by The Grrrl
"You've got to be kidding. Kidding, right?" Rodney said, after the head of the holy order explained the details. He turned to John in astonishment. "Tell me they're kidding,"
John blinked, then slowly nodded to the group. "Thank you, Tulus, for clarifying the matter," he said, rising to his feet. "We really appreciate that you would permit us to—well, we want to thank you for being willing—but…but…I think my colleague and I need to discuss this in private. If you don't mind."
"Discuss? What's there to discuss?" Rodney exclaimed as John took him by the arm, pulled him up from the table, and dragged him out into the hallway. "Major?" John didn't answer him right away, which he took as a bad sign. A very bad sign. John wasn't going to go along with these crackpots, was he? As he followed John into a small sitting room, he felt a wave of dizziness—his blood sugar must be plummeting, wasn't that just grand.
John approached a window, leaning on the sill and staring out at the valley below. "Listen, Rodney, if the Gate is hidden inside the sacred chamber, it's our only way off this planet."
"Did you hear what they said? About their little purification ceremony? The one where the so-called Divine One sticks his dick up your—" He waved his hands helplessly, unable to form the words, because it was all too crazy.
"They made it abundantly clear that it is the only way for us to gain access to the secret chamber, and therefore, their Stargate."
"Yes, I'm aware of that. I was there, too, in case you didn't notice," Rodney snapped. "I'm telling you, there's no way I can do that."
"And I'm not suggesting that you do," John said easily.
"Oh, thank god." Rodney slumped into a chair, a huff of mildly hysterical laughter escaping him. "For a second there, I thought you were considering it—ludicrous of me, I know." Of course they weren't going to do it. It was crazy. Still feeling a residual weakness, he reached into his pocket for a Power Bar, then realized that he didn't have any left. He wondered if it was time for high tea yet.
"I'm going to do it."
Rodney's head jerked up. "What?"
John wouldn't meet his eyes. "I'm going to go through the ceremony. I need to get inside that temple in order to check out their story—see if a Gate is there, and if the DHD is working."
"You can't be serious." John was insane. They all were insane. Rodney was stranded on a planet with an insane man and a colony of religious crackpots, and he really, really wished he were back on Atlantis in his safe little lab, having an idiotic argument with Zelenka. "This is not good. This is not good at all."
John nodded to himself and sat in the chair across from Rodney. "I'm going to get us home. And that ceremony—well, you heard what Tulus said. It's not dangerous or anything. It's supposed to be, well—" He shrugged, face reddening. "Pleasurable. They consider it a celebration of life and of their god."
Rodney shook his head. "A celebration? Give me a break. That's is not what I would call a celebration. A celebration is throwing a party and having a few beers."
"Well, maybe these people have a different definition of celebration."
"No kidding. I think like my definition better."
"Listen, can we save the debate for another time?" John told him. "We've been stranded on this planet for three weeks already, and we've got to at least get word back to Atlantis that we're safe."
Okay, so maybe John had a point there, but there had to be another way, a way that didn't involve either him or John getting fucked, for god's sake. "While this is very noble of you, Major, you are insane for even considering it. I'm sure we get into that sacred chamber another way. How secret can a secret entrance be?"
"Pretty damn secret, apparently. I'm open to suggestions." John sat back, arms folded against his chest, waiting expectantly. As Rodney's mind worked furiously John added, "Just as a reminder, even if we were going to use force against these very kind and generous people who took us in and fed us—we don't have any weapons, and we are a little bit outnumbered."
"Thank you for stating the obvious, Major." This sucked. His life, right now, sucked, and John was taking this whole leader and hero thing way too seriously. "So, you think that sacrificing your, eh, ass is going to do it. What if you get hurt? And by the way, this so-called holy man is very clearly a man—hence the 'dick' part of 'dick being shoved up your ass'—are you really ready to do that in a public ceremony?"
"Rodney," John leaned forward, placing a hand on Rodney's knee, his eyes meeting Rodney's. "It's not like I haven't done it before, okay?"
"What do you mean?" Rodney made a face, perplexed. "We've never been on this planet before. We're not even sure we know where this planet is."
