The Gods Must Be Crazy (NC-17) by esteefee
Author: esteefee
Pairing: OT4
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,422
Spoilers: none
Warnings: None, I don't think. Let me know.
Categories: ER, post-series
Summary: Sometimes you just get so damned lucky.
A/N: This story now has a prequel.
The Gods Must Be Crazy
by esteefee
They brought their radios and a small, emergency transmitter, but left their tac vests. Ronon wouldn't leave his blaster behind for anything, and probably had eight or ten knives hidden around his person. John had his Glock but Teyla just brought her bantos. Rodney didn't even bring a laptop.
They were all dressed in civvies of various kinds, jeans or leather or soft-woven Athosian cloth. John knew Teyla was wearing a tight-knit top under all that loose cotton, and when they were standing in front of the Gate he wished he could slide his hands underneath and rest them on her waist, feel the cloth moving against her skin. This whole thing was still new enough that every touch was a fucking gift-a miracle some freakish Gods had granted him out of whimsy or inattention or maybe even pure insanity. John wasn't counting out malevolence, though, and didn't quite trust it wouldn't all be snatched away in an instant.
So far he'd been proven wrong.
All three of them had asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, first casually and then not so casually, and when his non-committal replies didn't work (the truth was he already had what he wanted, but he couldn't just say that, could he?) they got more insistent, until finally Ronon betrayed him and told what he'd discovered when they were sparring that time, and they resorted to holding him down and tickling, which was just plain unfair.
So, he'd told them he wanted to go sailing. The real deal, full mast, thirty-footer or Pegasus equivalent. He figured he'd ask for the impossible and he'd be scot free, but he hadn't counted on Teyla, which was stupid. He should always count on Teyla, because not only had she been sailing before, she had friends with a sailboat and they were willing to lend it for a reasonable trade. Torren wouldn't be able to come-apparently Kanaan wasn't comfortable with the boat idea, and Teyla liked to pick her battles with him-but otherwise, Teyla had said, John's birthday wish would come true.
Woolsey waved them on with stiff little smile that was sincere anyway, promising to dial up for regular check-ins. With a little push from Ronon, John stumbled through the Gate, and from there it was an easy walk down to the docks where Teyla's friend was waiting by the boat. Thressa seemed delighted with the trade Teyla piled at her feet-the shirts and pants and four pairs of Athosian slippers that John had seen Teyla knitting; the plastic containers Teyla folded them into that John recognized were from Rodney's lab storage, along with a cardboard box of preciously hoarded Tim-Tams, Cadbury chocolate bars and Christmas candy; and finally, an elaborately carved mancala board that John knew for a fact Ronon had gotten from Gunny Williams for some off-duty training.
"It's a game," Ronon said gruffly to Thressa. "Teyla said you asked for a game. I translated the instructions into trade language."
"It is a good trade," Thressa said, grasping Teyla's shoulders. Teyla reciprocated, and they bowed their foreheads together. "Enjoy your trip. I will expect you on the fourth turn. The water tanks are full, and are good for at least seven with four passengers."
"Thank you, my friend."
They said their goodbyes and walked down the pier, their steps rattling on the warped boards.
"Guys..." John wanted to say, This is too much. But that would be kind of assholish, so he settled on, "Thanks for this."
Teyla smiled at him, and Ronon punched him on the shoulder. Rodney just rolled his eyes and huffed his way over the side of the boat.
As soon as they cast off, the constant tension John felt whenever they were off-world started to fade. He looked at Teyla, at Ronon and Rodney, and saw it hit them too. The three of them went below decks to get rid of their gear while John trimmed the mainsail, took the tiller and steered them out to sea. It wasn't like flying, but with the salt spray hitting his face, and with nothing but water and sky around him, it was a different kind of freedom. Before there were planes, before there was the open road, there was the open ocean and the unending horizon. It swallowed John's sight from end to end, a wide band of perfect blue.
Teyla came back up first. She was wearing almost nothing: a brief cotton skirt and a lace-up shirt, the one John had been imagining. She came up to him and brushed a soft kiss against his lips and then folded her hand over his on the tiller.
"Go ahead, John. I will guide us."
John grinned his thanks and took his bags below. Ronon was carefully stowing his gear in the webbed shelving next to the giant Captain's bunk. Rodney had disappeared into the head, but his stuff was already put away.
John wasted no time getting out of his shirt, jeans and boots and replacing them with a pair of swim trunks and flip-flops. He rubbed a desultory coat of sunblock over his face, neck and chest and arms-it had been a while since he'd seen the sun.
When he turned around, Ronon was grinning at him, wearing nothing but a pair of loose cotton shorts and looking like sex incarnate.
"Wanna fuck?"
"Like I'm gonna say 'no.'"
Ronon started to swoop in to kiss him, but was halted by a cocoa-butter smelling palm and a loud "Ehem."
