Until the World Crumbles by Ladycat777 and Wolfshark, NC-17, John/Rodney/Ronon, Part 1 of 2
Title: Until the World Crumbles Part 1 of 2
By: ladycat777 and wolfshark
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard/Ronon
Summary: "How long have you wanted us?"
Words: 11,900
Disclaimer: Not ours, blah blah
Feedback: beloved
A/N: Beta'd by the lovely yin-again. This is a tag-fic that we've been working on for a while, which will account for some of the inconsistencies that are still floating around. This is also based very, very much on blueraccoon's stories Cabin Fever and Rules of the Game, only we flipped it a little. She has given us permission.
Ronon's eyes are sharp. That isn't a surprise, really; a runner better be good at seeing everything at once, or he'll be a dead runner pretty soon. But Ronon sees more than just possible attacks or exits. He sees people - and he sees them much better than his wordless grunts and stoic body language implies.
Rodney forgot that.
It's a small prison cell. Not too small, but Rodney's tired and cranky and his arm hurts like a goddamned bitch, and he hasn't eaten in over twelve hours, and while no one else believes him, hypoglycemia is a real issue. Not quite yet, actually, but it's making his claustrophobia go from a mild case to a serious one.
John is kneeling beside him, totally focused on murmuring soft words about wide open places, the air cold and clean all around them, sun weak but so brilliant it dazzles their eyes, his hands busily working Rodney's shoulders and back to try and get him to calm down. Rodney's trying -- actually trying, since he's learned that there's a time and place for histrionics and this is neither -- but he doesn't know how successful he is.
Probably not very, by the anxious look John's trying to hide in his eyes. "Would it help if I freaked out, too?"
"Yes, actually." Rodney can't disguise the humor in his voice. The likelihood of John freaking out is somewhere below slim, and Rodney knows it. Except John leans in close, face intent and intimate and Rodney can't help shooting a look at Ronon.
It's not like they're alone, here, and if Ronon says the wrong thing to the wrong person...
But Ronon simply smirks at Rodney. "I knew. Don't worry about me."
"Oh, okay." And with that, Rodney turns his attention back to John, who is busily curling in further.
"I could freak out. I could freak out all over the place, Rodney."
Rodney can't help the laugh, shaky as it is. "Yeah, right, Sheppard," he says, only to have to swallow it down when John holds up a hand, which shakes.
"See?" John's amused -- he always is, by Rodney's often-humiliating desire for this -- but his eyes are serious. Rodney's desire for this kind of give and take, coddling or being coddled, may be humiliating, but John's repressed his need - not entirely the same, but damned similar -- for decades. To him, it’s dark, secretive, something wrong about man and commander both, and exposing even the tiniest amounts of it here where Ronon can see...
"No," he says, surprising himself. He wants this. Always does, every time, it’s as Pavlovian as his response to coffee. But he's also got an inkling of the way Ronon is, and having his commander act like this, be like this... "No. It's okay; you don't need to do this."
He’s sure that gasping the last few words doesn't help his case much.
John looks back at Ronon, silently assessing, then somehow makes his body go smaller and frailer. "Tell you a secret," he says. "I'm a little claustrophobic myself."
Rodney stops taking shallow breaths to glare. "Oh, please, that is the most patently false thing you've ever said, and the truth is that it’s something you're only passingly familiar with, on a good day!"
John shakes his head, a warm ball that shivers just a touch against Rodney's side. "I am."
"You fly in helicopters! Those cockpits are tiny!"
Ronon, oddly, is the one to answer. His legs stretch out on Rodney’s other side, stretching most of the length of their tiny cell. "S'different up in the air. You've got the sky all around you. It's not small and dark and under -- "
"Okay!" Rodney snaps, mostly for his own benefit, although he really doesn't think John's a good enough actor to mimic that real, convulsive shuddering that’s shivering against Rodney’s body. "Okay, okay, we get it. So... you really are claustrophobic?"
He doesn't mean to sound so young, but this is one of his issues that most people are familiar with, but don't really understand. Not the true cases, like his, where it can induce real panic attacks. The kind that aren't interrupted by bursts of brilliance, because Rodney's brain is truly and completely offline.
John nods and knots a hand in Rodney's shirt. "Yeah. Really am."
Rodney has never been able to derail one of his own approaching panic attacks. But for John, he finds that it's easy to set aside the encroaching fear and to force himself to take deep breaths. Air. There's plenty of air down here, and they aren't going to suffocate.
He’s proud to note that his hand is barely shaking when he gently untangles John's grip on his shirt. "It's... it's okay, John. I -- "
But John gives another of those all over body shudders, and Rodney can't stand to see it. He's the one who's supposed to be afraid all the time, not John. And so he leans forward and kisses John, just lightly.
John isn't content to let it go at that, gripping Rodney hard by the upper arms and deepening the kiss till they're both breathless. "Please, Rodney?"
"Okay, okay.” Amazing how he can be grateful and annoyed with John at the same time. “I'll do what I can."
Leaning back as far as John's grip will allow, he tries to find his voice. It wouldn't do for it to stay shaky when they're doing this. Refusing to spare a glance at Ronon -- he'll either understand or he won't -- Rodney says, in the most commanding voice he can summon, "Take off your shirt, John."
Rodney knows that, really, this is for him. All of it. John is allowing this to happen because if there's one thing John is excellent at it's controlling his own emotions and body. So to see him shiver when the shirt comes off, nipples already taut, breathing shallowly with the whites of his eyes flashing in the gloom as he searches for Rodney --
The press of walls recedes a little, letting Rodney's chest loosen even more. He can do this.
A soft inhalation makes Rodney look over at Ronon, half-surprised to see him still there. "Oh. Um. So, you know that you can't -- "
"I know about your stupid policies, yes."
"Hey, they aren't my stupid policies," Rodney defends, automatically gathering John against him again and running his hands over skin that's pebbled from gooseflesh. "They're his stupid policies, and they aren't his fault, either."
Rolling his eyes -- Ronon's picked that up remarkably quickly -- he gestures to John's shoes. "Let me take those off?"
