUDDENLY, BRILLIANATLY, AND ALL AT ONE TIME
By Gaia

Rodney McKay had one rule in life . . . well, one rule other than, ‘There is no real God,’ ‘ Anyone who publishes more than 7 times a year is wrong, wrong, wrong,’ ‘Planets that look like Canada always mean trouble,’ ‘Never fight a land war in Asia . . .’ Okay, so maybe he had a lot of rules, but the one he was currently thinking of was simple: ‘Never turn down a good blowjob.’ He’d added the ‘good’ in college, when Lucy Pittman’s braces got a little too intimately acquainted with his intimate parts.

The blowjob rule was a good one. It had served him well – better than any of the other silly things like physical constants and laws of space-time that he’d learned at University. It was a rule that had steadfastly refused to be broken, even as pretty much everything else had failed him (except for the God thing – he stood by that). Hell, it was one of the few things that he thought was more valid because more people believed in it (unlike Wallace over at Harvard and his stupid little theories of particle determinacy . . . that arrogant academic snot . . .). He was pretty sure it was a universal constant among healthy human males within reproductive age: blowjob = good.

Especially enthusiastic blowjobs given by ridiculously hot Air Force officers mumbling fantastic little encouragements like, ‘oh yeah, give it to me, Rodney’ and ‘fuck, come for me.’

But, like many of the things he’d believed in before coming to this galaxy, his number one rule was being proven false.

Still surprised at himself, Rodney dug his fingers deep into a thick mass of dark hair and urged John to his feet. He looked so incredibly sexy, mouth wet, eyes huge, lazy smirk with lips that had just been . . . god, why did he think stopping him was a good thing? Sheppard sucked cock like a fucking porn star and Rodney was a guy . . . how could he . . .

“What’s wrong?” John asked, looking around suspiciously. They were alone in Rodney’s quarters, so there was nothing to suspect.

“Nothing . . . absolutely nothing . . . I just . . .”

“Good.” John nodded to himself then started sinking back down to his knees.

Rodney hauled him back up. “Not that I don’t appreciate the gesture because I do . . .” Oh god he did – that first blowjob after they all nearly died for what? The third time that week, had been a revelation, Sheppard’s talented tongue swirling around him, that hum at the back of his throat, the way he sucked it down like he fucking loved it. God, the man was amazing. And he was with Rodney. He couldn’t help grin at that.

John smiled back at him, clearly noticing the distraction.

Rodney coughed. Yeah, he was talking . . . “It’s just that you’ve done this a lot recently and I feel as though I haven’t really been . . . um . . . holding up my end of the bargain, if you know what I’m saying?”

John shrugged casually, hair flopping ridiculously. “That’s okay. I like doing it.” Yeah, Rodney’d noticed the enthusiastic sounds John made, the way he jerked himself as he sucked, the way he always had to run for tissues afterwards.

“Which is fine . . . wonderful, really, but I’d like to get a chance to . . .”

To what? To fuck him? To see the look on his face when he came? To touch and take as much of John as John had of Rodney? He wanted, for the first time in his life, to truly focus on pleasuring someone else, without thinking about what he’d get in return.

John looked away, features unreadable. He almost looked scared. But John Sheppard was never . . . oh.

“If you’ve never . . . um . . . done that. I mean, we don’t have to . . . there are plenty of other things we can do – sixty-nine, mutual handjobs, dry humping. You could fuck me if you wanted to, though I do admit that I was kind of hoping that you were a bottom, but it really doesn’t matter. Whatever you want . . .

“Okay,” John said, still looking a bit unsure.

“If you don’t . . .”

“No,” John was grinning, somewhere between shy and sly and wow . . . he’d like those lips back on his cock now, please. “I think I want you to try fucking me.”

“Are you . . . is this your . . .”

John smiled crookedly, another one of his deflections. “Tick, tock, Rodney. Do you really want to be talking right now?”

‘Yes!,’ Rodney was supposed to say, because John had serious issues already and they really should figure them out. But, unfortunately, Rodney’s body suddenly decided to be a democracy (which was ridiculously inefficient anyhow – especially the American kind) and his dick and his nipples, which happened to have an astoundingly powerful minority vote, decided that they’d really rather skip the talking and get on to the whole balls-deep-in-John’s-ass part. He was only human, after all.

Rodney shook his head, pulling John in for a kiss. And wow . . . John could kiss. It never ceased to amaze him. After all the hemming and hawing and ‘Rodney, I can’t’ and pussy-footing around the whole damned thing . . . after 4 months of sharing a bed and waking up hard and needy but without release, suddenly boom . . . it turned out that not only could John kiss like it was the kiss at the end of the world, but that he gave really really good head, for a straight guy.

