(1)

Like most things on alien planets, it went bad pretty quickly. No one really expected a goat - of all things - to pitch a fit. That was usually reserved for Rodney. But, one berserker goat later, Rodney found himself boosting John into the hayloft of a nearby barn.

The horrified goatherd chased his charge, the team scattered, and the local shaman/leader/potentate screamed at the top of his lungs between uncontrollable bouts of laughter. He had climbed onto a low branch of a nearby tree. He still had a great view of the carnage, but he was out of range of the flat teeth of the goat, so useful for chewing grass. They were also useful for chewing a couple of John's fingers - he hadn't run quite fast enough when Billy Goat Gruff had managed to break from the herd and go postal.

"Crap," John said, cradling his injured hand to his chest. He sat down on one of the hay bales set well away from the window under the barn's eaves and shook his fingers out. "That hurt."

"Lemme see," Rodney said, crouching down on one knee to look. The fingers were a little red, but the skin wasn't broken, so he inclined his head and kissed the two fingers in turn. "All better," he said.

When he looked up, John's eyes had gone dark, his eyelids half-closing in a way that meant "John horny," a sight Rodney had seen quite a lot in the past three months. Rodney changed his grip, wrapping his fingers around John's forearms and dragged him down to the floor, leaving John's back against the bale, his legs on either side of Rodney.

"Yeah," Rodney muttered. He leaned forward, hands still squeezing John's arms, and placed a gentle kiss on John's forehead. He followed that up with kisses that brushed across each eyebrow, then John's high cheekbones, down to the tip of his nose and then lightly across his mouth.

When he pulled back, John was staring at him, confusion on his face. Rodney looked at him head-on, his brain screaming at him. He and John didn't do tender, they didn't do reverent and gentle. John and Rodney did up-against-the-wall, they did quick handjobs in assorted storage closets, dirty blowjobs in out of the way corners, and the rare fuck on the narrow beds in one or the other's room. They rarely kissed, and when they did it was a battle of wills, nothing like what Rodney had just done.

They both looked up when Ronon called the all clear, shouting that the rogue goat had been caught and subdued, and Rodney could hear the team and the locals reassembling, gathering again in the clearing where the "greeting ceremony" had been taking place.

Rodney looked at John one more time, his mouth going dry like it so often did when he looked at John. "I want..." he said.

John cut him off with a decisive upward jerk of his head. "It's good to want things." John pulled himself to his feet and headed to the edge of the hayloft, jumping down with his usual grace, which wasn't very much. Rodney slid out of the loft and onto his feet while the attention was where it usually was - on John.

"It's good to want things." It was one of John's signature lines. He used it whenever someone came up to him and said, "I want this" or "I want that" and he had no intention whatsoever of giving it to them. "It's good to want things." He said it with a smirk and that flat accent and a head tilt, and the other person generally went away, thinking about how charming that John Sheppard was. He'd never said it to Rodney before.

Later, back on Atlantis and in John's room, Rodney was on top, his knees braced on the bed, John's cock in his ass. He moved forward and brought his hands down to the mattress on either side of John's head. When his lips brushed John's forehead, John turned his face to the side.

"We don't..." John said. "That's not for us."

Rodney schooled his expression and pushed himself back, sliding up and down on John, his hand on his own cock, listening to the whines and groans that were becoming so familiar. A few more good hard strokes and he came on John's belly and chest. He didn't stop moving, instead pushing down hard, clenching his ass, looking for the signs that John was close. When he knew John was about to come, he pulled off, finishing him with his hand.

John made a frustrated sound, still panting. "I...I wanted to come in you."

Rodney turned to the side of the bed and reached for his pants. "It's good to want things, right?"

(2)

It took John a little while to notice, because the next few weeks were busy. They only managed to get together twice, both times for quick handjobs, and Rodney kept his chin hooked over John's shoulder both times.

Eventually, life slowed a little and John looked at Rodney with a twinkle in his eye and offered to walk with him to meet the others to watch a movie. A common room had been set up as a small theatre. Instead, John tugged him into a large storage room, into a dim area between two of the large, tarp-covered crates.

