sga_flashfic | No Good Very Bad Aliens Made Them Do It by whetherwoman (bad sex challenge)

whetherwoman.livejournal.com posting in

Title: The Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Aliens (And Ancient Devices And That Damn Athosian Hooch) Made Them Do It
Pairing: McShep
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Stumbling, drooling, clear green eyes and. Um. Tentacles.
Word count: Just over 5300.
Disclaimer: The Stargate universe and characters do not belong to me. The title does not belong to me, as it is a parody of a fabulous children's book. Even the cliches don't belong to me. It's basically just the dialogue. And the sex.

Thank you

inthewall for cheerleading and beta. Feedback and criticism is very much appreciated, as I'm still trying to find my footing in the fanfic writing scene. Minor spoilers for Duet and season 2 casting, if there's someone out there who doesn't know Ronon exists.

"So, you and Sheppard," Ronon says.

"What?" Rodney says.

"Slower," Ronon says. "Keep your center of balance." He moves his fist towards Rodney's face again and Rodney twists to let it go by, frowning in concentration.

"No one is ever actually going to throw a punch that slow at me, you know." Rodney twists aside again.

"We've talked about this, McKay." Ronon sounds amused.

"Yes, yes, balance, keep my eyes open, I'll be all prepared for Near Death Experience #76 tomo—ow! What was that? Don't go so fast."

Ronon snorts and throws another punch. "You could move faster if you didn't talk so much."

The gym is silent as Ronon starts bouncing on his toes, moving just a touch faster and alternating sides. Rodney watches him warily, twisting aside. Sunlight filters through the tall windows, glinting off their skin as Ronon punches and Rodney twists. Rodney's breathing loudly, but not panting.

"What do you mean, me and Sheppard?"

"Are you fucking?"

"What? Ow!" Rodney twists just barely in time.

"You've got to be able to move even if you're distracted."

"Yes, I know, but—" Rodney twists away just in time again.

"So are you?"

"No. No we are not."

"Huh."

"Huh? What does huh mean?"

"Breathe, McKay." Ronon punches, Rodney twists. "It was just a question."

"Well, the answer is no."

"Okay."

"You haven't asked anyone else about this, have you? Because the military—"

"Teyla explained it to me, McKay. I wouldn't hurt Sheppard."

"Good, because he's having enough trouble with the damn Marines, and if it's not the Marines it's Caldwell and if it's not Caldwell it's some other... What made you think we were—you know. Why did you say that?"

Ronon steps back into another pool of dappled light. "Stretch." He demonstrates, and Rodney mimics his movements. "No reason."

"You must have had some reason. Ow. Why does this hurt more than the punching thing? Are you trying to turn me into a pretzel?"

"It only hurts because you haven't been doing it every day." Ronon moves around behind Rodney and pulls his shoulders back and down. "You seem like you'd be good together."

Rodney snorts. "Oh, no. No, we very definitely wouldn't."

Ronon walks to the corner and picks up a towel. "We're done." He tosses Rodney another. "I thought it was just your military that says being gay is wrong."

"They said 'gay' on your world? That's kind of strange, I mean, one can sort of understand how English could be descended from Ancient and perpetuated through the trading network, but I wouldn't think slang—no, no, I don't think it's wrong, no no no. That's not what I meant at all. It's just, you know, it wasn't very good."

Ronon cracks his back, towel slung around his neck, and smirks at Rodney. "It wasn't."

"Oh god, look, it wasn't—" Rodney sighs and mops his face with the towel. "It wasn't like we wanted to or anything."

Ronon smirks even more and cracks his back twice.

"Would you stop that disgusting noise? And stop looking at me like—It was last year, on M3K-452. These villagers wanted us to, you know, show our friendship by participating in this fertility ritual. It was just because Ford wasn't too happy about it, and it obviously wasn't going to be Teyla without, you know, condoms, although I wouldn't be surprised if Sheppard's started carrying—anyway, it was Sheppard and me."

"And it wasn't good."

