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Rodney stands from the cramped metal stool and stretches his legs. His fingers continue to tap at his keyboard, a quick succession of clicks that fill the mostly desolet lab. The lights are dimmed in the surrounding space, one perfectly placed beam of light somewhere above him staying on by the sentient understanding they have all grown accustomed to expecting. It’s quiet; the click, click click, bouncing off the metal walls in a repetition as calming as one of Teyla’s meditation sessions are presumed to be and Rodney finds he’s once again stayed far later than he’d intended. It’s the sharp pain that radiates along his spine as he raises his head that clues him into the late hour, a quick jolt bringing his head up so fast that he doesn’t finish the sentence he’s working on. He hears a hiss fall unbidden from his lips as the twinge fades, Rodney rolling his head one way and then the other as the tightness only stiffins even as the pain recedes.
The warm press of fingers to skin startles a yelp and then another pained hiss from him as a palm comes to rest on his hunched shoulder, squeezing in a way that ripples through the tense knot of muscle. He knows without looking who it is, that combination of confident touch and sandalwood scent could only be Sheppard. And since when had Rodney associated Sheppard with any sort of touch - much less a confident one. His brain replays their last few missions like a slideshow. A small grasp of his elbow on P5G-297, a steadying hand to his back while visiting the mainland with Teyla, a bracing tug out of the way of a ditch on M7G-514, always with propriety on Sheppard’s part, as if Rodney was his to maneuver around.
“I know it’s your trademark to be here later than all your staff, but we have a long day tomorrow and I would appreciate it if I didn’t have to listen to a diatribe on how little sleep you got before embarking on a four mile hike.” The fingers on his skin are working small, slow circles into the bunched muscles of his neck as Sheppard speaks and Rodney’s eyes flutter closed before he can stop them. They fly open a moment later as the soft spoken words crystalize in his mind.
“You never said it was four miles?!” Even as he raises his voice, a disbelieving tone that echoes off the walls of the darkened lab, he almost unconsciously stays perfectly still and unflinching in hopes that the unexpected ministrations will continue. Nothing in his entire catalog of interactions with the Colonel - of which there had been many, with each being safely tucked away in his flawless memory - give him any reference as to why Sheppard might be giving him what could effectively be called a shoulder massage at this moment, but Rodney’s mind can provide him with absolutely no reason as to why he should stop.
His voice is still low as he speaks, his thumb pressing into an especially tender spot that has Rodney’s knees almost buckle beneath him. “No tech remember? So no jumpers - Teyla says it’ll scare them.” His hands on the cold steel table before him, grip tightly to the edge to keep him on his feet, the kneed and press of slow, expert thumbs crumbling all of Rodney’s self-possession.
Rodney hasn’t let his eyes fall shut again, his gaze trained on the plexiglass wall across from him. His inability to tear his eyes from the blurred and distorted reflection of their two bodies is becoming increasingly inconvenient as the distraction is preventing him from properly conveying his dislike for the aforementioned plan. His mouth opens, protest poised on his tongue, but the shadow image of Sheppard behind him leans in and a matching breath traces across his neck as he hears, “go to bed, Rodney,” spoken low behind his ear.
The argument dies on his tongue. Warm calloused fingers squeeze once, then they’re slipping from his skin and Rodney finally lets his eyes fall closed, a deep shuddering breath escaping without his consent. He thinks he can still feel the ghost of fingers on his skin, his muscles still jumping and reacting in the absence of touch. When his eyes finally open again it’s to the sight of his lone distorted form in the plexiglass partition. Sheppard is gone, the tender ache of welled kneaded muscles, the only evidence he’d ever been there at all.
Rodney might well have imagined the entire thing - the silent and unchanged lab around him fooling him into questioning his own tiredness and lucidity - but he hears shouted from far down the hall, “sleep, McKay,” and shakes his head at the whole bizarre scenario.
Even as he starts to shut down his laptop, his mind is running through all the different reasons or rationales for what the hell had just happened. Rodney can recount each and every time Sheppard has intentionally touched him and none of them involved the kneading of skin. There is a distinct lack of logic in the entirety of the last five minutes and a lack of logic has never been something Rodney handles well.
Atlantis’ walls glow a soft blue as he walks distractedly back to his room, the echoing footsteps a soothing background to his quickly revolving thoughts. Years, Rodney has spent perfecting his mask, and in only a few short moments Sheppard had managed to take him to the precipice of his breaking point. Till this evening there had been an enduring wall between Sheppard, his team leader, his closest friend and the Sheppard that Rodney only let himself see when no one else was present. Only when he palms open his door, falls face first on his bed still in his clothes, does he ever allow himself the treacherous and aching thoughts that are always at the corners of his mind.