He wrapped one hand around the nape of Rodney's neck and pulled him down. Rodney pulled back, resisting the hold. "Me first," he said.

John huffed out a frustrated sigh, but he shifted down to sit on a conveniently placed crate, fingers coming up to unzip Rodney's pants. Rodney was, of course, hard. He got hard every time John got near him. John pulled his cock out of his boxers and wasted no time getting it into his mouth. John sucked cock like he was born to it, and Rodney wove his hands through John's hair, breaking up the gel he swore he didn't use. John moaned and slid further down, tongue pressing in time with the bobbing of his head.

Rodney didn't bother to draw it out, rubbing his thumb back and forth against John's temple before warning, "I'm gonna come," letting John pull back before letting go, feeling himself spill over John's tongue, feeling the rhythmic pressure of John swallowing him down.

Rodney pulled his hand away and let his head fall back, remembering John's words from the previous week, well after the goat incident. "Can't we just keep it casual?" John had looked at a spot over Rodney's shoulder when he said it; as if he didn't have Rodney's come on his hand.

"Whatever you want," Rodney had said, pulling out the handkerchief he'd started carrying three months before.

When John, panting and licking his lips, pulled Rodney down again, he went to his knees. John's cock was rock-hard, pushing against the cotton of his boxers. Rodney got him out and went down hard with no preliminaries. He bobbed and sucked, keeping his hands on the edges of the crates, not on John's thighs. When John gasped out that he was close, Rodney waited until he felt the warning throb and pulled away, watching disinterestedly as John came all over himself.

John stared at him, panting hard - the fucked-out expression on his face warring with annoyance. He reached across Rodney to a box on a shelf to one side, pulling out a handful of paper towels to wipe at his pants and underwear.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, stuffing the wet mess into his pocket.

"What was what?" Rodney tucked his cock back into his boxers and buttoned and zipped his pants.

John gestured to his lap. "This shit. Not letting me come in your mouth."

Rodney smiled tightly. "My casual fucks don't get to come in me. Not anywhere."

John's mouth fell open and he closed it with a snap. "Don't be like that."

"Like what?" Rodney looked right at John. "This is how you wanted it, John. Casual."

John snorted and looked away. "Come on, Rodney. You know I can't do this - I'm the ranking military officer."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "So command is seasonal, then? Far as I know, you've been in command the whole time we've been fucking."

It was John's turn to roll his eyes. "Besides," he said. "I'm straight."

"Don't give me that," Rodney said. "Straight guys don't give head like you, and straight guys don't get off on being fucked up the ass like you do. Or is your sexuality seasonal, too? The spring of gay is over and it's time for the summer of straight?"

John sighed and put both hands on crate he was still sitting on, looking at the wall just behind Rodney. "I just don't know what you want from me."

Rodney opened the door and stepped out. He leaned back in, turning his head to one side to look at John. "When you figure it out," he said. "Come see me."

He moved to close the door, but stopped when John said, "Wait!" He looked back in and John's fingers were tapping against the crate. "Are you breaking up with me?" He winced when he said it.

Rodney barked out a short laugh. "Casual, remember?" he said. "There's nothing to break. See you at the movies." He turned around and headed toward the common area. He was unsurprised when John took a different route.

Rodney was surprised to see John waiting for him in the hall beside the common area. When he walked past, John stepped out. "Everyone thought we were coming together," he said, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

Rodney smirked at him. "Keeping up appearances, huh?" He didn't give John a chance to answer, instead continuing his path to the door. Inside, he found the usual crowd sprawled out on the scrounged chairs and sofas. He accepted greetings and a glass of Athosian sort-of-beer from the pitcher on the table before sliding into the chair next to Elizabeth, who gave him a quick smile and went on with the story she was telling. A minute later, John walked up with a large Scotch - from the secret stash - in his hand.

John sat down, keeping his jacket on. Elizabeth leaned across the ersatz coffee table. "What took you two so long?" she asked before slipping back into her chair.

"John had to check on his latest conquest," Rodney answered, then turned toward her, holding out his glass for a refill.

They stayed for the movie; but Rodney couldn't have said what it was. The party broke up soon after, everyone needing to return to their duties or get some much-needed sleep. John and Rodney were the last to go, and John snagged Rodney's sleeve when he tried to walk away.

