Author's Notes: Thanks to my Beta Sterling Dragonfly
This was supposed to be a 'five ways John and Rodney never' ficlet. However, since I have no idea if I'll ever write five, or if I would even stop at five if I did write that many, I'll just make this an AU, pre-series.
Rodney had always had a bad habit of not really looking at the people he worked with professionally. He'd known Carson Beckett for years before realizing that the man had a distinct accent. He'd worked with Radek Zelenka for months before noticing that the man's rather large brain was contained in a relatively diminutive package.
He was guilty of the polar opposite when it came to his personal relationships. Dates, lust interests, attractive people were the sum total of their attributes. They were hair color, body types, yet he never assumed they might have a thought in their heads.
But none of that mattered now Chair guy had found them the location of the lost city and Dr. Rodney McKay was going to Atlantis.
Leaning further into the polished slate-colored surface of the bar, Rodney smiled into his drink. Atlantis. Though, hopefully, not without getting laid at least once more before duty called him back. Wasn't that what this leave time between finding the city and actually attempting to lock a wormhole was for really? To say goodbye to the things you couldn't have in the Pegasus Galaxy?
And what was further from the possibilities than a male-male hookup in an American military sponsored expedition, even if it was supposed to be under civilian control.
The casual greeting startled Rodney somewhat. He hurriedly set down his glass before he slopped the contents over his wrist. Turning his head, his eyes widened slightly at the incredibly attractive, if highly rumpled, man who had greeted him.
Rodney managed to stutter out the return greeting without too much hesitation. He was accustomed to this certain bar when he really felt the need. Not that he spent much time doing anything other than being shot down.
"Somehow, I didn't expect to see someone like you in someplace like this."
Resisting the urge to sigh, Rodney glanced over the unruly black hair to rather pretty hazel eyes. Then, his gaze dragging across the man's skin tight black t-shirt, he had to force his eyes back up. The man might have the oldest lines in this or any galaxy, but what could he expect?
"Look," Rodney started, bluntly. "People like you don't hit on people like me without good reason. What is it?"
The man appeared startled, eyes widening before his lips slipped into a slight grin. "Straight to the point I should have expected that."
At the pause, Rodney sighed and mentally added up the contents of his wallet. The only people who looked like this man and hit on people like himself were professionals. What he had on him would probably be sufficient.
"Well?" he finally asked, utterly impatient with the delay. "What did you have in mind?"
Seemingly amused at the brusqueness of his potential partner, the man's smile widened. "A mutually beneficial arrangement."
"Mutually beneficial?" Rodney repeated. His voice was almost literally dripping with sarcasm as he carefully formed the words. "Is that what they're calling it now?"
The man just shrugged. "It seems the polite way to say it. We both get what we want."
Rodney hesitated, his occasionally negligent moral compass speaking up for once. Prostitutes rarely wanted to engage in their actual trade. On the other hand, this guy was far better looking than anyone he might have picked up without paying. And, Rodney was prepared to pay him well for his time. Perhaps even more than he would ask.
"Okay," he finally agreed. Abandoning his glass, he turned fully to face the man who had approached him. "I'm Rodney."
The man's eyebrows lifted, but he just nodded. "Yeah. I'm John."
Rolling his eyes, Rodney simply agreed, "Of course you are. I'm assuming you have a room?"
John seemed to draw back for a moment. "Of course."
"Then let's go."
"Is there some hurry?"
Rodney seemed ready to frown. Here he thought they had this all, or mostly, worked out and now the guy was prepared to back out? He wasn't that much of a troll. He was also not waiting around to be rolled by the guy's pimp.
"Look, you hardly need protection from me and I'm not interested in waiting."
John laughed, a low husky voice of pleasure that drew a few stares. They were covetous, moving over the lanky man's form before moving to Rodney with a touch of the incredulous. Rodney simply glared them down, unconcerned with the disapproval he felt crawling across his skin.
"Sure, Rodney," John finally drawled. "But I can tell you now, I'm worth it."
Rodney nodded, satisfied. He'd get one final night of hot gay sex on Earth and tomorrow, he'd go back to focusing on whether the Science Department was receiving a sufficient allotment of the transit space.
