"Are you sure there aren't any cameras in here?" asked Sheppard edgily, eyeing the metal-lined shell of the midway station. The floor of the station was laden with pallet after pallet of supplies, loaded there by a dozen marines and left to wait out the forty-eight hour quarantine before the Atlantis marines could come and begin ferrying them back to base. Rodney felt a little dizzy with greed surveying the riches around them: coffee -- real coffee -- and brand new socks and one whole pallet of new computers for his department and --
"What?" frowned Rodney, when Sheppard poked his arm, hard. "Oh. Yes. No cameras. That is, there are cameras, but they're trained on the key control consoles and they only record intermittently because they're motion sensitive. There aren't any cameras in the living quarters end of the station." He tore his gaze away from the coffee pallet in time to see Sheppard skimming his t-shirt off. "Oh," Rodney said, appreciatively. "Are we doing that now? Excellent."
It had been a grueling two-week debrief back on Earth, the sort of torturous bureaucratic exercise in pain that came along at regular intervals. Stuck in meeting upon meeting, Rodney and Sheppard had mostly only seen each other in passing, in the hallways or in public over their mess trays.
While Sheppard was holed up with IOA representatives explaining why all their military casualties had been Dutch in the last quarter ("Because the Dutch are particularly tasty to Wraith?" Rodney had suggested to Sheppard over dinner the first day. "Because I hate the Dutch and I want them to die horribly," returned Sheppard, exhausted and defeated by the vagaries of fate), Rodney himself had been shouting at the morons who were busy destroying every valuable piece of Ancient equipment he'd sent from Atlantis. Apparently, with Sam Carter's defection to Atlantis, the average IQ of the SGC had dropped into the subnormal range.
Yesterday they'd caught two point seven minutes alone (sort of) in one of the SGC labs, during which time they'd been completely unable to touch each other due to the surveillance cameras all around. But they'd had enough privacy and foresight to have the following important conversation:
"Oh my god, I'm so horny," Rodney had said, trying to look like he was talking about the Ancient data on his computer. He'd thrown in some emphatic hand gestures at the screen for realism.
"You're telling me," Sheppard had answered, slouching and feigning boredom. "Last night I had a wet dream for the first time since the nineteen-eighties." He had scrunched up his face then, forgetting to hide his real expression. "It was weird. I think Woolsey was in it."
"Right, we have two days at midway," Rodney had said, once he'd managed to hide his horror and disgust and could turn away from his computer screen. "You have time to get off base and pick up supplies?"
"Yeah," Sheppard had answered, a little too breathily, eyes going all-pupil. "I mean. Two days? Just us?"
"They're sending the fresh meat via the Apollo," Rodney had said, turning away again so the camera couldn't catch his own interest. "More time for watching those videos on how to avoid getting eaten by enemy races. Anyway, it means it'll just be us babysitting the supplies through the midway quarantine. Plenty of time for -- you know."
"Affirmative," Sheppard had said, and Rodney was about to mock him for going all military when he was turned on when he had realized Sheppard was talking into his headset. "Be right there." Sheppard had pulled a face at Rodney -- this is where I'd slap your ass on my way out if we were back home -- and Rodney had pulled one of his own in return -- yes, I'm so sorry to be missing out on that charming ritual -- and Sheppard had left the lab.
"Supplies," Sheppard crowed now, digging inside his duffle and emerging triumphant with a fresh economy-sized bottle of lube and an impressively large box of condoms. "This should hold us for a while," he said with deep satisfaction, and tossed both items at Rodney so he could wriggle out of his pants. He inclined his head towards the military bunks at the far end of the midway station. "Shall we?"
Rodney's brain was jostled offline as he watched Sheppard's hairy but shapely ass sauntering away from him. Luckily, his body seemed to do quite well in his brain's absence, because when Rodney lurched back into awareness, he was naked and twined around Sheppard on the narrow cot, kissing the hell out of him.
"Okay," said Sheppard, "I had a lot of time to think about this while Woolsey was yammering on --"
Rodney freed one hand so he could snap his fingers and point in Sheppard's face. "--Which is totally how you ended up having disturbing sex dreams about the man, you idiot!"
--"Anyway, if it's not too much trouble," Sheppard said, more loudly and pointedly, "I'd kind of like you to fuck me."
Rodney nodded vigorously, reaching down to cup Sheppard's buttocks and haul him closer. "I could, I could really do that for you," he said, and his brain skidded off its tracks again.
"Something's wrong here," was the next sentence Rodney registered.
Rodney closed his mouth (which had been panting, wide-open) and opened his eyes, looking down his body to where Sheppard was straddling Rodney's knees and frowning down at Rodney's dick.
Rodney's dick, which had a mostly-rolled condom perched on its head like a jaunty beret.
