Pairing: John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Disclaimer: Not mine, I'm just messing with them.
Word Count: 1575
Author's Notes: For the intrepid pinch hitter #1 who wrote two last minute stories. A little something.
Warnings: As in the summary.
Summary: Bad sex, cultural misunderstandings, devious aliens, and John and Rodney. Made for each other.
Rodney was looking a little punchy, but John figured that was just excitement. Given the number of times he and the team had had to listen to McKay waxing lyrical about SG1 being made to do it by perverted aliens in the name of inter-planetary diplomacy, it was only to be expected that being made to do it himself, here in Pegasus, would push all his buttons.
Teyla, on the other hand, had that supernaturally polite smile plastered on that meant she was seriously pissed. John thought she was most likely embarrassed, given that she'd made it pretty clear to Rodney that however kinky missions were in the Milky Way, that sort of nonsense never happened in Pegasus.
John was kind of surprised, himself. He'd never read any mission reports that straight-out admitted to alien-induced sex, and he'd decided Rodney's tales were just Carter-related wish-fulfilment fantasies. But this was Pegasus, and he'd long since given up thinking he could predict the next chunk of weird the galaxy had in store for them.
He glanced across at Ronon, who was fingering his blaster thoughtfully. The big guy caught his eye and raised one brow. John did a minimalist head shake and Ronon nodded almost imperceptibly. It was just a cultural ritual; he was sure they could straighten it out without a bloodbath.
"Okay then," he tried, giving the little cluster of Vorteggian elders his best look-Ma-no-teeth smile. "Let me get this straight." Possibly could have phrased that better; beside him McKay emitted a muffled snort. "Ah, you want Dr McKay here, and me, to, ah, 'writhe for the gods'?"
The chief elder nodded emphatically. "Yes Elder Colonel Sheppard, visitors who are alien to our galaxy must perform the ritual so the gods will bless our trading."
"Uh huh," said John, letting the smile fade. "and by writhe you mean?"
"Why, you must use the Template of the Gods to demonstrate your closeness," the elder explained.
"And this template is what?" interjected McKay, his voice pitched higher than usual. "some sort of, of Kama Sutra? Or, um, a pillow book?"
"Rodney," John said warningly, "they're not gonna get those references, and anyway, cool it with the TMI."
The elder shrugged, unperturbed. "It is the Template. Come, this way."
He led them into a larger hall, and John was dismayed to see that it was filled with ranks of tiered wooden benches, like bleachers along the side of a high school gym. Every seat was filled, the crowd jostling and chatting - it looked like the whole village had turned out. People were dandling babies on their laps and several children were running around in behind the plank seating.
"Wait just a minute," said John, stopping dead. "I, we can't. Not with," he gestured at the crowd. "Kids present." Teyla's smile was frozen and Ronon had a dangerously blank look.
McKay's eyes were practically bugging out. "No no no, oh my god you can't expect me to, to get naked with the Colonel here in front of the whole village? I mean, yes he's very hot and definitely top of my list of suitable, er, writhing partners, but-"
John elbowed Rodney hard. What the fuck? Definitely hot? And what fucking list? Rodney squeaked and glared at him.
The elder looked surprised. "You wish to writhe naked? It is not required to remove one's clothing entirely, just those garments which might hinder movement." He indicated their tac vests and thigh holsters and waited expectantly.
"But how are we supposed to-" muttered Rodney. John cuffed the back of his head to preclude another TMI episode, and shot Ronon a look. He hated losing his guns, but Teyla and Ronon were still fully armed and there wasn't a weapon to be seen in the hall, not even a pointy stick. Ronon nodded reassuringly in an I've got your back, comrade way, so John reluctantly undid his vest and holster set them aside, then helped Rodney to remove his as well.
The elder beamed, then turned and clapped his hands for silence, intoning "Bring out the Template of the Gods."
Two men entered from an alcove to the left, carrying a rolled up rug which they ceremoniously laid out in the centre of the hall. John squinted at it, frowning. It seemed to be heavily embroidered with several rows of discs picked out in deep red, azure, gold, and rich green thread, and there was gold beadwork all around the edge.