Hands busy on John's skin -- and that will never get old, never -- Rodney shrugs. "Sure."
Ronon moves over to them and once again Rodney is struck by how graceful he is for such a large man. When he crouches to undo John's boots, it does nothing to dispel that thought.
John, though, John is tensing up in his arms, looking up at him like he's really uncomfortable. "It's okay." Fingers seek out John's nipple, pinching harshly then soothing away the sting with gentle strokes. "You know how this works. Nothing happens that you're not comfortable with.”
Nodding, John twists a little in Rodney's arms, as if he's trying to fit himself into the space between Rodney and Ronon. When he settles suddenly, Rodney glances down to see that Ronon has slipped off both boots and is still crouched, hands on John's shins.
Ronon's staring at John, but then he looks to Rodney. "Can I?"
Rodney takes in John's face, dark and shuttered, and slowly nods. "I call the shots," he says, as firmly as he can make the words because he knows that's what John's waiting for. "And you don't fuck him."
There are two soft groans and Rodney's honestly not certain which of the three of them are guilty.
"I still get to come, though, right?" Ronon grins, teeth startlingly bright against his beard.
Kissing the side of John's throat, Rodney rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course. Orgasms for everyone. But his ass belongs to me."
Before he moves to help John take off his pants, he checks the pockets. Yep, there's the lube, just like it always is. The only surprise that Rodney has is that they haven't been caught before, with John's penchant for semi-public sex.
Then he unbuttons John's fly and slides the pants down his legs with Ronon's help, leaving John naked and hard in his lap. One hand steals down to touch the soft hardness even as John mutely arches his back, asking for another kiss.
This time, Rodney denies him, gathering Ronon in with his eyes and tipping his head towards John. Ronon catches on fast, crawling up John's body and tangling one hand in his wild hair. He kisses him deeply, solidly, even as Rodney's hands continue to touch him in all the good ways.
When Ronon backs off, John looks more than a little dazed. Rodney smiles. It’s a good look on John.
"How long have you wanted us? And is it us, or just him?" Rodney takes his kiss this time, thrusting his tongue in deeply to find any lingering taste of Ronon and making sure to replace it with his own. He can feel Ronon's eyes on them, watching the way John goes limp, moaning in his throat as he lets Rodney direct the kiss.
Breaking off, Rodney nods again even though Ronon's already got his mouth on John, pushing so that John's head rests firmly on Rodney's shoulder. Ronon's dreadlocks brush fire over Rodney's clothed body. "Touch his chest," Rodney says.
He loves to play there, partially because John is surprisingly insecure about muscle definition and the map of curls that cover his skin, and partially because it’s just fun -- warm and solid and it turns John on every time like a light switch.
Ronon's hands are gentle on John’s body, tracing out his ribs and tugging lightly on the hair. He looks up from kissing John and smiles, but doesn't answer the question. Rodney doesn't really care as long as Ronon remembers who's in charge, here.
John's hard, cock up tight against his belly, leaking steadily. His legs shift as John spreads himself wide, almost begging for Rodney’s touch. Rodney has never been good at denying himself, so he takes John's balls in hand, weighing them and feeling them pull up tight against John's body. His mind races as he debates what they could do.
"So, I'm thinking you might like it if John blows you. That sound good to you?" From the whimpers John's making, it's good for him. "Maybe I'll fuck him at the same time."
"He gives blowjobs?" Ronon's looking impressed, not critical, but John still bristles at the implications.
Rodney calms him with a hand on his neck; waiting the three seconds it takes for John to go limp before speaking. "John loves to give blowjobs. Don't you, John?"
John nods, then appears to realize that Rodney's waiting for an actual answer. "I love sucking cock," he said, words incongruous in his flat voice. The look on his face makes it clear that he loves sucking Rodney's cock.
Then he glances at Ronon, and that look is more challenging. "I could make you scream."
Ronon looked disbelieving. "Right."
"No, really, scream like a little girl."
Rodney looks on smugly. "Oh, he could. John is a cocksucking god, which I don't tell him often because he already has an ego that could flatten small Godzillas."
John rolls his eyes, or starts to, instead gasping when Rodney strokes over his stomach to cup his cock, bouncing it lightly. "Say you're a cocksucker, John."
He loves these little power trips. They're not harmful -- Rodney makes certain of that -- but just hearing John drawl out ludicrously degrading phrases that are true -- hot. So very hot.
So is the way Ronon's eyes go just a little bit wider when every of John's words ring with sincerity. "I'm a cocksucker," John repeats, breathlessly arching his body. "I am; I'll make you scream from it."
"I'm not loud during sex."
"Oh, yes, because you're such a chatterbox the rest of the time." Rodney grins, though. He likes challenges. Nipping John's neck, he adds, "Unless you don't want a blowjob?"
"Didn't say that," Ronon says, and yeah, when Rodney glances down he can see a fairly impressive bulge in Ronon's pants. "Just said I won't scream."
"We'll see about that." Rodney lands a soft swat on John's hip. "Up, John. On your knees." The part of him that never fails to doubt that this is real clenches hard as John wordlessly rolls to his knees and stays there -- head up, hands on his thighs, cock standing up tall between his legs.
Rodney stands and looks at Ronon, who is still sitting on the floor, staring at John. "You gonna strip down?"
"Yeah." And then Ronon is on his feet as well, taking his clothes off with almost flattering haste. Rodney carefully looks away so that Ronon can't see the smile that threatens to break through.
Then John reaches out with one hand, touching Rodney softly on the thigh, and his breath catches painfully in his chest.
Leaning on his side -- the walls are at least ten feet up, everything is fine, no problems here -- Rodney draws John's hand up and kisses his knuckles. They'd been uncomfortable with this kind of thing at first, neither certain the other would accept and understand, but they did and they do and Rodney's learning not to be self-conscious about this kind of thing.
Moving his kisses to John's shoulder, he nips the sensitive skin there. "You okay?"
For just a moment, John-Rodney's-friend surfaces, pushing away John-Rodney's-sex-partner. "Yeah, I'm fine, Rodney. Better than, even."