And now . . . inconceivably, he wanted Rodney to fuck him. John Sheppard wanted Rodney to fuck him, and wasn’t that just a dream come true? Rodney gulped, breathing hard into John’s lips.

John smiled his one of his mysterious little smiles and leaned back on the bed, sprawling like a goddamned Playgirl centerfold, and how was Rodney supposed to resist those intense eyes and that mock-innocent Catholic-school-girl smile?

“You’re incredible,” Rodney breathed, fumbling at the night table for the lube. He dropped the tube twice before he got the cap off. John was clearly amused, though it seemed to be killing his hard-on a bit.

Well, Rodney’d take care of that. Finally having won the battle with the duplicitous lube, he surged forward, tangling his fingers in John’s hair and ripping his head back so he could nibble at the place on John’s neck that always made his pant out these desperate little moans, using his other hand to skim down John’s side, feeling the velvety softness of his cock nestled in a bed of wiry hair.

Oh yeah . . . this is what he wanted.

John was kissing along Rodney’s hairline, coating him with saliva in a way that should be gross, but completely wasn’t, and then he was tonguing Rodney’s ear, which also should be disgusting considering the bodily excretions involved, but turned out to be mind-bogglingly hot and then there were teeth . . . oh, god.

“Like that?” John laughed against him.

Rodney gave sort of a nodding whimper into the crook of John’s neck, the hand on John’s cock mostly forgotten.

“You want me to keep doing that or do you want to fuck me now?”

Hah, like there was even a question. Rodney snorted, feeling John’s lips grinning against him. Good thing he had that lube situation under control . . . hey, where’d it get too? John was distracting him.

Rodney bolted upright, searching frantically around them. John rolled his eyes and handed Rodney the tube before flipping over, displaying a small but perfectly rounded ass. Oh god, Rodney wanted that ass. But he also hadn’t yet seen John’s face when he came and he was positive that was a sight worth seeing. He gave John’s ass a little slap.

“Hey, I want to see your face.”

John looked over his shoulder, eyebrow raised. Would he stop it with the Playgirl poses already? God, at this rate, Rodney wasn’t going to last. He surged forward, claiming John’s lips, sucking, biting, shoving his tongue deep and taking no fucking prisoners, thank you very much. Though this position couldn’t be especially comfortable for John. Rodney grabbed at his hips, trying to flip him. He wanted to see John’s face when he came. He wanted to know what John looked like when he finally, finally lost control.

“Mmmphf,” John said, pulling away, holding Rodney’s lower lip between his own until the very last moment. “I heard it’s easier like this.”

It was oddly touching that John would’ve researched this . . . that he knew only through hearing. Oh God, he was going to get to take John Sheppard’s virginity! It was like a thousand happy hamsters singing in his heard . . . only, you know, without the hamsters and the singing. Rodney had to bite down on his already kiss-swollen lip to keep from coming from the thought alone.

“Okay, but next time . . .”

“A little presumptuous there, McKay,” John said, flashing him a grin before grabbing a pillow and shoving it beneath his own hips.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Rodney breathed. Yes, he’d seen this sight before, the long line of John’s body, the way the muscles of his shoulders tensed and relaxed, the dark hair dusting the back of his legs, soft against Rodney’s palm as he slid it between the splayed legs, practically feeling the musky scent of John’s arousal.

John snorted into the mattress. “Whatever you say, Rodney.”

Rodney could argue . . . or he could lean down and kiss up John’s inseam, uncapping the lube and warming it between his fingertips. He somehow managed to lick up to suck one of John’s balls into his mouth, swirling his tongue in little circles around it at the same time his first finger breached John’s tight entrance. The flesh tightened around him, seeming to massage even his calloused fingers as he stroked them in and out, mouth still busy. He even managed to do it while getting the minimum amount of lube in his hair.

John’s thighs seemed to squeeze and convulse around him as he squirmed under Rodney’s ministrations. “Just do it already,” he whined.

Rodney smiled to himself, pushing up to give a parting love-bite to John’s right buttock. The right one was his favorite, couldn’t really explain why.

Then he was coating his own cock in lube, watching in amazement as John spread his legs further. He could practically see the muscles uncoiling, minute twitches in his thighs as Rodney kneeled between his legs, cock bouncing impatiently, poised above John’s entrance.

“Rodney . . .” John growled, still squirming.

All right then! Rodney slapped John’s ass annoyedly. “Patience, grasshopper. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“The only thing that’s hurting me is you holding me in suspense like this.”

