Chapter Text
The day after Rodney fucked him into the mattress -- and, God, he was going to think twice about letting Rodney do that to him again, because he could feel it every time he moved -- Lorne's team went missing on M22-338. It was a first contact mission, and it could be argued that there was nothing worse than going missing on first contact. Nearly every time John had ever been thrown into jail by the natives, it had been first contact.
There was a hurried, desperate briefing in which the Yel-Ganta were mentioned, and by the time John escaped, his team had assembled in the locker room, geared up and ready to go. Going anywhere at all was unlikely unless they could find out for certain that Lorne's team's disappearance had nothing to do with what had happened to SGA-1, but Atlantis had become a 'just in case' kind of base, so it didn't surprise John to see them.
John had been stationed on a lot of those, actually. The kind where you took your radio with you to take a piss and your gun when going for a jog.
They were still in the locker room when Ronon said, "We could check the waystation planets," in his low, gruffly matter-of-fact tone. "If it's a trap at the 'gate, those 'gates won't be rigged."
"We still do not know how the Yel-Ganta managed to render our entire team unconscious at once," Teyla agreed. "It would be unwise to fall into the same trap twice."
"Fool me once," John nodded.
"Waystation planets?" Rodney asked, throwing Ronon an arched brow while he cocked a foot up onto one of the benches to adjust his thigh holster; John had to avert his eyes. "What, the planet with the empty temples?"
Rodney was looking insufferably smug, a little extra swagger in his step, perhaps to make up for John's utter inability to swagger without wincing and making it completely obvious that he'd been fucked in the ass last night until he could barely stand up. John didn't much begrudge him the swagger. He'd spent a few hours with a big cup of coffee and the Ancient database that morning, and he'd made a couple of interesting discoveries. He had no doubt he'd get back some of his own. And he was pretty sure Rodney knew that.
"That's what the runners call 'em," Ronon told them. "Mostly we wake up on one the first time, when they first let us loose to run."
"Them," John repeated, frowning. "Them, you mean plural? As in more than one?"
"Yeah, I know what plural means," Ronon agreed, giving John a narrow look. "And yeah, there are a bunch of 'em."
"And you didn't think maybe we needed to know this?" Rodney demanded, giving John a look that said he was on the same page, and it was not a happy ending page. "That they were Wraith associated planets?"
Ronon shrugged. "Thought it was obvious," he said, and John tapped his radio on at the same time.
"Colonel Carter, I'm gonna need--" he paused to give Ronon a look. "How many do you know?"
"Six," Ronon said. "Six that I know; there're probably more."
And John couldn't even yell at him, really; Ronon hadn't been in the command staff meeting, damnit. There was no way he could've known that the rest of them didn't know, that there was still so much that Atlantis didn't know. And Teyla had told him that Ronon knew the planet. John should have pursued it. "--five teams," he tells Sam. "Get them kitted out and ready to gate out in fifteen. We're on our way to the control room with 'gate addresses."
"From now on," John told him as they headed for the control room, "just assume we don't know anything."
"I told you I'd been there before," Ronon muttered; the look he gave John was as close to exasperated as Ronon was really capable of. "You didn't ask."
"I know, buddy, I know," John said, wincing as they pounded down the stairs. "Not your fault."
It took a little while to relay the information to Carter. Ronon told her about the waystation planets, and what he thought the Wraith did with them. It turned out that most of the planets he knew of had once hosted whole Wraith-worshipping civilizations, most of which had been destroyed by a coalition of planets that no longer existed call the Cabal. Sateda had been a member. The planets were left vacant, he told them, for centuries. They weren't safe to go to until the temples fell down. The Wraith used them for bases, staging grounds, anything they needed solid land for.
There were whole histories written about the Cabal, Ronon informed them. Everyone knew about it, and knew that once upon a time, it had mounted what could be construed as a holy war against wraith-worshipping civilizations.
"The Zeel," Ronon told them. "The Romriigin, the Kaltekin. They're children's stories. They made deals with the Wraith so their own worlds prospered to the detriment of other worlds. They raided through the 'rings and stole people."