An exasperated sigh as John sat back again. "I'm not talking about the ceremony itself. I mean the part about—Rodney, I've been…intimate with a man before. Although I have to admit there was never an audience. Except for Paul, who had this cat—well, never mind."
Rodney stared, shocked. His gut twisted at fleeting image in his mind, of John pushed up against a wall, his pants down, a faceless man behind him, pounding into his pale—"Oh," he said, stupidly. "You're, um—"
"Yes." John's gaze was steady.
"Oh. Okay. Okay." He hadn't known that about John. "Okay." He hadn't needed to know that about John, either. "Okay." He had to stop saying okay, and he had to stop thinking about John naked, and John's skinny little ass, which had for some bizarre reason had become extremely fascinating to think about. He nodded. "Okay."
"Good. It's only because we are familiar with the Gate that they're even letting us do this at all, you know. They've got this crazy idea that we're sort of holy already."
"I know. Related to the holy Ancients. Which doesn't make it any less crazy. Major, at the risk of stating the obvious, even if you have done this kind of thing before, have you thought about the danger you'll be in? You'll be putting yourself in an incredibly vulnerable position—" Position. He really didn't need to be thinking about what position John would be in, did he? His mind shouldn't be going there—maybe he'd bumped his head harder than he had thought while they were escaping from that ship.
John waved his hand. "These are good people, Rodney. They don't want to hurt us."
Something in John's tone got Rodney's attention. John was trying to be blithe, but he knew John well enough to sense his uneasiness, and that disturbed him even more. "No, they just want to 'purify' us with holy semen. How very generous of them."
John's lips twitched, and for a moment, Rodney thought he might laugh out loud. But instead he smoothed his palms on his thighs, then stood. "Well, hey, who am I turn down a chance to get laid?" he said, his voice heavy with false bravado. "I'm going to inform them of my decision."
"Major—don't—" Rodney tried, but John left the room with a wave of his hand, leaving Rodney to his thoughts—thoughts about John, about John naked, about John naked with other men, who were naked too—all kinds of startling images swirling around in his mind until he felt dangerously lightheaded and dizzy.
"Come, the ceremony is about to begin," Tulus told Rodney.
Rodney stopped in midpace and spun around. "What? You want me to watch?" His stomach clenched, and for a moment he was certain his heart had stopped beating.
"I presumed you would attend. It is for all to enjoy." Tulus appeared genuinely puzzled. "It's our celebration of—"
"Yes, yes, yes, I know, festive, festive, oh so very festive." He did not want to see this, no, not one bit, this was one thing you should never see your colleague doing, your team leader, it was utterly out of the question, except that he couldn't abandon John at a time like this.
"The clerics have gone over the ceremony with your friend," he continued, "and he has been bathed and made ready for the Divine One."
Bathed? Rodney didn't like that sound of that. He didn't like the sound of anything anymore. "Okay. Oh god. Let's go. I have to do this, don't I?" He didn't have to watch closely or anything, right? He just needed to make sure nothing went wrong. Not that he knew what he would do if things got out of hand.
Tulus led him to down a long corridor, to a room Rodney hadn't seen before. It reminded Rodney of a tiny arena, rows of seats up above, looking down on a central stage, but there were definitely not going to be any hockey games going on. Sunlight streamed through the windows. The walls were heavily ornamented, covered with friezes, and the ceiling was high and arched. Rodney stared back down at the mat, the big, white mat, where John was going to get fucked, just to get them both home again. Rodney wondered what it was going to be like, because it occurred to him, not for the first time, that he might actually have go through the ceremony too. The thought made him vaguely nauseous, as did that heavy, spicy scent in the air. Incense—they must be burning incense of some sort.
A number of Brogians were already seated, both men and women, all dressed in the same pale robes, but Rodney was lead to the front row—how kind of them—to make sure he didn't miss a thing.
Eventually, every one got settled, and a flute began playing. The audience quieted. Two men walked onto the central area, riveting Rodney's attention. The first man was a cleric, tall and broad, with long, dark hair: the Divine One, and wasn't that a racket. Rodney's heart beat faster when he realized the second man was actually John, almost unrecognizable in a bloodred robe that reached to his ankles.
