The last course of the ceremonial meal consisted of wedges of a native Xelaran fruit that looked like a cross between a kiwi and a papaya: soft pink on the inside, mildly furry on the outside. It was obviously no relation to citrus, but John tasted it before passing the plate to Rodney, anyway.
About five minutes later, Teyla elbowed John. "Rodney does not look well," she whispered, her voice urgent.
She was right: Rodney's face was flushed and his eyes were glassy. John snapped into high alert, grateful he hadn't had much to drink. It was always better to be sober if things were going to go pear-shaped.
"McKay," he murmured, and Rodney glanced at him. His gaze was unfocused and he looked feverish. "You okay?"
Rodney cleared his throat. "Not...exactly."
"What's up?" John pressed his hand to the pocket of his tac vest where he kept the epi-pen, reassured by its presence beneath his fingers. "Reaction?"
Rodney made a strangled noise somewhere between a laugh and a cough. "You could say that. Teyla, do you think we can be excused from the ceremonial toasts portion of the evening?"
"I would imagine so." Her face showed her concern. "What do you need?"
"I'm about an inch away from having a spontaneous orgasm," Rodney stage-whispered, "and I'm pretty sure that's somewhere on Elizabeth's list of 'diplomatic incidents to avoid.'"
"Jesus," John swore, pushing back from the table. He pitched his voice for Relnar, their host, who was sitting a few feet away. "What the hell did you put in this food?"
Relnar turned to him with an expression of dismay. "I beg your pardon?"
"Our colleague is ill," Teyla said, graciously, as Ronon stood up and put an arm around Rodney, steering him out of the dining tent. Rodney leaned into Ronon as though he wanted to hide his face; he stumbled a little, obviously walking on shaky legs. John marshalled his face into a mask of steely calm.
"I assure you, he has eaten nothing unusual," Relnar promised. "Everything he ingested, you ingested also."
"Rodney does have many allergies," Teyla murmured. "Perhaps there is something in the local cuisine to which he is unaccustomed. All seemed well until dessert."
"This," John bit out, "is not the best way to begin a strategic alliance."
"We most sincerely apologize!" Relnar's voice was solicitous. "If anything is amiss, our doctors will be glad to see to your friend."
"Right," John said, allowing his dubiousness to show in his voice. "Or we could just take him home."
"That might not be Rodney's preference," Teyla noted. John shrugged; she had a point. Gate activation in the middle of the night was sure to bring a dozen panicked people to the gate room, which maybe wasn't the reception Rodney needed if he'd been dosed with some kind of aphrodesiac.
Rodney dosed with an aphrodesiac was a compelling mental image. Not a fantasy John had ever had before, but it sprang to life in his imagination fully-formed anyway. (Rodney, flushed and gasping, unable to keep from touching himself...) John did his best to ignore it.
"Please, tend to your friend," Relnar said, bowing. "Call if you need assistance. If all is well, we will see you on the morrow to formally mark the alliance between our peoples."
"Great," John muttered, and pushed his way toward the door.
Teyla was right behind him as they made their way along the twisting path to their little round guesthouse. Just as John put his hand on the latch of the yurt's door, he heard a groan from inside. He froze.
"Yes, yes, yes," Rodney's voice came through the door, "oh, right there!"
John's mind helpfully provided him with several instant mental images of what might be happening inside. He pulled his hand back as though he had burned it on the metal of the latch, trying fruitlessly to think of something -- anything -- other than Ronon's hand on Rodney's dick, or maybe Ronon's mouth on Rodney's dick, or Rodney on his hands and knees with his head tipped forward and Ronon's dick up his ass.
"God," Rodney groaned.
"C'mon, McKay," Ronon murmured, his voice low and rough.
"I will wait with you," Teyla said, placing a hand on John's arm, and they took a few steps away. Xelara's two moons were each half-full, so the woods were bright with moonlight. John walked toward the nearest stand of trees and resisted the temptation to bang his head against one of them.
"I know this must be difficult for you," Teyla said, after a moment.
"Hm?"
"I am aware that your culture has...taboos," she said delicately. "Against such behavior."
Did she think they were all homophobes? "Not the whole planet," John said, "just the American military." Which, of course, meant him. "Not that I'm--" He flailed.
"I understand," she said gently.
She didn't, really; she couldn't. But he wasn't about to say that. "Do you think he's going to be okay? Should we take him back to see Carson?"
