"John, you're up on weirdo watch." Fred sounded happy. That was never good.

"Oh, no way," John said from his perch on the desk. "I did that one with the Great Danes - three of them. It can't be my turn again."

"Wrong. Sally got the seven Pomeranians, and Jesse has the mixed-breed biter from hell. This one's all yours."

John sighed and stuffed the last of his doughnut in his mouth, licking chocolate off his fingers. "Fine, what is it?" Fred was smiling broadly. This was going to be bad.

"One R. McKay and Ronon." Fred was barely holding in a laugh. Oh, so not good.

"Ronon," John said.

"Yes, Ronon," Fred said with obvious relish, "who is a cat."

John grabbed another doughnut - the last Boston Crème, Fred's favorite.

John got his 11:00 am group walked with no problem, happy that there were only three of them and they were of comparable size. Tito was a Boxer, Jock was an American Foxhound, and Isis was some sort of Egyptian dog that John always forgot the name of. He deftly managed the three leashes, the dogs keeping to the places he'd trained them to so that there was no tangling.

They walked about a half-mile from Tito's owner's apartment to the off-leash dog park. John set them free, but kept a close eye on them. Isis was a little high-strung and prone to picking fights. He watched as Tito made a beeline toward a Sheltie, immediately sticking his nose into what John would consider a personal area.

"Tito!" John yelled. "That is not the way to find a girlfriend!"

A pretty girl with a pink leash wrapped around her wrist approached him. "Don't worry," she said. "Lisa will let him know if he's crossed a line."

Right on cue, the Sheltie growled and snapped at Tito who danced away, looking for Jock before bounding off.

"Hi, I'm Sherry." The girl said, holding out a hand. "Are they all yours?"

John shook her hand. "God, no - I'm the dog walker."

Sherry smiled at him. "That must be an interesting job."

"Right," John said. "I'm a champion poop scooper." He let the dogs run and play for a while before calling them to heel. They rushed up to him and he got them all leashed before making them sit to get their treats.

Sherry watched her own dog continue to play for a second, then looked at John with an uncertain smile. "Would you be offended if I gave you my number?"

John did the head duck and smile that worked so well for him. "I don't...ummm..."

"Play for that team?" Sherry said with a grimace. "Well, I had to try."

John busied himself arranging leashes, getting ready to go. "Maybe I'll see you back here sometime."

She smiled. "Sure."

John's 12:30 group consisted entirely of toy breeds: a pair of dachshunds, a miniature pinscher, a Maltese and a Chihuahua. Fred, Ginger, Flyboy, Mr. Giggles and Pancho, respectively. They were actually harder to handle than the big dogs, and the small dog off-leash park was further away. By time to leave, John was exhausted from breaking up fights, cleaning up poop and trying to remove a very determined Pancho from his leg. All the old ladies at the park knew him well and had a good laugh at his expense while yelling, "Go, Pancho!" John threw them a filthy look when he left.

The hellish little monsters all returned to their homes, John dug a print-out from his pocket to ascertain the directions to the home of one R. McKay and Ronon. He had a few minutes to spare, so he stopped at Starbucks for a double espresso. He knocked on the door exactly on time.

A flustered-looking man answered the door. "Yes, what do you want?" he snapped. "If this is about policemen, firemen, magazine subscriptions or starving children in Africa, I'm not interested."

"I'm the dog walker - or the cat walker in this case." John was a little taken aback by the man's hurricane force speech, and it made him slow his own down further. He held out a hand. "John Sheppard. You must be Mr. McKay."

The man shook John's hand quickly, then almost pulled him through the door. "It's Dr. McKay, and a couple of times over at that."

"Okay," John said, standing in the foyer of the large brownstone. "Where's Ronon?"

McKay jerked a thumb over his shoulder. At the other end of the foyer, spread out on the hardwoods was what John thought was a throw rug. The rug stood up and stretched, and it turned out to be the biggest cat he'd ever seen. It yawned, and John saw that it had teeth like a saber-toothed tiger.

"Wow," John said. "That's a big cat."

"Maine Coon," Rodney said. "He's a little overweight at 42 pounds. That's where you come in. Is that coffee?"

John's neck almost hurt from the abrupt change in topic. "Yeah," he said. "Double espresso."

"Will you bring me one back after you walk Ronon? I mean, I'll pay you for it, but coffee...that would be great."

