scribblinlenore | SGA FIC: Parsus, Part 2/2 (John/Rodney, other pairings, NC-17)

For story info, see previous part.

***

Their first mission back after this is a little weird, not surprisingly. John fully expects some tension. He just doesn't guess that it will come out as stilted politeness, all "Dr. McKay, would you mind" and "Colonel Sheppard, I'll get right on that." John tries not to miss their easy sarcasm, although he's not very successful at it.

Still, they go, they explore, they come back in one piece. It's fine, fine, all fine. They're both professionals. They understand what's at stake.

John honestly believes he's put it behind him until he starts slipping up on little things. He forgets an appointment to give Sgt. Masters flying lessons. Then his command code for the armory completely slips his mind, and he spends an embarrassing twenty minutes trying random combinations of letters and digits until it finally comes back to him. In a staff meeting he zones out and somehow ends up volunteering to help plan Atlantis' first annual harvest festival, much to Elizabeth's obvious amusement.

Needless to say, Teyla beats the shit out of him in their weekly sparring match.

The fourth time she has to pull him up from the floor she declares, "It is clear your thoughts are elsewhere today, Colonel. We should continue another time."

He shakes his head. "No, no, let's go again. I'm just-- a little preoccupied."

She raises an eyebrow. "A little?"

"Drop it, Teyla." It comes out harshly, and he takes a breath. "Sorry. I didn't mean--"

Teyla nods. "I understand." She hesitates. "Colonel-- John, I do not wish to intrude, but I can not help but wonder if you have spoken with Dr. McKay--"

His hands clench into fists. "Not open for discussion."

She studies him a long moment. "Very well. But will you permit me one observation?"

He sighs heavily, but it's useless to say no. She'll just keep watching him in that speculative way of hers until he finally caves in. "Go ahead."

"You are more than preoccupied. I have heard others observing as much."

"Hey! Anybody can have an off day."

"It is not just one day, Colonel," she corrects him, "and such distraction can be dangerous for yourself and others, can it not?"

"I'm handling it," he says flatly, not sure if he's angry or just surprised she doesn't have more confidence in him.

She tilts her head. "I do not mean to criticize. I only wish to say that if you need a friend I am here for you."

He sighs. "I know, Teyla, and I appreciate it. Really. But there's nothing you can do."

She gets a considering look. "I am not so certain about that. I still do not believe you have anything to fear from following your heart, but it is clear that you are convinced otherwise. So if you will cast yourself in the role of Lionus, then perhaps I can be your Parsus."

He stops and stares at her. "You don't mean--"

"I do," she says calmly.

"Oh, no. No. Absolutely not." He shakes his head, more emphatically than is probably polite.

Not that the idea of Teyla isn't-- And he's certainly no stranger to consolation sex. There were always bars near base, smoky places where pilot groupies could be had with an easy smile, willing female bodies John could lose himself in, for a little while at least. In no universe is Teyla meant to be that kind of substitute.

She draws herself upright, a spark in her eyes that John recognizes well. "I realize your people have some unfortunate notions about women and our capacity to make our own choices, but--"

"No, no," he takes her hand, "it's not that. We just-- we don't use our friends that way."

Her expression softens. "I would not view it in that light. My people consider it an honor to be called upon by a friend in time of need."

"And I consider it an honor that you would offer to help," he tells her very earnestly, "but I can't ask you to do that. I can handle this, Teyla. I really can."

She bows her head. "As you wish, Colonel." But there is no conviction in her voice.

***

Of all the people John has ever tried to avoid, Rodney is by far the easiest. Probably because he's such a creature of habit, or else he's just as intent on steering clear of John. Either way, they rarely see each other outside of work, and this gives John some much-needed breathing room. His distraction rights itself, and the odd looks people have been giving him disappear. Business as usual, and only John knows how terrifyingly empty it is.

He thinks back to other situations, other postings, times when the longing for men backed up on him. It was so much simpler then. He could always tell himself: What does it matter? You like women, too. Just go for what's behind door number one. And that did the trick. But this isn't about wanting cock. This is wanting Rodney, and there's no convenient platitude to make not having him feel like less of a deprivation.