"What is this, a sleepover? Are we fourteen years old? No, it wasn't good. I don't know about cavemen like you but non-consensual sex isn't on my list of kinks. Plus Colonel Sheppard has problems inserting the ZPM in the socket, so to speak, and—what?"

"Inserting the ZPM in the socket?"

"Oh, god, you know what I mean. The—the penis in the rectum, and that wasn't the only—there was my allergic reaction to the alien lubricant, not to mention my aim was a little off and Colonel Sheppard is bizarrely protective of his hair, and—well. Bottom line, we won't be doing that again."

"Huh."

"What? What?"

"Nothing, McKay." Ronon slides the gym door open, but Rodney holds him back by one arm.

"Look, you won't tell anyone this, right? With the military, and it was a whole year ago, and—you won't, right?"

"Cross my heart."

"The slang again! Where do you pick this stuff up? What is that?"

"I've been hanging out with Lieutenant Cadman." Ronon is only grinning with his eyes as they walk into the hall.

"Oh god, I should have known. Cadman. Of course Cadman. That woman, I swear—Do you know what she did to me? I woke up naked, she could have done anything. She's a menace, really..."

*

"So she—then she says, I don't have a cat!" Sheppard guffaws, spilling some of his Athosian hooch on Rodney's jacket. They're sprawled against the wall on a balcony somewhere. Rodney would be able to remember where, but their second bottle is mostly empty and a third looks likely to follow. It's their own little debriefing for Near Death Experience #108, a tradition Rodney likes better and better the higher the number goes.

"Oh god, that's not funny," Rodney says, snickering.

"No, see, she liked me," Sheppard insists. "Girls do that. They like me." He pokes Rodney in the chest with his mug, spilling more alcohol on Rodney's jacket.

"Asshole, I'm going to smell like alcohol tomorrow," Rodney grumbles, trying to swipe at his jacket with his own mug, only spilling more. He glares at his mug, swigs it, and pours it full with the last of the bottle.

"You like me," Sheppard grins.

"Nope!" Rodney says cheerfully. He can see how Sheppard might get that impression, what with the leaning against each other on a deserted balcony and the moonlight and waves and whatnot. But Sheppard's forgetting something: "You're an asshole."

"You like assholes." Sheppard keeps grinning. It looks slightly deranged.

"That was a one time—and we weren't going to talk about—and you're a bastard anyway. A son of a rat whore. Hairy," Rodney says, satisfied.

"But you like me."

"Don't like you."

"You like me."

"No, I—" Rodney's cut off by Sheppard's lips on his, and if anything this proves his point, because Sheppard is sloppy drunk and tastes like shit. Rodney opens his mouth to tell him so, but then Sheppard's thick tongue is filling his mouth and Sheppard is on top of him and squishing out all his breath.

But what the hell, Rodney can improvise, so he thrusts up against Sheppard's hip, and yeah, that might work. He tries to wrap his arms around Sheppard, maybe grab his ass, and then his watch gets caught in Sheppard's hair and Sheppard makes a noise that's probably not good and his knee goes somewhere it really, really shouldn't.

Rodney's breath huffs out, and with Sheppard's mouth still plastered to his it makes a really unattractive farting noise. Rodney turns his face aside, but Sheppard's still going at it, humping away until the chaffing starts to get a little uncomfortable. Rodney gets in a few good thrusts before he feels warm wetness spreading through Sheppard's pants onto his and Sheppard sighs, apparently falls asleep, and starts drooling all over Rodney's neck.

Rodney's last thought as he passes out is that they are never, ever doing this again.

*

Rodney wakes up the next morning with a headache from hell, a probably thrown-out back, a friction rash on his left thigh, and a cold cup of coffee beside him with a note reading, "Sorry. Repress and deny."

It's good advice.

*

Rodney lurches through the gate out of Near Death Experience #149 and into Sheppard's back, Teyla reaching over to hold them both up as they stumble. "Great," Rodney complains, wiping his face where it hit Sheppard's shoulder, "more mud in my eyes."

