It takes John almost an hour to realize what it is about the planet that's making him feel strange. He finds himself smiling and making little, almost-wistful sighing noises and rolling his shoulders in a comfortable, relaxed sort of way. He feels great - loose and heavy and calm and...horny.

And that's when all of the variables come together. The planet is awash in warm yellow sunlight. He can hear the gentle shush of waves on a beach nearby. The air smells like sweet flowers and salt. He glances up to find Rodney grinning at him.

"Well, this is interesting," he drawls. It's a nothing line, a throw-away phrase, but it gets the desired result faster than anything more pointed might.

Rodney rolls his eyes, still without losing his grin, and goes so far as to bounce on the balls of his feet. Normally, he only does that when there's something scientifically amazing going on. "Do you know what a thesaurus is?" he snaps.

John tips back his sunglasses. "Sure." He does, too. He's even used one before, in long-ago English classes. "Wanna go take a look?"

"Sure," Rodney says. Their bodies drift closer together as they turn towards where the beach must be. The ground is firm under their boots, flowers waving against their BDU's as they walk.

John wants to take his boots off, to feel the cool, verdant earth against his toes before the hot sands he knows are beyond the rise.

He glances over at Rodney and can see the same sort of longing in his face. He keys his radio. "Ronon? Teyla? Anything interesting?"

"Forest," Ronon says. "Nothing interesting."

John smiles. "Check-in in two hours, then." He grins at Rodney, suddenly very glad that he decided to split the team up, sending Ronon and Teyla to look for the people who live here - old allies of the Athosians, while he and Rodney "look for power readings."

In the couple of months they've been together, they've looked for a lot of power readings.

Rodney's fingers brush his hip as they come to the crest of the hill. They stop walking at the same time, both staring down at the long arc of a sandy cove. Glittering white sand and crystal-blue water and it's every vacation brochure in the universe. John breathes it in, feeling his chest loosen. He tilts his head to the side when Rodney's hand slides around his waist.

"Don't give me that look," Rodney says. "There are no life signs at all. I can do this." As if to prove his point, he tugs John close and wraps his free hand around the rough skin of his stubbled jaw.

When they kiss, it's with the ease of practice, but John crowds his body close to Rodney's and deepens the touch.

Rodney doesn't let him go when they finally pull apart. Their mouths are wet and soft, and John has to lean in again. Kissing is usually the first thing to get old, for him, a sense of familiarity that quickly loses its spark.

Not with Rodney.

"This feels the same." Rodney's voice is lowered, for once, ghosting over John's neck and cheek. "It's warm."

"It's a beach, Rodney, they're usually pretty warm."

"Says a man who's never been to the Caspian." There's no heat in the rejoinder, though, and Rodney rolls his head so that he can look out across the water. The waves are a clear green-blue, crashing gently against a powdery shore. It's beautiful. It's familiar and beautiful. "So what do you think we did to deserve it this time?"

John rolls his eyes, tugging Rodney back for a kiss. He's not surprised Rodney wants to quantify and calculate this; it's what Rodney does. "I think I don't really care," he says, and bumps his hips against Rodney's.

Rodney's cock is hard against him, and that's a thing that John will never get enough of. Kissing - just kissing - makes Rodney hard for him. Truthfully, it makes him hard for Rodney, too, but that's not the amazing part. It makes John crazy to feel Rodney's cock stiffen against his hip or thigh when they kiss, to know that Rodney can't control - doesn't want to control - his visceral reaction to John's touch.

Rodney's mouth touches down on the sensitive spot below his ear, and John shudders. Every inch of his skin is attuned to Rodney, every molecule vibrating to Rodney's frequency. If he had better self-preservation instincts, he might find it disturbing.

"Off," Rodney orders, tugging at John's tac-vest. It's always his to go first and John doesn't comment that sometimes he likes to feel Rodney's digging into his chest; bigger, broader body encircling his in a way he probably shouldn't enjoy as much as he does.

He steps back long enough to get his shirt off, catching the look in Rodney's eye once the film of dark cotton is gone. It's only there an instant, but the intensity is blinding, stunning - blue eyes that hold so much intelligence suddenly wondering as they trace over skin they've seen so many times before.