Rodney was rather surprised by the nice hotel John directed him to, then mentally adjusted his cost for this night upwards. Of course, if he was going to pay then he was going to get his money's worth.
John had stepped through the hotel room door, gesturing to the usual expanse of impersonal housing. Rodney closed the door behind himself, flipping the lock just in case. He stepped forward, waiting until the man had turned to face him. There was a small, unremarkable duffle bag between the room's single chair and the dresser. A pair of black boots lined up under the matching table. Except for the closed closet and neatly arranged toiletries on the bathroom counter, it was just like any other hotel room he'd ever been inside. The glint of some silver necklace spilled beside the razor was the only disorderly bit.
Rodney unclipped his cell phone from his belt, removing his wallet as well. He placed the two on the dresser, off to the side where they'd be difficult to grab immediately. For extra caution, he shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it in a messy fold overtop of the two items.
John's smile merged into a smug smirk. "You are in a hurry."
"It's been awhile since I've had the opportunity," Rodney admitted, undoing his belt and dropping it to the floor. He toed out of his shoes and socks, leaving them where he stood.
"I can imagine."
Rodney examined the tone for insult, but decided that he really didn't care. John seemed amiable, he was certainly attractive, and he had to be good at what he did or they would have been in some dive of a motel.
"Shouldn't you be naked by now?" he asked, a touch of demand coloring his voice.
"Sir, yes, Sir," John responded. He tugged his shirt free of the jeans riding low at his waist before dragging it over his head in a quick motion.
The chest hair wasn't too much of a surprise, a nice patch covering neatly defined pectorals. The man wasn't precisely bulky, Rodney decided as he leaned towards the mental image of a sleek, thoroughbred racehorse. He also seemed to be pausing for some overt reaction.
"Well, the rest of it," Rodney demanded, gesturing with his hand and snapping twice when John seemed slow to follow directions.
The man's hazel eyes darkened, the greenish inner circle being eclipsed by his expanding pupil to leave only the dark smudge of chocolate that defined his outer iris. The button of the jeans slipped free with the ease and lack of stiffness of comfortable and familiar clothing. Unexpectedly graceful hands paused at the zipper, lowering it finally with a quiet rasp that seemed almost lazy in its sensuality.
John pushed the clothing off his legs in one smooth movement, taking his undergarment as well. Though Rodney certainly didn't see how any undergarment had possibly fit beneath such form-fitting denim.
It was his last rational thought for several moments as John straightened. His entire body seemed to flex with the motion as he watched Rodney look at him. With a deep inhale, Rodney resumed breathing. The air gave him enough voice to sigh out, "Exquisite."
There was a smug grin plastered across John's face. He sauntered across the few steps separating him from Rodney. His hands, those agile hands that had revealed him to the scientist, reached up to lightly rest on the slightly broader shoulders. He touched Rodney with a hint of hesitancy, as if wondering if the man would bolt at any moment.
Considering how much Rodney had just increased his mental approximation of what he'd be paying John for this delectable privilege, running was nowhere in his plan. That he'd yet to determine exact price wasn't even a concern. No one could possibly name a going rate too high for him to resist this man. A fantasy played at the edges of his senses. One where they were lovers, chosen by each other for nothing more than pleasure.
"Your turn," John teased. He slipped the buttons of the shirt through quickly, Rodney still under his fingertips. Only when he was ready to pull the tails free of the other man's trousers did Rodney still his hands.
"I don't look like you do, John."
"I know that," John acknowledged with patient kindness. He leaned in, smudging a kiss across a stubbornly pointed chin. "I don't care about things like that."
The corner of Rodney's mouth tilted down as his fantasy dissolved. "Of course you don't," he acknowledged. His own hands urged John's away as he stripped his clothes rapidly and efficiently from his body. They lay where he stood, deposited and forgotten.
John's appreciative glance up and down, and his mild smirk as he returned his gaze to Rodney's face, unexpectedly angered the scientist.
"Get on the bed," he snapped.
Eyes widening at the tone, John still moved to comply. He crawled up from the end, sprawling across the top of the covers. "Sure, Rodney," he drawled.