That's when John noticed that McKay had the bluest eyes he'd ever seen and that the man could pout like Puss'NBoots from Shrek 2. Not that he'd know anything about that, of course.

"Sure, sure," John said. "I can do that. The usual walk is an hour door to door. I'll just come back by way of the Starbucks."

"You have no idea how much you have advanced the field of astrophysics," Rodney said. "You could possibly rate a small mention in my Nobel Prize speech."

"You're getting a Nobel Prize?" John asked, impressed against his will.

"Well, not this year," McKay snapped, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. "But it's inevitable."

"So, shouldn't you be in a lab somewhere?"

"Yes," McKay said glumly, "but I have to write a stupid paper to present at a physics conference in October in Helsinki."

"Wow," John said. "You must be some kind of genius."

"I'm several kinds of genius," McKay said, "now walk the cat. The harness and lead are in the kitchen. He may not like it. Don't let him eat any small dogs - that wouldn't help a bit with his weight problem."

John looked at McKay, hoping that he was joking, but he just turned away and walked further back into the house. John approached Ronon, making no sudden moves. When he got within five feet, he put on his oh-my-god-please-don't-bite-me voice and said, "Nice kitty."

Ronon stalked forward, then flopped down onto John's feet like a ton of hairy bricks, rolling over to get his belly rubbed. Ronon didn't fight John on the harness and lead, but he balked at going past the threshold to go outside. John tried pulling, but Ronon dug his impressive claws into the door frame and yowled out his displeasure.

"Dr. McKay," John yelled. "Some help here?"

McKay came around the corner into the foyer and took one look at John trying to pull the immovable force of a pissed-off Ronon through the door and burst out laughing. John, despite his current crisis, couldn't help noticing the way that the laugh changed McKay from dour to, well, kind of cute.

McKay got control of his laughter and carefully detached Ronon' giant claws from the doorframe. The sudden release of pressure as Ronon gave way and popped out of the house nearly caused John to fall on his ass on the sidewalk. "You boys have fun," McKay said, slamming the door. John swore he could hear the man laughing as he walked off with Ronon.

Once outside, Ronon was fine. He was curious, but he didn't drag John around to sniff and pee on every tree, which John appreciated. People who passed them on the sidewalk shied away from the enormous cat; only the bravest of them stopping to ask what breed he was or to scratch him under the chin, which Ronon enjoyed, if his loud, rumbling purr was any indication.

John and Ronon strolled along, and when they stopped at Starbucks for Rodney's double espresso, John carefully tied the lead to one of the outdoor tables. Ronon had only managed to move it about six inches when John returned. When they got within a block of home, Ronon started to pull at the leash, dragging John along with him. John tried valiantly not to pour McKay's blistering-hot coffee on his hand while also controlling a 42-pound cat hell-bent on getting home. He managed it, but only just barely.

As soon as they got to the door, it flew open and Dr. McKay stood there glowering. "You're late. Almost ten minutes. I was worried." Ronon charged into the house to enthusiastically rub himself around McKay's legs, nearly toppling him.

"Sorry," John said. "He kind of determines the speed while I hang on. Also, coffee."

Just then, Ronon stopped rubbing against McKay and ran for the kitchen, leash trailing. Shortly after, crunching noises started up. "Once again beaten out by the irresistible lure of kibble." Rodney sighed. "Hey, coffee!" He took the cup from John and drained half of it. "Thank you," he said fervently. "Why didn't you get one for yourself?"

John frowned. "First, one double espresso a day is my limit and second, two coffee cups and Ronon don't mix."

"Makes sense," Rodney said. "Come into the office and I'll pay you for the week and for the coffee - I want you to bring me one every day, okay?"

"Sure," John said. "2:30 every day okay with you?"

"Yes, yes," Rodney said, retreating into the office. "26 times five plus five times five..."

"$155," John answered.

Rodney handed him a check for $130 and $25 in cash. "Now go away."

John turned to go, but he smiled just a little.

After a few days, John figured it out; if he brought the coffee on the way over, he could have one, too. After the third day, McKay told John to call him Rodney and pushed more cash on him, asking, no, telling, him to bring lunch, too. They soon had a standing order at the sandwich shop next to Starbucks - turkey and provolone for John, ham and Swiss for Rodney. They had coffee and sandwiches and usually Cheetos - Rodney seemed to have a never-ending stash - and used their feet to fend off Ronon, who acted like he was starving to death. John always helped clean up, then took Ronon for his walk, bringing Rodney a double espresso on the way back.