He doesn't object when Rodney reels him in, kissing his collarbones, his pecs, his nipples, he just cups the back of Rodney's neck and wonders how they'll explain the back-aches this time.

John's hands stutter against Rodney's zipper. He hears Rodney's laughter, but ignores it. It's rare they let themselves go this far while on a mission. John's not objecting, though, not with his cock aching against the zipper of his pants, sunlight syrupy and soft like cotton, brushing against their skin as each new bit is revealed.

Rodney trips when John shoves his pants down, laughing as he collapses on the ground. "Ow," he grouses, lying through his grin. "That hurt, you clumsy oaf."

John pounces, landing on top of Rodney but still being careful - a misplaced elbow or knee could complicate things.

John lets himself go with it, lets Rodney manhandle him, and Rodney takes it as his due. Big, hot hands slide over his bare skin, and John arches his back when one settles at the perfect spot in the center of his body, just above his tailbone.

"There's a blanket in my pack," John says, reaching out for the zippers of Rodney's vest.

"Good," Rodney says thickly before clearing his throat. "There better be lube in there, too. I want you to fuck me."

"Hush," John says, rapidly divesting Rodney of vest and boots and pants while Rodney skins out of his own shirt. John reaches for the pack while Rodney reaches for John's boots. Oddly, it works, and within a couple of minutes they're both naked and John has the silvery emergency blanket in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other.

Rodney takes the blanket and turns to spread it out, making an oof-ing noise when John plasters himself to the warm skin of his back.

"Lunatic," he mutters.

"Magic beach, Rodney," John chides. "Lunacy is in the eye of the beholder."

Rodney's response is a grunt. He has a whole repertoire of grunts, and this one is god, hurry up already, will you? Grinning, John slicks two fingers and trails them down the curve of Rodney's back and ass. The skin pebbles in his wake and Rodney hisses, "Cold!"

"I should warm it up, then. Right?"

"If this were really a magic beach, the lube wouldn't be cold," Rodney complains.

The complaints veer off into a quick gasp at the chill of John's lube-covered fingers sliding slowly inside, and the gasp gives way to a low moan when John licks the top of the cleft of Rodney's ass. John realizes that he's pretty obsessed with Rodney's ass. He watches it more than he should and frequently resorts to dirty tricks to make sure he can have his hands on it whenever possible. Getting his fingers or tongue or cock in it is even better. Luckily, Rodney's pretty okay with that.

John presses his fingers in all the way and flexes them slowly. He can't help grinning against Rodney's skin at the low moans and cut-off curses. Rodney makes the best noises.

The blanket crinkles from Rodney gripping it. Light reflects off in crazy patterns, glittering like a mirror-ball. John ducks his head away from it, forehead and nose pressed against Rodney's hip. His fingers are moving steadily, tight warmth making his dick ache with want, but he ignores that. Rodney likes this, for all he's grunting and muttering under his breath about Colonels who take forever.

He just keeps thrusting, spreading his fingers wider with each new pass. By the time he adds a third Rodney's got his forehead against the blanket, back stretched so his ass is lifted higher. He rocks backward eagerly, making little choked-off cries of want. It's so perfect John's mouth goes dry.

The foil of the blanket reflects the sun's heat back onto their bodies, and John can feel the clean sweat springing up between them, smoothing the slide of their skin. He nudges Rodney's legs apart with his knees, making enough room to reach between.

Rodney's cock is rock-hard and smooth and hot in his hand, and he wraps his fingers around just under the head, squeezing lightly. "I want you to come in my mouth after I fuck you," John says. "Think you can hold out that long?"

Rodney gurgles helplessly. John lets go, laughing, and kisses the swell of Rodney's ass.

"You're a menace," Rodney says. His weight is centered on his hands, the veins big and blue where they've distended the skin. "Yes, yes, I can wait, just stop teasing me. Move, dammit!"

And John desperately does want to tease - he wants to give Rodney a taste of his own maddening medicine. He wants to pay Rodney back for all those nights he runs John right up to the razor edge and keeps him there, for all the times he's taken John just one baby step further than he thought he could go before making him fly apart.

He wants to, but it's so not gonna happen here. Not with the sun warm on his back and the sea air in his face and Rodney under him, begging so sweetly. Well, sweetly for Rodney.

