Casual Easy Thing
by lamardeuse
Rating: R
Warning: Spoilers for 3x08, "McKay and Mrs. Miller".
This time, John saw it coming.
“I can help you with that hook,” Rod said, and okay, John might usually be kind of slow to figure out when he was being hit on, but that one was about as obvious as you could get. Hell, a blind alien with no knowledge of human mating practices could have figured out Rod was coming on to him, and that golf ploy had to be as old as the game.
“Sure,” John said easily, and Rod strolled over to stand behind him, close but not close enough for John to call him on it. Rod's hands covered the backs of John's, and John felt an electric jolt of awareness when he realized they were broader than his own, warm and dry and surprisingly gentle.
“Now, if you'll move with me, here, I'll just demonstrate your swing...” Rod's voice was soothing in his ear, and John found himself obeying without thought, swaying with the other man in a weird dance. “That's what you do. Now, see if you can tell the difference – ” and he demonstrated again, this time imposing his own technique on John's movements, but much more smoothly than Rodney ever would. When Rodney showed you how to do something, he was about as smooth as a tractor-trailer flattening a Kia; it was all hurry up and I can't believe I have to explain this and my sister can do it better than that. John often pretended not to get stuff right away on purpose just to watch Rodney foam at the mouth a little. It was kind of cute.
Well, not cute cute, just sort of –
“There.” Rod's soft voice in his ear brought John snapping back to reality. The hands left him and Rod retreated to a respectful distance. “You want to try it on your own?”
John blinked at the water, realizing he'd completely failed to pick up on anything Rod had just showed him. “Sure,” he managed, bending over to set the ball on the tee and straightening again slowly. He flexed his arms a couple of times, hoping something would come to him. In the end, he shrugged and went for it.
And promptly sliced the ball. He never sliced.
Behind him, Rod gave a Rodney-like grunt. “You're overcompensating,” he observed.
John shrugged again. “I'm a guy. It comes with the territory.”
Rod stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing. “God, you're nothing like my John,” he said, and something about the way he said my John made this weird tingling feeling crawl around in John's gut, and then he realized Rodney had never called him by his first name. Why was that, anyway? After all, he called Rodney by his first name all the time, and Rodney called everyone else by their first names.
“Something wrong?”
John started, then noticed he was frowning, maybe even scowling. “Uh, no. Nothing.”
Rod took a step toward him. “Well, look, I can see exactly where you went wrong there.” And here we go again, John thought as those arms wrapped around him and he felt warmth and solidity at his back. “You swung your hips – ” And okay, Houston, he had a problem, because Rod's big, wide hands settled right on the territory in dispute, and he was now twisting John sideways, and John was a pretty easygoing guy but that was crossing the line, plus it was starting to feel good, and he did not just think that.
“Maybe it would be better if you showed me yourself,” John said, easing away from Rod's grasp and turning to face him. “I'm more of a visual learner anyway.”
Rod frowned at him for a moment before a slow, understanding smile spread across his face, a smile that was definitely not the least bit sexy. “Oh,” he said softly, eyes steady on John the whole time. “My apologies.”
John tried his best smirk, though he knew it was forced. “No problem.”
“Look, I don't know what kind of technique Rodney's demonstrated, but believe me, if I was hitting on you, I could be more subtle than that.”
John felt his face heat. “So that wasn't – ”
“Well,” Rod hedged, still smiling, “I suppose you could call it 'testing the waters'.”
“Come again?” John gaped.
Rod flipped a hand. “In my universe, Sheppard and I had come to an – arrangement of sorts. It suited us both pretty well; neither of us was terribly interested in long-term attachments, and with the hours we both kept, no woman would put up with us. Nor were we interested in becoming known as the Captain Kirks of the Pegasus galaxy, so we decided to – ”
“ – become fuck buddies,” John finished for him.
Rod made a face. “Well, that's one way of putting it.” He shrugged. “It worked well for both of us. Completely casual, sex whenever we needed it, no strings.”
Sheppard nodded, while inside his brain his thoughts were tumbling and smacking into one another like Keystone Kops. Casual sex. With Rodney. It was the most ludicrous idea he'd ever heard, and not because it put sex and Rodney together in the same sentence, but because sex with Rodney would come with more strings than multi-dimensional physics. Sex with Rodney would be complicated and awkward and messy and hot and –
– wait, hot?