"If he is suffering no ill effects beyond the obvious, he should not need medical attention," Teyla mused. "Perhaps the situation has already resolved itself; shall we investigate?"
He didn't really want to go inside, but there wasn't a graceful way to say so. "Sure," he said, hoping he sounded game and not petrified, and led the way.
Inside the yurt was a small woodstove and a set of four soft pallets on the floor, side by side by side by side. Ronon was lying on one, wearing boxer shorts and a contented expression. Rodney was sprawled on the next one, naked (John averted his eyes, but not quickly enough to miss Rodney's half-hard cock, lolling on his thigh) and looking blissed-out.
"Hey," John said, because he had to say something.
Rodney flapped a hand at him. "Shh," he muttered. "I'm resting."
"Right." Their packs were stowed at the far side of the room, next to the woodstove. John went and unlaced his boots, then sat down on the pallet nearest to the door. It was the natural place for the team leader to be: easy exit, ability to defend the room as needed. It wasn't because he needed some distance from the temptation of naked Rodney.
Maybe the fruit-induced adventure was over. He told himself he wasn't even a little bit disappointed.
"So," Rodney said after a moment, opening his eyes and looking right at John. "Can I interest you in a blowjob?"
"What?" John sputtered, startled. Ronon laughed. Teyla wisely stayed at the far side of the room where she was fiddling with something inside her pack. "No!"
His dick, which was more interested in all of this than he really wanted to admit, twitched. John ignored it.
"C'mon," Rodney wheedled, in a tone that should not have been sexy in the least. "I've been told I'm very talented with my mouth."
"Jesus," John muttered, lying down fully-clothed and drawing one arm up protectively over his eyes as though he could block out this whole experience. He heard rustling, and against his better judgement opened one eye to look. Rodney was on his side now, head propped on a folded arm. God, he looked good. Broad shoulders and strong chest and hips that begged to be framed with John's hands and no, no, John was not looking there!
"I mean, obviously I need to come again; whatever this is, isn't out of my system yet. And I could probably come just from doing that," Rodney mused.
There was a picture. Rodney's wide, crooked mouth -- which John had caught himself staring at more times than he cared to count -- wrapped around John's aching dick. And wow, he liked the thought of Rodney being so immersed in the experience that he would come without even touching himself.
And the fact that John was even thinking about this was a sign that he was an asshole. End of story.
"No," John gritted out. Rodney had the gall to look disappointed. "McKay, I can't."
"Your military and its stupid regulations," Rodney began, and that sounded like the beginning of a rant John really didn't need to hear.
"That's not it," John said desperately. "Rodney, don't. Please."
Rodney opened his mouth, then closed it. "Right," he said tersely.
John felt like a heel. "I'm sorry."
"No, no, it's fine," Rodney said. His mouth was a crooked line of unhappiness. "Believe it or not, you're not actually the first person to fail to notice my considerable charms."
He thought John wasn't interested! John felt himself surfing on the edge of hysteria, because that was so far from the truth, it and the truth weren't even in the same galaxy.
"It's not--"
"Forget I asked," Rodney said, and rolled over, pulling a coverlet up over himself.
There was a silence. Teyla padded over and placed herself on the pallet between them. John felt both grateful to have her lying between them, and bereft of Rodney's proximity.
"We should probably get some sleep," John said lamely.
"Yes, yes," Rodney said. "Just let me --"
His breath was coming in short, sharp puffs. Jesus, he was jerking off right there. Sympathy warred with arousal; whatever Rodney was reacting to was clearly messing with his system something fierce, he was going to be horrified in the morning! And yet John wanted nothing more than to reach over and--
Rodney inhaled one last breath and held it, then slumped against his mattress.
John's dick ached.
"Try to sleep," Teyla suggested. "This will all be easier in the morning."
"Probably be over in the morning," Ronon added.
"Right," Rodney said. He didn't sound happy.
"G'night," John said, and rolled to face the door.
John lay there for what felt like forever, hard as a rock and weirdly broken-hearted. It wasn't as though he could have done anything with Rodney, anyway. Not on account of military regs, necessarily (he could talk himself into figuring that no one noticed, or cared, out here in Pegasus) but because he would be taking advantage of Rodney in a moment of drug-induced weakness. Rodney wouldn't thank him for that, come morning.
Ronon was different; he didn't hang out with Rodney every day, didn't play video golf and that stupid Ancient Civilization-analog computer game with him every spare moment they could grab. The morning after wouldn't be as weird for Rodney and Ronon as it would for Rodney and John.
