Until the Wold Crumbles by Ladycat777 and Wolfshark, NC-17, John/Rodney/Ronon, Part 2 of 2
Title: Until the World Crumbles 2/2
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.
Continued from here
Home isn't much better, since Elizabeth needs to be debriefed and Beckett has turned into a vampire over the last several years, but all it really takes is an hour and a half, two hours tops, and then Rodney is loudly demanding he wants to go back to his quarters, shower and sleep and if his scientists blow up Atlantis, he's not coming to save them.
He limps, though. Just a little. And glares whenever someone suggests it get looked at.
His ankle does hurt and he does think he twisted it a little, but it works as the ruse is supposed to work, Sheppard drawlingly resigned as he volunteers to get Rodney back to his quarters in one piece. Ronon just follows like an overgrown sheep dog and no one even blinks too hard at them.
No one sees them all enter Rodney's room.
They barely make it into the room before Ronon shoves John against the door and kisses him, hard enough that John makes a surprised grunt. They’re all tired and exhausted and really, they should all just shower and sleep, but there’s always a rush of too much lingering adrenaline after a mission, and Rodney knows John’s been craving this since Ronon made his request, back in the cell. So Rodney watches, idly stroking his cock through his pants, before deciding enough is enough and tugs on Ronon's arm. He halfway expects that he won't be able to get anywhere, but Ronon surprises him, yet again, giving way almost instantly.
John is sweet and pliable under Rodney, but his eyes are a little wild, so Rodney gentles the kiss, running soothing hands over John's chest and stomach. John arches into the touch, making Rodney groan in satisfaction.
Turning his head a little, he nips at John's ear. "I'm going to fuck you long and slow, while Ronon watches. You want that?"
John nods, panting. "Always," he says. It's an odd response and Ronon certainly looks quizzical, but Rodney understands.
Tugging off his shirt, he complains, "I will never understand your exhibitionist kink. I mean, okay, I don't mind it and watching is certainly fun, but you love it when people watch me take you."
John just groans, eyes fluttering just at the words. "Uh huh."
Ronon chuckles. "He probably never should've been promoted," he guesses, voice full of dark promises that have nothing to do with reality that hovers outside the door. "He likes being under people too much."
Rodney's cock twitches because yes, John does. He could imagine John, a Private or a Sergeant or something low ranking, being told to go do this, or scuttle over to do that, and John doing it with his cock hard and his breathing rushed and…
"Shower," Rodney squeaks. "We need to shower, and John, you need to suck me hard because Carson took too much of my damned blood."
From there it's a scramble for all three of them to get naked, and Rodney takes a long moment to just look Ronon up and down, because holy hell, he's hot.
Ronon stands there and lets him look his fill, his cock already half hard and twitching. Rodney doesn't quite know what god he pleased to get this, but he's certainly not going to complain.
Instead, he gives Ronon a nod and then leads the way to the bathroom. The Ancients must have been true sybarites, because the shower is huge, easily big enough for the three of them, and they all duck inside together.
Then it's a mess of soapy hands, and slick flesh, making Rodney gasp as someone's fingers run down his crack and someone else's hand falls on his dick, but he's not sure who is who and it doesn't really matter.
They take turns rinsing off, and then Rodney pushes John to his knees. "Suck me."
Water flattens John's hair to his head and he groans, low and long, as he falls into Rodney's groin, snuffling and nuzzling at his cock before taking him into that hot, wet, perfect mouth of his.
Behind him, Ronon is watching carefully, his own hips jerking when John starts to move up and down, lovingly sucking each millimeter of flesh. "He really likes that."
"Mm hm. I have no idea how a venerate cocksucker survived the American military, but their homophobic loss is my definite gain."
Ronon understands most of that, for a wonder, or at least nods like he does. "He sucks you better than me."
"What, is this a contest?" Rodney's hand cups the back of John's head and neck, giving him something to press against, knowing John loves feeling like he's being forced. "He's sucked me before, he knows me better."
"Nah. He likes you better."
Rodney rolls his eyes and tries not to preen. Between his legs, John sucks even harder.
There's a reason that generally they do this with Rodney sitting or lying down, and it's because it only takes a few minutes of John's very talented mouth to bring him to the brink of orgasm, complete with weak knees.
When Rodney plants a hand in John's hair and pulls, John gives way grudgingly. And as soon as he lets go, he's right back after Rodney's cock, like it's a necessity. "John, stop, or I'm going to fall."
Reluctantly, John stops and climbs to his feet, licking his lips. Rodney knows what that means, and as soon as they're dried off, John proves him right once again by going to his knees next to the bed and just waiting for Rodney to come sit down in front of him. John wants Rodney's cock -- wants it badly and is willing to do damn near anything Rodney tells him to do to get it.
Rodney smiles at Ronon and sits down in front of John, holding his head back so he can't zero right in. John huffs a frustrated little breath, but they've got time and privacy right now, so Rodney wants to take his time.
"You want to play with him?" Rodney asks while John presses against his hand, eager and hating the restriction. "Stay, John, I'm talking to Ronon now."
Ronon looks surprised, uncertain that he was the focus of Rodney's question, but nods. "What can't I do?"
"Fingers are okay, and he's got this thing about his perineum -- um, the little bit of skin right behind his balls. Really likes that. Yes, yes, all right," he snaps, smirking down at John, who is currently pouting.
"No cock," he tells Ronon, who nods, rolling his eyes even as he settles down on the ground behind John, and then Rodney lets go, so that John can slide his mouth back down onto Rodney's cock, humming blissfully down the length of it.
Rodney tries to distract himself from the truly world class blowjob he's getting by watching Ronon play. He'd half expects Ronon to go right for fingering John, but instead he's stroking John with light, barely there touches that skip right over his entrance, teasing at his perineum.
John seems like he's in heaven, Rodney's cock down his throat and Ronon touching him, but he keeps shifting restlessly like he's trying to get more. Leaning sideways, Rodney picks up the lube off the nightstand. "Here," he says to Ronon, "catch."
Ronon catches it, barely, startling a chuckle out of Rodney. Never thought he'd see the day when Ronon fumbles anything.
One of John's hands has snuck up on him, fondling his balls, and startling him back to what John is doing with his mouth. He can't hold back the moan, John working him as sweetly as he can. God, it feels good.
Dropping his head back, Rodney focuses on the glare of the overhead lights, which grow brighter at his unspoken desire to be fully dazzled. Only when his eyes start to ache does he let his head go forward again, blinking spots out of his eyes as he settles a little more deeply into his own skin, better able to control himself.
John is smirking up at him, familiar with Rodney's discomfort trick, and that just isn't something Rodney's going to tolerate. He touches John's face, wet lips, the soft bristle of his cheeks where they hollow around his cock -- oh, god, that never stops being hot -- before he skates them back into the soft heat of John's hair, fingers lost in lush black, flush against John's skull.
Then he grips. Hard.
John moans like a porn-star and behind him, Ronon makes a sound. "What'd you do?" he asks.
Rodney grins and nods to where his hands peek out, pink where the knuckles haven't gone white. "He's kind of a slut," he says conversationally, because he knows John likes that. So does he. "Face-fucking is something of a kink."
Especially if it hurts a little, but Rodney doesn't mention that. He knows -- knows -- Ronon would never hurt either of them, but there are parts inside of Rodney that aren't happy with sharing, no matter how hot it is, or how much John likes it.
John moans again, louder, and when Rodney looks, he sees that Ronon has slid two fingers into him, deep from the look of it and from the way John is hunching his hips. He tightens his hand further, and John looks back up. "Still," he says, and John groans, vibrating around his cock, but his hips slow and eventually come to a trembling stop.
Rodney’s own hips are moving restlessly, as John bobs obediently up and down his cock, following where he leads. He knows that John loves every second of this, pinned between Rodney's cock and Ronon's fingers, and the only thing that would make it better would be if it were Ronon's cock.
But he's not going to allow that. John's ass is his and he's not willing to share.
Just thinking about it makes him want it, want it right the fuck now, and only the look on John's face keeps him from pulling free from that hot mouth, spinning him around, and shoving into him. Instead, he looks at Ronon, who is completely focused on what he's doing, and says, "He can take another, you know. He's not going to break -- in fact, he'd probably thank you."
Ronon grunts, John echoing the noise a moment later, though his trails off into a breathy, muffled groan of pleasure. John's eyes are fluttering, showing white more often then iris and pupil; it's only the fact that John holds himself so rigid that's preventing him from coming.
Rodney's still not certain how to react to having a boyfriend who comes on command. One who trained himself.