"What is it, Rodney?" John said, irritated.
"Teyla is waiting for us, along with lunch, and I am starving. Later with the sexual shenanigans."
Ronon crossed his arms. "Fine."
"Spoilsport."
Just for that, John wasn't going to tell Rodney he'd missed his nose when slathering on all that sunblock.
:::
So there they were, drifting on an alien ocean. Thressa had assured Teyla the only really dangerous sea life fed at nightfall or in the colder waters; it was safe enough for them to swim during the days. Ronon took this as a cue to pick John up at every opportunity and throw him overboard, leaving him to sputter and gasp his way back to the boat while cursing at Ronon in Farsi. The third time it happened John enlisted Teyla and Rodney's help in pinning Ronon to the deck, then straddled Ronon's torso and kissed him and kissed him, fingers buried carefully in his hair, until Ronon was breathless and red. Then the three of them sucked their way over his skin, burned a reddish bronze by the swollen sun, until Ronon was begging and cursing as well.
When he was deemed hot enough by Teyla's wicked smile and Rodney's barely suppressed laughter, John nodded and together they pulled Ronon to his feet and tipped him over the side.
"Sheppard!" Ronon howled when he regained the surface.
John laughed so hard he almost bust his gut.
In the afternoon, Teyla complained the sun on the water was giving her a headache, so John gave her his sunglasses. She looked so boss cool in them he had to kiss her, and she pushed him against the cockpit and kissed him back, her small hands damp against the hot skin of his chest.
"Happy Birthday, John," she said, and nibbled on his throat with her wickedly sharp teeth, right on his Iratus scar. She knew what that did to him, and he had to reach out and steady himself on the tied-off tiller. God, he loved her. So much.
"Hey, you two idiots better not pull us off course," Rodney yelled. "We need to stay in sight of land."
Teyla laughed against John's neck, and John squeezed her once and let go.
"Later," she promised.
John smiled. He knew later Rodney would bitch about his sunburned nose, and John would kiss it better, and Ronon would get back at John for the dunking by pinning him to the ultra-huge bunk in the Captain's quarters and fucking him silly as the boat rocked beneath them, and if John was lucky he'd get to kiss and lick Teyla's sweet pussy while he was being fucked, and make her come and get her all soft and hot and ready for Rodney, and maybe John would get hard enough again to fuck Rodney to top off his birthday night.
And if those crazy Gods would just look the other way long enough, maybe they could do this again next year.
Life really might be that sweet.
End.
Pairing: OT4
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1,422
Spoilers: none
Warnings: None, I don't think. Let me know.
Categories: ER, post-series
Summary: Sometimes you just get so damned lucky.
A/N: This story now has a prequel.
The Gods Must Be Crazy
by esteefee
They brought their radios and a small, emergency transmitter, but left their tac vests. Ronon wouldn't leave his blaster behind for anything, and probably had eight or ten knives hidden around his person. John had his Glock but Teyla just brought her bantos. Rodney didn't even bring a laptop.
They were all dressed in civvies of various kinds, jeans or leather or soft-woven Athosian cloth. John knew Teyla was wearing a tight-knit top under all that loose cotton, and when they were standing in front of the Gate he wished he could slide his hands underneath and rest them on her waist, feel the cloth moving against her skin. This whole thing was still new enough that every touch was a fucking gift-a miracle some freakish Gods had granted him out of whimsy or inattention or maybe even pure insanity. John wasn't counting out malevolence, though, and didn't quite trust it wouldn't all be snatched away in an instant.
So far he'd been proven wrong.
All three of them had asked what he wanted to do for his birthday, first casually and then not so casually, and when his non-committal replies didn't work (the truth was he already had what he wanted, but he couldn't just say that, could he?) they got more insistent, until finally Ronon betrayed him and told what he'd discovered when they were sparring that time, and they resorted to holding him down and tickling, which was just plain unfair.
So, he'd told them he wanted to go sailing. The real deal, full mast, thirty-footer or Pegasus equivalent. He figured he'd ask for the impossible and he'd be scot free, but he hadn't counted on Teyla, which was stupid. He should always count on Teyla, because not only had she been sailing before, she had friends with a sailboat and they were willing to lend it for a reasonable trade. Torren wouldn't be able to come-apparently Kanaan wasn't comfortable with the boat idea, and Teyla liked to pick her battles with him-but otherwise, Teyla had said, John's birthday wish would come true.
Woolsey waved them on with stiff little smile that was sincere anyway, promising to dial up for regular check-ins. With a little push from Ronon, John stumbled through the Gate, and from there it was an easy walk down to the docks where Teyla's friend was waiting by the boat. Thressa seemed delighted with the trade Teyla piled at her feet-the shirts and pants and four pairs of Athosian slippers that John had seen Teyla knitting; the plastic containers Teyla folded them into that John recognized were from Rodney's lab storage, along with a cardboard box of preciously hoarded Tim-Tams, Cadbury chocolate bars and Christmas candy; and finally, an elaborately carved mancala board that John knew for a fact Ronon had gotten from Gunny Williams for some off-duty training.