Teyla looked grim. "I have heard these stories. The tales say that the temples housed great markets where those captured were housed until the Wraith came, and "paid" for the captives with stolen life for their worshippers. I have not heard of them used, however, and did not know the addresses for them were even known any longer. I assumed they'd been lost to time, if they had ever existed at all."
Carter nodded, looking grim, and turned to Ronon. "You think the 'gate to Yel-Ganta was rigged somehow?"
Ronon shrugged. "It's the only thing that makes sense."
"No, he's right," Rodney agreed, frowning. "How else could they have rendered the whole team unconscious at one time?" He fiddled with the datapad he was holding, his mouth twisting further into a lopsided frown. "The effects of whatever they used weren't unlike something along the lines of a Wraith stunner," he added. "And I've been stunned often enough to know."
John nodded slowly, less certain. "It's hard to know for sure, but it could've been. We were unconscious for a while longer than a stunner blast usually lasts, and being tied up made it hard to tell if there was numbness or tingling."
"Okay," Carter said. "Let's work under the assumption that the Yel-Ganta, at least, have something that stuns people as they come through the gate. That rules out going there to check for the Major's team." She turned to Chuck. "Can you figure out where the closest 'gate to Yel-Ganta is and how long it'd take a Jumper to make it from there to the planet?"
"Yes, Ma'am," Chuck agreed, turning toward his console.
"I don't think Yel-Ganta is the place to look," John said thoughtfully, and it was true, he didn't, though he wasn't sure exactly why he thought so. "Besides, I've got something set up with the Nadrai. Fina's looking into it for me."
Carter cocked a brow at him. "Something you should have let me know in the debriefing, Colonel?"
John shrugged awkwardly. "There's no guarantee the Nadrai will find anything out, but maybe I should have mentioned it."
"Maybe," Carter agreed too-brightly. "Why don't you give me the details now."
"Well, because there aren't really any details," John admitted. "The Yel-Ganta traded with the Nadrai for salt until we came along. I asked Fina to pretend the incident with the kidnapping had strained relations between the Nadrai and Atlantis, and to approach the Yel-Ganta to see about trading with them for salt again. If they seemed agreeable, I figured Fina could let us know, and we could send someone or someones along with the Nadrai trade contingent when they went to Yel-Ganta, just to take a look around and see if we could learn anything."
"You asked the Nadrai to put themselves at risk like that?" Carter demanded, eyes narrowed.
John held up both hands. "Believe me, this was a lot less risky than the war-party they wanted to send!"
Carter made a face, but didn't pursue it further, so John guessed she believed him. "Okay, let's get teams out to the six addresses Ronon knows for the waystation planets first; if we don't find anything, we'll circle back to the Yel-Ganta."
For once, it wasn't John's team that ended up finding the wayward team; about six minutes was enough with a jumper to be sure the temple-structures -- and it turned out there were several on each of the waystation planets -- were empty of life signs, so John's team was gone eighteen minutes round trip, including the walk to the Jumper bay and back to the control room.
By the time they got back, SGA-4 had called in to report that they'd located the Major and his team and were on their way in. Six minutes later they brought Lorne's people through in Jumper Four, two of the four of them still unconscious. Keller swooped in with a swarm of medics, and soon everyone was awake and talking and obviously hale and hearty, and John's team stood around fidgeting in full gear.
Ronon said, "This is boring," and left.
John exchanged a look with Rodney; he privately agreed with Ronon, but as the C.O. he sort of had to hang around. Rodney cocked a brow and shrugged. "You guys go on; I've got to go to the debrief."
"It's our, ah, chess night," Rodney mentioned in what was surely supposed to be a casual voice, but really really wasn't.
John would've been irritated except Teyla was the only one around to hear it, and Teyla either already knew and didn't care, or just flat didn't care. She was already headed off toward the exit of the Jumper bay, probably eager to see Torren.
"I'll catch you later," John said, waving Rodney off.
The debrief took forever even though it was essentially a remix of the same song John's team had sung when they'd gone to the first contact mission to Yel-Ganta.