He slicks himself, fingers light and teasing because anything more would be too much. Rodney's growling insults into the foil, the words puddling like stained glass before John hears them, meaningless syllables that are color and light and hallowed familiarity. "Here," John says, palming Rodney's ass higher.

Sliding in is always like sliding into a dive from ten thousand feet, the earth rushing up to meet him with nothing but clear, sun-drenched blue all around him. He even feels the g's, pushing him back when his hips are frantic to push forward, and he wraps his arms around Rodney's belly, clinging.

John holds there, surrounded by Rodney, and he feels like a solar flare - all heat and light and burning. He has to laugh when Rodney shoves ungracefully back into him.

He digs his fingertips into Rodney's hips and grinds their bodies together. "Pushy bastard."

Rodney rocks his body forward and back, and John gives him what he wants.

"Of course I'm a pushy bastard," Rodney groans. He's arching back to meet each of John's hard, steady thrusts, catching the rhythm almost instantly. "What I don't understand is why I have to cajole you into finally -- "

John cuts him off by pushing up higher onto his knees, sliding in deep enough that he imagines Rodney can feel it in his throat.

"Ah, Rodney," John groans, fucking even harder. "You know all you have to do is say please."

"You'd...like...that," Rodney moans, and John can hear the smile in his voice. "Wouldn't...you?"

"I really would," John says, and he pulls back so far that only the head of his cock is inside, pinning Rodney down with a hard hand on the back of his neck. "I think I really, really would." He pushes his cock all the way in.

"Too bad," Rodney pants. The words are muffled, but the way he tightens around John says more than enough.

John laughs, air burning in the back of his throat. He's never laughed this much during sex before, never smiled and tried to talk. He likes it. "For you, sure."

"Huh? Why for me?"

"Because of this." Gritting his teeth, John forces himself to stop, to hold completely still, balls-deep inside of Rodney.

The real test isn't how long it takes Rodney to say 'please'. It's how long he can wait.

Rodney struggles under him, just like John knew he would. The angle keeps him at a disadvantage, though. John could hold him there for hours if he wanted to. But a genius on his knees is still a genius.

John thumps his forehead down against sweaty skin as Rodney begins flexing his muscles. Harder and harder, slowly increasing the pressure on John's cock and then releasing it, only to clench down even more.

John lets out a moan that even he can tell is weak and thready. He's so doomed.

Rodney squeezes again, a slow clench and release that sends fizzing, eager sparks up John's spine. He still doesn't move. "This all you can do?" he taunts.

Because goading the mad, brilliant scientist who has his cock in a vise is a sound tactical decision.

John whimpers, mouthing desperately at flushed, sweaty skin. Rodney's moving, tiny jerks and stuttering motions. He doesn't have a lot of room and no leverage at all, but he's still moving. Still squeezing tightly around John's cock. He's making low, pained grunts of effort with each twitch.

John bites his lip and prays for stamina.

Not that prayers ever really worked for him before, but action usually does the trick. He slides his hand down between them and lets the pad of his thumb rest just under the spot where they're joined. He brushes it back and forth for a second before slowly beginning to increase the pressure.

The noise Rodney makes is extremely gratifying.

"Dammit!" Rodney hisses. "John!"

"No, that's a demand," John says. He works his thumb carefully, allowing the barest scrape of nail.

Rodney's whole body jerks, but he stays silent, and that is just not acceptable. John grinds his hips against Rodney's ass, presses harder with his thumb, lets his fingers curl down to cup Rodney's balls. "Say it."

Blood has to be pooling in Rodney's head. Any other time and a cascade of complaints would make the sex sweeter; John's not sure when Rodney bitching became a turn on, but it is. Probably out of sheer self-defense.

But Rodney's still silent, pushing himself against John's cock, his thumb, the rough scrape of their thighs pressed together. Sweat leaves them slick, slippery as John leans in tightly. Rodney's breath hitches, but never forms coherent words.

That's when John decides to cheat. "God, Rodney," he moans, pressing with his hips, his chest, his thumb. "Say it. You know if you say it, I won't be able to hold back." Rodney clenches down again, still giving no quarter, but John knows what his sex-drenched voice does to him. "And then I'll roll you over and suck your cock. I'll let you fuck my mouth while I shove my fingers up your ass to feel my own come inside you."