"Didn't go so well, I take it?" Elizabeth comes down the steps and looks them over with a practiced eye, judging possible injury versus amusement value.

"We are fine, Elizabeth," Teyla reassures her. "But I would prefer to arrange a debriefing after a hot shower."

"Sounds reasonable." Elizabeth's eyes linger on the sticks in Ronon's hair and Sheppard's pant leg, ripped almost off at the knee. "No injuries? Broken bones? Bruised egos?"

"Just the last one, thanks." Sheppard carefully wipes off another glob of mud sliding down his forehead. "Shower, slap on a bandaid or two, we'll be good to go."

"Debriefing in two hours then." Elizabeth gives in and grins at all of them. "I look forward to hearing the latest exciting adventure."

Rodney hurries after Sheppard as they leave the gateroom. "That new shower room the Marines discovered is right next to a transporter—"

"—instead of two corridors away like the living quarters. Good thought," Sheppard says, and punches the dot in the transporter.

There's no one else in the corridor or the shower room, and they're under the spray with a minimum of mud-tracking. Rodney closes his eyes and turns his face up into the hot water.

"Oh god this is good. If the mud had at least been warm it might have been almost pleasant—well, besides the spears and rocks and arrows, but you know, a day spa with spears and rocks and arrows." He feels something nudge his leg and steps away. "Sorry. You know, this shower is big enough for ten people, you don't have to stay right next to—ow, stop poking me."

"Poking you? I'm not—ow!" Sheppard says. He sounds surprised and Rodney opens his eyes.

"Uh. No, I guess you're not," Rodney says faintly, staring. "Is that a tentacle coming out of the wall?"

"A what?" Sheppard turns around and trips, almost falling on Rodney. "Shit. I'm going to say it is a tentacle, because another one's got my ankle."

"Oh no," Rodney says, and starts hopping from one foot to the other, trying not to let the tentacles get his feet and holding on to Sheppard's shoulders for balance. One vicious tentacle prods him in the back, shoving him into Sheppard, and then they're both flailing at each other and trying to stay upright and... "Oh, shit," Rodney says for good measure.

The next minute is a blur of stumbling and metal tentacles and there's still mud in his eyes and this is really not what he needs because he's already had one near death experience today although if there's anything he's learned in Atlantis it's that his preconceived notions of limitations are only preconceived notions and this just cannot be good.

"Think it off!" Rodney yells.

"I am, Rodney!" Sheppard yells back. Now they're pressed together, chest to chest, with a tentacle holding them together around their waists and more binding their wrists. Rodney can't move and anything he tries only makes him rub up against Sheppard, which is not something he's going to think about.

They both breathe harshly for a second, heads hanging over each other's shoulders and not. Moving. "I... don't think it's going to hurt us," Sheppard says cautiously.

"Oh really," Rodney says, definitely not hysterically. "There are Ancient metal tentacles holding my wrists behind your back, neither of us can move, and judging by our track record if it's not going to brutally tear us apart what could it possibly..."

Rodney stops. And gulps.

"Yeah," Sheppard says, sounding just a little miserable. "I really don't think its purpose is to hurt us. And. You know. Track record."

"Oh god," Rodney says, and lets his head thump onto Sheppard's shoulder. "This is so not what I needed today." Sex is the last thing on his mind, or at least a distant fourth behind a nap, a sandwich and some antiseptic. "Are you sure you can't turn it off?"

"I'm sure," Sheppard says. His voice cracks in the middle, and Rodney doesn't need to ask why or look because the slick tip of one tentacle is starting to work its way into his own ass.

"Well, try harder, Colonel, because I really don't need to be raped by a tentacle monster today and can't it tell I really, really truly don't want this?" He nudges his soft cock against Sheppard's equally limp one for emphasis.

"I am trying harder, Rodney, I don't want this any more than you do, it's just... it's not... oh fuck," Sheppard says as a tentacle tries to snake between their bodies and they shove their hips together in what is only a delaying tactic to keep it out out out.

