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Cross-Pollination

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John's spoon stuttered to a stop above his pudding cup—finally they had chocolate again after a two-week dry spell of nothing but butterscotch and banana—as the call crackled over his radio, demanding and excitable, as Rodney tended to be. "Colonel Sheppard, I need you in the greenhouse. Now. I'm serious. Right now. Why weren't you here five minutes ago?"

John savored a bite of creamy, chocolaty goodness, and idly wondered why the supply sergeant ever bothered with any other flavor.

"Cooooolonel!" Rodney whined in his ear.

John sighed, and briefly considered ignoring Rodney altogether, not that this approach typically worked. Rodney was persistent as a cat when he wanted something. Come to think of it, why was Rodney in the greenhouse and not at lunch? Skipping meals wasn't his style, and now that John was stopping to analyze it, there had been a kind of strangled, desperate note to Rodney's insistence. Maybe Rodney had gotten himself into a scrape of some sort, too embarrassing to trust to the radio, even over a private channel. Or maybe Rodney had discovered some really cool Ancient something or other that he wanted to keep on the down low, especially from Elizabeth, who would no doubt take it away from them. She tended to get nervous when they were having fun with the 10,000-year-old technology.

"Yeah, yeah, McKay, coming."

He finished his pudding on the way, and was whistling under his breath as the greenhouse doors opened for him, and then he skidded to a stop. Rodney stood amidst a row of leafy greens, between the Swiss chard and some slightly wilted arugula, his pants pushed down past his hips, the pink head of his cock peeking out of his fist as he worked himself over, staring down at what he was doing with a dazed expression of wonder.

John's stomach twisted into a hot knot, and he took a step and abruptly remembered. He wasn't supposed to have any interest in stuff like this. That was his official story, anyway. He tried to arrange his face into a stern expression of oh God, what do you think you're doing, or at the very least, he made sure not to lick his lips. "Rodney?" He raised an eyebrow inquiringly.

Rodney glanced up, blinked, and then his eyes lit up, his cheeks turning a pleased shade of pink. "John." He sounded ten different kinds of stoned, staring at John with the kind of ecstatic devotion he usually reserved for ice cream sundaes with real whipped cream and a minimum of three maraschino cherries.

"Okay, buddy, let's put that thing away and go see Car—"

He took a breath and suddenly couldn't remember what he'd been saying. All he knew was…Rodney. He stumbled over, sank down unsteadily, his knees practically buckling. He rucked up Rodney's T-shirt, traced the whorls of hair on Rodney's belly, fingers first, and then with his tongue. Rodney whimpered, a pitiful little sound, and stared steadily, meaningfully down at his cock. John gripped Rodney's hips, and his mouth watered, and, yeah, he really didn't need to be invited twice. He went down, and, oh, oh, Rodney tasted good. He swirled his tongue with ice cream cone abandon, and a stray, philosophical part of his brain thought how funny it was that a person could go so long without realizing his true calling. He'd wasted time fighting wars and flying puddlejumpers and facing off against Wraith queens when he should have been right here, sucking Rodney's dick.

His happy resolution to spend, oh, say, the rest of his life down on his knees was interrupted a scant thirty seconds later when Rodney pulled at his hair and went off in his mouth. John wiped his chin on his sleeve and was just starting to complain that he wasn't finished when Rodney drowned him out, "Get your clothes off. Get them off now!"

John did feel warm, he suddenly realized, and clothes were just kind of wrong when you really thought about it. He jerked his jacket off and peeled his shirt up over his head and was pleased to see that Rodney held the same dim view of clothing, shucking his pants and kicking them away as if they'd personally offended him. By the time the last sock hit the floor, Rodney was raring to go again, his cock curving up and away from his body. John muttered "hidden depths," and Rodney bent him backwards over the potting bench, John's own erection bobbing eagerly out in front of him. Rodney scrambled to his knees, and there was a glimpse of daylight between their bodies for maybe a second, and then John's cock was deep in Rodney's throat. John grappled at the bench, sending a clay pot careening to the floor, shattering into at least a billion pieces. He squeezed his eyes shut, and came and came and came.

There wasn't a beat, not a moment to catch his breath, before Rodney was pulling him by the arm and pushing at his shoulder, flipping him over onto his stomach. He shoved his bunched up jacket beneath John's hips and spit loudly, and there was the fleshy sound of his hand on his cock. He pressed against John's back, a warm, arousing weight, and pushed inside.

"Come on, come on," John egged him on. "You call that fucking? Give it to me. Give it to me!"

Rodney grunted and clenched his hands around John's hip and went at him harder, harder, until John was pretty sure he was going to have Rodney's dick coming out his ears.

"Yeah, yeah," John moaned and shoved his ass back for more. If he didn't feel this for, oh, say, the next decade, he'd be amazed. Not to mention disappointed.

John bit his lip, frantically rubbed his dick against Rodney's jacket, so close. He arched his back, and lifted his head, ready to…find Ronon there, crouched down by the legumes, staring intently, his body tensed as if poised for action, eyes sharp and predatory.