The rough, military issue blanket that covers his bed is beginning to itch his cheek as he lays, unmoving, in the center of the mattress. He knows he should get undressed, take his shoes off at least, but the liquidity in his shoulders from a well executed massage is melting him into the surface of the bed and he doesn’t have the presence of mind to do anything but toe off his boots and crawl under the blankets. His mind is still fighting over whether to think about the feeling of Sheppard’s hands on his neck or try to decipher why they were there in the first place when he falls off into a dreamless sleep.
It’s the third alarm he has set that finally wakes him up. Rodney is well aware that, depending on the hour that he finally decides to leave the lab, it’s near impossible to rely on one singular alarm to wake him from the near comatose state he’s generally in when morning arrives. Though, to his credit, the second alarm generally gets the job done. This specific morning though it’s not until his watch, his alarm clock and his laptop are all beeping an insistent tinny chirp that he swims into consciousness. It’s because of this stuporous awakening that Rodeny doesn’t remember Sheppard’s visit to the labs until his second cup of coffee. A cup of coffee that he promptly chokes on when the recollection of Sheppard’s fingers on his skin comes unbidden into his mind.
It may be just past sunrise, but the temperate climate of PX7-M59 is showing its cards early if the sweat beading against Rodney’s hairline is any indication. His P-90 lays limp against his side as they walk, no one perceiving or anticipating a threat on what would hopefully turn out to be nothing but a fruitful trading mission. To his continuing astonishment, the heat of the day and the ache in his legs from the hour they had already been walking did little to darken Rodney’s mood, his inner monologue chalking it up to the magical healing powers of blissfully loose shoulder muscles.
The ghost memories of hands on his neck stay in the back of his mind most of the hike, the bizarre, almost implausibility of the events the night before are slightly easier to tuck away when the sheer unlikeness of the entire scenario was taken into account. His gaze swivels to Sheppard, just a quick once over to make sure he was still where Rodney had last seen him, then a glance to both Teyla and Ronan before one more sweep over the colonel. Their eyes catch and Sheppard grins, all easy charm and reassurance. “You alright McKay? I haven’t heard one mention of us wasting your priceless brain on physical activity.”
Rodney can hear the smirk in his own voice when he responds. “Actually managed to get a decent night's sleep last night - but I’ll be sure to start complaining soon Colonel, if it’ll make you feel better.”
The matching smirk that slides across Sheppard’s face is fleeting but Rodney can’t help but get the sense there is a whiff of pride underneath it - as if Rodney’s good mood is his doing. Rodney can’t wholly disagree. “Wouldn’t be the same if you didn’t McKay.”
Just to spite Sheppard and his cocky hubris, Rodney kept his mouth shut as they continued to walk. Even when his ankle twists in the pull of a vine two hours in and the only thing that keeps him from landing face first in the grass is Sheppard’s sturdy hand on his elbow. “Whoa there buddy - you alright?” Rodney can see Sheppard’s eyes trained on his ankle, watching closely as Rodney carefully places his weight back down on his foot. He’s caught between playing it off and playing it up, the warm grip of Sheppard’s fingers now wrapped tightly around his bicep a temptation to seek assistance that he might actually need if the flare of pain that runs through his foot stays present.
Another tentative step, the warm clasp of hand radiating as much heat as his twisted ankle though for an entirely different reason. The involuntary limp and hiss when his weight lands on it is enough for Sheppard to huff beside his ear, displeased. “Uh .. um, how much farther is it exactly?” Rodney asks a little sheepishly.
Chancing a glance to his left he’s met with a face full of soft black hair as Sheppard dips his shaking head, his arm coming around Rodney’s waist without comment. The hairs tickle is his nose and he looks forward again to see Telya and Ronan waiting for them farther up the path. A warm hand palms his hip at the same time that slim fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his arm over Sheppard’s shoulder, then without any sort of warning to prepare himself for the sensation, his body is pressed flush with Sheppard’s from hip to shoulder and he lets out an involuntary sigh as the weight on his ankle lessens. From directly beside his ear he hears Sheppard say, “Go on ahead, we’ll be right behind you.”
Rodney doesn’t have anywhere near the self restraint to turn and look at Sheppard from this distance, so his gaze is pointing decidedly forward at Telya when she yells back, “it should only be about 20 more minutes Colonel. We shall meet you at the settlement.” Rodney tries to ignore the knowing look that Ronan aims at her, unclear why he would look so smug in a situation that Rodney had literally no control over.