Humming to himself, Rodney scoots forward a little to see better. Ronon has three fingers inside John now, flashes of darker brown against skin Rodney knows is pink where it isn't yellow-y pale, moving in a steady, pounding rhythm that has to be driving John insane. He hates slow, something Rodney appreciates since he loves it.
His hands clench around John's head, forcing him still for a moment as he lets his cock drag hot and slick in and out of his mouth. His thumbs are hard above the curve of John's ears, almost near the temple, and the pressure there would make Rodney's eyes pop; it makes John do other things.
"He's pretty," Ronon says. "Like this."
"Yes, he is," Rodney agrees, pushing in a little faster when John groans in frustration. "If I let him, he'd spend virtually all of his time on his knees."
"Never had a slut for a commander before."
There's a moment of... something. Rodney stops enjoying the velvet of John's mouth and catches Ronon's eyes. This could be a problem. Rodney's fully aware of military dynamics -- he's not that oblivious, thank you -- and if this comes back to bite him, bite Sheppard because Rodney freaked out and John really is a whore for cock, and also wanted to make Rodney feel better...
Ronon smirks at him, beard making his teeth even brighter. "Relax, McKay. I can figure out the differences."
"Are you sure?" He knows he's holding John too tightly, but this is a worry he should've had hours ago. "Because, look, yes, he's a cocksucking slut and he'll probably do anything when he's like this," John moans something that might've been disagreement; it's hard to tell since he hasn't even twitched around the cock he's still sucking, "but once we're outside -- "
"McKay. I get it. Relax. And you're choking John."
John, not Sheppard. That distinction is suddenly sharper than ever. Rodney nods, slowly relaxing into the sensation of trusting someone about John, before looking down. "Are you choking?"
John's eyes roll. He's flushed and he's breathing harshly through his nose and he looks as blissed out as a junky on heroin.
"Huh. Maybe not," Ronon says, before twisting his fingers in a way that makes John arch.
Rodney can feel the orgasm start to build in his lower back, electricity crackling along his spine, but he doesn't want to come yet. He knows that John would happily let him come in his mouth, and if they were alone, he'd do just that, and then get John off.
But they aren't alone, and Rodney knows that he's far too competitive to just let it go at that. So he uses the grip he has in John's hair to pull his head back and off his cock with a pop.
John whines, high in his throat, and struggles against his hand to get back to Rodney's cock. He's so desperate that Rodney nearly lets him, but then he pulls up bringing John up off his knees without dislodging Ronon's fingers. "I want you, John. Want you to ride my cock like the slut you are."
He swallows, then nods, eyes wide. His hips press back into Ronon's hand, his cock hard and wet against his belly, and Rodney thinks he's never seen John look more beautiful.
Ronon's low chuckle should've been startling, but it isn't. "Never heard you talk like this before. Like it."
Rodney flushes -- he's not exactly good at this, but he likes it and he knows John does, too, even though he's even worse at saying it -- but he's mollified when John twists just a little to look at Ronon over his shoulder. It's a testament as to how far into this John is that there's no glare, no superior commander at all: just naked need and lust. "S'true," John murmurs, spreading his legs wantonly. "All true."
"For him." There's something significant about that, but Ronon is standing, withdrawing his fingers from John's body and surveying the three of them. "Got an idea how you want to do this, McKay?"
Rodney scoots back on the bed so that his back is against the wall, legs dangling off the edge. He pats his leg. "Come on up here, John."
But Ronon stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Just a second," he says and wraps his wet hand around Rodney's cock, slicking him up, making him shudder. Rodney may love everything that he and John do together, but Ronon's got nice hands, and they feel really good on his cock.
John is staring at them -- well, to be accurate, he's staring at where Ronon is touching Rodney -- and the look on his face is a mixture of jealousy and lust. Rodney reaches out and strokes the hair back from his face, wanting him to be okay. John bends his head and nuzzles Rodney's palm, making him smile.
Too soon, Ronon pulls back, with a grunt and an, "Okay," letting go of John's shoulder at the same time. Rodney doesn't need to say anything before John is on the bed, knee-walking up over his thighs and high above his cock.
Before Rodney can reach down to hold his cock for John to sit down, Ronon's hand is back, this time guiding John down. Harsh moan rise from three separate throats as John settles into the cup of Rodney's hips.
John knows better than to start moving immediately, because whatever pace he sets; Rodney is going to slow him down. Instead he waits, face impatient, for Rodney to take him by the hips and guide him into a slow glide.
Rodney makes himself smirk, smug and arrogant as John tries not to whine or complain -- that earns him punishment, the kind he doesn't like -- because John never knows how powerful this is. To see John sitting astride him, fully surrounding Rodney, anxious to move and jerk not just so that he, John, comes, but that Rodney releases inside him.
And now Ronon is watching, too.
"You're a tease, McKay," Ronon says, sitting on the bed and running one of his big, dangerous hands over John's shoulder and down his back. John arches like a cat, hissing at the sensation.
Rodney grins at him, hoping he doesn't look as strained and desperate as he feels. "You approve? Not that I need it, of course. John approves."
John gives him a green-eyed look that is not at all approval, shifting without lifting up at all, and Ronon laughs. "He really is a -- a slut," Ronon says, voice deep and amused and not at all insulting. "That's what your men call it, Sheppard. When a person is gagging for it, desperate. And you are."
John groans, knowing better than to dispute hard evidence. He shifts again, glaring down at Rodney -- then wincing as his cock is slapped. "Sorry," he pants, tightening to almost unbearable pressure.
Rodney gasps, hips jerking. "Forgiven." To prove it, he settles his fingers around John's hips, the tucked under bone that's so easy to grip and move, John's body lifting fluidly, matching Rodney's slow, aching pace so easily.
He has to swallow his moan, because he needs to stay in control, or this will end far too soon. But it doesn't really matter - John is moaning enough for both of them.
Rodney can see the fierce concentration on Ronon's face as he's clearly looking where John is impaled on his cock, and he has to squeeze down on John's hips, bringing him to a stuttering stop as gentle fingers trace out where his cock is sliding into John.
"Oh, f-fuck," he stutters out as those same fingers trace down to his balls, tugging lightly, and then back up again. John is whining in his arms, but Rodney doesn't dare move, because he'll come if he does.
There's a click, and then Ronon's hand is back, slick with the good lube, tracing the tight muscle that's got Rodney's dick in a vice grip. "I want -- can I, McKay?" It takes a second for Rodney to figure out what Ronon's asking, but when he does, his breath catches in his throat as he nods.
And then there's a finger sliding in, next to his cock, and he can't hold back the moan.
He bites his own lips hard enough to bleed, trying to keep back babbling words that will only get him into trouble, later. They almost did with John, weeks and months ago, before he realized just how much John loves taking every single thing Rodney gives him and craving more beside. John is gasping, shallow breaths that don't seem to be giving him enough oxygen, given his wide-eyed look, and Rodney knows exactly how he feels.
"Can I?" Ronon asks again. His eyes are locked on what his hand is doing, and oddly, he looks younger like this. Vulnerable. No longer Ronon, the fierce warrior who bosses Rodney around as much as Rodney bosses him, just a young man who is lost in lust and want.
John squeaks when the second finger is added. Rodney tries his damnedest not to imitate the sound because Jesus, those are Ronon's fingernails against the bottom of his cock and oh, oh my god.
"Yeah," he gasps, biting down again, fresh blood welling up and he welcomes the pain. It keeps his mind from fogging up too much. "Don't tease, Ronon."
"No," he says, a third finger joining the other two for a moment. "That's your job. Lean forward." It's a command for John, who waits for Rodney's nod before obeying; kissing away the coppery blood from Rodney's mouth as more lube is applied. A lot more.
It's hard to shift enough for what Ronon wants, but somehow they manage, so that John is practically lying on Rodney's chest. Ronon catches Rodney's eye over John's shoulder and lifts an eyebrow, clear question.
But there's really not much to wonder about, and he answers by sliding his hands back to John's ass and pulling him wide to Ronon's view. Ronon gasps, and his fingers slide free. He kneels, straddling Rodney's thighs, and Rodney has a brief moment of panic because he's pinned beneath two large men.
Ronon never breaks eye contact with him, though, and that helps, steadies him, so that he's able to swallow back the groan as Ronon presses into John, slow, so very fucking slow.
The pressure inside John is crushing, and it steals all of Rodney's air. John is making soft whimpering noises between their bodies, and Rodney manages to find enough control to run a soothing hand up his back. "Shh, John, it's okay, you can do this," he babbles, then looks to Ronon. "Don't move. Give him a moment to adjust."