"Oh god," Rodney says, horrified, "it's really not going to stop until we—I don't even know if I can—This is bad. "

"Wait—I think I can... I have an idea."

"What? What?" Rodney says as his arms are lifted and his legs are bent and suddenly he is back to back with Sheppard which is good because no more tentacle in his ass but bad because he doesn't want tentacles on his cock either! There is no good place for tentacles here! "I hate your ideas!"

"Look, would you rather have a nice tentacle job or be ass-raped, Rodney?"

"Well, when you put it that way—please tell me it doesn't have suckers."

"It doesn't have suckers."

"You are a dirty rotten liar."

The tentacle is wrapped completely around Rodney's cock now, base to tip, with another around his balls and he can feel the damn suckers practically rippling. And okay, he can work with this, just another showertime circle jerk with the military commander of Atlantis and the Ancients' version of a shower attachment. He closes his eyes and leans back against Sheppard and breathes, and when Sheppard's hand fumbles for his he clutches it tightly, one anchor of warmth in an alien world.

The tentacles know what they're doing, at least, and after a few minutes Rodney finally manages to focus enough to coax out an orgasm that makes it onto the All Time Top Five Worst list, no question. But it seems to appease the tentacles, because as he hears Sheppard huff out a breath behind him they slip back into the walls with a quiet hiss.

They lean against each other for a moment more. Then Rodney untangles his fingers from Sheppard's and steps back into the water. They rinse and dry off in silence, and don't speak until they're looking down at piles of mud that vaguely resemble clothes.

"You know," Sheppard says, "I have to stop assuming today can't get any worse. I think I'm jinxing myself." He picks up his shirt and tries to brush off the worst of the caked dirt.

Rodney stares at his pile. "I suppose there are degrees of horror and all that, but I'm honestly not sure whether being molested by tentacles is worse than putting on muddy clothes after a shower."

"It's mostly dry now. Look, comes right off." Sheppard's shirt actually does look more like a shirt than one of the big clay pots on Elizabeth's desk now. "And I, uh, at least," he says, his voice muffled as he pulls the shirt on over his head, "well, at least it was, you know. I wasn't. If we had to. I would rather."

"What?" Rodney says absently, picking up his own pants with a grimace.

"I just... I can think of worse people to be molested by tentacles with, McKay."

It takes Rodney a second to parse that sentence, but when he does he freezes, staring down at his foot halfway in one pant leg. "Well. I. I suppose. Thank you. I mean. Likewise." He sneaks a glance at Sheppard out of the corner of his eye and catches Sheppard sneaking a glance at him.

The second the door of the room hisses closed behind them, Rodney has the panel off the crystals by the door and removes all three, just for good measure.

"Well," Sheppard says, "Let's hope we never, ever have terrible awful sex again."

"Amen to that," Rodney says fervently, replacing the panel with a thump.

*

Rodney opens his eyes and immediately wishes he hadn't. His arm is asleep, and his arm is asleep because Sheppard's drooling on it, and that is a sight Rodney had already decided he did not need to see again.

Sheppard groans and drools a bit more. Rodney cringes and tries to move his arm, but Sheppard's eyes pop open. "Oh god," Sheppard says, and closes them again.

"My thoughts exactly," Rodney says. "Head off my arm."

Sheppard lifts his head obligingly, but doesn't open his eyes. "I thought we were never, ever going to do that again."

"Yes, well, alien aphrodisiacs and sex pollen," Rodney says, extricating himself, "and why does no one ever bring us coffee? There has got to be some sort of caffeinated plant life somewhere in this galaxy. Or willow bark, aspirin, something. Oh god," Rodney says as he tries to sit up and fails miserably. "I think this counts as Near Death Experience #184."

"I know what you mean," Sheppard says, groping around until he finds his pack near the wall of the tent and pulls out his water bottle. He opens his eyes as he passes it to Rodney, but looks away as soon as their eyes meet.

"What—are you blushing?" Rodney says, looking closer.

"No!" Sheppard says. "Maybe."