The breeze chills the sweat that’s collected on Rodeny’s neck and he feels a shiver run up his back as Sheppard starts to lead him down the path. He’d never had issues separating his mind from Sheppard’s touch previously - so why now, as they walk slowly and silently down the path does it feel like nothing can pull his focus from the warm palm on his hip, the heat bleeding through his t-shirt where Sheppard’s fingers have slipped under his tact vest to rest against the thin material. Rodey has always been able to keep those thoughts separate - distant - like looking at a model of something that you are sure is a replica. So why now - on this nondescript planet - is his will power failing him. As they walk, Rodney’s ankle making protesting twinges, he decides to blame Sheppard with his strong hands and bizarrely timed lab visits for his unprecedented inability to keep the two Sheppards in his mind separate.
Thirty minutes and one internal crisis later they arrive at the settlement to a welcoming group of natives, all sitting around a feast table with Telya and Ronan, enjoying breakfast. As they step into the clearing a familiar and all too rare smell reaches Rodney’s nose. “Oh my god - why do I smell bacon?”
He hears a snort of laughter from beside him and the fingers clutching his side squeeze minutely. “How about we sit you down on this dock over here.” Sheppard nods his head to a small pond near the gathering of people, “you can soak your foot in some cold water and ..”
“But bacon!” Rodney interrupts with what he knows is a petulant frown on his face. He’s finally turned to look at Sheppard, the need for what smells like real fried meat overriding his inability to bear Sheppard’s face at this proximity. The placating grin he sees there, the small dimple next to the upturned corner of his mouth, is enough to cause his empty stomach to flip and remind him why he was avoiding it in the first place.
“I was going to say, I’ll bring you a plate while you rest your ankle.” Sheppard is already walking him towards the pond, lowering him down to the sun warmed planks of wood. “Did you really think I wouldn’t feed you McKay?”
The disgruntled huff could have been in answer to his question or in response to the loss of body heat, Rodney can’t be sure. “Alright then .. um, .. thanks.”
Sheppard nods and before he walks away, runs his hand over and through Rodney’s hair, squeezing his shoulder once before pulling away. “Soak that foot. I’ll be back once I make nice with the locals.”
Rodeny immediately catalogs the touch as just as bizarre as any from the previous evening. As he carefully unlaces his boot and divests himself of his sock he lets himself start to rebuild the walls in his mind that Sheppard, for reasons unknown, keeps systematically tearing down. The brisk water is a shock to his system as he slips in his overheated foot. Along the side of his foot an angry knot has already started to form and Rodney tries to concentrate on what he’s learned from Carson over the last two years to determine if this is a sprain or a break, the recitation of facts letting him once again compartmentalize all the unwelcome emotions that have fought their way to the surface in the last twelve hours. At least he’ll have some time alone to eat and reset while Sheppard, Telya and Ronan make nice with the locals.
At least that was his plan, except when Sheppard returns - with a plate that smells like straight heaven even to an atheist - he has not one, but two, and drops down directly beside him on the warm wood of the dock. “Not bacon - but I don’t think I’ve tasted anything as close as this in the last two years.”
Their thighs are pressed together from hip to knee, which Rodney notes, is wholly unnecessary since the dock is plenty wide enough to fit four people across. It’s with a distracted air that Rodney takes his plate, but not even the smell of not-bacon and what appears to also be not-eggs, can fully pull his attention away from the heat between their legs. “Uh .. thanks.”
Sheppard gives him a confused side eye and Rodney shakes his head to clear it. No need for Sheppard to pick up on his inability to be a god damn adult with the capacity to separate his ape brain from his professional self. “So - not bacon, but still good? Nothing with citrus, right?” He eyes the plate before him warily and hears a disgruntled huff from beside him.
“Do you really think I wouldn’t have checked, Rodney?” He almost sounds hurt and Rodney has to swing his head back in his direction to confirm. And yes, the small crease between his brow, the downturn of his lips, he hadn’t meant to offend him and the idea of that bothers him more than it normally would.
“No - right - sorry, of course. Thanks Colonel.” Rodney picks up a slice of the not-bacon and bites into it, the grease and crispy texture bringing an unrepentant moan of pleasure to his throat as he immediately shoves the rest of the piece in his mouth. The blissful taste on his tongue is almost enough for him to overlook the warmth of their too-close thighs but then he hears a distinctly uncomfortable clearing of a throat beside him.
“Tell me how you really feel McKay.” Sheppard’s voice is low and just on this side of gravelly and the tone of it shoots straight through to Rodney’s stomach, not-bacon almost forgotten in his attempt to bring his pulse back down. This sudden inability to control visceral reactions is starting to get on his nerves and he has to take a somewhat too big mouthful of not-eggs to keep himself from groaning in frustration.