"Rodney," John managed raggedly.

Rodney glanced up, and John felt him jerk. "Oh, shit!" And he came.

The hungry look on Ronon's face grew hungrier, and he tapped his radio. "Found 'em. Greenhouse. Think you should get down here."

"Understood," Elizabeth answered.

"On my way," Teyla said.

Their audience was about to get bigger, and John vaguely thought that maybe, possibly he should say something about…something. But then Rodney made a really hot noise in the back of his throat, and he licked John's neck, and was getting hard again inside him, and then they were fucking, and nothing else mattered.
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Ronon lay in wait by the door, and when Elizabeth came through it, he sprang up, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her against him.

"Ronon!" Her voice rose sharply.

Ronon pushed his nose into her hair and breathed in and moved his body against hers.

"Oh," Elizabeth sounded startled and then her voice dipped an octave, "Oh."

Ronon stripped her quickly, efficiently, his hands cupping her breasts, and splayed across her hips, and thrust between her legs, fingers pushing into her pussy. Elizabeth rocked against him, fucking herself on his hand. Ronon twisted his wrist, and Elizabeth moaned and grappled with his pants. When she saw his cock, her eyes went wide, and she licked her lips and dropped down onto her hands and knees. Ronon knelt and parted her thighs with wide palms and lunged, his cock disappearing inside her.

John's mouth fell open, and he felt Rodney's body jerk above him, and then Rodney was pulling out and plunking down onto his knees. "Me, me, me. Do me. Do me now!"

It wasn't like John needed to be asked twice. He moved behind Rodney, slicked his cock with his own come, and shoved inside. He groaned loudly, and Ronon flashed a knowing smirk, as if to say, Feels good to bury your dick in something hot and tight, doesn't it?

The doors swooshed open, and Teyla came in, and was jolted out of her usual self-possession by the sight of them, "Dr. Weir! Ronon!" Her eyes widened. "John! Rodney! What has—" She trailed off, looking confused for a moment, and then started fanning herself with her hand. "Does it not feel too warm in here?" She touched a hand to her chest, and let it linger there, and then started to stroke her breast through the fabric.. Ronon fucked Elizabeth harder, her body shaking, her breasts bouncing and jiggling. Teyla stared at them, at John and Rodney. She pulled up the hem of her skirt, and her hand disappeared beneath it.

"So hot," Elizabeth managed to gasp out. "Better take off your—"

Teyla didn't need any more convincing. She stripped off her dress, baring her gorgeous breasts and…everything else. John stared, and Rodney muttered, "Oh, God." He came, his body squeezing John's dick, and John went right over the edge with him, panting, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. When he opened them again, Ronon had pulled Elizabeth up onto his lap, still fucking her. Teyla knelt on the floor in front of Elizabeth, and they were kissing, touching each other's breasts, Elizabeth's slim fingers toying with Teyla's nipples.

"Please," Teyla's voice was low and throaty and utterly desperate.

She lay back and opened her legs and ran a hand invitingly along the inside of her thigh. Ronon dug his fingers into Elizabeth's hips, and threw his head back, and shuddered through his orgasm. Elizabeth slipped out of his grasp when he was done and bent down and buried her face between Teyla legs. Teyla touched her breasts and smiled down at Elizabeth's bobbing head.

"Oh, God!" Rodney bucked up beneath John. "Fuck me again. Oh, God. Please. Please!"

All of two seconds later, Ronon had recovered, hard once more, his eyes glittering and determined. He shifted around on his knees over to Teyla. She smiled up at him lazily, and he brushed his fingers over her cheek and pressed his cock against her lips. Elizabeth made happy sounds between Teyla's wide flung thighs. John surged inside Rodney, and Rodney groaned, and it was just so good, so good, so good…

Things got kind of blurry after that.

When John came to his senses, he had Rodney piled on top of him, his face pressed to John's neck, snuffling against his skin. They were stuck together in more than one place, and John was pretty sure he wouldn't be sitting down, not comfortably, not anytime soon. Who knew that "fucking your dick off" could be such an accurate description?

"Um…Colonel Sheppard?" A voice dimly registered in his fuzzy brain.

He looked up, and there was one of the junior botanists standing over them, Carrie, or Christa, or Charlene, or…John shook Rodney. "Wake up!"

"Five more minutes," Rodney grumbled, hunkering down, his hand splayed across John's chest.

"No. Now." He shook Rodney harder, and when that did no good, pinched his arm.

Rodney bolted upright. "Ow! What was that for?" He elbowed John. "I'll have you know I bruise very easily—" He froze, eyes locking on Carrie, or Christa, or Charlene.

The others were also stirring by now, and Carrie, or Christa, or Charlene shifted her weight awkwardly from foot to foot. "Um…good morning, Dr. Weir."