God: what he'd seen and heard tonight was going to fuel his fantasy life for months. How much of an asshole did that make him? But right now all he could think about was the tense line of Rodney's shoulders as he'd jerked himself off. Fast and utilitarian. After what he'd offered John, it seemed wrong that his final orgasm of the night had been so...joyless.
Don't be stupid, John told himself. You couldn't have said yes to this. You did the right thing.
It was small comfort.
John didn't think he'd fallen asleep, but he must have, because he woke to muffled gasps. Teyla's muffled gasps, and Rodney's, and the soft shushing sound of bedclothes rubbing together.
Arousal rocketed through his body as though someone had pulled a trigger. He was so hard it hurt. John was facing the other way, but he could hear them, and he could picture it. Teyla on top of Rodney, her head thrown back, spectacular breasts and gorgeous belly, and beneath her, Rodney thrusting up. Hands on her hips, maybe, moving her back and forth. Oh, God.
"Back in the army," Ronon murmured -- he must have figured out that John was awake -- "we would have called this a team bonding exercise." He sounded amused.
"Not in my army," John shot back.
"Oh," Rodney gasped, "I can't-- I'm not--"
Not going to last, John thought, and bit his lip to keep from making a sound.
"Rodney," Teyla said, and her voice was so rich and warm, so full of love, that John felt like eleven different kinds of jerk for not being able to even look, much less touch, as Rodney came.
"Ahh," Rodney sighed, sounding content. There was a pause -- was she pressing her forehead against his? -- and then Teyla, wrapped in a blanket now, stepped carefully over John to make her way out of the yurt.
"You okay there?" John asked, because he had to say something.
"Yes, actually," Rodney said. He sounded almost normal; John rolled over to face him.
Even in the dim light, he could see Rodney's expression shift. He was trying to put on a brave face. As though he weren't bothered by any of this in the least. John's heart clenched.
"I'm sorry," John said again.
"Really, you're not the first guy to turn me down," Rodney said, obviously trying to sound lighthearted.
"That's not what I mean." John started over. He had to try to explain, even though part of his brain was screaming at him to shut up and roll over and pretend that none of this was real. "I don't want you to...hate me in the morning." It sounded melodramatic and stupid, but it was the truth.
"You think I'm going to hate Ronon and Teyla?" Rodney sounded surprised.
"I think you're under the influence of some weird thing you ate, and when you come to your senses--"
Rodney laughed.
"What?" John was starting to feel seriously annoyed. He was doing the right thing, damn it, and the universe was not making this easy.
"You think this is all a reaction," Rodney accused. "To whatever I ate for dinner."
"It's making you think you want things you don't want!" John was surprised by how angry he felt, saying that. But he was furious. Something was fucking with Rodney's head, and as a result, John was getting tantalized with the thing he wanted most and couldn't have. There was no way that was fair, to either one of them.
"The hell it is!" Rodney sat up, apparently unable to argue without gesturing.
Ronon groaned and rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head.
John just stared at Rodney. His mobile face. His moving hands. John wanted, so badly, and the part of him that insisted it wasn't fair to take advantage of Rodney in this condition was beginning to weaken under the constant pressure of his arousal. Would it really be so bad if he just gave in...?
"You really couldn't be more wrong," Rodney said. "Whatever I ate is just making me desperate enough to actually ask for it." Rodney sounded pissy now, as though he really hadn't wanted to admit that but didn't have a choice.
"What?" John felt dizzy, as though the world had slipped off its axis.
"What do you expect? I spend all my time with the three of you," Rodney said defensively. "Of course I...want things."
John just stared at him, realization rushing over him like a wave knocking him off of his surfboard. Rodney wanted him. Wanted all of them. And just hadn't ever said.
"It's fine," Rodney said, waving a hand dismissively -- though now that John knew, he saw longing in Rodney's face and in his posture. Rodney felt the same kind of bone-deep yearning that John did. And like John, he buried it, because he didn't think he was supposed to want it. Didn't think he was allowed. "Look, you're not interested, can we move on, because--"
John pushed him flat on his back -- Rodney landed with a startled grunt of surprise -- and fit his mouth over Rodney's (beautiful, thick, mouthwatering) cock.
Rodney got with the program instantly, groaning and thrusting up into John's mouth. John's heart hammered, his dick rubbing almost painfully against the seam of his trousers. All he could think was Rodney Rodney Rodney, a neon sign flashing in his mind's eye.