“Fine, fine.” As though fucking John was such a chore. Rodney took a deep breath, still unable to believe that he was actually doing this. But then he was sliding in, this long deep sinking into heaven, like hot showers and sunlight and every beautiful thing.

“Oh, god, John . . . so tight,” he gasped, forcing his hips to steady.

John shuttered beneath him, making this low needing sound, too quiet to really be a moan, as he pulled desperately at the sheets. “What the fuck are you waiting for, Rodney?” he whimpered.

Not pain then. Licensed to love . . . thank god, because Rodney didn’t think he could go another second without moving, pulling back and yanking John’s hips up to meet him as John made these oddly pitched moans beneath him, bracing himself on his elbows and lifting his hips off the pillow so he could push himself back into Rodney, gasping with each thrust.

Rodney, taking the hint, managed (somehow) to get a hand around John’s hips to grab hold of his cock, but then John’s hand was there, batting him away. “Harder,” John ordered, barely coherent.

Well, Rodney wasn’t going to argue with that. He angled John’s hips more and then thrust in deep in long but still-quick strokes, practically knocking John’s head into the wall.

“Fuck, Rodney,” John proclaimed into the mattress, still pushing back with one hand beneath him, Rodney assumed to jerk himself. “Fuck, come for me.”

And really, when had Rodney ever disobeyed orders? Well . . . he’d never disobeyed an order like that!

“John,” he moaned, finishing with one erratic thrust before they both collapsed into a heap. God, Rodney hadn’t just seen stars; he’d seen whole goddamned galaxies.

“That was amazing,” he noted to John’s hair, after slowly regaining consciousness, sensitive cock still trapped within John’s tight heat.

“Mmmmm,” John nodded, nearly missing hitting Rodney in the forehead.

Rodney pulled himself out reluctantly, grabbing some tissue from the nightstand and handing one to John before using the other to clean himself off.

That done, Rodney splayed an arm over John’s chest and pulled him back against him. It was only after a minute when John’s shoulders still hadn’t untensed that Rodney pushed himself up onto and elbow, dazedly pushing John flat on his back and demanding. “You didn’t come, did you?”

John’s beautiful hazel eyes looked away in another of John’s infamous deflections.

Rodney sighed. Even fucking hadn’t seemed to teach John the whole concept of mutuality in a relationship. “You idiot. You have to tell me these things or I’ll be too busy coming my brains out to notice.”

He grabbed John’s chin and forced his head back to where he could press a kiss to John’s lips. He was still tired from the best fucking orgasm ever, but he couldn’t possibly let John go unrewarded for all of this.

“No more martyr-complex allowed in the bedroom,” Rodney chastised, pulling back to press his lips to John’s already almost-deflated cock.

“No, really, it’s okay, Rodney. It um . . . I’m kind of sore. Don’t worry about it. I mean it was . . . my first time, you know?”

Except as far as Rodney knew, virgins didn’t demand to be fucked quite like that, needing it debauched and hard like John had.

“Oh my god . . . did I hurt you? Are you okay? Don’t do the stoic brave thing. We’re not being shot at, so it’s okay if you’re . . .”

John sighed, grabbing Rodney and yanking him up to press a firm kiss to his lips. “I’m fine, Rodney. Sore, but no worse than a workout with Teyla when she’s in a bad mood. That was great.”

“Really?” Rodney yawned. “Well . . . I mean, of course really. I am the big kahuna of amazing gay sex.”

John chuckled, wrapping and arm around Rodney and delivering a sloppy kiss to his forehead. “Really. But it sounds like it’s time for the good little sex god to go to sleep.”

“Mmm, knew you loved it,” Rodney mumbled, already drifting off.

Rodney was okay with the situation for a whole 8.32 hours, 7.65 of which he spent unconscious. It was not long after he woke up and found John’s casual note saying that he’d gone for his morning run with Ronon and would meet Rodney for lunch that he began to worry.

What kind of man turned down a blowjob? All right, so Rodney had just turned one down, but that was different. He turned down a blowjob and got to fuck John instead. But John had turned down a blowjob and accepted Rodney drooling on his shoulder in its place. That just wasn’t normal.

And, thinking back on everything they’d done since John had suddenly opened up to the physical side of their relationship, John hadn’t let Rodney take care of him . . . not even once. Sure he allowed some casual groping and heated grabbing, but never anything with intent to bring him off.

Was he really so deep in his hero-complex that he wouldn’t let Rodney sacrifice himself to touch him? As though it would even be a burden. Or was he being an arrogant asshole and assuming that Rodney wasn’t good enough to please him? No, that wasn’t it. John was both arrogant and an asshole sometimes, but he wouldn’t do so with such sure intent.

