FIC: SGA: The Slow Braille of Touch, FMAO, M/S
Title:The Slow Braille of Touch
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: Not really. Set in Season 1, prior to “The Siege.”
Rating: For Mature Audiences Only.
Word count = 7,500
Summary: John notices a personal habit of Rodney’s and begins watching him more closely.
Notes and Disclaimer: Title is taken from Anne Sexton’s poem “The Farmer’s Wife,” happily found after a comment by lyrstzha. Many thanks to intrepid betas and hand-holders, tx_cronopio, lyrstzha, and malnpudl. I've added to the fic after their careful perusals, so it's pretty sure that any crimes against grammar are mine own. These characters are not mine, sadly, and I do not profit from their use.
Concrit deeply appreciated, and feedback is adored.
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Teaser
Rodney smiled at him more often when he walked into a room after that, a full attention kind of thing that was a little unnerving. And sometimes this weird stuff would happen where Rodney would babble nervously, blushes smudged high and fierce on his cheekbones, or John would get tongue-tied and fidget before their conversation would click into old familiar grooves. He couldn’t decide if this should make him panic.
John finally told himself that Rodney was unaware of his occasional moments of being insanely attracted to the smartest, funniest, crankiest bluest-eyed man he’d ever met distraction, or just chalked it up to John not being able to keep up with his superior intellect.
He was pretty sure Rodney would pick the intellect thing.
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The Slow Braille of Touch
John noticed it for the first time on P6R-739. It had been a long, frustrating day; he couldn’t sleep and three full moons were way more than any planet ever needed. Turning his head toward his tent mate in hopes that Rodney might be up for a little chat, he found instead his scientist curled up on one side, face scrunched in what could only be called intense and determined relaxation.
Rodney had tucked one hand beneath his cheek and his forearm was bare and gleaming in the moonlight, his free hand stroking his arm with an almost dreamy rhythm. For a second, John almost asked about rashes and itching, but one more look at his teammate’s face and the growing, true relaxation there, and he kept silent, watching the slow sweep of Rodney’s fingers.
Between one pass and the next, John fell asleep.
~~~
Over the next few weeks, John noticed that Rodney’s little arm-thing was a habit. Rodney would sit frowning at his computer, his fingers stroking the crook of his elbow, or with one hand tucked into his jacket sleeve, thumb moving gently against his skin. It was…different, and certainly better than other personal quirks John had seen, like cracking knuckles or that one guy in flight school that used to absentmindedly scratch his teeth. Just thinking about that sound made John’s skin crawl.
After Koyla and the storm, Rodney had kept his arm tucked close to him, one hand gripping just below the elbow, his thumb almost constantly stroking over the bandage. John had wondered if the movement of Rodney’s fingers was because the healing gash was itchy, or just for comfort.
Something about McKay’s posture, though, made John think it was more comfort. There was a loneliness about McKay that reminded John that being smart or athletic, popular or even essential to an expedition’s survival didn’t always make you feel safe or even like you belonged.
After that, John dropped by Rodney’s lab more often. Besides, it was fun to annoy the guy.
~~~
McKay bugged John. Not bugged him bugged him, but more like a problem where the answer was just right there, but he wasn’t looking at it right. So annoying, because he’d gotten used to having people pegged. Not that he was some sort of con artist or anything, but he’d learned that being nice, easy going and laid back got him a hell of a lot more flight opportunities than the Top Gun asshats who made big noises and pissed off the mechanics. (Which, if you thought about it -and John did - was a monumentally stupid thing to do, because mechanics kept the planes from breaking.)
But after Afghanistan, John had stopped caring about charming people. He didn’t particularly want to know anybody; he just wanted to fly, in peace, which was all he ever wanted in the first place. People in Antarctica just wanted to get from point A to point B without freezing their asses off, which meant, quick, clean and quiet. It was a perfect system, until he met General O’Neill.
Now here he was, in Atlantis, and there was nothing peaceful about Rodney McKay. He argued with, at, for, or against nearly everything or everyone he came into contact with; he freely whacked one and all with his intellect like it was some big cartoon hammer, sometimes coming back for a second or third hit if his victim had not been sufficiently subdued. Every time Rodney howled, “My cat could have done better than this!” John’s brain supplied an angry meow and the hearty “thwap” of what he had dubbed the "Acme Hammer of Intellectual Defeat.”
One day he stopped by the lab, and Rodney was waving his arms about in what John was sure was the first few bars of the familiar “Oh, My God Are You All Morons??” Mckay was gripping a datapad in one hand, looking as if his ears might ignite. Simmons stood next to him, looking as if he were trying not to swallow his tongue when Rodney let out a shriek.
“Radek!” he howled “Just - just - look!” He waved the pad at Zelenka, then thought better of it, setting it carefully down and pushing it toward the Czech scientist.
“What’s going on?” John asked casually.
Rodney turned to him, beaming, “Oh, Simmons just had a great idea about conserving some of our precious power, since ZPMs don’t grow on trees. Good work, and I never say that.” He clapped Simmons on the shoulder, and the man’s knees nearly buckled.
Simmons grabbed the edge of the lab table. “T-Thank you, Dr. -“
Radek squeaked, “This! This! If we-“
Rodney snapped his fingers, “Yes, with the transfer station on the East pier.”
“And connect it to the - “
“Yes,” Rodney said airily, and deliberately stepped away from his mind reading act with Zelenka. “Why don’t the two of you get on testing that?”
Simmons looked utterly shocked. “You want me to…?”
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said impatiently, as he turned to his laptop, a glint of his satisfaction and pride still showing in his eyes. “You seem perfectly adequate to the task, and Radek will prevent you from blowing up the city. So, shoo. I’m very busy.”
“Dr. McKay…”
“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” McKay sing-songed, with twinkle of mischief, “because now I know that you can do inspired work, which means much less headaches for me, unless of course, you get sloppy, which you won’t, will you?”
“NO, no sir,” Simmons spine snapped straight in a move Marines would envy. He nodded at McKay in a determined and noble fashion and scuttled off to Zelenka’s station.
Rodney’s obvious respect and pleasure in Simmons’ success made John want to belly up to a whiteboard and start working problems. He’d always assumed that Rodney would grudgingly acknowledge his staff’s work, and felt like a jerk for the assumption. (And slightly freaked out about his sudden desire to do flow dynamics problems for an audience.)
John had spent more than half his life trying to downplay his smarts. It was his edge, and the one thing his father couldn’t take away from him, because he couldn’t be grounded from using his brain. Intellectually grounded; there was plenty of other things his brain had gotten him grounded for, but for math? It made his father nervous, because like most things having to do with John, it was a language he didn’t speak, so he couldn’t control the situation.
And as for moving around all the time and going to so many different high schools; flying under the radar was the way to go. Nobody had to know he tinkered with problems in college textbooks. John found it was the only way, at least in his world, that he could get things done on his own terms.
But Rodney, Rodney was out there every day with almost everything he had right on display, usually shaking his finger in someone’s face. If he wasn’t saying anything, his thoughts were about as clear as a neon sign. To John, the way Rodney acted was the craziest or most confident or defensive or maybe offensive thing he’d ever seen. It was a high wire act without a net, or flying a glider down from Everest; flashy, dangerous, cool and more than a little crazy.
John was still laughing, more than half-horrified, about the day Rodney had pumped a 10,000 year old Wraith with bullets, ejected his magazine and said, “Okay, now what?” With the Wraith right there walking toward him. Who did stuff like that? It was one of the bravest things he’d ever seen, and not that he was complaining about being alive, but really, people called him reckless with his life?
But the thing that drove him really crazy was something about the way Rodney held himself sometimes when he thought no one was watching. It made John want to tell him very bad jokes or give him pudding, or make him watch “Back to the Future,” just to hear him scream with outrage. On overnight missions he caught himself finding a position where he could secretly watch Rodney settle into in his bedding, letting the rhythm of Rodney’s arm-ritual thing soothe them both to sleep. He’d figure out eventually why Rodney bothered him so much; he’d just have to keep watching.
~~~
Teyla was humming and John was surprised at how beautiful her voice was, though why, at this point, he wasn’t sure, because Teyla excelled pretty outrageously at just about everything, except for cooking. It was kinda funny how embarrassed she was about that.
“Sounding pretty good there, Teyla,” Ford called over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Aiden,” Teyla smiled, blushing a little. “I did not realize I was humming so loudly. It is a song the children of our people sing in the springtime.”
“There’s nothing here,” Rodney said dejectedly, finishing his sweep of the area. “But I am reading a faint energy signature in the next quadrant over there.” He waved his hand vaguely westward. “Is anybody else roasting?”
“It is rather warm.” Teyla agreed, “ Perhaps we could walk by the river, where it would be cooler?”
“How about lunch?” John suggested. “I’m about ready for that.” Everyone nodded. “Telya, how about you pick us a nice spot?”
Teyla picked a spot where they could enjoy the breeze off the river and still see the surrounding countryside. P8K-723 was a beautiful planet, and had obviously been either picked clean by the Wraith or evacuated by the human population. No matter how many planets they’d been to like this one, it still felt like they’d crept into a Twilight Zone episode. One of the creepier ones. Even if the place was empty, he didn’t like to let down his guard.
“Sir, would you like me to relieve you so you can eat?” Ford offered.
“No, thanks, Ford, you go ahead.”
Teyla asked Ford what songs Earth children sang in the spring, and John laughed to himself at the juxtaposition of “Jesus Loves Me,” and “Peter Cotton Tail.” Rodney was happily pointing out how Christianity had co-opted other culture’s fertility symbols and John silently wished Ford luck. On his return trip, it seemed like the conversation had turned to toys, and he heard Ford ask McKay about his favorite stuffed toy, the teasing smile apparent in his voice.
John was walking up as Rodney stiffened slightly, his hand picking at the knee of his pants. “My parents believed in educational toys,” he said shortly, digging for his scanner. “Not everyone had a battalion of stuffed fluffy bunnies.”
