When John breaks Rodney out of the makeshift prison, he's a little surprised. Not because Rodney is beaten and bloody and manacled and hurt - because Rodney is none of those things. John is surprised by the exact opposite; Rodney is lying on a soft-looking bed with his feet crossed at the ankles, reading what looks like a paperback novel.

"Hi," Rodney says, carefully dog-earing his page before closing the book. "Time to go?"

"I guess," John says, lowering his P-90.

"You were expecting torture, weren't you?" Rodney hops off the bed and leans down to put his boots on. He grabs the tac vest hanging over a nearby chair and shrugs into it, sliding the book into an inside pocket.

"Well, yeah," John says.

"Sorry. Hey, you didn't kill anybody to get me out of here, did you?"

John shakes his head and Rodney sighs. "Good; they were pretty nice. I told them a load of bullshit about how to fix their 'superweapon' and they left me here to rest. They were really, really dumb."

John has to admit that it's all a little anticlimactic. He moves to the door and peeks out into the hallway, which is completely empty. He hears Rodney's sigh at his shoulder.

"There could be bad guys," John says, and it sounds petulant even to him.

"Yes, yes," Rodney says, shouldering past him. "And I could have been mostly dead all day. Can we go?"

It doesn't get any better when they get to the puddlejumper, even though Rodney merely raises an eyebrow at the full strike team waiting there. There's even a medic. Rodney sits down next to Ronon, who hands him a chocolate-chip granola bar - his favorite.

John most certainly does not pout as he flies them home.

At midnight, Rodney is still working in his lab when John comes to get him. He makes noises about making up for lost time, but John just stands there and gives him all-purpose glower #6 - the one with extra eyebrow, until Rodney shuts down his laptop. Zelenka is used to their shenanigans and doesn't even look up as they leave.

John leads Rodney to his room in total silence. As soon as the door shuts behind them, he grabs Rodney in a fierce kiss. Just like always, Rodney meets him in the middle, completely focused on kissing back.

When they break for air, Rodney grins, his eyes twinkling. "Very macho, Colonel," he says. "Did you want to hit me with your club and drag me over to your bed by the hair next?"

John sighs. It's going to be one of those nights. He surprises himself, though. "I thought you were hurt, that you could be dead, Rodney. Don't play this for laughs." It's about a thousand times more honest than he wanted to be, so he drops his head to Rodney's shoulder.

For once, thank god, Rodney shuts the hell up. He brings one hand up to rub the back of John's head, smoothing the hair there. "You were really scared." He sounds amazed.

"Well, yeah! I woke up and you were gone and even Ronon couldn't figure it out. I was terrified." He's talking into Rodney's shoulder, too - something - to raise his head.

Rodney kisses the top of his head. "It's okay. Nothing bad happened. No one hit me or touched me, I promise. They were just a band of boneheads trying to get their trebuchet to work."

John looks up at that. "Their superweapon was a trebuchet? You were kidnapped by the Knights of Ni?"

"It was actually the French guys in the castle who had mmmpf..."

John cuts him off with a kiss - this one much less desperate than the first one. Rodney, like he always does, rolls with it, kissing back and keeping one hand in John's hair, the other moving up and down his back.

"Maybe you should take a good look at me," he says against John's lips. "Make sure they didn't bruise me or anything."

Sounds like a plan to John. Rodney stands perfectly still and lets John strip him of the uniform until he is standing in the middle of the room completely naked. John steps close and looks at Rodney's face, turning his chin from side to side with a gentle hand. When he finishes, he brushes a kiss across Rodney's forehead.

He moves on to Rodney's neck, getting close so he can see. He watches the play of Rodney's Adam's apple when he swallows hard, then plants a row of kisses that starts just under one ear and trails down the side of his neck. He repeats it on the other side. Rodney's hands come to rest on his shoulders, fingers rubbing against the thin and wash-softened material of the black tee shirt.

