Ephemeral by Purna (Sex, Drugs, and Rock and Roll)
Ephemeral by purna
McKay/Sheppard
~1,800 words
R
Summary: Alien pollen. Yeah.
The sun is warm, and the breeze rustles the greenery around them. The air is heavy with a smell that reminds John of jasmine, although Telya calls it ayalla blossom. It's rich and sweet and exotic, and even Rodney sniffs appreciatively, although with reddening eyes and a few explosive sneezes.
Rodney wipes at his nose, muttering something about the evils of pollen, then lifts his scanner, displaying the screen to everyone in turn. "Energy readings, remember? Why have we stopped again? Flower boy, what the hell are you doing?"
Ronon has broken off a stalk of the flowers and is tucking it into his hair. "It's pretty," he says easily, unfazed by Rodney's tone. He uses another stalk of flowers to poke at Rodney's short hair, a rain of pollen dusting down. Rodney sneezes several times in quick succession.
"Quit pollinating me," Rodney says, but he doesn't sound all that irritated. He tucks the scanner away in his vest with a distracted air, the frown on his face easing, a corner of his mouth quirking up. He reaches out suddenly, and runs a hand over John's hair.
"Rodney, what the hell?" John says. He doesn't actually mind the touch, but it sounds like something he should say after a teammate strokes his hair with intent. He's feeling kind of warm and friendly, like the world is hugging him, and he finds himself smiling at Rodney for no good reason.
Rodney smiles back. "This was in your hair." He's holding out several of the blooms, crushed now by his grip.
Teyla plucks the flowers from Rodney's hand, letting her fingers slide over Rodney's palm in a sensual caress. Rodney makes a low noise in the back of his throat, but it's John he's looking at as he makes the sound, not Teyla. John's staring at the base of Rodney's throat, at the hollow between his collarbones, where there's a sheen from the pollen and Rodney's sweat. Below the heavy floral scent of the ayalla blooms, John's picking up traces of coffee and chocolate, mixed in with the clean sweaty smell of Rodney.
Brushing the tiny blue flowers with one hand, Teyla rubs the shimmery pollen between her thumb and forefinger. "It is said they bloom only once a generation, for a few short hours. It is considered a great blessing to witness the event. We should pause to reflect."
Rodney's listing a little to the right, wait, no, to the left, so John moves in and puts a supportive hand under Rodney's elbow. "Yeah," Rodney says in a breathless voice. "A pause. That sounds good. And sitting. Sitting would be nice."
Ronon sits, and then falls back to lie full length on the ground, his eyes closed against the sunshine. He's making a noise deep in his throat, that reminds John of purring. Teyla slides down to sit cross-legged next to him with the easy grace that usually makes John envious. Now he just admires the view and slides down to the ground himself, bringing Rodney down with him.
"Whoa," Rodney says as they go down, and they both end up on their backs, Rodney's head on his stomach. Rodney's hair is soft beneath John's hand, and he strokes it over and over. "Hmmm," Rodney says, and reaches up to give John an appreciative pat on the knee.
John feels a hand moving through his own hair and looks up to see that it's Teyla. Her attention is divided; one hand on Ronon's chest, one hand in John's hair.
"Teyla?" He's frowning a little, because it should feel stranger than it does, all this touching and general coziness. Something tries to surface, just below all the good feelings, confusion wrestling with all the good, good, warm, warm.
"Something's wrong," he tries to say, but then the breeze freshens, and the flowers around them rustle. The heavy scent carries him down further into the warm and happy place, where the touching takes the place of talking, where a hand in your hair isn't intrusive and overly personal. It's a greeting, a reassurance.
The sun is shining and the day is perfect, and it just gets better when Rodney rolls over and worms his way up John's body. He props his head up on one hand, his elbow digging into John's chest.
"I like this," Rodney says in a conversational tone, smiling up into John's face. "It feels good."
It's the most natural thing in the world to touch Rodney. He cups his hand at the back of Rodney's neck, a gentle squeeze on warm, damp skin, pulling Rodney's face to his. The air between them is warm with their breath, and then Rodney's mouth is on his. Rodney's lips are a little dry, but he knows what to do with his tongue, teasing and playing until John has to laugh.
Rodney laughs with him, and his eyes on John are dreamy and soft. Rodney's hands go wandering, and they're kissing again. The warm feeling is more intense, and the heady smell of the flowers and the sunlight make John's head swim. Rodney sucks on his bottom lip, and it's less gentle, sharper, heat in John's groin making him moan. Blood pounds in his ears, and John can't separate the buzz in his head from the sound of insects pollinating the flowers.
