amific (amific) wrote,

Fic: Superman Never Dealt With This Shit (1/1) NC-17, McKay/Sheppard

Title: Superman Never Dealt With This Shit
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17, John/Rodney with a few bits of miscellaneous adult contact
Length: ~6800 words
Author's Notes: With great thanks to mecurtin (who is probably still weeping at some of the stunts the combined power of me and MS WORD can produce), siriaeve, luthien and everagaby (who felt the need to TRAUMATISE me with a manip which I am posting a link to at the end). I feel it's only fair to say that this was inspired by an sga_flashfic prompt from many months ago. You'll figure out which pretty quick.
Disclaimer: No shins were harmed in the making of this fic. As for the title? I BLAME seperis.

Summary: Radiation. That was the big one, echoing through his brain, bouncing from one part of his skull to the other.

He'd possibly freaked out a little, okay maybe more than a little, because Rodney was the calm and cool voice offering reasonable statistics about radiation and there was something really fucked up about that.

They'd fished John out of the rubble, unconscious but with few external injuries. He'd slept for three days--artificial coma, Carson had said. A long nap, Rodney had insinuated--and by 'insinuated' John meant 'flat-out said, complete with accusing finger-pointing, making it sound sordid and wonderful and a little lazy all at once'.

All in all, John liked Rodney's interpretation better.

He drifted for a little while longer after that, hazy and tired, and it took another day at least for the words to really penetrate through the careful fog that John was sure was all Carson's doing.

Radiation. That was the big one, echoing through his brain, bouncing from one part of his skull to the other.

He'd possibly freaked out a little, okay maybe more than a little, because Rodney was the calm and cool voice offering reasonable statistics about radiation and there was something really fucked up about that.

When he woke up from that, eyes gritty and aching, there was a mirror, a personal Geiger counter, and a handwritten note on the bedside table.

Carson caught me trying to steal you some valium.

John laughed quietly and absolutely did not peek in the mirror and breathe a heavy sigh of relief at the bed-head peeking back. Not at all.

The night nurse snuck him some extra dessert because he was 'such a good patient'. John frowned between bites of slick, delicious pastry, warm from the oven with just a hint of tart over its sweet. That was the third nurse who'd said as much in two days. He didn't remember being any more cooperative than usual--not that he was a horrible patient normally, he was just sort of... fidgety. He didn't think being unconscious for most of his convalescence really qualified him as well-behaved. Then again, he'd never been a duty nurse, so what did he know?

Day five, he was starting to get itchy, awake for long enough to get bored of falling asleep. "Your visiting hours have been greatly expanded," Carson told him with a gentle pat and rub on the shoulder. "Just please, no repeat of the wheelchair olypmics?"

John gave his best 'I was delirious then and I am ashamed now, really,' smile. "Sure doc, no problem."

Ronon was his first extended visitor, casually commenting on his new running time, rubbing it in just a little. "I think I need to find a new path. Old one's getting too easy." He leaned easily against a wall, arms crossed lazily over his chest.

John squinted -- was Ronon showing off his chest? "Any and all performances during our usual workouts will not be made fun of until I am fully recovered."

"And then I can say whatever I want, right?" Ronon pushed away from the wall.

John sighed. "Yes Ronon."

"Good, let's not change a good thing."

Ronon's visits often left John feeling like he'd just lost some sort of pissing contest, though in a good way. Come to think of it, it also left him in need of a beer and a football game.

Rodney popped in with dinner, untouched even by physicist's hands. "Feeling less hysterical?" he asked, plopping the tray down hap-hazardly on the rolling table.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer." He dug into his food, chewing slowly, the day of being awake having finally caught up with him.

"I'm sure I can dig up the surveillance footage," Rodney smiled, taking a large bite of a power bar.

"McKay, they'll never find the body," John said, not even looking up from his chicken.

"I brought you dinner!" Rodney protested and started digging around in his pockets. "I even got you an extra set of cookies!" They were tossed as neatly onto the table as the tray had been.

John eyed the package warily, poking at it with his fork, not all that hungry any more.

"What?" Rodney frowned at him.

"You take 'em," John said, pushing them away, not really sure why the bag was giving him the heebie jeebies.

Rodney smiled, delight lighting his features and flushing his cheeks. "Okay." He snatched the bag back, stuffing it into a pocket, and started eyeing the rest of John's chicken.

John pulled his tray a little closer and directed the conversation towards what he'd missed during his prolonged nap time.