Ronon nods, grimacing. It's not the most reassuring of expressions, given that Rodney can't do anything if there's a problem -- but he trusts Ronon. So instead he tips John's face up to him and kisses him, slow and sweet, letting John make all kinds of shivery noises into his mouth. His body is warm and completely pliant to Rodney's wandering hand, living play-dough to move and rearrange however he wishes.
"You okay?" he murmurs against John's mouth. He doesn't want to see John's eyes, knowing he'll be completely drugged-looking with lust; pupil so huge there'll be barely a rim of green.
If Rodney sees that he'll come. Immediately. He does every time.
John nods, mouthing against Rodney's skin because he can't quite gather up enough control for kissing. It's good enough, for an answer, and Rodney pets and strokes, cuddling John like a kitten as he slowly relaxes around the two of them.
God, that's Ronon’s cock pressing warm and snug against his own.
Rodney closes his eyes and thrusts gently, experimentally. Both Ronon and John groan in unison and he smiles at the sounds they make.
His hands find their way back down John's body and curl around his hips, holding him so that he has no choice but to be still as Rodney sets up a sweet, slow rhythm of pressing in. When he opens his eyes, Ronon's face is right there, waiting for Rodney's nod, and then he starts to rock in counterpoint.
John's breathy moans are steady now, music to Rodney's ears. Buried within them are words and syllables that tell Rodney that John is lost, awash in a sea of sensation. Normally he wouldn't worry about John coming before he was ready, but the slow rising tension in his back and arms tells him that this one time, John isn't going to be able to control it. He's going to come, and soon.
It may not be a bad thing, though. Unlike Rodney, who does not like being fucked when he has already come, John claims to enjoy it. It isn't something Rodney experiments with often, as he likes watching John gasp and silently plead for release, likes watching him come, but he's done it enough that he has to believe John.
John is a master of faking what he wants others to see, but like this -- like here -- he can't.
Catching Ronon's eye, he speeds up just the tiniest bit, Ronon immediately catching the change. Both arms wrapped around John, trusting Ronon not to collapse over them, Rodney shifts and pushes until he's certain one of them is brushing against his prostate, Rodney stroking along John's back while he grips and starts lightly -- so lightly -- tugging.
John shouts.
"It's okay," Rodney whispers in his ear, lipping shell and tickling black hairs both. "Come on. We want to see you."
It's only a few more strokes, and then John tenses beneath Rodney's hands, muscles going rigid and locked as his ass tightens unbelievably, and he comes silently over Rodney's hand.
Rodney only manages to avoid coming by focusing completely on John, petting and stroking him through his orgasm. When he finally stops, he goes completely boneless above Rodney, slumped even more onto his chest, and Rodney can't help the grin that splits his face as he looks to Ronon.
Now that John's come, there's an air of tension that wasn't there before, and in a flash of insight that is rare and precious, Rodney reads it for what it is - competition between Ronon and himself.
And he'll be damned if he's going to let Ronon win.
So he starts moving with purpose, as best he can with John's weight on his chest and Ronon on his thighs. Fast and then faster, biting his lip to keep enough control that John isn't being hurt.
Ronon is looking at him, narrow-eyed, a slight sneer on his upper lip, bottom caught between his teeth. It makes him look fierce, uncontrollable, physical prowess that Rodney can't hope to match.
It also makes him look absurdly young and vulnerable.
It's a stretch, but Rodney manages to detach one arm from curling around John to find Ronon's chest. The skin is warm and soft, slick like the gold it resembles. He's much smoother than John, what hair he has downy and curled, not the rough whorls Rodney loves to run his fingers through. It's a different sensation, and Rodney finds he likes it --
Especially when he tweaks Ronon's nipples and the man not only groans and rumbles approvingly, he slows down.
Huh. Interesting reaction. Rodney repeats it, a little harder, catching John's interest as he continues to be fucked in long, hard strokes, but now only with one dick.
Ronon's still there, just not moving at all, and Rodney hums to himself and continues to touch. John's making small mewling sighs as Rodney continues to move, and his other hand is busy touching him, making sure that he's okay.
John pulls back enough that he can catch Rodney's eye, and tips his head back towards Ronon in a deliberately provocative way. Rodney smiles and kisses him for it, but keeps his eyes on Ronon, who groans as their lips touch.
One of Ronon's hands finds its way to where Rodney's is curled around John's hip, anchoring him here. Rodney twists and grips Ronon's wrist, tugging and pulling till he goes off balance, sliding in even deeper as barely catches himself on the bed. He groans again, and Rodney smiles.
This is unexpected, because who would ever think that Ronon could be ambushed this way, or give so sweetly? But he is, and it's so hot to watch the shadows his dreads make falling all over John's back, listening to the way he pants, choking back words Rodney really hopes are pleas for more.
He can do more.
"You're falling behind," Rodney teases, his voice lower and rougher than it's ever been before. Ronon groans in response, his arm trembling. He's sweating, and it drips down to slide off John's back. "Keep up, Ronon. Fuck him."
John makes a wordless noise that is encouragement and taunting at the same time. He's wanton, like this, sated and calm and pliant enough that Rodney vaguely worries if John’s bones have all melted away entirely.
"Fuck him," Rodney says again.
From the noise that Ronon's making, Rodney can tell that there's nothing more than Ronon wants to do. But he's still holding back, refusing to move, and that puzzles Rodney a little bit.
It's only when John says, "Please, Ronon. Fuck me," that Ronon groans again and starts to move in long, slow strokes. He's found his balance again, and his hands are firm on John's hips as he gives him what he asks for.
John's getting hard again against Rodney's stomach, and Rodney can't keep his grin off his face. "He's a real slut for this, Ronon. He's hard, and if we fuck him right, he'll probably come again. You want that, don't you?"
This time, the groan has words in it, something that sounds like, "God, yes," and now Ronon is fucking the way Rodney wants him to, deep and thorough.
Rodney matches him, stroke for stroke. Not being athletic is the field is never a good indication for stamina in bed and as the minutes stretch out, John rocking between them to take more, Ronon starts looking impressed. It's insulting, a little, but Rodney knows his big, pudgy body is not thought of as particularly worthy of the sustained kind of affections Ronon's supposedly produces.
Rodney also knows he can go for hours, has enough experience to make each moment spectacular, and John pushes the boundaries on both of those whenever they have the time.
Ronon has none of those.
John shifts, carefully placing his palms on either side of Rodney's head, forcing himself up and then back so he can be fucked more easily. "Say it," he begs, whispery and low.
"Slut," Rodney replies, pinching a nipple before lifting up so that he can pinch Ronon's. "Fuck him harder," he says, moaning softly as they low scrape of friction of cock against his own turns into an achingly sweet burn.
Ronon's hands bracket John's, forcing him down as he fucks hard and deep. Rodney can't move anything other than his hips, pinned as he is, but he's past the point of caring.
He's twisting Ronon's nipple, watching the look on his face change into something that's hungry and desperate, even as he continues to whisper to John. "Cock-hungry slut. Taking it like this, two cocks up your ass and still not enough, is it?"
John moans, eyes rolling back in his head. His cock leaves wet trails on Rodney's stomach, and Rodney bites his own lip at the sensation.
Then he thinks better of it, and leans up enough to kiss John, biting his lip instead.
Mumbling something in what sounds like Satedan, Ronon is sweating and gorgeous, and Rodney spares a thought for how he could have missed this when he was looking at Ronon before. He twists Ronon's nipple again, and smiles when he curses, his hips jumping.
John's voice starts to spiral out of control, something that Rodney has only heard twice before, and it tells him that John's been pushed down as far as he can be. He's lost in his head, willing to do anything when he's like this, broken into little pieces, and Rodney responds to that like he always does, wrapping his arms around John and holding him tight, holding him together.
"Now, Ronon. Give it to him now," he says, knowing that he's only moments away from breaking himself.
Ronon goes statue-still, head falling back. It's hot, unbelievably so, because just like John, all it's taking is a single phrase, barked out and Ronon is obeying him.
"Jesus," Rodney whispers, hips bucking uncontrollably. Ronon moans in answer, panting as he comes inside of John's body, around Rodney's cock, warm and wet.
It should be gross, feeling another man come on him like this. It is gross, but John is whimpering against his skin, rocking into his belly even as he tightens around both of them, for Ronon's finish and Rodney's continued pleasure, and any complaints Rodney might contemplate of evaporate like water.
Ronon just came on command, Rodney thinks, fucking up as hard as he can, fingers digging furrows into John's skin.