"You can stop this if you want."
"I know. I don't want to." And just like that, John visibly lets go of his control, handing it over to Rodney.
The switch is one that always makes Rodney a little breathless, a little scared. He doesn't know how to compartmentalize himself like John does, isn't good at it when he tries. John seems okay with it and doesn't fuss, but for him... there are different facets and faces that Rodney's sure he's never seen. And that while each is John, they're completely different all the same.
Ronon kneels in the dirt, watching them. "How do you want me?" he asks Rodney, stroking his cock idly.
"Stop that," Rodney says, gesturing. "John, go make him stop."
Quick as a flash, John settles in front of Ronon, bent almost double as he knocks Ronon's hand away and slides his mouth down. Rodney knows exactly how that feels, so he only smirks, unsurprised, when Ronon's eyes go incredibly wide, mouth opening slightly.
Ronon's silent, for the moment, but John isn't really putting everything he has into the blowjob, either. Rodney can tell from the way that John's holding himself that he's holding back, and he smiles.
"John. Be good and do it the right way," he calls. John pulls off enough to flash him a quick grin, one that says that John knew what he was doing. Then, after a deep breath, John goes back down... and down... and down.
Ronon's eyes get even wider, if that’s possible, and he tangles his hands in John's hair as he takes Ronon right down his throat.
Rodney has to fight back a wave of jealousy as he watches. He and John have talked in theoreticals about this, about fucking with Ronon or maybe Teyla, but at some level Rodney had never expected it to actually happen.
But John looks good like this, kneeling and sucking on Ronon, and Rodney can't stay upset. Instead, he's got to get in there and touch and prove who John actually belongs to.
Moving makes the light reflect off the bars, reminding him of where he is. There're no guards, though, and won't be for hours more -- there's a routine, already. Breaking out isn't possible, so Rodney lets himself focus on the way his hips match the curve of John's ass, pressure and heat seeping into Rodney's skin as John moves to hands and knees without hesitation.
Ronon mutters something that probably isn't English.
"Isn't he good?" Rodney asks, running a hand down John's distended spine, counting the bumps. "He loves it. He'll spend hours on his knees or on his belly, whatever I like, so long as he gets to suck."
There's another low grunt and Rodney's fascinated to see a move he adores from the outside.
Watching John give head is turning out to be one of the hottest things Rodney's ever done. John is getting lost in the sensation of being taken, it's clear from the look on his face, and in return he's giving it his all.
Enough so that when Rodney buries his hand in John's hair and pulls, John fights him, just for a moment. "Hey, he pants, almost whining, “no." He's straining against Rodney's hand, trying to get back to Ronon's cock, which is every bit as impressive as the man himself.
"Shh, John. Gonna let you go back in just a moment. Want inside you, first."
John turned his head and looks curiously at Rodney, and Rodney swears to himself. He let something through, he knows it, but John doesn't question him, just settles himself more firmly, spreading his knees wide.
It's eerie, doing this with Ronon watching. His presence is dark and solid, a mountain letting its shadow fall over them. Rodney tries to ignore it, thankful that at least his dick doesn’t mind it, as he lets two fingers work John open.
John hisses, arching back, wordlessly begging for more. He hates being teased like this, which is one reason Rodney loves it.
"Still," he orders, panting only a little. "Lick the tip of Ronon's cock but don't suck it."
Two groans of disappointment are his reward.
He slaps John's ass lightly with his free hand. "I could tell you to stop entirely." Not that he actually would, but still, the threat works, and the tension in John's back falls away as he loses himself in licking Ronon's cock.
When Rodney finally lets his fingers slide in deep, hooking and pressing into John's prostate, John gasps and redoubles his efforts on Ronon, who groans and grabs the base of his dick. Rodney can't resist the urge to look at him, to make a face that says, "What, already?"
Ronon actually growls. "Get on with it, McKay." But no matter what Ronon says, Rodney isn't going to rush this. He loves the soft heat of John's ass, loves the sounds he makes, and he's going to treasure every moment.
Certain John’s loose enough - not too loose, though - Rodney withdraws his fingers and carefully, slowly pushes in. He holds still once he's fully seated, enjoying the way John always shakes, always represses the need for movement, for Rodney to shove and take and have. Chuckling, Rodney keeps his hips steady as he leans down, John eeling around so that his ear touches Rodney's lips.
"Teeth," he says, softly enough that even Ronon might not hear. John moans, allowing Rodney's sharp nip, then dives back to Ronon's cock.
Normally, Rodney's not big on teeth next to his cock -- it hurts, and hey, kind of disconcerting even when it’s a good thing. But the way John does it should get them the scream they're both angling for.
Rodney starts moving slowly, wanting to give John a chance to adjust so he doesn't accidentally bite down. Besides, John loves it hard and fast and the sounds he makes when he doesn't get his way are priceless.
Rodney watches greedily as John takes Ronon deep, and can tell the exact moment he starts to pull back, scraping teeth along the way, because Ronon gasps and shakes and bites his lip. When John nips at the head, he gasps, and as he slides back down, Ronon is making all sorts of sounds.
But no scream yet.
Eyeing Ronon, Rodney musters up a smirk from somewhere and shoves into John. John, predictably, moans like he has his own dick in something as tight and hot and perfect as John's ass is, eyes rolling back just a little as he gets that first burst of friction, the one that settles him like nothing else, getting him into the moment, into Rodney.
Ronon makes a low, choked-off noise that could've been a scream. A quiet one.
"See?" Rodney says, pulling back to shove in again. "It's only been a few minutes, too. John can do this for hours."
It's incredibly gratifying to see the way Ronon's eyes widen.
As Rodney thrusts into him over and over, John starts moaning like a porn star, and unbelievably taking even more of Ronon's cock down his throat. His eyes have rolled back in his head, and his lashes are fluttering as he takes it from both ends.
Rodney is almost jealous of Ronon. Almost. Then John clenches his muscles around Rodney's dick, and Rodney's eyes roll back into his head. He shifts his grip on John's hips, leaving new bruises on top of old, and slides in with even more force, feeling John jerk under him.