“Does that mean you slept with Legos or something, Doc?” Ford teased, shooting Sheppard a grin.
John’s “imminent snit” warning went up, and he gave Ford a quelling glare that clearly said, “Do not poke the scientist.”
Rodney’s chin went from zero to maximum defensive tilt. “That means I learned how to soothe myself without a stuffed germ-carrier, Lieutenant,” he said loftily, standing and not looking at any of them. “I think there might be something this way,” he added, brushing past John.
Ford looked at John and Teyla, utterly confused. “Did I just say something stupid?
“I think it was one of those Rodney things you don’t see coming,” John said, giving him a commiserating smile. Ford nodded and looked a little glum.
“He has not had a happy life, I believe,” Teyla said quietly.
“Don’t think you’re wrong,” John replied thoughtfully, “Let’s go get him before he gets lost.”
Ford looked at his commanding officer mournfully. “He never got any Peeps for Easter, Major. Or chocolate bunnies.”
“I’d say it was un-American, but he is Canadian. Maybe they don’t do that.”
“No Peeps.”
John clapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Ford. One day we’ll explode something peep-like for McKay in the microwave. Now take our six.”
John nodded to Teyla and they trotted a little until they caught sight of energy-bloodhounding McKay.
“Anything?” John called.
“NO!” McKay yelled back, causing several birds to explode out of a nearby tree. John eyed them for potential turkey sandwiches, but they looked pretty scrawny.
“Major,” Teyla asked quietly, “Do many parents send their children away for others to raise and teach on Earth?”
“Well, most kids go to school in a neighborhood that’s close to home during the day and then come home at night. School starts when you’re about five. Now, folks in England - rich folks - and some other places I think, send kids off about sevenish to boarding schools. Where they live for a…period of time and then take breaks and go home. Not all cultures do that, but some. Some American families do it, too.”
“I see.” She said slowly. “Aiden was sent to his grandparents when he was very young.
“Oh, I get ya.” John nodded, “I think Ford’s mom couldn’t take care of him - couldn’t hold down a job and watch a baby - so she asked her folks to take him. I’m not sure about his dad. But he turned out okay. From what I hear, his grandparents are great people.
“Indeed,” Teyla agreed, glancing back at the young soldier. “Now, what is “summer camp?”
“Pretty much what it says. Kids go away for a week or two in the summer and camp. It’s fun for them and gives parents a break. It can be just a fun-type camp or focused on something special like sports or….”
“Music,” Teyla supplied, nodding. “Dr. McKay went to music camp as a child. When he was eight years.” She didn’t sound very happy about it.
“Something bugging you, Teyla?”
“He said it was his first time away from his family and he knew no one. My people, when they send children between villages for learning and play always send along one who can comfort and guide the children, so that part of the family group is still together should the Wraith come. Her voice had taken on an irritated edge. “It seems very strange to me to send a child out alone.”
“I agree with you on that one, Teyla. I don’t see Rodney as the summer camp type.”
“He did not say as much, but it was clear he did not like it. We are all aware of how the sounds of the forest keep him awake.”
As he walked, John thought of bare arms and dreamily sweeping fingers, and being alone with nothing to hang onto in the dark. Several things clicked into place about Rodney and it made his chest hurt. John remembered being eight, snuggling with his Snoopy while his mom read to him, rubbing his back slowly and wanted to hit something.
That night, safe in Atlantis, he couldn’t seem to get to sleep, so he tried Rodney’s trick on his own arm. It made his chest hurt again, so he went for a run instead.
~~~
Rodney had declared in no uncertain terms that he wanted no form of party or awkward gift giving or any silly nonsense for his birthday, which John thought was just asking for it, especially since Radek Zelenka was right there.
It was hard for Zelenka to meet up with the rest of John’s team without arousing suspicion, so they waited until the Czech created a small diversion to keep Rodney occupied and paged John.
“How’d you do it?” Ford asked as Radek joined them in the armory.
“Is better not to know,” Zelenka answered darkly.
“Right. So?” John asked.
“Silly?” offered Ford.
“Nonsense,” agreed Zelenka.
“Completely non-educational,” added Teyla firmly.
John bounced proudly. He had such a great team.
“Non-educational?” Radek asked, confused.
“It’s a thing. Can you guys handle that?” John said. “Being all science-y?”
“Dr. McKay only had educational toys as a kid,” Ford blurted. “It’s just wrong.”
“That was in confidence,” John said quickly, frowning at Ford. “Team thing,” he apologized to Radek.
Zelenka nodded briskly. “I understand. This explains much.” He said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Ideas?” John asked the group.
“Would projectile toy weapons be permissible, Major?” Radek asked, beginning to get a sly sort of smile on his face. “Or are toys that demonstrate physics too educational?”
“Like a slingshot?”
“More like water pistol.”
“How many can you make by next Thursday?”
~~~
The whole team returned Rodney to his quarters, helping him with his loot and leaving little wet trails all over the hallways. Ford kept trying to snitch pieces of candy, but Teyla kept distracting him by smacking him in the face with her wet hair (her hands were full). John couldn’t stop smiling. And Rodney, as usual, couldn’t stop talking.
As they unloaded the presents on his desk, Rodney stood in the center of his room, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Well,” he said awkwardly, his chin tilted a little defensively, “I just wanted to say,” he stumbled, clearing his throat. “It’s not often that I…uh…”
Teyla rescued him. “You do not have to say anything,” she said kindly, reaching up to press her damp forehead to his. “It was our pleasure.”
“Damn straight,” Ford chuckled, clapping Rodney on the back, “I’ll never forget the look on your face. It was awesome.”
Rodney’s blush was more pleased than uncomfortable. “Well. Thanks anyway. Really.”
“No problem, Doc! Happy birthday!” Ford grinned, clapping him on the back again and heading for the door. “Goodnight, sir!” he tipped a casual salute at John.
“Yes, happy birthday,” Teyla added, giving Rodney’s arm a squeeze. “Goodnight, John.”
“’Night guys.”
“Yes, goodnight,” Rodney added, waving a little as they soggily walked through the door.
“Yeah, well,” John said, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, “I should head out, too. Good shooting, by the way,” he added, cocking his finger at Rodney.
“Kavanagh won’t be speaking to me for days,” Rodney replied with deep satisfaction.
That seemed to be a good way to end the evening, so John squeezed Rodney’s shoulder and strolled to the door.
“Major,” Rodney called after him quietly. “Don’t think I missed who was behind this little celebration.”
“Radek?” John lied, feeling his face flame; he was glad his back was turned.
Rodney snorted.
John stood in the doorway, playing with the edge of the control panel. “I’m glad you had good birthday, Rodney,” he said seriously, then glanced over his shoulder.
Rodney held his eyes for a long moment. “The best,” he replied equally seriously, then shot him a delighted, crooked smile, rocking on his heels.
John grinned and may have bounced back in a tasteful, pleased way. Twice. Regaining his cool, he sobered, and, nodding casually to Rodney, unnecessarily punched the door panel in a cool manly fashion and slipped out with a jaunty salute.
~~~
Rodney smiled at him more often when he walked into a room after that, a full attention kind of thing that was a little unnerving. And sometimes this weird stuff would happen where Rodney would babble nervously, blushes smudged high and fierce on his cheekbones, or John would get tongue-tied and fidget before their conversation would click into old familiar grooves. He couldn’t decide if this should make him panic.
John finally told himself that Rodney was unaware of his occasional moments of being insanely attracted to the smartest, funniest, crankiest bluest-eyed man he’d ever met distraction, or just chalked it up to John not being able to keep up with his superior intellect.
He was pretty sure Rodney would pick the intellect thing.
~~~
Another too-bright moon on PX7-824 kept John awake. Losing his battle to not watch Rodney, he sighed as he turned and found himself looking directly into the man’s eyes. His stomach did a swoopy thing it hadn’t done in years and he was thankful for the relative darkness.
Rodney smiled a gentle, tentative smile, stared several seconds past too long, and closed his eyes.
John’s heart pounded in his chest as he let himself start to hope.
The next morning Rodney was captured by the locals, who decided keeping a genius was better than borrowing him part-time. They punched Rodney in the mouth to shut him up, while John knelt in the dust with several guns to his head, his hands balled into fists to keep from screaming. Rodney spat out a mouthful of blood.
“Don’t antagonize them, McKay.”
“So interesting that you say that, Major, with three people pinning you down,” Rodney’s voice still snapped, but John could hear the fear and he could see the struggle with it in his eyes. Rodney threw one unguarded look at John and seeing that, with blood on his face and eyes so blue they hurt, triggered a kind of desperate anger John had never felt before.
It was everything he could do to just sit there and wait for a tactical opening as they dragged him away. Rodney. They were hurting Rodney. He was almost relieved when the cold wash of rage came; bringing clear, well-ordered rescue plans.
~~~
Carson made John leave the infirmary, insisting he go get some rest. He shed his torn and filthy clothes on the way to the shower and spent long moments under the spray, watching Rodney’s blood swirl off his arms. He took his book and headed back, walking carefully through the dimly lit room.
No change. John settled himself in the chair to wait. Carson brought him a blanket and gently shook him by the shoulder.
“If you must stay, take the next bed over, you daft laddie,” he scolded affectionately. “I’ll not have you dozing off the chair and onto the floor like you did last time. It frightens the nurses.”
“Okay,” John agreed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. That seemed about the limit to his energy, so he laid his head on the edge of Rodney’s bed to rest a minute. He was asleep in seconds.
~~~
Rodney started whimpering in his sleep, and it woke John. He rubbed his eyes and watched his friend’s bruised and unhappy face a moment, then reached for his hand. He turned it palm up and started stroking the inside of Rodney’s arm in the rhythm he’d now seen dozens of times. After a few moments, Rodney's breath hitched and he sighed happily, his face easing into more peaceful sleep. John smiled and kept going, his head propped in his free hand.