"You're blushing," Rodney says, propping himself up on one elbow and staring. "What are you blushing about? Is because of the teeth thing, because honestly I understand that you were a little loopy with the drugs and everything and it wasn't really any worse than the other—"

"It's not about the teeth, Rodney," Sheppard says, but he's blushing even more and Rodney starts to feel a little bad for him.

"I honestly don't mind," Rodney says, almost kindly. "Well, okay, I do mind, because ouch, and if you don't mind I think I'm going to ask Carson to take a look when we get back, but, uh, I won't talk about it any more if you want."

"Look, Rodney, it's not—it's just that..." Sheppard still isn't looking Rodney in the eye. "I was just thinking about this thing Ronon said."

"Oh god," Rodney says, and flops over onto his back. "He said he wasn't going to talk to—what did he say?"

"He, uh, asked me about, you know, the first time, and I have no idea how he found out about it..."

Rodney refuses to acknowledge the dirty glare he knows Sheppard is giving him. "Yes, yes, what did he say?"

"Well. He offered me some advice."

"He—advice?" Rodney rolls over to look at Sheppard, incredulous.

"Yeah, he said he could... well, give me some pointers." Sheppard's still bright red, but at least he's looking at Rodney now. Rodney isn't concerned that it's still more of a dirty glare than, technically, a look.

"Give you some—Colonel, what were his exact words?"

"Jesus, McKay, he said he could 'show me a thing or two'."

Rodney stares. He clears his throat and says, "Oh," but his voice still cracks in the middle. He clears his throat again and tries to keep his mouth straight, but the ends keep turning up and he's practically choking trying to keep silent and once one snort escapes he can't keep the rest in and he just tries to keep breathing as he laughs and laughs and laughs.

"Show you a..." he gasps, and looks over at Sheppard. Sheppard isn't about to punch him because he's caught in his own giggle fit, and they lie on the floor of the stupid alien tent on the stupid alien world with the stupid alien sex pollen unable to do anything but laugh.

"Oh god," Rodney says, as he finally starts to be able to breathe again. He sits up gingerly and wipes the tears from his face. When he looks over Sheppard's doing the same. Sheppard grins at him, a big dorky full-face grin. The bit of sunlight streaming in the top of the tent catches Sheppard's eyes, making them look green and clear. Rodney grins back.

"Look," John says, grin fading but still somehow looking happy, "I know that was awful last night, really awful, and I know it's been awful every time, but..." He scratches his head. "I talked to Teyla too, and—Look, I can do better."

Rodney opens his mouth to say something insulting but what comes out is, "Yeah, okay."

*

But what one crisis and another, it isn't until two days after Near Death Experience #215 that they're standing in Rodney's room fiddling with their uniform zippers and not looking at each other.

John clears his throat. "I would have brought some wine, but..."

"Yes, no, been there, done that, glad you didn't," Rodney says, nodding rapidly. He looks at John and John is looking at him and he doesn't look away because honestly. "I'm not nervous. It's just that..."

"It's just what?"

"Well. It has to be good. We can't have bad sex again. It'd be insanely stupid."

John's mouth twists up. "It would be." He reaches out and smoothes one hand over Rodney's shoulder and up his neck. "But look at it this way: it can't possibly be worse."

*

John was right, Rodney thinks, lying on his back in the dark. It wasn't worse. It wasn't even bad. Exactly.

He hears a quiet thud and a muffled curse and opens his eyes a crack. John has his pants on and is tugging his shirt over his head. Rodney watches the white and grey shadows of his bare back disappear underneath it. He rubs his fingertips together, trying to remember how it felt. Soft-ish, he supposes. Sweaty, definitely. Hairy.

It wasn't bad sex, not really. They both came. Rodney had even thought ahead and stashed a washcloth under the bed, so cleanup wasn't a problem. John's hand on his dick had been big and capable and not too cold and not too rough. Rodney supposed the pause while he caught his breath before returning the favor might have been annoying, but John hadn't seemed to mind.

No, Rodney thinks as John slips out quietly, it wasn't bad at all. Just not worth doing again.