John tries not to stew about it, not all that successfully. When someone knocks at his door unexpectedly a week later, his heart leaps in ridiculous anticipation as he says, "Come in."

The door slides open, and it's not Rodney, but Teyla standing there, dressed in a plain white robe, her expression solemn.

"What's wrong--"

She steps inside, locks the door. "You could not ask me to help you, Colonel. John. I understand that. So I have taken matters into my own hands."

"Teyla--"

She comes closer, and John catches her scent, clean and earthy as always, but tonight there's something else, as well. Sweat and metal and old coffee, and John realizes with a sharp pang how much he's missed Rodney's smell.

It's all impulse what happens next, pulling Teyla against him, pressing his face against her neck, breathing in long, desperate gasps. When he does finally remember himself, he drops his hands, stutters back a step. "Sorry."

Teyla shakes her head. Her voice is gentle, "That is why I am here, John. Take what you need."

Whatever he's going to say--something noble, something prudent--it gets lost when she unties her robe and lets it fall to the floor. Because this isn't some empty-headed stranger in a bar. It's Teyla, who understands and is still here, whose milky coffee skin makes him want to touch so badly. His gaze lingers on her breasts, full and dark at the nipples, and he pictures Rodney's hands there, Rodney's body pressed against hers. John licks his lips and imagines kissing Teyla's delicate collarbone where Rodney's mouth has no doubt already been.

"John," she says softly, opening her arms.

He steps into them, puts his hands on her hips. Her skin is hot under his palms, as if Rodney's heat has seeped into her and lingered. He tilts her chin and kisses her, exploring her mouth, her taste and Rodney's. For once consolation doesn't feel so desolate.

"Come." She takes his hand, leads him to bed.

They lie down, and her hands move over him efficiently, stripping away his clothes. They tangle together on the sheets, the two of them, and a shimmer of Rodney. Whatever conscience John has about doing this is drowned out by need. He kisses Teyla hungrily, imagining Rodney's lips on hers, his lips on Rodney's. His body moves against Teyla's, his cock hard, wet against her thigh.

She strokes his hair and trembles beneath his hands and murmurs, "Yes, John. Anything."

He flutters kisses down over her belly. She obligingly opens her legs, and he kneels between her thighs, taking a moment just to look. She's swollen and wet, from arousal, from Rodney fucking her.

"God," John's voice breaks.

She pulls at his shoulders, and he bends his head. She's salt-sweet, and Rodney is bitter, and John licks eagerly, wanting as much of them both as he can get. Teyla's fingers sink into his hair, holding him against her. Every breathy little moan makes his cock ache.

She comes against his tongue, again, again, and then he moves up her body, reaching for the nightstand drawer.

"Can I--"

"Yes." Her face is flushed, her eyes bright.

She touches his cock, just one finger at first, tracing the vein, then with her whole hand, gripping him. It's so good he has to squeeze his eyes shut against the sensation.

He rolls on the condom and kisses her as he pushes inside. Teyla's sweet body, and the smell of Rodney between them, and John closes his eyes, starts to move.

Teyla winds her legs around his waist, taking him deeper. She runs her nails up his back. "Take everything you need, John."

He thrusts harder, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

"Teyla," he pants. "Rodney."

He feels her climax, the hot clench of her body around his cock, and he braces his hands against the pillows, pushing into her.

"God."

She opens her eyes, her lips moist, softly parted. "Give in to your pleasure."

Her hand glides down his back. Her fingers trail along his cleft, and she pushes one finger in, hard and fast. The delicious shock of it makes his body jerk violently, makes him come, biting his lip.

Afterwards, he lies beside her, and they hold hands.

"You won't tell him, will you?" he asks, staring up at the ceiling.

"Not if you do not wish it."

He nods. "Thanks."

They're quiet again after that. When Teyla leaves his bed at last, the sheets rustle softly. She pulls her robe back on, and John gets up, goes to her. After a moment's awkwardness, they touch foreheads.

"Thank you," he whispers.

She kisses his cheek. "You are welcome."