As it turns out, the not-bacon was amazing, but not nearly as delicious as the small cream-puff style pastry that was also on his plate. “It’s like cheesecake - but for breakfast!” He says excitedly, taking another bite and contemplating stealing Sheppard’s from his plate as well. “If we walk away from this without anything but the recipe and ingredients for this,” he holds up the one bite of pastry he has left, “then I think I would still be happy.”
Sheppard’s leg, which Rodeny had almost been able to forget was pressed heatedly to his own, nudges even closer, knocking his knee. “I think we can probably arrange something - as long as Telya and Ronan haven’t done anything to offend the natives.”
That brings a question to his mind that, had he not been abnormally distracted, he would have asked earlier. “Why are you letting them handle the meet and greet anyway? I thought you needed to be over there schmoozing the village leader.”
Popping the last of the pastry in his mouth, Rodney turns to see Sheppard shrug. If he didn't know better he’d say Sheppard looked embarrassed at the question. “Nah - Teyla knows them, and by the time we’d gotten here she’d already settled in with the leader to negotiate. Not anything she hasn’t done before.” Sheppard shrugs again. “I’ll head back over in a minute.”
For reasons lost on Rodney he immediately back pedals. “No, you don’t have to … I mean, I wasn’t ..” Sheppard glances over at him, one dark eyebrow raised high. “Don’t think I didn’t appreciate the company .. that’s all.” He finishes with a lame sigh. This whole day has thrown him off-kilter and Rodney isn’t even sure he knows how to get back on the right path now.
His comment is met with a rueful grin from Sheppard that he has to immediately turn away from lest his traitorous brain get any ideas. He feels a soft pressure on his shoulder and involuntarily leans back into it, Sheppard’s well muscled bicep warm against his own through the thin t-shirt. “ ‘course McKay. I wasn’t going to relegate you to sitting over here by yourself. I’m still impressed you managed to hobble the rest of the way here without a word of complaint.” He glances down at the water, at Rodney’s swollen foot floating just below the surface. “I’ll wrap that before we go, maybe we can find you a stick to lean on for the way back or something.”
The thought of the four mile trip back brings a completely different stab of hopelessness to his chest, but he nods, unwilling to disappoint Sheppard with complaints now that he’d made it here without them. Then, as if Rodney’s ill timed comment had made it so, Sheppard moves to get up. The palm of his hand rests on Rodney’s shoulder in an odd echo from the night before as he levers himself to a standing position, the loss of warmth on his leg immediately noticeable. “I’ll see if I can bring you back another of those cheesecakes in a puff pastry.”
This brightens Rodeny’s spirits an embarrassing amount and he has to tamp down his smile before Sheppard sees his excitement at the prospect. He thinks he may not have hidden it fast enough if the laugh from Sheppard above him is any indication. “Be back in a bit - go ahead and scan the area with your tablet while you’re away from the general populous. Make sure we’re not missing anything.” Another unexplained squeeze to Rodney’s shoulder and then he’s gone, striding up the dock and back to the group at large.
Rodney swirls his foot in the water, his other tucked up under his leg, while he surreptitiously pulls his datapad out of his bag. The heat of the day has seemed to reach its pinnacle and he can feel the beads of sweat slipping past his collar and down his spine as he scans the surrounding area, half his attention on the data points and half on cataloging all the unnecessary touches he’s been graced with since their mission started this morning. He’s not unaccustomed to feeling Sheppard’s hands on him at any given time, for a variety of reasons, but never so unnecessarily and never so often. Rodney is anything but a stupid man, but there is something about the last twelve hours that he can’t seem to wrap his head around and it was making him equal parts crazy and angry.
His foot has gone numb - either from pain or cold, Rodney couldn’t be sure - by the time Sheppard comes back an hour later. His hands are ladened with several things, but the small pastry he has wrapped in a cloth towel is the one thing that draws Rodney’s attention. “Ohhh .. is that ..?”