Searching out John's mouth, he murmurs, "Now, John," even as he takes him in a hard kiss, swallowing his cries. John's body tightens unbelievably, and that's all it takes to push Rodney over that last line, and he gives in to the unbearable pressure and lets his orgasm slam through him.
When he can see and think and breathe without sounding like a straining engine, Ronon is draped alongside him, eyes half closed while one hand plays up and down John's arm. John himself is spread over him like a blanket, murmuring quietly, face tucked against Rodney's neck, a mess on their bellies, and he is warm and solid and canted just enough that Rodney doesn't feel suffocated.
It's a trick John's known from the very beginning, artlessly arranging himself and Rodney so they're never painfully tangled or too heavy against each other. Rodney wants to know how, but he can't bring himself to ask.
"Mm," Ronon says, leaning down to brush a kiss on Rodney's neck that's almost, but not quite, close enough to reach John's mouth.
"That -- was amazing," Rodney manages to get out after a few tries. He’s winded and tired and sore and it’s perfect. Ronon smiles, an expression that leaves him looking even younger and much more innocent. John doesn't say anything, but he rubs his face against Rodney's neck.
Rodney could sleep right now, and he suspects the same of John, but Ronon looks wide-awake, almost like he has a question. Rodney tries to wait patiently, but eventually gives up and snaps, "What?"
"Now what?" Ronon asks, and Rodney almost -- almost -- says something to the effect of Now we sleep, dumbass.
But there are undercurrents to Ronon's question that Rodney only understands the surface of. So instead, he shifts so he can see Ronon better, one hand cradling the back of John's head. "It depends on what you want, Ronon."
John reaches out to thumb over Ronon's bottom lip, letting Ronon catch it for a second, then drawing it away. "What do you want?" he echoes, settling more comfortably on Rodney.
"He's yours," Ronon says. He's looking at Rodney, almost like John doesn't even exist. It should make Rodney angry, because he hates being dismissed and since John is his, there's a possessive, sharing thing he doesn't completely understand at work.
He does understand what Ronon means, though. "Yeah. He is mine."
He's never actually said that to someone who isn't John before. The thrill of it shivers through him, like plummeting down the first drop of a roller coaster. John is his, and someone knows it. Ronon knows it.
"Don't want to mess that up."
Rodney smiles. This? This is easy. If he hasn't managed to mess up things with John, then Ronon can't. What they have together is wonderful and complicated and messy, except when it's very simple.
John is his.
"You won't. I won't let you. So why don't you just tell me what you want, and I'll tell you if it's possible."
Ronon... blushes. It's high on the cheeks and very faint, doesn't seem possible, and at first Rodney thinks it must be a trick of the light -- but there's no real question, he's blushing. "I want to be part of what you have."
Rodney wants to just say yes, but he's as much John's as John is his, and this isn't something that he can just unilaterally decide. So he runs his hand up to John's chin and turns his head until he can see his eyes. "What do you think, John?"
John licks his lips, eyes glinting and feral, as he looks first at Rodney and then at Ronon. "He tastes good," he says, voice practically a purr.
It's not an answer, except in the way that it's the only answer possible. Rodney laughs, and then harder when Ronon looks confused. "He's saying yes," Rodney translates, pushing at John's head so that he stretches forward to kiss Ronon. They make a very pretty picture like that, John's narrower features sharp and dark against Ronon's.
"That's a yes?" Ronon's smiling, though. "It doesn't sound like a yes."
Rodney reaches out and smacks the top of Ronon's head. Like this, here, he can do that. "There are boundaries," he says, tugging on one of the dreads and chuckling at Ronon's outraged expression -- he hasn't moved, though, which practically shouts permission.
"There always are," Ronon says, but then short circuits anything that Rodney might have said by leaning forward and kissing him.
Ronon does taste good, and Rodney lets him control the kiss for a minute before shifting John and taking it back. By the time he lets go, he's half on top of Ronon, John lying behind him, and Ronon looking pleasingly lost.
But he's not the biggest genius in two galaxies for nothing, so he regroups and says, "For now, I don't want you two to be alone like this. If I'm there, it's fine. And you only fuck him with my permission."
Nodding, Ronon looks thoughtful. "Does he fuck? Can he fuck me?"
Rodney looks at John; it's his choice to bottom as much as he does, and there's only been one time when it was bad enough that Rodney flat out ordered him to fuck him.
John smiles, sharp and greedy and happy, leaning forward to mouth along both their shoulders before pulling back. "If Rodney's here," he says. "And we still get to boss him around on missions, if we want."
Rodney splutters, outraged at John's insouciant tone, but Ronon is grinning -- broadly and completely -- and that's too rare a sight for Rodney to ignore it. "You are both menaces," he grouses. "And you probably both need to be spanked."
That John goes slack-eyed and eager is not a surprise. That Ronon does as well is a surprise. A good one.
He knows he shouldn't assume, but before he can stop himself he's rolled to his feet and tugging on Ronon's hip. He's surprised right down to his toes when Ronon doesn't resist in the slightest, letting him turn him enough that he can land a firm swat on his ass.
Ronon moans, his hands seeking out John and kneading him like a cat. John looks pleasantly surprised by this turn of events, and Rodney likes the effect so much that he lands another one just for the hell of it.
"Good hands," Ronon murmurs as rolls back onto his side, artfully posing himself so that a hint of one slightly reddened buttock is visible. "I always knew you had good hands."
"He really does," John agrees, welcoming Rodney back with a kiss and a return to his duties as living blanket. "You should fist him," he says to Rodney, as conversational as if he was deciding what movie he wanted to watch. "I'll suck him when you do."
The groan that gets is definitely from Ronon, though Rodney's not sure whether it's because of the thought of being fisted or John's mouth. It doesn't really matter, because he's lost in the mental picture of Ronon, splayed open and taking his fist. But... "Don't you think I should fuck him before I go sticking my hand up his ass?" he asks, deliberately crude.
The, "Yeah, he should," from Ronon is entirely unexpected.
Rodney's smart enough to recognize the dominance games Ronon plays with Sheppard out on the field, and the way they're changing and transmuting here in his bed. But Ronon willingly allowing Rodney to fuck him? That's both new and unexpected, and says things about Rodney he rarely wants to acknowledge.
When John nips him, because John knows Rodney far, far better than Rodney would often like, Rodney swats his ass hard enough that the crack of skin on skin echoes. All three of them make approving noises afterwards.
Sighing, Rodney lets his head lay against the pillow, John working even closer. "While I have never heard any complaints from John," he says, preemptively glaring, "me fucking you is not going to happen now. Not without some food, a nap, and possibly a shower."
He catches the way John's eyes flicker down to his chest, messy from John’s release, and just barely refrains from asking John to clean him with his tongue. They've done that before, but Rodney really does want a nap. It's been a long, exhausting day, not the least because of all the sex they've had. “Sleeeeep,” he whines.
Both John and Ronon chuckle at that, and then Ronon stands up and hunts for his pants.
Rodney stares, even going so far as to push him and John - ow, heavy - up on one elbow. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Ronon looks confused. "I was going to go back to my room. Give you space for a nap."
Of all that -- Rodney reaches out a hand towards him, waving demandingly. "Get back here. We can nap together." When Ronon looks doubtful, Rodney glares and puts on his most determined look, the one that cows entire science departments. "Now, Ronon. John?"
John's half asleep already, but he mutters, loud enough for Ronon to hear. "Would you get over here so Ronon will shut up and sleep already?"
That’s enough for Ronon who shrugs, dropping his pants again, before climbing back on the bed and curling up around Rodney and John. Rodney shoves at his shoulder until he's comfortable, and then closes his eyes.
It's a little tight, three large men on the two mattresses he’s got pressed together, but right then, tight is good. He likes feeling both men, warm and solid around him, so close that his body almost sways back and forth as each one breathes, minutely pushing him this way and that. He's never been a fan of the ocean, but this kind of rocking is ... soothing.
John places a soft, delicate kiss right below Rodney's ear. It's a nothing motion, maybe even just John moving in his sleep -- but Rodney knows he's not asleep, yet. And that it isn't not nothing at all.
"Okay?" he asks, hopefully softly enough that bat-ears next to him doesn't wake. Ronon's fallen asleep frighteningly fast.
"Yeah," John says, and kisses him again. "Go to sleep, Rodney."
"Okay," he says, and he's asleep between one breath and the next.
-fin-
title is from Griffin Jay, and Harold Young. Mehemet Bey (Turhan Bey), The Mummy’s Tomb, explaining his plans for himself, Kharis and Isobel (1942).
