Rodney/Sheppard/Ronon, post-Alpha Centauri. Probably perfectly comprehensible even if you've never read a line of AlphaCen. You can tell it's porn by all the backstory that really, really doesn't matter here.
John dismissed his concerns out of hand, of course, which was what John always did. “It’s supposed to wear you out,” he said, with a wholly unjustified little smirk of self-satisfaction. “That’s why you do it in a bed – so you don’t have to go anywhere after.”
“You’re not listening to me,” Rodney said, waving his fork in reprimand under John’s nose. John looked bemused at the piece of sausage speared on the end. “I didn’t say the sex was wearing me out, I said planning the sex is wearing me out. Which I think you’ll agree, assuming it doesn’t make your hair go grey and pea soup come out your nose to admit I’m right about anything, is not normal.”
“Pea soup?” John said, missing the point entirely. “How did I get possessed by Satan during all this?”
“Yes, that’s right,” Rodney said, loudly enough that people at nearby tables started giving him odd looks. “You have a terrible case of nasal demons, which makes complete sense and is totally relevant to the conversation, so thank you very much for keeping up your end!”
“Sorry,” John said mildly. “Please, carry on, tell me more about how our sex life isn’t up to spec.”
Rodney huffed. “For the last time, the sex is not the problem.”
“Planning the sex is the problem. See, I’m listening.”
“Only in the most rudimentary sense of the word. Listening. Listening being the word– “
“Yeah, I got that.”
“Look, the point is, if I were in a normal relationship, by now there would be such a thing as normal sex – boring, boilerplate, Wednesday-evening sexual relations. There would be special-occasion sex, yes, and I have no problem planning out something like that, but– “
“But if it’s Wednesday, it must be missionary,” John said dryly. “What, you guys don’t have a regular position?”
“We do,” Rodney said, firmly willing himself not to blush. Of all people, he could surely talk to John Sheppard about sex without getting embarrassed, since John had absolutely no boundaries or sense of decency whatsoever. “But we don’t. The three of us. It’s always this, this – process. We have to find a position, then we have to change positions, and everybody has to have a turn at their particular favorite body part on everybody else, and somebody always wants to try something he thinks will impress everybody, and all I’m saying is that sometimes I think it would be nice if you came over and we all just got it on and then went to sleep like Mother Nature intended.”
John finished his eggs, watching Rodney speculatively until, despite his best efforts, Rodney started to fidget. Finally John put his fork down, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and said, “You realize that what you’re arguing for is, in technical terms, the opposite of hot.”
Only it wasn’t – Rodney didn’t think it was. And he was surely the expert in this conversation, since John had probably never had Wednesday-evening sex in his whole commitment-phobic life, and Rodney had been having it at least twice a week for over six months now. He loved everything about it, loved Ronon’s warm hand on his stomach and Ronon’s warm voice in his ear saying You wanna?, loved the slight clumsiness of the darkness and the twist of sheets around their legs, tangling them up as they shifted around, loved the sharp, sloppy noise of Ronon slicking himself up efficiently and the equally efficient way he slid his knees between Rodney’s thighs and pushed them apart – loved the casually warm brush of Ronon’s thumbs across the small of his back and the prickle of his hair swaying across Rodney’s shoulders, the way he breathed sharp and loud through his nose while they fucked and the agonized little sound that he made into Rodney’s neck when he came – loved the quick, sleepy clean-up and Ronon’s yawn as he spooned up behind Rodney, and loved almost more than he could stand the fact that Ronon stroked his throat and mumbled Thanks before he fell asleep, as if Rodney had done him some sort of favor.
The only thing in Rodney’s whole checkered romantic history that had ever surpassed sex with Ronon was sex with John and Ronon. It therefore stood to reason that the way to improve on boring, predictable, routine sex with Ronon would be boring, predictable, routine sex with John and Ronon. Was that really too much to ask?
Rodney pointed his fork at John again and said, “You just don’t want to admit the honeymoon is over, and now you’re just old and married.”
