Rodney McKay's ass has driven John Sheppard to distraction since long before they stepped through the 'gate into an entirely different galaxy. In the following years, it hasn't let up. John figures anyone with eyes would feel the same way at the sight of McKay's ass in ill-fitting khakis, wonders what he looks like in jeans, spends entirely too much time pondering if it's really as gorgeous as it seems, all those contours and curves that are just hinted at underneath the coarseness of their BDU's.
Three years into the expedition and John has so far managed to keep his fascination with Rodney's ass a secret. That is until the day Rodney apparently runs out of unbloodied or torn BDU's and shows up to the afternoon senior staff meeting in a pair of scrub pants left-over from his last infirmary stay.
The thin cotton twill is just a tad too small, pulling against Rodney's cheeks as he walks a bit ahead of John on their way to the mess for a late lunch, post-meeting. Rodney's hands are waving frantically as he gestures and brainstorms with Radek.
John finds himself so damn distracted by Rodney's ass he walks into a fucking wall, ending up in the infirmary with Rodney fluttering nearby. Carson 'tsks' and thankfully no one asks for an explanation although Rodney throws him a few questioning glances as Carson finishes cleaning the wound. John feels like pounding his injured head into the nearest wall, hoping Rodney will let it go rather than demand an explanation.
They finally make it to the mess in time for dinner and John notices other people are starting to notice too, looking away from Rodney's flapping, infuriating mouth long enough to appreciate the firm curve down into his thighs. John watches as it looks like Lorne quietly propositions Rodney in the dessert line; Cadman, who's apparently seen it all before (intimately), gives a wolf whistle and drags Lorne off before John can say or do anything he'll regret later.
God, then he notices just how many other people are noticing Rodney's... attributes. Teyla of all people, for one, and when he scowls in her general direction she catches him. John just wants this day to be over with when she just cants her head and smiles that enigmatic smile of hers.
Okay, so maybe he doesn't exactly have the right to get upset about this, but it's Rodney and he's never mastered the art of rational thought when it comes to one Rodney McKay. Still, it's a test of his willpower to see one of the newer scientists (a botanist, by the betrayed look Katie Brown is giving him) go up to Rodney and all but drape himself over Rodney's shoulders.
John's not sure how but somehow he ends up beside Rodney and the new guy and he's not sure what's showing on his face but it's enough to make the new guy turn tail and Rodney to screw up his face in a clear look of 'what the fuck, Sheppard?'
And, right, Rodney can be kind of oblivious, but this is a little much.
"McKay," he hisses, leaning closer so the rest of the very interested mess hall doesn't hear, "I really think you should change your pants." Wow, he thinks distantly as Rodney's mouth drops open, he doesn't think he's ever seen Rodney look that pole-axed before. Rodney sits his Jell-O down and just stares at him.
"M-my pants? Colonel, are you feeling alright? I mean I know you hit your head-Should you be standing? Maybe you need to go lie down." Rodney stands and John's eyes are drawn this time to the front of Rodney's scrubs and sweet Jesus Christ he thought the view from the back was good. (badgoodohsogoddamnhot)
He swallows noisily and glances down at his feet, praying for salvation. "I'm fine," he grits out. "But I really think you should change your pants. For the good of everyone."
Rodney flushes and sticks his chin out. "I realize we can't all be perfect specimens like you, Colonel Sheppard," he all but hisses out. "But I'm not some hideous beast, either."
"Oh, for god's sake," John moans, because of course Rodney can't just make this easy for once. "That's not -"
Making a split-second decision, he grabs Rodney's wrist and drags him out of the mess hall. Rodney, of course, sputters loudly in protest at being manhandled. John ignores him as he drags them both to the nearest transporter, setting his jaw as the doors whoosh shut but the same can't be said for Rodney's mouth.
He's mostly become immune to Rodney's natterings after long, long days spent out in the field together, so he doesn't even pause once the transporter doors open to tell Rodney to shut up - like there'd be a point anyway, Rodney never listens - just drags Rodney down the hallway to John's quarters and shoves him inside.
This seems to finally shut Rodney up. He looks around and crosses his arms across his chest, clearly surprised to find himself in John's quarters. "Uh. I feel like I'm missing something here."
"Wouldn't be the first time," John says meanly, rubbing his sweaty palms against his thighs; he immediately regrets it when Rodney flinches and draws himself up defensively, looking like he's ready to start a fight. "Look," John interrupts quickly, "I wasn't trying to imply that you were hideous, okay? You're not."