"Do we think the Yel-Ganta had something to do with this," Carter wanted to know, "or should we be looking for some other group entirely, some group that's working through these people?"
"Does it matter?" John asked. "If it's someone else, the easiest way to find out is to start with questioning the Yel-Ganta. Then we can go on from there, depending on what the Yel-Ganta have to say."
"That's easier said than done, Colonel; we can't use the Stargate to go to Yel-Ganta unless we're sure it's not going to incapacitate an incoming team." Carter was being more obtuse than usual, and John was bored and uncomfortable as hell sitting his sore ass on the hard conference room chairs for what seemed like eternity. He was a little less diplomatic than was strictly advisable when he answered.
"Which would be why I asked the Nadrai for help."
"Without any kind of authorization or communication via the chain of command," Carter reminded him.
"I did what I had to do to safeguard the lives of both the Nadrai and the Yel-Ganta," John said tightly. "Isn't that my job."
Carter sighed. "You don't need me to tell you what your job is, Colonel," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose between forefinger and thumb. "Just try to remember you report to me? At least occasionally?"
"Yes, ma'am," John said, even feeling slightly repentant for the whole thing.
She waved him off with a distinctly Rodney-ish gesture that he was pretty sure she'd be horrified to realize she'd picked up, but had John grinning broadly.
By now, Rodney would have found what John had left in his quarters and would be attempting to figure out what they were via the Ancient database. John stopped in the mess to grab a sandwich -- Rodney would have already eaten, and John was going to want to keep up his strength for the evening game of "chess."
***
"These look like Wonder Woman's magic bracelets," was the first thing Rodney said as John walked through the door.
"That so?" John asked, letting his voice drop just for the pleasure of watching Rodney swing his face around to look at him, eyes wide and startled. "Then let's see how they look, Wonder Woman."
"Wait, what...?"
"Just put them on, Rodney," John said, and took a couple of steps forward, stripping off his jacket as he came in and tossing it onto the bed. He didn't intend them to be using it, so he stripped off his thigh-holster and tossed it atop his jacket.
Rodney was watching him uncertainly, still holding the two blue-white rings that John had tracked down that morning in a recessed panel in the same room in which the energy cell was located. He supposed they should've checked that room out a little more thoroughly, but John didn't feel too bad about it. The satisfaction of Rodney having no idea of what he was holding was totally worth not having them available to them earlier. It wasn't like they'd really needed them.
"What are they?" Rodney asked, but his eyes were gleaming with something like suspicion, and John figured he'd probably guessed at least part of it. That was okay, though. There was no way Rodney could know all the details, and it was the details John was looking forward to demonstrating most.
"Don't make me put them on you myself," John said casually, not really serious about it until he saw the way Rodney flushed in response. Then it all got very serious very quickly.
John took a single step toward him, and was half-amazed and half-gratified to see Rodney retreating backward, still holding the blue-white metal of the rings in both hands. He looked both unnerved and uncertain, but John could see the tent he was throwing in his khakis from ten feet away. "Don't make me make you," John tried, surprised at the way the words came out, low and rough and even menacing, doubly surprised at the way Rodney reacted to them, taking another step back at the same time he thrust the bracelets out toward John with an expression that bordered on desperation.
John closed the distance between them and took the bracelets; Rodney's hands, he saw, were trembling minutely as he handed them over. John thought about it for about .4 seconds, and then took another totally unnecessary step, moving into Rodney's space and crowding him back up against the wall for no reason other than it seemed like the thing to do.
Rodney sucked in a breath sharply, back thudding against the wall, but his eyes where wide and dazed, his mouth open and wet.
"You want me to make you, huh, Rodney?" John murmured, low and sultry, and watched the color come up in Rodney's cheeks even as some of the dazedness left his gaze to be replaced by bright, hot want. "You want to see what they do, yeah?"
"Yeah," Rodney replied hoarsely, and licked his lips. John dipped in to give Rodney's lips a lick as well, and he tipped his head back obligingly, lips parted and sweetly open for John's tongue. He gasped when John shoved him a little more firmly against the wall and caught one of Rodney's wrists within the tight circle of his hand.