“Do you mind? I’m eating, here,” John grumbled darkly.
“Come over tonight,” Rodney said, feeling inordinately cheerful, because there were a lot of things he would probably never understand about John, but he knew when he’d won an argument. “And try to keep your expectations lower than usual.”
When he tried to explain the concept of Wednesday sex to Ronon, he mainly got Ronon’s how-much-longer-will-this-explanation-ta
“Yes,” Rodney said, “but not for good sex. Well, not for bad sex. I’m aiming for something in the neighborhood of ‘adequate.’”
“Whatever works for you,” Ronon said equitably, and went back to the multiplayer Sims game that had taken over the Atlantis server. He seemed to enjoy maneuvering his characters to start kitchen fires, which Rodney tried not to read too much into; it only bothered him now when Ronon did it while logged on under Rodney’s name, because he’d spent too goddamn much time landscaping his properties to see them sacrificed to his boyfriend’s inner serial killer, thank you very much.
John came by a little later than usual, late enough that Rodney had started to worry but fortunately not so late that he’d broken down and admitted out loud that he was starting to worry. “Took you long enough,” he said without looking up from his laptop.
“Can I catch a shower?” John asked. “Or is that a date-night kind of thing?”
Rodney glanced up and noticed the dark sweat stains around the collar of John’s t-shirt and in a stripe down the back, and his dick immediately perked up and asked permission to rub up and down John’s damp, sticky skin, but the very immediacy of his reaction persuaded Rodney that post-evening jog Sheppard qualified as a special event for current purposes, and therefore had to be eliminated. “I’m sure we would all appreciate it,” he said loftily.
But even though he wasn’t sweaty after the shower, he was wet and shining and naked, and he dropped onto the bed as much on top of Rodney and Ronon as between them, with the muffled groan of a man undergoing middle-age aches and pains he was not yet prepared to discuss. Carefully, Rodney shut off his computer and put it aside – more carefully than he needed to, probably, but in spite of his best efforts at mind-over-matter, Rodney’s body was still thoroughly conditioned to recognize the sight and smell of a naked Sheppard in his bed as something entirely other than boring and routine.
Doubt soured his stomach for a moment, and he looked down at John’s boneless sprawl with something like frustration. John rolled in and out of his bed, shape-shifting between Rodney’s smirky, irritating friend of the last three years and his willing and irritatingly talented lover of the last two with CGI fluidity. Most of the time, Rodney was even fairly sure that John loved him – some insane, unforseeable, sui generis sort of love that was tenderness and obligation and addiction and compatibility all at once. But it wasn’t domestic and never had been, and Rodney didn’t know if it was possible to...to presume that kind of feeling, to invent it. There was a first time for everything, except when there wasn’t.
Ronon shifted away, leaving enough room for John to fit almost comfortably between them, lying on top of the blankets and stretching them tightly across both Rodney’s body and Ronon’s. “So, what’s the plan?” John said. “Should I have left my socks on?”
“Go on and mock,” Rodney said, superfluous permission at best. “You’ll be grateful once the pressure of new-relationship performance is off. You’ll never admit it, but you will be.”
John raised an eyebrow and drawled, “Rodney, I really had no idea you had all this pre-sex anxiety going on. You’re fine in bed, you know.”
“I know I– Excuse me, I’m fine? I’m fine in bed, this is your idea of reassurance? Which I absolutely do not need, but– Fine?”
John waved a hand idly in the air. “I don’t know, what’s the word? Where you’re good enough that you just know you can do something without having to plan for it or think a whole lot about it – what do you call that?”
“An expert?” Rodney suggested, trying not to sound overly eager.
“Competent,” John said at the same time.
“Is this part of the thing we’re doing where it’s not going to be all that good?” Ronon asked. Rodney couldn’t quite tell if the question was honest or pointed.