Some days Rodney barely noticed John, poring over printouts of his paper and grumbling. Other times he talked about hockey or how much he'd rather be in his lab.

"Hey," Rodney said one afternoon. "Why are you a dog-walker? You seem smart enough to have a real job."

"Thank you, Rodney," John drawled. "That's the best left-handed compliment I think I've ever received."

Rodney took an enormous bite of his sandwich and washed it down with his coffee. "Yeah, so," he said, waving on hand in a 'go on' gesture.

"What do you want?" John asked. "Some romantic story, like I was a vet, but accidentally killed one of my patients? That I'm an out-of-work actor? That I squandered my inheritance on fast cars and loose women?"

"Well, I know that last one's not true; you're gay."

John's mouth fell open, and he closed it quickly. "What makes you say that?"

Rodney smiled and licked Cheeto dust off his fingers. "No straight man would voluntarily walk a cat."

"Point," John said.

"So?" Rodney made the gesture again.

"Nothing exciting," John says. "I'm a student; it's summer. I walk dogs. And a cat."

"Student where?" Rodney was ignoring his sandwich, a first.

"Fordham," John said. "I start law school in the fall."

"Let me get this right." Rodney gestured with the sandwich he'd picked up. "You're a queer Jesuit lawyer?"

"No," John said, reaching for the Cheetos. "I mean yes, queer; no, Jesuit; yes, lawyer; at least in a few years."

"Undergraduate?" Rodney took a bite out of his sandwich.

"Aerospace Engineering at UCLA."

"So why Fordham? Why law school? You could do so much more with an Aerospace degree, even if it is from UCLA." Rodney took the Cheetos back.

"My dad is a Fordham alum, and he said he'd pay for law school. Didn't matter to me - I can't be a pilot, and that's all I ever wanted to be, anyway."

"Why can't you be a pilot?" Rodney said.

John gently discouraged Ronon from crawling up his leg. "Heart condition. It's an automatic disqualification for the Air Force Academy."

"You could probably fly commercial..." Rodney's brow wrinkled, like he was thinking very hard.

"I wanted to fly fighters, Rodney; not 747s."

Rodney's frown grew deeper. "Wait, wait - you said heart condition - should you be walking several miles a day? With dogs?"

"It's a mitral valve prolapse, not a transplant, McKay - it's a glorified heart murmur." John theatrically pressed a hand to his chest. "I am feeling a little weak, though. Maybe you should stop bogarting the Cheetos."

Rodney held the bag out to John, but snatched it back at the last minute. "Shut up and go walk the cat."

John ate the last bite of his sandwich, then snatched a Cheeto from the paper on Rodney's side of the table. He harnessed Ronon, then used the Cheeto to lure him out of the house. They were half a block away when the door opened again.

"And don't forget my coffee!" Rodney yelled. ___

John walked the dogs, picked up lunch, ate with Rodney and walked the cat, walked his afternoon charges and went home to shower off the dog smell and fall, exhausted into bed - the routine lasted without incident for about three weeks.

"What do you with your time off?" Rodney asked one afternoon.

John shrugged and looked away, drinking a sip of his coffee. "I take flying lessons from a friend of my dad's in Monmouth."

"Dog walking pays enough for that?"

"Oh, hell no. I negotiated the flying lessons into the Fordham deal," John said, pursing his lips. "Dear old Dad pays as long as I can get myself out there a couple of weekends a month. I stay with the guy that instructs me and spend as much time in the air as I can."

"Huh," Rodney said. "Cessnas?"

"Helicopters," John said, and he knew his eyes lit up. He'd had his fixed-wing license for years, but the helicopters were just fun.

Rodney looked at him, horrified. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"A little." John smirked at him. "But danger is my middle name."

"It is not," Rodney said absently. "Your middle name is Robert."

John did a full-on double-take. "How do you know that?"

"I checked you out. You didn't think I was going to entrust Ronon to somebody I knew nothing about, did you? Also, I'm a bit of a computer genius, so it wasn't difficult."

"You hacked my records?" John almost yelped. "Okay, quid pro quo - what's your middle name?"

"It's Rodney, actually." He looked away when he said it.

"Your name is Rodney Rodney McKay?" John said, taking advantage of Rodney's distraction to grab a Cheeto.

"No, idiot," Rodney said, drinking coffee and busying himself with his sandwich, looking down at his Cheetos as if counting them before giving John a suspicious look. He gave in with a sigh. "I go by my middle name."