Damn it, John was really going to do this. Rodney wasn't happy with that, not happy at all. Even though John seemed okay so far, flashing a tentative smile when the cleric indicated that he should kneel on the mat. He arranged his robes awkwardly and smiled again before glancing up at the seats with a pained expression. Rodney couldn't tell if John had seen him sitting there or not. He hoped not.
The cleric knelt too, facing John, and touched John's shoulder briefly. Rodney could see that he was a handsome enough man, dark eyes and smooth olive-toned skin, a gentle, serene smile playing on his lips; but of course he'd be smiling—he got to have sex all the time, didn't he? But at least he wasn't ugly or disgusting. If Rodney were the kind of guy who liked guys in that way, he might actually find him handsome. Although John was definitely handsomer.
The man spoke to John, and John nodded, his shoulders stiff and straight, and his hands tightly clasped in his lap. Rodney was too far away to hear the words, but from the man's demeanor, he could tell that the sex—no, the ceremony—the ceremony with the sex—was about to begin.
Rodney stared at John throughout the opening prayers, ignoring the people around him who were murmuring along. He was high enough above John that he could see the top of John's head, that ridiculous hair, always such a mess, as if he didn't know what a comb was, and John's funny little ears—they were definitely odd-looking, weren't they? The prayers went on and on, and then there was a pause, and John spoke some words softly, frowning as if he had trouble remembering his lines, flashing a sweetly sheepish grin when the cleric prompted him.
When the prayers stopped, the cleric raised his head and reached for John, and Rodney's fists clenched as he watched the cleric push on John's chest, encouraging him to lie on his back. John stretched his legs out on either side of the cleric, and Rodney thought it was definitely time for him to stop watching. He really didn't need to see this part, didn't need to see the cleric spread open John's robe and expose his body, John's very naked body, naked and hairy, dark hair on his chest, a trail of it leading down his stomach, past his stomach, his hips, down to there, that dark patch of hair between his legs. Rodney stared at John's half-hard dick tucked against his balls and he really had to stop looking, damn it.
But how could he not look, as the cleric anointed John's chest and stomach with oil, fingers sliding on John's skin, before moving to touch right there, between John's legs. John started, eyebrows raised. The cleric murmured to him and stroked his stomach, and John seemed to relax, which probably had something to do with the stroking going on with the cleric's other hand. John raised his legs, knees bent, feet flat on the mat, his chest moving as he breathed deep. All Rodney could think about was how disturbingly vulnerable John appeared, his skin pale against the dark robe, swirled on either side of his body, slipping off his shoulders now as his arms moved and his hands splayed flat against the mat.
More oil, and then the cleric pushed John's legs up against his chest, his hand cupping John's ass. John grimaced, closing his eyes, but his hips moved, muscles flexing, back arching, and Rodney had to look away, his face hot, not looking, oh no, not looking anymore. He was sweating, it was too hot, the air was thick with incense, it was hard to breathe, and why the hell did they have so many candles in this place? There was plenty of light with all those windows. High ceiling, big long windows, wasn't that a nice ceiling with all those paintings—paintings of men and women dressed in red robes, and oh, not dressed in robes—they were "celebrating" quite joyfully in those paintings, weren't they? Rodney wasn't sure that one "celebration" to the left was even physically possible.
He stole a glance at the rest of the audience. They were leaning forward and observing, men and women alike, their expressions rapt. With a resigned sigh, Rodney looked too. He couldn't help himself. He looked, and he wished he hadn't, because there was a genuine celebration going on down there. John's legs were over the cleric's shoulders, and the cleric was rocking his hips, thrusting into John. John didn't appear to be suffering any as he stared up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused, and lips parted. His hands were moving in the puddle of silk, fingers catching and slowly twisting the material. Rodney's mouth went dry and he felt it deep in his gut. He was getting hard, and that was so wrong because he wasn't a damn voyeur, not like these people. He looked away from John's hands but then all he could see was John's dick, stiff and rigid, so he looked to the cleric himself, whose robe was hanging open over John's hips, obscuring the very heart of the action. Rodney was grateful and disappointed all at once.