Rodney woke with a start a few hours later, bumping John’s head with his leg.
“Hey,” he complained sleepily, nudging back with his head for more space.
“Major?”
John snorted and sat up, blinking. “Hey,” he whispered happily, squeezing Rodney’s arm.
“Water?”
John helped with the cup until Rodney fell back, tired. “You’re okay.”
Rodney was lucid enough to roll his eyes a little and snort bitterly, but it came out a little like a sob.
John stroked his arm unconsciously. “You are. You’re home. Lot of bruising, more stitches than I'd like to see, a slight roasting, a fat lip and they put your shoulder back. Gonna be a little sore when you’re waving your arms around, so probably should hold off on that. But you’re gonna be fine.”
Rodney looked at him a long moment, painful memories clear. “Came and got me.”
“’Course we did.”
Rodney’s eyes flashed. “No. You. Crazy man.”
“You’re one to talk,” John poked him in the leg. “Mr. I’ll Escape via Electrocuting Myself.”
“Hard,” Rodney murmured defensively, “hotwiring one-handed.”
“Yeah, that’s why you wait for your team to come get you.” John watched him drift off a moment, then come about halfway back.
“Mmn,” he commanded drowsily, presenting his arm.
John alternated stroking and scratching this time. Rodney’s eyes opened at half-mast, waking up more than was probably good for John. Piercing blue eyes regarded him for a long time before Rodney slipped into sleep, lips pressed into a small smile.
~~~
That month, John was helping the Athosians with the harvest on the mainland, so he didn’t see a lot of Rodney until he was healed and back on the duty roster. When he bustled into the briefing room, John’s heart jumped, shocking him anew. He fiddled around with his notes, mind racing, until Elizabeth had to call his name twice.
Rodney pulled at him like he was some sort of visible magnetic field, shimmering just in front of him and to the left. When he glanced over, Rodney’s smile faltered into something a little shy.
John really didn’t get much out of the briefing that day.
In the gateroom, he and Rodney did that babbling/fidgeting thing again until John deliberately praised the whatever Parrish had figured out about the Athosian crop yields and the Botany department in general just to trigger Rodney’s soft science/hard science rant. It worked like a charm and he breathed easier for a few minutes.
“Geez, sir,” Ford whispered to him. “Don’t poke the scientist.”
John sighed. “Sorry, buddy. Self-defense.”
~~~
He woke up groaning. When he realized it was night and he was in the infirmary, John groaned again.
“Easy, hotshot.” Rodney said, reaching for the cup by the bed. “One broken rib, two cracked, a badly sprained ankle, a knot on your skull, your neck’s sore and you had a hell of a splinter---technically, a small branch. It was disturbing. Do you remember the exam?”
“Ow,” John replied.
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said in a frazzled way, “exactly.”
“Still.”
“I understand your manly passing out and the manly sleeping. You want this?”
“Mmn.” John took the straw gratefully. When he was done, he asked, “Hey, is everybody...?”
“Yes, we managed not to fall down a ravine and nearly kill ourselves, even those of us without special military training.”
John winced. “I fly.”
“I understand why, now.”
“Hey. Could you be nice?”
Rodney deflated into the chair. “This is me being nice.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Rodney leaned forward, his hands pressed between his knees. “Just don’t do that again, okay?”
John looked into Rodney’s weary, scared face and blinked a few times. “Okay.” He smiled slowly.
The other man blushed and stood up. “Well, you should probably get some sleep,” he said briskly, patting John’s hand vaguely.
“Mmn?” John asked pitifully, presenting the inside of his arm.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Rodney groused, “I knew I didn’t dream that! How did you know I liked that, anyway?”
“It’s soothing,” John said simply, turning his hand to clasp Rodney’s. “And I notice things.”
“Except for large gaping holes in the ground.”
John rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll count sheep or something.”
Rodney flopped into the chair. “Oh shut up,” he said affectionately. He kept hold of John’s hand in one of his own, and with the other, swept his fingers up the inside of John’s arm, soft and swirling, dragging his nails lightly in the cook of John's elbow and over the veins of his wrist. As John relaxed into the touch, Rodney slid his whole warm hand up John’s arm, massaging his bicep and trailing down with a slightly harder scrape. John shivered. Rodney’s hand stuttered a moment and repeated the movement. John shivered again and muffled a noise in the back of this throat.
“John?” Rodney whispered, uncertain.
“Yeah,” he replied, ruefully. “Maybe not so soothing for me.”
“John.” Rodney’s voice was rough as his fingers tightened on John’s arm.
John squeezed Rodney’s hand and forced himself to meet his eyes. “Um, sorry?”
“Sorry? Are you kidding me?” Rodney’s whisper squeaked into almost inaudible range.
John shook his head earnestly, wincing, and Rodney’s hand shot out to steady him.
“Stop that. Just stop that,” he scolded, easing John’s head to the pillow. “Want to get you out of here a quickly as possible, right?”
“So, you’re okay,” John said goofily.
“Yes,” Rodney said, staring at his mouth, “And I’m leaving now before I do something that gets me thrown out, or kills you.”
John looked at him.
“You’re overplaying the pout, but I’ll let it slide just this once,” Rodney snarked softly, and brushed his lips across John’s forehead. “Heal fast.”
“Aye, aye.”
Rodney’s hand skated gently over his cheek and down his arm. “Okay,” he whispered, “okay,” and walked off quickly. John blinked a few times and let his head loll a little, fighting not to laugh out loud. Seconds later, Rodney was back, wide-eyed.
“I…I’ve just…Can I?” his voice cracked slightly as he cupped John’s face in his hands.
“Rodney,” John complained brokenly, begging him to hurry.
Rodney kissed him softly, licking across the seam of his mouth and John tried to arch closer, but it hurt and he couldn’t hide that, so he clutched at Rodney, who whispered hushing noises against his lips, kissing him slowly and with maddening care, until John shivered again.
“Ow,” he said, and regretfully, “Damn.”
Rodney rested his forehead against John's. “Sorry.”
“I’m not,” John said emphatically.
Rodney stood back and looked down at him, giving him a few kind of dazed goodbye pats on the shoulder. “Oh. My. God,” he grinned, then sighed hugely. “We have terrible timing. Also?” he shook a finger at John, resolute, “Bye.”
He bolted off again, and John waited, but it really had been goodnight that time, and he fell asleep dazed and shaken and smiling.
~~~
John hopped around his quarters, trying to remember the mechanics of getting ready for bed with banged-up ribs and a bum ankle. He was pretty sure it hurt a lot, even with the bandages, and eyed his painkillers distrustfully. Sleeping in his clothes wasn’t so bad. He sat on his bed and started scooting carefully into a comfortable position.
His door chimed and he thought it open. Rodney was standing there holding a tray, blinking in a scowling kind of way.
“You don’t even ask who it is?” he squeaked incredulously.
John leaned stiffly, picked up the sidearm on his bedside table and brandished it carefully.
Rodney rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, very effective. I’m sufficiently threatened.” He bustled in, put the tray down and disarmed John. “You look terrible.” He frowned.
“You brought food,” John replied happily, edging toward the tray.
“You just let me disarm you,” Rodney frowned harder. “Does that mean you actually took the painkillers, for once?”
John shook his head. “You brought sandwiches,” he clarified slowly, hoping they’d be nearer soon.
Rodney huffed slightly. “But you didn’t know that before you let me in. And people say I’m the greedy one. Stop that,” he said, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. He placed the gun out of reach, propped up John’s pillows and waited while John edged carefully back, then handed him half a sandwich.
John bit into it; it wasn’t turkey, but it was the closest he was going to get in this galaxy, so he leaned back and closed his eyes, savoring it.
“Oh God, Rodney, this is fantas-“ he stuttered to a halt as he opened his eyes. Rodney was perched on this end of his bed, just holding his sandwich, his eyes dark and fixed on John’s. The Rodney who brought him sandwiches had suddenly become the Rodney who kissed him the other night; a hard swoop of lust rushed through him. He felt himself blush like a kid.
“Hey,” he said softly and grinned at the answering blush in Rodney’s face.
“Hey,” Rodney replied with a little half smile, rubbing John’s shin affectionately, then rolling his eyes. “God, we’re like, twelve.”
John nudged Rodney with his foot, took a huge bite out of his sandwich and chewed contentedly, watching the tips of Rodney’s ears turn pink. He made the big mistake of starting to stare at Rodney’s mouth, which wasn’t really a mistake so much as a tactical error. Rodney forgot to chew entirely, which was pretty funny, and John swallowed wrong. It hurt a lot.
It only took some water and a lot of heroically muffled moans to clear that up, and John was settled again comfortably, if a little shaky. Rodney stood over him with his hands on his hips.
“Well,” he said briskly, “I should get going.”
“What?” John almost yelped with disappointment.
“Hello?” Rodney flapped an aggravated hand at John and his bed. “Man with limited movement and pain, under order to rest and I nearly make you choke? Can you imagine what would have happened if I’d had to give you the Heimlich maneuver?”
“I laughed and caused myself to choke.”
“Still, this is a bad idea.”
“No, it’s - wait. What’s a bad idea?”
Rodney started moving all the dinner things to John’s bedside table. “I, uh, thought I mightoffertostay and helpyououttonight. You, know, since you’re having trouble with the, uh…” He flapped a hand at John’s ribs and shoes and general direction. “Hey, I should probably help you with the boots…”
John grabbed one of Rodney’s wrists before he could get away. “Rodney,” he said quietly, his thumb rubbing gently over the pulse point. “If you leave this room right now I will follow you.”
Rodney stared at him, gulping a little. Finally he smirked, “Really, Major? Hopping? Like a bunny?”
John reached up, hissing, wound a fist into the front of Rodney’s shirt and tugged hard. Rodney started to overbalance and caught himself, blinking, his hands braced on either side of John’s head.