That does it. Rodney makes a noise that's pure sex and sin and furious exasperation. "I hate you," he lies, inching his legs wider. "I hate you so much and I'm going to make you pay and pay and pay later and please. Will you please just fuck me already?"

John wants to mention that he's counting on Rodney's retribution -- anticipating it, really -- but hearing Rodney say please in that broken, desperate tone of voice is a bolt of pure pleasure directly down his spine. John doesn't say anything. He's too busy letting his hips find the heavy, pounding rhythm they've wanted for a while.

Rodney's whole posture stiffens, he holds himself rigid to let John crash against him with each rough thrust. John couldn't stop if he wanted to and Rodney knows it and likes it and takes it. Even the wild ringing in his own ears can't drown out John's harsh, gasped words: "fuck" and "god" and "love you" as he comes.

When he's aware again, he finds himself plastered to Rodney's back, who in turn is collapsed onto the blanket, one knee flat, the other bent underneath him. It can't be a comfortable position, but Rodney's panting too hard to object.

John closes his eyes and savors this. It's not quiet, not with their breathing and their slowing heart-rates, but John doesn't want quiet. He wants this: the sun warm on his skin, surf loud in his ears, and Rodney solidly against him.

Smiling lazily, John says, "So. Good for you too?"

"I never should have told you I can come without being touched," Rodney says. He's trying for viciously annoyed. What comes out has too much smooth, merlot-touched satiation to be viciously anything. "Also, you're flattening me into the wet-spot."

"Sorry," John says, completely unrepentant. "You were supposed to wait. I wanted to suck you."

"Next time," Rodney says. "Any time you want." He shifts around, straightening his legs and finding a better position, even while he keeps John in place.

John kisses the back of Rodney's neck.

His mind drifts. It's been a while since they've had this kind of time to drowse with each other and John's missed it. He kisses Rodney's neck again, rubbing his nose until he can feel each bump and divot of Rodney's spine. He smells so good there.

"Is there a reason you're acting like a puppy?"

"Objecting?"

"Not particularly, no. Just curious."

"You smell good," John says. "You feel good." Just for the hell of it, he buries his nose in the fine hair at the back of Rodney's neck and breathes in and out exaggeratedly.

Rodney squirms. "That tickles!" His thrashing makes John's cock slip out. "Sorry," Rodney mutters.

"'S okay."

If he stretches, John can just get his fingers past the edge of the blanket. He sifts the fine, fine sand through his fingers. He's waiting, really. Even a thoroughly sated and content Rodney can tolerate silence for only so long, and it's become a game he plays with himself. How long can he fuck Rodney into quiet this time?

Not including the prior conversation, so far he's at three minutes and thirty seconds.

The record is four minutes fifty-six seconds.

"I, uh. I never thought we'd get back here. This place. If that's where we really are. I keep expecting tables with umbrellas to spring up."

John can't resist, "While we were having sex?"

Rodney makes a hmmm-ing noise and dislodges John from his back, ignoring John's indignant muttering until they're settled face-to-face. He kisses John's temple, then freezes, his eyes fixed on the distance.

"What?" John says, sitting up and turning to look behind himself.

Rodney pulls him back down, nestling their heads close together, his lips at the edge of John's ear. "Look," he says quietly, one hand coming up to point down the beach.

John looks. At first, all he sees is the glint of sunlight off of something shiny - broken glass or a mirror-bright shell in the sand, maybe. But then he focuses, and the flash resolves itself into the reflection of the warm, yellow sunlight off a familiar foil emergency blanket. Above the strobing, John can see tawny limbs weaving together, bodies and sand and hair in all shades of taupe and beige and brown.

"Oh," he says, smiling and leaning back against Rodney. "Looks like this isn't about us."

He watches Ronon and Teyla for another couple of seconds before slumping back onto the blanket. Rodney's arms around him are heavy and warm; he's got sand in his chest hair, and sweat and come are drying on his belly. The blanket is sticky and the bright sunlight and the breeze make him first squint, then close his eyes.

"Too bad," Rodney murmurs into the hair at John's temple. "I could really go for room service."