Rodney flushes and draws himself up, shoulders going back. "Well of course not. I've had many, many women tell me quite the opposite." He smirks and rocks back on his heels a little.
"In fact, there was this one woman I knew while I was working on my first Ph.D., her name was Joy-" Again, John doesn't remember moving, just suddenly his hand is clapped across Rodney's (softwetcrookedsosohot) mouth.
Rodney's wide blue eyes are completely bemused now, but at least he doesn't look scared - John isn't sure he could take it if Rodney were afraid of him. "Okay, we're just. This is all a big misunderstanding," he says, barely hanging onto the fraying edges of his calm. "Those pants are. You need to change them."
Rodney's eyes widen and John takes his hand away. "These pants are what?" he asks, voice soft and face open, confused. John suddenly becomes aware of the fact that Rodney's left hand is twisted in the soft fabric of John's tee shirt, right at his hip. He tries to think of an answer while trying to suppress a shudder at the thought of Rodney being right there and yet still out of reach. John closes his eyes for a second, just slightly longer than a blink, and that's all it takes.
"Oh," Rodney exhales, like a revelation. "Oh, they're - really?"
His mouth quirks up at the corner, shyly, and John can't help stepping in and bumping his lips against the stubbled skin of Rodney's jaw: clumsy and frightened and just close enough to being an accident that John can brush it off if he has to. But, god - he doesn't want to...
He never gets the chance, though, because Rodney's turning his head then and his dry lips are brushing John's and, oh fuck. He never thought - he never - Rodney's lips are so soft and his tongue is every bit as nimble and brilliant as Rodney's brain.
Rodney's fingers, never idle, slip under the hem of his shirt and hold onto his hip, a steadying, firm pressure that keeps John upright when Rodney's teeth scrape over his bottom lip sweetly. Somehow they stumble back and find a wall, their mouths never separating for longer than a second, hungry, needy and so, so necessary.
John can't help himself - he's only human after all - and he slides his hands down and fills his hands with the lush, rounded curves of Rodney's ass and just squeezes, enjoying the way Rodney shivers and moans into his mouth with the caress. John does it again and this time, Rodney moans but then kisses him back harder, rougher, fingers dragging against his skin as Rodney pulls him closer still.
A third time is pushing it, but John really has lost whatever self-control he'd managed to get through the last thirty-some years with, so he does it anyway. Rodney arches against him and breaks away to pant wetly over John's lips.
"Is that - god, I love these pants - " he mumbles, and buries his hand in John's hair like he's been waiting for years to do just that.
John shudders when Rodney scrapes his scalp with his nails before pulling him back and breaking the kiss long enough to demand, "Bed, now."
Rodney doesn't waste time, yanking John away from the wall by his shirt and pulling him across the room to John's comically undersized bed. They tumble onto it gracelessly, and somehow John ends up on the bottom with Rodney hovering over him, elbows pushed into the coverlet on either side of John's head. Another kiss then, this one deeper, more urgent, and Rodney's slowly starting to rock down against John, the hot line of his cock through layers of cotton making John whine, "Come on, come on, get them off," and scrabble at the waistband in the back. Rodney, the bastard, has the balls to pull back and smirk, hips rubbing just so against John's.
"Impatient, are we?" John growls at that and then manages to get his hands underneath fabric and on to the skin of Rodney's ass which shuts him up so fast John has to smile before he leans up, claims Rodney's mouth again, teeth nipping at his fucking gorgeous lower lip.
They lose their clothes fast after that, barely managing it without injuring themselves or each other, and come together again - bare skin already slick with sweat sliding easily together. John moans and tips his head back against the bed, letting Rodney's mouth find the shape of his throat.
"Okay - okay," he manages after a healthy pause to catch his breath, and pushes until Rodney's on his back gazing up at him, a little dazed. It's a good look for him.
John pauses then and smiles; warm, affectionate and a bit naughty. Rodney looks beautiful like this but John's smart enough not to say anything, just starts to rock against him, loving the way Rodney's mouth drops open at the friction and the way his eyes sort of roll back in his head.
John leans down and kisses the rough patch of hair just below the hollow of Rodney's throat, whispering, "Can I fuck you?"
It feels a little presumptuous, but if he's only getting one chance at this, he wants that gorgeous ass. That sounds crude, too, but John doesn't even care. It's moot anyway because Rodney just nods quickly and loops his arms around the back of John's neck, pulling him up for another kiss. "Yeah, yes, I - do you have something?"
