"You activated the medical database collection apparatus. Now it wants your DNA," Rodney reports.
John spots the Ancient device's flexible, cilia-lined tube and reddens. "That's not happening."
"The doors won't open til it gets a sample. Life support's broken in this room. Your modesty's not worth my life, Colonel."
"The situation isn't exactly getting me into the mood, here!"
"Fine, I'll help," Rodney says brusquely, kneeling.
John tries not to jump out of his skin. "Rodney--"
"Look, if you can drop trou repeatedly for random Ascended women across the galaxy, you can do it now to save our lives."
"Okay, really not helping the mood."
"Just close your eyes," Rodney says, taking down John's pants.
John wants to protest that there's no way this is going to work-- longstanding infatuation or not, he's too mortified by the situation to respond to, oh hey, that's Rodney's palm cradling his-- god, that's his tongue right on John's--
Okay, maybe it's going to work.
Then Rodney shifts position and oh god, yeah, this is really, really...
John jerks his head up at a loud buzzing noise. The Ancient device retracts the waiting tube. The doors slide open.
"Huh," says Rodney. "An Ancient device with a failsafe. Who knew."
"Did you even read that thing's instructions?" John demands.
"I was a little preoccupied with the big flashing message saying that life support was out and we were going to die!" Rodney says defensively. His mouth is wet; John can't stop staring.
"That's great, Rodney. Do you think you could let go of my dick?"
"Oh! Sorry," Rodney says, releasing him. Without the pressure of Rodney's hand, John's sure it won't take long for his hard-on to wilt.
Pretty sure. Dammit.
"...Look," Rodney says, "I could finish it. I don't mind."
John roughly tugs up his pants. "I do."
But as they try to leave the room, a crackle of green energy stops them at the threshold.
"This barrier must use the same technology as the personal shield," Rodney says excitedly. "It activates when detecting collision." He races to the console. "The door opened to let in air when the environmental controls detected non-functioning life support."
The Ancient device extends its collection tube again.
"So we're still in the same predicament after all," Rodney concludes, looking weirdly-- relieved, almost.
"I don't think so." John crosses his arms. "This time keep reading til you find us another way out."
"I'm really not seeing any other way out; the device requires a genetic sample from the ATA who activated it, and I'd have to be outside to access the lock components." Rodney catches John's expression. "...I'll keep looking."
"Maybe it just wants any cells with DNA," John says dubiously; he crosses to the device and spits into the tube.
"That won't work, you're a non-secretor."
John looks at Rodney incredulously. "That sounds kind of like confidential medical information."
"What! It might be important to know something like that in a crisis situation-- like, oh, say, now!"
"Look," Rodney begins. John ignores his determined tone and brings out his pocketknife, flipping it open.
Rodney practically levitates across the room to grab John's wrist. "Don't hack yourself open! You want a 10,000-year-old bacterial infection?"
With a sardonic lift of his eyebrow, John removes Rodney's hand and uses the blunt edge of the knife to scrape the inside of his cheek.
"Oh," Rodney says.
John pokes the knife blade down the collection tube, scrubbing the buccal cells against the cilia inside.
The tube retracts, the device hums. Then the tube extends again.
"Well, crap," says John.
"Okay," Rodney says, "you've made every conceivable attempt to safeguard your virtue, here. Kudos. Now can we get back to solving this problem and securing our egress before I die of starvation?"
"Can I just remind you, we've already been to the breach, so to speak. It's not as though half a blowjob is appreciably less gay or unmanly or whatever you're worried about than a whole one!"
"Rodney," John can't believe he has to say this; Rodney can be oblivious sometimes, but come on. "The door is hanging open."
"The--" Rodney gapes at him.
"We've been missing for a while. Someone's going to be looking for us," John points out. "Any second, anyone could come up, and that force field isn't hiding anything--"
Rodney stabs a few keys on the console, glaring murderously at John as the door slides shut.
"Well," John says. "Okay then."