Idly, Rodney wonders just what their captors might do if they walked in right now. Probably sit and watch, because Rodney knows they look good. Well, Ronon does, gleaming body only looking even prettier with the occasional smudge of dirt, curling hair on his pecs thinning before it arrows down to John's head, dark and wild as it bobs up and down.
John himself is beautiful like this, a work of erotic art as he takes both their cocks and wants more, loud, wordless sounds better than any fake moans. He loves this, rocking back and forth in perfect rhythm because the easier it is, the more he gets.
Rodney, himself, isn't pretty or even very attractive, he knows, but the sight of his cock disappearing into John's ass... yeah, that's got to be attractive. Very.
There's a jerk that goes from Ronon to Rodney. He doesn't know what John's done, but Ronon jerks again, gasping harshly, before letting his head fall back as he... screams.
It's not a particularly blood-curdling one, and there's no fear at all in it -- just pleasure so intense it leaves him inhaling harshly on the final note. "Sheppard," he hisses.
"Fuck his face," Rodney orders, switching long, powerful strokes for shorter, harsher jabs. "Make him swallow it."
There's no hesitation in Ronon as he grabs John's head -- one hand on his face and the other in his hair -- holding him steady as Ronon fucks into him with long deep strokes.
One, two, three powerful rolls of his hips, and Ronon is screaming, coming, and coming hard from the look of it. Rodney can see outline of John's throat as he swallows, trying to take it all, but a little bit escapes and trickles down his chin.
Ronon curls over John as he finishes, panting, and Rodney does something he can't believe he's daring to do -- he reaches out and tangles one hand in Ronon's dreads, pulling him in for a kiss even as his hips move jerkily, his own orgasm only waiting for John's.
John moans loudly and says, "Please Rodney, oh, god, please?"
Breathing harshly, Rodney releases Ronon and says, "You made a mess on his face. Clean it up."
And oh, oh, Ronon is, he ducks down with that startlingly bright grin so he can lick John's chin clean -- "kiss him" -- before taking his mouth in a long, powerful kiss Rodney knows will taste more like Ronon than John.
"Ready?" Rodney asks, fucking in and out of John hard enough that they'll both have more bruises tomorrow. Carson won't know the difference, fortunately.
"Quiet," Rodney says when John moans again. He doesn't want to hear any begging, just that long, breathless cry as John comes. Reaching underneath is awkward, but Rodney manages it and tugs hard once. "Come, John."
Rodney falls the moment John's body contracts around his, achingly tight as they both moan their release.
***
Slumping over John's back, Rodney tries to catch his breath. He knows not to be worried about his weight on John -- John likes to feel pinned after sex. He told him once that it makes him feel safe.
Ronon is still kissing John deeply, though it's gentled considerably, and even as Rodney watches, his muscles start twitching from the uncomfortable position they're both in.
With a groan, he pulls free of John's body, giving John’s hip a tight squeeze as he does so. He doesn't have to say anything, because John has already stopped kissing Ronon to shift around and start kissing Rodney.
There's grit under his ass and who knows what else, but all Rodney thinks about is the warm, sated body in his arms and the way John's mouth tastes with Ronon inside it. He likes it, he decides, chasing out every bit of it and vowing to replace it with his own bitter-salt taste, later.
John is half-asleep and nearly purring, his usual response to intense sex. If they were at Atlantis, Rodney would allow it; maybe even encourage it with another orgasm or two. They aren't, though, and already Ronon is looking out the bars of their cell.
Well. First, Ronon fits himself behind the tangle of Rodney and John, wrapping a long arm around both of them. Then he looks out, keeping watch. "How fast can you get it up again?" he asks.
Both John and Rodney blink. "Excuse me?"
Ronon shrugs, something sharp glinting with the movement. "I want to see him blow you. And I want to watch while you fuck him." Another sharp movement and Ronon's looking directly into Rodney's eyes. "If that's all right with -- "
Rodney makes an impatient noise. “If it’s what, if it’s all right with me? What?”
Quickly getting to his feet, Ronon keeps his eyes on the darkened, shadowed hallway. “Gunfire,” he grunts pulling his pants on and fastening his boots, faster than Rodney would have thought possible.
He refuses to get distracted by it, though, urging John up and dressing, before he turns his attention to his own clothes. John looks faintly disgruntled about the timing of their rescue, and Rodney could almost laugh about it, but instead he crouches down and laces John's boots for him. "Are you okay? Can you hold it together till we're home?"
Giving a sharp nod, John visibly pulls himself back together, back into his own head, and Rodney spares a thought to mourn the fact that they had so little recovery time. John, post-orgasm, is one of his favorite things, and he got almost no time to enjoy it this time.
As John and Ronon come together in front of Rodney, he's relieved when John looks over his shoulder and winks. He's shocked speechless when Ronon does the same.
The sounds of gunfire are closer now, and Rodney braces himself for one of those bullets to come flying through the heavy wooden door, even as he hears Lorne in the hallway. "Are you in there?"
"We're here. Nice of you to stop by, Major," John -- no, Sheppard says. "Think we could get out of here some time today?"
"I'm going to have to blow the door. Stand back." Before Rodney can move, Ronon and Sheppard have shouldered him back by the wall and are standing braced in front of him.
The door blows with a small boom, and there's Lorne and Teyla, both faintly bloodied but standing strong. "Let's go home, sir," Lorne says. Teyla just smiles.
Possibly only Rodney notices the fact that Sheppard is keeping his distance from the marines and Teyla, and he knows why -- he doesn't want them to smell sex on him with no explanation.
The realization gives him a tiny thrill and, a moment later, a smugly grinning Ronon. "You are an ape," Rodney snaps, which is enough to prompt half the marines and Teyla to jump in and defend the Mountain Man, who needs no defense whatsoever.
It's a good distraction, though.
Getting home is as exciting as getting home always is, complete with shoot-outs and Sheppard acting shocked that no one seems to like him as much as he thinks they do, and a mad, frantic dash to the gate.
