Title: The Best Bad Idea in Two Galaxies
Author: trixiesfic
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Recipient: tarlanx
Spoilers: Seige I-III, tiny bit of The Intruder
Summary: In hindsight, the beer was a really bad idea.

The Best Bad Idea in Two Galaxies

***

In hindsight, the beer was a really bad idea. A year of living in the Pegasus galaxy with only an occasional drink of native boozes of varying qualities, and John’s tolerance is low. But Rodney had said, “Hey, we’re celebrating, right?” and ordered a pitcher, so maybe he can just blame the bad idea on Rodney. Even if the second pitcher was John’s idea.

Actually, dinner itself was John’s idea. After three days of debriefings and medical exams and enthusiastic congratulations on not being killed by the Wraith, they were finally being released from the SGC, and as happy as John was to get out from underneath the mountain, he wasn’t entirely sure of what to do with himself, so he’d grabbed Rodney and said, “Let’s go have some real food.” The Mexican restaurant and the beer, though, were Rodney’s idea.

Now John’s had his fifth, maybe sixth, beer and there’s only a little left in the pitcher. Dinner’s long gone, but Rodney is currently sitting across from John doing absolutely obscene things with honey. He pulls a sopapilla apart and pours honey in it with the same kind of concentration he usually reserves for building nuclear devices, then he eats it, bite by bite, with his eyes closed and a look on his face that John thinks can only be described as orgasmic. When it’s gone, he licks his fingers off and starts all over again.

John’s never been a big fan of honey, but he’s warm and relaxed and he keeps wondering how the taste of honey on Rodney’s fingers would mix with the bitter dark of his beer. And that’s why the beer was a really bad idea.

“What?” Rodney asks, breaking John out of his reverie. “Do I have food on my face or something?”

“No, I’m just wondering if you’re going to eat the tablecloth next.”

“Oh, very funny. Yes, mock the man who’s been living on Powerbars and that stuff the Athosians call food for the last several months.”

“The same stuff I’ve been living on, McKay. And I don’t seem to recall you turning your nose up at any of it.”

“Sure, sure. But see there’s food, and then there’s good food. And this?” Rodney waves his hands around to indicate the table, which currently looks like scavengers have gotten to it. “This is fantastic food!”

John just grins back at Rodney, because all complaints aside, it’s sheer fun to watch him enjoy something as much as he obviously enjoys Mexican food. John doesn’t think he’s ever seen Rodney this relaxed, and it’s nice, really nice after the last few months they’ve had. He thinks maybe he likes this Rodney even better than he likes the tense, bitchy, we’re-all-about-to-die Rodney.

“Oh, I am definitely going to do the driving after this.”

John thinks about objecting, but really, he knows how many beers he’s had and how many Rodney’s had, and he’s not drunk enough to be that stupid.

The drive back to the hotel the SGC set him up in is long enough to be pleasant. Rodney’s uncharacteristically quiet and John rolls his window down, letting the cool air sober him up a little. The air here is clean and cold and smells like pine, and while he’s been on worlds with similar vegetation, there’s something that smells uniquely like Earth to him.

“It’s really weird, isn’t it?” he asks, interrupting Rodney’s surfing of the radio stations.

“What’s weird?”

“Being back here.”

“Oh, you mean, like a week ago we were about to die at the hands of intergalactic vampires and tonight we’re in another galaxy trying to find a decent radio station?”

John laughs and says, “Yeah, Rodney, exactly like that.”

“Well, weird is one word for it.” Rodney pauses for a second, then packs his voice with sarcasm. “If you’re in the sixth grade.” They pass under a street lamp and John can see that crooked half-grin that means Rodney’s incredibly pleased with himself, so he lets the sarcasm pass and goes back to breathing in the cold air.

When they get to the hotel, Rodney parks and follows John inside. John wants to make a joke about Rodney walking him to his door after a date, but he doesn’t, because he’s not ready to say goodnight yet and Rodney’s bitching about the NHL again.

“I’m just saying, is it really too much to ask that after saving the universe, I could come home to a season’s worth of hockey games to watch?”