Instead of answering, John rolled over to drape himself half across Ronon, lowering his forehead against Ronon’s forehead and cradling Ronon’s cheek in his palm. It jolted Rodney to recognize the move – they’d done this before. Did they always do this? He hadn’t paid attention, really, but all of a sudden it was routine. No – ritual. Rodney found himself holding his breath, watching them curled tightly into each other’s space and desperately still, still in the way that only Ronon and John could be. Then Ronon relaxed with something like a silent full-body sigh and murmured, “John.”
“Yeah,” John said, and kissed him briefly, and then it was over somehow. Neither of them moved, but Rodney could feel the moment pass, and even though neither of them looked back at him, he suddenly felt sure that he existed again.
It hadn’t ever occurred to him to wonder what little habits of their own Ronon and John had. He knew they had sex without him, quick afternoon fucks in the officers’ sauna after their spar (Rodney had actually been surprised to realize that “sparring” did actually mean sparring; he’d always just assumed it was code), lazy day-off mini-vacations to the beach or half-days hitting golf balls off the west pier that ended in lazy day-off handjobs. He knew that – hell, sometimes Ronon would even describe it for him in detail, later on when Rodney could finally get away from that actual job that he, unlike some people, actually worked at every single day – but still, most of the time he thought of John and Ronon as his. It was easy to see those little signs, those revelatory moments, and somehow miss them at the same time – easy to let himself forget that they were each other’s, too.
Impulsively, he rolled closer and buried his face against John’s neck. John made a little humming sound and said, “I gotta tell you, Rodney, I’d have been more into this whole scheme of yours if I’d known you were going to let me be in the middle.”
“About that...” Rodney said.
He felt John’s ribs jump under his hands in a brief snort of noiseless laughter. “Are you listening to this?” he said to Ronon. “I knew this was a set-up.”
“Well, it just makes the most sense!” Rodney said defensively. “Ronon’s a top– “
“Says you,” John said under his breath, insufferably smug.
“– and your blowjobs leave something to be desired,” Rodney said, which wasn’t exactly how he’d been planning to phrase it, but honestly. In a more conciliatory tone, he continued, “Weren’t you the one who told me you liked to – feel the noises I make?” That wasn’t quite what John had said, but he’d said it in the middle of sex, in that casually obscene way that made Rodney’s dick throb, even if he couldn’t imagine actually repeating the words out loud – go on, give it up for him, you know you can’t help it, I love the way your mouth feels, wrapped around my cock and you’re still fucking making noise, you never shut up, I *love* it.
John let out an exasperated sigh and squirmed onto his other side, facing Rodney. “Look,” he said, “if you would just tell me what you want, we’ll do it, but I honestly don’t know what the fuck it is you’re after, here.”
“I just – I don’t know! Anything, whatever you want to do.” He thought about the way Ronon manhandled him on those casual, spur-of-the-moment nights, not rough but not solicitous, either – just a red-blooded man who wanted what he wanted and knew damn well that Rodney was a sure thing. What was so complicated about that?
“Rodney, I basically do whatever I want already,” John said. “Do you think I’ve been faking it all this time so you guys wouldn’t change the locks on me?”
“No,” Rodney admitted. “No, but– “
“No, but nothing,” John said, exasperated. “You set this up, you’re the one who wants something, so just be a man and tell us what it is.”
He didn’t know how to say, I want you to admit that we’re your sure thing, so he glared at John for being such a damned hypocrite, always acting like self-disclosure was supposed to be a cakewalk for everyone in the universe except John Sheppard. Other people could have intimacy issues too, after all, John didn’t hold the patent on them.
He wasn’t entirely sure how or when glaring at John turned into kissing John. He never seemed to be entirely sure about that part. But it was hot and hard, with lots of tongue and John’s deft, narrow hands groping his ass while John’s dick got harder and harder against Rodney’s thigh, and Rodney whined in frustration and encouragement into John’s mouth, because the white heat of John and Rodney’s oh-my-God-how-are-you-this-fucking-annoy
John rolled on top of him, sliding his cock alongside Rodney’s, and his hips pressed down as he pushed up on his hands to look down at Rodney with dark, dilated eyes. “You’re so easy,” he gloated, shimmying just enough to make Rodney gasp and choke on the words more and yes and please hurry, because John wasn’t wrong about him. “I swear, I don’t even have to try to wind you up anymore. All I do is show up.”