***

If anyone had ever asked John whether it was possible to play a game of sexual telephone that didn't end in disaster, he's sure he would have said no. And yet, there are times after that night when he almost wonders if it happened at all. Teyla regards him with the same bemused warmth as always. If she and Rodney share a smile every now and then, that's the only thing that's different. John puts the experience on a mental shelf, something to keep but not look at very often. He certainly never expects to repeat it.

But then, they barely evade a Genii ambush on a bucolic little Constable painting of a world where they're trying to trade for chaana beans. They run for the stargate, and even back in the control room, John's heart is still pounding, the adrenaline surging. In that moment, he's so profoundly aware of both Teyla and Rodney it's like he's drowning in them. He doesn't ask, but Teyla shows up at his door later that evening, the scent of Rodney on her skin. After that, there's no pretense that they won't continue. Teyla just seems to know what he needs, and John lets himself take it.

Today's off-world misadventure is on PCX-619, where they manage to stumble onto an abandoned minefield, and John just barely grabs Rodney's arm in time to keep him from blowing himself up. They come home, debrief, and John can tell by the look in Teyla's eyes that this is going to be one of those nights. He goes to the mess hall to wait it out. Rodney is no slap-dash lover. Even once removed, John appreciates that. He picks up an apple and a bottle of water and joins Ronon, who is in the middle of what has to be his fifth meal of the day.

"Looks good," John says conversationally.

"Mm-hmm," Ronon mumbles around a mouthful of mashed potato-like vegetable.

John bites into his apple and tries not to fidget. A few tables over, Adams is eating alone. He keeps his head down, eyes focused on his tray as if nothing else exists. Since John laid down the law, there have been no more incidents, but Adams hasn't exactly made any friends.

Ronon glances up, follows John's line of vision. "I heard about that."

"Yeah?" This is hardly surprising. Ronon hears about everything.

"Just so you know. I would have taken care of it if the Marines hadn't."

John stares at him. He's never known Ronon to have issues about anything having to do with sex. "Why?"

Ronon gives him the usual I-can't-believe-I-have-to-explain-this look. "Because you're the leader. On Sateda a man who spoke against his commander was a dead man. If you ask me, Adams got off easy for what he said about you and McKay."

John frowns. "He--"

Ronon casts a derisive glance in Adams' direction. "Found out the hard way your personal life is none of his business."

"Uh, yeah." John lurches to his feet. "I've got to--"

Ronon nods and goes back to his pot roast. John doubletimes it to Teyla's, but there's no answer. On the way back to his room, he tries to make sense of it. So…people already think he and McKay are involved, and the Marines were actually coming to their defense. That's just-- John doesn't even have a word for it, although some combination of "humbling" and "amazing" seems to come closest. He isn't sure if it changes things, because there will always be people like Adams. But still. There will always be people like Ronon and Lorne, too. So maybe. Maybe it changes something. And if there's a maybe in the picture, he can't keep on doing what he's been doing with Teyla.

By the time she appears at his door, he's gotten himself a little worked up about it. "Teyla, you know how much I appreciate what you're doing for me, right? But I think-- Maybe--" He paces. He can't stand still.

Her face lights up. "Does this mean you are reconsidering the viability of a relationship with Dr. McKay?"

He nods. "Yes. Okay, I'm not sure. But maybe."

She takes his hand. "I am very glad for you, John. Will you go and speak with him now? I believe you should."

She doesn't say "before you lose your nerve," but John has learned a thing or two about Teyla and her silent parentheticals.

He runs a hand through his hair. "Not that I know what to say."

She smiles. "I feel certain you will figure it out."

"Teyla, I want you to know--"

She cuts him off with the soft pressure of her mouth. "It has been my honor."

He opens the door for her, and standing on the other side is Rodney. His expression is mobile, first pleased, then surprised, then-- not so pleased.

Teyla glances from him to John very solemnly. "I will leave the two of you to talk."

Rodney watches her retreat down the wall, his expression darkening. John yanks him by the arm into his room. Maybe it really is different on Atlantis, but that doesn't mean they can afford a public explosion.