Continued here
By: ladycat777 and wolfshark
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard/Ronon
Summary: "How long have you wanted us?"
Words: 11,900
Disclaimer: Not ours, blah blah
Feedback: beloved
A/N: Beta'd by the lovely yin-again. This is a tag-fic that we've been working on for a while, which will account for some of the inconsistencies that are still floating around. This is also based very, very much on blueraccoon's stories Cabin Fever and Rules of the Game, only we flipped it a little. She has given us permission.
Ronon's eyes are sharp. That isn't a surprise, really; a runner better be good at seeing everything at once, or he'll be a dead runner pretty soon. But Ronon sees more than just possible attacks or exits. He sees people - and he sees them much better than his wordless grunts and stoic body language implies.
Rodney forgot that.
It's a small prison cell. Not too small, but Rodney's tired and cranky and his arm hurts like a goddamned bitch, and he hasn't eaten in over twelve hours, and while no one else believes him, hypoglycemia is a real issue. Not quite yet, actually, but it's making his claustrophobia go from a mild case to a serious one.
John is kneeling beside him, totally focused on murmuring soft words about wide open places, the air cold and clean all around them, sun weak but so brilliant it dazzles their eyes, his hands busily working Rodney's shoulders and back to try and get him to calm down. Rodney's trying -- actually trying, since he's learned that there's a time and place for histrionics and this is neither -- but he doesn't know how successful he is.
Probably not very, by the anxious look John's trying to hide in his eyes. "Would it help if I freaked out, too?"
"Yes, actually." Rodney can't disguise the humor in his voice. The likelihood of John freaking out is somewhere below slim, and Rodney knows it. Except John leans in close, face intent and intimate and Rodney can't help shooting a look at Ronon.
It's not like they're alone, here, and if Ronon says the wrong thing to the wrong person...
But Ronon simply smirks at Rodney. "I knew. Don't worry about me."
"Oh, okay." And with that, Rodney turns his attention back to John, who is busily curling in further.
"I could freak out. I could freak out all over the place, Rodney."
Rodney can't help the laugh, shaky as it is. "Yeah, right, Sheppard," he says, only to have to swallow it down when John holds up a hand, which shakes.
"See?" John's amused -- he always is, by Rodney's often-humiliating desire for this -- but his eyes are serious. Rodney's desire for this kind of give and take, coddling or being coddled, may be humiliating, but John's repressed his need - not entirely the same, but damned similar -- for decades. To him, it’s dark, secretive, something wrong about man and commander both, and exposing even the tiniest amounts of it here where Ronon can see...
"No," he says, surprising himself. He wants this. Always does, every time, it’s as Pavlovian as his response to coffee. But he's also got an inkling of the way Ronon is, and having his commander act like this, be like this... "No. It's okay; you don't need to do this."
He’s sure that gasping the last few words doesn't help his case much.
John looks back at Ronon, silently assessing, then somehow makes his body go smaller and frailer. "Tell you a secret," he says. "I'm a little claustrophobic myself."
Rodney stops taking shallow breaths to glare. "Oh, please, that is the most patently false thing you've ever said, and the truth is that it’s something you're only passingly familiar with, on a good day!"
John shakes his head, a warm ball that shivers just a touch against Rodney's side. "I am."
"You fly in helicopters! Those cockpits are tiny!"
Ronon, oddly, is the one to answer. His legs stretch out on Rodney’s other side, stretching most of the length of their tiny cell. "S'different up in the air. You've got the sky all around you. It's not small and dark and under -- "
"Okay!" Rodney snaps, mostly for his own benefit, although he really doesn't think John's a good enough actor to mimic that real, convulsive shuddering that’s shivering against Rodney’s body. "Okay, okay, we get it. So... you really are claustrophobic?"
He doesn't mean to sound so young, but this is one of his issues that most people are familiar with, but don't really understand. Not the true cases, like his, where it can induce real panic attacks. The kind that aren't interrupted by bursts of brilliance, because Rodney's brain is truly and completely offline.
John nods and knots a hand in Rodney's shirt. "Yeah. Really am."
Rodney has never been able to derail one of his own approaching panic attacks. But for John, he finds that it's easy to set aside the encroaching fear and to force himself to take deep breaths. Air. There's plenty of air down here, and they aren't going to suffocate.
He’s proud to note that his hand is barely shaking when he gently untangles John's grip on his shirt. "It's... it's okay, John. I -- "
But John gives another of those all over body shudders, and Rodney can't stand to see it. He's the one who's supposed to be afraid all the time, not John. And so he leans forward and kisses John, just lightly.
John isn't content to let it go at that, gripping Rodney hard by the upper arms and deepening the kiss till they're both breathless. "Please, Rodney?"
"Okay, okay.” Amazing how he can be grateful and annoyed with John at the same time. “I'll do what I can."
Leaning back as far as John's grip will allow, he tries to find his voice. It wouldn't do for it to stay shaky when they're doing this. Refusing to spare a glance at Ronon -- he'll either understand or he won't -- Rodney says, in the most commanding voice he can summon, "Take off your shirt, John."
Rodney knows that, really, this is for him. All of it. John is allowing this to happen because if there's one thing John is excellent at it's controlling his own emotions and body. So to see him shiver when the shirt comes off, nipples already taut, breathing shallowly with the whites of his eyes flashing in the gloom as he searches for Rodney --
The press of walls recedes a little, letting Rodney's chest loosen even more. He can do this.
A soft inhalation makes Rodney look over at Ronon, half-surprised to see him still there. "Oh. Um. So, you know that you can't -- "
"I know about your stupid policies, yes."
"Hey, they aren't my stupid policies," Rodney defends, automatically gathering John against him again and running his hands over skin that's pebbled from gooseflesh. "They're his stupid policies, and they aren't his fault, either."
Rolling his eyes -- Ronon's picked that up remarkably quickly -- he gestures to John's shoes. "Let me take those off?"
Hands busy on John's skin -- and that will never get old, never -- Rodney shrugs. "Sure."