There was a bright red hickey on one of Elizabeth's breasts, and when Teyla dipped her head and lowered her eyes, John was pretty sure he knew who the culprit was. Elizabeth grabbed up what was left of her shirt and summoned all her dignity, "Dr. Shannahan. Am I right in assuming that you have some insight into," she darted a glance around at the rest of them and cleared her throat, "whatever may have happened here?"

It was only now, sluggish as his brain was, that John noticed Dr. Shannahan (wasn't her name Carrie?) wore a surgical mask and all the plants had been carefully covered in sheets of plastic.

"Um…yes?" Dr. Shannahan (or maybe it really was Christa) looked as if she wished the floor would open up and swallow her. John sympathized with that. A lot.

"My office," Elizabeth said briskly and pulled her shirt over her head. "Fifteen minutes." Then stared with dismay at the shredded remains of what had been her pants. "Make that half an hour."

They squirmed back into their clothes, and John helped Rodney to his feet, and didn't realize until they got to Rodney's room that he still had his hand on him. He yanked it away, and Rodney got that twitchy look that belonged to the rare occasions when something was broken and he didn't know how to fix it.

"It's—" Going to be okay, John wanted to say, but couldn't, not when Rodney still smelled so incredibly good, damn it. "I'll see you in a few."

He felt more human after a shower and clean clothes, although no less befuddled. Rodney was already in Elizabeth's office when he got there, and he startled when John sat down next to him. John shot him an annoyed glance that he trusted communicated, I always sit beside you, so just stop it.

Dr. Shannahan (and really she looked more like a Charlene than a Carrie or a Christa) was the last to arrive, slinking in, hesitantly taking a seat.

"So?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow.

"Um…well, you see," Dr. Shannahan stammered, "it's all because of the Brussels sprouts."

Elizabeth's expression was decidedly what the fuck, although she had the self-restraint not to come right out and actually say it.

Dr. Shannahan ducked her head. "Well, really, the cabbages in general."

Elizabeth crossed her arms over her chest impatiently.

Dr. Shannahan kicked the explanation into high gear, "So, you know the experiments we've been doing crossing Earth vegetables with Pegasus galaxy species? The Illarans—that's PCX-387?—gave us some very exciting varieties of cabbages, extremely rich in micronutrients, and according to the Illarans helpful in preventing cancer. We were intrigued naturally, but we weren't able to recreate the properties of the soil on PCX-387, and the cuttings weren't fairing well in the soil we have, so it occurred to us that if we could create a hybrid with an Earth species that would solve our problem. We tried all the various members of the cabbage family, and we had the most success with Brussels sprouts, although even that wasn't particularly successful, and then we came across this alien device for facilitating cross-pollination—that's like plant sex?—and we thought: let's give it a shot. And…possibly it worked too well? And not just on plants?"

She ran out of breath and fell silent.

"Why wasn't I informed about this experiment?" Elizabeth asked, frowning.

"Um…well, you were away on Earth then? And…we wanted to surprise you?" Dr. Shannahan smiled weakly.

Elizabeth pinched her lips together, and for a moment, John thought she was actually going to yell. He was kind of hoping, really. But simply issued orders, clipped and efficient, "Disband the experiment. Destroy the affected plants. No more uses of alien technology without my express approval, understood?"

Dr. Shannahan bobbed her head. "Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, Dr. Weir."

"Now," Elizabeth let out her breath, "I suggest we all get back to work and forget that any of this ever happened."

"Right away, Dr. Weir." Dr. Shannahan bounded to her feet. "I'll go take care of everything."

She practically ran from the room. The rest of them just sat there, and no one said anything. When John did finally brave a sidelong glance, Rodney quickly looked away, but not before, John had a pretty good idea what he was thinking: Never happened? Really? John took a deep breath and let it out, and, hell, he was always doing things he wasn't supposed to. It might as well be something really good. He shifted his eyes back and waited for Rodney to meet his glance, which the stubborn bastard was studiously avoiding, at least until John kicked him under the table. Rodney's head jerked around, and he glared, and John smiled. No, not really.

Rodney blinked, and at first, John wasn't sure he'd gotten the message, but then Rodney's shoulders dropped, the tension flowing out of him, and his mouth turned up softly at the corner. John smiled at him again, and noticed that a similar negotiation was going on across the table. Teyla and Ronon had already come to an agreement apparently, and they were waging a silent war of persuasion against Elizabeth, plying her with insistent looks of, You know you want to. Elizabeth dropped her gaze, and John would have sworn she was blushing. Apparently that counted as capitulation, because Teyla and Ronon exchanged a congratulatory smile.

"Well." John pushed up from his chair. "See ya."

Rodney followed him out of the office, and, wow, how had John never noticed before that he just smelled incredibly, unbelievably good? They headed toward the dining hall—it had been hours since lunch—and John answered imaginary accusers in his head, an old habit. No, he and Rodney were not fucking each other's brains out, and John did not like to suck on Rodney's cock like it was piece of candy, and John would never bend over Rodney's desk and wiggle his ass and insist, "Stick it in me. Do it. Come on! Give it to me. Give me everything."