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All Wet (Yeah, You Might Need A Raincoat)

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Cameron dove under the outcropping with John, moving as far back as he could to avoid the torrential downpour. "I'm never gonna be dry again," John muttered, squeezing a fistful of his jacket and watching water stream.

"I really wish the Weather Channel covered other planets," Cameron agreed, shaking himself. "Jesus, that's cold."

"Need to get warm?" John said. He was smirking.

"I know where your mind's headed, Sheppard." Not that he was judging or anything.

"We're not going to make it back to the 'gate in this weather," John said lazily, moving closer, "and we're probably going to catch pneumonia if we don't get out of these wet clothes..."

"Don't tell me that actually works," chuckled Cameron.

"I'm really only concerned that it's gonna work on you," said John, stripping out of his tac vest. "But seriously, if you stay in wet clothes, you're going to regret it tomorrow."

"Who's in charge of this mission, anyway?" Cameron asked rhetorically, but followed John's lead. By the time he'd dropped his drenched jacket to the ground with a plop, John had moved in for the kill. Cameron suddenly found himself backed against the sheer stone wall behind him, jagged in places through his damp shirt. But the discomfort soon faded in the face of John's hot mouth and warm hands.

"There," John growled against Cam's neck, "feeling any better?"

Cameron didn't want to give him the satisfaction of replying, but figured his hard-on was probably answer enough. John rubbed against him, unpleasantly wet, vaguely warm, and disturbingly sexy despite the above. "Take off your pants," John said. Screw it. Cameron complied. His feet squished in his boots, his skin was moist and itchy, his boxers scratched against his dick and felt like a cotton damn prison. Dressed similarly, John put that hot tongue back in Cameron's mouth and made him think of all the things it could do. His tags whapped against Cam's chest. Cameron groaned unintelligibly, digging his fingers into John's flank, yanking his warmth closer.

"Careful," he grunted when John tugged at his boxers. It was a jerky attempt, only halfway, freeing Cameron's dick but pulling the elastic taut across his ass as John backed him into the rock once more. It was hard to care much with John stroking him like it was going out of style. Cameron had to fight the urge to arch himself further into John's touch, if only so he could reciprocate, reaching for John's own cock. He swept his thumb familiarly over John's balls and John laughed into his mouth. Good God.

John had the heel of one hand digging into Cameron's shoulder for balance, and Cam could feel the pattern of scratches and bruises across the expanse of his back that he'd have to explain when they got back. They'd finally abandoned the assault on each other's mouths, instead grunting and breathing heavily and hotly against each other, blasts of satisfied air falling across their cheeks and necks, the sounds blending in with the relentless crush of the water outside.

Cameron came first, embarrassingly easily, hazing white for a few excellent seconds before he had the presence of mind to return the favor. He pulled back a sticky hand and John fell boneless against Cam. "Good stuff," he muttered through a crazy-sounding laugh, and asked, "Still cold?"

"Getting warmer," Cameron admitted.

"Well, if it's any consolation, you were always hot."

Cameron lost it and couldn't stop himself from laughing.

Later, when they'd more or less dried their clothes next to a small fire, and when he'd shoved himself into his second pair of dry boxers (a recent run of unfortunately half-nude missions had taught him to start bringing spares), Cameron tromped through wet grass back towards the 'gate with John on his six. The sky was deceptively clear and dark, hosting a mess of white stars winking at him.

"You know, I don't think we dried our stuff as well as we could have," he commented.

"Whiner," said John.

"I could use a shower."

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

"You're hilarious, you know that?" Cameron said, slapping the glyphs on the DHD. John plugged in the code, but before Cameron could head to the Stargate, John was pulling him back for one last warm, wet kiss.

"Shit. I should get caught in storms more often," Cameron remarked.

"I'll check the Weather Channel."