"So what's your first name?" John figured it had to be horrible if it made Rodney so reluctant. He held up his hand a gleefully ticked of names. "Alphonse? Ignatius? Raymond? Herman?"

"Meredith," Rodney said miserably.

"Oh. That's not so terrible. Can I call you Mer?" John grinned widely.

"No." Rodney said. "You cannot."

"Okay," John said. "What else do you know about me?"

Rodney ate another bite of his sandwich, and John was pretty sure it was a delaying tactic. "You live in Brooklyn," he finally said. "You don't have a criminal record. You're an only child."

"Okay," John said. "What about you?"

Rodney grimaced. "You know where I live, I do have a criminal record, and I have a sister named Jeanne."

John latched on to the criminal record; it seemed to be the part most likely to make Rodney stammer and blush. "What did you do? To get arrested, I mean?"

Rodney sighed. "I was convicted of DUI while I was in college, and I was picked up for suspicion of solicitation, but I wasn't convicted."

"You were a hooker?" John was insanely surprised. "You were a drunk hooker?"

Rodney gave him a withering look, but a blush crept up his face. "Look," he said. "I was much better looking when I was young. I was walking, thinking about a physics problem, and wandered into a bad part of town. I got caught up in a raid. It was vastly humiliating and can we not talk about it?"

"Okay," John said, "but I think you're good-looking now."

Rodney stared at him, his eyebrows knotting up into that familiar frown. "I think you might be too crazy to be walking my cat."

John just half-smiled. "Do you have any pictures from when you were a drunk hooker?"

Rodney glared at him, equilibrium restored. "Shut up and go walk Ronon."

In the fourth week, Rodney put his paper aside to go back to the lab to solve "some problem that the kindergartners working there can't do with their crayons." He gave John a key, reminded him to not bring lunch, and looked a little sad.

The next day, when John came to walk Ronon, he found a photograph on the kitchen bar, turned face-down on the granite countertop. He sat to take a look. It was Rodney - same crooked mouth, same big blue eyes - but he had curly blond hair that reached his shoulders. He was much thinner; almost rangy, and he was wearing an orange tee shirt and a sullen expression. A small Post-it note was attached to the bottom of the photo: "I was not a drunk hooker." The word "not" was underlined three times, and the note was signed "MRM."

John took to bringing his lunch to Rodney's house, sitting at the bar and eating, and finding that fending Ronon off was easier with four feet than two. Rodney took to leaving John notes on Post-its - "Don't feed Ronon, he ate half a pizza last night," and "The Cheetos are in the pantry behind the organic tomato sauce." They were all signed "MRM."

Every now and again, John would flip Rodney's note over and write one back. "Sorry about the doorframe" and "Did you know Ronon doesn't like walking in the rain? I'm sending you the doctor bill" and "You're out of Cheetos." They were all signed "JDS."

One Monday the note said, "Will you have dinner with me Thursday? 7:00. Thai okay? MRM. P.S. Don't think I don't get the initials. Danger is so not your middle name."

John wrote back, "Thai's fine, John."

John found his week dragging by. There were no notes from Rodney on Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday, but John took matters into his own hand, leaving a note Thursday afternoon scrawled on a napkin. "Tonight 7:00. J."

John's afternoon dogs were a giant pain in the ass, and he showed up at Rodney's with two perfect and huge paw prints on the center of his chest and pee on the leg of his pants. He also had a long line of drool down one side of his shirt from underarm to hem and a blistering hatred for the entire St. Bernard breed. This wasn't the impression he'd intended to make.

He knocked on the door, even though he had a key. When Rodney opened it, he immediately burst out laughing, which forestalled any hint of awkwardness.

"Is that...drool? And pee? You look like - I don't even know what you look like." Rodney said between gales of laughter. "Take your shoes off - god knows what's on them. Upstairs - second room on the right. I'll bring you something to change into." Rodney's laughter had turned into a wheeze, but his eyes were shining with tears, and John couldn't help laughing a little himself, looking down at his clothes. Rodney gestured him in and closed the door.

"You might want to give me a trash bag for these," John said mournfully, which set Rodney off again. He kicked off his sneakers while Rodney rummaged in the kitchen. He finally came back with a plastic bag, and John dropped the shoes in, then pulled his tee shirt off to throw it in, too. Rodney stopped laughing, and his eyes went wide. "Sorry," John said, crossing his arms over his chest. He took the bag from Rodney and headed up the stairs. "Second room on the right?" He didn't hear anything from Rodney.

