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Rhymes with Orange

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When they arrived a the coffee shop, John politely held the door open for the blue-eyed guy and then followed him in. They dodged a teen-aged couple rubbing frantically against each other on their way to a convenient surface, got their coffees and found seats in a quiet corner away from the same couple who had managed to land on a clear table and were using it to good, if noisy, effect.

The blue-eyed guy took a healthy slurp of his extra large black coffee, set the cup down and smiled. "I'm Doctor Rodney McKay. Astrophysics and engineering. And you?"

John rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He was preternaturally aware of his bare hands. "Um, John. John Sheppard. I'm a pilot. Air Force."

Rodney lit up, and his smile got brighter. "Really? So you're not completely stupid then."

John stared at him, bemused. "I have a Master's in aeronautical engineering, so no, not stupid."

Rodney practically bounced in his seat. "You have no idea how relieved I am to find that out. My biggest nightmare has been that I would find a match and they'd be an utter moron. There's more to life than sex, you know, and I'd like to be able to have reasonably intelligent conversations in between bouts of Cycling."

"Oh. Okay. I've never really thought about that, but I guess you're right," John replied. He really didn't know what to make of Rodney, but he was beginning to think that maybe he kind of liked him. Then again, maybe it was just the cycle talking. John felt off balance and confused, want starting to curl in his gut again that was focused, really focused, on another person for the first time in his life.

Rodney gave him an odd look, then sniffed, "Of course I'm right. I'm a genius and I'm never wrong about these things. The rest of the world may think that the world revolves around Cycling, but I've got better things to think about."

John mentally pulled his own thoughts away from cycling. "Oh, like what? Black holes? Or spaceships?" he asked jokingly, as his eyes traced the line of hickeys he'd sucked onto Rodney's neck. His dick twitched in his pants and he found himself flaring his nostrils, trying to catch Rodney's scent over the smell of coffee.

The corners of Rodney's eyes crinkled up as he outright grinned. "More like wormholes and spaceships. But I congratulate you on getting close." He then froze and looked closely at John. "Are you revving up again already?"

John wrapped his hands around his coffee to keep them from twitching towards what he wanted. "Maybe?" he replied, and then his whole body shuddered suddenly as wave of desire hit him hard.

"Jesus, you're like a teenager!" Rodney exclaimed and then snapped the lid back onto his coffee. "Hey, you!" he shouted at one of the barristas, "Where's the nearest Bike Rack?"

"Go two stores down that way. There will be a hallway after that leads to the Cycle rooms. Same sex rooms are on the left side," the barrista replied, pointing to the direction where the rooms were located. "Take those two idiots with you, will you?" he then said, jerking his head over to the teenagers still vigorously fucking on one of the tables. "They're taking up space that paying customers could use."

"Busy!" Rodney sing-songed as he grabbed John's sleeve and pulled him up and away from the table. John shuddered again and moaned as the heat flashed over him again. "Call security. That's their job."

John couldn't tell if the barrista said anything back, because his focus abruptly narrowed in on Rodney, Rodney, nothing but Rodney and he found himself grabbing his obsession and slamming him against a convenient wall.

And was slapped in the face. As he stood blinking, Rodney's voice finally pierced its way through the mating haze. "... made me lose my coffee, you idiot! And as much as I enjoyed our last session of hanging wallpaper, my back would much prefer a mattress under it, oh good, you're tracking again."

John let go and stepped away, breathing heavily. "Sorry," he forced out, and broke out in a fine sweat as he stood there trembling, desperately trying to control himself.

Rodney looked at him narrowly. "Right. Come on. And hurry will you? It's obvious that you've got the cycle strength of a 17 year old and I really mean it about the mattress."

John staggered onward toward the Cycle room, painfully aware of Rodney's hand on his back, pushing him to go faster. After what seemed forever, John heard a door close behind him and Rodney turned him around to look at him. "Please," John rasped, not even sure what he was asking for. The explanations given to him about finding a match during Cycling in school had nothing on the reality of it. He wanted to climb inside this guy and never come back out.

"Yes, yes, you're starting to peak again, fine, I'm taking my clothes off as fast as I can," Rodney grumbled as he shucked his garments quickly, flinging them everywhere. In the blink of an eye, at least from John's perspective, Rodney stood before him in all his naked glory. Rodney stared at him open-mouthed shock for a moment, then shouted "Why do you still have your clothes on?!"

John jumped and then started to fumble off his clothes, frowning with concentration as he tried to negotiate buttons and zippers with hands that shook shamefully.

"Oh for goodness sake, it's like you've never found a compatible match before," Rodney griped and he then reached out an pushed John backwards onto the bed before climbing in after him, unzipping his pants and wrapping a hand around John's cock.

And John was gone, flipping Rodney over onto his back, lost in a haze of lust, licking and biting, humping crazily against vast quantities of pale skin while he struggled frantically out of clothing so he could feel more skin, skin, skin. Rodney babbled in his ear and a warm musky wetness hit him in the stomach. He growled and then came too, thinking his, his, his, finally, his.

When the fog in his head had cleared, John found himself snuggled up to Rodney, sweaty, sticky and with his pants still tangled around his ankles. "You're really hot, but you are absolutely fucking uncoordinated during cycling, you know that don't you?" Rodney commented lazily, stroking a hand down John's back.

"I've never papered anybody before," John confessed, feeling oddly open to talking about it, wonder and relief coursing through him. He was normal. He was normal. Okay, maybe genetically extremely picky, but still, he'd clicked with somebody at long last.

Rodney sat up. "What? You have got to be kidding me!"

"No, I'm not!" John protested. That hurt. It wasn't like he'd deliberately been frigid his whole life.

"Are you serious?" Rodney shot back, still incredulous. "Wait, you are serious! You've been an orange until now? I thought that just happened in those stupid romance stories and in Shakespeare. You know, 'Alas poor Othello, he is but an orange that cannot find rhyme in the Cycle!', that sort of thing."

"I know the damned quote, Rodney!" John snapped, feeling defensive. He'd certainly been called an orange often enough in the past by folks he'd accidentally triggered and then had to reject. He really fucking hated Shakespeare because of that damned quote. He got out of the bed and started pulling his pants back up. He didn't have to put up with being called names, genetically compatible or not.

Rodney's mouth snapped shut and he swallowed noisily. "Oh. Um, you've probably been called that a lot haven't you?"

"You think?" John barked back at him over his shoulder as his slipped his shirt back on. He jammed his shoes back on and opened the door.

"John, wait!" Rodney called out, grabbing his pants and hopping around madly as he tried to get them back on.

John slammed the door behind him and ran for his car. Forget the gloves, forget the damned training class and most especially forget Dr. Rodney McKay, asshole extraordinaire. He broke the speed limit and ran three red lights on the way back to his quarters.

The rest of his cycle was going to be utter hell.