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Pollenized

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“I don’t know how many more times I can apologize for something that wasn’t even my fault,” Rodney said to John’s closed door.

He wasn’t even stretching the truth this time. John was the one who’d poked at the sex plant and gotten them both doused with pollen. And wasn’t it just Rodney’s luck to be severely allergic to it? He swore the universe was out to get him.

“Come on, Colonel! You can’t hide in there forever!”

A Marine came down the hall and shot Rodney a look.

“What?” Rodney snapped. The Marine quickened his pace towards the transporter.

“I can stand out here yelling all day, John!”

That was finally enough of a threat to get in the door, and Rodney hurried through it before John changed his mind. John, who was sitting up in his ridiculously child-sized bed with a scowl on his face.

“I don’t want to talk about it, McKay.”

Of course he didn’t. So typical of repressed military types. Rodney plunked himself down on the end of the bed, forcing John to pull his legs up.

John’s right wrist was in a splint, courtesy of Carson. All things considered, Rodney figured John was lucky it was the only thing he’d sprained.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed,” Rodney said. “It’s not like everyone knows.”

John just glared. And he was right; the Atlantis grapevine was remarkably efficient. Everyone probably knew that, while Rodney was in the infirmary with a tube down his throat, John was in quarantine jerking off so much he’d hurt himself. Hard to face a contingency of Marines after that.

“Anyway, I thought I could make it up to you.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You invent a time machine?”

“No. But I can get you off without straining myself.” Rodney wasn’t one to brag – much – but he gave one hell of a blowjob.

The suggestion made John flush. “The effects wore off.”

“I’m aware of that, thanks. But you seemed really into me before I stopped breathing, and the botanist with the bad teeth thinks the pollen only acts as an amplifier.”

“Meaning?”

Rodney leaned forward and rested his hand on John’s knee. “Meaning you were already thinking about having sex with me before we were dusted.”

John just stared at him, and Rodney swore he’d kill that botanist bastard if he was wrong. But then John ducked his head and rubbed the back of neck with his uninjured hand, and Rodney gave a mental shout of victory.

“So…uh. You’d be into that?”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t. If you’re going to lock yourself in your room, you may as well have something productive to do.”

The lights in the room dimmed, and Rodney fought back a smirk.

“I’m still a little…tender. Down there.” Even in the dim light Rodney could tell John was blushing.

“Well, then,” Rodney said, sliding closer and licking his lips. “I’ll just have to kiss it better, won’t I?”

When John finally got up the courage to leave his quarters, he was a whole lot happier than when he’d gone in. And everyone knew why.