"Good move, John," he told himself once he got through a pristine guest room and into the shower. "Way to freak the guy out by undressing in his foyer."

As soon as he was clean, he wrapped a towel around his waist and walked out to the guest room. A pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt were folded on the bed, but, thankfully, no underwear. John wasn't really willing to go there, and commando was just fine. The shirt fit okay, so he assumed it had shrunken in the wash but the sweatpants were too big. Even with the string tied at its tightest, they still slipped down onto his hips. He tugged the hem of the shirt down to cover.

One more scrub of his hair with a towel and he was ready to go downstairs. He took a deep breath when he got to the bottom and went to find Rodney, who was in the kitchen looking at a takeout menu. He looked up when John walked in.

"I'm sorry," they said at the same time, then both laughed nervously.

"Sorry about, uh, stripping off in your entryway," John said, looking down at his bare feet on the tile.

"Sorry about..." Rodney's voice sounded tight. "You know, ogling you."

John's head snapped up. "There was ogling? I thought you were... shocked."

Rodney half-smiled and looked away. "I was, a little. It's not every day I have a hot shirtless guy in my foyer."

John tilted his head, about a thousand responses running through his head. "Is this a date?"

Rodney kept his attention somewhere over John's shoulder, carefully looking away. John thought it was kind of cute. "Yes?" Rodney said uncertainly.

"Cool," John said. "Order me Pad Thai and two spring rolls." He registered the shocked look on Rodney's face, noted how different it was from Rodney's "ogling" look and nodded. "I'm going to go play with Ronon."

Before he turned to go into the study, he crossed the kitchen to Rodney and fisted his hand in his faded "Mr. Fantastic" tee shirt. He pulled Rodney in and kissed him - mostly just lips, but a little bit of tongue at the end, easing the tip across Rodney's lower lip, which was just as soft and full as he'd thought.

"There," John said, letting go of Rodney's shirt and stepping back. "There's that first kiss awkwardness taken care of."

As he walked out of the kitchen, he heard Rodney clear his throat. "Does that line work for you a lot?" Rodney asked.

John kept walking. "You have no idea," he threw back over his shoulder.

When Rodney came into the study, he was lying on the floor, poking Ronon, trying to get him to play. "C'mon, buddy," he said. "It's John; your very favorite person. Play with meeeee."

Rodney walked into the room, settling on the sofa behind John. "Quit trying to charm my cat," he said. "He's not that easy. Dinner should be here in a half-hour or so."

John gave Ronon a couple more pokes, but stopped when he felt Rodney's fingers brush across his lower back, where the shirt had ridden up to expose the skin above the low-slung sweats.

"I wanted to get that first grope awkwardness out of the way," he said smugly.

John rolled over and grabbed Rodney's arm, pulling him off the couch and down on top of him. Rodney partially caught himself on one palm, and John was glad he didn't get squashed into the floor. Rodney rolled them over so that John was stretched out on top of him.

"Want to get that first making out awkwardness over with?" John asked.

In answer, Rodney pulled John down by his biceps and kissed him. It was nothing like the kiss in the kitchen - this one was deeper, slower, wetter. John opened his mouth immediately, letting Rodney's tongue in and sliding his own alongside it. Rodney's hands slid up his arms and shoulders and one stopped at the back of his neck, finding the sensitive spot at the nape.

When John shuddered, Rodney dug his fingers in. John pressed his whole body down, grinding his cock against Rodney's hip. A big, hot hand slid down to cup his ass, and John moaned into Rodney's mouth, clenching at his shoulders. John stopped his hips from moving even though it was difficult - he wanted to savor it; it had been a while since he'd had this, and he wanted to go slow. Rodney seemed to get it, gentling his kisses and moving his mouth down to John's neck, tracing the tendons with his lips and licking across his collarbones.

John moaned when the hand left his ass, but couldn't complain when Rodney started rubbing long lines from his shoulders to his hips and back up. John moved his own hands up to cup Rodney's face, his thumbs brushing cheekbones and his fingertips sliding into the soft hair above Rodney's ears.

Of course, when the doorbell rang, Ronon sprang awake and jumped straight over Rodney and John's entwined bodies, running to the door and meowing frantically. John rolled off and lay on the floor for a second, trying to get his breathing under control. Rodney stood and extended a hand, pulling John up. He looked down between them.