The bracelet in that hand clicked open soundlessly with a thought and sealed tightly around Rodney's wrist with another, and John knew from having messed with them already himself that they join was so perfect as to appear seamless. Rodney jerked his hand up to stare at it, and then to stare accusingly at John. "Where did you get this?" he demanded, and John ignored him completely to duck in for another kiss, preferring Rodney all kiss-flushed and ruffled to receiving a lecture on the proper chain of custody for new Ancient devices.
"Relax, Rodney, I'm following proper protocol here. They're going directly from my custody to yours." Rodney snorted and opened his mouth -- probably to say something about how this wasn't at all what the protocol was intended to cover -- and John took advantage of his distraction to capture his other wrist and snap the second bracelet into place. "There," John said, and grasped Rodney by his improbably thick biceps, pushing him hard back into the wall. Rodney let himself be pushed, and that was enough to wind the coil of heat between John's hipbones even tighter, because Rodney could resist if he wanted to, and do a fairly damned good job of it. John had seen him do it, had seen him getting better and better over the course of the last four years, and that just made the lack of any kind of resistance better somehow.
John leaned in and kissed Rodney's mouth open, really taking his time with it, a move designed primarily to evoke precisely the reaction Rodney gave him; he clutched at John's shirt briefly, then shoved both hands greedily beneath it, hands hot and needy on John's skin. John caught his wrists in both hands and gave him a shark's grin when Rodney tried to jerk them free.
"John," Rodney groaned, and his voice was already wrecked, and John found he was not all that surprised that he was already getting off on this new thing they had going on, that it already felt almost familiar to see Rodney all dazed and flushed, and to want to make him helpless as well.
God, John thought as the idea of Rodney helpless surged straight to his cock, and pulled Rodney's arms up so his hands were level with his shoulders. He shoved Rodney's wrists back against the wall with more force than was really necessary just to hear Rodney make a short, gasping sound of mingled pain and surprise. He engaged the bracelets with a thought, and then took a step back.
"Got you," he murmured, and waited.
He didn't have to wait long; one thing you could never say about Rodney was that he was slow on the uptake. He made one quick, aborted attempt to step forward, and realization shone on his face for an instant, bright understanding quickly eclipsed by something much darker and hotter. John watched Rodney test the bracelets, straining against them for several seconds, biceps bunching and forearms flexing, and it was hot as hell, it was almost as good to see him fight as it was to see him not fight. When he relaxed it was all at once, whole body going loose and almost languid; John was a little surprised that he kept his feet. His wrists stayed firmly against the wall, and his chin went down, resting against his chest as he panted for breath. He was trembling, John saw, same as he'd been back on the planet with the purple moon, and when he looked up again his eyes were bright with something John couldn't sort out, something complicated and intense.
"Satisfied?" John asked softly, and Rodney blinked at him and then dipped his head, cheeks and ears flushing darkly. "Got you right where you want you, huh, Rodney?"
John dropped to his knees at Rodney's feet and looked up at him, splayed against the wall with his cock a hard ridge distending the fly of his khakis.
"Oh, God," Rodney gasped out weakly, and John ran the side of his thumb along the length of Rodney's cock, pausing to trace the flare of the head which was clearly outlined through the material. Rodney's hands twitched above the smooth metal of the cuffs, then went loose again. Rodney was staring down at John's hands, eyes wide and surprised, as though whatever he'd expected about what they were going to do next, it hadn't been this.
John wasn't worried about what Rodney had expected, though. It was his turn, and he wanted this, wanted Rodney pinned against the wall and gasping as John cupped him through his pants.
"John," Rodney groaned and pushed his cock roughly into the heel of John's hand. "Yeah, oh," he whispered thickly, and John thought about blowing him, hearing his groan like that, all hoarse-voiced and reverent while John swallowed his cock.