The next day John felt even better -- he got to shower and dress and eat all in one bout of wakefulness, and then settled in with the laptop and some dvds, not quite ready for a nap. It was a relief.

"You are looking better than Dr. McKay described." Teyla's quiet voice spoke over Christian Bale's pouting dialog in a strangely complimentary way.

He pressed pause. "I'm feeling pretty good," he smiled up at her.

She smiled back, head dipping slightly, hair brushing her shoulders. "I did not want to go to the mainland, but as there was little I could do here once you had been pronounced stable, I could not in good conscience ignore Halling's request."

"Hey, I understand," John smiled again, "the mainland is good for you." She looked serene, relaxed even, her hair shinier, her skin a little darker, sun warmed almost. There was a healthy glow that sometimes faded after days of endless meetings in which they discussed their own demise.

Teyla shifted from one foot to another, rolling her shoulders back, bracing one hip on the edge of the bed. "Atlantis is wonderful, but it is not the same."

John eyed her carefully, her hair fanning out against her neck, the light catching it around the edges. She was definitely very relaxed. "You got laid."

"Laid?" She pronounced the word carefully, shifting next to John, moving her leg to brace against the heavy table next to his bed, the one that didn't move.

Narrowing his eyes, John pointed a finger at her. "Uh uh, you got me with the whole 'what is a dildo?' thing, not again. Fool me twice, shame on me."

She ducked her head and scrunched her nose a bit, shifting again to face him more fully. "Perhaps my time at the mainland was more satisfying than usual." Her voice was low and breathy and all about sex in a way that made John tingly on just an observer level. He knew she was hot, she knew he knew she was hot. There wasn't really much of an urge to know more than that.

Teyla stretched, languid and smooth, arms reaching up and back, revealing one long, smooth stretch of stomach and a perfect arch of back.

For a single moment, John imagined it, all flexibility and agility and strength, legs wrapped around some hapless guy, totally out of his league and loving every minute of it. Next to him Teyla gasped, hand smacking his arm and he moved to shrug an apology, knowing it had to be written all over his face, but come on, he was only human and she was hot.

Only she gasped again, her hand tightening on his arm, she flopped forward, breathing heavily, losing her footing and her grip to fall heavily onto John's chest.


Pressed tightly together, he could feel her muscles twitching tightly in some sort of seizure.

Not good. "Beckett!" Against him, Teyla curled up tightly, choked back a sound and then collapsed. "Beckett!" He yelled again, louder.

"John?" Teyla pushed up, trembling arms on either side of him, looking sweaty and flushed.

"Hey," John said, helping her hold herself. "Just relax, Beckett's on his way."

She blinked at him, eyes slowly focusing, licking her lips intently. "I am fine." Only she rasped the words out, slightly slurred.

For a brief moment John worried that she'd just had a stroke, but she quickly regained mobility and pushed herself all the way out of her awkward sprawl and lay carefully down next to him, head gently on his shoulder. Automatically he wrapped one arm around her shoulder, frowning as she breathed deeply at his side. "You are not," he said finally, "and where the hell is Beckett?"

"I merely need to catch my breath," Teyla said, "I am already feeling better." She made a noise, almost like a muffled laugh at the end of the sentence.

Carson came running in, out of breath, stopping short of John's bed, looking confused.

"She collapsed," John said. "She went all shaky and then just went down."

Carson never moved faster than when someone needed his help and was already timing Teyla's pulse and checking her pupils. "A little fast, but slowing, and your eyes are a bit dilated. Can you tell me what happened, love?"

Teyla dipped her head, taking a moment buried in the junction of John's shoulder and neck, breathing hot moist air against him. John shivered, the sensation sudden and not entirely unwelcome and it was just strange because Teyla just didn't equate with those sorts of feelings. More like, 'ow ow, fine I'll practice more'.

She chuckled low and deep, hand reaching for John's fingers threading together before they clenched and Teyla literally curled around him, holding tightly.

"Beckett?" John asked, awkwardly patting her back with his free hand, but Carson just looked wide eyed and little shocked.

"Teyla love?" Carson said, sliding a hand up her back and to her shoulder.

A final back arch and followed by teeth, hot and sharp on John's shoulder had him yelp through her collapse, boneless against him once again.

"That was no seizure," Carson said, eyes still wide, but frowning slightly.

"I am well aware of that," Teyla said, not moving at all, her voice muffled in John's shoulder.