"Is it inside out?" Rodney asked, reaching down to check.
"Yeah, because I don't know how to work a condom," Sheppard sniped, and batted Rodney's hand away. He lifted the condom up and squinted at it. "Oh. Shit."
"What?" asked Rodney. "What, does it have a hole? Just -- get another one, get it on me, let's go."
"No hole," said Sheppard, and tried to fit the condom over Rodney's cock again.
"Ow, stop that! Jesus, it feels like you're trying to put my dick in the finger of a latex glove!" Rodney objected. "Why does it feel like that?" He blinked hard and forced some blood back into his brain with some effort. "Oh, shit. Did you buy the tiny dick condoms?"
"No!" said Sheppard, slapping around the cot for the discarded wrapper. "No, see, it's the regular kind, it says -- oh."
Rodney snatched the wrapper out of Sheppard's hand and read the print for himself. "Snug fit," he said, despondently. "Are they all the same?"
Sheppard leaned over the edge of the cot and pulled a strip of condoms out of the box. "Motherfucker!" he said.
"Maybe it'd fit you?" Rodney suggested, lifting an eyebrow, and Sheppard scowled and slapped Rodney across the face with the tiny condom. Rodney squawked in protest and a minor scuffle ensued which ended with Rodney pinned on his stomach and Sheppard grinding hard into the cleft of Rodney's ass.
"Oh, fuck, oh fuck," Sheppard gasped. "No, can I just--"
"No," said Rodney firmly, still angry, "I don't do bareback with the illiterate."
"I was in a hurry, you asshole!" Sheppard snapped, collapsing down onto Rodney's back. He sighed, all the fight going out of him. "Fuck. Fuck."
"Hand jobs?" suggested Rodney, because his cock was pressed between his stomach and the mattress and it wasn't getting the 'no sex' message at all. Judging from the hot hard length of Sheppard against his back, neither was Sheppard's cock.
Sheppard made a disgusted noise and shifted lazily. "I guess if we have to."
"Your enthusiasm is incredibly sexy," said Rodney in a dry tone.
"Well, I just," Sheppard pouted, and rolled off of Rodney, sitting at the edge of the cot. He squirmed unhappily. "My ass is all slippery already. It feels gross."
"Sure that you got lube and not hand sanitizer?" Rodney asked caustically. "They look so much alike on the shelf."
Sheppard curled his lip and grimaced sarcastically.
"Here, I'll put my fingers up your ass while I jerk you off," Rodney offered lamely, rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his palm.
"Nah," sighed Sheppard, slouching.
"Well, what else is there in here?" Rodney asked, looking around the station, at the loaded pallets. "There has to be something dick-shaped that's small enough for the tiny condoms." He studied the nearest crates. "Hmm, what about an emergency candle? Or a carrot?"
"You're not sticking a candle up my ass," Sheppard said darkly, "or a carrot."
"Oh, like you're so picky about what goes up there, Colonel 'Here, Use This Tuber' on M4X-596," Rodney returned acidly.
"That was one time," Sheppard protested, "and I was all high on that weird corn salad stuff!"
"Oh, hey!" Rodney said, disregarding Sheppard's blatant and somewhat pathetic lie in favor of sharing his latest brainwave. "The medical supplies, Keller's going to have a huge box of condoms! Normal human sized condoms!"
"No good," said Sheppard, shaking his head. "It's all sealed up and inventoried and signed. They'd notice if we ripped the box open."
"Well, fuck," said Rodney, heartfelt.
"If only," Sheppard said, and squirmed again. "Are you sure we can't--"
"No," said Rodney, firmly, primly. "I told you right from the beginning, I don't put my dick in -- that place -- in there -- without some kind of barrier. And neither should you! You could get an E. coli infection! On your penis!"
"Rodney," cajoled Sheppard, shifting so he could smile winningly at Rodney, "that's really rare, one time won't hurt. We're both clean, we're monogamous, it'll feel amazing…"
"Oh my god, I'm trapped in a space station with an after school special character," Rodney groaned, and flopped back on the bed.
"I promise I won't get you pregnant," Sheppard said, getting into character now, "and you can't get pregnant the first time anyway, baby." He leaned over onto one hip and draped his torso over Rodney's, rubbing his chest wantonly against him.
"Hmm," said Rodney, brain going offline one last time. He blinked and came back to himself. "No! I said 'no', you skanky ass bandit!"
"Dammit," said Sheppard, hearing the finality in Rodney's tone and giving up.
They both moped around naked for a while after that, the environmental controls cranked high enough to make it comfortable and both of them too moody and disappointed to bother getting dressed.
"Bet I could make a better slingshot out of these than you," Rodney said, opening a couple of the useless condoms.