"Those sweatpants are hiding nothing," he said, staring fixedly down at the garment in question. "I'll get the door, you get plates and stuff."

Rodney headed for the door. John steadied himself against the back of the couch and looked down at the front of the sweatpants, distorted by his erection. Rodney was right - hiding nothing ¬- and he didn't really want to scare the delivery guy. He slunk past the door, watching with interest as Rodney managed to keep Ronon back with one foot while paying for and grabbing the food at the same time.

By the time Rodney got to the kitchen with the bag, John had plates and forks laid out and was stretching up to get glasses from the cupboard. John heard the bag hit the counter, then felt Rodney grab his hips, his thumbs tracing across the sliver of skin exposed by his tee shirt as he reached.

John set the glasses down carefully, then turned to face Rodney, simply standing there. Rodney lifted one hand to trace his jaw, sending a shiver up and down John's back.

"Hey, stop it!" John yelled abruptly, and Rodney pulled back as if he'd been burned. "Not you," John said. "Ronon's trying to steal our food." He pulled Rodney back against him by his wide shoulders. "You don't ever have to stop it." Rodney made a soft sound into his neck and John had to kiss him just above the ear.

Ronon meowed plaintively, and they broke apart to unload their dinner, sharing noodles and shrimp and chicken from the cartons, mixing it all together on the plates. John leaned over the counter for spicy kisses, and Rodney licked and nibbled his lips as if searching for John's taste under the basil and pepper.

"Let me clean up here," Rodney said. "Why don't you..."

"Which one is your bedroom?" John came around the counter to rub himself against Rodney's back.

"End of the hall," Rodney gasped.

John kissed the back of Rodney's neck and pushed himself away. Upstairs, Rodney's bedroom was an eclectic mix. The artwork looked like someone else had picked it out and the wallpaper was ugly, But Rodney's bed had incredibly soft sheets and a down comforter and six or seven pillows.

John threw the comforter over an uncomfortable-looking armchair and straightened the sheets and pillows. He turned on a bedside lamp and turned off the overhead light. He opened the drawer in the bedside table and found a tube of lube and a strip of condoms, and wondered if getting three of them out constituted wishful thinking. He settled on two, sliding them onto the nightstand with the lube.

He had just sat down on the edge of the bed when Rodney appeared in the doorway. He hesitated for a minute, until John grinned at him, then crossed the floor quickly, hauling John up by the nape of his neck to kiss the hell out of him. When he pulled back, John's knees felt unsteady and he let himself fall back on the bed, arms outstretched.

"Jesus," Rodney swore. "You're the hottest thing I've ever seen."

John pulled his tee shirt off and threw it on the floor. Rodney reached for his waist and stripped the sweatpants off, staring down at John, his eyes tracing from his face to his chest to his cock, and he unconsciously licked his lips at the sight.

John stared back. "Why don't you get naked so we can get that first fucking awkwardness out of the way? And the first blowjob awkwardness while were at it?"

When Rodney dropped to his knees and sucked his cock into the inferno of his mouth, John curled up from the bed to get his hands on Rodney's shoulders. "Oh, god," he moaned. "Don't stop, don't stop."

Rodney pulled off. John groaned out loud. "I thought I told you not to stop!"

"How old are you?" Rodney asked.

"This is a weird time to ask, but I'm twenty-two." John didn't care what Rodney asked, he'd answer.

"I'm thirty," Rodney said. "I'm guessing you have a better refractory period than me, so I can make you come like this and still get to fuck you twice."

"Okay, fine, yes, whatever," John said, falling back and covering his eyes with one arm. "Whatever you want, Rodney, just please, please, please suck my dick."

Rodney took him back into the heat of his mouth, his hands coming up to John's hips to hold him down on the bed. He sucked John hard, no teasing, no gentle licks around the head, no easy slide. He took John deep and bobbed up and down only a couple of inches, all the while keeping up that incredible suction.

"I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come," John chanted, giving Rodney the opportunity to pull off. Instead, Rodney backed off slightly and dug his fingers into John's hips as he swallowed, taking everything John could give him.

John only vaguely registered Rodney moving away, the soft sounds of him stripping off his clothes before manhandling him the right direction on the bed and lying down beside him. John kept his arm over his eyes as he shuddered through the occasional aftershock, until Rodney pulled the arm away. John blinked at him stupidly.

"There you are," Rodney said, smiling sweetly. "Thought I'd lost you for a second."

