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None of this is going the way Rodney's used to.
He considers himself relatively knowledgeable in the art of being waylaid for supply closet sex by hot jock types, but Sheppard pulling him into a close, dusty room had still taken him by surprise: Rodney hadn't gotten the vibe off of him, that dangerous tension that hovers between a punch in the face and a hand rough on the back of his head, between blood on his lips and salt in his throat.
He's surprised enough that Sheppard's able to get the drop on him, to push him up against the wall and rub his entire body against Rodney's, one big mess of hot friction, ducking his head to breathe fast and humid against Rodney's throat. There's a desperation in the way Sheppard's hands paw across Rodney's body, like he wants to feel him, wants to really touch, and it's enough to get Rodney hard fast, this unfamiliar feeling of being wanted, being desired, even.
Still, though, Rodney knows how it's supposed to go, so after a few moments of restless groping he tries to go to his knees, not exactly looking forward to being boxed in against the wall but ready to take it as a trade-off for how hot Sheppard seems to be for this, how much he almost seems to need it—but when Rodney starts to kneel, Sheppard's hands fist in his uniform jacket, holding him up, pressing him back to the wall.
"Just," he's mumbling, his lips plush and chapped against Rodney's jaw, "just, just let me—"
And then Sheppard, US Air Force Major John fucking Sheppard, is sliding down to his knees, pressing his cheek to the crease of Rodney's thigh and sighing like it's exactly where he wants to be. Rodney's dick throbs, and he can feel how his boxers are getting wet, slick with precome leaking helplessly out with each new twist, every gut-clenching surprise.
"Yeah," Sheppard breathes, so quiet Rodney's certain it's not intended for him, and his hands, quick and confident as they are on a gun, pull open Rodney's belt, pop the button of his trousers. The heel of Sheppard's hand presses firm against the base of Rodney's cock, and he puts his palms against the wall, bites the inside of his cheek and tries to keep himself from thrusting forward, too eager, too needy. He swallows down a groan at the sound of his zipper sliding down, at the feeling of Sheppard's long fingers curling into his waistband.
Sheppard tugs Rodney's pants and underwear halfway down his thighs, exposing his cock to the air, to the hot puffs of Sheppard's rapid breathing against the wet head, and then he reaches out, wraps a hand around the base.
"Fuck," he mumbles, licking his lips and staring at Rodney's dick with dark, heavy-lidded eyes. "So—fuck, so good."
And while Rodney's always privately thought he has a pretty nice cock, seeing Sheppard practically drooling over it is still enough to make his stomach drop, make his balls clench and his dick throb and ache in Sheppard's loose fist. Rodney presses his palms harder to the wall, trying to ground himself as Sheppard slides his hand up, pushes back foreskin and thumbs over the dribbling sensitive slit.
"Ah—" Rodney manages, torn between closing his eyes to try and make it last and memorizing every detail of Sheppard kneeling and eager in front of him.
Then Sheppard leans in, licks hot and sloppy over the head, and the decision's made: Rodney starts coming, helplessly, pathetically, all over Sheppard's mouth and tongue and chin as he strokes him through it, Rodney chanting "shit, shit, fuck, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," in a strangled, too-high voice. He can feel his face burning with humiliation even as he shudders through a truly spectacular orgasm, whining in the back of his throat and looking at the sticky-white mess of his come on Sheppard's stubbled jaw. Rodney knows he's ruined this, embarrassed himself so he'll never get another chance again, but at least he can memorize how Sheppard looks, eyes dark, lips wet, to get him through the nights he'll spend alone with his own hand.
"God," Rodney says breathlessly, hands shaking as he reaches out, tries to salvage something out of this so Sheppard will at least be willing to look at him again, "I'm sorry, I don't normally—fuck, I'm sorry."
He sinks to his knees, wiping his come from Sheppard's chin and wishing he had a rag or a handkerchief or something. Sheppard's watching him, wide-eyed, breathing hard, expression totally unreadable, lush mouth still parted and shiny—Rodney has to tear his gaze away before he gives into the gnawing, desperate desire to lean in and kiss him, to lick him clean and then dirty him all over again: Rodney knows that's not how this goes.
Looking down, Rodney sees that Sheppard's still hard, straining against BDU canvas, but before he can process that there's a hand on his wrist, and his head snaps up just in time to watch Sheppard, eyes shut, licking Rodney's fingers clean. Rodney chokes out a groan, his softening cock twitching between his legs.
"I—" Rodney starts, words failing him as he feels Sheppard's spit dripping lewd and slick onto his palm. At the very least, it seems like he probably doesn't need to keep apologizing.
"Fuck," Sheppard breathes against Rodney's skin, letting go to fumble open his fly. "Can you, god, please just touch me before I go off in my pants?"
Rodney's eyes widen, his heart speeding up at the thought that Sheppard's still in this with him, is hot enough for it that he's worried about coming too quickly too.
"Of—of course, yes," he says quickly, thrusting his spit- and come-slick hand into Sheppard's underwear to wrap around the hot length of him. Sheppard makes a quiet, sobbing sort of sound and pitches forward, his forehead on Rodney's shoulder and his hips bucking up with desperate little motions. Without conscious thought, Rodney brings his other hand up to curl around the nape of Sheppard's neck, fingertips brushing into the thick mess of his hair. "Wow," he murmurs, feeling blood thrumming underneath his hand as he strokes, "you really—you're really into this."
None of it seems real, is the thing, and so Rodney's not checking his words before they come out, not thinking of how that statement might sound: but it doesn't matter, anyway, because Sheppard is tensing up, groaning and shaking and coming all over Rodney's fist, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Rodney's shoulders.
Must've been a long time for him, too, Rodney thinks, because that's the only explanation for the eagerness, the desperation spilling over like Sheppard's come on his hand. He strokes him through it, palm slick and sticky, Sheppard's breath coming in hot, panting puffs against Rodney's neck, making him want to shiver. He squeezes at the nape of Sheppard's neck instead, almost but not quite petting him, enjoying the warmth of closeness despite himself.
"Jesus," Sheppard whispers, with a breathless half-laugh, slumping against Rodney's chest. "That was..."
"Yeah," Rodney agrees, still feeling like his skin is tingling with how hard he came. Sheppard twists around, pulls back, and Rodney's eyes fall again to his mouth, drawn there like a magnet, and he wants so badly to kiss him, feels like Sheppard might even let him. Sheppard licks his lips, and maybe Rodney's imagining it, but he thinks he sees Sheppard's eyes drop to Rodney's mouth for a moment before he blinks, shakes his head and breathes out a sigh, reaching for his own fly.
Rodney's still tucking himself into his pants, lagging behind as usual, when Sheppard's already standing up, wiping dust off his knees before holding a hand out. Staring at it for a second, Rodney blinks, then takes it, lets Sheppard help him up. It's the nicest anyone's ever been to Rodney after one of these sort of encounters, which only deepens his confusion about what's going on here.
There's a brief, loaded moment where they're just standing in the middle of a supply closet, gripping each other's hands, Rodney still staring at Sheppard's mouth, and then Sheppard grins, quick and almost self-deprecating, pulling his hand back, his fingers brushing light and quick over the inside of Rodney's wrist.
"Wanna get some dinner?" he asks, one hip cocked out, head tilted, like this is a normal, casual invitation to a meal between friends, and not an absolutely bizarre thing to say to a man who's just come in your mouth.
"Sure," Rodney says, mostly because he's hungry, but also maybe a little bit because he wants to see how Sheppard will surprise him next.