“Come on, genius,” John growled.
“Okay,” Rodney said breathlessly, “A manly bunny.”
John growled a little more and had to wrap his hand around the back of Rodney’s neck before he started cooperating, so John kissed him as messily and dirtily as he knew how for making him wait. Kind of a win-win thing.
Rodney groaned into his mouth, which was the best sound ever. He managed to get his hand under Rodney’s shirt and loved the way his skin felt; smooth and hot and amazingly responsive. He could feel Rodney melt a little when John stroked the small of his back and there were tremors in Rodney's stomach when John carded his fingers through the wiry hair there. When John ran his fingernail over a nipple, Rodney shivered like a leaf and had to stop kissing long enough to let out this amazing moan. John, forgetting himself, ran both hands down Rodney’s sides and into the back of his pants, cupping his ass and pulling him closer, making Rodney totally melt against him. It was awesome for about a nanosecond, and then John's ribs creaked.
They broke apart, gasping, Rodney’s hands flying over John’s chest, “Shit! Sorry, sorry,” Rodney babbled, stricken, yanking up John’s shirt and inspecting the bandage. “You okay?”
“Yeah, it just - a little - s’not bad. Just sore.”
“Yeah, which why you’re all white around the mouth.”
“Sorry, I kinda forgot.” John tried to smile.
Rodney stroked John’s side, pink, pleased color high on his cheekbones. “Yes, it was rather, um…”
“Yeah,” John agreed, widening his eyes fervently.
Rodney smiled and ducked his head, his hand wandering to John’s hip. He scooted back on the bed a little, his hands continuing to move gently down John's legs. John gasped when Rodney cupped him through his pants, hips pushing involuntarily into the touch as his pain-softened cock leapt back to attention.
“Rodney?”
“Let me do this for you, okay?” Rodney whispered, his hands gently skating over John’s legs to his boots. Rodney stripped him efficiently, every moment a slow and deliberate brush of fingers that left him, when his shirt finally came off, shaking with need.
Rodney shook his head, looking down at John. “Even black and blue you’re beautiful.”
“Probably the lighting,” he replied wryly. “Hey, you too,” tugging on the tail of Rodney’s shirt. “Skin on skin.”
There was an edge of defensiveness as Rodney stripped for John, but John didn’t see anything to complain about; broad shoulders, great arms, deep chest with just enough hair, belly a little soft, but he liked that, and when Rodney took off his pants, John actually shivered. Rodney was gorgeous and perfect and so incredibly hard for him.
“Fuck,” he said, a little awed, stroking himself, because he couldn’t look at Rodney naked and not touch himself. He blinked quickly, and realized what he'd just said. "I mean...not that...I mean..." He took a deep breath and gave Rodney a long, slow once-over. “We do have terrible timing.”
“Well, that’s the best thing you could have possibly said,” Rodney snorted, rolling his eyes at his own insecurities. “Wait. What? Did you just …you mean you haven’t?” He waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “But? You’re? Really?”
The little squeak in Rodney’s voice helped John take a deep breath and say, “Not with a guy. But with you? Yeah.”
Rodney went still and his eyes were dark with an expression that made John’s whole body flush. In two strides, he was on the bed and straddling John, hand wrapping around his, setting a slow, tortuous rhythm for his cock. Rodney kissed him with the same gentle, sexy, focused care that he had used the night in the infirmary, and John could feel the effort it was taking him to go slowly. Something inside him broke at little at that, and he grabbed at Rodney’s shoulder, a high needy noise forcing its way past the sudden lump in his throat, wanting more.
Rodney’s lips stilled against his as he groaned back and John shifted his hand to palm Rodney’s cock, wanting more skin, more Rodney, more of those incredible moans. He got a moan and a whimper and grinning, nipped at Rodney’s mouth as he rewarded him with a long, slow, twisting squeeze.
“Jesus, John,” Rodney’s voice wavered. “Hang on a minute.”
John was shaking again by the time Rodney kissed and licked and bit his way down his body, then holding John’s hips firmly, licked a long, wet swath from his balls to the tip of his cock. John gasped and arched as much as he could, and Rodney’s mouth was waiting to swallow him down.
The heat and softness felt amazing and Rodney was doing this swirly thing with his tongue and it was all, all wrong. “Wait,” John gasped, pulling Rodney’s hair. “I want - with you - it’s, god, great but…get up here.”
Rodney frowned slightly and backed off, kneeling on the end of the bed as John flailed onto his good side, panting slightly with effort. He took a couple of deep breaths and patted the space he’d made beside him. “C’mere.”
When Rodney had settled, he still had a little frown on his face. “John, I -“
“Shh,” John said pre-emptively, diving in for another lush, open-mouthed kiss. “I know what I’m doing.”
Rodney opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows.
“Endorphins. Shut up,” John said, and traced those eyebrows, ignoring the tug to his ribs. Partially healed, he didn’t have whole lot of range before they twinged, but he did his best, stroking Rodney’s face and neck and chest in the swirling, soothing pattern he’d learned watching the man months ago. John stroked Rodney’s neck until he tilted his head back, sighing deeply, then John brushed his fingers lower, over a clavicle and scratching gently across a nipple. Rodney shivered and gripped John’s hip, tugging him nearer.
“Closer,” John breathed, and Rodney shifted forward until their cocks slid together, so perfectly, and John had to stop for a second, breathing hard. He wrapped his hand around Rodney’s shaft, pumping slowly, twisting a little as he came up. Rodney was hot and silky and felt so good in his palm. Turned on even more, John shivered as he pumped again and Rodney groaned, nudging forward to kiss him deep and wet, his tongue velvety.
Rodney wrapped his hand around John’s cock, and John’s hips shifted too far forward for comfort. John broke the kiss, cursing and growling, “Shit, I - we need to…”
“I’ve got you.” Rodney steadied John by pulling him tightly to his chest, and trapping John’s arm against his bad ribs, using it as a brace. John tucked his face in Rodney’s neck and breathed slowly, getting comfortable again. Rodney swept his hand up and down John’s back, his fingers teasing gently into the crease of his ass. John gasped and Rodney smiled, wrapping his other hand around both cocks, stripping once, twice, slowly. John shuddered and Rodney looked at him carefully.
“Arr!” John complained when Rodney stopped, making him laugh. He dove in and kissed John like he wanted to swallow him whole, stripping their cocks in a blazing rhythm that, in a very few moments, had John sobbing, seeing stars and coming so hard it felt like it started not in his toes, but across the room somewhere.
“Ah, John,” Rodney groaned, tipping over the edge, blue eyes blazing into John's.
They lay there, catching their breath and sneaking stunned little smiles at each other, then Rodney said gently, “You okay?” carefully peeling his arm away from John’s bad side.
“You were there, right?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Your ribs, idiot.”
John moved carefully. “Okay right now. Endorphins.”
Rodney frowned as he rolled off the bed and stomped off to the bathroom. “We have to be more careful next time,” he said, cleaning them both efficiently with a warm washcloth. “God, John, I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to have to explain how I broke you to Carson.”
“Next time,” John murmured dreamily.
“Oh God,” Rodney said with some dismay, “Please tell me sex doesn’t kill your brain cells! We’d have to stop immediately, for the good of the mission.”
John blinked slowly. “Navier-Stokes equations,” he suggested drowsily, pointing at Rodney triumphantly. “Could be used to figure out if the puddlejumpers are submersible.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes, “And solve a millennium problem. You were going to tell me about this, when?”
John reached out for him with his toes, just barely able to get far enough to poke Rodney in the leg. “Yeah,” he smiled, seeing the idea take hold in Rodney’s mind. “So I do math a little. Come to bed.”
“A little.” Rodney huffed, obviously wavering. “You really should sleep on your back.”
John shook his head and pointed across the room. “Sofa cushions here,” he gestured between himself and the side table. “You here,” he patted the bed next to him. “No rolling.” He shifted into position, his good arm curled under his head. He smiled his best slow smile and Rodney totally caved, stomping off toward the sofa.
“Well, don’t expect this every time you damage yourself, you know. I’m a very busy man.” He tucked the pillows around John, straightened the covers and carefully got into bed. “It’s just - “
“Okay.” John closed his eyes as Rodney trailed his fingers down John's arm.
“Not that this isn’t…”
John rubbed his good hand through Rodney’s hair, nodding. “Amazing.”
“Because the city…maintenance...” Rodney shifted around and tucked his hand under his cheek, looking anxious.
“Rodney.”
John ghosted his fingers over Rodney’s lips, leaving them curved in a puzzled smile. He trailed his fingertips over Rodney's jaw, the bit of hand visible under his cheek, then down the soft, smooth expanse of his inner arm. Rodney’s eyelids flickered as John continued his gentle exploration. Rodney's skin was almost satiny on the inside of his elbow and John loved the contrast of soft skin and firm muscle. John trailed his nails back up Rodney's arm.
Rodney sighed almost happily. “I, uh, might not be very used to sleeping with somebody else,” he added hesitantly.
“We do it all the time in the field.”
“But -“
“Are you trying to break up with me?
“What? No!” Rodney yelped, starting to pull away, but John held his arm and hooked a foot behind his calf.
Rodney squirmed. “I’m not exactly the easiest person to be around, that’s all.”
“Trust me,” John said firmly, looking him straight in the eye. “You can be very soothing.”
Rodney searched John’s eyes a long moment, then relaxed, scooching a little closer, taking John’s hand and pressing it against his chest, “No one has ever said that,” he whispered skeptically, tracing sleepy patterns on the back of John’s hand.
“Weren’t watching at the right time.” John’s eyes drooped closed and he smiled, enjoying the rhythm of Rodney’s fingers.
Between one pass and the next, they fell asleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: Not really. Set in Season 1, prior to “The Siege.”
Rating: For Mature Audiences Only.