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.
Continued from here
Home isn't much better, since Elizabeth needs to be debriefed and Beckett has turned into a vampire over the last several years, but all it really takes is an hour and a half, two hours tops, and then Rodney is loudly demanding he wants to go back to his quarters, shower and sleep and if his scientists blow up Atlantis, he's not coming to save them.
He limps, though. Just a little. And glares whenever someone suggests it get looked at.
His ankle does hurt and he does think he twisted it a little, but it works as the ruse is supposed to work, Sheppard drawlingly resigned as he volunteers to get Rodney back to his quarters in one piece. Ronon just follows like an overgrown sheep dog and no one even blinks too hard at them.
No one sees them all enter Rodney's room.
They barely make it into the room before Ronon shoves John against the door and kisses him, hard enough that John makes a surprised grunt. They’re all tired and exhausted and really, they should all just shower and sleep, but there’s always a rush of too much lingering adrenaline after a mission, and Rodney knows John’s been craving this since Ronon made his request, back in the cell. So Rodney watches, idly stroking his cock through his pants, before deciding enough is enough and tugs on Ronon's arm. He halfway expects that he won't be able to get anywhere, but Ronon surprises him, yet again, giving way almost instantly.
John is sweet and pliable under Rodney, but his eyes are a little wild, so Rodney gentles the kiss, running soothing hands over John's chest and stomach. John arches into the touch, making Rodney groan in satisfaction.
Turning his head a little, he nips at John's ear. "I'm going to fuck you long and slow, while Ronon watches. You want that?"
John nods, panting. "Always," he says. It's an odd response and Ronon certainly looks quizzical, but Rodney understands.
Tugging off his shirt, he complains, "I will never understand your exhibitionist kink. I mean, okay, I don't mind it and watching is certainly fun, but you love it when people watch me take you."
John just groans, eyes fluttering just at the words. "Uh huh."
Ronon chuckles. "He probably never should've been promoted," he guesses, voice full of dark promises that have nothing to do with reality that hovers outside the door. "He likes being under people too much."
Rodney's cock twitches because yes, John does. He could imagine John, a Private or a Sergeant or something low ranking, being told to go do this, or scuttle over to do that, and John doing it with his cock hard and his breathing rushed and…
"Shower," Rodney squeaks. "We need to shower, and John, you need to suck me hard because Carson took too much of my damned blood."
From there it's a scramble for all three of them to get naked, and Rodney takes a long moment to just look Ronon up and down, because holy hell, he's hot.
Ronon stands there and lets him look his fill, his cock already half hard and twitching. Rodney doesn't quite know what god he pleased to get this, but he's certainly not going to complain.
Instead, he gives Ronon a nod and then leads the way to the bathroom. The Ancients must have been true sybarites, because the shower is huge, easily big enough for the three of them, and they all duck inside together.
Then it's a mess of soapy hands, and slick flesh, making Rodney gasp as someone's fingers run down his crack and someone else's hand falls on his dick, but he's not sure who is who and it doesn't really matter.
They take turns rinsing off, and then Rodney pushes John to his knees. "Suck me."
Water flattens John's hair to his head and he groans, low and long, as he falls into Rodney's groin, snuffling and nuzzling at his cock before taking him into that hot, wet, perfect mouth of his.
Behind him, Ronon is watching carefully, his own hips jerking when John starts to move up and down, lovingly sucking each millimeter of flesh. "He really likes that."
"Mm hm. I have no idea how a venerate cocksucker survived the American military, but their homophobic loss is my definite gain."
Ronon understands most of that, for a wonder, or at least nods like he does. "He sucks you better than me."
"What, is this a contest?" Rodney's hand cups the back of John's head and neck, giving him something to press against, knowing John loves feeling like he's being forced. "He's sucked me before, he knows me better."
"Nah. He likes you better."
Rodney rolls his eyes and tries not to preen. Between his legs, John sucks even harder.
There's a reason that generally they do this with Rodney sitting or lying down, and it's because it only takes a few minutes of John's very talented mouth to bring him to the brink of orgasm, complete with weak knees.
When Rodney plants a hand in John's hair and pulls, John gives way grudgingly. And as soon as he lets go, he's right back after Rodney's cock, like it's a necessity. "John, stop, or I'm going to fall."
Reluctantly, John stops and climbs to his feet, licking his lips. Rodney knows what that means, and as soon as they're dried off, John proves him right once again by going to his knees next to the bed and just waiting for Rodney to come sit down in front of him. John wants Rodney's cock -- wants it badly and is willing to do damn near anything Rodney tells him to do to get it.
Rodney smiles at Ronon and sits down in front of John, holding his head back so he can't zero right in. John huffs a frustrated little breath, but they've got time and privacy right now, so Rodney wants to take his time.
"You want to play with him?" Rodney asks while John presses against his hand, eager and hating the restriction. "Stay, John, I'm talking to Ronon now."
Ronon looks surprised, uncertain that he was the focus of Rodney's question, but nods. "What can't I do?"
"Fingers are okay, and he's got this thing about his perineum -- um, the little bit of skin right behind his balls. Really likes that. Yes, yes, all right," he snaps, smirking down at John, who is currently pouting.
"No cock," he tells Ronon, who nods, rolling his eyes even as he settles down on the ground behind John, and then Rodney lets go, so that John can slide his mouth back down onto Rodney's cock, humming blissfully down the length of it.
Rodney tries to distract himself from the truly world class blowjob he's getting by watching Ronon play. He'd half expects Ronon to go right for fingering John, but instead he's stroking John with light, barely there touches that skip right over his entrance, teasing at his perineum.
John seems like he's in heaven, Rodney's cock down his throat and Ronon touching him, but he keeps shifting restlessly like he's trying to get more. Leaning sideways, Rodney picks up the lube off the nightstand. "Here," he says to Ronon, "catch."
Ronon catches it, barely, startling a chuckle out of Rodney. Never thought he'd see the day when Ronon fumbles anything.
One of John's hands has snuck up on him, fondling his balls, and startling him back to what John is doing with his mouth. He can't hold back the moan, John working him as sweetly as he can. God, it feels good.
Dropping his head back, Rodney focuses on the glare of the overhead lights, which grow brighter at his unspoken desire to be fully dazzled. Only when his eyes start to ache does he let his head go forward again, blinking spots out of his eyes as he settles a little more deeply into his own skin, better able to control himself.
John is smirking up at him, familiar with Rodney's discomfort trick, and that just isn't something Rodney's going to tolerate. He touches John's face, wet lips, the soft bristle of his cheeks where they hollow around his cock -- oh, god, that never stops being hot -- before he skates them back into the soft heat of John's hair, fingers lost in lush black, flush against John's skull.
Then he grips. Hard.
John moans like a porn-star and behind him, Ronon makes a sound. "What'd you do?" he asks.
Rodney grins and nods to where his hands peek out, pink where the knuckles haven't gone white. "He's kind of a slut," he says conversationally, because he knows John likes that. So does he. "Face-fucking is something of a kink."
Especially if it hurts a little, but Rodney doesn't mention that. He knows -- knows -- Ronon would never hurt either of them, but there are parts inside of Rodney that aren't happy with sharing, no matter how hot it is, or how much John likes it.
John moans again, louder, and when Rodney looks, he sees that Ronon has slid two fingers into him, deep from the look of it and from the way John is hunching his hips. He tightens his hand further, and John looks back up. "Still," he says, and John groans, vibrating around his cock, but his hips slow and eventually come to a trembling stop.
Rodney’s own hips are moving restlessly, as John bobs obediently up and down his cock, following where he leads. He knows that John loves every second of this, pinned between Rodney's cock and Ronon's fingers, and the only thing that would make it better would be if it were Ronon's cock.
But he's not going to allow that. John's ass is his and he's not willing to share.
Just thinking about it makes him want it, want it right the fuck now, and only the look on John's face keeps him from pulling free from that hot mouth, spinning him around, and shoving into him. Instead, he looks at Ronon, who is completely focused on what he's doing, and says, "He can take another, you know. He's not going to break -- in fact, he'd probably thank you."
Ronon grunts, John echoing the noise a moment later, though his trails off into a breathy, muffled groan of pleasure. John's eyes are fluttering, showing white more often then iris and pupil; it's only the fact that John holds himself so rigid that's preventing him from coming.
Rodney's still not certain how to react to having a boyfriend who comes on command. One who trained himself.
