sga_flashfic | Just Don't by crimsonclad (Post Secret)

Title: Just Don't.
Author: crimsonclad
Word Count: 863
Notes: I didn't have this in mind when I made the card, I swear.

Postcard found here.

“Uh, sir, I can explain—” John stammered, but Caldwell was staring at the ceiling, his cheeks turning red.

“Nothing to explain, Colonel, no need! It’s a very good idea for you to teach McKay some...wrestling moves, hand to hand combat, etc. Very dangerous offworld!”

“Naked wrestling?” Rodney asked skeptically, before John had a chance to muffle him with a sweaty hand.

“Tropical environments! And, customs, and, well, knives? Some natives have rules about clothing, I understand?” His voice was getting higher and higher. “Good thinking, Sheppard. Carry on.” He slammed out of the room as quickly as possible.

“Wow,” John managed, releasing Rodney’s mouth from his grip. “Um, I guess I’m not fired?”

Rodney shoved up against him, making John’s vision go fuzzy. “Stop slacking off, then, and finish our lesson.”

**

Rodney was still in a lot of pain, but he clung to John’s hand with all the strength he could muster. John leaned in, brushing their mouths together as tenderly as he thought Rodney would allow, and Rodney sighed beneath him.

“I hope Dr. McKay is feeling—oooohkay,” Colonel Caldwell cut himself off, and turned to peer at the exam room curtain. “Rough mission. I understood they were fishermen?”

John frowned. “Um, yes? They fed us fish before they tried to kill us with rocks, but I don’t—”

“Good, right!” Caldwell said loudly, drowning John out. “Waterfront incident. McKay, I’m surprised no one ever taught you mouth-to-mouth before! Good thinking, Sheppard.”

Rodney blinked. “Well, actually, I—”

“—survival technique—” John managed.

“—important skill!” Caldwell nodded, before turning around and stalking out.

Rodney looked up at John, bleary with painkillers. “I was a lifeguard one summer. I know how to—”

John pressed a kiss to his temple. “I know.”

**

The mess was always abandoned in the wee hours of the morning, which was why Rodney barely complained when John shoved Rodney down in a chair and started yanking at Rodney’s fly. The floor was kind of gross to be kneeling on, since it didn’t get really cleaned until the morning, but with Rodney panting and pleasing above him, John couldn’t find the energy to complain.

He was finally working his hand into Rodney’s boxers when the door slammed open, and Caldwell and Elizabeth stumbled in together. Her shirt was half off, his uniform was unzipped to the waist, and John could pretty much go the rest of his life without hearing Elizabeth say “harder, no, bite me harder—”

Caldwell opened his eyes to grin down at her, and froze when he saw Rodney splayed in a chair with John at his feet. “Fuck,” Caldwell snapped.

“I’m trying, you’re the one who stopped—ohh, John, Rodney. Um.”

There was a moment of excruciating silence, during which John tried to figure out if removing his hands from Rodney’s underwear would be a sign of respect, or just draw more attention to himself.

“Epinephrine!” Rodney finally blurted, triumphant.

Caldwell sighed. “McKay, the adrenaline excuse only worked last time because you had, in fact, just saved Atlantis from the Wraith. Today, you converted an Ancient device into a milk frother. I know you like coffee, but—“

“No no no. Epinephrine—for my allergies! I almost ate a lemon custard yesterday, so I was showing Colonel Sheppard how to inject the shot if it ever happens offworld.”

Caldwell squinted.

“You inject it in the thigh!” Rodney explained, desperate, and Caldwell beamed.

“That’s—a really, really good idea Dr. McKay. Always pays to be prepared.”

Rodney grinned, but the expression faded as Caldwell and Elizabeth had an extensive but silent conversation with some very loaded glances. They were both looking extremely gloomy, and John felt like there was certainly a debt to be paid.

“I assume you came to use the emergency shower?” he asked.

Caldwell and Elizabeth both stared at him, their expressions bright with hope. John soldiered on.

“Because—after the berries that turned out to burn flesh if they’re cooked wrong, the mess staff had an emergency shower installed...for emergencies. And...you spilled something?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth, closed it, and then nodded furiously. “Yes! Spilled something on my shirt, which is of course the reason Colonel Caldwell was helping me take it off!”

Caldwell looked down at his own state of dishabille. “It was spilled on me as well, obviously.”

“Right!” Rodney stood up and clapped his hands resolutely. “Some chemical— I can’t think of the name right now— without any corrosive properties which is why the delay in getting to the emergency showers is not going to result in permanent damage, or, indeed, any damage at all! Excellent, you two should really wash that off, and I am going to find Colonel Sheppard some reading material about allergic reactions! Right?” Rodney turned to John, suddenly unsure, and John nodded firmly.

“Right. Allergies. Very dangerous.”

“Like chemicals,” Elizabeth pointed out. “Colonel?”

They both headed for the kitchen, Caldwell offering a grateful wave before they disappeared through the swinging doors.

“Ready for your...injection?” John smirked, and Rodney elbowed him in the gut.

“You’re so lame I can hardly stand it,” Rodney complained, leaning in for a kiss.