"Well, technically, it was and it very well could be." Carson went on. "Did you hit your head recently?"

"Not that I recall, no." She giggled a bit.

Teyla giggled.

John blinked. "You sure about that?"

"Positive." She rolled a bit, removing most of her weight from him again and releasing his hand.

"Let's get you your own bed," Carson said, offering her his arm to help her stand.

She giggled again, shaking her head. "Sorry, it is just that--"

Carson patted her arm, face coloring a bit. "No, I understand. Let's get you a private room then."

John watched Teyla slide off the bed, graceful, but oddly boneless, walking slowly across the room, firmly attached to Carson.

"Okay, what the hell just happened here?" John asked the ceiling. The ceiling was very unhelpful.

Beckett returned a few minutes later, looking perplexed and John knew exactly how he felt.

"She gonna be okay?"

"Well right now she's more okay than you think." Carson patted him gently on the shoulder, the moisture from Teyla's mouth and soreness from her teeth pressed in making John shiver again. He frowned through it, even when the heat from Carson's hand stayed and spread, warming the whole area.

John was just about to ask what was wrong, because it was obvious that Carson knew something he wasn't telling when his eyes went unbelievably wide and his mouth flapped up and down a few times before tightening into a neat little 'oh'.

Bent over at the waist, Carson panted, eyes squeezed shut. "Well now, that definitely eliminates head trauma," he said shakily, when he finally stood. He crossed his arms tightly and tugged his lab coat tight, looking flushed and sweaty. An utterly familiar look, one that Teyla had been wearing not five minutes earlier.

John sat up, ignoring his own lingering illness, a strange fatigue weighing him down every so often. "Doc?" John reached out, but Carson stepped back.

"I'm okay," Carson said.

"Then what the hell just happened?" John ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

"Well, it wasn't a seizure," Carson hedged and, if possible, crossing his arms tighter, "well, not in the sense you're thinking of, I'd wager."

"Then what was it?"

"Ah," Carson went bright red, "it was a fairly spectacular and spontaneous orgasm."

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

John's mouth opened and closed and he tilted his head trying to make the words come back out. "Orgasm?" he whispered.

Carson nodded.

"Spontaneous?" John asked.

Carson nodded again.

"Isn't that like… spontaneous combustion?" John asked, eyes wide, now realizing exactly what Teyla had been doing when she'd been struggling against him, breathing heavily in his ear. Jesus, that was hot.

Beckett went to his knees, hand braced on his thighs, gasping loudly.

John narrowed his eyes. "You're joking, because that would mean that you just--"

"Don't say it!" Carson wheezed, straightening up and pulling his lab coat tight around him. "Don't even think it."

John started humming 'Row, Row, Row your boat.'


Shutting his eyes tightly and maxing out the volume on his iPod with bad 80s power ballads helped John think completely unsexy thoughts. That, and the sheer terror of the idea of letting his mind wander in that general direction in public. After those few scary moments where he'd stared at Teyla and thought about how awesome her breasts were, and he really didn't want to get into how weird it was to be told to fantasize about her, and she had convulsed before his eyes. John stared avidly as her hips had moved suggestively and her fingers spread out wide from her palm, bracing on the bed.

There had been a scary loop of infinite hotness until Carson had kicked him in the shins and interrupted his train of thought enough to close his eyes. Needless to say, they had figured out that touch wasn't the instigating factor.

A quick decision and some very fast equipment moves had John moving to a private room for the rest of his recovery. Nice and private and far away from people. Well not too far, but there was a nice buffer of several rooms between him and anyone else.

Surprisingly, the first thing he did after having his first free thought in hours--though after the five minutes of waiting tensely for a call that someone had an unexplained seizure in a nearby hallway--was sleep.

Later, after a long and fairly refreshing nap, John wished he were still asleep. "You want to what?"

Over the comm, John could hear Carson sigh. "We need to do some testing and since Teyla already knows and has volunteered to be a barometer; and well frankly, a woman would just be plain less messy--" John sure hoped Carson was blushing just as hard at that one-- "it seemed like a good solution."

"She wants to what?" John, for some reason, couldn't really get past Teyla and orgasms and produced by him. Possibly because there was the additional fact that these orgasms were caused by him just using his brain.

"John," Teyla's voice broke in, "I would be honored to help you in this time of need." Was that a giggle?

John pulled the blankets up over his head and sighed. He was still feeling a bit radioactive and it would be nice to at least not die from that so that he could save up all his death for humiliation. "Fine," He answered before muffling his head in his pillow.