Humming to himself, Rodney scoots forward a little to see better. Ronon has three fingers inside John now, flashes of darker brown against skin Rodney knows is pink where it isn't yellow-y pale, moving in a steady, pounding rhythm that has to be driving John insane. He hates slow, something Rodney appreciates since he loves it.
His hands clench around John's head, forcing him still for a moment as he lets his cock drag hot and slick in and out of his mouth. His thumbs are hard above the curve of John's ears, almost near the temple, and the pressure there would make Rodney's eyes pop; it makes John do other things.
"He's pretty," Ronon says. "Like this."
"Yes, he is," Rodney agrees, pushing in a little faster when John groans in frustration. "If I let him, he'd spend virtually all of his time on his knees."
"Never had a slut for a commander before."
There's a moment of... something. Rodney stops enjoying the velvet of John's mouth and catches Ronon's eyes. This could be a problem. Rodney's fully aware of military dynamics -- he's not that oblivious, thank you -- and if this comes back to bite him, bite Sheppard because Rodney freaked out and John really is a whore for cock, and also wanted to make Rodney feel better...
Ronon smirks at him, beard making his teeth even brighter. "Relax, McKay. I can figure out the differences."
"Are you sure?" He knows he's holding John too tightly, but this is a worry he should've had hours ago. "Because, look, yes, he's a cocksucking slut and he'll probably do anything when he's like this," John moans something that might've been disagreement; it's hard to tell since he hasn't even twitched around the cock he's still sucking, "but once we're outside -- "
"McKay. I get it. Relax. And you're choking John."
John, not Sheppard. That distinction is suddenly sharper than ever. Rodney nods, slowly relaxing into the sensation of trusting someone about John, before looking down. "Are you choking?"
John's eyes roll. He's flushed and he's breathing harshly through his nose and he looks as blissed out as a junky on heroin.
"Huh. Maybe not," Ronon says, before twisting his fingers in a way that makes John arch.
Rodney can feel the orgasm start to build in his lower back, electricity crackling along his spine, but he doesn't want to come yet. He knows that John would happily let him come in his mouth, and if they were alone, he'd do just that, and then get John off.
But they aren't alone, and Rodney knows that he's far too competitive to just let it go at that. So he uses the grip he has in John's hair to pull his head back and off his cock with a pop.
John whines, high in his throat, and struggles against his hand to get back to Rodney's cock. He's so desperate that Rodney nearly lets him, but then he pulls up bringing John up off his knees without dislodging Ronon's fingers. "I want you, John. Want you to ride my cock like the slut you are."
He swallows, then nods, eyes wide. His hips press back into Ronon's hand, his cock hard and wet against his belly, and Rodney thinks he's never seen John look more beautiful.
Ronon's low chuckle should've been startling, but it isn't. "Never heard you talk like this before. Like it."
Rodney flushes -- he's not exactly good at this, but he likes it and he knows John does, too, even though he's even worse at saying it -- but he's mollified when John twists just a little to look at Ronon over his shoulder. It's a testament as to how far into this John is that there's no glare, no superior commander at all: just naked need and lust. "S'true," John murmurs, spreading his legs wantonly. "All true."
"For him." There's something significant about that, but Ronon is standing, withdrawing his fingers from John's body and surveying the three of them. "Got an idea how you want to do this, McKay?"
Rodney scoots back on the bed so that his back is against the wall, legs dangling off the edge. He pats his leg. "Come on up here, John."
But Ronon stops him with a hand on his shoulder. "Just a second," he says and wraps his wet hand around Rodney's cock, slicking him up, making him shudder. Rodney may love everything that he and John do together, but Ronon's got nice hands, and they feel really good on his cock.
John is staring at them -- well, to be accurate, he's staring at where Ronon is touching Rodney -- and the look on his face is a mixture of jealousy and lust. Rodney reaches out and strokes the hair back from his face, wanting him to be okay. John bends his head and nuzzles Rodney's palm, making him smile.
Too soon, Ronon pulls back, with a grunt and an, "Okay," letting go of John's shoulder at the same time. Rodney doesn't need to say anything before John is on the bed, knee-walking up over his thighs and high above his cock.
Before Rodney can reach down to hold his cock for John to sit down, Ronon's hand is back, this time guiding John down. Harsh moan rise from three separate throats as John settles into the cup of Rodney's hips.
John knows better than to start moving immediately, because whatever pace he sets; Rodney is going to slow him down. Instead he waits, face impatient, for Rodney to take him by the hips and guide him into a slow glide.
Rodney makes himself smirk, smug and arrogant as John tries not to whine or complain -- that earns him punishment, the kind he doesn't like -- because John never knows how powerful this is. To see John sitting astride him, fully surrounding Rodney, anxious to move and jerk not just so that he, John, comes, but that Rodney releases inside him.
And now Ronon is watching, too.
"You're a tease, McKay," Ronon says, sitting on the bed and running one of his big, dangerous hands over John's shoulder and down his back. John arches like a cat, hissing at the sensation.
Rodney grins at him, hoping he doesn't look as strained and desperate as he feels. "You approve? Not that I need it, of course. John approves."
John gives him a green-eyed look that is not at all approval, shifting without lifting up at all, and Ronon laughs. "He really is a -- a slut," Ronon says, voice deep and amused and not at all insulting. "That's what your men call it, Sheppard. When a person is gagging for it, desperate. And you are."
John groans, knowing better than to dispute hard evidence. He shifts again, glaring down at Rodney -- then wincing as his cock is slapped. "Sorry," he pants, tightening to almost unbearable pressure.
Rodney gasps, hips jerking. "Forgiven." To prove it, he settles his fingers around John's hips, the tucked under bone that's so easy to grip and move, John's body lifting fluidly, matching Rodney's slow, aching pace so easily.
He has to swallow his moan, because he needs to stay in control, or this will end far too soon. But it doesn't really matter - John is moaning enough for both of them.
Rodney can see the fierce concentration on Ronon's face as he's clearly looking where John is impaled on his cock, and he has to squeeze down on John's hips, bringing him to a stuttering stop as gentle fingers trace out where his cock is sliding into John.
"Oh, f-fuck," he stutters out as those same fingers trace down to his balls, tugging lightly, and then back up again. John is whining in his arms, but Rodney doesn't dare move, because he'll come if he does.
There's a click, and then Ronon's hand is back, slick with the good lube, tracing the tight muscle that's got Rodney's dick in a vice grip. "I want -- can I, McKay?" It takes a second for Rodney to figure out what Ronon's asking, but when he does, his breath catches in his throat as he nods.
And then there's a finger sliding in, next to his cock, and he can't hold back the moan.
He bites his own lips hard enough to bleed, trying to keep back babbling words that will only get him into trouble, later. They almost did with John, weeks and months ago, before he realized just how much John loves taking every single thing Rodney gives him and craving more beside. John is gasping, shallow breaths that don't seem to be giving him enough oxygen, given his wide-eyed look, and Rodney knows exactly how he feels.
"Can I?" Ronon asks again. His eyes are locked on what his hand is doing, and oddly, he looks younger like this. Vulnerable. No longer Ronon, the fierce warrior who bosses Rodney around as much as Rodney bosses him, just a young man who is lost in lust and want.
John squeaks when the second finger is added. Rodney tries his damnedest not to imitate the sound because Jesus, those are Ronon's fingernails against the bottom of his cock and oh, oh my god.
"Yeah," he gasps, biting down again, fresh blood welling up and he welcomes the pain. It keeps his mind from fogging up too much. "Don't tease, Ronon."
"No," he says, a third finger joining the other two for a moment. "That's your job. Lean forward." It's a command for John, who waits for Rodney's nod before obeying; kissing away the coppery blood from Rodney's mouth as more lube is applied. A lot more.
It's hard to shift enough for what Ronon wants, but somehow they manage, so that John is practically lying on Rodney's chest. Ronon catches Rodney's eye over John's shoulder and lifts an eyebrow, clear question.
But there's really not much to wonder about, and he answers by sliding his hands back to John's ass and pulling him wide to Ronon's view. Ronon gasps, and his fingers slide free. He kneels, straddling Rodney's thighs, and Rodney has a brief moment of panic because he's pinned beneath two large men.
Ronon never breaks eye contact with him, though, and that helps, steadies him, so that he's able to swallow back the groan as Ronon presses into John, slow, so very fucking slow.
The pressure inside John is crushing, and it steals all of Rodney's air. John is making soft whimpering noises between their bodies, and Rodney manages to find enough control to run a soothing hand up his back. "Shh, John, it's okay, you can do this," he babbles, then looks to Ronon. "Don't move. Give him a moment to adjust."