"Look," he said. "I'm sorry."

Rodney turned and looked at him. John looked sincere, but John could fake sincere really well. Rodney sighed and pulled away. "You don't even know what you're sorry for, do you?"

John dropped the sincere look for actual sincerity. "No, I don't, Rodney. I know you're pissed at me."

Rodney shook his head and then turned away. "I wish I didn't care enough to be pissed. Go to bed, John."

(3)

The next day, John acted like nothing had happened. Rodney just wasn't that good an actor when it came to his private life, so he used Ronon and Teyla and Zelenka as human shields. They weren't stupid - they knew what he was doing and they played along. Eventually John and Rodney had to sit in a meeting together. There was the usual banter, but after the meeting ended, Elizabeth asked to two of them to stay back.

"What's the problem?" she said, crossing her arms over her chest. "You two are usually amusingly antagonistic in these meetings but you've both gone to actively hostile. Everyone is noticing. What am I supposed to do with that?"

Rodney and John watched Elizabeth stare at them until they nodded, then she dismissed them.

Out in the hall, once he looked around to make sure they were alone, John turned to face Rodney. "Look," he said. "I'm sorry if you're pissed at me."

"And the Oscar for passive aggression goes to..." Rodney sneered. "We're professionals. Go work; it'll be fine." John gave him a look - a little frustrated and a little hurt - and Rodney watched him head toward the gym. He took and released a deep breath, getting his head into the right place, and went to his lab.

They met up at the usual team table for lunch, though the banter was subdued. Outside the mess hall, John raised an eyebrow at Rodney and his face fell when Rodney gave him the "bitch, please" look.

Rodney was in bed when he heard a soft knock at the door. He seriously considered ignoring it, but he heard it again, louder. He got up slowly and pulled on a pair of boxers and a ratty tee shirt and stumbled to the door. It was John, looking like he always did - attractively rumpled and more beautiful than a man should look at 2:30 am at his former fuck-buddy's door.

"Oh, what?" Rodney asked, rubbing a hand over his face. "What do you want, John?"

John gave him the from-under-his-lashes look, the one that worked for him most of the time. "Can I come in?"

"Yeah," Rodney said after a long minute. "But leave the act outside. I don't need it."

"Fine," John said. He stepped in and Rodney noticed that he looked terrible in the brighter room light - there were bags under his bloodshot eyes, and his stubble was just past the studied scruffiness he usually wore. "Can we sit down and talk?"

"What the hell," Rodney said flippantly. "Let's just finish off a crappy day with talking about feelings. Why don't you just shoot me instead?"

"Feelings?" John looked perplexed.

"Well, you didn't come here to get laid. Unless you did, in which case, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out."

John sighed and walked into the sitting area, slumping down onto the sofa. Rodney followed, but took the chair, not sure if he wanted to get too close to John. If he did, he might catch a whiff of John's cologne or the gel he used in his hair or one of the million little things that made John smell like John. Or, more specifically, that made John smell like sex. There was no way in hell he was going to ruin his smug superiority by popping a surprise boner.

"Make it fast," Rodney said. "I've got some quality sleep to catch up on."

John studied his nails and didn't look up. "Lisa dumped me," he said, referring Dr. Adams, the cultural anthropologist he'd been casually dating.

"Huh," Rodney said. It wasn't one of his better comebacks, but it would have to do. He got a sudden flash of intuition and looked straight at John. "When?"

John actually winced, and he didn't look up. "Three months ago."

"Oh, that's just fucking perfect." Rodney stood up. "I'm going back to bed. Let yourself out." He walked past the couch and froze when John reached out and grabbed his wrist.

"It's not what you think," John said. "I was...interested in you before that, but I couldn't do anything about it."

"Wow," Rodney said in a flat monotone. "That's the lamest thing in the history of lameness. You weren't interested in me then because you're not interested in me at all. You're interested in getting laid. We're casual, remember? Or, we were. Now we're nothing." He pulled his arm away from John's grip and took a step back.

John let him go, but he finally looked up. Rodney could see that John was confused. Confused and sad and freaking out in a tightly controlled manner. "I was just...protecting myself," he said.