Of course--and John shouldn't have been surprised, really--the knock on the door that John answered without thinking came from Rodney.

Rodney, who got as far as "I got these--" with his arms thrust out, full of what were probably amusing things, before John's brain went to that place and Rodney's fingers opened, slack with surprise, and everything fell to the floor. Including Rodney.

He was shaking, arms thrust out and bracing himself from falling to the floor. John stood frozen, not really sure what to do, because bringing him inside was just an invitation to messy, messy trouble. Rodney took a deep, shaky breath and looked up, pupils dilated, wide and messy, whole faced flushed and a mask of confusion and afterglow.

John's neck snapped his head away, but it was too late--Rodney gurgled and rocked back and forth, making small sounds of pleasure tinged with fear.

Well, too late now. He dragged Rodney inside while singing Mary Had a Little Lamb very loudly, only taking a break to shove him into the bathroom and mutter "Call Carson."

This was what John got for asking for discretion. Carson hadn't put a quarantine marker on his new location and had promised to concoct a reasonable flu-like virus to keep people away.

John got ten minutes of Rodney in the shower--well more like thirty seconds before he put his iPod back on because--well better not to think about it really. During an almost nonexistent silent moment between songs John noted the shower sounds had been replaced by dulcet tones of Rodney's muffled voice going up and down the register of disbelief and anger.

Possibly with a dash of horror.

"Radiation doesn't work that way!"

Disbelief too.

"Did you really go to med school?"

Sarcasm. Rodney was going through the seven stages of 'Weird Shit Happens, Get Used to It' very quickly. The most impressive thing was how the words were bleeding through the iPod. John turned the volume up and tried to find something to do.

John was just bringing in the pile of items that Rodney had dropped mid-thing he wasn't thinking about, when a voice called from inside his bathroom. "Seriously, only you!"

John opened his mouth to argue, but just as swiftly closed it. Well, he had a point. Once you turn into a bug, you sort of get pinned for a lot of weird shit. "Sorry?"

There was an echoing silence, a full five seconds of blessed silence before Rodney spoke again. "My knees will never be the same!"

Rodney. Knees. John's brain flashed and he didn't quite make it to "Mary" before Rodney's soft gasp reached his ears.

"Sorry!" John yelled, "Sorry!" He put on his iPod and upped the volume and thought really hard about that audiobook. "Just go!" he yelled over the noise. Jesus, this was getting really embarrassing and annoyingly enlightening. He sat on the bed and stared at the floor, picking out patterns in the irregular flooring.

Two feet came into his line of sight, bare and slightly damp and attached to two slightly damp and mildly hairy legs. John risked a quick peek up, more curious than anything else. Rodney was wearing his gray t shirt and a towel. Smart man. Other than that whole not leaving the room thing.

The earbuds were unceremoniously popped out of his ears; John frowned and rubbed the sting and looked up.

"Seriously, you can't be this oversexed."

They both tensed and John frowned, feeling something inside his head not move, consciously not letting it move.

Rodney relaxed and then smacked him on the head. "Next time you have a stomach bug, tell me to leave the room, hell, the planet. This I find I am not all that adverse to helping with."

John let his head drop. "You're all sluts, you know that. It's all about the free orgasms with you people."

"You people?" Rodney dropped on the bed next to him, arranging his towel primly. "Someone else volunteered?"

"Teyla," John blurted out, before thinking better of it.

"Really?" Rodney's voice was high pitched.

John remained silent, trying not to move that part of his brain that he could feel.

"No seriously, really?" Rodney reached out to grab his arm, as if to shake him for his attention.

The sensation of heat and soft skin exploded through him, just unexpected and solid and he couldn't stop it. Rodney's eyes rolled and his hand tightened solidly around John's arm and he hiccuped a few breaths before collapsing back onto the bed. "Ow."

"You can keep the towel," John said breathlessly.

"Thanks," Rodney said hoarsely.

John didn't turn to look. "Ready to leave yet?"

"Shut up and think unsexy thoughts." Rodney sat up and managed to look only slightly tousled; John managed to hold back, just barely.


Rodney managed to make learning to manage the mind-controlled, previously unheard of, and possibly radiation-induced hallucination-type incidents seem incredibly scientific, logical and straight. Dirty towels aside.

Orgasmanomics, as Rodney called it.

"You freak," John shot back, but at least it didn't make him think directly about sex.