"So I guess there are two options here," Rodney says, jaw clenched. "Either Teyla is a slut, which seems unlikely since...Teyla. Or else there was actually a reason she told me that long-winded story about youthful hunters and thwarted desire and well-meaning stand-ins."

"Look, McKay, it's not--"

John's not sure what he's trying to say, and he doesn't get much of a chance to figure it out. Rodney hauls off and punches him, the surprise of it landing John on his ass.

He rubs at his jaw and slowly gets to his feet, mustering all the sarcasm he's capable of, "So...I guess the whole gay thing was more appealing in theory, huh?"

Rodney stares a good, long moment, then sputters, "You-- I'll have you know I came over here to confess to you about sleeping with Teyla, like I was cheating on you or something. Even though you told me oh, so unceremoniously to move on, and I never got so much as a blowjob out of you. But, hey, that's just the kind of idiot I am about you. And then I find--"

John shifts uncomfortably. "I'm sorry about that. Rodney, I swear--"

Rodney points his finger. "And how dare you accuse me of being the homophobe here! Need I remind you that I'm not the one who's been using our friend as a go-between?" He glares indignantly. "I thought you just didn't want me, that you decided I'm too big a pain in the ass to get involved with. It's not like that hasn't happened to me before. And hey," he jabs a finger into his own chest, "not pathetic, not going to grovel. Only apparently you do want me. You're just sublimating it because…of what? Your military's narrow-minded regulations? That's so incredibly pathetic I'd be embarrassed for you if I wasn't so fucking pissed off!"

"It's not about that. You know I don't give a shit about regulations, not when they're stupid!"

But Rodney isn't listening. "What are you so afraid of? That you won't be named to the Joint Chiefs someday? Newsflash. That's a hopeless cause anyway. Or maybe you just can't stand the idea that the women of Atlantis might stop having spontaneous orgasms every time you walk by if you start screwing a guy?"

"Shut the fuck up, Rodney! Do you honestly think I'd," he waves his hand, easier than putting actual words to what he was doing with Teyla, "if that's all this was about?"

"Then what? What could be so bad? Because," the way Rodney looks at him feels like a hot fist is twisting his insides, "you and me, that could be so--"

"That could get us dead," John says with brutal matter-of-factness.

Rodney stares, slowly comprehending. "Surely, you don't mean--"

"It happens. Trust me." Memories from Afghanistan project in his mind like an unwelcome slideshow. "Backup comes a little too late. Somebody calls off a rescue a little too soon."

Rodney is shaking his head. "That wouldn't happen here. Not on Atlantis. You know it wouldn't."

"I want to believe that," John says tiredly.

"So, believe it!"

Rodney grabs him by the front of his T-shirt, not gently, and hauls him into a kiss. Reasons why they shouldn't melt away with firsthand knowledge of Rodney's mouth. Big and wide, and Rodney kisses the same way he solves life-and-death problems, throwing everything he has at it. He splays a hand over John's ass and pulls him close. His body radiates heat just as John has imagined, solid and hard and all for him.

"Rodney," he murmurs.

It has nothing to do with stopping, but Rodney doesn't realize that.

"Shut up. You used me, and you used Teyla, and you fucking owe me this, you underhanded, manipulative bastard."

"Sweet talker," John says against his mouth.

Rodney bites his neck, hard enough to leave a mark, still angry. "You want sweet talk? How's this? Get your clothes off and get on the bed."

John doesn't obey the order. He takes Rodney's face in his hands, kissing more slowly, stroking Rodney's hair. Rodney's breath stutters, but he doesn't relent, not at once. John curves an arm around his waist and rubs his back and keeps kissing.

The tension gradually leaves Rodney's body. "Okay, okay, I get it. You worry." He pulls John's T-shirt out of his waistband, up over his head. "And fine. We can be discreet. We can be secret agents of sex if that's what you want." He undoes John's belt with big, grabby hands and pushes John's pants down over his hips. "But we are doing this."

John kicks his pants the rest of the way off. Rodney stares and touches him, lightly, just on his side, but it's enough to make John shake.