Five seconds later he's against the wall, both arms and a mouth full of Rodney.
"You can never just say, can you," Rodney pants. "Everything has to be a secret, everything has to be a struggle."
"Sorry," John rasps, clutching Rodney tight, tight.
"You're sorry... it's true? You've wanted--" Rodney draws back enough to stare at him wildly, uncertain, vulnerable-- it's always killed John, seeing him like this.
"Who talked," John says, his throat tight and painful, "and how fast can we get out of here so I can kill them?"
"Everybody kept hinting to me," Rodney says, astonished. "I didn't... John. If you'd said something--"
"When?" John asks. "When I had to assume military command and keep it together and prove myself to the Marines? Or when you were dating Katie, or rebounding from Katie, or dating Jennifer--"
"Shut up," Rodney mutters, hands tight in John's shirtsleeves, and kisses him hard.
John takes it; he'll take whatever he's got coming. He always knew if there was ever a reckoning, he'd owe them both for all the lies and silence.
Gradually Rodney's mouth changes on his, still intense but not so hard now, not so punishing. John arches against him, a low helpless noise escaping him when Rodney's hand drops to knead his hip.
"Let me. Let me, John," Rodney says softly, and John feels like he might shiver to pieces just from that.
"Yeah," he breathes, "yes. Please."
"Finally," Rodney sighs, and something about the way he says it makes John tense up.
"Did you plan this?" he demands.
"God, not now," Rodney groans.
"You planned this!"
"I thought this room might... present an opportunity," Rodney admits. "Ancient is hard to parse when it comes to this stuff! 'Reproductive therapy' is about as suggestive as they get!"
"Are we even really locked in?"
"Yes! You think I'd engineer this ridiculous situation? It's not exactly how I imagined our first time going!"
"Me either," says John. "But right now, I'm pretty okay with it."
After all the buildup and turmoil, it seems like Rodney's mouth closing hot and perfect around him ought to be a little anticlimactic. But it really, really isn't.
John stands a little awkwardly, slouched down, legs akimbo, one hand on Rodney's shoulder, the other restlessly stroking the nape of his neck; his thighs ache a little, but that's good, it keeps him from popping off too fast.
He can feel Rodney trying to draw it out, but Rodney keeps forgetting himself, gulping him down deeper, faster, and his eagerness makes John feel like he's going to lose his goddamn mind.
Somewhere in there, John hears himself murmuring please, please, and Rodney voices little reassuring noises between gasps and grunts, and then Rodney makes a sound like John's name around John's cock and it's all over, god, so good and so long and his aching legs don't want to hold him up.
He finds himself sort of crumpled down in Rodney's arms, with Rodney holding unnaturally still under him-- ah, right, because his hard-on's lodged against John's hip and judging by the feel, Rodney's doing good just to keep from rubbing off on him right there and then.
John's wasted too much time already; he doesn't waste a second more, unbuttoning and yanking, shoving aside clothes and just diving for Rodney, taking him in. It's bliss, after so long wondering, to finally know for sure exactly how this feels.
He fists his hand around Rodney and jerks him off mercilessly, working the shaft while his mouth cups and sucks the sensitive head. Rodney grabs his shirt collar, begs incoherently, calls his name.
It's perfect, and when Rodney comes, it's perfect, and when they relax at last and lean together, holding each other up, that's perfect too.
Everything's more right than it's basically ever been. So John can't figure out why he starts to feel a vague sense of unease.
Except... oh yeah. The device-- John startles and grips Rodney's shoulders.
"Did you swallow?"
Rodney's expression is comically shocked, eyes round and wide, jaw dropped, which conveniently leaves his mouth open... which answers that question.
"I'm sorry!" Rodney winces. "It's just-- habit!"
"Really," John drawls.
"Not a recent habit," Rodney hastens to add.
"Right. Well, that settles it," John sighs, not even trying to hide his grin. "I guess we'll just have to go again."