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Rodney protested all the way to the shooting range out on the West Pier. He was a scientist, a certified genius, and he’d never had any interest in even having a firearm, much less shooting one. Yes, he’d agreed to be on a Gate team, but wasn’t that what his teammates were for? Keeping him safe while he did the serious work?

It never occurred to him to flat-out refuse, most likely because it was John who’d asked. In their short acquaintance, Rodney had found it difficult to say no to anything John wanted to do. Including having John shoot at him to test the personal shield. Curse the man and his slinky, sex self! He had an unfair advantage, even with the gravity-defying hair.

“Watch me,” John said. “You’ll need to mimic my stance.”

Rodney had no trouble watching. John was all lean lines and intense focus, so different from his usual boneless stature and bland expressions. Rodney suspected there was a whole lot hiding under that seemingly-calm surface, and for the first time he felt like he wanted to be the one to discover it.

“You want to aim for center mass,” John instructed, his voice slightly muffled by the ear protection, and Rodney had to drag his gaze up off the thigh holster. “Here. Your turn.”

He moved Rodney into position, hands on Rodney’s hips, back, shoulders to adjust his stance. Rodney’s face flamed; he was embarrassed at how turned on he was. His first few shots went wild, only one clipping the actual target.

“Come on, McKay. Focus.”

Rodney grumbled, but tried to ignore John. His next three shot were better, in that they actually hit the target. They were nowhere near dead center, though.

“You need to relax your shoulders.” John pressed on them until Rodney let them drop, though it did nothing for the tension running all through his back. “Bend your knees a little. That’s good. You want to lean a little bit forward. No, not that far.”

John continued to manhandle Rodney, and Rodney was so hard he ached with it. He hoped he wasn’t developing a gun kink, which was a level of deviance he wasn’t sure he wanted for himself.

“Use the sight to align the shot.” John’s breath was hot on the back of Rodney’s neck and made his skin prickle. John kept one hand on Rodney’s hip, the other on his shoulder, and Rodney knew the only way to extricate himself was to get his shots where they needed to go.

Rodney’s last shots were a little high, but still center mass, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He started to turn but John was still standing too close behind him, and Rodney froze when he felt something unexpected pressing against his ass.

He wasn’t the only one who had found the proceedings arousing.

John’s breathing deepened, and both his hands were clamped on Rodney’s shoulders, holding him in place. “Don’t ask,” he whispered in a ragged voice.

A flash of heat moved through Rodney from the inside out. Not a gun kink for John either. “I won’t tell,” he promised.

“Not here.” John gave Rodney’s shoulder a squeeze and then stepped back. When Rodney finally got a look at his face, he momentarily forgot to breath. John was giving him such a heated look Rodney felt he might burst into flames.

“I know a place.” Rodney waited for John to take care of the guns, and then dragged him to the nearest, unused storage room.

Target practice was going to be his new favorite activity.