*

They don't have one Near Death Experience for an entire week after that. Rodney spends the time that would have normally been wasted in the infirmary and in trademark Elizabeth how-is-that-even-possible-no-I'm-not-laughing-at-you debriefings running around like a madman. He keeps up with his own research fairly well, but there are a dozen projects on the backburner waiting for his approval, five new scientists from the Daedalus who have been on Atlantis three weeks already without being properly cowed, and at least a hundred and fifty pieces of paper Radek hasn't signed because he clearly hates Rodney and wants the entire expedition to fail.

But oddly enough, most of that is dealt with in the first three days, and when catastrophes continue to not occur, Rodney almost starts to relax. By the fifth day he's sleeping over five hours a night, and when he wakes up on the seventh day after eight solid hours of sleep (no 2am radio calls, not even a nightmare worth waking up from) he decides it must be Saturday and radios Sheppard to challenge him to a game of the Ancient equivalent to a first-person shooter Dr. Lindsey stumbled across in the database last month.

Sheppard is unsurprisingly easy to convince. Rodney imagines he's spent the last week alternating between paperwork and getting beat up by Teyla, with possibly a round of beating up the Marines to break the monotony. By midmorning they're entrenched on Rodney's bed with their laptops, a pile of sort-of-banana muffins Sheppard brought, and a couple of Rodney's special stash of chocolate bars. He figures a Near Death-less Saturday is worth it.

Two hours later their scores are just about tied. They've gone back and forth between competition (who can get the most points, who can make the flashiest explosion, who can figure out the most moves no one knows about yet) and collaboration (there was one terribly exciting scenario involving Wraith darts, a slowly collapsing city, a trap created by Sheppard and some fancy flying by Rodney) but it's all competition now. They're neck and neck, exploding Wraith almost simultaneously, and then Sheppard is one step ahead and grabs the ZPM right out from under Rodney's outstretched hand.

"Yes!" Sheppard crows, raising his arms above his head. "The best man has won! All shall kneel before me! You are completely pwnd!"

"Pwnd?" Rodney says, mouth twitching up, and he just has to reach over and cup Sheppard's cheek and turn his face and kiss him right on his jubilant grin.

It's soft and they're both grinning and John's tongue is in Rodney's mouth before Rodney quite realizes what's going on. When he does he freezes and pulls back. John's eyes are big and his mouth is half open and his lips are wet.

Rodney carefully closes his laptop and sets it on the floor. When John still hasn't moved, he reaches over and does the same with John's laptop.

John is still looking at him silently. Rodney hesitates.

"You... you have to tell me you want this," he says. "I don't... I'm not very good at... Tell me."

John sits up slowly until he's kneeling on the bed, his eyes never leaving Rodney's. He reaches one hand towards Rodney's face. It's shaking just a touch, and when his fingers reach Rodney's cheek the tiny shaking goes straight to Rodney's spine, shivering up and down. Rodney's eyes half-close, but he forces them open again, keeping them locked with John's. He turns his face just a little, just so his lips can reach John's palm, and kisses it very lightly. He lets his tongue dip out, tasting, and John's tiny gasp and the way he's struggling to keep his eyes open now too makes Rodney swallow hard.

"Tell me," Rodney says again. He has to know that John is really with him this time, that he wants this, that it's humming through his blood like it is through Rodney's. "Please, John."

John takes a deep breath and wraps his other hand around the back of Rodney's neck. It feels so good Rodney is tilting his head back into it and then John's lips are on his again and god, he's being so careful it feels like Rodney's drowning in silk and honey and warmth.

"Yes," John whispers against Rodney's lips. "Yes, Rodney, I want this, I want you, god, finally—" and Rodney has to really kiss him this time, pull him closer and lick into his mouth, still smooth and careful but deep now, giving everything he's got to John's mouth. He remembers everything, remembers John being sloppy and sharp, but it's never been like this, never with John there and glowing in the afternoon light and grinning at him, a big goofy grin that makes his eyes wrinkle at the corners and Rodney's cock jump in his pants.