Or maybe John didn’t like to be touched. Maybe something was wrong with him . . . maybe he really was straight. But then again . . . blowjob. And he’d certainly made like he loved having Rodney’s cock buried inside him. Then . . . what?

He was passionate enough . . . responsive. But then, their relationship had started because John was comforting Rodney, a friend, a team member. Oh, god, what if he was just allowing this to make Rodney feel better? What if he didn’t really want it at all?

No matter how amazing the sex was, Rodney could never do that to someone he cared about, loved, as much as John.

He’d tell him so . . . he’d do it today.

As it turned out, Rodney didn’t get a chance to, because before he barely got the words ‘pity-fuck’ out of his mouth at lunch, John was hissing for him to ‘shut the fuck up, McKay. Do you want to get me court-martialed?’ And then, that night, when he showed up at John’s door, the man had the audacity to already be waiting for him naked, and really, how the hell was he supposed to even think about complicated things like talking when he had a naked colonel spread out on the bed like that, nothing but a book to obscure the view?

The next time they had sex was after PXM-993, desperate and dirty, before the shower had even washed away all of the mud. It had been one of those endless run-for-your-life, knee-deep in nature’s garbage-heap kind of missions that ended with a broken wrist for Teyla, another innocuous arrow-wound for Ronon, a near-brush with fear-induced tachycardia for Rodney, and a badly sprained ankle for John.

Luckily, John didn’t need to stand on that ankle if he wrapped it around Rodney’s waist.

But then, it turned out that not even the pounding heat of the shower and the crushing kisses that Rodney was giving him could keep John up for long enough to come.

“I can’t, Rodney. I’m just too tired . . . and I think those pills Beckett slipped me weren’t really Tylenol.”

Rodney felt guilty, having maintained the energy to come all over John’s belly not minutes before. “You sure?”

John nodded sleepily. Rodney was about to collapse himself, but he dutifully swung John’s arm over his shoulders and helped him limp back over to the bed, drying him delicately before laying him down and climbing in next to him.

“Love you,” John mumbled, pulling Rodney closer and almost-nuzzling (because guys didn’t exactly nuzzle) Rodney’s neck. “Never doubt it.”

He was asleep before Rodney could even respond.

The next day, John paid for not returning to the infirmary to have his ankle wrapped. It had swollen to look vaguely melon-like, deep bruising crawling up his leg. Beckett clucked at him disapprovingly and demanded that he stay off it, including all activities likely to jar it. He said this with a pointed look to Rodney. So they were busted.

“I can blow you if you want,” Rodney whined, already kneeling between John’s chair and the ammunitions crate he was using to prop the leg up on. “Or a handjob. You don’t even have to do anything. I can do it right here, like this.” Rodney punctuated his statement by rubbing John’s developing erection through his sweatpants.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to. I like making you feel good.”

John smiled warmly, if not exactly as lasciviously as Rodney hoped. “I know you do.”

“Great.” Rodney grinned, stroking his hands up John’s thighs to grab at the elastic waistband of his sweats.

John’s hands intercepted his, however. This was becoming disgustingly familiar. “I’d rather wait until I can reciprocate, if that’s okay with you. Plus, I have a lot of work to do. I’m backed-up with the evals and Elizabeth expects me to get more done when I’m grounded.”

Rodney tugged harder at the waistband, rubbing his face into John’s crotch, inhaling the scent of him even through his pants. “Even Elizabeth the Joyless won’t begrudge you fifteen minutes for a spectacular, life-altering blowjob. Seriously, once you’ve had Rodney you never go back. And I like doing it, so just sit back and . . .”

John sighed. “No, Rodney. I’m just not in the mood. My ankle hurts and I think that maybe this anti-inflammatory stuff is giving me a headache.” John massaged his temples for what Rodney was sure was dramatic effect. God, you’d think Rodney wanted John to walk through a pit of vipers or something, not accept a blowjob.

“Fine,” he snapped, storming out, determined to write some sort of program that would make these stupid doors slam shut if asked to.

Rodney stayed pissed at John for nearly a week, though the man wasn’t really doing his own part of keeping relations above the cold war level.

But there was only so long even someone as stubborn as Rodney could stay in an argument about someone not letting you blow them.

So eventually he came crawling back. Though tearing into the training room and screaming himself hoarse at John and Ronon for stupidly trying to train in their still-recovering states wouldn’t exactly qualify as crawling, per say.