John smiles a bit ruefully and digs under his pillow for his bottle of lube. He leans back, kneels between Rodney's thighs and pats his hip.
"Roll over, buddy." Rodney does so and John's mouth practically waters at the sight of that ass, naked and all his. He opens the bottle with suddenly unsteady hands and coats his fingers before leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to the bottom curve of one cheek.
Rodney makes an unrepeatable sound at that, his muscles tensing so abruptly that John's brought up short. Curiously, he presses another kiss to the same spot, and then further in, listening carefully to the rising pitch of Rodney's voice.
"Hmm," he murmurs happily, and tells himself that next time - if there is one - he's trying that out. For now, though, he contents himself with stroking his slick fingers slowly into Rodney, one at a time.
Rodney shivers and John pauses, two fingers half-buried inside of Rodney. "You okay?"
Rodney nods jerkily in response and John noses against the bottom of Rodney's spine, fingers working him gently open, his brain having stopped working around the time Rodney kissed him back. When the third meets no resistance, only a soft sigh, John climbs up to his knees and leans over to kiss the back of Rodney's neck gently.
"You ready?" he inquires. Rodney nods shakily and whispers, "Can I turn over?"
John's torn; he still hasn't gotten his fill of looking at Rodney's ass or feeling it, touching it but on the other hand... Rodney's face, open and so damn expressive, right there as John fucks him.
"Yeah, yeah," he mutters, hoping and praying this will happen again. It has to, John realizes as Rodney turns over, body flushed with arousal. Once will not be enough.
The realization rushes through his blood like a drug - and, yeah, that's strangely appropriate because he's already addicted, cliché as it is. Rodney stares up at him, strangely vulnerable and trusting, and pulls his knees up without looking away.
"Come on," he breathes, "I want you to," and that's all John needs to hear, lining himself up and pushing in with one slow thrust.
Rodney closes his eyes and moans, long and low and John lets his head hang down as his hips meet Rodney's skin. They're both breathing hard and he fights the urge to thrust hard and fast and rough, wanting to savor this, this first time. He starts to move, slow and languid, as he presses soft kisses to Rodney's neck and shoulders.
All the things he wishes he knew how to say crowd his throat and make it hard to breathe, make it hard to do anything but shallowly press his body into Rodney's. Rodney seems to understand (John can hear him say I am a genius, after all in the back of his mind) because he just wraps his limbs around John and hangs on, not asking for more or faster or deeper, and it's so good, so good, that John almost forgets there's a world outside the cocoon of their sweaty bodies.
All too soon he can feel the tension tighten at the base of his spine and he whines a little as he speeds up. He snakes a hand between him and Rodney, starts to stroke him hard and fast, needs to see Rodney fall apart for him.
It only takes a few tight-fisted strokes before Rodney's wet, pink mouth is falling open and his cock is pulsing in John's fist, slicking their stomachs. He's incredible like that, so soft with surprised pleasure, and John can't help but follow him over the edge, moaning into the curve of Rodney's shoulder.
He's oblivious for long minutes, only aware of Rodney, surrounding him, warm and soft and finally, finally a reality. He smiles sluggishly into the skin of Rodney's neck and sighs, content. Eventually, the moment's broken by Rodney's voice, "I can't feel my leg."
John laughs, can't not, and rolls onto his side, keeping his face as close to Rodney's as he can. He reaches down, rubs gently along the leg closest to him. "Better?" he murmurs, loving the way Rodney's thigh twitch under his touch.
"I-uh, yes," Rodney answers after swallowing, voice wrecked.
"Good," John declares happily, and settles down for a post-coital nap. He's halfway to dozing off when Rodney shifts under his head and whispers, "Were you jealous?" as if he's not sure he should be asking.
John opens one eye and wonders how to go about admitting he was without inflating Rodney's ego. Sadly, he can't.
"Maybe?" is what he settles on instead.
Rodney makes a soft crowing noise, and okay maybe that's a little cute. He tamps down on the urge to steal another kiss, then realizes he's actually allowed to now, and leans up to catch Rodney's smug mouth.
Rodney stills for an instant before cupping one hand on the nape of John's neck. When they pull back, Rodney's smiling. "You like my ass," he says, eyes dancing.
John sighs. "Go to sleep, McKay," he says gruffly, and settles back down with his head pillowed on Rodney's shoulder, making sure his hair is definitely near Rodney's nostrils.
Rodney settles down, too, an arm snaking itself around John as he sighs. Just as sleep is dragging John under, he feels the press of Rodney's lips against his hair and hears his low whisper.
"I like you, too."