The cleric bent further over John, propping himself on one arm, the other arm moving with intent, stroking John's dick as he chanted. Rodney was sweating, and so was John, his skin shiny and wet, his hands clenched into fists. His body writhed, and then a low, desperate sound carried up to Rodney's ears, a noise Rodney would have preferred not to hear, because seeing it was bad enough, but hearing John's pleasure like that was downright pornographic, and Rodney wanted to moan right along with him.
A sharp cry, and John's body stiffened. Rodney wrenched his eyes away as John came, choosing instead to stare down at his own hands, which were tightly wrapped around his knees. He ignored the murmur of appreciation. Sure, they all enjoyed it, enjoyed seeing John at such a intimate moment, voyeurs, all of them, they should be ashamed of themselves for enjoying it so much, why couldn't they just download their porn onto their computers like everyone else?
When he looked again, the cleric had finished. It was over. He had withdrawn from John's body and was wiping him clean with a towel. John smiled at him, his expression sleepy and relaxed. He appeared to be okay, not injured in any way, to Rodney's great relief. The cleric touched John's face briefly, then pulled John's robe over his body, closing it. Head bowed, he prayed, presumably, as did everyone around Rodney.
But the only thing Rodney could think of was what John would smell like right now, how slick and smooth his skin would feel if Rodney touched him, how his body would be relaxed and heavy if Rodney held him, if Rodney put his arms around John's body and—
Rodney rose from his seat and stumbled out of the room. No one stopped him. He kept going until he found his way outside and breathed the cool mountain air. His body was hot and he was hard and he felt sick and dizzy, and oh yes, he acknowledged as he sat under a tree, he was confused.
He didn't like being confused. Confusion wasn't good. He wanted the world to make sense—hell, his lifelong mission was to make sense of the way the world works, of how matter interacts, of being able to predict what would happen next based on models and equations, and he was damn good at it. Brilliant, actually. But this—this irrational fascination with John and sex and sex and John and nakedness and the moaning—not to mention how fascinated his dick seemed to be by it—was utterly and completely bizarre, something he never would have expected. It made no sense at all, he could have never predicted feeling this way.
Hours later, Rodney was still under the tree, stretched out on the cold ground, when the object of his confusion found him. John was still dressed that ridiculous flowing red robe. At least it was fastened shut this time, although there was a good deal of his throat exposed, and a fair amount of chest, too. Rodney looked him up and down, deciding John seemed none the worse for wear, albeit more ruffled than usual.
"So," John said. He sat down on the grass beside Rodney, tucking the robe around his legs. His bare feet stuck out from under the hem and he smelled good—spicy, like the incense.
"You don't look any purer." Actually John looked anything but. "So, you're all right?"
John nodded. "Absolutely. It was—it was fine, Rodney."
"You know?" John's voice rose in pitch. "You watched?"
"Sorry." Rodney plucked at a blade of grass.
"No, don't—it's—it was—"
"Festive," Rodney supplied.
"Yes, festive," John said, pointing a finger in Rodney's direction and nodding. "Very festive. Although I'm more into cuddling and maybe a little pillow talk afterward, rather than meditation and prayer."
Rodney did not want to be having this "was it good for you too" conversation, and he did not want to feel that disturbing wave of affection as John tried to joke about it. "The Gate?" he asked.
"The Gate—yup, there's a working Gate. I dialed Atlantis, reported the situation to Dr. Weir. It all works. They're fine, by the way, and they were worried."
Rodney mind seized on one word. "You reported?"
"Sort of," John said, his eyes shifting away, as they always did when he was uneasy. "I told her we were safe, and that both of us gaining access to the Gate was a bit tricky—"
"I'll do it," Rodney said. He wrapped a finger around several more blades of grass.
John's eyebrows rose. "What?"
"Aren't you listening? I said, I'd do it. I'll be festive. I already decided this. And I want to get home, okay?" That, plus he had to face the facts. He wasn't one to disregard evidence that didn't agree with his previously held theories, as disturbing as that evidence might be. This whole fascination with sex and men, sex and John specifically, needed further investigation. "And I fail to see any other solution."
John searched his face, and for a moment Rodney thought he might try and talk him out of it, but instead he said, "All right." He paused, looking thoughtful, then added, "It's not terrible, you know. The divine guy, he's very…nice."