“Obviously,” Rodney said, his voice cracking. “You idiot.” Something flickered through John’s eyes, and Rodney allowed himself to believe, just for the time being, that John was finally getting it.
“How you doing over there, buddy?” John asked, and because his eyes never left Rodney’s, it took Rodney a second to realize that John wasn’t talking to him.
“Okay,” Ronon said shortly. Rodney let his head roll sideways and saw that Ronon had kicked the covers down around his calves and taken his cock in a hard grip with one hand while he fondled his balls lightly with the other. “By the way, I don’t think they leave anything to be desired. In case you were wondering.”
“Oh, they do, too. Quit being such a suck-up,” Rodney said breathlessly as John deepened the slow grind of his hips against Rodney’s. “In the...idiomatic sense....”
“Hey, here’s my idea,” Ronon said, much more dryly than anyone should be able to say anything while playing with himself. “For something that would be fun, but still not exciting in any way.”
John snorted a laugh against the corner of Rodney’s mouth and said, still looking nowhere but at Rodney, “I love a good sales pitch. What did you have in mind?”
“I think you two should stop talking.” Both Rodney and John turned their heads to look at him, blinking. Ronon shrugged awkwardly against the mattress and said, “Well...that’s your foreplay thing, isn’t it? Whoever thinks of something that makes the other one either laugh or get mad is the winner and he gets to be in charge, and then the loser gets all excited because he gets to fuck the smartest person he knows, and that turns you on.”
“He is not the smartest person I know,” Rodney said.
“The fact that Rodney can’t stand not to have the last word is the least sexy thing about him,” John said.
Ronon rolled his eyes, clearly fighting off a smile and almost succeeding. “You both get off on it. So if you want to cool things down, just – try not doing that.”
“I think that sounds like your fantasy, not either of ours,” Rodney humphed.
“And anyway, there’s no way Rodney could even pull it off,” John said.
Rodney looked up at him, feeling his eyes narrow and his jaw go rigid. “Oh, really?” he said.
The thing about total silence was that, actually, it made Rodney a little nervous. He thought it might be a residual effect of babysitting as a kid; when he suddenly couldn’t hear Jeannie, he always knew she’d gotten into something she didn’t want him to know she was into, and he had to bolt up from his transistor radio or his nuclear fission simulator and go running all over the house to find her.
Dead silence was what always happened right before everything went terribly, terribly wrong.
John landed on his back with a whump, and it sounded loud. Irritably, Rodney rubbed the back of his own neck, where the sweat was starting to itch, and glared down at John, feeling strangely bereft now that John was only giving him his little half-smirk of you don’t know what you’re doing, do you?, rather than bossing him around, saying things like What the hell are you waiting for, our fucking anniversary? or What part of me lying here totally naked with my knees in the air is this huge quandary for you?
It was annoying, yes, but at the same time, it was the language that John spoke. Those things meant I’ve been looking forward to this all day, please hurry and it still scares me a little, how much I like being exposed to you, so show me I’m going through all this for the right reasons. Based on extensive experience in the field, however, Rodney was pretty sure that the you don’t know what you’re doing, do you? look meant you don’t know what you’re doing, do you?
Well, two could play at that, so Rodney gave him the do you mind? I’m trying to work, here look, along with a brief stroke to John’s cock to reassure him that they were definitely on the same mission. Then he scooted on his knees further between John’s thighs, taking one of John’s calves in his hand and lifting it up against his shoulder. The smirky look disappeared in a burst of dark need, and John wrapped his other leg tight around Rodney’s waist and let his head tip back on the pillow.