Word count = 7,500
Summary: John notices a personal habit of Rodney’s and begins watching him more closely.
Notes and Disclaimer: Title is taken from Anne Sexton’s poem “The Farmer’s Wife,” happily found after a comment by lyrstzha. Many thanks to intrepid betas and hand-holders, tx_cronopio, lyrstzha, and malnpudl. I've added to the fic after their careful perusals, so it's pretty sure that any crimes against grammar are mine own. These characters are not mine, sadly, and I do not profit from their use.
Concrit deeply appreciated, and feedback is adored.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Teaser
Rodney smiled at him more often when he walked into a room after that, a full attention kind of thing that was a little unnerving. And sometimes this weird stuff would happen where Rodney would babble nervously, blushes smudged high and fierce on his cheekbones, or John would get tongue-tied and fidget before their conversation would click into old familiar grooves. He couldn’t decide if this should make him panic.
John finally told himself that Rodney was unaware of his occasional moments of being insanely attracted to the smartest, funniest, crankiest bluest-eyed man he’d ever met distraction, or just chalked it up to John not being able to keep up with his superior intellect.
He was pretty sure Rodney would pick the intellect thing.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The Slow Braille of Touch
John noticed it for the first time on P6R-739. It had been a long, frustrating day; he couldn’t sleep and three full moons were way more than any planet ever needed. Turning his head toward his tent mate in hopes that Rodney might be up for a little chat, he found instead his scientist curled up on one side, face scrunched in what could only be called intense and determined relaxation.
Rodney had tucked one hand beneath his cheek and his forearm was bare and gleaming in the moonlight, his free hand stroking his arm with an almost dreamy rhythm. For a second, John almost asked about rashes and itching, but one more look at his teammate’s face and the growing, true relaxation there, and he kept silent, watching the slow sweep of Rodney’s fingers.
Between one pass and the next, John fell asleep.
~~~
Over the next few weeks, John noticed that Rodney’s little arm-thing was a habit. Rodney would sit frowning at his computer, his fingers stroking the crook of his elbow, or with one hand tucked into his jacket sleeve, thumb moving gently against his skin. It was…different, and certainly better than other personal quirks John had seen, like cracking knuckles or that one guy in flight school that used to absentmindedly scratch his teeth. Just thinking about that sound made John’s skin crawl.
After Koyla and the storm, Rodney had kept his arm tucked close to him, one hand gripping just below the elbow, his thumb almost constantly stroking over the bandage. John had wondered if the movement of Rodney’s fingers was because the healing gash was itchy, or just for comfort.
Something about McKay’s posture, though, made John think it was more comfort. There was a loneliness about McKay that reminded John that being smart or athletic, popular or even essential to an expedition’s survival didn’t always make you feel safe or even like you belonged.
After that, John dropped by Rodney’s lab more often. Besides, it was fun to annoy the guy.
~~~
McKay bugged John. Not bugged him bugged him, but more like a problem where the answer was just right there, but he wasn’t looking at it right. So annoying, because he’d gotten used to having people pegged. Not that he was some sort of con artist or anything, but he’d learned that being nice, easy going and laid back got him a hell of a lot more flight opportunities than the Top Gun asshats who made big noises and pissed off the mechanics. (Which, if you thought about it -and John did - was a monumentally stupid thing to do, because mechanics kept the planes from breaking.)
But after Afghanistan, John had stopped caring about charming people. He didn’t particularly want to know anybody; he just wanted to fly, in peace, which was all he ever wanted in the first place. People in Antarctica just wanted to get from point A to point B without freezing their asses off, which meant, quick, clean and quiet. It was a perfect system, until he met General O’Neill.
Now here he was, in Atlantis, and there was nothing peaceful about Rodney McKay. He argued with, at, for, or against nearly everything or everyone he came into contact with; he freely whacked one and all with his intellect like it was some big cartoon hammer, sometimes coming back for a second or third hit if his victim had not been sufficiently subdued. Every time Rodney howled, “My cat could have done better than this!” John’s brain supplied an angry meow and the hearty “thwap” of what he had dubbed the "Acme Hammer of Intellectual Defeat.”
One day he stopped by the lab, and Rodney was waving his arms about in what John was sure was the first few bars of the familiar “Oh, My God Are You All Morons??” Mckay was gripping a datapad in one hand, looking as if his ears might ignite. Simmons stood next to him, looking as if he were trying not to swallow his tongue when Rodney let out a shriek.
“Radek!” he howled “Just - just - look!” He waved the pad at Zelenka, then thought better of it, setting it carefully down and pushing it toward the Czech scientist.
“What’s going on?” John asked casually.
Rodney turned to him, beaming, “Oh, Simmons just had a great idea about conserving some of our precious power, since ZPMs don’t grow on trees. Good work, and I never say that.” He clapped Simmons on the shoulder, and the man’s knees nearly buckled.
Simmons grabbed the edge of the lab table. “T-Thank you, Dr. -“
Radek squeaked, “This! This! If we-“
Rodney snapped his fingers, “Yes, with the transfer station on the East pier.”
“And connect it to the - “
“Yes,” Rodney said airily, and deliberately stepped away from his mind reading act with Zelenka. “Why don’t the two of you get on testing that?”
Simmons looked utterly shocked. “You want me to…?”
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said impatiently, as he turned to his laptop, a glint of his satisfaction and pride still showing in his eyes. “You seem perfectly adequate to the task, and Radek will prevent you from blowing up the city. So, shoo. I’m very busy.”
“Dr. McKay…”
“You shouldn’t be thanking me,” McKay sing-songed, with twinkle of mischief, “because now I know that you can do inspired work, which means much less headaches for me, unless of course, you get sloppy, which you won’t, will you?”
“NO, no sir,” Simmons spine snapped straight in a move Marines would envy. He nodded at McKay in a determined and noble fashion and scuttled off to Zelenka’s station.
Rodney’s obvious respect and pleasure in Simmons’ success made John want to belly up to a whiteboard and start working problems. He’d always assumed that Rodney would grudgingly acknowledge his staff’s work, and felt like a jerk for the assumption. (And slightly freaked out about his sudden desire to do flow dynamics problems for an audience.)
John had spent more than half his life trying to downplay his smarts. It was his edge, and the one thing his father couldn’t take away from him, because he couldn’t be grounded from using his brain. Intellectually grounded; there was plenty of other things his brain had gotten him grounded for, but for math? It made his father nervous, because like most things having to do with John, it was a language he didn’t speak, so he couldn’t control the situation.
And as for moving around all the time and going to so many different high schools; flying under the radar was the way to go. Nobody had to know he tinkered with problems in college textbooks. John found it was the only way, at least in his world, that he could get things done on his own terms.
But Rodney, Rodney was out there every day with almost everything he had right on display, usually shaking his finger in someone’s face. If he wasn’t saying anything, his thoughts were about as clear as a neon sign. To John, the way Rodney acted was the craziest or most confident or defensive or maybe offensive thing he’d ever seen. It was a high wire act without a net, or flying a glider down from Everest; flashy, dangerous, cool and more than a little crazy.
John was still laughing, more than half-horrified, about the day Rodney had pumped a 10,000 year old Wraith with bullets, ejected his magazine and said, “Okay, now what?” With the Wraith right there walking toward him. Who did stuff like that? It was one of the bravest things he’d ever seen, and not that he was complaining about being alive, but really, people called him reckless with his life?
But the thing that drove him really crazy was something about the way Rodney held himself sometimes when he thought no one was watching. It made John want to tell him very bad jokes or give him pudding, or make him watch “Back to the Future,” just to hear him scream with outrage. On overnight missions he caught himself finding a position where he could secretly watch Rodney settle into in his bedding, letting the rhythm of Rodney’s arm-ritual thing soothe them both to sleep. He’d figure out eventually why Rodney bothered him so much; he’d just have to keep watching.
~~~
Teyla was humming and John was surprised at how beautiful her voice was, though why, at this point, he wasn’t sure, because Teyla excelled pretty outrageously at just about everything, except for cooking. It was kinda funny how embarrassed she was about that.
“Sounding pretty good there, Teyla,” Ford called over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Aiden,” Teyla smiled, blushing a little. “I did not realize I was humming so loudly. It is a song the children of our people sing in the springtime.”
“There’s nothing here,” Rodney said dejectedly, finishing his sweep of the area. “But I am reading a faint energy signature in the next quadrant over there.” He waved his hand vaguely westward. “Is anybody else roasting?”
“It is rather warm.” Teyla agreed, “ Perhaps we could walk by the river, where it would be cooler?”
“How about lunch?” John suggested. “I’m about ready for that.” Everyone nodded. “Telya, how about you pick us a nice spot?”
Teyla picked a spot where they could enjoy the breeze off the river and still see the surrounding countryside. P8K-723 was a beautiful planet, and had obviously been either picked clean by the Wraith or evacuated by the human population. No matter how many planets they’d been to like this one, it still felt like they’d crept into a Twilight Zone episode. One of the creepier ones. Even if the place was empty, he didn’t like to let down his guard.
“Sir, would you like me to relieve you so you can eat?” Ford offered.
“No, thanks, Ford, you go ahead.”
Teyla asked Ford what songs Earth children sang in the spring, and John laughed to himself at the juxtaposition of “Jesus Loves Me,” and “Peter Cotton Tail.” Rodney was happily pointing out how Christianity had co-opted other culture’s fertility symbols and John silently wished Ford luck. On his return trip, it seemed like the conversation had turned to toys, and he heard Ford ask McKay about his favorite stuffed toy, the teasing smile apparent in his voice.
John was walking up as Rodney stiffened slightly, his hand picking at the knee of his pants. “My parents believed in educational toys,” he said shortly, digging for his scanner. “Not everyone had a battalion of stuffed fluffy bunnies.”
“Does that mean you slept with Legos or something, Doc?” Ford teased, shooting Sheppard a grin.