There were categories based on distance, line of sight, knowledge of the other subject, intent--the list went on and on and eventually Rodney admitted that they would need at least one other person for all of the testing. A woman would probably be of more use, especially for more public occasions. Plus Rodney admitted that two that close together sort of made him sore. John had quickly put a hand up and motioned for him to stop, seriously, who needs to know that sort of thing?

The problem, John discovered about day two into the official testing, watching Rodney bent over and panting, flush going all the way to his ankles which were easily visible from under the towel, was that the more he tested and controlled and figured things out--the more aware he was of exactly how horny he was.

Denial only worked when you weren't really thinking about it.

The other, more pressing matter, as it were, was that he was becoming very aware of what exactly made him horny. Really aware. Intimately aware. Worse, things were quickly being adding to his repertoire. Teyla's heavy and husky "John" just post 'incident', or her bright smile, different than the one she used just after she's kicked his ass.

Rodney. Deep in thought or flushed from something that John did to him; or worse, not making a big deal of it, being a decent human being and only once in and once in a while letting on that hey, it's not that much of a hardship for him.

Once he started avoiding the big things, like fantasies, or noting something overtly sexual, the little things started cropping up. The hint of a wrist, or the glimpse of an ankle, all sent an illicit thrill through him, like he was watching a group of strangely inverted geisha. It was all so 1940s and unreal.

The worst though, the very, utter, absolute worst was that he was afraid to masturbate. Not afraid so much as every time he thought about it, noticed he was a bit hard or just you know, got that feeling, he'd flash to the entire base falling down in ecstasy. That was enough like a bucket of cold water to cool down most amorous thoughts.

It was making him grumpy though.

Possibly he was taking it out on others; poor Rodney had dropped to the floor within seconds of his most recent visit, his hand reaching out to hold onto the nearby desk leg for support as he rode out the sensations. John felt a little bad; they'd normally managed to wait until Rodney was out of his pants and work the first one or two out while he was in the shower. John was really happy with that arrangement because despite finding the man hotter than all reason by this point, he didn't need someone else's spunk all over the room.

"Just because I keep a spare pair of pants here doesn't mean I should use them." Rodney panted, not even getting up, just crawling to an out of the way corner and curling up on his side looking tuckered out. "So that was also a bit more intense than usual. Playing with variables without telling me was a no-no, we talked about that."

John just sat on his bed and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry." God, he'd invented the malicious orgasm. Rodney waved his hand limply. Okay maybe not malicious, but still. "I'm having a bad morning."

"I'm having a rubber knee morning," Rodney said back, finally pushing up to at least a sitting position. "Maybe we should call Teyla in today if you're going to be like that. God, you're going to have the best advantage ever in bed."

John bit his lip and laid down, staring resolutely at the ceiling. "Yeah, probably not."

"What?" Rodney folded his legs Indian style and peered over the edge of John's bed. "Seriously, no more worrying if they faked it!"

"And lots more worrying if everyone in a fifty mile radius just came at the same time." John flung an arm over his eyes.

"Oh." Rodney actually sounded like he hadn't considered that. "Interesting." Followed by the weighty sound of Rodney thinking really hard. Never a good sign.

"Whatever you're thinking, no," John pre-empted. "I'm not really even in the mood."

Rodney snorted. "You're talking to the guy you just floored with the best orgasm he's had all week, and that's saying something." He actually got up onto his knees and draped himself haphazardly over the bottom half of John's bed. "You're so in the mood it has to hurt."

"Just go clean up." John was studiously not looking at Rodney.

"Fine." Rodney finally moved, making sure his lower body was turned very away from John, a tiny comfort for which John was supremely grateful. "But this isn't over!"

John counted to sixty after he heard the shower come on and thought really hard about the lazy way Rodney's eyes only half opened after the fourth orgasm and how he needed a few seconds to stop his speech from slurring and the slow blink that he acquired after the first.

The muffled thump from the other room made John smile.



"Camping?" John eyed Rodney carefully. "Have you been offworld recently?"

"What? No," Rodney frowned typing uninterrupted.

"In contact with anyone who's been offworld?"

"I do not have an alien virus!" Rodney shut his laptop with a click. "You said fifty miles, we can arrange fifty miles!"

John made a face.

"Look we've already proved that unintentionally you can't reach too far into the city, fifty miles seems like a fair number to start to" Rodney shifted, "really unintentionally."