Sheppard lowers his head and chuckles, dropping the medkit and large wooden stick on the dock, “Yes, Rodney.” He hands over the carefully wrapped prize and sits beside him on the dock. Rodeny’s eyes are closed, his entire being concentrated on the flavors on his tongue, when Sheppard wraps a warm hand around his thigh and pulls his leg out of the water. The mouthful of pastry is the only thing stopping the surprised yelp from exiting his mouth when he feels Sheppard’s fingers dig into his inner thigh, maneuvering him so that his foot is sitting on the dock beside him. What was Rodney saying about proprietary touches last night in the lab? The pressure on his thigh is gone almost as soon as his leg is on the dock and then there are soft fingertip touches tracing over the slightly numb skin of his ankle and then foot. Sheppard is frowning, shaking his head minutely as he runs fingertips across the raised bump. “Hmmm ..” he hums, cupping Rodney’s heel in his palm and moving his foot from side to side. “I’m pretty sure it’s not broken - but that’s probably a pretty decent sprain.” Fingertips again, tracing over the chilled skin, from his ankle all the way down to his toes. It tickles and Rodney barks out a soft laugh, glad he had just swallowed the last of the pastry he had been eating. “Oh, sorry.” John’s grin is slightly bashful, but Rodney watches as he does it one more time, before wrapping his entire palm around the bottom curve of Rodeny’s foot and pushes up gently. The laugh turns to a hiss of pain immediately and John releases the pressure, looking legitimately apologetic. “Sorry - I’ll just wrap this up and we can start our way back to the gate.”
Rodney had seen Sheppard wrap a limb or two in their years in Atlantis, but something about the gentleness that he was using now seemed slightly out of place when compared to all those occurrences. He spent the next five minutes puzzling that out in his brain and then Sheppard was standing, one hand outstretched to Rodney where he still sat on the dock. “Alright McKay, let's see if we can get you mobile on this.” He gestures to the stick that, to his credit, does resemble a crutch, with a long branch protruding out perpendicular to the sturdy base. He notices, as Sheppard levers it under his armpit, that Sheppard’s jacket has been wrapped around the top as a cushion and he has to suppress a cheesy smile when the sentiment hits him in the chest like a lead weight.
It’s functional, and Rodney finds that if he favors his good foot he can almost keep pace with them as they all walk back to the gate, but not quite. It’s not until he sees Ronan lazily kicking rocks as they walk that it occurs to him that at some point the whole team had slowed their pace for him without saying a word and he appreciates his resolve for not complaining just a bit more.
It’s with a lengthy game of prime/ not prime that they pass the time, arriving back at the gate in the early afternoon and dialing up without comment. He’s thankful that Sheppard doesn’t request a medteam in the gate room, just nods up to Elizabth as they walk through the gate, a gentle hand on Rodney’s elbow as he leads him off to the right and straight to the infirmary.
Carson looks up as Sheppard settles him on one of the beds, a brief and confusing squeeze to his thigh before stepping back and walking over to meet him. “Rodney? What in the world? Why wasn’t I called to the gateroom when you arrived?”
Before Rodney can defend himself or Sheppard, the colonel puts up a placating hand. “That was me - it’s just a sprain, didn't think all the bells and whistles were necessary.” Rodney is nodding with what he assumes is probably an embarrassed look on his face.
“Still Colonel, I would have liked to know you were coming - just a sprain you say?” He looks to Rodney when he asks the question, clearly expecting a tirade of complaints and exclamations but Rodney just can’t bring himself to deal with the drama of it all. Something about how Sheppard had tended to him all day despite Rodney not making one dramatic complaint made him want to keep the respect he’d earned from the Colonel today.
“Yeah - I don’t think it’s too bad. It does ache pretty damn bad though.” He winces as Carson pulls his leg up onto the bed, poking and prodding as is his usual routine.
Rodeny watches Sheppard as he fades to the outer corner of the room, still present but removing himself from the situation. It’s not until Rodney has been unwrapped, x-rayed, rewrapped and given three heavy duty Advil that he notices he’s even still there, walking up silently as Rodney swings his legs over the bed and wrapping an arm around his waist unprompted, to help him down. The warm press of fingers on his hips again almost distracts him from what Carson is saying.
“Colonel, could you make sure he gets that elevated please and iced? And probably something to eat with that pain medicine in his system.” He hands him an icepack and then turns to Rodney, “I want you off that foot for 24 hours. If you need to work - you can do it from bed - with your leg propped up. Understand?”
Rodney rolls his eyes but it holds no venom. “Yes, mom.”
“Good,” Carson doesn’t seem to take the jab personally and turns back to Sheppard, “I assume you’ll make sure he doesn’t sneak off to the lab?”
Sheppard nods and Rodney suddenly wonders why Carson is looking to Sheppard to make sure he abides by his instruction, but the fingers on his hips squeeze then and all of Rodney’s concentration is zeroed in on the fact that Sheppard’s thumb, hot through the thin fabric of his shirt, is rubbing up and down where he holds his side. Rodney’s mouth clamps shut on any protests as Sheppard turns him and against his better judgment he swings his arm around Sheppard’s shoulder, leaning into the warm weight that’s holding him upright.