John’s “imminent snit” warning went up, and he gave Ford a quelling glare that clearly said, “Do not poke the scientist.”
Rodney’s chin went from zero to maximum defensive tilt. “That means I learned how to soothe myself without a stuffed germ-carrier, Lieutenant,” he said loftily, standing and not looking at any of them. “I think there might be something this way,” he added, brushing past John.
Ford looked at John and Teyla, utterly confused. “Did I just say something stupid?
“I think it was one of those Rodney things you don’t see coming,” John said, giving him a commiserating smile. Ford nodded and looked a little glum.
“He has not had a happy life, I believe,” Teyla said quietly.
“Don’t think you’re wrong,” John replied thoughtfully, “Let’s go get him before he gets lost.”
Ford looked at his commanding officer mournfully. “He never got any Peeps for Easter, Major. Or chocolate bunnies.”
“I’d say it was un-American, but he is Canadian. Maybe they don’t do that.”
“No Peeps.”
John clapped him on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Ford. One day we’ll explode something peep-like for McKay in the microwave. Now take our six.”
John nodded to Teyla and they trotted a little until they caught sight of energy-bloodhounding McKay.
“Anything?” John called.
“NO!” McKay yelled back, causing several birds to explode out of a nearby tree. John eyed them for potential turkey sandwiches, but they looked pretty scrawny.
“Major,” Teyla asked quietly, “Do many parents send their children away for others to raise and teach on Earth?”
“Well, most kids go to school in a neighborhood that’s close to home during the day and then come home at night. School starts when you’re about five. Now, folks in England - rich folks - and some other places I think, send kids off about sevenish to boarding schools. Where they live for a…period of time and then take breaks and go home. Not all cultures do that, but some. Some American families do it, too.”
“I see.” She said slowly. “Aiden was sent to his grandparents when he was very young.
“Oh, I get ya.” John nodded, “I think Ford’s mom couldn’t take care of him - couldn’t hold down a job and watch a baby - so she asked her folks to take him. I’m not sure about his dad. But he turned out okay. From what I hear, his grandparents are great people.
“Indeed,” Teyla agreed, glancing back at the young soldier. “Now, what is “summer camp?”
“Pretty much what it says. Kids go away for a week or two in the summer and camp. It’s fun for them and gives parents a break. It can be just a fun-type camp or focused on something special like sports or….”
“Music,” Teyla supplied, nodding. “Dr. McKay went to music camp as a child. When he was eight years.” She didn’t sound very happy about it.
“Something bugging you, Teyla?”
“He said it was his first time away from his family and he knew no one. My people, when they send children between villages for learning and play always send along one who can comfort and guide the children, so that part of the family group is still together should the Wraith come. Her voice had taken on an irritated edge. “It seems very strange to me to send a child out alone.”
“I agree with you on that one, Teyla. I don’t see Rodney as the summer camp type.”
“He did not say as much, but it was clear he did not like it. We are all aware of how the sounds of the forest keep him awake.”
As he walked, John thought of bare arms and dreamily sweeping fingers, and being alone with nothing to hang onto in the dark. Several things clicked into place about Rodney and it made his chest hurt. John remembered being eight, snuggling with his Snoopy while his mom read to him, rubbing his back slowly and wanted to hit something.
That night, safe in Atlantis, he couldn’t seem to get to sleep, so he tried Rodney’s trick on his own arm. It made his chest hurt again, so he went for a run instead.
~~~
Rodney had declared in no uncertain terms that he wanted no form of party or awkward gift giving or any silly nonsense for his birthday, which John thought was just asking for it, especially since Radek Zelenka was right there.
It was hard for Zelenka to meet up with the rest of John’s team without arousing suspicion, so they waited until the Czech created a small diversion to keep Rodney occupied and paged John.
“How’d you do it?” Ford asked as Radek joined them in the armory.
“Is better not to know,” Zelenka answered darkly.
“Right. So?” John asked.
“Silly?” offered Ford.
“Nonsense,” agreed Zelenka.
“Completely non-educational,” added Teyla firmly.
John bounced proudly. He had such a great team.
“Non-educational?” Radek asked, confused.
“It’s a thing. Can you guys handle that?” John said. “Being all science-y?”
“Dr. McKay only had educational toys as a kid,” Ford blurted. “It’s just wrong.”
“That was in confidence,” John said quickly, frowning at Ford. “Team thing,” he apologized to Radek.
Zelenka nodded briskly. “I understand. This explains much.” He said wearily, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“Ideas?” John asked the group.
“Would projectile toy weapons be permissible, Major?” Radek asked, beginning to get a sly sort of smile on his face. “Or are toys that demonstrate physics too educational?”
“Like a slingshot?”
“More like water pistol.”
“How many can you make by next Thursday?”
~~~
The whole team returned Rodney to his quarters, helping him with his loot and leaving little wet trails all over the hallways. Ford kept trying to snitch pieces of candy, but Teyla kept distracting him by smacking him in the face with her wet hair (her hands were full). John couldn’t stop smiling. And Rodney, as usual, couldn’t stop talking.
As they unloaded the presents on his desk, Rodney stood in the center of his room, hands clasped tightly behind his back. “Well,” he said awkwardly, his chin tilted a little defensively, “I just wanted to say,” he stumbled, clearing his throat. “It’s not often that I…uh…”
Teyla rescued him. “You do not have to say anything,” she said kindly, reaching up to press her damp forehead to his. “It was our pleasure.”
“Damn straight,” Ford chuckled, clapping Rodney on the back, “I’ll never forget the look on your face. It was awesome.”
Rodney’s blush was more pleased than uncomfortable. “Well. Thanks anyway. Really.”
“No problem, Doc! Happy birthday!” Ford grinned, clapping him on the back again and heading for the door. “Goodnight, sir!” he tipped a casual salute at John.
“Yes, happy birthday,” Teyla added, giving Rodney’s arm a squeeze. “Goodnight, John.”
“’Night guys.”
“Yes, goodnight,” Rodney added, waving a little as they soggily walked through the door.
“Yeah, well,” John said, suddenly unsure what to do with his hands, “I should head out, too. Good shooting, by the way,” he added, cocking his finger at Rodney.
“Kavanagh won’t be speaking to me for days,” Rodney replied with deep satisfaction.
That seemed to be a good way to end the evening, so John squeezed Rodney’s shoulder and strolled to the door.
“Major,” Rodney called after him quietly. “Don’t think I missed who was behind this little celebration.”
“Radek?” John lied, feeling his face flame; he was glad his back was turned.
Rodney snorted.
John stood in the doorway, playing with the edge of the control panel. “I’m glad you had good birthday, Rodney,” he said seriously, then glanced over his shoulder.
Rodney held his eyes for a long moment. “The best,” he replied equally seriously, then shot him a delighted, crooked smile, rocking on his heels.
John grinned and may have bounced back in a tasteful, pleased way. Twice. Regaining his cool, he sobered, and, nodding casually to Rodney, unnecessarily punched the door panel in a cool manly fashion and slipped out with a jaunty salute.
~~~
Rodney smiled at him more often when he walked into a room after that, a full attention kind of thing that was a little unnerving. And sometimes this weird stuff would happen where Rodney would babble nervously, blushes smudged high and fierce on his cheekbones, or John would get tongue-tied and fidget before their conversation would click into old familiar grooves. He couldn’t decide if this should make him panic.
John finally told himself that Rodney was unaware of his occasional moments of being insanely attracted to the smartest, funniest, crankiest bluest-eyed man he’d ever met distraction, or just chalked it up to John not being able to keep up with his superior intellect.
He was pretty sure Rodney would pick the intellect thing.
~~~
Another too-bright moon on PX7-824 kept John awake. Losing his battle to not watch Rodney, he sighed as he turned and found himself looking directly into the man’s eyes. His stomach did a swoopy thing it hadn’t done in years and he was thankful for the relative darkness.
Rodney smiled a gentle, tentative smile, stared several seconds past too long, and closed his eyes.
John’s heart pounded in his chest as he let himself start to hope.
The next morning Rodney was captured by the locals, who decided keeping a genius was better than borrowing him part-time. They punched Rodney in the mouth to shut him up, while John knelt in the dust with several guns to his head, his hands balled into fists to keep from screaming. Rodney spat out a mouthful of blood.
“Don’t antagonize them, McKay.”
“So interesting that you say that, Major, with three people pinning you down,” Rodney’s voice still snapped, but John could hear the fear and he could see the struggle with it in his eyes. Rodney threw one unguarded look at John and seeing that, with blood on his face and eyes so blue they hurt, triggered a kind of desperate anger John had never felt before.
It was everything he could do to just sit there and wait for a tactical opening as they dragged him away. Rodney. They were hurting Rodney. He was almost relieved when the cold wash of rage came; bringing clear, well-ordered rescue plans.
~~~
Carson made John leave the infirmary, insisting he go get some rest. He shed his torn and filthy clothes on the way to the shower and spent long moments under the spray, watching Rodney’s blood swirl off his arms. He took his book and headed back, walking carefully through the dimly lit room.
No change. John settled himself in the chair to wait. Carson brought him a blanket and gently shook him by the shoulder.
“If you must stay, take the next bed over, you daft laddie,” he scolded affectionately. “I’ll not have you dozing off the chair and onto the floor like you did last time. It frightens the nurses.”
“Okay,” John agreed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders. That seemed about the limit to his energy, so he laid his head on the edge of Rodney’s bed to rest a minute. He was asleep in seconds.
~~~
Rodney started whimpering in his sleep, and it woke John. He rubbed his eyes and watched his friend’s bruised and unhappy face a moment, then reached for his hand. He turned it palm up and started stroking the inside of Rodney’s arm in the rhythm he’d now seen dozens of times. After a few moments, Rodney's breath hitched and he sighed happily, his face easing into more peaceful sleep. John smiled and kept going, his head propped in his free hand.
