Some days Rodney bites his tongue. He's well known for saying what he thinks, but there are times when the words that would bubble up and spill over are so sharp, so cutting that even he understands that they have to stay inside. Those words feel like lava in his chest, pressing and pushing and boiling, eager to spill over and incinerate everything in their path.

Most days, that path leads directly to Sheppard. Today is no different.

The planet is mostly rain forest - steaming and humid and green and it smells like rot and cut grass and ancient, worm-turned dirt. Because Sheppard can't keep his mouth shut, they've had to split up and run - Ronan and Teyla taking one direction, Rodney and Sheppard the other. The talks with the village elders were going fine until Sheppard chatted up somebody's daughter. The somebody had taken offense, and Sheppard's explanations had gotten them in even deeper, until Rodney found himself crashing through the underbrush like a confused and very angry rhino.

They out run their pursuers eventually, but not before Rodney's scratched and bruised and sweaty and out of breath and angrier than he thinks he's ever been. Sheppard is walking two steps ahead, head up, occasionally tossing back smart-ass comments over his shoulder, and Rodney getting well past the point of biting his tongue.

Sheppard keys his radio, raising Teyla. She says they're a couple of hours from the gate and he arranges the rendezvous.

"How far are we from the gate?" Rodney asks tightly.

"'Bout an hour. Think you can make it, or do you need me to carry you the rest of the way?" The smirk in Sheppard's voice is just the tiny crack that Rodney's anger needs to boil to the surface.

He closes the distance between them and pulls Sheppard around by the shoulder, slamming his back against a convenient tree.

"What I need," he snarls, "Is for you to shut up."

Sheppard will never, ever learn. "Make me," he says.

So Rodney lets the anger flow up, and he uses the force of it bubbling over to kiss Sheppard. Hard. There's nothing kind in it - just anger and want and brutal need. And it seems like Sheppard has learned at least one thing, because he takes it - kissing back, but never taking the lead, submitting to Rodney's mouth with nothing more than a slope to his shoulders and the tilt of his head. It's enough.

Rodney kicks Sheppard's feet apart, pressing him into an even lower position, taking advantage of gravity. He breaks the kiss and shoves downward with both hands. John looks up at him for a quick second, then looks at the ground and sinks slowly to his knees, one foot on either side of the tree trunk. Rodney takes a deep breath and lets it out in a surprised moan. John's fingers tear at his belt, and they're shaking.

Rodney waits until he feels John's stubble against the delicate skin of his cock, then uses his hands to cushion John's head from the rough bark of the tree and bucks his hips forward. John takes him, using his tongue to wet him down and ease the passage. Rodney's knuckles grind against the tree as he pushes all the way in, but he's distracted by the huff of hot breath from John's nose against the soft skin of his belly.

John's hands are working at his own waist now, and Rodney is completely in control, fucking John's mouth with short jabs of his hips, feeling the constriction of the edge of John's throat around the head of his cock. He knows he's not going to last, and he doesn't care if John gets off or not; he's drunk with anger and the power of John on his knees with Rodney's cock in his mouth and his eyes still downcast.

He can hear the sound of John's hand on his own cock, and the little whines that rise up when he shoves himself in hard, and he can feel his balls tightening. The pain from his abraded knuckles just makes it better, and when John pushes his head minutely forward and swallows, Rodney is lost. He comes into John's mouth hard, pinning John's body between himself and the tree, listening to John gasp and swallow and moan out his own orgasm between Rodney's feet.

When it's over, Rodney pulls away. He helps John to his feet, then pulls his uniform back together. As he's fastening his pants, he notices the blood on the back of his hand and rubs it off on his shirt, wincing at the sting.

"Which way?" he asks, once they're both fully dressed again.

Sheppard points and they step out, this time with Rodney in the lead.