A transporter and a short hallway later Rodney is palming open his room, the low glow of lights becoming brighter as they step inside. Sheppard sits him carefully on his bed and walks into the bathroom, wetting a washcloth and bringing it back into the room. Before Rodney even realizes what he’s doing, there is a cool sensation on the back of his neck and his eyes slip closed, “Oh, that feels nice,” he hears himself say, even as he feels fingers card through his hair, once, then twice. A low involuntary ‘mmmm' of contentment rumbles from his chest and he feels Sheppard laying him back against his pillows, the wet washcloth still resting behind his neck as Sheppard pulls both his legs up on the bed, resting the ice pack gently over his ankle. It’s not until Sheppard speaks that he opens his eyes again.
“Alright - I’m going to go have a quick shower, then I’ll be back with food.” He’s starting to turn, to head out of the room and Rodney speaks up.
“John ..” The name brings his attention back to Rodney, his whole body turning back to him, his face momentarily showing something Rodney can’t categorize before it’s quickly gone again. “You don’t .. I’m not your responsibility or anything ..” He’s not sure what he’s trying to say, wants to ask why, but the words won’t come.
The corner of John’s mouth lifts and he just shakes his head, his eyes not meeting Rodney’s but trained on the floor in front of him. “I’ll bring you back some food, don’t be up on that foot.” And with that he’s gone, the door whooshing shut behind him, leaving Rodney just as confused as he was when he fell into this same bed the night before.
What the hell was that? Is all Rodney can think as he stares at the closed door. There’s a scratch in the metal, about four feet up the wall, and Rodney stares at it unseeing as everything that has transpired in the last day tries to coalesce into something at least resembling an explanation. Everything up to the last five minutes in his room could be written off, if maybe not easily, at least reasonably so. But the brush of fingers through his hair and the gentle maneuvering he had done to get Rodney on his bed .. there was a different kind of fondness in that interaction that Rodney couldn’t quantify. And nothing made Rodney more determined than a problem he couldn’t decipher.
In all honesty, Occam's razor has already given Rodney his answer, but he was loath to even give hope to that possibility. That way lay hope - that way lay heartache - and that way was closed off to him a long time ago. The probability that Sheppard, that John, might actually share any of the well hidden desires that Rodney has kept tucked away, was slim to none, so even if that is the most reasonable explanation, Rodney was loath to explore it for fear of being wrong.
He must have dozed off, since when he next opens his eyes John is sitting on his bed, smiling a bit shyly with a hand on his thigh, shaking him gently awake. He blinks blearily, the heat from John’s palm doing more to rouse him than the gentle shaking. “Hey,” he says weakly, smiling up at John in the dim light. His hair is damp, yet still somehow sticking up in impossible directions like it always did. Rodney takes a moment in his sleepy haze to appreciate him, the handsomeness of him and his crooked smile. The hand is still on his thigh and John’s hip is pressed close to his where he sits on the bed, the fuzziness of sleep coloring all of it in a rose tint that makes Rodney want to lean in and …
He blinks, hard, shaking his head. The facts he had deciphered before he’d fallen asleep are all rushing back to the forefront of his brain and coupled with the hand, that is still resting on his thigh - a pinky finger gently brushing back and forth as John waits patiently for him to come fully awake - are all merging into one unaskable question that falls from his lips even as his brain is screaming for him to shut up.
“John .. What … What the hell is going on?” It’s almost pitiful, a pleading whine that Rodney blames mostly on his sleepy brain, as he would never willingly let himself sound so .. pathetic.
The finger on his thigh stops stroking but the hand doesn’t move. When John doesn’t say anything, Rodney finally finds the courage to look up, meeting a steely gaze that says, oh so clearly, ‘really?’ His own quick intake of breath is audible in the silent space and then the hand on his thigh is moving, curling around and squeezing again even as John makes no move to speak.
Rodney had never been one to doubt his own conclusions - the fact that he had dismissed his own first assumption was proof that he was being purposefully obtuse to save his own sanity. But all the facts seem to have slotted into place now and Rodney finally felt confident enough in his theory to fully believe it.
It’s with a huff of frustration at not only Sheppard, but himself, that he reaches out a hand to curl around John’s neck and pull him forward. He has a moment of satisfaction when he sees John’s eyes widen, the surprise clear on his face, and then he’s kissing him, their lips sliding seamlessly together and a satisfied hum slips between them. John’s hand is off his thigh and in his hair within moments, his other wrapping around Rodney’s back as he tilts his head to deepen what is already turning into an incredibly wanton kiss.