Rodney winced, closing his eyes for a moment. "Look, I have no idea when I'm going to have a chance to do this again And I've never really done exactly this," he waggled a hand in the air gesturing at the two of them, "before, but you're incredibly hot and I want you."
John's expression spiked with concern. He sat back up a bit, supporting himself on his hands. "Rodney, if you've never "
"Oh, shut up. I want your ass, not your mouth. Roll over."
When John made no move to comply, Rodney reached out. He managed to get one hand on the other man's left foot, thumb pressing just so.
"Jesus, fuck!" John shouted. Collapsing back on the bed, his back bowed for a moment. "What the hell?" he managed to ask when the sensation had passed.
Rodney looked both smug and determined. "I can make it very good for you . Just roll over."
With a faint nod, John licked his lips. Then, arms slightly unsteady, he rolled to lay on his front. If he'd expected something quick and dirty, that wasn't what he received.
Rodney started at his feet with long stroking touches that mapped his skin. And, from the way his body continued to shudder and react whenever a spot of pressure was placed oh so exactly, following some pre-planned route along his nervous system.
Panting into the bedspread covered pillow, John writhed away from something that felt obscenely good against the back of his right knee. "Where'd you," he began, panting, "learn how to do this?"
"Doesn't matter," Rodney mumbled against the taut skin under his lips and tongue. "His partner would kill you."
John was side-tracked from a spurt of indignant offence when hands parted the cheeks of his ass to allow two thumbs to slide down the crease. "Fuck!"
"That's the idea I'm assuming you have some supplies?"
Not wanting to pull away from the touch, John gestured vaguely at the night table. It was apparently an easily identifiable motion. Rodney rolled away for a quick grab at the drawer and evaluation of its contents. Pleased, he was back on the bed in less than a minute.
"You're moving pretty quick there," John cautioned through the haze of pleasure that Rodney had so carefully built.
"I can do slow," Rodney promised. He slid a finger, cold and wet with lube, into John's ass. It sank fully inside before John began to spasm around it.
His grunting groan was neither one of full enjoyment nor full rejection. More cautionary, John offered, "Slow would be good."
Rodney never replied, fascinated with the sight in front of him. John's ass clenched on his finger, closing like the Stargate's iris to keep him from withdrawing and then stretching open to welcome him back. He would miss this A male body spread out, someone to argue with and then fuck like rabbits. But there were sacrifices to be made when one was a Canadian with a certain reputation working in a homophobic environment.
"Dammit, Rodney Give me another already."
Rodney blinked, uncertain how long he'd been fucking John with his sole index finger as his thoughts wandered. He casually slapped his free hand against John's ass cheek, smirking at the sudden clench on his finger as the muscles tensed. "My ass," he muttered. "I'll enjoy it how I want."
Unexpectedly, John seemed to melt into the cover. "Kinky bastard," was the near whisper into the fabric under his face.
All the same, Rodney complied with the request. The stretch of two fingers was practically nil, so he added a third. John's grunt and push into the contact warned him. Moving slowly, Rodney eased the pressure and resumed a more steady pace. He knew he had large hands, but he wouldn't be responsible for knowingly hurting someone.
Satisfied, Rodney withdrew his hand and moved back. "Turn around," he demanded.
When John only twitched, he smacked down on that quite delectable ass again. "Turn around I want to watch myself fucking you."
The descriptive was enough to get John moving this time. He turned on the bed, facing the barren drop-off that was the lack of footboard. The commonality of a hotel room's dresser mirror seemed so much kinkier as John watched Rodney move behind him to kneel on the bed.
Without being asked, John held himself on hands and knees. The faint pulling grasps at his sides adjusted his position, Rodney fussing with their respective locations until he looked up. Catching sight of them in the glass, his mouth dropped slightly open.
Hands running from John's ass up his sides, Rodney urged the other man to rise to his knees. Almost blocked by the other man, Rodney could still appreciate the erotic sight of full arousal reflected back at him.
"You are so fucking beautiful," he breathed against John's shoulder, sliding his right hand down the man's chest.
Rodney held his cock steady, pulling John back to him to meet the contact. He watched reverently as John's eyes closed, mouth dropping open as he lowered himself onto Rodney.