John laughs and only fumbles his key card once before getting the door open. He’s not about to admit it out loud, but he kind of misses doors that open themselves when he wants them to. “The universe is inherently unfair, Rodney.”

“No kidding, Major.” Rodney stands in John’s doorway, taps his car key against the doorjamb, looks around nervously, and John thinks, god, maybe this is a date. “So, you’re flying out tomorrow?”

“Yeah, California. You?”

“Toronto, then Boston. There’s a wunderkind there who’s apparently doing some interesting theoretical work on black holes that might have some useful applications for us.”

“Right.” John nods and steps forward marginally, putting his hand on the doorjamb right above Rodney’s and putting a whole host of questions into his voice when he asks, “McKay?”

Rodney nods in answer to the unasked question and moves more fully into John’s space, wraps his other hand around John’s neck, licks his lips. “You realize this is a monumentally stupid idea, right?”

“Idiotic, even.” John knows. He knows just how bad an idea this is, but Rodney smells like chile and beer and his eyes are the color of the ocean around Atlantis, and they’re both still alive. Tomorrow, John has to tell Ford’s family that he’s missing, and he’s not entirely sure the SGC brass wants to send him back to Atlantis even though everything he cares about is there, but right now he just wants this. Wants Rodney.

Rodney grins, says, “as long as we’re in agreement,” and kisses John. He kisses John and pushes him into the room, letting the door fall closed behind them, and god, he tastes like honey and beer.

If John had ever let himself imagine this, he probably would have known Rodney would be pushy, would be bossy, but wouldn’t be entirely smooth. “Fuck.” Rodney yanks at John’s belt in frustration, then lets go and steps back. “Take those off. Jesus. Hurry.”

John laughs and gets out of his clothes quickly while Rodney pulls off his own shirt and jeans, never taking his eyes off of John, and fuck that’s hot. Then Rodney’s back and kissing John again and there’s naked flesh against John from head to toe and it’s been so fucking long since he had this.

He pulls Rodney down onto the bed and Rodney curses and pushes him over onto his back, crawling up over him. They push against each other, each of them straining to get the upper hand, and Rodney’s surprisingly strong, but John’s stronger and trained and could pin Rodney in a few seconds. But he doesn’t want to, because he’s really turned on by this aggressive Rodney, who suddenly has a mouth like a sailor, so John stops resisting, wraps his legs around Rodney and hangs on.

Rodney finds the perfect niche for his dick, between John’s dick and his hip and he rubs against John, rubs against him and grunts and it’s sweaty and uncoordinated and messy, but absolutely fucking perfect. Rodney comes with his tongue in John’s mouth and his hand gripping John’s ribs hard enough to leave bruises, and then he’s all warm, languid and heavy on top of John, panting into John’s neck. John groans and rubs up against Rodney, tries to get a hand between them, and curses all the beer he drank for slowing him down.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Rodney says, pushing John’s hand away and moving off of him. He kisses John at the edge of his jaw and plasters himself to John side. “Let me.” He wraps his hand around John’s dick and kisses him again, finds a steady rhythm that winds John higher and higher, and he wants to come, really wants to, but he just can’t get there.

He groans in frustration and Rodney says, “hey, hey,” and pushes two honey-flavored fingers into John’s mouth, pulls John’s leg up over his hip and then pushes those same fingers into John’s body. And it’s those fingers- fingers that John has watched type at an unnatural speed, fingers steady enough to build a nuclear fucking warhead, and sure enough to fire a gun when necessary- it’s those fingers that completely undo John now. He comes harder than he’s come since that first time he had a guy’s dick in his ass when he was 19 years old, and it feels like the same kind of revelation.

When John can breathe again, he looks up to find Rodney laying next to him, grinning the smuggest shit-eatingest grin he’s ever seen on Rodney’s face, and that’s saying a lot for Rodney, who knows better than anyone just how brilliant he is. John laughs and puts a hand in Rodney’s face and pushes him away.

“I have the best bad ideas,” Rodney says with a laugh.

“Yeah, McKay,” John says, wrapping himself around Rodney and pulling a blanket over them both, “you win at life.”

***