Rodney was keening now, a long string of syllables John didn't bother to discern. There was cursing somewhere in there, and pleading. He was dimly aware of Teyla re-entering the tent and stepping around them to curl up in Ronon's arms.
"John," Rodney gritted out. "Fuck. Please. I can't reach you." His hands groped at John's head, trying to tug him up, but John would not go. Not now, when he was finally sucking Rodney's dick. Oh, God, he had wanted this so badly, for so long.
Rodney convulsed upward with a wordless cry, and John came without touching himself at all. He flopped over onto his back, grimacing at the sensation of his clothes against his softening dick, but he didn't want to get up and clean himself off. He didn't have the energy to do anything but lie there, grinning stupidly at the ceiling, one hand resting against Rodney's hip.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"
John snapped to wakefulness in an instant with a feeling of dread. What the hell had they done?
"Are you all right?" Teyla sounded both amused and concerned.
"Fuck," Rodney said. "I am not walking back to the gate."
"Tender, huh," Ronon offered.
"That's not the half of it. Oh my God. I don't think I've ever actually come that many times in--"
John felt his face heating up. "Good morning to you too," he said hastily, cutting Rodney off in mid-sentence because he really didn't need to hear the end of whatever Rodney had been about to say. He glanced at Rodney nervously, but Rodney wasn't scowling at him; Rodney didn't seem appreciably crankier than normal, actually. Well, normal pre-morning-caffeine.
And holy crap, there was an enormous hickey on his neck. It had to have come from Ronon. John was kind of sorry he hadn't seen that happening; now he really wanted to trace it with his fingers.
"How long is the ceremony of welcome?" Rodney asked, pushing himself to a standing position and wincing.
"Not long," Teyla promised. "I will do what I can to abbreviate it.
"We can get a jumper and come back to get you," John offered.
Rodney seemed to consider it for a moment. "No," he said, after a moment, and moved gingerly toward his pack. "I don't want to have to explain to Elizabeth why I'm incapable of walking this morning."
Ronon snickered.
"Oh, shut up," Rodney said, though there wasn't much rancor in it. Actually, it sounded like he might be smiling, though John couldn't see his face, since he was digging through his pack.
"There are...worse problems," John offered. He still felt tentative, not exactly sure what the rules were -- was Rodney going to want to talk about this? Were they supposed to talk about it? Maybe he was supposed to pretend it hadn't happened.
"Fair," Rodney acknowledged, rummaging for a pair of boxer briefs and then tugging them on gently. "Ow!"
"Sorry," John said, and then froze. He hadn't meant to acknowledge what they'd done. He was pretty sure that ball was supposed to be in Rodney's court.
"Please," Rodney said loftily. "The day I accept an apology for a blowjob, there is something seriously wrong with me."
Okay, so maybe they were talking about it.
"But next time there's a night like this, I have one word," Rodney said, reverting to snippiness as he stepped into his trousers.
Next time? John thought, excitement and panic already arising in equal measure.
"Lube?" Ronon offered.
"I think that would be wise," Teyla agreed. "The body can only handle so much activity without aid."
"Okay, let's get dressed and get on with this thing so we can go home," John said hastily, before his team could start planning their next orgy. How the hell was this his life?
Rodney pulled a shirt over his head. As his head emerged, he asked, "You think they'll have fruit at breakfast?"
"Probably," John said, without thinking. "Why?"
"Maybe we should grab a few of those kiwi things," Rodney said.
John stared at him, torn between arousal and amazement.
"You don't think we're good-looking enough without 'em?" Ronon sounded amused.
"No! I mean, yes, of course you are," Rodney huffed. "I just..." Okay, that was bizarre: now he was blushing. After everything they'd done. It was oddly endearing. "I could imagine trying that again sometime."
"Perhaps we should make a policy of only feeding them to you when we have no away mission in the morning," Teyla suggested.
"Can we worry about this when we're home again?" John asked.
"Fine, get dressed!" Rodney snapped his fingers twice for emphasis. "We have...things to do."
"Ceremony to attend," Ronon added.
"Our sex life to plan," Teyla agreed.
John could think of plenty of reasons why this was a terrible idea. But he didn't want to articulate any of them. He wanted to get through this morning, and then go back to Atlantis and take a shower, and then get laid again. Which seemed statistically very likely, all of a sudden. And all he had to do was say yes to it.
"Okay," he said, and kicked the covers away.
END
The End