"Bet you couldn't," Sheppard answered, perking up.
"Ha, I so could," Rodney crowed, and began working.
"I bet you can't," said Sheppard, opening a couple of packets now, "and if I win, you have to do me bareback."
"You want me to stake my future sexual health and perfect unscarred penis on my ability to make a better slingshot than you out of tiny condoms?" Rodney asked, just to be clear.
"Chicken shit?" Sheppard asked, lifting an eyebrow.
"You're on," said Rodney. "And if I win, then I get to put a candle up your ass."
"You got it," said Sheppard, shrugging, and they both bent over their work.
Half an hour later, they set up a series of distance marks with masking tape and rooted through their duffle bags for appropriate ammunition. They settled on using some of Rodney's Werthers candy stash on the condition that Rodney got to eat all the ammo after the contest ended.
"Best average distance over three shots," said Sheppard, who'd only grudgingly agreed to a contest of power over accuracy when Rodney had pointed out that Rodney couldn't hit even a big target with the best slingshot in the universe. Sheppard scrambled back from the last tape mark on all fours, still naked, his ass jostling prettily and the darkened shadow of his balls swinging underneath.
"What?" said Rodney, and closed his mouth. "Yeah, but no fair distracting me with your equipment."
"What?" said Sheppard, then looked down and grinned, apparently having forgotten he was naked. "Oh, am I distracting you?" he said, and settled with his legs spread enough so that Rodney could see the faint glistening of the lube still around his hole.
"Five minute time-out!" Rodney shouted. "My team needs time to get blood back into critical faculties."
"Take all the time you need," said Sheppard generously, and fired his three shots off in rapid succession.
"Wow," said Rodney, blinking at the scattered gold-wrapped candies. "But I can beat that."
Sheppard got bored and started making condom balloon animals while Rodney paced the distance out and carefully marked the landing places of each of Sheppard's shots. "Look," Sheppard said brightly, holding out a white rubbery quadruped. "It's a camel."
Rodney rolled his eyes and took careful aim.
The first shot came up even with Sheppard's farthest volley. "Ha!" Rodney exclaimed.
The next fell short of Sheppard's shortest shot. "Fluke," said Rodney, still confident.
The third shot landed somewhere in the middle. Sheppard took the roll of tape and marked Rodney's shots, then paced them out and announced the results.
"Huh," said Rodney. "Our averages are, like --"
"Identical," said Sheppard, reaching the same conclusion at the same time.
"Huh," said Rodney again. "Rematch?"
"Okay," said Sheppard, and pulled up the tape while Rodney collected the candies.
The next match was close, but Rodney won by a narrow margin. "Candle," said Rodney with relish, "meet John Sheppard's ass."
"Best two of three," said Sheppard, eyes wide.
Rodney agreed, but only because he was going to win so much that Sheppard was practically putting the candle up his own ass at this point.
But that wasn't how it happened. Instead, Sheppard won the next round.
The fourth and deciding match was tense, partly because Rodney didn't want to lose and partly because -- whatever happened -- when it was over, they were going to have sex and Rodney was kind of looking forward to that, even if it meant sacrificing his ironclad stance on condoms and asses.
"That's statistically very improbable," said Rodney, when the third match came up as a mathematical tie yet again. "We need a more precise measuring system, I'm sure one of us technically won this time."
Sheppard was busy making his fourth balloon masterpiece. He held it out to Rodney, grinning. "Balloon Teyla!" he said, pointing at the balloon figure's impressive chest area.
"Very clever," said Rodney.
"Come on, let's just blow each other and forget it," said Sheppard, tugging Rodney to his feet and hauling him towards the cot.
"Not without a condom," Rodney said. "You could get gonorrhea! In your throat!"
"No, I couldn't," said Sheppard, and pushed Rodney to sit on the edge of the cot. "Because neither of us has gonorrhea. Or syphilis, or space clap, or anything communicable or debilitating or gross." He pushed Rodney's knees apart and leaned in to where Rodney's traitorous cock was rising up to greet him. "We do, however, have forty-four hours left to kill and a whole week of abstinence to make up for."
"Ending sentence with preposition," said Rodney vaguely. "I knew you were illiterate, you -- you slutty -- you -- oh, my god, yes."
Sheppard went down, and it felt -- Rodney had never felt it before, the direct heat and wetness and velvety softness of Sheppard's throat closing around the head of his cock. Sheppard sighed, hummed, and started to move his head up and down, and Rodney could only hold on because this was --
"So good," Rodney slurred, sounding drunk and not caring. He clenched his fingers in Sheppard's hair and held on tight.
Sheppard pulled off, ignoring Rodney's protesting grunt, and said, "You can fuck my mouth if you want."