"That's it," Rodney praised, hands closing tight on the lean hips. "Ride me."
Rodney jerked awake, startling at the warm body under his arm. He eased back, not wanting to wake John. Slightly ashamed that he'd fallen asleep, he tried to ease from the bed. John didn't seem to be stirring, a fact for which he was profoundly thankful.
He paused at the foot of the bed, the messy hair that stuck up from where the man's face was buried in a pillow bringing him to a halt. John had been genuinely kind, had seemed enthusiastic. Reminding himself that he was expecting to be paid for those responses cooled Rodney's errant white knight thoughts. He was no Richard Gere to be lifting the prostitute from his prison. Not when he likely wouldn't even be on this planet in a few days.
It was a matter of moments to pull on his boxers and trousers, his shirt hanging by a few hasty buttons and rolled up at the cuffs. His belt he coiled and shoved into a pocket, slipping into his shoes without even wondering where his socks had gone.
Angry that he'd been so incautious as to fall asleep, even if he had been desperate enough to leave the bar with this man, Rodney yanked his jacket into his arms. His cell phone tumbled to the floor at the side of the dresser with a muffled thump. Relieved that his wallet was still present, Rodney merely reached down and picked up his phone.
The power light blinked at him reassuringly, even as the sensation of the canvas duffel it had fallen atop of stung his fingers with regret. He had to get out of here. Out before he did something even more stupid than sleeping with a prostitute before the most important events of his life.
Not even counting, Rodney emptied the contents of his wallet on the dresser. It was nearly a thousand dollars, money he'd thought to blow through before leaving for what might be forever. John deserved it. Last night would remain one of his sweetest memories of Earth.
Refusing himself one last wistful look to the bed, Rodney hurried from the room.
The planning of an intergalactic expedition, even one that didn't expect to have support from home, had far too much paperwork.
None of the names appeared to be gaining the attention of the scientist Rodney was currently occupied in trying to summon. He couldn't remember the man's name for the absolute life of him.
"Hey, you. Fuzzy headed Czechoslovakian."
With a dark look, the man in question raised his head from his laptop. He glared at Rodney, unswayed by the appearance of stern dislike. "Ze-len-ka. Radek Zelenka."
Rodney waved the correction away without concern. "Yes, yes, whatever. Find me the revised weight calculations for the chemist's equipment. I'm going topside for a breath of non-cycled and hopefully less germ-filled air."
Radek's scowl didn't seem a denial. McKay hurried from the office, which used to be a lab of some sort, and dodged packed crates and scurrying personnel. The lift was partially full when he reached it, but the others waiting declined to join him inside under the sheer force of a displeased frown.
Really, one would think that members of the armed forces wouldn't be so easily cowed. Rocking from the balls of his feet to heels and then back, Rodney crossed his arms with a pleased harrumph. He would miss his lab coat, he decided. This uniform they would all be expected to wear had better contain sufficient pockets.
Finally disgorged at the main exit, Rodney suffered through the sign-out procedures. He wouldn't admit to anything nearly as sentimental as wanting to see an Earth-bound sky a few more times, but the lure of open air was nearly undeniable. Another ride, another sign-out, and he was finally beneath sky.
Okay, it was the sky over a parking lot but it was still the slightly smog-covered, cloudy evening of Colorado. Not knowing what they'd even find, if they found, Atlantis, Rodney took a deep breath and let it out after a count.
He was scared half to death.
A new galaxy. The complete unpredictability of entirely unknown environs. The absolute abandonment of Earth and everything he knew. At the same time, the chance to secure his name irrefutably in the annals of history.
At least once the program was declassified.
The shrill tones of a cellphone disturbed his musings. Glancing around irritably, Rodney cursed the inconsiderate bastard who didn't have the decency or intellect to change his ringtone to something less piercing. Then, realizing that the sound was much closer than he'd imagined, he frowned.
Why was the phone in his pocket ringing with such a generic sound? Why was it not playing Albrechtsberger as he had programmed it? Was his blasted government issued piece of about to be obsolete technology broken - again?