Ronon nods, grimacing. It's not the most reassuring of expressions, given that Rodney can't do anything if there's a problem -- but he trusts Ronon. So instead he tips John's face up to him and kisses him, slow and sweet, letting John make all kinds of shivery noises into his mouth. His body is warm and completely pliant to Rodney's wandering hand, living play-dough to move and rearrange however he wishes.
"You okay?" he murmurs against John's mouth. He doesn't want to see John's eyes, knowing he'll be completely drugged-looking with lust; pupil so huge there'll be barely a rim of green.
If Rodney sees that he'll come. Immediately. He does every time.
John nods, mouthing against Rodney's skin because he can't quite gather up enough control for kissing. It's good enough, for an answer, and Rodney pets and strokes, cuddling John like a kitten as he slowly relaxes around the two of them.
God, that's Ronon’s cock pressing warm and snug against his own.
Rodney closes his eyes and thrusts gently, experimentally. Both Ronon and John groan in unison and he smiles at the sounds they make.
His hands find their way back down John's body and curl around his hips, holding him so that he has no choice but to be still as Rodney sets up a sweet, slow rhythm of pressing in. When he opens his eyes, Ronon's face is right there, waiting for Rodney's nod, and then he starts to rock in counterpoint.
John's breathy moans are steady now, music to Rodney's ears. Buried within them are words and syllables that tell Rodney that John is lost, awash in a sea of sensation. Normally he wouldn't worry about John coming before he was ready, but the slow rising tension in his back and arms tells him that this one time, John isn't going to be able to control it. He's going to come, and soon.
It may not be a bad thing, though. Unlike Rodney, who does not like being fucked when he has already come, John claims to enjoy it. It isn't something Rodney experiments with often, as he likes watching John gasp and silently plead for release, likes watching him come, but he's done it enough that he has to believe John.
John is a master of faking what he wants others to see, but like this -- like here -- he can't.
Catching Ronon's eye, he speeds up just the tiniest bit, Ronon immediately catching the change. Both arms wrapped around John, trusting Ronon not to collapse over them, Rodney shifts and pushes until he's certain one of them is brushing against his prostate, Rodney stroking along John's back while he grips and starts lightly -- so lightly -- tugging.
John shouts.
"It's okay," Rodney whispers in his ear, lipping shell and tickling black hairs both. "Come on. We want to see you."
It's only a few more strokes, and then John tenses beneath Rodney's hands, muscles going rigid and locked as his ass tightens unbelievably, and he comes silently over Rodney's hand.
Rodney only manages to avoid coming by focusing completely on John, petting and stroking him through his orgasm. When he finally stops, he goes completely boneless above Rodney, slumped even more onto his chest, and Rodney can't help the grin that splits his face as he looks to Ronon.
Now that John's come, there's an air of tension that wasn't there before, and in a flash of insight that is rare and precious, Rodney reads it for what it is - competition between Ronon and himself.
And he'll be damned if he's going to let Ronon win.
So he starts moving with purpose, as best he can with John's weight on his chest and Ronon on his thighs. Fast and then faster, biting his lip to keep enough control that John isn't being hurt.
Ronon is looking at him, narrow-eyed, a slight sneer on his upper lip, bottom caught between his teeth. It makes him look fierce, uncontrollable, physical prowess that Rodney can't hope to match.
It also makes him look absurdly young and vulnerable.
It's a stretch, but Rodney manages to detach one arm from curling around John to find Ronon's chest. The skin is warm and soft, slick like the gold it resembles. He's much smoother than John, what hair he has downy and curled, not the rough whorls Rodney loves to run his fingers through. It's a different sensation, and Rodney finds he likes it --
Especially when he tweaks Ronon's nipples and the man not only groans and rumbles approvingly, he slows down.
Huh. Interesting reaction. Rodney repeats it, a little harder, catching John's interest as he continues to be fucked in long, hard strokes, but now only with one dick.
Ronon's still there, just not moving at all, and Rodney hums to himself and continues to touch. John's making small mewling sighs as Rodney continues to move, and his other hand is busy touching him, making sure that he's okay.
John pulls back enough that he can catch Rodney's eye, and tips his head back towards Ronon in a deliberately provocative way. Rodney smiles and kisses him for it, but keeps his eyes on Ronon, who groans as their lips touch.
One of Ronon's hands finds its way to where Rodney's is curled around John's hip, anchoring him here. Rodney twists and grips Ronon's wrist, tugging and pulling till he goes off balance, sliding in even deeper as barely catches himself on the bed. He groans again, and Rodney smiles.
This is unexpected, because who would ever think that Ronon could be ambushed this way, or give so sweetly? But he is, and it's so hot to watch the shadows his dreads make falling all over John's back, listening to the way he pants, choking back words Rodney really hopes are pleas for more.
He can do more.
"You're falling behind," Rodney teases, his voice lower and rougher than it's ever been before. Ronon groans in response, his arm trembling. He's sweating, and it drips down to slide off John's back. "Keep up, Ronon. Fuck him."
John makes a wordless noise that is encouragement and taunting at the same time. He's wanton, like this, sated and calm and pliant enough that Rodney vaguely worries if John’s bones have all melted away entirely.
"Fuck him," Rodney says again.
From the noise that Ronon's making, Rodney can tell that there's nothing more than Ronon wants to do. But he's still holding back, refusing to move, and that puzzles Rodney a little bit.
It's only when John says, "Please, Ronon. Fuck me," that Ronon groans again and starts to move in long, slow strokes. He's found his balance again, and his hands are firm on John's hips as he gives him what he asks for.
John's getting hard again against Rodney's stomach, and Rodney can't keep his grin off his face. "He's a real slut for this, Ronon. He's hard, and if we fuck him right, he'll probably come again. You want that, don't you?"
This time, the groan has words in it, something that sounds like, "God, yes," and now Ronon is fucking the way Rodney wants him to, deep and thorough.
Rodney matches him, stroke for stroke. Not being athletic is the field is never a good indication for stamina in bed and as the minutes stretch out, John rocking between them to take more, Ronon starts looking impressed. It's insulting, a little, but Rodney knows his big, pudgy body is not thought of as particularly worthy of the sustained kind of affections Ronon's supposedly produces.
Rodney also knows he can go for hours, has enough experience to make each moment spectacular, and John pushes the boundaries on both of those whenever they have the time.
Ronon has none of those.
John shifts, carefully placing his palms on either side of Rodney's head, forcing himself up and then back so he can be fucked more easily. "Say it," he begs, whispery and low.
"Slut," Rodney replies, pinching a nipple before lifting up so that he can pinch Ronon's. "Fuck him harder," he says, moaning softly as they low scrape of friction of cock against his own turns into an achingly sweet burn.
Ronon's hands bracket John's, forcing him down as he fucks hard and deep. Rodney can't move anything other than his hips, pinned as he is, but he's past the point of caring.
He's twisting Ronon's nipple, watching the look on his face change into something that's hungry and desperate, even as he continues to whisper to John. "Cock-hungry slut. Taking it like this, two cocks up your ass and still not enough, is it?"
John moans, eyes rolling back in his head. His cock leaves wet trails on Rodney's stomach, and Rodney bites his own lip at the sensation.
Then he thinks better of it, and leans up enough to kiss John, biting his lip instead.
Mumbling something in what sounds like Satedan, Ronon is sweating and gorgeous, and Rodney spares a thought for how he could have missed this when he was looking at Ronon before. He twists Ronon's nipple again, and smiles when he curses, his hips jumping.
John's voice starts to spiral out of control, something that Rodney has only heard twice before, and it tells him that John's been pushed down as far as he can be. He's lost in his head, willing to do anything when he's like this, broken into little pieces, and Rodney responds to that like he always does, wrapping his arms around John and holding him tight, holding him together.
"Now, Ronon. Give it to him now," he says, knowing that he's only moments away from breaking himself.
Ronon goes statue-still, head falling back. It's hot, unbelievably so, because just like John, all it's taking is a single phrase, barked out and Ronon is obeying him.
"Jesus," Rodney whispers, hips bucking uncontrollably. Ronon moans in answer, panting as he comes inside of John's body, around Rodney's cock, warm and wet.
It should be gross, feeling another man come on him like this. It is gross, but John is whimpering against his skin, rocking into his belly even as he tightens around both of them, for Ronon's finish and Rodney's continued pleasure, and any complaints Rodney might contemplate of evaporate like water.
Ronon just came on command, Rodney thinks, fucking up as hard as he can, fingers digging furrows into John's skin.