Rodney wanted, he really did, so he nodded and licked away any possible drool in the corners of his mouth and let Sheppard move them both so Rodney was straddling Sheppard's shoulders and Sheppard angled Rodney's hips down and showed Rodney how to brace his hands on the wall behind the headboard and then took Rodney in and gave a semi-comic meaningful eye gesture, saying get on with it. Rodney got on with it.
It was impossible to think of unsexy things like venereal disease while fucking Sheppard's mouth; it was impossible to think at all, full stop. Rodney didn't really know, then, how a thought managed to break through the total barrier of mindless pleasure -- but break through it did.
"What did you say?" gasped Sheppard, shoving Rodney off of him.
"I didn't say anything," Rodney insisted, lurching back to the hot heaven of Sheppard's mouth.
"Yes, you did," insisted Sheppard. "You said you just remembered you have a few condoms in your shaving kit."
"Oh my god," said Rodney, stunned, "I do! I do have a few condoms in my shaving kit!" He licked his lips. "Did I say that?"
"Yeah, you did," said Sheppard, mouth red and swollen and good looking. "You said, 'fuck, jesus fuck, fuck, yes, I have some condoms in my shaving kit, take it, you slut'," recited Sheppard, matter-of-fact.
"I called you a slut?" Rodney said, shocked.
"You always call me a slut," said Sheppard with a fond smile. "But -- back to the condoms?"
"Yes, yes," said Rodney. "Look, I do have some, they're real condoms, I forgot I still had them from our last trade mission to M3R-352, but can I please just --" He moved until his cock was brushing Sheppard's mouth -- "because that was just incredible, I mean, I think I was seeing other dimensions."
Sheppard made a thoughtful, considering face. "I don't know," he said slowly, the movement of his lips teasing at Rodney's cock, "I really wanted you to fuck me. And I'm all --" He gestured down his body to his presumably hard cock -- Sheppard always got hard when he blew Rodney.
"Don't, please, don't mess with me, I swear to god, I'll --"
"I might be persuaded," said Sheppard, pursing his lips in contemplation so they just happened to kiss the tip of Rodney's cock.
"Oh fuck, anything," said Rodney, "anything."
Sheppard's eyes glinted with pleasure and his mouth twitched. "Say that my slingshot was better than yours," he ordered, and stretched out his tongue and licked Rodney.
"God, it was way better than mine," said Rodney earnestly. "Now?"
"Say," said Sheppard, pulling his tongue back, "say that you liked my balloon animals."
"I loved them so much, I want them to suck my dick too," said Rodney, "just as soon as you're done here."
"Hmm," said Sheppard, obviously pleased. "Say that I was right about oral being better without condoms."
"So right," babbled Rodney, "so completely totally right, I swear."
"Say," said Sheppard, pulling his chin up and catching Rodney's gaze -- he looked wild and debauched and abruptly deadly serious -- "say you trust me."
"I trust you," said Rodney, feeling numb and flayed open at once.
Sheppard opened up and took him down, making hot encouraging noises and all too soon, Rodney's brain whited out into the dizzying lush throbbing of orgasm.
"I trust you," Rodney said again, settling back on his heels and swaying a little with post-orgasmic goodwill.
"I know," said Sheppard, all smiles, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "just like to hear it once in a while."
"Let me clarify: I don't trust you," said Rodney, shifting back, "when it comes to buying condoms." He settled one knee in the space between Sheppard's calves and used it to edge his legs farther apart. "And I don't trust you to make informed decisions about unprotected sex when you're obviously too sex-addled to read the English language."
"I wasn't addled," protested Sheppard, but he was smirking and soft-edged and pliant under Rodney.
"I don't trust you," continued Rodney blithely, "not to cheat at making condom slingshots. I don't trust you not to sneak two ammo candies when I'm not looking."
Sheppard grinned crookedly. "I knew you'd notice that."
Rodney got his other knee down between Sheppard's thighs and planted his hands on either side of Sheppard's hips, bringing his mouth level with Sheppard's cock. "I don't trust you to keep a poker face in front of the SGC surveillance cameras, so I always position you with your back to them."
"Oh, and you're so convincing," huffed Sheppard. "You with your inappropriate hand gestures."
"I do," Rodney said loftily, ignoring this blatantly untrue accusation, "I do, however, trust you with all the important stuff." He bowed his head, kissed Sheppard's cock softly. "You know. With my life and my -- various internal organs that connote emotional dependency."
Sheppard laid his hand on Rodney's head, just gently agreeing. "Me too," he said, then pushed down less gently. "Now take it, slut."
"Your balloon camel looked like it had an anal wart coming out its ass," said Rodney, and went down before Sheppard could protest that it was actually meant to be a tail.