"Get on the bed," Rodney says again, more gently.

The world tilts as John lies down. His skin is buzzing, and he feels so naked, on his back, hard, watching Rodney undress for him. Rodney's confidence seems to desert him a little now that he's no longer propelled by outrage. He crooks his arm awkwardly in front of him, suddenly self-conscious without his clothes.

When he starts toward the bed, John tells him, "Wait."

If he really gets to have this, then he wants it all. His gaze moves lazily over Rodney's body, broad chest, thick cock, sturdy legs. He hears the rough intake of Rodney's breath, and then Rodney rubs a hand teasingly over his own belly, apparently developing a new appreciation for being looked at.

John smiles. "Come here."

And the thing is: there really is no substitute for this, no preparation for how good it feels, Rodney half lying on top of him, all sharp angles and hard cock and soft skin, touching John everywhere, making him light up the way Atlantis lights up for him. He remembers sitting in the chair that first time, sensation surging through him, Rodney's eyes so hot and focused. It wasn't finding out about aliens or wormholes or distant galaxies that made it such a gut-punch, he realizes now. It was just this, just them.

Rodney presses his face against John's throat. "Teyla, she's really-- but still-- still, I wanted you so damned much."

That is just too hot to stand, and John flips them over, moves down the bed. Rodney stares, kind of stunned, the way he might look if let loose in a ZPM discount warehouse. John swirls his tongue around the head of Rodney's cock, licking at the salt there, renewing his acquaintance with Rodney's taste.

Rodney's eyes widen. "Did you-- my-- from her--"

John smiles around his cock.

"God!" Rodney thrashes his head on the pillow and comes, just like that.

Pleasure hums all through John, and he hasn't even gotten off yet, and he can't remember the last time he felt like that. He's guessing never. He slides back up beside Rodney, slips an arm around him, nuzzles his neck.

It takes a little while, but Rodney finally gets hold of himself enough to ask, "What do you want?" His hands move over John's body, like he can't quite believe it's allowed, like he's going to keep doing it anyway.

"I want you to kiss me."

So Rodney does, deep and slow and dirty, one big hand wrapped around John's cock. Rodney's palms are broad, his fingers long, surprisingly callused. John holds onto Rodney's shoulders and pushes into his grip and doesn't have to worry that he's calling the right name when he comes.

Afterwards, he feels wrung out in the best possible way. Rodney flops against him, head on his shoulder. "You know we're going to have to do something really nice for Teyla."

"She said it's an honor among her people to help a friend in need."

Rodney snorts against his jaw. "I'm sure you think it's always an honor to sleep with you."

John rolls his eyes. "Okay. How about some of your chocolate then?"

Rodney goes still. "She did sleep with both of us. Maybe the honor is enough."

John grins. He laces their fingers together, and Rodney glances up at him. John has to admit he likes the way Rodney looks in his bed, happy and rumpled and filled with colonial aspirations.

"You have no intention of leaving anytime soon, do you?

Rodney shakes his head.

"Because that discretion thing we talked about--?"

Rodney yawns, snuggles closer. "I'll come up with some brilliant plan for sneaking out of your room in the morning. And if that somehow fails and the secret gets out, I'm sure we can depend on Ronon to maim anyone who so much as looks at us the wrong way."

Just the idea of that necessity makes John tighten his hold on Rodney, smoking wreckage and scraped knuckles and a doomed voice splashing up from the pool of things he tries to forget.

Rodney lifts his head to look at him. "You will tell me about it."

Not a request.

"Sometime."

Not a promise.

Rodney studies him a moment, before settling his head back against John's shoulder. "Fair enough."

And John thinks: maybe it finally is.

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

swanswan.livejournal.com

YAY LENORE SGA STORY YAY! SO GOOD! I loved the banter and the cameraderie and the Athosian festival and Teyla in her white robe, and when John pulled her close and sniffed her neck, I nearly MOANED ALOUD. Hot!!!

Ahhh this is a good day.

From:

Not a homecoming queen

SGA FIC: Parsus, Part 2/2 (John/Rodney, other pairings, NC-17)

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