Sliding into John was good, it had always felt simply good, even though with practically every other human being he’d ever put his dick into, there had been an element of wrongness – hot, dirty wrongness, the good kind of wrongness, with the thrill of the forbidden. Strange to get older, to try more and more that was more and more firmly forbidden, and feel the sensation losing its appeal. Fucking John was as forbidden as any sex Rodney had ever had and more so than most, and yet somehow it felt ridiculously natural, like a basic function of logic. Friendship plus trust plus the way John kept him sharp and made him work to prove everything he claimed plus attraction plus someone who had never judged him, who had always let Rodney be who he was and chase what he wanted – there was nothing complex about that kind of math. It would have been wrong not to fall into bed with him, and downright insane not to go back at every opportunity.
John sighed when Rodney found his rhythm, arching his back and brushing his fingernails over the backs of Rodney’s hands and his wrists. Rodney stopped abruptly and pulled partially out so that he could lean over and give John’s softly opened mouth a quick, shaky kiss. John smiled faintly, then gave Rodney’s ass a playful smack. “Oh, you...” Rodney said under his breath, feeling himself grin stupidly, and he went right back in, harder than before, rocking John’s body underneath him – literally this time as well as, one hoped, idiomatically.
“Shh,” Ronon said. He rolled up against John’s side and pulled his hair off to the side so that Rodney could see him close his lips around John’s nipple. John made a strangled noise and tightened around Rodney’s cock, and when Ronon snaked his arm across John’s chest and twisted his other nipple carefully between his thumb and the side of his finger, John made a noise that was very much like a sob.
“Can’t, I can’t,” John said, trying to drive himself harder on Rodney’s cock but mostly managing just to squirm and to set off little red explosive devices behind Rodney’s eyeballs. “Fuck this, oh, God, I have to– “
Rodney smiled, feeling suddenly dizzy with pure elation. He readjusted his hands on John’s hips and leaned forward, going lower against him and harder inside him, and said as sweetly as he could through his teeth, “Go on, it’s okay, you know you can’t help it.” John’s first bark of laughter came almost painfully out of his chest, and he was still laughing when he came. Rodney eased off, riding John in low, sweet rolling waves while he laughed and trembled and grabbed Rodney’s jaw in punishing fingers to force a kiss on him that Rodney was in no way trying to escape.
“You asshole,” John said, dreamy and somehow admiring, one hand wound in Ronon’s hair and the other cupped against Rodney’s shoulder.
“It’s all right,” Rodney said magnanimously. “I’m a bit of a noisy lay myself.”
John’s hand dropped down from his shoulder to his ass and squeezed firmly as he said, low in his throat, “Jesus, come already, you could give a guy a complex,” and Rodney was coming before the end of the sentence, then falling exhausted against John with his ear over John’s heartbeat.
Rodney was half-asleep already, but the other half of him was perfectly happy to burrow under the covers and watch through heavy-lidded eyes as John stretched and moved over to straddle Ronon, moving down Ronon’s chest with kisses bracketed by the scrape of his fingernails while he murmured, sex-drunk and still amused, “Something to be desired, huh?”
“Hey, I’m not taking the blame for that,” Ronon said, raking his own fingers through John’s hair close to the scalp, which made John’s back arch again in pleasure. “He comes up with this stuff all by himself....”
In spite of how heavy every part of Rodney’s body felt, dense with sleepiness and satisfaction, he managed to get himself close enough to push up on one elbow and set a warm kiss against Ronon’s forehead as he came. He was nibbling down the side of Ronon’s face while John sat up, licking his mouth and rubbing at it with the back of his hand. Ronon wrapped his legs around John and overbalanced him, making him fall forward. That put John’s head near enough that it wasn’t too much effort for Rodney to add a kiss or two into his damp, messy hair.
“See?” Rodney said sleepily. “Wasn’t this a good idea?”
“Oh, yeah,” John said, too comfortable to be truly sarcastic. “You must be some kind of genius to figure out I like dick.”
“Ha ha,” Rodney said.
“No, really. I think how can you make John Sheppard come his brains out? is one of the Millennium Prize problems, isn’t it?” Ronon, the traitor, snorted his own laughter. He was such a suck-up – acting like John was funny.
“That may be,” Rodney said, as loftily as possible through a yawn. “But not everyone can do it on a Wednesday.”