“I thought that you and Rodney might have come up with something similar.”
John picked up one of the balls and tossed it in the air absently. “Nope. I can honestly say that nothing has ever come up between us.” He paused. “His or mine.”
Rod eyed him for a moment, then nodded, that affable smile returning. “Fair enough. I trust you'll let me know if you change your mind?”
“Sure,” John said; another nod from Rod, and he was gone, heading back into the city. The city it looked like John would be sharing with him for some time.
Rolling his shoulders, he gazed out at the water and tried not to think about it.
Of course, “trying not to think about it” was never a smart strategy; all you did was guarantee you'd be thinking about it all the damned time. Rod was long gone, hopefully safe and sound back in his own universe, screwing his own Sheppard to his heart's content, and John was still thinking about it. Only now his thoughts, waking and sleeping, had turned to sex with the Rodney that inhabited his own universe, and that was – well, besides being insane, it was impossible. Wrong. Ridiculous. Did he mention insane?
When Rodney had become combative and withdrawn around his more charismatic counterpart, John had chalked it up to an odd variation on sibling rivalry and left it at that. But when he caught the mixture of surprise and tentative hope in Rodney's reaction to their well-rehearsed speech about Rod's deficiencies, he realized that Rodney truly hadn't expected to be the one Mom liked best. All at once, his opposition to Rod's staying in Atlantis made a lot more sense; John imagined he would have played the whole scenario out to its logical conclusion, with Rod taking his place on the team and Rodney left behind at the gate.
Which then led him to an illogical conclusion of his own: despite the condescension and the numerous other character flaws, it turned out he did prefer his Rodney to Rod. While he may not have been creepy, Rod had been almost – too perfect, as if John had dreamed up a best friend one night and woken up to find him standing there, keen to drive a few balls off the East Pier. He was gregarious, polite, patient, good-humored – in other words, all the things Rodney was not. But on the other hand, he was also slightly bland, as if this McKay had managed to get everything he'd ever wanted. Despite his loud and frequent demands, John had the sneaking suspicion that Rodney wasn't all that used to being on the receiving end of his heart's fondest desires.
Lately, he was starting to wonder what – or who – it was that Rodney desired. He was starting to wonder the same about himself, too. More and more often, he'd find himself watching Rodney to try to figure out either, or both. He'd find himself focusing on Rodney's hands, Rodney's wide, lopsided mouth, Rodney's solid body, as though the answer could be discovered in the jab of a finger or the curve of his spine as he bent down to tie his shoelaces in the field. Three days ago Rodney had fallen in a brook and come up spluttering and soaked, and John couldn't stop staring at the nipples threatening to poke their way through his black t-shirt. He was half-hard by the time they reached the gate, Rodney whining about being cold the whole way. John had been torn between whacking him across the back of the head and stripping the shirt off him and getting Rodney so warm he couldn't fucking remember his own name.
“What?”
John blinked, returning abruptly to the present. Rodney was peering at him across the mess hall table. “What what?”
“You were staring at me,” Rodney said. His eyes widened, and John saw his tongue slide under his upper lip and root around. “Do I have something stuck in my teeth?”
“No,” John answered, glancing over to see Teyla watching them with ill-concealed amusement. “You're fine.”
“Then why were you staring at me?”
John stuck a fork in his salad. “I wasn't staring at you,” he said sullenly.
“You were!” Rodney crowed. He turned to Teyla. “Wasn't he staring at me?”
Teyla's eyebrows did that caterpillar thing they did whenever she was trying not to burst out laughing at the crazy Earth folk. “I would not call it 'staring', exactly,” she said, her gaze on John the whole time, “more...contemplation.”
Fuck you very much, John thought at her. She inclined her head as though she'd heard him.
“What were you contemplating about me?” Rodney demanded, openly curious.
John had had enough. “How anyone can eat that fast without choking,” he snapped.
Rodney's eyes widened, then narrowed. “Very funny.”
John dropped his fork, grabbed his tray and stood, his flight instinct taking over. “Look, I, uh, I have a – meeting. I gotta go.”
Before he could run, Teyla was on her feet too. “What a coincidence,” she said sweetly, “so do I. May I walk with you?”