Ronon moves over to them and once again Rodney is struck by how graceful he is for such a large man. When he crouches to undo John's boots, it does nothing to dispel that thought.
John, though, John is tensing up in his arms, looking up at him like he's really uncomfortable. "It's okay." Fingers seek out John's nipple, pinching harshly then soothing away the sting with gentle strokes. "You know how this works. Nothing happens that you're not comfortable with.”
Nodding, John twists a little in Rodney's arms, as if he's trying to fit himself into the space between Rodney and Ronon. When he settles suddenly, Rodney glances down to see that Ronon has slipped off both boots and is still crouched, hands on John's shins.
Ronon's staring at John, but then he looks to Rodney. "Can I?"
Rodney takes in John's face, dark and shuttered, and slowly nods. "I call the shots," he says, as firmly as he can make the words because he knows that's what John's waiting for. "And you don't fuck him."
There are two soft groans and Rodney's honestly not certain which of the three of them are guilty.
"I still get to come, though, right?" Ronon grins, teeth startlingly bright against his beard.
Kissing the side of John's throat, Rodney rolls his eyes. "Yes, of course. Orgasms for everyone. But his ass belongs to me."
Before he moves to help John take off his pants, he checks the pockets. Yep, there's the lube, just like it always is. The only surprise that Rodney has is that they haven't been caught before, with John's penchant for semi-public sex.
Then he unbuttons John's fly and slides the pants down his legs with Ronon's help, leaving John naked and hard in his lap. One hand steals down to touch the soft hardness even as John mutely arches his back, asking for another kiss.
This time, Rodney denies him, gathering Ronon in with his eyes and tipping his head towards John. Ronon catches on fast, crawling up John's body and tangling one hand in his wild hair. He kisses him deeply, solidly, even as Rodney's hands continue to touch him in all the good ways.
When Ronon backs off, John looks more than a little dazed. Rodney smiles. It’s a good look on John.
"How long have you wanted us? And is it us, or just him?" Rodney takes his kiss this time, thrusting his tongue in deeply to find any lingering taste of Ronon and making sure to replace it with his own. He can feel Ronon's eyes on them, watching the way John goes limp, moaning in his throat as he lets Rodney direct the kiss.
Breaking off, Rodney nods again even though Ronon's already got his mouth on John, pushing so that John's head rests firmly on Rodney's shoulder. Ronon's dreadlocks brush fire over Rodney's clothed body. "Touch his chest," Rodney says.
He loves to play there, partially because John is surprisingly insecure about muscle definition and the map of curls that cover his skin, and partially because it’s just fun -- warm and solid and it turns John on every time like a light switch.
Ronon's hands are gentle on John’s body, tracing out his ribs and tugging lightly on the hair. He looks up from kissing John and smiles, but doesn't answer the question. Rodney doesn't really care as long as Ronon remembers who's in charge, here.
John's hard, cock up tight against his belly, leaking steadily. His legs shift as John spreads himself wide, almost begging for Rodney’s touch. Rodney has never been good at denying himself, so he takes John's balls in hand, weighing them and feeling them pull up tight against John's body. His mind races as he debates what they could do.
"So, I'm thinking you might like it if John blows you. That sound good to you?" From the whimpers John's making, it's good for him. "Maybe I'll fuck him at the same time."
"He gives blowjobs?" Ronon's looking impressed, not critical, but John still bristles at the implications.
Rodney calms him with a hand on his neck; waiting the three seconds it takes for John to go limp before speaking. "John loves to give blowjobs. Don't you, John?"
John nods, then appears to realize that Rodney's waiting for an actual answer. "I love sucking cock," he said, words incongruous in his flat voice. The look on his face makes it clear that he loves sucking Rodney's cock.
Then he glances at Ronon, and that look is more challenging. "I could make you scream."
Ronon looked disbelieving. "Right."
"No, really, scream like a little girl."
Rodney looks on smugly. "Oh, he could. John is a cocksucking god, which I don't tell him often because he already has an ego that could flatten small Godzillas."
John rolls his eyes, or starts to, instead gasping when Rodney strokes over his stomach to cup his cock, bouncing it lightly. "Say you're a cocksucker, John."
He loves these little power trips. They're not harmful -- Rodney makes certain of that -- but just hearing John drawl out ludicrously degrading phrases that are true -- hot. So very hot.
So is the way Ronon's eyes go just a little bit wider when every of John's words ring with sincerity. "I'm a cocksucker," John repeats, breathlessly arching his body. "I am; I'll make you scream from it."
"I'm not loud during sex."
"Oh, yes, because you're such a chatterbox the rest of the time." Rodney grins, though. He likes challenges. Nipping John's neck, he adds, "Unless you don't want a blowjob?"
"Didn't say that," Ronon says, and yeah, when Rodney glances down he can see a fairly impressive bulge in Ronon's pants. "Just said I won't scream."
"We'll see about that." Rodney lands a soft swat on John's hip. "Up, John. On your knees." The part of him that never fails to doubt that this is real clenches hard as John wordlessly rolls to his knees and stays there -- head up, hands on his thighs, cock standing up tall between his legs.
Rodney stands and looks at Ronon, who is still sitting on the floor, staring at John. "You gonna strip down?"
"Yeah." And then Ronon is on his feet as well, taking his clothes off with almost flattering haste. Rodney carefully looks away so that Ronon can't see the smile that threatens to break through.
Then John reaches out with one hand, touching Rodney softly on the thigh, and his breath catches painfully in his chest.
Leaning on his side -- the walls are at least ten feet up, everything is fine, no problems here -- Rodney draws John's hand up and kisses his knuckles. They'd been uncomfortable with this kind of thing at first, neither certain the other would accept and understand, but they did and they do and Rodney's learning not to be self-conscious about this kind of thing.
Moving his kisses to John's shoulder, he nips the sensitive skin there. "You okay?"
For just a moment, John-Rodney's-friend surfaces, pushing away John-Rodney's-sex-partner. "Yeah, I'm fine, Rodney. Better than, even."