John kisses his way to one collarbone, the tips of his fingers blazing a trail down to Rodney's nipples, gently tracing the already-hard points lightly. He leans over to trade his lips for his fingers, dropping small kisses as he goes, but not stopping. Rodney's hands move from his shoulders to his hair, softly carding through it in a rhythm that John loves.

They stay there when John sinks to his knees, lips moving across the rise of Rodney's belly and over to his hip and back again, tongue peeking out to trace the line of hair that leads down. He detours back to the point of Rodney's hip and then to the top of his leg, then kisses his way back up, mouthing the soft skin of Rodney's inner thigh. He repeats the caress on the other side. Rodney's hands are moving faster on his head, his fingers digging into John's scalp a little more on each pass. If John knew how to purr, he probably would.

Finally, John licks a hot stripe up Rodney's cock, and Rodney cups the back of his head and nudges him forward. At that, John takes his hands off Rodney's hips and grabs his wrists, moving his hands gently to his sides. He takes Rodney's cock into his mouth and sucks - too slowly, too lightly - making Rodney groan out loud. He pulls off and grins at Rodney, noting the color high on his cheekbones and the wild look in his eyes.

"Bed?" Rodney breathes.

"Nope," John says, rising gracefully to his feet. "Gotta check out the other side."

Rodney groans, but allows himself to be turned around. John doesn't have the patience - or the control - to go as slowly on Rodney's back. He kisses his way across, but the kisses have a little more teeth in them, and his hands are a little rougher as they skate over the muscles of Rodney's shoulders and back. When he gets to Rodney's hips, he stops.

"What're these?" he asks, pressing against a set of small bruises that exactly fit his fingers.

"You. Yesterday," Rodney pants, and John hides a smile in the middle of his back before again easing himself to his knees. He licks and sucks his way across the small of Rodney's back, his hands moving up and down strong, hairy thighs. Bending further, he gives Rodney's left asscheek a solid bite, smiling around the mouthful of flesh when Rodney yelps.

John uses Rodney's hips to steady him as he gets to his feet. He presses himself against Rodney's back, knowing what the roughness of his clothes must feel like against bare, sensitized skin.

"Bed now," John says. He watches as Rodney turns and pulls the blanket and sheet down, then slides under the covers to lie on one side, looking over his shoulder at John. The heat in that gaze makes John strip quickly. As soon as the last sock is pitched haphazardly toward the laundry basket, John is slipping into the bed behind Rodney, snugging his cock against Rodney's ass and kissing the back of his neck softly.

"Lube?" he says, and Rodney reaches for the drawer and finds the tube on the first try, handing it to John over his shoulder. When he slips his finger in, Rodney pushes back and moans.

"You don't have to be so careful," he says. "We just did this yesterday."

"Hush." John buries another smile against Rodney's back. "This is my caveman claiming ritual, and I'll be as careful as I want to." He doesn't actually want to be all that careful, but contradicting Rodney has become a reflex. He pulls the finger out, slicks his cock and pushes inside slowly in one long motion.

Rodney makes the same soft sounds he made yesterday, and every other time they've done this. They're oddly incongruent - Rodney is so loud most of the time, but he's quiet in bed, at least, until things get really heated. But John doesn't want this to be heated. He wants it to be slow and gentle and - it makes him feel like a girl to even think it - loving. So he simply rolls his hips, echoing the gentle motion of the sea against the city, a rhythm that's become as integral to him as his own heartbeat.

He slips his slippery hand over Rodney's hip to hold his cock. He lets the gentle motion of his hips press Rodney forward into his grip, keeping it slow and steady for both of them. When Rodney comes, he sighs, long and quiet, and his body relaxes completely. Two or three more slow, rolling strokes and John's coming, too. It washes through him in gentle waves, and he pulls Rodney back against him while they both catch their breath.

He stays inside as long as he can, but eventually slips out with a small sigh. "We should clean up," he says.

"You should go get us a towel," Rodney replies, snuggling further under the covers.

"Why me?" John sees no reason to break the contradiction habit.

"Well," Rodney says in his "I'm being reasonable" tone. "I was mostly dead all day."

John pushes him out of bed.