Pollen, he thinks, and it's almost enough to make him pull back, but then he laughs against Rodney's mouth.
"What?" Rodney says.
"Pollen. Flower sex." The feel of the words in John's mouth is strange and ticklish. It makes him laugh again, and Rodney laughs with him. Rodney's laughter fades, and his hips move against John's with unmistakable intent.
They are interrupted when Teyla reaches over and pokes John in the ribs. "John. Rodney. The effects of the ayalla are different from those on Athos. Stronger. We all should sit together. Meditate until the blossoms fall."
John looks down at Rodney, a frown creasing his face. "No," they say together and can't stifle the giggles.
Teyla grabs John's hand, hauling him into a sitting position. Her other hand is already held in Ronon's, who is now seated beside her.
"Ronon, take Rodney's hand," she says. Rodney shies away at first, muttering "flower boy," but Ronon grabs his hand with a low growl.
Grumbling, Rodney sits up as well, and they all sit cross-legged. They form a circle, facing inwards, with joined hands.
"Lean forward," Teyla says, and touches her forehead to Ronon's. "Now, both of you." They hesitantly lean forward, heads touching in the center of the circle. It makes John think of a football huddle, only holding hands, and he giggles again. Teyla squeezes his hand, hard, and shoots him a look from the corner of her eye.
"Okay, okay," John mutters and closes his eyes. Leaning forward over his legs should feel awkward, but John's muscles are so relaxed, it's pretty easy.
They sit like that, shoulder to shoulder, crowded in their circle. John's palms feel sweaty, but neither Teyla nor Rodney say anything about it. John's on the edge of sleep when he hears Teyla singing, almost under her breath.
It sounds formal, with odd-sounding shifts in pitch, like the Persian music an old girlfriend of his had listened to. The warmth and the heavy scent and clear tones of Teyla's voice combine into a mesmerizing haze. Out of the haze, something emerges, a sense of them all as a single entity.
John feels itchy eyes and a confused sort of affection, and knows that it is Rodney, as if what Rodney feels is being transmitted through touch. The relieved acceptance is Ronon. There's no familiarity with this particular ritual, but the idea of bonding as a team in some formalized way feels normal, vital even, to the Satedan. The peace and serenity are Teyla's. She is joyful, singing the blessing, and grateful for their participation.
Without the buoying effects of the pollen, John would have felt stupid sitting there, in this alien bong circle, having weird thoughts about what he thinks his teammates are feeling. His legs would have no doubt cramped up almost immediately, and he'd have probably hung back, an eyebrow raised skeptically.
The haze is easing now though, John realizes, and he doesn't feel stupid. He doesn't think he imagined what his team felt, either. It was weird, and John can't explain what happened exactly, but it was real.
He feels...well, blessed is what he feels, weirdly enough, by who or what, he has no idea, except maybe by his team. It's then that he feels softness raining down on his back and he looks up to see the blooms falling. The flowers are dying after their brief blossoming. The petals fall down on them, caressing their skin and carpeting the ground.
Teyla pulls her hand away from John's. "It is done." They all let out their breath, almost as one, but Ronon continues to hold Teyla's hand. Teyla hooks her leg over Ronon's thigh and slides her fingers into Ronon's hair possessively. John looks away, but he can't help overhearing them.
John unfolds his legs, which feel a little cramped after such a long session folded on the ground. Beside him, Rodney is shaking out his own legs, shooting little glances over at John.
John can hear the wet sound of kissing coming from Teyla and Ronon, murmurs and sighs that go right to his gut.
"So," Rodney says. "No more freaky alien pollen."
"Yeah," John says, a smile crinkling the corners of his mouth.
"So, why do I still feel like kissing you?" Rodney asks, brushing flower petals off his vest.
"I'm a good kisser," John says agreeably and reaches over to pull a blossom from Rodney's hair. He tucks it into one of the straps on Rodney's vest.
"Are you?" Rodney asks, his face getting closer and closer.
"Oh, yeah," he says, and brings their mouths together. He closes his eyes and lets go, and then they're kissing and groping and lazily humping each other. Everything's hazy and dreamlike again, almost like the pollen buzz is still there.
It's all them this time, though. Rodney's mouth and hands, rooting down though layers of clothing to the skin of John's belly. Rodney's strong fingers move on him. It's erotically charged, and John feels heavy with sensation. The breeze against his skin, cool where Rodney's mouth has been, makes him shudder. There's a rising warmth, a buzz in his ears, and they fall together, back onto the carpet of flowers. Their movements release the last of the heavy scent from the blossoms, but when John comes, it's with the taste and smell of Rodney filling his senses.