"It's a game," Ronon said gruffly to Thressa. "Teyla said you asked for a game. I translated the instructions into trade language."
"It is a good trade," Thressa said, grasping Teyla's shoulders. Teyla reciprocated, and they bowed their foreheads together. "Enjoy your trip. I will expect you on the fourth turn. The water tanks are full, and are good for at least seven with four passengers."
"Thank you, my friend."
They said their goodbyes and walked down the pier, their steps rattling on the warped boards.
"Guys..." John wanted to say, This is too much. But that would be kind of assholish, so he settled on, "Thanks for this."
Teyla smiled at him, and Ronon punched him on the shoulder. Rodney just rolled his eyes and huffed his way over the side of the boat.
As soon as they cast off, the constant tension John felt whenever they were off-world started to fade. He looked at Teyla, at Ronon and Rodney, and saw it hit them too. The three of them went below decks to get rid of their gear while John trimmed the mainsail, took the tiller and steered them out to sea. It wasn't like flying, but with the salt spray hitting his face, and with nothing but water and sky around him, it was a different kind of freedom. Before there were planes, before there was the open road, there was the open ocean and the unending horizon. It swallowed John's sight from end to end, a wide band of perfect blue.
Teyla came back up first. She was wearing almost nothing: a brief cotton skirt and a lace-up shirt, the one John had been imagining. She came up to him and brushed a soft kiss against his lips and then folded her hand over his on the tiller.
"Go ahead, John. I will guide us."
John grinned his thanks and took his bags below. Ronon was carefully stowing his gear in the webbed shelving next to the giant Captain's bunk. Rodney had disappeared into the head, but his stuff was already put away.
John wasted no time getting out of his shirt, jeans and boots and replacing them with a pair of swim trunks and flip-flops. He rubbed a desultory coat of sunblock over his face, neck and chest and arms-it had been a while since he'd seen the sun.
When he turned around, Ronon was grinning at him, wearing nothing but a pair of loose cotton shorts and looking like sex incarnate.
"Wanna fuck?"
"Like I'm gonna say 'no.'"
Ronon started to swoop in to kiss him, but was halted by a cocoa-butter smelling palm and a loud "Ehem."
"What is it, Rodney?" John said, irritated.
"Teyla is waiting for us, along with lunch, and I am starving. Later with the sexual shenanigans."
Ronon crossed his arms. "Fine."
"Spoilsport."
Just for that, John wasn't going to tell Rodney he'd missed his nose when slathering on all that sunblock.
:::
So there they were, drifting on an alien ocean. Thressa had assured Teyla the only really dangerous sea life fed at nightfall or in the colder waters; it was safe enough for them to swim during the days. Ronon took this as a cue to pick John up at every opportunity and throw him overboard, leaving him to sputter and gasp his way back to the boat while cursing at Ronon in Farsi. The third time it happened John enlisted Teyla and Rodney's help in pinning Ronon to the deck, then straddled Ronon's torso and kissed him and kissed him, fingers buried carefully in his hair, until Ronon was breathless and red. Then the three of them sucked their way over his skin, burned a reddish bronze by the swollen sun, until Ronon was begging and cursing as well.
When he was deemed hot enough by Teyla's wicked smile and Rodney's barely suppressed laughter, John nodded and together they pulled Ronon to his feet and tipped him over the side.
"Sheppard!" Ronon howled when he regained the surface.
John laughed so hard he almost bust his gut.
In the afternoon, Teyla complained the sun on the water was giving her a headache, so John gave her his sunglasses. She looked so boss cool in them he had to kiss her, and she pushed him against the cockpit and kissed him back, her small hands damp against the hot skin of his chest.
"Happy Birthday, John," she said, and nibbled on his throat with her wickedly sharp teeth, right on his Iratus scar. She knew what that did to him, and he had to reach out and steady himself on the tied-off tiller. God, he loved her. So much.
"Hey, you two idiots better not pull us off course," Rodney yelled. "We need to stay in sight of land."
Teyla laughed against John's neck, and John squeezed her once and let go.
"Later," she promised.
John smiled. He knew later Rodney would bitch about his sunburned nose, and John would kiss it better, and Ronon would get back at John for the dunking by pinning him to the ultra-huge bunk in the Captain's quarters and fucking him silly as the boat rocked beneath them, and if John was lucky he'd get to kiss and lick Teyla's sweet pussy while he was being fucked, and make her come and get her all soft and hot and ready for Rodney, and maybe John would get hard enough again to fuck Rodney to top off his birthday night.
And if those crazy Gods would just look the other way long enough, maybe they could do this again next year.
Life really might be that sweet.
End.