"You can stop this if you want."
"I know. I don't want to." And just like that, John visibly lets go of his control, handing it over to Rodney.
The switch is one that always makes Rodney a little breathless, a little scared. He doesn't know how to compartmentalize himself like John does, isn't good at it when he tries. John seems okay with it and doesn't fuss, but for him... there are different facets and faces that Rodney's sure he's never seen. And that while each is John, they're completely different all the same.
Ronon kneels in the dirt, watching them. "How do you want me?" he asks Rodney, stroking his cock idly.
"Stop that," Rodney says, gesturing. "John, go make him stop."
Quick as a flash, John settles in front of Ronon, bent almost double as he knocks Ronon's hand away and slides his mouth down. Rodney knows exactly how that feels, so he only smirks, unsurprised, when Ronon's eyes go incredibly wide, mouth opening slightly.
Ronon's silent, for the moment, but John isn't really putting everything he has into the blowjob, either. Rodney can tell from the way that John's holding himself that he's holding back, and he smiles.
"John. Be good and do it the right way," he calls. John pulls off enough to flash him a quick grin, one that says that John knew what he was doing. Then, after a deep breath, John goes back down... and down... and down.
Ronon's eyes get even wider, if that’s possible, and he tangles his hands in John's hair as he takes Ronon right down his throat.
Rodney has to fight back a wave of jealousy as he watches. He and John have talked in theoreticals about this, about fucking with Ronon or maybe Teyla, but at some level Rodney had never expected it to actually happen.
But John looks good like this, kneeling and sucking on Ronon, and Rodney can't stay upset. Instead, he's got to get in there and touch and prove who John actually belongs to.
Moving makes the light reflect off the bars, reminding him of where he is. There're no guards, though, and won't be for hours more -- there's a routine, already. Breaking out isn't possible, so Rodney lets himself focus on the way his hips match the curve of John's ass, pressure and heat seeping into Rodney's skin as John moves to hands and knees without hesitation.
Ronon mutters something that probably isn't English.
"Isn't he good?" Rodney asks, running a hand down John's distended spine, counting the bumps. "He loves it. He'll spend hours on his knees or on his belly, whatever I like, so long as he gets to suck."
There's another low grunt and Rodney's fascinated to see a move he adores from the outside.
Watching John give head is turning out to be one of the hottest things Rodney's ever done. John is getting lost in the sensation of being taken, it's clear from the look on his face, and in return he's giving it his all.
Enough so that when Rodney buries his hand in John's hair and pulls, John fights him, just for a moment. "Hey, he pants, almost whining, “no." He's straining against Rodney's hand, trying to get back to Ronon's cock, which is every bit as impressive as the man himself.
"Shh, John. Gonna let you go back in just a moment. Want inside you, first."
John turned his head and looks curiously at Rodney, and Rodney swears to himself. He let something through, he knows it, but John doesn't question him, just settles himself more firmly, spreading his knees wide.
It's eerie, doing this with Ronon watching. His presence is dark and solid, a mountain letting its shadow fall over them. Rodney tries to ignore it, thankful that at least his dick doesn’t mind it, as he lets two fingers work John open.
John hisses, arching back, wordlessly begging for more. He hates being teased like this, which is one reason Rodney loves it.
"Still," he orders, panting only a little. "Lick the tip of Ronon's cock but don't suck it."
Two groans of disappointment are his reward.
He slaps John's ass lightly with his free hand. "I could tell you to stop entirely." Not that he actually would, but still, the threat works, and the tension in John's back falls away as he loses himself in licking Ronon's cock.
When Rodney finally lets his fingers slide in deep, hooking and pressing into John's prostate, John gasps and redoubles his efforts on Ronon, who groans and grabs the base of his dick. Rodney can't resist the urge to look at him, to make a face that says, "What, already?"
Ronon actually growls. "Get on with it, McKay." But no matter what Ronon says, Rodney isn't going to rush this. He loves the soft heat of John's ass, loves the sounds he makes, and he's going to treasure every moment.
Certain John’s loose enough - not too loose, though - Rodney withdraws his fingers and carefully, slowly pushes in. He holds still once he's fully seated, enjoying the way John always shakes, always represses the need for movement, for Rodney to shove and take and have. Chuckling, Rodney keeps his hips steady as he leans down, John eeling around so that his ear touches Rodney's lips.
"Teeth," he says, softly enough that even Ronon might not hear. John moans, allowing Rodney's sharp nip, then dives back to Ronon's cock.
Normally, Rodney's not big on teeth next to his cock -- it hurts, and hey, kind of disconcerting even when it’s a good thing. But the way John does it should get them the scream they're both angling for.
Rodney starts moving slowly, wanting to give John a chance to adjust so he doesn't accidentally bite down. Besides, John loves it hard and fast and the sounds he makes when he doesn't get his way are priceless.
Rodney watches greedily as John takes Ronon deep, and can tell the exact moment he starts to pull back, scraping teeth along the way, because Ronon gasps and shakes and bites his lip. When John nips at the head, he gasps, and as he slides back down, Ronon is making all sorts of sounds.
But no scream yet.
Eyeing Ronon, Rodney musters up a smirk from somewhere and shoves into John. John, predictably, moans like he has his own dick in something as tight and hot and perfect as John's ass is, eyes rolling back just a little as he gets that first burst of friction, the one that settles him like nothing else, getting him into the moment, into Rodney.
Ronon makes a low, choked-off noise that could've been a scream. A quiet one.
"See?" Rodney says, pulling back to shove in again. "It's only been a few minutes, too. John can do this for hours."
It's incredibly gratifying to see the way Ronon's eyes widen.
As Rodney thrusts into him over and over, John starts moaning like a porn star, and unbelievably taking even more of Ronon's cock down his throat. His eyes have rolled back in his head, and his lashes are fluttering as he takes it from both ends.
Rodney is almost jealous of Ronon. Almost. Then John clenches his muscles around Rodney's dick, and Rodney's eyes roll back into his head. He shifts his grip on John's hips, leaving new bruises on top of old, and slides in with even more force, feeling John jerk under him.