McKay/Sheppard
~1,800 words
R
Summary: Alien pollen. Yeah.
The sun is warm, and the breeze rustles the greenery around them. The air is heavy with a smell that reminds John of jasmine, although Telya calls it ayalla blossom. It's rich and sweet and exotic, and even Rodney sniffs appreciatively, although with reddening eyes and a few explosive sneezes.
Rodney wipes at his nose, muttering something about the evils of pollen, then lifts his scanner, displaying the screen to everyone in turn. "Energy readings, remember? Why have we stopped again? Flower boy, what the hell are you doing?"
Ronon has broken off a stalk of the flowers and is tucking it into his hair. "It's pretty," he says easily, unfazed by Rodney's tone. He uses another stalk of flowers to poke at Rodney's short hair, a rain of pollen dusting down. Rodney sneezes several times in quick succession.
"Quit pollinating me," Rodney says, but he doesn't sound all that irritated. He tucks the scanner away in his vest with a distracted air, the frown on his face easing, a corner of his mouth quirking up. He reaches out suddenly, and runs a hand over John's hair.
"Rodney, what the hell?" John says. He doesn't actually mind the touch, but it sounds like something he should say after a teammate strokes his hair with intent. He's feeling kind of warm and friendly, like the world is hugging him, and he finds himself smiling at Rodney for no good reason.
Rodney smiles back. "This was in your hair." He's holding out several of the blooms, crushed now by his grip.
Teyla plucks the flowers from Rodney's hand, letting her fingers slide over Rodney's palm in a sensual caress. Rodney makes a low noise in the back of his throat, but it's John he's looking at as he makes the sound, not Teyla. John's staring at the base of Rodney's throat, at the hollow between his collarbones, where there's a sheen from the pollen and Rodney's sweat. Below the heavy floral scent of the ayalla blooms, John's picking up traces of coffee and chocolate, mixed in with the clean sweaty smell of Rodney.
Brushing the tiny blue flowers with one hand, Teyla rubs the shimmery pollen between her thumb and forefinger. "It is said they bloom only once a generation, for a few short hours. It is considered a great blessing to witness the event. We should pause to reflect."
Rodney's listing a little to the right, wait, no, to the left, so John moves in and puts a supportive hand under Rodney's elbow. "Yeah," Rodney says in a breathless voice. "A pause. That sounds good. And sitting. Sitting would be nice."
Ronon sits, and then falls back to lie full length on the ground, his eyes closed against the sunshine. He's making a noise deep in his throat, that reminds John of purring. Teyla slides down to sit cross-legged next to him with the easy grace that usually makes John envious. Now he just admires the view and slides down to the ground himself, bringing Rodney down with him.
"Whoa," Rodney says as they go down, and they both end up on their backs, Rodney's head on his stomach. Rodney's hair is soft beneath John's hand, and he strokes it over and over. "Hmmm," Rodney says, and reaches up to give John an appreciative pat on the knee.
John feels a hand moving through his own hair and looks up to see that it's Teyla. Her attention is divided; one hand on Ronon's chest, one hand in John's hair.
"Teyla?" He's frowning a little, because it should feel stranger than it does, all this touching and general coziness. Something tries to surface, just below all the good feelings, confusion wrestling with all the good, good, warm, warm.
"Something's wrong," he tries to say, but then the breeze freshens, and the flowers around them rustle. The heavy scent carries him down further into the warm and happy place, where the touching takes the place of talking, where a hand in your hair isn't intrusive and overly personal. It's a greeting, a reassurance.
The sun is shining and the day is perfect, and it just gets better when Rodney rolls over and worms his way up John's body. He props his head up on one hand, his elbow digging into John's chest.
"I like this," Rodney says in a conversational tone, smiling up into John's face. "It feels good."
It's the most natural thing in the world to touch Rodney. He cups his hand at the back of Rodney's neck, a gentle squeeze on warm, damp skin, pulling Rodney's face to his. The air between them is warm with their breath, and then Rodney's mouth is on his. Rodney's lips are a little dry, but he knows what to do with his tongue, teasing and playing until John has to laugh.
Rodney laughs with him, and his eyes on John are dreamy and soft. Rodney's hands go wandering, and they're kissing again. The warm feeling is more intense, and the heady smell of the flowers and the sunlight make John's head swim. Rodney sucks on his bottom lip, and it's less gentle, sharper, heat in John's groin making him moan. Blood pounds in his ears, and John can't separate the buzz in his head from the sound of insects pollinating the flowers.