No matter which of these was the truth, if any or all, the damned thing still had to be answered. Cursing the incompetents that couldn't let him have fifteen minutes without their hands being held, Rodney slapped the phone open and held it. Pacing would have to do for now, a rapid manner of steps that led across a trio of empty spaces.
Silence answered him.
"Dr. Rodney McKay. Who is this? I don't have time for juvenile nonsense."
"Dr. McKay? This is Airman Brun. I was trying to reach Major Sheppard."
"Then call him, Airman," Rodney spat sarcastically. Without concern for the appearance of it, he disconnected the call. Really, they were going to send scores of people through the Stargate to another galaxy in just a few days and they couldn't dial a phone number correctly?
That same shrill tone came again. This time from Rodney's hand where he still clutched the closed phone.
"Airman Brun?" he asked, answering.
"Dr. McKay?" came the tentative reply.
"I hope, for your sake, that you are in fact trying to reach me this time."
Apparently the stories of Dr. McKay were told far and wide. The nervous gulp came through clearly on the line.
"Dr. McKay, our computer records show this is the number issued to Major Sheppard."
"Then, clearly, your records are incorrect."
Rodney disconnected again, resolving to turn the damned device in when he went back inside. If it wasn't going to work, he'd just stay in the Mountain until they dialed. It wasn't like he'd actually miss Earth or anything.
Glancing back one last time at the sky above him, McKay stalked towards the entry.
"Siler is coordinating movement. Report to him."
Rodney ignored Zembrow as he typed furiously. First his cellular got fried two days ago, then his laptop had to be replaced yesterday, and now the soft sciences thought they were going to spare two metric tons of space for books. Books that should have been scanned and downloaded weeks ago, rather than becoming an almost literally last minute issue.
"Zelda! Where is the final equipment manifest?!"
"Zelenka," was the now oft-repeated sullen correction. "Is beneath right hand, under coffee."
Rodney glanced down, finding the necessary documentation right where he had been told. "Oh, okay then."
"Speak with him at own risk." Zelenka's warning was clearly to someone else.
McKay glanced up distractedly as the once lab, then office, now barely useable storage room for expedition crates echoed with the slamming of a door. "Why'd he do that?" he pondered out loud.
"Perhaps you were being an asshole."
Rodney looked over, focusing on the soldier who had entered without his notice. Clearly, this was the person Zelron had been addressing. He scanned without truly observing, catching the Atlantis insignia, the US military patch, and the gold oak leaf of rank.
"As he said, Major. Grunt work is being handled by Sergeant Siler."
"Since I actually want to go to Atlantis, I don't think I'll be telling Siler about this particular grunt work."
Rodney was forced to stop typing as a wad of cash was dropped on his keyboard. "What the hell do you think you're ?"
His indignant question tapered off as he looked up and finally, actually, focused on the face of the person in the room. He paled, swallowing convulsively, as he recognized the clearly not amused man standing next to him.
"Hi, Rodney," the soldier drawled out sarcastically. "How kind of you to pay me for my company. One might get the impression you thought it was required."
As usual, Rodney's brain went quicker than his internal censor. "Typically prostitutes expect payment for their "
He was yanked away from his laptop, forced into a standing position as the major pressed his back to a stack of crates. "Ow, ow, ow," he protested futilely.
The major simply gave a feral grin. "John Sheppard, pleasure to meet you. But, oh right, we met in Antarctica where I activated the fucked up chair thing."
Rodney blinked rapidly, connecting the event. Before he could speak, the man continued.
"By the way, I am not and never have been a prostitute."
"It's entirely possible you're too pretty for such an endeavor."
John blinked, struggling to retain a hold on his anger in the face of someone so guileless. Was it even possible to be this reckless in the face of angry Air Force officer? This could be turned to his benefit, either way.
Face creasing with a lascivious grin, John replied, "This time, Dr. McKay? It's your ass that's mine."
Leaning in, he took possession of the other man's mouth. With the intent of wiping out any preconceptions, misplaced memories, or sense recall tied even to the thought of the word 'prostitute', John nipped. Rodney's flinch backwards was stopped by the unyielding crates, his glazed eyes betraying his arousal.
"Oh, yes," John breathed. "You're going to enjoy it."
Return to Lakhesis