Idly, Rodney wonders just what their captors might do if they walked in right now. Probably sit and watch, because Rodney knows they look good. Well, Ronon does, gleaming body only looking even prettier with the occasional smudge of dirt, curling hair on his pecs thinning before it arrows down to John's head, dark and wild as it bobs up and down.
John himself is beautiful like this, a work of erotic art as he takes both their cocks and wants more, loud, wordless sounds better than any fake moans. He loves this, rocking back and forth in perfect rhythm because the easier it is, the more he gets.
Rodney, himself, isn't pretty or even very attractive, he knows, but the sight of his cock disappearing into John's ass... yeah, that's got to be attractive. Very.
There's a jerk that goes from Ronon to Rodney. He doesn't know what John's done, but Ronon jerks again, gasping harshly, before letting his head fall back as he... screams.
It's not a particularly blood-curdling one, and there's no fear at all in it -- just pleasure so intense it leaves him inhaling harshly on the final note. "Sheppard," he hisses.
"Fuck his face," Rodney orders, switching long, powerful strokes for shorter, harsher jabs. "Make him swallow it."
There's no hesitation in Ronon as he grabs John's head -- one hand on his face and the other in his hair -- holding him steady as Ronon fucks into him with long deep strokes.
One, two, three powerful rolls of his hips, and Ronon is screaming, coming, and coming hard from the look of it. Rodney can see outline of John's throat as he swallows, trying to take it all, but a little bit escapes and trickles down his chin.
Ronon curls over John as he finishes, panting, and Rodney does something he can't believe he's daring to do -- he reaches out and tangles one hand in Ronon's dreads, pulling him in for a kiss even as his hips move jerkily, his own orgasm only waiting for John's.
John moans loudly and says, "Please Rodney, oh, god, please?"
Breathing harshly, Rodney releases Ronon and says, "You made a mess on his face. Clean it up."
And oh, oh, Ronon is, he ducks down with that startlingly bright grin so he can lick John's chin clean -- "kiss him" -- before taking his mouth in a long, powerful kiss Rodney knows will taste more like Ronon than John.
"Ready?" Rodney asks, fucking in and out of John hard enough that they'll both have more bruises tomorrow. Carson won't know the difference, fortunately.
"Quiet," Rodney says when John moans again. He doesn't want to hear any begging, just that long, breathless cry as John comes. Reaching underneath is awkward, but Rodney manages it and tugs hard once. "Come, John."
Rodney falls the moment John's body contracts around his, achingly tight as they both moan their release.
***
Slumping over John's back, Rodney tries to catch his breath. He knows not to be worried about his weight on John -- John likes to feel pinned after sex. He told him once that it makes him feel safe.
Ronon is still kissing John deeply, though it's gentled considerably, and even as Rodney watches, his muscles start twitching from the uncomfortable position they're both in.
With a groan, he pulls free of John's body, giving John’s hip a tight squeeze as he does so. He doesn't have to say anything, because John has already stopped kissing Ronon to shift around and start kissing Rodney.
There's grit under his ass and who knows what else, but all Rodney thinks about is the warm, sated body in his arms and the way John's mouth tastes with Ronon inside it. He likes it, he decides, chasing out every bit of it and vowing to replace it with his own bitter-salt taste, later.
John is half-asleep and nearly purring, his usual response to intense sex. If they were at Atlantis, Rodney would allow it; maybe even encourage it with another orgasm or two. They aren't, though, and already Ronon is looking out the bars of their cell.
Well. First, Ronon fits himself behind the tangle of Rodney and John, wrapping a long arm around both of them. Then he looks out, keeping watch. "How fast can you get it up again?" he asks.
Both John and Rodney blink. "Excuse me?"
Ronon shrugs, something sharp glinting with the movement. "I want to see him blow you. And I want to watch while you fuck him." Another sharp movement and Ronon's looking directly into Rodney's eyes. "If that's all right with -- "
Rodney makes an impatient noise. “If it’s what, if it’s all right with me? What?”
Quickly getting to his feet, Ronon keeps his eyes on the darkened, shadowed hallway. “Gunfire,” he grunts pulling his pants on and fastening his boots, faster than Rodney would have thought possible.
He refuses to get distracted by it, though, urging John up and dressing, before he turns his attention to his own clothes. John looks faintly disgruntled about the timing of their rescue, and Rodney could almost laugh about it, but instead he crouches down and laces John's boots for him. "Are you okay? Can you hold it together till we're home?"
Giving a sharp nod, John visibly pulls himself back together, back into his own head, and Rodney spares a thought to mourn the fact that they had so little recovery time. John, post-orgasm, is one of his favorite things, and he got almost no time to enjoy it this time.
As John and Ronon come together in front of Rodney, he's relieved when John looks over his shoulder and winks. He's shocked speechless when Ronon does the same.
The sounds of gunfire are closer now, and Rodney braces himself for one of those bullets to come flying through the heavy wooden door, even as he hears Lorne in the hallway. "Are you in there?"
"We're here. Nice of you to stop by, Major," John -- no, Sheppard says. "Think we could get out of here some time today?"
"I'm going to have to blow the door. Stand back." Before Rodney can move, Ronon and Sheppard have shouldered him back by the wall and are standing braced in front of him.
The door blows with a small boom, and there's Lorne and Teyla, both faintly bloodied but standing strong. "Let's go home, sir," Lorne says. Teyla just smiles.
Possibly only Rodney notices the fact that Sheppard is keeping his distance from the marines and Teyla, and he knows why -- he doesn't want them to smell sex on him with no explanation.
The realization gives him a tiny thrill and, a moment later, a smugly grinning Ronon. "You are an ape," Rodney snaps, which is enough to prompt half the marines and Teyla to jump in and defend the Mountain Man, who needs no defense whatsoever.
It's a good distraction, though.
Getting home is as exciting as getting home always is, complete with shoot-outs and Sheppard acting shocked that no one seems to like him as much as he thinks they do, and a mad, frantic dash to the gate.
Continued here