John’s reaction was a broad, relieved grin. Ronon just grunted and said, “You need to learn to relax, McKay,” which was actually articulate as far as the mutterings of the ape-man went.

“It’s fine, Rodney,” John said, re-strapping his ankle brace before heading out of there. “Beckett okayed light workouts.”

Rodney frowned petulantly, but let John lead him back to his quarters. The second the door had closed behind them, John let the stoic-warrior mask drop a little, limping over to the bed and letting the tiredness show in his eyes. “Have you gotten over yourself yet?”

Rodney snorted. Yeah, like that was ever going to happen. “No. But I am sorry. It’s just that . . . I want to pleasure you. Is that so much to ask?”

John sighed. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry, but I guess I just like different things . . .”

Aha, kinky bastard. Well, if John wanted kinky, Rodney certainly had no problem with kinky.

“Whatever you want then. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

John grinned at that, pulling Rodney in for an all-too-brief kiss, a twinkle in his eye.

“I wanna see you.”

“Well, I’m standing right here.”

“No, I wanna see you jerk yourself off.”

John’s eyes were darkening with lust already, roaming over Rodney’s body in a way that really put every single ‘but I’m straight’ to ever come out of John’s mouth completely to rest.

“I . . . I can do that,” Rodney gulped, yanking his shirt up over his head, only to realize too late that he had to unzip the zipper first.

John was laughing as he battled with the cursed t-shirt. “Stupid piece of synthetic . . . not only do they absorb body odor like fucking sponges, but they don’t come with appropriately sized neck holes . . . I swear . . .”

“Perhaps they just didn’t take the size of your head into account,” John added, unhelpfully.

Rodney, after finally having triumphed over that rebellious straightjacket of a shirt, tried for his most seductive grin as he slowly unbuttoned his pants.

John was panting now, his own pants unzipped as he stroked himself through the soft fabric of his boxers. “Oh, yeah, like that, Rodney.”

Rodney stepped out of his pants, only almost falling over once, making sure to turn his ass to John when he bent over to grab them and toss them out of his way.

John moaned.

If Rodney hadn’t already been painfully hard just from thinking about what he was doing, that moan would’ve put him there. He straightened, shimmying his boxers down over his hips, stroking his cock slowly with the other hand.

John was watching him greedily, nodding and making encouraging little sounds as he lay back on the bed, ankle propped up on one of Rodney’s pillows, which should seem unhygienic, except for the way it left John’s legs spread wantonly apart.

Rodney reached out for him. God, John would never stop being sexy. And it wasn’t just his body (though Rodney certainly wasn’t complaining about the narrow hips and the innocent curve of his face or the sparkle in those hazel eyes). No, it was his almost spooked passion, the inviting smile, the half-hidden depth in every single look.

“Un, uh,” John chastised, when Rodney reached for him. “Bad boys don’t get to touch.”

Rodney whimpered at that, taking in that intense look in John’s eyes and stroking himself faster, spreading the already forming drops of pre-cum over the tip, then licking his fingers, staring straight at John.

“Jesus, Rodney,” John moaned. “How’d you get to be so fucking sexy?”

Rodney smirked at that. “The raw magnetism of my genius.”

“Sure,” John said, his panted breathes belying the sarcasm of the statement.

As pathetic as it was, Rodney was painfully close to coming. But then, how could he resist with John Sheppard looking at him with that same intensity he used to fly the puddle jumpers, to fight the enemy to the very last breath, to make whole cities come alive by touch?

“Please,” Rodney pleased. “Let me touch you.”

John shook his head with a smirk that Rodney could almost . . . almost convince himself was regretful. Controlling bastard.

“Fine, then touch me.” Then something occurred to him. Rodney hadn’t cared for his two experiences on the bottom, but with John . . . surely it would be different. “I want you to fuck me.”

John looked bewildered for a second, but only for a second, before he shot forward, injured ankle forgotten, and claimed Rodney’s lips with a bruising kiss.

When they finally came up for air, John’s hands still braced on Rodney’s cheeks, John panted, “I’d rather see you come.”

And Rodney did. Oh, god, he did.

The next night, John let Rodney fuck him again, but still didn’t come. Rodney was starting to worry, as he realized that after months of dating, he still hadn’t really seen John’s face twisted and vulnerable in the midst of orgasm, and this was very possibly a crime against all things good and right in the universe.

It took John pinkie-swearing that this wasn’t a pity fuck for Rodney to believe him, but believe him he did. So then what was it?

Whatever it was, it definitely had something to do with John’s weird kinky streak. He liked controlling when Rodney got to come. He liked to tell Rodney when, domineering little taskmaster that he was.