"You want to go camping just so I can--"John stopped; he could feel the urge/need/feeling/whatever rising at just the thought. Over the past week, he'd managed to categorize it, control it somewhat, but that didn't stop it from rising up against him from time to time.

Rodney shrugged, almost stuffing his hands into his nonexistent pockets. He'd done that absently on one of the first days and almost lost his towel; since then he'd managed to replace the motion with crossing his arms. "It only seems fair."

Fair. John blinked. Fair. Rodney was looking away and John realized that Rodney was feeling bad for getting what he felt was the better end of the deal. "It occurs to me, in someplace closer to reality, this would be awkward by now."

"Yeah, well, there also wouldn't be life sucking space vampires." Rodney shrugged, not looking at him.

Helloo awkward. John really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

They went camping.

By then Elizabeth had been briefed; all Rodney had to do was start talking about the Colonel and his Problem and apparently she did the adult equivalent of plugging her ears and singing "lalalalala". Needless to say, they got their permission.

Teyla saw them off, giving John a saucy smile and some subtle innuendo. "Ronon wishes you luck, but he remains firm in his decision to stay away until you feel comfortable and he knows he will not be suddenly incapacitated without warning."

"Wimp," Rodney muttered, not at all looking like he meant it and thus only receiving light smacks from both of them.

John kept his iPod plugged in and handy for their trip to the jumper bay, happily surprised that as long as he concentrated, he didn't feel overwhelmed by the tidal wave inside his head.

Funny thing, when it came down to it, and Rodney handed him pillows and a soft blanket and asked if he wanted indoors or outdoors, John sort of froze. Which was stupid; he'd been giving Rodney 'incidents' for a week, while in the same room, sitting right next to him sometimes. Turn about was fair play, and it wasn't like Rodney got to control it in any way. John, in a certain sense, was one up on him.

"The jumper," John said eventually, feeling overexposed as it was.

Rodney patted his jacket pocket. "I brought sunscreen. Give a yell-- Um. Call me, whenever."

He darted out, large bag and tablet in hand. John's brain supplied a Rodney shaped dust cloud for half a second before sighing and looking around at what Rodney had left him. To be honest, the chair would have been good enough, but Rodney went to some trouble and John wasn't feeling too randy at the moment, so maybe some good old fashioned present opening would help.

The blanket unrolled with a thunk. John retrieved a small plastic thing of lube. Travel sized. The small bag in the corner had two folded magazines of mildly good taste, relatively speaking, and a small bottle of booze. Not bad for quick scrounging.

There was even a pillow in the corner. John wasn't going to think of Rodney thinking he was being unobtrusive while getting all of these things. He was feeling weird enough.

So. Right. Orgasms. His. He should probably stop staring at the wall. Okay, he's been naked in the jumpers before. Usually while bleeding or getting changed quickly, but still, naked. It counted.

On second thought, maybe half naked would be enough. He folded the blanket and made a soft landing for his knees, settling onto it gingerly. He took the pillow and placed it on the long bench he was facing and then slowly undid his pants. With the fly half open he reached inside and was grateful to find himself at least half hard. He could do it, really. A few slow strokes, the first in a while, and the first since he'd started on the path to constant, low-level arousal.

Yeah, he could do this, already it was feeling good, the sort of good that you get when it's been a while and you really need it, but it's still not desperate. He shimmied his pants down, leaving them on just far enough so his ass wouldn't be pressed nakedly against his boots.

The bottle of lube was opened next and it was like an old worn shirt, all the motions falling onto him comfortably, easily. Better, because it felt so damn good, just the slow glide of his hand on his cock.

It was a quick burn; it felt like only seconds later that he was using the pillow to cushion his elbow, burying his face against it, whimpering desperately. It became less about his hand and more about his hips, canting up and down, through his tight fist in short jerks.

Close already, too soon almost, but he could feel the tingle, the fast building edge rushing towards him, pulling almost too high. The slow burning had rapidly turned hot and fast and his orgasm started before he was ready, surprising him, making him gasp and plead into his arm, shoving his cock hard and wild into his hand until there was nothing left to wring out.

John slumped, exhausted and limp, onto the bench, letting his breathing even out and savoring the lazy tingle spreading through his muscles. His lips curled up into an easy smile as he, almost limply, reached out for the package of wipes Rodney conveniently left around. God that was good, amazing even, spectacular, splendiferous and all sorts of multi-syllable adjectives and he wanted to do it all over again. Soon.