"I gathered as much." Rodney realized he had ripped out an entire handful of grass. He dropped it, and rose to his feet. "Let's go break the joyous news."
Okay, so maybe the bath was nice, a big tub to luxuriate in, warm water that smelled like flowers, and pretty girls toweling him off afterwards. It was almost relaxing, except that Rodney didn't think he was ever going to relax again. He couldn't decide if he was more nervous or scared or excited. Terrified, maybe. He was going to get ceremoniously fucked, on center stage, with an audience. Yes, that feeling in his gut was definitely terror, but with a weird little touch of excitement, too.
They dressed him in a red robe, which was soft and cool against his skin, and it swished around his feet as he walked. He met with the Divine One, whom Rodney might have found pleasant if his heart wasn't racing so fast that he became short of breath. The words he needed to say where in an ancient language, and the cleric translated them for him, but the words didn't penetrate his overworked brain. By time they led him out to the mat, he felt numb. He decided that numb was workable. Numb was better than sheer terror.
It was like being in a dream, one of those horrible dreams where you show up for work naked, except that under his robe, Rodney really was naked, and then he was going to be naked in front of a whole lot of other people, including John, because he had told John he didn't care if he attended, mainly because it was only fair. John had promised that he wouldn't look, but he had an odd, tight expression on his face when he said it.
Kneeling on the mat, keeping his eyes fixed on the cleric's dark, almost black eyes throughout the opening prayers, Rodney almost changed his mind. Experimenting with sex was one thing, but to do it like this—this was insane. He wanted it to be over and done, and he wanted to be stepping through the Gate with John, he wanted to be wearing his combat gear, he wanted to be buckled up and armed and safe with some well-armed backup. But no, here he was, on the holy mat, reciting words he didn't understand to a fairly nice Divine Crackpot who smiled warmly, as if pleased that Rodney was doing so well, and that damn flute was getting really annoying.
When it was time to lie back, he tried to focus on breathing, in and out, deep, slow breaths, no, he wasn't panicking, no, not him, in and out, in and out, and then the cleric opened Rodney's robe so that he was on display, everyone could see him naked. It was time for the anointing. The cleric's hands were warm, the oil smelled pretty good, like how John smelled—John with his absurd hair and his smart-assed smile, who was always there every time Rodney turned around, it seemed, ready to make some comment about what Rodney was doing, who always surprised Rodney by being a lot smarter than he looked, who always addressed Rodney directly during mission briefings, looking at him as if he was the only other person sitting at the table. It suddenly struck Rodney that John hovered around him a great deal, more so than anyone else. Before he could reflect further on this odd phenomenon, the cleric touched his dick with a sure, steady hand, asking Rodney if he was ready to proceed. With a deep breath Rodney nodded, even though he wasn't ready to be festive at all, and he highly doubted that he could convince his retreating dick to ever be festive again. He knew that the ceremony required it to festive, and he had been assured that the Divine One was very good at achieving festivity for his partners, and John had certainly been festive, yes, very festive. Noisily festive.
It felt good. Very good.
The hand on his dick, squeezing his dick, thank god, it felt good. Rodney was getting hard. That was most definitely the right kind of touch, even though the hand was attached to a man. Even if Rodney closed his eyes, he still knew it was a man, and he actually wanted to know it was a man, and that was kind of cool, wasn't it? Even when divine fingers brushed his anus, that felt pleasant. It wasn't like he hadn't had women play around there in the past. He let himself just go with the feeling, with the pleasure curling around the base of his spine, that pleasant ache, and oh god, good, good, it was all good, and no wonder they called him the Divine One. Rodney felt fingers stretching him, fingers slick with oil pushing him wide open. His feet were up, legs in the air, and then something big and blunt and hard pushed into him. Rodney gasped, because it was amazing—a little uncomfortable, but not painful. That cock—that holy, festive cock pushing inside of him—had been inside of John. It had been tucked inside of John's ass. The thought was weirdly erotic and kind of kinky. John had liked it, John had been squirming and panting—Rodney could see it in his mind's eye, replaying it yet again—John's lean, naked body, hard cock, John with his lips parted, his face scrunched up, blood red robe clenched in his hands—oh god—he was going to—
Rodney opened one eye. John was sitting beside him. The two of them were alone in the chamber. "Are you allowed to interrupt my post-festivity meditation period?" Rodney asked, alarmingly pleased to see him.