It would be good, yeah, but it wasn't quite what he was looking for. He unbuttoned Rodney's khakis and shoved them down his legs, taking his boxers with them; the whole thing bunched up on top of his boots, and Rodney's cock jutted almost angry-looking from the light brown brush of his pubic hair. It was dark red and already seeping fluid. John leaned in casually to lick it away, sharp and astringent, a taste John loved. Rodney groaned and rocked his head back against the wall, hips attempting to sway forward and follow John's mouth until John pinned them to the wall with both hands.
John slid his mouth around the head of Rodney's cock and sucked lightly, eyes open and aimed up toward Rodney's face. Rodney swung his head to one side, mouth slack and wet; his hips strained against John's hands.
When John pulled away, Rodney made an inarticulate noise of objection and tipped his head forward to look at John; that pleading look was back in his eyes, the one John remembered from the planet, and John loved it. John couldn't fucking believe they'd been fucking for months without ever having seen anything like it on Rodney's face, because he was well on his way to wanting to do nothing but find ways of putting that look on Rodney's face.
Rodney seemed to feel the same way about whatever he was seeing on John's face -- John suspected it might be slack-jawed lust -- because he was staring at John and taking short, gasping breaths; it sounded like Rodney had forgotten how to breathe, and John liked the sound of it just fine.
He reached up and touched the bands at Rodney's wrists which came away from the wall easily at his mental command. "They're keyed to whoever puts them on you," John told Rodney as he gently pulled downward until Rodney slid down to his knees, his wrists still trapped in John's hands. "You can't take them off yourself, and no one else can take them off for you." Rodney's breath hitched, and John grinned. "And they'll adhere to anything." He proved this by pushing Rodney's wrists down and back and pressing them against the sides of Rodney's boots, leaving him arched slightly backward. John slid one knee in between Rodney's and nudged them farther apart.
"Jesus," Rodney whispered shakily, and John leaned in to kiss him, pressing in hard enough that Rodney had to struggle against his center of gravity to stay upright; even so, his mouth was open and gasping under John's lips, and all John had to do was glance down at the jut of Rodney's cock to be sure Rodney was having a good time.
John stood up, and said, "I want to feed you my cock. I want to see your face this time."
And Rodney went a little bit crazy. He groaned out John's name, long and low and pained, and leaned forward so abruptly that he'd have tipped forward onto his face if John hadn't been standing right in front of him. Instead of faceplanting on the ground, Rodney faceplanted at the crease between John's hip and thigh, buried his face in that crease and groaned out something too muffled for John to be sure of, but that certainly sounded like it could have been: "Please."
John found himself with his hand cupping the back of Rodney's neck, his thumb fanning gently along the fine hair at his nape, and murmuring, "Shh, I've got you," in a low, soothing voice he hadn't even been aware he possessed.
Rodney groaned into John's hip, then turned his face to mouth at the shape of John's cock through his BDUs. John jerked them open left handed, clumsily -- unwilling to move his right hand away from the back of Rodney's neck for reasons he chose not to look too closely at -- and didn't even bother stripping down properly. It was somehow hotter not to, so he just shoved his boxer briefs down far enough to get his cock and balls free and left his BDUs hanging low on his hips.
Rodney went immediately for his cock, but John held him still with the hand on his neck until Rodney stopped straining and was still under his hand. John was so hard he could barely think, but he'd been thinking about this all day -- thinking about whether or not Rodney would let him do it -- so it didn't take much in the way of planning. He lifted his cock in his left hand and held it out of the way and drew Rodney close with his right.
Rodney didn't even hesitate.
John let out a gasping breath when Rodney pressed his lips against John's balls, all hot tongue and open mouth. He was breathing fast through his nose, would've been panting if his mouth hadn't been otherwise occupied, and making short, rough noises of desire, noises that were all throaty consonants.