“Well,” Rodney thought, turning the Ancient handcuffs over in his hands, caressing the brushed silver. “We’ll see what happens when the tables are turned.”

“As second in command of this base, I have to inform you that any attack upon the city’s ranking military officer could be seen as treason and result in brig time,” Lorne muttered, managing to not even crack the smile that was shining in his eyes.

Rodney hated Lorne. He hated him even more than Cadman, who was at least well-intentioned if not batshit crazy. But Lorne . . . that twisted little bastard had had it in for Rodney ever since their little trip to Planet Melanoma.

Lorne had apparently taken all the same laconic flyboy classes as Sheppard, only he managed to carry it off with absolutely none of the affection or intelligence that made it fun in Sheppard. Sheppard made his witty little snide remarks to wind Rodney up, Lorne did them to spitefully shut him up.

Plus, the fact that he was with Lorne always meant that something had happened so that he couldn’t be with Sheppard or Teyla or Ronon, which always put him in a worse mood to start out with.

“Yes, yes, and then who will keep that sewage treatment problem inexplicably close to your living quarters under control, hm?” Rodney snapped, savagely.

Lorne just shrugged, unaffected, P-90 resting lazily against his chest. “I bet Zelenka could handle it.”

“Oh yeah, like that little fuzzy Czech stalker has the balls to . . .”

And that was when the centuries old ceiling they were standing beneath decided to come down on them.

Rodney’s last conscious thought was that John was going to be so pissed.

When Rodney came to it was not to John’s concerned face and gentle hands, but to one Major Pain in the Ass, slapping his cheek and saying. “Dr. McKay, Dr. McKay, wake up!”

“You moron!” Rodney screeched. “Here I am with a possible . . .” he hadn’t really be conscious long enough to catalogue his injuries yet so he had to settle for, “with a possibly irreparably broken body and you’re hitting me!”

Lorne had a long scratch across his cheek, which was still bleeding rather profusely, but otherwise appeared fine . . . as long as those gathering drops of blood didn’t decide to drip down onto Rodney. He shuddered. Who the hell knew where a stoic little all-American like Lorne had been? It was always the quiet ones.

“Calm down, Doctor. I’ve radioed for back up. Everything’s fine. Now please tell me if you can wiggle your toes.”

Rodney made to sit up to see if his toes were indeed wiggling when he gasped, grasping at his left shoulder and moaning in pain.

“What is it? Does it hurt?” Lorne asked.

Rodney wanted to slap him. He would’ve if he didn’t know how much that would hurt. “What do you think, Major? I just gasp and moan and clasp body parts because of how good it feels? Maybe I do it for charity . . . no, no, as a religious ritual.”

Lorne rolled his eyes. Rodney hated him.

So, as it turned out, Rodney had found the Ancient handcuffs just in time to not be able to use them, as broken collarbones not only hurt as bad as a Pauly Shore movie on a cloudy day, but restricted pretty much all upper-body movement. Not that he needed much of that for John to give him his now trademark, very enthusiastic blowjobs.

Rodney would have been busy pondering why John got free reign of Rodney’s body below the waist when he was injured, but it was hands-off when John sprained his ankle. He would have protested just on the blatant ridiculousness of it, except for . . . hey, blowjobs.

That and John was spectacularly good at holding long involved conversations without ever actually saying anything. It was a habit Rodney really should have paid more attention to before. He’d just never thought that he couldn’t get around it if he had to.

But it took a whole long agonizing month, spread between unbearable pain, inarticulateness due to over-reliance on hand gestures to demonstrate the idiocy of the rest of the universe, and almost-compensatory sex in which John really should have somehow damaged his knees, before Rodney could get his arm out of the damn brace and get both his hands rubbing the stubble of John’s cheeks, kissing and rubbing and doing everything he’d wanted to do when he was injured and John stubbornly wouldn’t let him.

And he’d thought of those handcuffs he’d hidden under the bed were going to burn a hole in the fucking floor for all the times he’d thought about them, working himself up only to realize how much it hurt even to use the other arm to work himself. If it weren’t for John he probably would’ve died of sexual frustration . . . or carpal tunnel, trying to get his arm angled so he wouldn’t jar his body.

But it didn’t matter anymore, because he had John pinned to the bed beneath him, thrusting his body up against Rodney’s and sucking on Rodney’s lower lip, as Rodney tried to escape to trail kisses along John’s jaw, down his neck, right down to that spot right below his Adam’s apple that always had John moaning and thrusting haphazardly against him.