"From what?" Rodney could feel himself shaking. "What did I ever ask you for?"

"In the barn, the way you touched me...and then later." John's look was pleading.

"And you were very clear on what was and wasn't 'for us' as I remember. Goddamn it, John - I tried to give you what you wanted."

John swallowed hard. "I didn't want...things to be the way they were last night. In the storage room."

"Fuck you," Rodney said, running a hand through his hair. "You don't get to have everything the way you want it. I know you're used to everyone dropping to their knees every time you smile, but you don't get to have that from me." He looked at John sharply, but there weren't any clues on his face. "You want casual? Well, I can't fucking do casual, okay? Not with you."

John stood up and took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He reached out and took Rodney's wrist again and finally looked him in the eye. "Okay," he said. "Okay."

"Okay, what?" Rodney breathed in, drowning in the smell of John - cologne and gel and a little sweat and leather from his stupid jacket.

"Not casual," John said, and he looked like it hurt him to say it. "It's not casual for me either."

"Not that I believe you," Rodney said, smiling just a little. "But I'll take it. Get your narrow ass on the bed right now."

John leaned forward and kissed him, but Rodney didn't let it go past a chaste brushing of lips. "What part of 'get on the bed' don't you understand?"

John turned away, and Rodney watched as he walked over to the bedrom. He didn't buy John's bullshit for a minute, but he was going to wear that skinny ass out once and for all. John would turn back into the same repressed, standoffish prick he'd always been soon enough, but before then, Rodney was going to get what he wanted for a change.

When Rodney moved over to the bed, John was just standing there with his hands hanging down by his sides. He still had his jacket on. Rodney walked over and pushed the black leather down John's back and off his arms, tossing it toward the chair in the corner. The black tee shirt underneath was soft with age and washing, and the neck was stretched out enough to show curls of the dark hair that Rodney knew covered John's chest, arrowing down his flat belly and pointed straight to his cock.

Rodney flattened his hand on John's chest and slid it all the way down the front the shirt to his belt and over it to caress the growing bulge under John's uniform pants, getting a low moan for his trouble. He tilted his head up so that he could look John in the eye and waited expectantly, a half-smile curling his lips upward on one side.

John looked at him, wide-eyed, and then he got it. He took a deep shuddering breath and brought his big hands up to rest on Rodney's shoulders before dipping his head to place a gentle kiss on Rodney's forehead. Rodney put his free hand on John's hip and left the other where it was, rhythmically stroking over John's trouser-covered cock.

When John's lips moved to his eyelids, Rodney tightened both hands, and John gasped, pushing his hips forward, trying to get more friction on his cock. Rodney moved with him, keeping his touch infuriatingly light. John kissed the tip of his nose, then slid one hand up Rodney's neck to tilt his head to one side before brushing their lips gently together.

Rodney opened his eyes, needing to watch John while he did it, while he broke his own taboos so beautifully. John's eyelashes made dark crescents against his too-pale skin, and Rodney knew exactly how thick and silky they were. When the kiss became harder, more insistent, Rodney let his eyes drift closed as he pulled John's lower lip between his own, sucking lightly. John returned the favor on Rodney's upper lip, adding a soft bite to the mix.

Both of John's hands pushed lightly at Rodney's shoulders, trying to move him toward the bed. "Forget it," Rodney said, smiling against John's mouth. "Not yet." He moved both hands to John's hips and pushed him back a step. When John let himself be pushed, Rodney reached up to slowly strip off his shirt.

"I can..." John said, but Rodney silenced him with a look. They always took their own clothes off, on the rare occasion when they had time - on the rare occasions that they fucked.

"Either we're doing this my way or not at all, John." Rodney didn't raise his voice, but he hardened it, letting a thread of steel back his words up. John nodded, and Rodney pulled the shirt off slowly, dipping his head to kiss John's neck, the hollow of his throat and down along his chest as he pulled the shirt off John's raised arms. John shuddered when Rodney drew circles with his tongue through his chest hair.

Rodney got the shirt off all the way; John let it fall to the floor in a little heap.

"Shoes," Rodney said, and John obeyed, sliding his feet from the loosely laced combat boots.