"Put them..." John gasped, but he didn't have to finish the sentence because Rodney was already doing it, tipping his head and sucking John's balls into his hot mouth. "Oh, fuuuck," John hissed, his head rolling back on his neck as wet heat surrounded his balls and spiraled upward to curl at the base of his spine. Rodney moaned, and John's knees nearly buckled at the vibration. It was good, fantastic even, one of those things John had always wanted, but if there was a graceful way to ask for it, John had never found it. He looked down at McKay and saw his flushed face and tightly closed eyes -- there were already wet trails streaking from the corners, something John made a mental note to really devote some thought to later, because he knew he wasn't choking Rodney this time -- and had to squeeze the base of his own cock to avert an immediate evening-ending incident. "Enough, that's enough," he gasped out, voice unsteady, and Rodney pulled back slowly, careful to keep his teeth to himself, and immediately tipped his head back, panting harshly, eyes closed, mouth wet and red.
"God," John said without anything resembling forethought, everything that entered his head just falling right out of his mouth like stones down a well. "I wish I had one of those fucking gag-things, the ones that hold your mouth open that you see in bondage flicks." And John probably would have flushed at having even thought it, let alone said it, but Rodney's eyes snapped open, and they were wet and startled and bright as live coals. His eyes left no doubt at all that if John did have one of those, Rodney would have let him use it.
Fuck, John thought, and really, really wished he did. Not because Rodney wasn't going to suck his cock -- Rodney was, of course, Rodney wanted to almost as much as John wanted him to -- but because of how it would look, God, and how it would feel to make Rodney helpless like that. It was shocking how much John wanted to do that, how much he wanted to have the power to do that, and he felt sure that thirty-eight was far too late in life to be finding something like that out about yourself.
"Christ, Rodney," John grated out, and Rodney's mouth dropped open like that was some kind of code word. "Fuck," John said, and dragged his right hand from behind Rodney's neck to cradle the side of his jaw instead, sliding his thumb into Rodney's mouth as he did. Rodney's tongue flicked across the side of John's thumb, but otherwise he did nothing at all as John slid the pad of his thumb along Rodney's bottom teeth on one side and pushed down. Rodney's jaw went loose and John opened him up, simple and smooth as anything, and it was easily the hottest thing John had ever done. Again.
He looked down at Rodney's naked thighs and widespread knees, his cock thick and vulnerable thrusting out from the V of his thighs; there was a dime sized droplet of moisture on the floor. The head of Rodney's cock was shiny with it. Rodney's biceps were flexing minutely, just the slightest bunch and release of muscles; when John leaned to look behind him, he saw it was because Rodney was twisting his wrists in the bracelets methodically, over and over.
"Okay," John said, and hooked the thumb of his left hand over the top of his cock bringing the tip in line with Rodney's open mouth. Once again this was going to be over embarrassingly quickly, but John couldn't bring himself to care. He slid the tip of his cock between Rodney's lips; it rode along the side of his thumb as he pushed inside, and Rodney's eyes fluttered closed. "Okay," John whispered, and used his free hand to cradle the back of Rodney's skull, tipping his chin up deliberately.
The first difference was the angle; it was perfect this time, exactly optimal; John wasn't balanced on his toes or peripherally aware of the stone edge of the alter digging into the back of his hand. Conditions were perfect, and the result was that John slid smoothly into Rodney's throat without a single hitch, all the way in with one long, slow push. Rodney swallowed once, hard, but he didn't choke, didn't make much sound at all aside from a low moan that was barely a hum. John groaned deeply, convinced to the depths of his soul that nothing felt better than being balls deep in Rodney's throat; nothing could possibly be wetter or hotter. "Yeah," he gasped, and pulled back; Rodney's eyes were tearing freely, but he made a low, strangled sound of objection, which John chose to take as an invitation.
John had had a lot of sex in his life. He was reasonably attractive and generally pretty open-minded and easy-going, and that'd taken him a long way. He'd fucked a lot of people, and he'd had a lot of blowjobs, but he'd only fucked someone's mouth once before, and he was finding the second time to be every bit as phenomenally good as the first time. Rodney's throat worked around the head of his cock with every thrust, and the way he just took it, John's hands on his head more for balance than direction because Rodney's mouth was wide open and he never for a second pulled away from John, didn't jerk back ever, and John had to know how far, he had to find out some boundaries, but there didn't seem to be any. Even when he shoved his cock into Rodney's open throat and then held him there, waited for and received those completely wrong, utterly fucking hot choking sounds for five seconds and then ten, Rodney made no move to pull back, though his flush was deepening and tears were streaming from his eyes and disappearing into his hairline.