Rodney hears a whine escape from his own throat, surprised by the need in it and tightens his fingers in John’s hair. The hand on his back curls tighter around him and John makes a sound that he doesn't think he’s ever heard come from his mouth, a pleading groan, laced with frustration that has Rodney wrapping his arm around John’s hip and pulling. Their lips part for only a moment, panting breaths shared in the inches between them as John swings his leg over Rodney’s lap, hips pressing his own into the bed as John settles into his lap and catches Rodney’s lips in his once again.
Both of John’s hands are cupping Rodney’s face, an oddly tender action considering their current position, and the hand not in John’s hair smooths down over his back until it’s gripping his hip and squeezing. Raising up onto his knees only slightly, John leans in, pressing Rodney into the pillow propped behind him with deep kisses , his hips pressing forward even as Rodney feels his knees slide out to either side of him, their bodies flush against each other from hip to chest to mouth.
It’s with a force of will that Rodney didn’t know he had that he pulls back and rests his head on John’s shoulder, his breath coming in fast pants. John’s lips are trialing up his jaw, light kisses being placed to his cheek and then his hairline. And because Rodney is .. well, Rodney, he can’t seem to keep his mouth shut.
Pulling back slightly to rest his head against the wall he has to suppress a moan as John’s weight rubs them both together through rough BDU material. “Not that I’m against this turn of events in any way .. but.. Why?” When he’s met with a slightly sardonic brow lift he hurries on to finish his thought. “No - just .. Why now? Am I crazy in thinking this was all a bit … sudden? Or have I just been this oblivious the entire time?”
John blushes - honest to god blushes - and Rodney doesn’t think he’s ever seen a more gorgeous sight. “No, um .. that would be me - actually. Being oblivious.”
Rodney clams up - immediately worried that he had been found out somehow, though with how the day has turned out he guesses he can’t be too angry about it. “But .. how did you … did I ..” Rodney can’t complete a sentence to save his life and John huffs a laugh, resting his head on Rodney’s shoulder in what he assumes is an attempt to hide his face.
“You talk in your sleep, Rodney.” John’s breath is warm against his already heated skin and he holds his breath to see just how much a fool he had made of himself. “That - combined with the long conversation I had with Teyla on the subject, led me to discovering that both she and Ronan had apparently already assumed we were together.” Rodney feels the laugh that John lets out both in his hand which is running circles over his back and on the sensitive skin of his neck. “You should have seen her face when I told her we weren't. From there I was treated to a diatribe of events all retold through the eyes of one who thought they were looking at a couple and .. well .. figured I’d test the waters.” He sits up then, looking down at Rodney, this adonis of a human splayed across his lap, “assumed you’d have thrown me out of the lab last night if I was off base.”
Rodney was still trying to align all the data points, connecting them with string in his mind even as his hands palmed up and down John’s waist in front of him. “So .. you .. for a while?”
“Rodney.” It’s the same insolent tone he’d used so many times to insinuate that Rodney was clearly not picking up on the most obvious of information. The lights in the room are still low, the sentience of the city seeming to know that a conversation as intimate and possibly embarrassing as this needed to take place in the comfort of a dim glow and the shadows it cast over John’s eyebrows had Rodney’s hand coming up to brush his thumb across his cheek.
“Yeah .. ok. Me, um .. me too. But I really thought I had, um .. hid it rather well. Though, I didn’t know about the sleep talking …” Rodney can feel the blush on his cheeks but he’s not sure if it’s there from their previous exertions or the bizarrely open conversation they were having.
“Trust me - you did. At least from me anyway. I’d have done this a year ago when DADT was repealed had I … well .. I guess that’s not important.”
“No really - do go on - I’m probably the worst person you’ll ever meet when it comes to social interactions, so any confirmation that I’m actually right about this will go a long way to ..” He’s cut off rather quickly by John’s lips on his, his whole body pressing Rodney into the pillows behind him in a forceful kiss that has his fingers gripping tightly onto the exposed bicep under his hand.
It occurs to Rodney, as John’s hips cant helplessly into his own, that the talking part of the evening has clearly concluded and Rodney finds that he’s more than OK with that shift in intent. Between how long it’s been since he's had any type of sex and the amount of time he’s wanted John specifically, he’s more than happy to move on to other activities.
His arms slide around John’s sides pulling him closer, their hips stuttering together now in a rhythm that has Rodney’s hands clawing at John’s shirt. He pulls his mouth away long enough to say, “Off - this - off” and John quickly obliges, whipping off his shirt and throwing it to land somewhere in the dark recess of the room. Rodney can’t stop his hands from sliding up and over his chest, fingers carding through the dark dusting of hair and stopping momentarily to thumb over a nipple. “God .. how are you this hot?” Another drag over his nipple and Rodney’s eyes are pulled to John’s face as a groan slips from his throat.