John's hand went to his own belt and Rodney carefully moved it away. He unbuckled John's belt and pulled it through the loops with a slithery sound, letting it fall to the floor. He then unbuttoned and unzipped John's pants, but didn't move to slide them off.

"Fuck," Rodney said, moving back a step to look at John, all bare arms and lazy eyes. The hair on John's chest led the way down to thick curls framed in the triangle of the open pants, and Rodney could see how hard John was, his cock pushing at the fabric of his low slung boxers.

"Please." John said, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"Please, what?" Rodney asked. "Please touch you? Please fuck you? Please stop?"

"Fuck me," John said. And Rodney smiled at him.

"You can count on that," he said. "Maybe twice if you're lucky." He watched John take a deep breath at that, and then another when Rodney slid his hands into John's pants and pushed them off his hips. "Get 'em off," he said, and watched as John eased the jeans and boxers down his legs, taking his socks with them.

John looked good naked. He looked good dressed, too, but there was something about nudity that evened up his too-long torso and his slightly too short legs and made him more proportional, just that little bit closer to perfection. Rodney took off his own tee shirt and boxers, then stepped in and kissed John, who spread his legs to even out the height difference and let Rodney control the kiss.

They kissed for a long time, Rodney wrapping his arms around John's shoulders and feeling John's hands on his hips, the blunt ends of his fingers digging in. Rodney pushed him closer to the bed before breaking the kiss. When he did, John's lips moved down to Rodney's neck, kissing and licking. This was another thing they didn't do - when John broke a rule, he really broke a rule.

Rodney kissed John's temple lightly, then ran his hands into John's hair, scratching against his scalp; John leaned into the touch, and Rodney kissed the top of his head. "Bed," Rodney said, pushing John down with a tiny bit of pressure. John moved as if to get on the bed on his hands and knees, but Rodney was having none of that. He grabbed John's hip and made sure he landed flat on his back. John gave him the confused face again - Rodney had never fucked John any way but from behind, and then only a very few times.

"My way, John," Rodney reminded him. Sprawled out naked on his bed with that 'huh?' face, John looked like everything Rodney had ever wanted, at least, up 'til now. Making John get dressed again and throwing his surprised ass out the door was a thought that had merit, but they had to work together, and Rodney wasn't that big of an asshole. Besides, there were still enough - oh, god - feelings there that Rodney couldn't deny no matter how much he wanted to.

Rodney sat down on the side of the bed, body turned toward John, who stayed flat on his back, for once doing what he was told. Just to watch him flinch, Rodney raised one hand to John's face and let the backs of his fingers trace down from cheekbone to neck. But John didn't flinch. In fact, he leaned into the touch.

"I don't get you at all," Rodney said quietly. "You come in here, as sincere as I've ever seen you, but you fucking flinch when you basically tell me you've been pining away for me. I'm supposed to buy that particular brand of bullshit, just because you said it?" He moved his hand along John's shoulder. "I get you in here, and you want it enough that you're arching up into my hands like a cat. Which one is real?"

John opened his mouth, but a look from Rodney silenced him. "That was a rhetorical question." He kept his hand moving, stroking down John's long arm, tracing the muscles there. "I don't actually care all that much," he said. "I know what this is. You want to get laid and you think that I need to believe that it means something. You don't have to lie to me, John. I'll fuck you regardless, and I know that even if you say you'll stay, you'll wait 'til I'm asleep and sneak out and I'll wake up alone in the morning."

John tried again, opening his mouth to speak, but Rodney tightened his hand on John's bicep. "Shut up, John," he said. "And just fuck." Then he leaned down, damn the awkward position, and kissed John, hard and messy - biting at his lips. John gave him back the same, and it was good. It was fucking great, and it was every single thing that Rodney was sick of.

He sat back up and moved around to lie on the bed next to John, rolling up on one hip to look at him.

Every time John tried to kiss him, Rodney cut him off, turning his head away, or leaning down to bite John's neck or shoulder. John's neck was incredibly sensitive, and Rodney knew every spot, exploited them ruthlessly, his hands pressing John's wrists to the bed.