Rodney woke with a start a few hours later, bumping John’s head with his leg.
“Hey,” he complained sleepily, nudging back with his head for more space.
“Major?”
John snorted and sat up, blinking. “Hey,” he whispered happily, squeezing Rodney’s arm.
“Water?”
John helped with the cup until Rodney fell back, tired. “You’re okay.”
Rodney was lucid enough to roll his eyes a little and snort bitterly, but it came out a little like a sob.
John stroked his arm unconsciously. “You are. You’re home. Lot of bruising, more stitches than I'd like to see, a slight roasting, a fat lip and they put your shoulder back. Gonna be a little sore when you’re waving your arms around, so probably should hold off on that. But you’re gonna be fine.”
Rodney looked at him a long moment, painful memories clear. “Came and got me.”
“’Course we did.”
Rodney’s eyes flashed. “No. You. Crazy man.”
“You’re one to talk,” John poked him in the leg. “Mr. I’ll Escape via Electrocuting Myself.”
“Hard,” Rodney murmured defensively, “hotwiring one-handed.”
“Yeah, that’s why you wait for your team to come get you.” John watched him drift off a moment, then come about halfway back.
“Mmn,” he commanded drowsily, presenting his arm.
John alternated stroking and scratching this time. Rodney’s eyes opened at half-mast, waking up more than was probably good for John. Piercing blue eyes regarded him for a long time before Rodney slipped into sleep, lips pressed into a small smile.
~~~
That month, John was helping the Athosians with the harvest on the mainland, so he didn’t see a lot of Rodney until he was healed and back on the duty roster. When he bustled into the briefing room, John’s heart jumped, shocking him anew. He fiddled around with his notes, mind racing, until Elizabeth had to call his name twice.
Rodney pulled at him like he was some sort of visible magnetic field, shimmering just in front of him and to the left. When he glanced over, Rodney’s smile faltered into something a little shy.
John really didn’t get much out of the briefing that day.
In the gateroom, he and Rodney did that babbling/fidgeting thing again until John deliberately praised the whatever Parrish had figured out about the Athosian crop yields and the Botany department in general just to trigger Rodney’s soft science/hard science rant. It worked like a charm and he breathed easier for a few minutes.
“Geez, sir,” Ford whispered to him. “Don’t poke the scientist.”
John sighed. “Sorry, buddy. Self-defense.”
~~~
He woke up groaning. When he realized it was night and he was in the infirmary, John groaned again.
“Easy, hotshot.” Rodney said, reaching for the cup by the bed. “One broken rib, two cracked, a badly sprained ankle, a knot on your skull, your neck’s sore and you had a hell of a splinter---technically, a small branch. It was disturbing. Do you remember the exam?”
“Ow,” John replied.
“Yes, yes,” Rodney said in a frazzled way, “exactly.”
“Still.”
“I understand your manly passing out and the manly sleeping. You want this?”
“Mmn.” John took the straw gratefully. When he was done, he asked, “Hey, is everybody...?”
“Yes, we managed not to fall down a ravine and nearly kill ourselves, even those of us without special military training.”
John winced. “I fly.”
“I understand why, now.”
“Hey. Could you be nice?”
Rodney deflated into the chair. “This is me being nice.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Rodney leaned forward, his hands pressed between his knees. “Just don’t do that again, okay?”
John looked into Rodney’s weary, scared face and blinked a few times. “Okay.” He smiled slowly.
The other man blushed and stood up. “Well, you should probably get some sleep,” he said briskly, patting John’s hand vaguely.
“Mmn?” John asked pitifully, presenting the inside of his arm.
“Oh, for crying out loud,” Rodney groused, “I knew I didn’t dream that! How did you know I liked that, anyway?”
“It’s soothing,” John said simply, turning his hand to clasp Rodney’s. “And I notice things.”
“Except for large gaping holes in the ground.”
John rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll count sheep or something.”
Rodney flopped into the chair. “Oh shut up,” he said affectionately. He kept hold of John’s hand in one of his own, and with the other, swept his fingers up the inside of John’s arm, soft and swirling, dragging his nails lightly in the cook of John's elbow and over the veins of his wrist. As John relaxed into the touch, Rodney slid his whole warm hand up John’s arm, massaging his bicep and trailing down with a slightly harder scrape. John shivered. Rodney’s hand stuttered a moment and repeated the movement. John shivered again and muffled a noise in the back of this throat.
“John?” Rodney whispered, uncertain.
“Yeah,” he replied, ruefully. “Maybe not so soothing for me.”
“John.” Rodney’s voice was rough as his fingers tightened on John’s arm.
John squeezed Rodney’s hand and forced himself to meet his eyes. “Um, sorry?”
“Sorry? Are you kidding me?” Rodney’s whisper squeaked into almost inaudible range.
John shook his head earnestly, wincing, and Rodney’s hand shot out to steady him.
“Stop that. Just stop that,” he scolded, easing John’s head to the pillow. “Want to get you out of here a quickly as possible, right?”
“So, you’re okay,” John said goofily.
“Yes,” Rodney said, staring at his mouth, “And I’m leaving now before I do something that gets me thrown out, or kills you.”
John looked at him.
“You’re overplaying the pout, but I’ll let it slide just this once,” Rodney snarked softly, and brushed his lips across John’s forehead. “Heal fast.”
“Aye, aye.”
Rodney’s hand skated gently over his cheek and down his arm. “Okay,” he whispered, “okay,” and walked off quickly. John blinked a few times and let his head loll a little, fighting not to laugh out loud. Seconds later, Rodney was back, wide-eyed.
“I…I’ve just…Can I?” his voice cracked slightly as he cupped John’s face in his hands.
“Rodney,” John complained brokenly, begging him to hurry.
Rodney kissed him softly, licking across the seam of his mouth and John tried to arch closer, but it hurt and he couldn’t hide that, so he clutched at Rodney, who whispered hushing noises against his lips, kissing him slowly and with maddening care, until John shivered again.
“Ow,” he said, and regretfully, “Damn.”
Rodney rested his forehead against John's. “Sorry.”
“I’m not,” John said emphatically.
Rodney stood back and looked down at him, giving him a few kind of dazed goodbye pats on the shoulder. “Oh. My. God,” he grinned, then sighed hugely. “We have terrible timing. Also?” he shook a finger at John, resolute, “Bye.”
He bolted off again, and John waited, but it really had been goodnight that time, and he fell asleep dazed and shaken and smiling.
~~~
John hopped around his quarters, trying to remember the mechanics of getting ready for bed with banged-up ribs and a bum ankle. He was pretty sure it hurt a lot, even with the bandages, and eyed his painkillers distrustfully. Sleeping in his clothes wasn’t so bad. He sat on his bed and started scooting carefully into a comfortable position.
His door chimed and he thought it open. Rodney was standing there holding a tray, blinking in a scowling kind of way.
“You don’t even ask who it is?” he squeaked incredulously.
John leaned stiffly, picked up the sidearm on his bedside table and brandished it carefully.
Rodney rolled his eyes, “Oh yes, very effective. I’m sufficiently threatened.” He bustled in, put the tray down and disarmed John. “You look terrible.” He frowned.
“You brought food,” John replied happily, edging toward the tray.
“You just let me disarm you,” Rodney frowned harder. “Does that mean you actually took the painkillers, for once?”
John shook his head. “You brought sandwiches,” he clarified slowly, hoping they’d be nearer soon.
Rodney huffed slightly. “But you didn’t know that before you let me in. And people say I’m the greedy one. Stop that,” he said, putting a hand on John’s shoulder. He placed the gun out of reach, propped up John’s pillows and waited while John edged carefully back, then handed him half a sandwich.
John bit into it; it wasn’t turkey, but it was the closest he was going to get in this galaxy, so he leaned back and closed his eyes, savoring it.
“Oh God, Rodney, this is fantas-“ he stuttered to a halt as he opened his eyes. Rodney was perched on this end of his bed, just holding his sandwich, his eyes dark and fixed on John’s. The Rodney who brought him sandwiches had suddenly become the Rodney who kissed him the other night; a hard swoop of lust rushed through him. He felt himself blush like a kid.
“Hey,” he said softly and grinned at the answering blush in Rodney’s face.
“Hey,” Rodney replied with a little half smile, rubbing John’s shin affectionately, then rolling his eyes. “God, we’re like, twelve.”
John nudged Rodney with his foot, took a huge bite out of his sandwich and chewed contentedly, watching the tips of Rodney’s ears turn pink. He made the big mistake of starting to stare at Rodney’s mouth, which wasn’t really a mistake so much as a tactical error. Rodney forgot to chew entirely, which was pretty funny, and John swallowed wrong. It hurt a lot.
It only took some water and a lot of heroically muffled moans to clear that up, and John was settled again comfortably, if a little shaky. Rodney stood over him with his hands on his hips.
“Well,” he said briskly, “I should get going.”
“What?” John almost yelped with disappointment.
“Hello?” Rodney flapped an aggravated hand at John and his bed. “Man with limited movement and pain, under order to rest and I nearly make you choke? Can you imagine what would have happened if I’d had to give you the Heimlich maneuver?”
“I laughed and caused myself to choke.”
“Still, this is a bad idea.”
“No, it’s - wait. What’s a bad idea?”
Rodney started moving all the dinner things to John’s bedside table. “I, uh, thought I mightoffertostay and helpyououttonight. You, know, since you’re having trouble with the, uh…” He flapped a hand at John’s ribs and shoes and general direction. “Hey, I should probably help you with the boots…”
John grabbed one of Rodney’s wrists before he could get away. “Rodney,” he said quietly, his thumb rubbing gently over the pulse point. “If you leave this room right now I will follow you.”
Rodney stared at him, gulping a little. Finally he smirked, “Really, Major? Hopping? Like a bunny?”
John reached up, hissing, wound a fist into the front of Rodney’s shirt and tugged hard. Rodney started to overbalance and caught himself, blinking, his hands braced on either side of John’s head.