It was John that pulled back, John who wouldn't take all that Rodney was obviously ready to give, or fuck, maybe Rodney just fucking trusted him that fucking much.
"Rodney," he growled, and Rodney groaned as John thrust into his mouth with short, fast movements. "Why do you do that," John panted, hips working as pleasure roiled between his hipbones, his balls drawing up tight against the base of his cock. "Why do you move like that, like you're fighting it, like you don't love it, like you... fuck!" Because he was coming, and he wanted to, he needed, he dragged his cock back so only the head was resting on Rodney's lower lip, John's thumb still holding his mouth wide open, and pumped his cock once, twice with his other hand before coming hard into Rodney's open mouth, thick spurts of white across Rodney's tongue and down his chin, and Rodney's eyes were wide open, glazed but bright and present in a way that they hadn't been, quite, on the planet with the purple moon, and John was glad to see it.
"Rodney," he said roughly, and Rodney closed his eyes and closed his mouth and swallowed, sucking hard on John's thumb as he did. John's balls ached as they tried to clench at the feel of it, and he dropped to his knees and kissed Rodney, licking his own come from Rodney's lips and using his thumb to pull open his mouth so that Rodney moaned loudly against John's lips. He could feel the head of Rodney's cock grazing his thigh, could feel Rodney's entire body jerk as he tried to shove up against John's leg. "Tell me," he demanded against Rodney's mouth and pulled his thigh back out of Rodney's reach.
"I, please, John." Rodney's voice was hoarse, and John thought, I fucking did that with my cock, I did that to him, and was less surprised this time at the way his spent cock twitched and pleasure clawed at his belly. John kissed him again, kissed him harder, and this time took advantage of the way Rodney was bound to rub a thumb lightly across one of Rodney's tender little nipples. Rodney groaned, and when John pinched, actually bucked upward so hard John had to catch him so he didn't tumble over onto his side. "I. I-- I don't know, I don't know why, it just-- it feels good, I just-- I like..."
That was good enough for John. He reached around Rodney and grasped the bracelets, which came free instantly, and brought them together again in front of Rodney, rebinding them in the front. Rodney gave him a brief uncertain look, and John nodded and said, "Go on. I want to see you do it."
Rodney's flush deepened even further, but he curled his hands awkwardly around his cock, and it was awkward, yeah, but it was also clearly something Rodney had done before. He knew how to curl them one atop the other for maximum coverage, and want circled in John's belly, which he was growing used to, but it circled even more voraciously in his head, and that was new. The psychological aspects of lust weren't anything he'd ever bothered thinking about previous to this, but it was clear he was going to have to start thinking about it, planning with it in mind. Otherwise he'd never get through these dizzying moments of Rodney with his color high and his hands bound and wrapped around his cock. He'd never be able to deal with the way Rodney threw his head back and groaned out loud at the first stroke, or the way that his mouth looked swollen and abused and he was still seeping tears from both eyes. There was no reason in the world why John should find that hot, but God, he did. He found it abso-fucking-lutely incendiary.
"C'mon, Rodney," John murmured throatily, and wished like hell he was twenty again, or even thirty, half-wished he hadn't come at all so he could jerk off while watching Rodney's bound hands moving on his seeping, twitching cock. He moved in closer for no reason -- he could see everything from where he was crouched in front of Rodney -- and was immediately glad he did when Rodney groaned again when John pressed up against his side and tipped his weight deliberately so that John was supporting most of it, holding him up. His face was sheened with sweat, the chest and back of his t-shirt were damp with it, but John didn't care. He slid an arm around Rodney's waist to keep him steady, and used the other to cup Rodney's balls, rolling them carefully in his palm.