For his part, John moaned and groaned, turning his head to the side, giving Rodney free reign. Rodney moved down to John's chest, and then down to hips and belly, sucking and biting. He let his tongue and the gentle edges of his teeth move up and down John's cock, and he listened as John whispered curses and half-words.

Rodney finally let John's hands go, and they immediately came up to touch Rodney's hair and jaw, trying to pull him in for a kiss, which Rodney resisted, finally slipping down between John's legs and using his shoulders to press them up and away. He sucked and licked John's balls for a while, because John losing it like that never got old.

Finally, he lifted his head to look up at John. "Hand me the lube," he said. "It's in the drawer." John blanched a little, but Rodney wasn't letting him off the hook, not even for a second. If John was going to play this game, he was going to be complicit. He was going to be fucking involved.

John handed him the lube, and Rodney wet his hand with it. He rubbed it around the entrance to John's body for a couple of seconds, then shoved a finger in, making John cry out and roll his body up, shoulders coming off the bed. Rodney pushed in and out for a minute, then lifted his other hand, placing it on John's chest to shove him back, to make him lie flat on the bed.

As soon as John's back hit the bed again, Rodney pushed another finger in. This time, John didn't try to curl; he simply tossed his head back and forth on the pillow. He froze when the third finger went in, tensing at the invasion, his knees trying to close. Rodney didn't stop, didn't even slow down, shoving his fingers in and pulling them back out hard and fast.

He watched as John reached for his own cock. "No," he snapped, and smiled when John instantly obeyed. Rodney thought that, for the first time, the way that John sometimes took simple orders was working out for him. When Rodney pulled his fingers out, John relaxed noticeably.

"Don't get too comfortable," Rodney told him, getting up on his knees and pressing John's legs up to his chest. He got the lube open and wet his cock, then tossed it onto the bed table. Bracing on one hand on the bed, Rodney used the other to hold his cock and move the head gently against John, the motion making his cock catch on the rim of John's hole before sliding away.

John's face was red, his head thrown back, his hands caught behind his knees. He was beautiful and flushed and open, and Rodney wanted to slam into him, feel John's whole body jerk as he was speared, but he just pressed in a little before pulling back out, barely letting the tip get inside before it was gone. He increased the movement slowly, until he was about halfway inside John's ass, and then he did slam into him, and he did get to feel John's whole body jerk.

"Fuck," John moaned. "Oh, god."

Rodney didn't answer; he just braced his hands more firmly against the bed and concentrated on pulling out a couple of inches before pushing back in hard. John was going to be sore. When he sneaked out in the dark of the morning, he wasn't going to do it comfortably. Rodney kept a tight rein on his own mouth, not letting any words out, just incoherent groans as he fucked harder and harder, his hips hitting John's ass on every stroke.

Finally, he had pity on John and lengthened the strokes, giving more of a chance of John getting pressure on his prostate, and when he found the right angle, he pressed it mercilessly. Rodney braced himself on one hand, and took John's cock in the other, stroking it hard and fast until John shot all over his chest and belly. Before John could catch his breath, Rodney pulled out and shoved an unresisting John over onto his belly. He ran his fingers down to touch John's hole and got a hard shiver in answer.

"More?" Rodney asked, still rubbing and touching, letting his fingertips slip inside and then back out again before John could push back onto them. John let out a choked noise, and Rodney did it again, pushing in just a little, then pulling out to tease the edges and open John up again with just that tiny bit of pressure.

"Yes," John groaned. "Fuck me. Please."

Rodney brought his cock down with his still-slick fingers and shoved in, feeling John jump and push back under him. That little break had pulled Rodney back from the brink of orgasm, and now John was going to get fucked. Hard and with no mercy. Rodney pistoned in and out until John was moaning hoarsely into the pillow before he let go, let himself spill into John's tight ass. He gripped John's hips, fingers digging in, then pushed himself off and away, hearing John's pained moan as he flopped down on his side of the bed.

"I think you broke my ass," John said, once his breathing had settled - it took a long time, Rodney noted with satisfaction.

"You told me to fuck you," Rodney said. "You even said 'please.'"