But, even as one hand was braced against John’s chest, swirling around a sensitive nipple, the other was reaching beneath the low bedframe to grab the handcuffs. Rodney thought he was going to tumble out of bed for one precarious moment when he overbalanced, but he ended up with the strange metal conveniently welded to his palms, silky and smooth like he imagined the T-1000 would’ve felt like in Terminator.

All he had to do was clasp his hands around John’s wrists and the metal solidified, a thin chain snaking up over the bars of the headboard, linking them together.

John, control freak that he was, panicked, lashing out and forcing Rodney to go limp against him, pinning him.

“Rodney, what the FUCK?!” he cursed, still struggling.

“Calm down, John. I just thought it would be . . . um . . . fun to add a little variety, that’s all.”

“Rodney, tying me to the bed with . . . wait, are these Ancient handcuffs?” John finally stopped thrashing to lean up and try to get a look at his wrists. “Cool.”

Rodney smirked. “Aren’t they? We haven’t been able to fully identify the properties of the alloy yet, but Radek thinks that . . .” Rodney trailed off when he caught the cold stare John was leveling at him. “What?”

“Don’t think the fact that you used cool new technology to tie me up mitigates the fact that you tied me up against my will.”

Rodney huffed a sigh. “Live a little, Colonel. I know you’re not the vanilla type. Time to try the other side of the coin though . . . let me tell you when to come for a change.”

John looked even more horrified at that, resuming his struggles. “Let me go, Rodney. I don’t want to do this.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Just give it a try, John. If you really want me to stop, say . . . ‘Iratus bug.’”

“Iratus bug!”

Rodney rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss one of John’s still-erect nipples. “That’s not giving it a try.” He punctuated his statement with a sharp bite, pleased by the way it caused John to arch up off the bed.

John panted. “Rodney, look, I’m really not comfortable with this . . . oh god.” Yeah, that would show him. Rodney grinned, looking up at John banging his head back against the headboard as Rodney licked a slow line along the seam of John’s pants, nipping at his belly button.

“Just let me do this for you, John. You don’t have to be in control all the time. I mean . . . a relationship,” Rodney barely managed to keep from shuddering at the word, “should be between equals. And if we can’t find some way to make this less like you performing like some sort of Jesus-Christ-on-a-Martyr-Stick-cum-Rent-Boy, I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

Rodney couldn’t believe he’d actually just said that. Would he really break up with John Sheppard, intergalactic love-muffin, over the problem of too many blowjobs?

But then again, he actually happened to love Mr. Pegasus Penthouse, so he couldn’t just let him go on with his ridiculous kamikaze behavior. If he’d have to withhold for a little while in order to get John to come to his senses, it’d be worth the effort.

John gulped, looking down at Rodney, eyes shining with something that Rodney couldn’t quite place. “Okay, I’ll give it a try, but if I want you to stop, you have to promise to stop.”

Rodney pushed himself up, leaning down for a sweet, almost chaste kiss. “Of course I’ll stop. Who the hell do you think I am, Colonel?” Rodney demanded.

“Superman?”

Rodney grinned at that, hands already pulling down John’s pants. “After what I’m going to do to you, you’d better believe it.”

John nodded and that was all the permission Rodney needed, finally . . . finally getting his lips around John’s cock.

John’s cock, like John, was very pretty. It was long, kind of slender, distinctive somehow, the way the veins crawled up it, the way it leaned sort of saucily to one side like how John liked to lean on . . . well, pretty much any seducible surface.

Rodney got his lips around the head, swirling his tongue around the sensitive tip as he did a few experimental bobs up and down, encouraged by the “Holy fuck, Rodney!” he got for his efforts.

But, then again, the whole point of this tied up thing was not to do exactly what John wanted. So he let the cock slip out of his mouth, with a whimper from both of them, focusing instead on nibbling down John’s thighs, then back up again to his balls, beginning to swell, an almost angry red beneath the dark curls of hair. Rodney wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more expressive cock, nodding side to side in almost a ‘come hither’ sort of way, no drips of precum, just a velvety expanse of reddened skin, silky but not entirely unblemished. There was a small patch of slightly off-colored skin near the base. Rodney laved it with his tongue, causing John to moan and jerk, thrusting up into nothing.

Rodney smiled, feeling generous. He grabbed the tip with one hand, massaging John’s balls with the other, as he sucked a smooth spiral up the throbbing shaft, only taking John into his mouth with the last desperate moan.

God, Rodney was so hard he could probably hit a fucking home run with his erection.

John was babbling something, but Rodney was too lost in the moment to hear, lost in the spasming of John’s hips beneath his fingertips, in the feel of warm skin in his mouth, beneath his cheeks, and finally . . .