John shrugged, pulling on his robe. "Tulus said it was okay if I sat with you. And, you know, prayed."
Rodney was touched. John hovering around him again, and even if Rodney didn't understand why John did it, he liked it. "I'm all right, Major." And he was, startlingly so. Data collected and analyzed; new theories being postulated. Yes, he was very much okay, even though his ass was throbbing just a touch.
John nodded, his expression thoughtful. He kept on playing with his robe, pulling it into his lap, moving his legs, and in general, fidgeting and irritating Rodney.
"What is with you and the robe?" Rodney finally asked.
"I watched, okay? I know I promised not to, but I couldn't help it, I watched you, and you were—it was interesting and more than a little—you were all naked and excited—naked—" John looked up at ceiling, as if seeking help from above. "Nice fancy ceiling they've got there."
It finally sank into Rodney's fried brain that John was trying to hide a very obvious erection. Rodney was sympathetic—hell, he'd been there himself.
"Major, stop before you hyperventilate," Rodney told him. Feeling uncharacteristically bold—but John was hovering, wasn't he?— he reached into John lap, smoothing his hand over the robe, until he found what he was looking for. John's thick, hard cock.
Hard and thick because John had watched him.
"But you're not—" John started, his hand closing over Rodney's.
"Oh please, even I'm not buying that anymore."
"Really?" John said with a happy little gasp, and that was all Rodney needed.
"Really. I've got this new theory—" He rose up on one elbow and ran his hand down the length of John's cock, feeling every detail though the finely woven fabric, and John's face went vague and unfocused again.
"New is good," John said. "Theories, yes, new theories, I've got all kinds of theories—oh, god, Rodney." He pushed his hips forward as Rodney closed his fist around the shaft and stroked, material slipping and sliding under his palm. But as much as he liked the feel of the silk against hard, hot flesh, he needed to touch John directly, so he unfastened John's robe and there was that amazing body again. He touched John's chest, trailing his hand down the line of soft hair to his stomach, over his navel—which for some reason he found surprisingly cute—and there was John's cock, poking straight out from a wild bush of dark hair. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to wrap his fingers around it.
"What about your theories?" Rodney ran his thumb over the tip of John's cock, and John trembled—he literally trembled.
"Hold on a sec." Rodney found the dish of oil, dipped his fingers in it and started back on John's cock. John appreciated it, moaning softly and closing his eyes. It was definitely odd, feeling someone else's cock sliding through his fingers, but odd in an enjoyable way, and John's cock was surprisingly nice to touch. It probably had something to do with the way John was whimpering. "Your theories," Rodney prompted.
"That we'd have really good—oh, yes, like that—please," John breathed. "That if we had sex it would be really something." His hips moved again, pushing his cock through Rodney's hand.
"You've thought about sex? With me?" Rodney couldn't keep the astonishment from his voice as he squeezed tighter. This was much better than watching—much, much better.
"Constantly." John shifted, moving closer so that their bodies were touching. Resting his forehead on Rodney's shoulder, he murmured, "Oh god, I'm going to—"
And he did, all over Rodney's hand as he moaned into Rodney's neck. It was messy, very messy, and incredibly hot. Rodney thought maybe it was the hottest thing he had ever done, jerking John off like that, so hot that his own spent cock was showing signs of interest. He found the towel and wiped his hands, then gently wiped John's stomach and thighs clean. John raised his head to watch, a dopey smile playing on his lips and Rodney felt a shiver of delight at having put that expression there.
"Oh," John said, "I liked that."
"Me too," Rodney said. "But—constantly? Sex with me? Really?" He had had no idea John thought about him like that, and that was pretty cool, because it matched his newly developed theory perfectly, which was that he really needed to have sex with John as often as possible.