Rodney stared at the ceiling even though he knew John had turned his head on the pillow to look at him. When John's arm snaked across his chest, Rodney rolled out of the other side of the bed and then went into the bathroom, coming back with a towel. He cleaned his cock off, then tossed the towel to John, who was lying on his back with one knee bent.

John cleaned up gingerly. "Come down here," he said, holding out an arm.

Oh, what the hell, Rodney thought, and slid onto the bed. If John wanted to play at being his boyfriend, who was he to refuse? As long as he remembered it wasn't real, he'd be okay. John wrapped his arm around Rodney's shoulders and reeled him in. God, he smelled good. Like his usual scent, mixed with sweat and come, and Rodney's sweat and come. And, Jesus fuck, he kissed Rodney's goddamned temple, lips soft and sweet. Not fair at all.

Rodney had fucked him and hurt him - he shouldn't be basking. He should be getting dressed, quietly furious, and stomping out in a self-righteous snit. Well, as much as you could stomp with a seriously sore ass, anyway.

Fucking hell - things never worked out right for Rodney. He let John kick the soiled blanket down and get them under the sheets; let John pull him close, even turned his face up and let John kiss him, slow and wet. It felt so good - so real, and Rodney had to remind himself that John thought he was going to get it right. John believed that he was going to get it right. But Rodney knew the truth. He knew that deep down, John was a dick, and he was going to wake up alone.

Rodney woke up at 4:30 and watched through slitted eyes as John got dressed and slipped out. He heard the door close with a quiet whoosh.

Fucker.

When John cornered Rodney the next day and tried to talk, Rodney called him a cunt and walked away. It didn't make Rodney feel much better.

At lunch, John sat down next to Rodney. Ronon and Teyla were away somewhere, so it was just the two of them.

"Look," John said. "About the leaving..."

"Oh, don't even," Rodney said. "Save it."

John ate a bite of his sandwich. "Look, I just..."

Rodney set his fork down and looked at John appraisingly. "How's your ass?" he asked.

Rodney wanted to laugh his ugliest laugh when John quickly scanned the room to see if anyone was listening. No one was.

"Geez," John said quietly. "Rodney."

Rodney leaned in close, like they were discussing some secret plan guaranteed to get them both in trouble. "Your ass, Sheppard. I'm asking about your ass. From where I shoved my cock in your asshole and fucked you last night. From where you begged me to fuck you twice." He ate a bite of food from John's tray. "You complained - you said I broke your ass, so I'm checking up on it. Stretched out? Sore? Hurt when you took a shit this morning?"

Rodney picked up his tray and coffee mug and left John sitting there, blushing to the hairline. He whistled a happy little tune as he walked to the lab.

When John cornered Rodney in the lab and tried to talk, Rodney called him a cunt again. This time it felt pretty good.

"I know," John said. "When did you turn into the asshole in this re...uh..."

Rodney looked blankly at John for a minute. This time, he did laugh his ugliest laugh. "I think," he said, "that it is vitally important that you fuck off right now."

"Rodney," John whined.

Rodney looked at him, steely-eyed. "Unless you want me to put you on your knees right here and shove my dick down your throat, you will walk away."

John gulped and left quickly.

Rodney whistled some more as he strolled to the coffee pot.

Rodney went back to his room just before midnight. He didn't even wonder if John would show up. He would. The knock came about an hour later. Rodney wasn't exactly sure how he was going to play it.

"Hey," John said. He looked tired, and Rodney could see the bone-deep weariness underneath. Rodney knew it; it was the same thing he felt every time he closed his eyes for longer than a slow blink.

"Hey," he said back. The exhaustion must have been in his face, Rodney thought, because John shrugged and half-turned away.

"You can come in," Rodney said. All the fight went out of him in the short distance between the bed and the door.

John stepped into the room, but didn't advance further. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and told the floor, "I hate this."

Rodney said, "Hate what?"

John stayed quiet, still looking at the floor. "Change," he finally said, as if finding the right word had taken most of his limited energy.

Rodney closed his eyes. "Wrong galaxy," he said. He was horrified to find that he wanted to hug John. Or maybe punch a wall. For the first time in a long time, he felt like just sitting down and not getting back up. He startled himself by doing just that, folding himself to the floor with his back to the bed and his knees bent. It was a testament to just how fucked up he was that when John sank down and more or less climbed into his lap, Rodney didn't even say a word.