“Come on, genius,” John growled.
“Okay,” Rodney said breathlessly, “A manly bunny.”
John growled a little more and had to wrap his hand around the back of Rodney’s neck before he started cooperating, so John kissed him as messily and dirtily as he knew how for making him wait. Kind of a win-win thing.
Rodney groaned into his mouth, which was the best sound ever. He managed to get his hand under Rodney’s shirt and loved the way his skin felt; smooth and hot and amazingly responsive. He could feel Rodney melt a little when John stroked the small of his back and there were tremors in Rodney's stomach when John carded his fingers through the wiry hair there. When John ran his fingernail over a nipple, Rodney shivered like a leaf and had to stop kissing long enough to let out this amazing moan. John, forgetting himself, ran both hands down Rodney’s sides and into the back of his pants, cupping his ass and pulling him closer, making Rodney totally melt against him. It was awesome for about a nanosecond, and then John's ribs creaked.
They broke apart, gasping, Rodney’s hands flying over John’s chest, “Shit! Sorry, sorry,” Rodney babbled, stricken, yanking up John’s shirt and inspecting the bandage. “You okay?”
“Yeah, it just - a little - s’not bad. Just sore.”
“Yeah, which why you’re all white around the mouth.”
“Sorry, I kinda forgot.” John tried to smile.
Rodney stroked John’s side, pink, pleased color high on his cheekbones. “Yes, it was rather, um…”
“Yeah,” John agreed, widening his eyes fervently.
Rodney smiled and ducked his head, his hand wandering to John’s hip. He scooted back on the bed a little, his hands continuing to move gently down John's legs. John gasped when Rodney cupped him through his pants, hips pushing involuntarily into the touch as his pain-softened cock leapt back to attention.
“Rodney?”
“Let me do this for you, okay?” Rodney whispered, his hands gently skating over John’s legs to his boots. Rodney stripped him efficiently, every moment a slow and deliberate brush of fingers that left him, when his shirt finally came off, shaking with need.
Rodney shook his head, looking down at John. “Even black and blue you’re beautiful.”
“Probably the lighting,” he replied wryly. “Hey, you too,” tugging on the tail of Rodney’s shirt. “Skin on skin.”
There was an edge of defensiveness as Rodney stripped for John, but John didn’t see anything to complain about; broad shoulders, great arms, deep chest with just enough hair, belly a little soft, but he liked that, and when Rodney took off his pants, John actually shivered. Rodney was gorgeous and perfect and so incredibly hard for him.
“Fuck,” he said, a little awed, stroking himself, because he couldn’t look at Rodney naked and not touch himself. He blinked quickly, and realized what he'd just said. "I mean...not that...I mean..." He took a deep breath and gave Rodney a long, slow once-over. “We do have terrible timing.”
“Well, that’s the best thing you could have possibly said,” Rodney snorted, rolling his eyes at his own insecurities. “Wait. What? Did you just …you mean you haven’t?” He waved his hand in an all-encompassing gesture. “But? You’re? Really?”
The little squeak in Rodney’s voice helped John take a deep breath and say, “Not with a guy. But with you? Yeah.”
Rodney went still and his eyes were dark with an expression that made John’s whole body flush. In two strides, he was on the bed and straddling John, hand wrapping around his, setting a slow, tortuous rhythm for his cock. Rodney kissed him with the same gentle, sexy, focused care that he had used the night in the infirmary, and John could feel the effort it was taking him to go slowly. Something inside him broke at little at that, and he grabbed at Rodney’s shoulder, a high needy noise forcing its way past the sudden lump in his throat, wanting more.
Rodney’s lips stilled against his as he groaned back and John shifted his hand to palm Rodney’s cock, wanting more skin, more Rodney, more of those incredible moans. He got a moan and a whimper and grinning, nipped at Rodney’s mouth as he rewarded him with a long, slow, twisting squeeze.
“Jesus, John,” Rodney’s voice wavered. “Hang on a minute.”
John was shaking again by the time Rodney kissed and licked and bit his way down his body, then holding John’s hips firmly, licked a long, wet swath from his balls to the tip of his cock. John gasped and arched as much as he could, and Rodney’s mouth was waiting to swallow him down.
The heat and softness felt amazing and Rodney was doing this swirly thing with his tongue and it was all, all wrong. “Wait,” John gasped, pulling Rodney’s hair. “I want - with you - it’s, god, great but…get up here.”
Rodney frowned slightly and backed off, kneeling on the end of the bed as John flailed onto his good side, panting slightly with effort. He took a couple of deep breaths and patted the space he’d made beside him. “C’mere.”
When Rodney had settled, he still had a little frown on his face. “John, I -“
“Shh,” John said pre-emptively, diving in for another lush, open-mouthed kiss. “I know what I’m doing.”
Rodney opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows.
“Endorphins. Shut up,” John said, and traced those eyebrows, ignoring the tug to his ribs. Partially healed, he didn’t have whole lot of range before they twinged, but he did his best, stroking Rodney’s face and neck and chest in the swirling, soothing pattern he’d learned watching the man months ago. John stroked Rodney’s neck until he tilted his head back, sighing deeply, then John brushed his fingers lower, over a clavicle and scratching gently across a nipple. Rodney shivered and gripped John’s hip, tugging him nearer.
“Closer,” John breathed, and Rodney shifted forward until their cocks slid together, so perfectly, and John had to stop for a second, breathing hard. He wrapped his hand around Rodney’s shaft, pumping slowly, twisting a little as he came up. Rodney was hot and silky and felt so good in his palm. Turned on even more, John shivered as he pumped again and Rodney groaned, nudging forward to kiss him deep and wet, his tongue velvety.
Rodney wrapped his hand around John’s cock, and John’s hips shifted too far forward for comfort. John broke the kiss, cursing and growling, “Shit, I - we need to…”
“I’ve got you.” Rodney steadied John by pulling him tightly to his chest, and trapping John’s arm against his bad ribs, using it as a brace. John tucked his face in Rodney’s neck and breathed slowly, getting comfortable again. Rodney swept his hand up and down John’s back, his fingers teasing gently into the crease of his ass. John gasped and Rodney smiled, wrapping his other hand around both cocks, stripping once, twice, slowly. John shuddered and Rodney looked at him carefully.
“Arr!” John complained when Rodney stopped, making him laugh. He dove in and kissed John like he wanted to swallow him whole, stripping their cocks in a blazing rhythm that, in a very few moments, had John sobbing, seeing stars and coming so hard it felt like it started not in his toes, but across the room somewhere.
“Ah, John,” Rodney groaned, tipping over the edge, blue eyes blazing into John's.
They lay there, catching their breath and sneaking stunned little smiles at each other, then Rodney said gently, “You okay?” carefully peeling his arm away from John’s bad side.
“You were there, right?”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Your ribs, idiot.”
John moved carefully. “Okay right now. Endorphins.”
Rodney frowned as he rolled off the bed and stomped off to the bathroom. “We have to be more careful next time,” he said, cleaning them both efficiently with a warm washcloth. “God, John, I don’t want to hurt you. And I don’t want to have to explain how I broke you to Carson.”
“Next time,” John murmured dreamily.
“Oh God,” Rodney said with some dismay, “Please tell me sex doesn’t kill your brain cells! We’d have to stop immediately, for the good of the mission.”
John blinked slowly. “Navier-Stokes equations,” he suggested drowsily, pointing at Rodney triumphantly. “Could be used to figure out if the puddlejumpers are submersible.”
Rodney narrowed his eyes, “And solve a millennium problem. You were going to tell me about this, when?”
John reached out for him with his toes, just barely able to get far enough to poke Rodney in the leg. “Yeah,” he smiled, seeing the idea take hold in Rodney’s mind. “So I do math a little. Come to bed.”
“A little.” Rodney huffed, obviously wavering. “You really should sleep on your back.”
John shook his head and pointed across the room. “Sofa cushions here,” he gestured between himself and the side table. “You here,” he patted the bed next to him. “No rolling.” He shifted into position, his good arm curled under his head. He smiled his best slow smile and Rodney totally caved, stomping off toward the sofa.
“Well, don’t expect this every time you damage yourself, you know. I’m a very busy man.” He tucked the pillows around John, straightened the covers and carefully got into bed. “It’s just - “
“Okay.” John closed his eyes as Rodney trailed his fingers down John's arm.
“Not that this isn’t…”
John rubbed his good hand through Rodney’s hair, nodding. “Amazing.”
“Because the city…maintenance...” Rodney shifted around and tucked his hand under his cheek, looking anxious.
“Rodney.”
John ghosted his fingers over Rodney’s lips, leaving them curved in a puzzled smile. He trailed his fingertips over Rodney's jaw, the bit of hand visible under his cheek, then down the soft, smooth expanse of his inner arm. Rodney’s eyelids flickered as John continued his gentle exploration. Rodney's skin was almost satiny on the inside of his elbow and John loved the contrast of soft skin and firm muscle. John trailed his nails back up Rodney's arm.
Rodney sighed almost happily. “I, uh, might not be very used to sleeping with somebody else,” he added hesitantly.
“We do it all the time in the field.”
“But -“
“Are you trying to break up with me?
“What? No!” Rodney yelped, starting to pull away, but John held his arm and hooked a foot behind his calf.
Rodney squirmed. “I’m not exactly the easiest person to be around, that’s all.”
“Trust me,” John said firmly, looking him straight in the eye. “You can be very soothing.”
Rodney searched John’s eyes a long moment, then relaxed, scooching a little closer, taking John’s hand and pressing it against his chest, “No one has ever said that,” he whispered skeptically, tracing sleepy patterns on the back of John’s hand.
“Weren’t watching at the right time.” John’s eyes drooped closed and he smiled, enjoying the rhythm of Rodney’s fingers.
Between one pass and the next, they fell asleep.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~