"Stop fucking wiggling, McKay," John hissed angrily. They had somehow ended up both on all fours facing opposite ways. John was the big spoon. McKay was underneath him with his head jammed into John's groin and he was panting hotly in a way that was definitely making John's dick sit up and take notice.
"Just 'cause 'm not 's bendy 's you," gasped Rodney into the folds of John's BDUs. Folds that were rapidly becoming less foldy and more...bulgy. John desperately thought of the Antarctic ice, of tedious meetings about annual crop yields, of Hermiod. Nothing worked. The assembled crowd were raptly attentive, grinning in delight. Several people had their hands over their mouths and looked to be stifling laughter. Not very pious of them. John's face flushed an even deeper red. Off to one side, Ronon made a snorting noise then grunted in pain. John reckoned Teyla had probably crushed his foot, and damn right, too.
The chief elder spun the golden pointer again. "Left hand to crimson circle," he chanted sonorously and they struggled to reposition themselves without falling, John groaning as Rodney's warm shoulder lodged firmly against his now-hard cock and his own face pressed into the skin of Rodney's lower back, sweaty where the blue science shirt had pulled free of his pants. This was torture.
"You sold Twister to the Ardesian rug weavers?" Rodney yelled, swatting at Ronon ineffectually as they made their way back along the path to the gate with a generous trade agreement in pocket, if not their dignity. The chief elder had winked as he signed it.
Ronon shrugged, unrepentant. "Got it in last year's Secret Santa. Figured people'd here'd go for it - 's a good training game for flexibility and close combat."
"Oh, even better, Twister with knives," muttered Rodney.
Teyla smiled. "It has indeed proven very popular - the woven mats and the Choice Ring have spread to many worlds. And Ronon obtained a fine leather jerkin in exchange."
"Wait wait wait," Rodney said, gesticulating angrily. "Let me get this straight. The villagers here on Vorteg play Twister using mats woven by the Ardesians? But how can it be some ancient religious ceremony to cement trade if Ronon only sold the specs for the game a few months ago?" John adjusted himself surreptitiously; he liked Rodney angry.
"Oh, it is not a religious ceremony," Teyla assured them, eyes twinkling. "They are well aware that it is a game, but the chief elder was happy to have his people follow my suggestions, when I explained that it was to mark a special holiday for our team members from the Milky Way."
"Yeah," said Ronon cheerfully, "and we got bored with you two dancing around each other like leshmas on heat. Thought we'd move things along some. Plus McKay's always on about aliens making the gate teams 'do it', so we figured you'd jump at the chance." He smirked. "Got that right."
John glared at him, then at Teyla, who beamed back imperturbably as she mounted the steps to the gate. "What fucking 'special holiday'." He turned aside. "Dial home, McKay, hurry it up." He needed a cold shower.
"Yes yes, all right, keep it in your pants, Colonel," snapped Rodney, then he flushed and looked away. John felt his ears go hot. Rodney punched in the address for Atlantis and sent through his IDC.
"Zelenka told us about it," Ronon said, grinning evilly as he backed into the now stable wormhole. It swallowed him with a plop.
Teyla paused on the brink and turned, smiling. "Perhaps you have been too...preoccupied...to notice the date. I believe that on Earth, it is the first day of the month you call April." She bowed slightly and stepped backward, vanishing into the blue.
"Fucking April Fool's Day?" yelled Rodney after her, kicking the DHD pedestal. "Ow ow ow ow! Fuck! I'm gonna kill that little Czech bastard! Ow!"
John shook his head admiringly. Aliens had made them do it - he just hadn't expected it to be the aliens on his own damn team. Rodney was still hopping about, moaning and cursing. His hair was sticking up every which way, looking cute. John caught his arm and pulled him in for a kiss. It was pretty bad; their noses got in the way and Rodney was still agitated, taking a while to get with the program and relax.
"Finally!" said Rodney when they broke off the kiss. "It needs alien Twister and the machinations of half the team to get you to make a move?"
"You know what they say, buddy: 'it takes a village'," John grinned down at him. "We started with bad sex - it can only get better, right?"
Rodney rolled his eyes. "Dream on, Colonel. I think all I'm capable of after an afternoon of alien practical jokes is angry sex!"
John grabbed him and hustled him up the steps toward the gate. "Okay," he said, voice surprisingly breathy. "Works for me."