"Still here," John said, his tongue flicking out to wet his dry lips. "That was..."

"See," Rodney said. "Not awkward at all."

"Guh," John replied. He reached for Rodney's cock.

Rodney intercepted his hand. "I'll wait for you," he said. So John put his reaching hand on Rodney's waist and pulled him so they were lying on their sides, face to face. Rodney slipped one arm under John's neck and used his free hand to cup John's jaw and bring him forward into a kiss. John had one arm trapped between them, but he didn't care. He opened his mouth and let Rodney control the kiss, still riding the wave of his incredible orgasm.

They kissed for a long time, falling into a pattern of endless deep kisses interspersed with slow, closed-mouthed almost chaste ones. They explored each others faces and necks, and John discovered exactly how sensitive Rodney's nipples were, and Rodney ferreted out every hot spot on John's neck, and the place behind his ear that made him swear and shiver. By the time Rodney pulled away from his ear, John's arm was tingling with pins and needles and he was hard again.

He rolled over on his back, stretching his abused arm, arching his back probably a little more than necessary. "Want to get that first fuck awkwardness out of the way, Rodney?"

"God, yes," Rodney said, leaning across John to get a condom and the lube from the table. "How do you want it?"

As soon as Rodney's weight was off him, John rolled up onto his knees and grabbed the headboard, which was a cast iron monstrosity - all whorls and loops. "And, by the way," he said, looking over his shoulder. "Why exactly do you have a bondage headboard?"

"Show you later," Rodney said tightly, and John felt a wet hand sliding down the cleft of his ass, a single fingertip searching for and finding the entrance to his body. John took in a deep breath and moaned it out when Rodney's finger slipped slowly inside. He looked back over his shoulder, wondering why Rodney's chest wasn't pressed to his back, and saw that Rodney was entranced, leaning back to watch his own finger move in and out of John.

John shoved his ass backward, and was rewarded with Rodney sliding another finger inside him. "Yeah," he said quietly. "Yeah. Do it. Do it."

Rodney put his hand on John's shoulder, gentling him. "Soon," he said. "Just wait, it'll be good." He kissed John's back, right between the shoulder blades, and worked a third finger into John's ass. The stretch and burn felt fantastic, but John wanted Rodney's thick cock in him, the sooner the better. He sighed when the fingers left him, but he could hear the condom packet being opened, the slither as Rodney rolled it down over his dick.

"Ready?" Rodney asked, and before John could get the first letter of 'yes' out of his mouth, Rodney was pushing his way inside, slow and steady.

He got all the way in before John cracked. "Fuck me," he begged. "Please, Rodney. Do it. Hard."

It seemed that was all it took for Rodney, because he locked his fingers onto John's hips and pulled him back so hard that John had to move his hands lower on the headboard. Rodney really took 'hard' to heart, slamming himself into John, their hips slapping on every thrust. John heard someone muttering "yeah, yeah," and didn't really know which one of them it was.

There was no way John could get his hand down to his cock to jerk off without getting smashed against the headboard. "Rodney, please," he moaned, shoving himself backward to meet every hard thrust. "Jerk me off, touch my cock, please - anything."

Rodney pushed himself into John hard, so hard that John thought he was going to split open, and stayed there, holding them together, grinding against John's ass. He reached around and stripped John's cock roughly three or four times, and that was it -John came, a broken sound torn from his throat. He let his head hang between his arms, his brain shorting out, and Rodney grabbed his hips again and slammed back into him. John felt like the orgasm had opened him up even further, like Rodney was as deep inside him as he could go. A couple of minutes later, Rodney froze and came with John's name on his lips.

John felt Rodney pull out, and his ass burned, but it felt good. Rodney fell back onto the bed, and John pried his fingers off the bars of the headboard and flopped down beside him.

"Jesus christ," John said. "You're a fucking machine."

Rodney tangled a hand into John's sweaty hair. "It was good right? What you wanted?"

John pushed his head back against Rodney's palm. "You mean the 'fuck me' and 'harder' and all the begging didn't clue you in?"

"Jesus, that was hot," Rodney sighed. "Are you always like that?"

"Sometimes," John said. "When I really need it. Did you like it?"

"You mean the incoherence and the crazy fucking didn't clue you in?" Rodney pulled him in for a long, slow kiss. "Shower?" he said.

"Yeah. Then leftover Thai and round 2?" John pushed himself upright, smiling at the soreness of the well-fucked in his hips and balls and ass.