Searching out John's mouth, he murmurs, "Now, John," even as he takes him in a hard kiss, swallowing his cries. John's body tightens unbelievably, and that's all it takes to push Rodney over that last line, and he gives in to the unbearable pressure and lets his orgasm slam through him.
When he can see and think and breathe without sounding like a straining engine, Ronon is draped alongside him, eyes half closed while one hand plays up and down John's arm. John himself is spread over him like a blanket, murmuring quietly, face tucked against Rodney's neck, a mess on their bellies, and he is warm and solid and canted just enough that Rodney doesn't feel suffocated.
It's a trick John's known from the very beginning, artlessly arranging himself and Rodney so they're never painfully tangled or too heavy against each other. Rodney wants to know how, but he can't bring himself to ask.
"Mm," Ronon says, leaning down to brush a kiss on Rodney's neck that's almost, but not quite, close enough to reach John's mouth.
"That -- was amazing," Rodney manages to get out after a few tries. He’s winded and tired and sore and it’s perfect. Ronon smiles, an expression that leaves him looking even younger and much more innocent. John doesn't say anything, but he rubs his face against Rodney's neck.
Rodney could sleep right now, and he suspects the same of John, but Ronon looks wide-awake, almost like he has a question. Rodney tries to wait patiently, but eventually gives up and snaps, "What?"
"Now what?" Ronon asks, and Rodney almost -- almost -- says something to the effect of Now we sleep, dumbass.
But there are undercurrents to Ronon's question that Rodney only understands the surface of. So instead, he shifts so he can see Ronon better, one hand cradling the back of John's head. "It depends on what you want, Ronon."
John reaches out to thumb over Ronon's bottom lip, letting Ronon catch it for a second, then drawing it away. "What do you want?" he echoes, settling more comfortably on Rodney.
"He's yours," Ronon says. He's looking at Rodney, almost like John doesn't even exist. It should make Rodney angry, because he hates being dismissed and since John is his, there's a possessive, sharing thing he doesn't completely understand at work.
He does understand what Ronon means, though. "Yeah. He is mine."
He's never actually said that to someone who isn't John before. The thrill of it shivers through him, like plummeting down the first drop of a roller coaster. John is his, and someone knows it. Ronon knows it.
"Don't want to mess that up."
Rodney smiles. This? This is easy. If he hasn't managed to mess up things with John, then Ronon can't. What they have together is wonderful and complicated and messy, except when it's very simple.
John is his.
"You won't. I won't let you. So why don't you just tell me what you want, and I'll tell you if it's possible."
Ronon... blushes. It's high on the cheeks and very faint, doesn't seem possible, and at first Rodney thinks it must be a trick of the light -- but there's no real question, he's blushing. "I want to be part of what you have."
Rodney wants to just say yes, but he's as much John's as John is his, and this isn't something that he can just unilaterally decide. So he runs his hand up to John's chin and turns his head until he can see his eyes. "What do you think, John?"
John licks his lips, eyes glinting and feral, as he looks first at Rodney and then at Ronon. "He tastes good," he says, voice practically a purr.
It's not an answer, except in the way that it's the only answer possible. Rodney laughs, and then harder when Ronon looks confused. "He's saying yes," Rodney translates, pushing at John's head so that he stretches forward to kiss Ronon. They make a very pretty picture like that, John's narrower features sharp and dark against Ronon's.
"That's a yes?" Ronon's smiling, though. "It doesn't sound like a yes."
Rodney reaches out and smacks the top of Ronon's head. Like this, here, he can do that. "There are boundaries," he says, tugging on one of the dreads and chuckling at Ronon's outraged expression -- he hasn't moved, though, which practically shouts permission.
"There always are," Ronon says, but then short circuits anything that Rodney might have said by leaning forward and kissing him.
Ronon does taste good, and Rodney lets him control the kiss for a minute before shifting John and taking it back. By the time he lets go, he's half on top of Ronon, John lying behind him, and Ronon looking pleasingly lost.
But he's not the biggest genius in two galaxies for nothing, so he regroups and says, "For now, I don't want you two to be alone like this. If I'm there, it's fine. And you only fuck him with my permission."
Nodding, Ronon looks thoughtful. "Does he fuck? Can he fuck me?"
Rodney looks at John; it's his choice to bottom as much as he does, and there's only been one time when it was bad enough that Rodney flat out ordered him to fuck him.
John smiles, sharp and greedy and happy, leaning forward to mouth along both their shoulders before pulling back. "If Rodney's here," he says. "And we still get to boss him around on missions, if we want."
Rodney splutters, outraged at John's insouciant tone, but Ronon is grinning -- broadly and completely -- and that's too rare a sight for Rodney to ignore it. "You are both menaces," he grouses. "And you probably both need to be spanked."
That John goes slack-eyed and eager is not a surprise. That Ronon does as well is a surprise. A good one.
He knows he shouldn't assume, but before he can stop himself he's rolled to his feet and tugging on Ronon's hip. He's surprised right down to his toes when Ronon doesn't resist in the slightest, letting him turn him enough that he can land a firm swat on his ass.
Ronon moans, his hands seeking out John and kneading him like a cat. John looks pleasantly surprised by this turn of events, and Rodney likes the effect so much that he lands another one just for the hell of it.
"Good hands," Ronon murmurs as rolls back onto his side, artfully posing himself so that a hint of one slightly reddened buttock is visible. "I always knew you had good hands."
"He really does," John agrees, welcoming Rodney back with a kiss and a return to his duties as living blanket. "You should fist him," he says to Rodney, as conversational as if he was deciding what movie he wanted to watch. "I'll suck him when you do."
The groan that gets is definitely from Ronon, though Rodney's not sure whether it's because of the thought of being fisted or John's mouth. It doesn't really matter, because he's lost in the mental picture of Ronon, splayed open and taking his fist. But... "Don't you think I should fuck him before I go sticking my hand up his ass?" he asks, deliberately crude.
The, "Yeah, he should," from Ronon is entirely unexpected.
Rodney's smart enough to recognize the dominance games Ronon plays with Sheppard out on the field, and the way they're changing and transmuting here in his bed. But Ronon willingly allowing Rodney to fuck him? That's both new and unexpected, and says things about Rodney he rarely wants to acknowledge.
When John nips him, because John knows Rodney far, far better than Rodney would often like, Rodney swats his ass hard enough that the crack of skin on skin echoes. All three of them make approving noises afterwards.
Sighing, Rodney lets his head lay against the pillow, John working even closer. "While I have never heard any complaints from John," he says, preemptively glaring, "me fucking you is not going to happen now. Not without some food, a nap, and possibly a shower."
He catches the way John's eyes flicker down to his chest, messy from John’s release, and just barely refrains from asking John to clean him with his tongue. They've done that before, but Rodney really does want a nap. It's been a long, exhausting day, not the least because of all the sex they've had. “Sleeeeep,” he whines.
Both John and Ronon chuckle at that, and then Ronon stands up and hunts for his pants.
Rodney stares, even going so far as to push him and John - ow, heavy - up on one elbow. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
Ronon looks confused. "I was going to go back to my room. Give you space for a nap."
Of all that -- Rodney reaches out a hand towards him, waving demandingly. "Get back here. We can nap together." When Ronon looks doubtful, Rodney glares and puts on his most determined look, the one that cows entire science departments. "Now, Ronon. John?"
John's half asleep already, but he mutters, loud enough for Ronon to hear. "Would you get over here so Ronon will shut up and sleep already?"
That’s enough for Ronon who shrugs, dropping his pants again, before climbing back on the bed and curling up around Rodney and John. Rodney shoves at his shoulder until he's comfortable, and then closes his eyes.
It's a little tight, three large men on the two mattresses he’s got pressed together, but right then, tight is good. He likes feeling both men, warm and solid around him, so close that his body almost sways back and forth as each one breathes, minutely pushing him this way and that. He's never been a fan of the ocean, but this kind of rocking is ... soothing.
John places a soft, delicate kiss right below Rodney's ear. It's a nothing motion, maybe even just John moving in his sleep -- but Rodney knows he's not asleep, yet. And that it isn't not nothing at all.
"Okay?" he asks, hopefully softly enough that bat-ears next to him doesn't wake. Ronon's fallen asleep frighteningly fast.
"Yeah," John says, and kisses him again. "Go to sleep, Rodney."
"Okay," he says, and he's asleep between one breath and the next.
-fin-
title is from Griffin Jay, and Harold Young. Mehemet Bey (Turhan Bey), The Mummy’s Tomb, explaining his plans for himself, Kharis and Isobel (1942).