Sadly, when it was that good, 'again' (at least at his age, he thought morosely) and 'soon' weren't concepts that went together all that well. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was being a treacherous bastard. He pulled his pants back up and laid down on the floor, dragging the pillow with him, and settled in as comfortably as possible, just taking some time to enjoy the newly relaxed feeling settling inside him.

Then a thought occurred to him. It was possibly a deeply troubled thought, maybe a bit reckless or possibly just really, really stupid.

That didn't stop him from opening his pants back up and wiggling them back down and out of the way, however. Out of habit, he wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it one slow pet, shivering at the small aftershock he felt and then closed his eyes and felt for that pressure inside his head.

Slowly, he sank into it, let it lick its way around him, suffuse every inch of his body with tingling anticipation. It built and doubled and built again until John couldn't breathe or move or even think; but he couldn't come, it wouldn't turn over and race away, just pulled tighter and tighter until finally his brain unlocked, possibly hurting itself from the pressure and an image, a single image of Rodney lax and sleepy from an entire day of testing John, eyes heavy and glassy and finally, finally his entire body shuddered, curling in on itself and his vision blacked out at the peak.

He was still concentrating on remembering how to breathe when Rodney's gravelly voice hit his ears. "What the hell did you do?"

John waved his hand limply. "Something really cool." Only his lips wouldn't quite work right and it all came out slurred.

"Well… yes," Rodney was on his knees, crawling towards the slim open space large enough for another man to lie down, or rather, collapse. Rodney moved his elbow from John's ribs and glared at him from under heavy lids. "Assuming you were ready for it."

Rodney was a warm heavy weight next to him, his breathing even and slow and comforting. "Why did you… you know, do that?"

"Was curious." John resisted turning into him and finding his head a warm place to rest.

"It's a good thing I brought a change of clothes." Rodney pulled at the pillow under John's head and settled down onto his newly claimed corner, nose inches from John's chin.

"So we're napping then?"

"Yes, you freak."

John's eyes were closed before Rodney even finished the sentence. He woke up an undetermined time later with Rodney's arm draped over his stomach--and the realization that he hadn't tucked himself back into his pants before dropping off.

He felt too good to really care though, and Rodney's comforting shape was keeping him pretty relaxed. John wasn't sure who moved first, but someone turned and then someone else wiggled and somehow they were staring at each other across a pillow, eyes half open, staring sleepily. There was a leg resting across the back of his knee and John's hand was curving around the small of Rodney's back.

"Hello," Rodney whispered.

"Hi," John whispered back.

They stared, glassy eyed, for too long.

"You hand is on my ass," Rodney whispered again, smiling a little.

"It is--" Oh, John flexed his hand. "Er. It is."

Rodney wiggled luxuriously, firmly planting himself further into John's hand. "Yep."

"I dunno. " John flexed again, giving it a squeeze--caress, "I think your ass is on my hand. It's very forward."

"Pushy?" Rodney asked, wiggling some more.

"Presumptuous." John flexed his fingers and tugged forward till Rodney was flush against him and his still exposed cock.

"Speaking of," Rodney wiggled a third time, settling John against him comfortably, "your dick is pretty presumptuous itself."

"Well, we might as well give in, we'll never hear the end of it." John had a goofy grin all over his face--two orgasms, spectacular ones at that, and the warm pliant body of someone who made John's skin buzz, with the potential of more skin buzzing contact--and he figured he was allowed.

"Hmm," Rodney said, head drooping forward, not really going in for a kiss, just resting gently against John's forehead.

"Hmm, " John agreed, rubbing their noses together.

"What are you, a big puppy?" Rodney leaned in further, trailing the tip of his nose along John's cheek bone. "Don't you dare say you're a dog."

John closed his mouth with a clack.

There was no conscious decision to kiss; from one moment to the next their lips came close enough to each others to touch. A press of lips like a gravitational pull and their bodies swayed to the side, Rodney going as flat as he was able and John following, gravity pulling them tighter, lending weight and depth to their kiss.

Lazy and slick gliding of tongues and teeth and lips all gentle and slow and mesmerizing, lending a lust fueled haze to the whole affair and John just hummed happily as one kiss melted into the next.

Rodney's hands wandered all over John, down his arms, across his shoulders, dipping under his shirt until finally the warm and giving palm settled over John's cock, giving it a perfect place to nudge up against with the gentle sway of his hips.

It was slow and lazy and perfect in ways it hadn't been before and when he finally reached the top, toes curling and breath catching, Rodney just held him through it, hand moving carefully up and down.