Rodney made a noise that was almost a shout and went up to his knees, his hips jerking unsteadily as he thrust his cock into both hands. John squeezed his balls a little and bit at the join of Rodney's neck and shoulder through the t-shirt, and Rodney shouted again and came, his whole body jerking and shuddering within the circle of John's arm. John held onto him when Rodney went loose and boneless, all his weight pressing against John's chest; he was still shaking, and his eyes were still closed, lashes wet and clumped together and trembling against his cheeks.
"Okay, buddy," John soothed, and brushed his lips along Rodney's jaw. "I've got you."
Rodney shuddered again, once, but his breathing was starting to slow and some of the dark flush was leaving his face. John saw that Rodney -- who clearly was used to doing this on his own -- had managed to curl one hand over the head of his cock as he came and catch most of the come. It made John wish again that there was any possibility of getting hard again in the near future. He'd have loved to fuck Rodney just like that, just slide in behind him and shove a couple of fingers in him while he was still loose and relaxed, shove his cock into Rodney's ass and find out what kind of noises he'd make when he was all blissed out, still helpless and with his hands covered in his own come.
Instead he released the bracelets. As soon as his hands were free, Rodney brought them up to his face, eyes still closed, and licked come off the inside of his right palm with slow, lazy swipes of his tongue that made it clear that this was also something he'd done before.
"Jesus," John said, and leaned in himself to lick at Rodney's left hand; Rodney moaned out his name, that same long, slow breath of sound from the planet with the purple moon, the one that only vaguely resembled John's name in any coherent sense, but clearly was John's name all the same. John kissed him, and Rodney kissed back, but it was almost lazy this time, the slow press of lips and slide of tongue, and the way that Rodney's lips again tasted like a raw, red wound.
Eventually, Rodney breathed, "Sticky," against his lips, something sounded more like a simple statement of fact than a complaint, but John roused himself off the floor and went to get a wet washcloth anyway. When he came back, Rodney was sprawled at the foot of the bed, his back resting against it. His head was tipped back onto the mattress, and one knee was cocked. His cock lay soft and innocent against his thigh, and he was smiling faintly. His hands were loose at his sides, both wrists still captured in the blue-white metal of the Ancient handcuffs, and he looked absolutely fucking gorgeous like that.
John didn't know what the hell was going on with the waystation planets, aside from the fact that it almost certainly had something to do with the Wraith, and he didn't know how the Yel-Ganta had managed to disable his entire team at once, and he wasn't crazy about sending anyone else anywhere that hadn't already been thoroughly vetted, but he couldn't quite bring himself to regret being the target of whomever it was that was plotting against them. He would, he knew. If things went spectacularly wrong, he would regret and he would drown for a while under the weight of his fury and guilt. But right at the moment, seeing Rodney's cocked knee and soft face and the strangely tender way his hands curled loosely at his sides, he couldn't help but be grateful.
He cleaned Rodney up and then had to practically man-handle him into bed while Rodney made humming little noises of protest, which John quieted with his mouth. Eventually he had them both tucked up in the narrow bed, one of Rodney's arms slung over John's hip, John's back pressed against Rodney's broad chest. When they slept together -- which was far more rarely than John would've liked -- it was always like this, with Rodney spooned up around John. It was the time when John was most aware of how much broader Rodney was than him, and he wouldn't ever tell anyone, even under the worst torture imaginable, that he liked the feel of Rodney curled around him warmly, that it felt good and peaceful and right.
"Just wait until I start nosing around for Ancient toys," Rodney slurred tiredly, nuzzling his face into the back of John's neck. "You'll be sorry when it's my turn."
"You're not likely to find a lot of sex toys just laying around waiting for you to torture me with them, McKay," John laughed softly, then wriggled over onto his other side to tangle his legs with Rodney's, mostly so he could see Rodney's face. It was relaxed and smiling, eyes only at half-mast, but crinkled a little at the corners where tears had streaked only a little while ago.
"You only say that because I've never bent my considerable will and intellect toward locating Ancient sex toys," Rodney said, sounding supremely confident in spite of the slight slur to his speech. "The Ancients were totally whacked." He yawned hugely. "I'll find them."
John fell asleep grinning.