Pollen, he thinks, and it's almost enough to make him pull back, but then he laughs against Rodney's mouth.
"What?" Rodney says.
"Pollen. Flower sex." The feel of the words in John's mouth is strange and ticklish. It makes him laugh again, and Rodney laughs with him. Rodney's laughter fades, and his hips move against John's with unmistakable intent.
They are interrupted when Teyla reaches over and pokes John in the ribs. "John. Rodney. The effects of the ayalla are different from those on Athos. Stronger. We all should sit together. Meditate until the blossoms fall."
John looks down at Rodney, a frown creasing his face. "No," they say together and can't stifle the giggles.
Teyla grabs John's hand, hauling him into a sitting position. Her other hand is already held in Ronon's, who is now seated beside her.
"Ronon, take Rodney's hand," she says. Rodney shies away at first, muttering "flower boy," but Ronon grabs his hand with a low growl.
Grumbling, Rodney sits up as well, and they all sit cross-legged. They form a circle, facing inwards, with joined hands.
"Lean forward," Teyla says, and touches her forehead to Ronon's. "Now, both of you." They hesitantly lean forward, heads touching in the center of the circle. It makes John think of a football huddle, only holding hands, and he giggles again. Teyla squeezes his hand, hard, and shoots him a look from the corner of her eye.
"Okay, okay," John mutters and closes his eyes. Leaning forward over his legs should feel awkward, but John's muscles are so relaxed, it's pretty easy.
They sit like that, shoulder to shoulder, crowded in their circle. John's palms feel sweaty, but neither Teyla nor Rodney say anything about it. John's on the edge of sleep when he hears Teyla singing, almost under her breath.
It sounds formal, with odd-sounding shifts in pitch, like the Persian music an old girlfriend of his had listened to. The warmth and the heavy scent and clear tones of Teyla's voice combine into a mesmerizing haze. Out of the haze, something emerges, a sense of them all as a single entity.
John feels itchy eyes and a confused sort of affection, and knows that it is Rodney, as if what Rodney feels is being transmitted through touch. The relieved acceptance is Ronon. There's no familiarity with this particular ritual, but the idea of bonding as a team in some formalized way feels normal, vital even, to the Satedan. The peace and serenity are Teyla's. She is joyful, singing the blessing, and grateful for their participation.
Without the buoying effects of the pollen, John would have felt stupid sitting there, in this alien bong circle, having weird thoughts about what he thinks his teammates are feeling. His legs would have no doubt cramped up almost immediately, and he'd have probably hung back, an eyebrow raised skeptically.
The haze is easing now though, John realizes, and he doesn't feel stupid. He doesn't think he imagined what his team felt, either. It was weird, and John can't explain what happened exactly, but it was real.
He feels...well, blessed is what he feels, weirdly enough, by who or what, he has no idea, except maybe by his team. It's then that he feels softness raining down on his back and he looks up to see the blooms falling. The flowers are dying after their brief blossoming. The petals fall down on them, caressing their skin and carpeting the ground.
Teyla pulls her hand away from John's. "It is done." They all let out their breath, almost as one, but Ronon continues to hold Teyla's hand. Teyla hooks her leg over Ronon's thigh and slides her fingers into Ronon's hair possessively. John looks away, but he can't help overhearing them.
John unfolds his legs, which feel a little cramped after such a long session folded on the ground. Beside him, Rodney is shaking out his own legs, shooting little glances over at John.
John can hear the wet sound of kissing coming from Teyla and Ronon, murmurs and sighs that go right to his gut.
"So," Rodney says. "No more freaky alien pollen."
"Yeah," John says, a smile crinkling the corners of his mouth.
"So, why do I still feel like kissing you?" Rodney asks, brushing flower petals off his vest.
"I'm a good kisser," John says agreeably and reaches over to pull a blossom from Rodney's hair. He tucks it into one of the straps on Rodney's vest.
"Are you?" Rodney asks, his face getting closer and closer.
"Oh, yeah," he says, and brings their mouths together. He closes his eyes and lets go, and then they're kissing and groping and lazily humping each other. Everything's hazy and dreamlike again, almost like the pollen buzz is still there.
It's all them this time, though. Rodney's mouth and hands, rooting down though layers of clothing to the skin of John's belly. Rodney's strong fingers move on him. It's erotically charged, and John feels heavy with sensation. The breeze against his skin, cool where Rodney's mouth has been, makes him shudder. There's a rising warmth, a buzz in his ears, and they fall together, back onto the carpet of flowers. Their movements release the last of the heavy scent from the blossoms, but when John comes, it's with the taste and smell of Rodney filling his senses.