But then something hard nudged his still-healing shoulder and Rodney recoiled in pain. Lucky for John he hadn’t bitten down.

“What the hell, John! Don’t surprise someone whose got teeth near your . . .”

“Iratus bug,” John gasped, pulling his feet up to curl into a fetal ball, tears of pain, not pleasure streaming down his cheeks.

“Oh, god,” Rodney said, releasing the handcuffs, which only allowed John to curl further into a ball. “John, what’s happening? Are you okay? John! What is it? Should I call Beckett? I, god, I should call Carson. Um . . . headset . . . headset . . . what happened to the . . .”

“Don’t,” John ground out, somehow managing to grab Rodney’s hand, even with his eyes squinted shut like that. “Don’t,” he panted, breaths coming deeper and easier now, even though he clenched Rodney’s hand in a vice-grip.

To say Rodney was panicked would be more of an understatement than saying that the Wraith didn’t exactly have humankind’s best interests a heart. But he patiently rubbed John’s back, soothed him until the pain passed, leaving them both spent and panting, erections waning.

John pulled Rodney to him, resting his head on Rodney’s shoulder and throwing an arm around Rodney’s waist. “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

“What the hell was that?” Rodney hadn’t seen John in that much pain since the never-to-be-mentioned-bug-incident. About a thousand different scenarios were running through his mind, staring, of course, with reawakened Iratus-related problems, and spanning over to crazy alien mental trauma induced by mental component of untrustworthy Ancient restraining devices.

John hugged Rodney tighter to him. “I guess it’s time I came clean,” he sighed.

“Clean of what? Oh my god, are you like and addict? Is this like some sort of ecstasy or heroin or . . .”

John chuckled. “It’s not a drug, Rodney. It’s just that . . . I . . . um . . . can’t come.”

Well, that was the last thing Rodney had expected from Mr. Hormones on Legs. “You’re not serious. Surely the alien bimbos have to take exception to . . .”

“Have I ever spent more than a night with any of them, Rodney?”

Rodney sighed. No, but that wasn’t exactly something to be proud of.

“I mean, I get no complaints from them. A woman likes a guy who can last a long time, and then if I don’t . . . well, I can always say I had a long day,” John shrugged, as though lack of orgasms were just like a mole on his elbow or something else completely innocuous. “But guys . . . I mean, I’ve never really done much with guys before you, but it always seemed like it was just about us both getting off, you know?”

“But . . . um . . . have you never . . .”

John laughed a little, a small strained laugh. “Yes, but it was a long time ago. First tour of duty in Iraq, I was flying medEvac. Someone got a lucky shot in when we were on the ground. We were captured – tortured. I didn’t know anything, but apparently the guys we were lifting out of there did . . . . They . . . um . . . well, there are certain places on the body that are especially sensitive to electric shock . . . sensitive to everything, really.”

Rodney met John’s eyes, held them steady even when his insides were churning with disgust – that mankind could be so ruthlessly unenlightened. “There was damage?”

“Some, yes. I can, um . . . get it up, as you’ve noticed, but it hurts too much to come.” He shrugged. “After a while you stop trying.”

“But you still . . . um . . . you still want to have sex? I mean, I get the best orgasms of my life,” John grinned satisfiedly at that, “and you get to curl up into a ball and beg for me to stop.”

John chuckled a little. “Having an orgasm and coming aren’t the same things, Rodney.”

Rodney really wanted to argue that point, because seriously, if that just-dropped-off-the-cliff feeling of shooting your load wasn’t an orgasm, he didn’t know what was. “But . . .”

“Women don’t ejaculate and they still have orgasms,” John pointed out, going for full emasculation while he was at it.

“But they’re different. Maybe you should talk to Carson. Perhaps with some of the Asgard or Goa’uld or even Ancient tech, we could . . .”

John sighed. “I’ll talk to Beckett, but I wouldn’t get your hopes up. And if it turns out there’s nothing he can do, I’d understand if you . . . I mean, we could still be friends, you know?”

Rodney had to punch John in the arm for that one. “Are you kidding? You idiot. I like being with you. I . . . I love you, and if you can’t make a big old mess by creaming all over one or both of us, that’s fine. I would’ve been happy just sleeping in a bed with you. Everything else is just icing on the cake.”

“Really?” John asked breathlessly, eyes twinkling.

“Absolutely,” Rodney replied with a smirk, rolling on top of John and smothering him down into the pillows with a passionate kiss.

Honestly, with John in his bed, Rodney could get them sticky enough for the both of them.

FIN