He dragged Rodney off the bed and into the bathroom.

The food was ice cold, but it was just about the best thing John had ever tasted. They shared the cartons, feeding each other forkfuls of noodles and fending off the cat with their feet, just like old times.

As soon as they finished eating, John ran his toes up Rodney's bare calf, and Rodney gave him a slow, indulgent smile. "Back upstairs?" John asked, and laughed out loud when Rodney pulled the lube and a condom out of the pocket of his ratty blue bathrobe.

John took the supplies, and then took Rodney's hand and led him into the study, shoving him toward the leather recliner. Rodney was already hard; his cock pressing against the front of his boxers, John pulled them off, but left the robe to protect Rodney's bare skin from the leather. He slid his sweatpants down to reveal his own erection, giving it a couple of slow strokes before climbing onto the chair to straddle Rodney.

"Hold out your hand," John said. When Rodney did, John squeezed lube onto his fingers. "I should still be pretty stretched out," he said," but there's no such thing as too much lube." He threw his head back as Rodney pushed two fingers in at the same time.

"Are you sore?" Rodney asked, frowning. "I kind of fucked the hell out of you."

"Feels good," John said, gently pushing Rodney's hand away. He tore open the condom and rolled it onto Rodney's dick, squeezing more lube into Rodney's hand so he could slick himself. That accomplished, Rodney wiped his hand on his robe and steadied the base of his cock.

John pushed himself higher onto his knees and shoved his hips forward to line Rodney's cock up and sink down onto it, slowly easing it in, feeling the slide and stretch overcoming the slight residual pain. Rodney's hands came up to cradle his hips, and John began a slow rolling motion. He didn't want to ride Rodney hard, he wanted it slow and easy and deep.

"John," Rodney said, low and desperate. "God, John."

John moved one of Rodney's hands to his cock, and Rodney started a slow rhythm that matched the roll of John's hips; barely moving, just letting John's motions fuck his dick into Rodney's hand. They stayed like that for a long time. When they came, it was like going over a waterfall, a long slow sliding down into rolling waters.

John eased himself down onto Rodney's chest, not caring about the stickiness of his come between them. Rodney hitched him a little higher, pulling out of John's ass. When John gave a moan of protest, Rodney laughed softly.

"I know you're sore," he said, "and you have to walk dogs tomorrow, with the operative word being walk."

"Ah, hell," John groaned. "What time is it? I've got to get back home."

"You could stay," Rodney said, stroking a hand through John's hair.

"I'd like that." John scrunched up his face, trying to figure out a way. "I need to go home to change clothes."

"I washed yours," Rodney said. "They're in the laundry room on top of the dryer."

John pushed himself up a little, so he could look at Rodney. "That was nice. You didn't have to do that."

"Purely selfish reasons," Rodney said, smiling. "I knew I wanted you to stay as soon as I saw your sorry ass standing at my door with your fucked up clothes and your puppy dog eyes."

John rubbed his cheek against Rodney's. "I'll stay," he said softly. "I'll stay."

John woke up first, feeling the softness of Rodney's incredible sheets enveloping him and Rodney's fingers entwined with his own lying between them. He took a minute to look at Rodney, cataloguing the flaws - thinning hair, crooked lips, slightly off-center nose - that made up such an appealing whole. He watched as Rodney's incredibly long eyelashes fluttered, then blinked open to reveal hazy blue eyes.

"There you are," John said softly, and Rodney pulled him in for a sleep-warmed hug.

"Here I am," he mumbled. "What time do you have to leave?"

"9:00 or so," John said. "I guess there's no time for handjobs in the shower." He frowned into Rodney's neck.

"Tonight?" Rodney said hopefully.

"Can't," John said. "I'm flying this weekend. I'm leaving right after I walk my afternoon dogs. I'm sorry."

Rodney sighed. "And I have to be in the lab all day, so we can't even have lunch."

"Do you mean lunch lunch or quickie lunch?" John pulled back and arched an eyebrow.

"Can't I have both?" Rodney looked at the clock. "You better get in the shower. The dogs are waiting."

John sighed and dragged himself to the bathroom. He was only under the hot water for a few minutes before Rodney pulled back the curtain a little.

"Hey," he said softly. "Be careful this weekend. Don't do anything stupid like get yourself killed."

John poked his head out of the shower and kissed him gently. "I won't." he said.

"Good," Rodney said, turning to leave the bathroom. "It'd be a bitch to break in a new cat walker."