It took a while for Rodney to react, but he did. He lifted one hand and just laid it onto John's back. John's temple was against Rodney's shoulder, and he could practically hear John's thousand-yard stare. The sleeve of Rodney's shirt was bunched in John's fist, and they didn't move, as if moving would have been just enough to break something.

John moved first, but it wasn't an awkward parting. John just slid out of Rodney's arms and got stiffly to his feet. Rodney put out a hand and John pulled him up. They stared at each other for a minute, and then Rodney put his palm against the back of John's neck.

"C'mon," Rodney said. "Bed."

John blinked dazedly, but he undressed when Rodney did. Rodney got into the bed and turned to face the wall. John got in, and shifted around before curling up behind Rodney and slinging a heavy arm across his waist.

"Don't wake me up when you leave," Rodney grumbled, but he pushed back against John.

John did wake Rodney in the night, but not by leaving. When Rodney's eyes opened, it was still dark and John was kind of looming over him. "What?" Rodney said irritably.

"It's come to my attention that I can sometimes be a..." John started.

Rodney finished, "A cunt? What tipped you off?"

"You calling me a cunt," John said dryly.

"Your point?" Rodney said, trying to push John away.

"My point is that it's true."

Rodney sighed. "You woke me up for this? Moments of self-knowledge are about yourself, not others, so why am I awake for this? Leave me out of your existential crises."

John rolled his eyes. "This is as close as I can get to an apology, Rodney. You know, dead of night, dark room, you half-awake. This is it. Take it or leave it."

"Whatever," Rodney said, but he was smiling. It was just so John. "If you're through candy-assing around, I'd like to go back to sleep. Or you could give me a blowjob. I could stay awake for that."

"You still want to shove it down my throat?" John asked, and he pressed forward to rub his hardening cock against Rodney thigh.

"Maybe tomorrow, if you hang around." Rodney said, pushing back.

John made a little huffing noise, but he didn't answer. He started to slide down Rodney's body. About halfway to Rodney's now very interested dick, John paused. Rodney waited.

John moved back up so they were face to face. "You're aware that I'm not the only complete jackass in this room, right?" John said.

Rodney laughed in John's face. "I never claimed to be anything else."

John leaned in and kissed Rodney softly high up on his cheekbone. "Just so we're clear."

"Whatever," Rodney said. "Why don't you ride me?"

"Fuck, no," John said. "My ass still hurts. You're going to have to settle for blowjob."

"Okay," Rodney said. "But you better make it good."

John huffed again, but he slid back down Rodney's body and took Rodney's cock in his mouth, slowly going down. And John did make it good, sucking slow and wet, his tongue soft against the underside.

It was the sweetest blowjob Rodney'd ever gotten, and it was fucking weird. It was like John was apologizing again. Rodney didn't really want an apologetic blowjob, so he wrapped his hand in John's hair and thrust up a few times. It worked. John got rough, alternately sucking hard and using the edges of his teeth on the upstroke. He let his spit drip down between Rodney's thighs and used it to slick a couple of fingers. Rodney grunted when the fingers went in. He wound up fucking John's mouth, using his hold on John's hair to go deeper. He said John's name when he came.

When John, panting hard, climbed up Rodney's body, Rodney put his hand in John's face. "Lick it," he said.

John didn't even hesitate, wetting Rodney's palm with the mix of saliva and come in his mouth. When his hand was slick, Rodney shoved John back down on to the bed and started jerking him off, fast and rough.

"Jesus...oh, god, Christ, Rodney," John moaned, writhing and pushing up against Rodney's body. "Fuck, Rodney...I want..."

"It's good to..." Rodney started to say, but John slapped his hand over Rodney's still-moving lips.

"It's just...it's just good, okay, Rodney? Just..." John lost his words as he cried out, his orgasm shaking his whole body.

Rodney bit at John's fingers until the hand fell away from his mouth. He licked his lower lip, tasting John on his skin. "Okay," he said, gentling John through the last aftershocks. "Yeah. It's good."