Okay, so choosing one of the lower levels of the city as his jerking-off place was maybe not John's best idea. The areas were cleared for exploration, but nobody went there. They were damaged - from the storm, from the original Wraith attacks, whatever. It didn't matter. What mattered was that there was a really perfect place. The tumbled masonry formed an angle that was almost a lounge chair, and it was near enough to a window that the midday sun streamed down, making him warm and comfortable.

And he probably didn't need to take his jacket and shirt off and push his BDU pants and boxers down to the tops of his boots. He could have gone for discretion and just opened his fly and pulled his dick out, keeping some tissues or a handkerchief in his pocket to avoid embarrassing stains. But - it was so nice there in his secret place, with the warmth and the sunlight and the freedom to run his unoccupied hand over his belly and chest, to wrap it gently around his own throat to touch the spot behind his ear that set off shivers and shudders that reached right down to his balls.

His hands felt good on his skin. Gun calluses on the edges of his fingers and the pads oddly smooth from typing - the paradox of his position as guy in charge. He wrapped one tightly around the base of his cock and pulled all the way up. What he wouldn't give to be pushing into someone else, to have someone else's mouth or hand or ass holding his cock so tightly. But Atlantis was his own personal no-fly zone.

He'd read the memos and all the regulations - fraternization, closed society, conduct unbecoming - and there just wasn't a place for the military commander of the expedition to get a quick and dirty blowjob or a bathroom-stall fuck. So sue him for at least wanting his jerk-off experience to be memorable.

He let his hand trail away from his neck and comb through his chest hair. He'd always thought there was too much, hating the way it spanned from the hollow of his neck all the way to his groin. The hair on his legs was a little thinner - still dark against his pale skin, but not so much that it bugged him.

He rifled through the hair and pinched his nipple. Hard, just the way he liked it. Hard enough to make him gasp and groan. He switched sides and did it again, stroking his cock at the same time. He flexed his hips back against the rough stone and then up into his hand, the contrast of the prickling pain and the sweet pleasure winding him tighter. He was getting close.

He reached down to cup his balls, to lightly roll and squeeze them as they tightened. The strokes on his cock got shorter, concentrating on the head, on the intense pressure. He could feel the heat building in his balls, his spine, his ass, and he moaned again, pushing his head back against the stone at his back.

"Don't."

Hearing the voice from a few yards away sent a wave like ice-water from the top of his head all the way down his back. He froze for a second, cock in hand and fingers on his nipple before he reached for his pants, hoping to save some dignity.

"I said don't, Colonel."

Fuck. McKay. He tilted his head back again, this time not in pleasure, but to stare up and silently ask god or the Ancients or the Ascended or whoever was up there why they fucking hated him so much.

"Don't what, McKay?" He said, looking down and letting his head hang forward.

"Well, the first one was 'don't come'; the second was 'don't ruin my view'."

John swallowed hard and looked at his cock, which was softening with the shock and fear running through his body. "The first isn't a problem anymore," he said, "but the view is probably ruined anyway."

"So fix it," Rodney snapped. "Put your hand back where it was." At first he seemed like a disembodied voice, but if he squinted, John could see him in the shadows, not far away.

"McKay," he said, exasperated. "Just let me get dressed and take whatever tiny shreds of my dignity are left and go sulk in my room, contemplating the fact that I'll never be able to jerk off again." His hands were still on his pants, his body bent forward, but he didn't move to pull them up.

"Hmm," Rodney made a thoughtful noise. "Is it the being watched, or that it's me?"

John figured Rodney had his answer when his cock started hardening again.

"So it's both, but the opposite effect of what I thought. Interesting."

"Interesting? Interesting?" John said, tugging at the waist of his pants. He got them a little past his knees before Rodney crossed the room faster than he thought possible and jerked them back down to his boot-tops.

"Shut up, Colonel," Rodney said. "Unless you have an objection to me being here?"

"No," John said quickly, more quickly than he'd have liked. "Stay."

Rodney smiled happily, and John was struck dumb by how good the rare expression looked on Rodney's face, the way his eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed. He looked like John had just given him a long-hoped-for gift.

"Would you like me to help you with that?" Rodney asked, his smile turning focused and sly. "Or do you just want me to watch you get yourself off?"

John swallowed hard. "Help me," he said, and it came out like a plea.

"Okay," Rodney said, like John had asked him to hand him a wrench or save him a chocolate pudding in the mess hall. And just like that, Rodney's hands and mouth were on him. His cock was enveloped in wet warmth, his hand was pushed aside so Rodney's bigger one could cradle his balls, and Rodney's fingers were on his nipple, pinching just right, just hard enough.

John put his hands on Rodney's shoulders and held on, digging his fingers into the large muscles there. He wanted to say Rodney's name or something coherent, but all he could manage was low groans and all-vowel sex sounds. He wasn't going to last, not with someone else's hands and mouth on him for the first time in three years. He slid a hand into Rodney's hair and tried to pull him off, give him a warning.

Rodney shook off the touch, and that side-to-side motion, the sharp sting of teeth against the sides of his cock was enough to push him over. He felt himself pulse into Rodney's mouth, his ass lifting off the stone ledge with the involuntary thrust of his hips. He moaned as Rodney sucked him all the way through his orgasm and the tremors that followed, then he pushed Rodney away when he could no longer stand the pressure on his too-sensitive cock.

Rodney, still bent at what had to be an uncomfortable angle, kissed his hip and petted his chest while he came down from the endorphin high. When John could speak again, he touched the side of Rodney's face.

"You?" he said. "What do you want?'

Rodney stood up and walked closer, stopping when he was level with John's chest. He picked up one of John's hands and pressed it to his cock. John could feel the hot shape of it under the fabric of his thick BDU pants. He fumbled with clumsy fingers until Rodney pushed him away and unbuttoned and unzipped and pulled his cock out.

John leaned forward, his mouth opening as he got closer, but Rodney stopped him. "Your hand," he said. "You looked like you were pretty good at it."

John wrapped his hand around Rodney's cock but continued to lean forward. He didn't stop until his forehead was pressed to Rodney's hip, turning to take in the perfect view of his hand, moving in long, languid strokes.

Rodney made a few vowel-less sounds of his own, but he was much quieter than John expected. When his hips started pushing his cock into his hand, John tightened his grip and focused on the head, just like he'd done to himself.

"John," Rodney moaned, and John turned his head up enough to rub his chin against Rodney's hip and look into his blazing blue eyes. Rodney shuddered, and then his face went slack with pleasure as he came, striping John's neck and chest.

John pulled Rodney down to sit on the ledge and wrapped one hand around the back of his neck. The angle was awkward and they were both sweaty and panting like they'd just run a mile, but their first kiss was perfect.