"I think we can do this," Rodney blurts. "I mean, I think this will work."

"No shit," John says, still grinning that crazy grin, and pulls his shirt over his head. Rodney gapes at him as if he's never seen him naked before—and, hey, come to think of it, he hasn't, not sober and with the lights on and so fucking turned on he could come in his pants if John wanted him to—but John doesn't want him to, because while Rodney was thinking John has hauled Rodney's shirt off and there were no elbows to the face or hair caught in zippers and it was easy.

"Oh god," Rodney says, "I can do this," and pushes John onto his back and starts kissing his crazy beautiful naked chest. John doesn't like having his nipples bitten, so Rodney runs his fingers over them and then his tongue, soft and wet, and John moans, his hands coming to rest on Rodney's shoulders. John is ticklish right underneath his ribs, so Rodney runs his whole hand firmly down John's side and lets just one fingernail scrape lightly, and John is arching and gasping and Rodney really wants him to make those sounds some more so he starts undoing John's pants. He's muttering to himself the whole time—"yes, of course, god, and then I'll, you're so"—but John doesn't seem to mind, because he's muttering too, and gasping and cursing and all sorts of fascinating things that Rodney promises himself he'll listen to later. Maybe next time, or the time after that, which will both hopefully still be today because it's Saturday, but not right now because right now Rodney finally has John's pants around his knees and they need to be all the way off right now.

"You too," John murmurs, and his hands are deft and practiced unbuttoning Rodney's pants. Then they're naked chest to naked chest and John's bare leg is wrapped around Rodney's and, oh god, their cocks are right up against each other. Rodney slips one hand under John's neck and pulls him close while he grabs John's ass with his other hand just because he can and it's simple and he feels like he knows everything ever.

"I am a genius," he tells John, and John is kissing him and laughing and grinding against him and Rodney is laughing and this is the best sex ever. "This is the best sex ever," Rodney tells him between gasps.

"Oh!" John says. "That reminds me," and he's pulling away even though Rodney is making noises that, while definitely not whimpers, are pretty damn pitiful. But it turns out okay because John is squirming further down on the bed and Rodney's cock is rubbing everywhere, and then it's really okay because Rodney is on his back and John is looking up at him from between his legs.

"I told you I could do better," he says.

"That's certainly not hard to believe but I hope you don't mind that I'm still a little—oh god John how are you oh please fuck keep doing yes—" and from there it's all a blur of yes and please and more and John because John is sliding his lips down Rodney's cock and swirling his tongue and cradling his balls with one hand, and somehow knowing that John is thinking about not using his teeth and not holding Rodney's hips down and moaning anyway only makes it hotter.

But all too soon it's not enough, and Rodney touches John's head softly because John doesn't like getting his hair pulled and says, "Stop." John hears him immediately and pulls back, frowning, but Rodney just pulls him up and kisses him. "I need you," Rodney says, and it's astonishingly easy to say. "I need you with me, up here."

John's face clears and he kisses Rodney, mouth soft and wet and swollen. "Yeah," he says, and runs a fingertip along Rodney's lip. Rodney sucks it in hungrily, runs his tongue all around it while John is kissing his cheek and nose and eyebrow, then does the same with each other finger. He holds his own hand up to John's mouth while he bites and licks John's palm. John gives Rodney's hand just one long lick, and then their hands move down in sync and grasp each other's cocks.

"You like it wet," John says, grinning again.

"And you like it dry," Rodney retorts. "We're a regular Three Bears with just the two of us—" and then it's all slow, hot friction and slow, hot kisses and John, everywhere.

"You're here," John gasps into Rodney's mouth and he's spilling over Rodney's hand and as Rodney feels his orgasm shudder from his hair to his toes he thinks, Yes. Yes I am.

Afterwards, Rodney has muffin crumbs underneath him, his arm is falling asleep, John is squishing him and probably drooling on his neck and the nearest washcloth feels like miles away, but when John mumbles, "Let's do that again," Rodney can't do anything but agree.

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