“Fuck, Rodney ..” and then he’s kissing him again, hungry and deeper and Rodney whines deep in his throat as John’s hands slide under his shirt, tugging it over his head so quickly he barley notices the break in their kiss to do so. Then there’s bare skin against his and Rodney’s fingertips dig into John’s back trying in vain to pull him that much closer.
Hands fall from Rodney’s sides, slipping down his hips to kneed at his thighs, his hips bucking up of their own accord even as a moan slips from his lips. John’s mouth trails down his neck, open mouth kisses leaving a chilled, damp path down his skin and Rodney has a passing thought of ‘well - my ankle sure as hell isn't bothering me now’ as John’s hands start to fumble with the clasp of his pants.
Trying to grab hold of enough composure to think straight, Rodney manages to unbuckle John’s as well, even as his tongue is drawing small circles on the skin below his ear. The sensation of it has his fingers fumbling and a growling moan leaves his mouth as John’s hand closes around the length of his freed cock. His head falls back against the wall with an unpleasant thunk but Rodney doesn’t think he could possibly care any less. John’s hand is pulling tight strokes over him, his palm swiping over his head to gather the precum already there and stroke it all the way to his base. “Oh .. fuck. John …” The words slip from him without his consent and John hums happily into his skin before pulling up and capturing his mouth in another searing kiss.
The momentum of it has Rodeny once again scrambling for John’s pants, sliding his hand in and finally gripping John in his fist with a groan that could have come from either of them. They’re so close, John’s knees splayed so far to the side of his hips, that they brush each other's hands in their eagerness for touch. Then John’s hand is releasing him, brushing his own hand away and gripping them both, the hot slide of them together a shockingly erotic sensation.
Rodney will admit, even if he considered himself bi - and had for some time- nothing like this had ever been part of his repertoire. Quick one and done meet ups had been all he’d ever had time for, so even with the franticness of the moment now, this was still the most intimate he had ever been with another man and the sheer overwhelming sensation of it had a whine slipping out against his will. It was met by a throaty groan from above him as John’s lips slowed, soft, deep, slow kisses replacing the frenzied ones before it.
His hands trail along hips, around John’s back and slip into the waistband of his pants, fingers dipping past his underwear to palm his ass and pull him closer. Another groan and John’s lips go slack on his, his forehead pressing against Rodney’s as he drags his palm over both of their heads and Rodney lets out another convulsive whine. ‘John .. I .. god …I ..”
“Yeah .. Rodney,” The words are whispered, pressed into his lips as John’s breath quickens along with his hand. Rodney’s fingers dig into the skin on John’s ass, pulling another low groan from him as John’s orgasm rolls over his body in a shudder, his spend slicking both of their cocks.
“Oh, fuck ..” the hot slickness of it has Rodney bucking his hips as John’s hand moves smoothly over them both in a stuttering rhythm that pulls Rodney over the edge with him.
It’s quiet, with the exception of their loud panting breaths. John’s damp forehead slides off of Rodney’s to rest on his collarbone, his chest heaving under Rodney’s hands where they’ve come to rest on his back. He feels a faint twinge in his ankle, his skin damp and cold from the ice pack still wrapped around it and Rodney lets out a huff of laughter.
John’s head pulls up, his eyes questioning the source of his amusement. “Just thinking - I didn’t feel my ankle like ..at all, for the last twenty minutes. May need more ..distractions .. for the next day or so ..”
John laughs outright, turning to peer behind him at Rodney’s bandaged and ice laden foot. Wiping his hand on Rodney’s discarded shirt he says, “Well, I may need a short refractory period, but I have something else that might take your mind off it.”
He’s left to button up his own pants as John crawls off of him, his shirtless, lanky form pulling Rodney’s gaze as it follows him across the room. His mind is still running circles around the idea that - yeah .. I can have that, I can touch that … when John turns around with a small cloth bundle in his hand. “I managed to sneak one back in my pack for you.” He carefully unfolds the cloth and holds out a slightly squashed cheesecake pastry.
Rondney takes it wordlessly, his brain still sputtering on what to say as the smell of it reaches his nose. John climbs over him, settling himself next to Rodney on the bed as he takes the first bite. “Oh my god - I love you.”
He stops mid chew, freezing in place as he realizes not only what words just left his mouth but how unerringly true they are, and opens his mouth to back track. The last thing he needs is to scare John off before they’ve even gotten through their first post-coitle cuddle. But before he can try to pull those earth shattering words back from the space between them John ducks his head, hiding his face in Rodney’s neck. His lips move across his skin as he says in a tone almost low enough to be missed, “Yeah - me too Rodney.”