He was mouthing Rodney's ear, sucking on it and Rodney made an inarticulate noise and wrapped around him tightly and thrust against his thigh for a dozen or so long and involved thrusts before going frozen and then relaxing back into John.

"I hate you and your ability to make me come in my pants."

John just kissed Rodney on his bruised lips and smiled.

"No seriously, remember that conversation about chafing and the limitations of a male humanoid in his thirties?"

"You're describing yourself as humanoid now?"


After that, the experiment got a bit sidetracked, because John became fascinated with Rodney's gasp into John's neck and watching stripes of come landing somewhere on both of them. Of course afterwards, when Rodney slid to his knees and sucked John's cock into his hot, wet mouth--all in the name of control, really--and John came spectacularly each time and went gloriously boneless, had nothing to do with it at all.

John, however, started to note a change; something inside his head felt slicker, sleeker, honed maybe. Each time he tried something different, pushed at it precisely and with exacting standards, it shaved off a rough edge somewhere.

One morning, about two weeks in, he woke up feeling better. A pressure he hadn't been aware of was gone, a tension headache that had been lingering finally dissipating. For a moment, he thought it was gone. For a moment, he was happy with the idea because while fun and exciting, it just made him feel, well, really, really different. Then he felt a little sad.

Rodney, who had fallen asleep next to him the night before was glaring at him from under the covers. "God, how do you just sit right up like that?"

"Years of training," John murmured before pushing a hand under the blanket, stroking a hand down Rodney's neck and focusing.

"Oh god!" Rodney sputtered, curling onto his side, one knee ending up on John's lap. "You--" he gasped, "bastard."

"Yep. Still got it." John sighed, pretty sure he was happy with that. "Hey, I'm better than any alarm clock."

Rodney grumbled all the way through John's spectacular hand job and good morning kisses before staggering to the shower and out the door with a completely over exaggerated glance left and right.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, legs still tingly from Rodney's revenge; they were going to have to work on that.


The bullet hit the ground beside him and John scrambled back behind cover, shaking his head at Ronon and Teyla. "I am seriously reconsidering my argument to Carson about being fit for duty."

Ronon took a peek too and hastily scuttled back as well, a near miss for his hair. He patted it carefully, probably counting knives.

Next to John, Rodney made a hurry up face and unconsciously fiddled with the bandage on his right leg, the faint shadow of blood slowly seeping to the top. It wasn't anything horribly fatal, no femoral artery hit like John had originally thought in those heart-clenching first seconds. Just something slightly worrying and definitely an impediment to running fast.

More bullets scattered in, hitting the large rock that was currently John's favorite rock in the entire galaxy.

John stared at Rodney, biting his lip and thinking, if they just had some time, a distraction, they could make the three hundred or so yard dash to the gate and dial it up.

John stared at Rodney.

A distraction. He smiled brightly. "I've got an idea."

John picked up Rodney's hand and squeezed it gently before moving his thumb to the wrist, feeling the soft skin just under the palm. Perfect. "Get ready to run."

Teyla raised an eyebrow, but shifted into position none the less, Ronon gave off the air of "I'm going to be pissed if I die, but I trust you" and moved as well. John got his free arm under Rodney and pulled him up; Rodney was looking at him funny, but John just concentrated on his wrist, smooth and soft under his finger tips. He didn't even close his eyes, just stared at Rodney and let it build until his teeth practically vibrated and he nearly lost control; and then the hard part. The part that they hadn't practiced because after that afternoon in the jumper they hadn't asked Teyla back; it wasn't a slight, it just wasn't something that had occurred to them and without a second person there wasn't really any way to practice directionality. John, however, had a pretty good feeling and so he let it go.

No one on his team doubled over, which was a plus. He threw a rock into the open and there was silence. "Run!"

They ran, Ronon able to take care of the quick recoverers. The whole time Rodney was talking beside him. "I can't believe you actually did that. That's insane. That's like Marvel X rated. Who thinks of that?" John just gave Rodney a bland look.

They dialed and warned of hostile fire and just before John and Rodney stepped through Rodney whispered, "You have the coolest superpower ever."

John squeezed Rodney's ass. "And it's all yours."


For those of you who stuck it out, you can find the very special image from everagaby here. You're welcome everagaby!! *hugs and kisses!*


ETA: The word Orgasmonomics was thought up by my sister muppetk. She's very proud of it. *pats her head*
Tags: fic, mckay/sheppard, sga

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