"Really." John looked faintly embarrassed, and leaned up against Rodney again. Remembering what John said about his postcoital needs, Rodney wrapped his arms around John's body, and John sighed happily. His body was warm and they both smelled sharply of sex and that damn scented oil. Then John made things even more interesting by lying down and pulling Rodney down with him. Rodney went with it. A bit of wriggling and John was half on top of him; head tucked into Rodney shoulder, his hair tickling Rodney's chin. His arm draped across Rodney's chest, and he finished with a leg slung over Rodney's legs.
John's body felt as heavy and relaxed as Rodney had imagined it would be. He liked it, liked the feel of another person's body touching his, especially when it was John's, and not some holy man's. He liked the attitude of the possessive sprawl, and he even liked it when John relaxed even further, his breathing slowing as he fell asleep. Rodney didn't mind at all. He felt another surge of affection, not quite so disturbing this time. The sound of John's steady breathing was soothing. He didn't want to move, even though he didn't know exactly how much time he actually got for this "meditation" period. But no one was coming in to stop them, were they?
It was the least they could do after making them go through this ridiculous ritual, Rodney thought. His ass burned, just a little, but it hadn't been bad at all. A man had fucked him, and he had liked it, but he liked being with John even more. He wondered what it would be like to kiss John, how his lips would feel, what he would taste like. John had an interesting mouth, very expressive, and Rodney postulated that John was most probably a very interesting kisser. Especially if he thought about Rodney constantly.
The more he thought about it, the more intrigued he became, until he had to wake John, rubbing small circles on his back as he whispered John's name.
John raised his head, blinking and bleary-eyed. "Huh? Oh—I guess I fell asleep."
Rodney reached up and pressed his mouth to John's mouth.
John made a surprised noise deep in his throat, but he kissed Rodney back, and Rodney discovered this theory had been correct, too, that yes, John was an exceedingly interesting kisser, warm mouth, soft lips, and that, oh yes, that was John's tongue sliding past his, wasn't it?
John hummed deep in his throat and kissed him more forcefully, pushing Rodney's head back down onto the mat, stretching his body completely over Rodney's. Rodney spread his legs and John slipped his between them and he didn't stop kissing Rodney, and oh god, even his kisses were nicely possessive, and Rodney was good with that. When the kiss finally ended, Rodney had one hand tangled in John's hair, the other on his ass, and he was breathing heavy, his cock awake and interested. Constantly, John had said. He smiled, and John smiled back at him, and he felt dangerously sappy.
"What do you say we finish this on the other side of the Gate?" John asked. "Have a special little ceremony of our own?"
"I like your thinking, you know that?" He liked everything about John. "Because I think I'm starting to feel highly festive."
John kissed him again. "I like festive." One more kissed, and John disengaged himself, even though he seemed reluctant to do so. "And wait till you see where the secret door is. It's really cool."
They emerged from the wormhole into Atlantis's control room, Rodney striding proudly, robe swirling around his legs, John right beside him. There was a moment of stunned silence, then low whistles.
"Wow, you guys, you look—" Ford said, grinning as he ran up to greet them. "You guys look pretty. Nice robes. Really. Red's your color, sir."
John smiled. "Thank you, Lieutenant." He turned to the gate. "Our stuff should be, ah, there it is."
Rodney scooped up the two parcels containing their clothes as they tumbled through the Gate. "Got 'em."
"And you smell pretty, too," Ford added.
"Major. Dr. McKay." Weir trotted down the stairs, "Welcome back."
"Thank you, Elizabeth," Rodney nodded. "It's good to be back."
She sniffed, and broke into a broad smile. "Sandalwood? And those really are lovely robes, gentlemen. May I ask what this is all about?"
"Ah, yes." John glanced at Rodney before continuing. "You know, the usual, bathing and anointing and praying before we were allowed to enter the sacred chamber…"
"Very sacred," Rodney added.
Amused, Weir looked from John to Rodney and back to John again, who nodded in agreement. "All right then," she said. "As long as you two are okay. Maybe you two would like to shower before the debriefing? Please?"
"Yes, yes, we would like to do that," John told her. "Come on, Rodney, Dr. Weir says we need to shower."
John's expression was perfectly innocent, only a twitch of his brows giving him away. Rodney had to bite back a smile. "I couldn't agree with you more, Major."
He suspected he was in store for a very festive shower.
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