John thought of about five protests, but something told him Teyla had a response for every one. “Sure,” he said heavily. “See you around, Rodney,” he managed, and was treated to a glance and a nod that belied Rodney's confusion and perhaps a small portion of hurt. Great. He already felt like a schmuck; now he was a rotten schmuck.
Teyla walked beside him in silence; after about a minute of that John had reached his breaking point. “Okay, so I don't have a meeting.”
“What a coincidence,” she said brightly, “neither do I.”
John slowed his pace a little. “Listen, I'm not really good at baring my soul – ”
Her smile was gentle. “Give me some credit, John.”
“Yeah, all right, so you already know that.” John blew out a breath, then steered them toward a balcony so that he wouldn't have fifteen Marines overhearing the conversation. When the doors had closed behind them, he said, “Rod and the Sheppard back in his universe – ” he waved a hand “ – they had an – arrangement.” She raised her eyebrows at him, and he waved his hands a bit more explicitly. “You know. An arrangement.”
She nodded, understanding. “A romantic arrangement.”
“Not exactly.” He couldn't believe he was telling her this. “An arrangement of – convenience.”
“Oh,” Teyla said. “It is not common among my people to do this. Time is too short for us to waste it with people for whom we have no deeper feelings.”
John leaned back against the railing. “Yeah, I've always kind of felt the same way about it.”
Teyla smiled faintly. “Then what is the difficulty?”
“I just – since I found out about it, I can't stop thinking about – ”
“The possibility?”
“No. Yes. I don't know,” he said, exasperated. “I mean – don't get me wrong, I like the guy – but this is Rodney we're talking about.”
She cocked her head at him. “You feel nothing for him?”
“I feel – he drives me nuts,” John admitted. “One minute we're getting along great, the next minute he's insulting my intelligence, accusing me of hitting on his sister – ”
Teyla pursed her lips. “And you never retaliate.”
John pointed a finger at her. “Hey, you're supposed to be on my side, here, in case you weren't sure.”
Teyla sighed. “I am on your side, John.” She paused, clearly debating with herself before she spoke. “When Ronon first joined our team, he asked me about you and Rodney.”
John's eyebrows climbed. “About...” Teyla nodded. “You're kidding.”
Her expression grew mischievous. “He told me there is an old Satedan saying: 'There's a fine line between fighting and fucking.'” Another pause. “I told him I was not sure if you were involved, but that it was clear that you would die for one another. He seemed to think that was sufficient information.”
John gripped the railing, his head reeling. “You – told him you weren't sure,” he murmured. Christ, that would have been almost a year ago. What kind of signals had they been giving off, that even Teyla wasn't sure if he and Rodney were doing the horizontal tango?
Teyla took a step toward him, then surprised him by placing a hand on his cheek. “I am sure that I want you to be happy,” she said softly. “Both of you.” She smiled up at him, then removed her hand. “My people also have a saying: 'When joy hides its face, the blind man is the most fortunate of all.' Do not worry about the shape of your joy, John. This is no time for regrets.”
Ten hours later, he was standing outside Rodney's door as it opened, his legs aching from the desire to run like hell.
“Oh,” Rodney said, clearly surprised. “What do you want?”
“Nice to see you too,” John muttered, pushing past him into the room. He could practically hear Rodney scowling before he turned around. Sure enough, when he faced Rodney he saw the other man standing with arms folded and dark expression firmly in place.
Geez, who knew he found that hot?
“I, uh,” John began. Rodney nodded at him impatiently. “When Rod was here, he hit on me.”
Okay, that wasn't how he'd intended to begin.
Rodney didn't appear overly shocked. “That doesn't exactly surprise me. The man was essentially you.”
“Hey! I told you he was creepy.”
Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yes, so? Are you here to confess that you slept with – me?”
“No!” John shook his head, already so mixed up he couldn't have found his ass with both hands. “I didn't sleep with Rod, what are you saying?”
“Then why are you here?” Rodney asked warily.
John's ten hours of careful contemplation flew right out the window at that. “I don't know anymore,” he sighed. “I thought – I don't know what I thought.”
Rodney stared at him for a moment, then his jaw dropped. “Oh my God, you want to be fuck buddies just like those two,” he gasped.
“What – no, that's not – ” John trailed off. “Wait, he told you about that?”
“Yes, he told me. I must say I found it repugnant. But it just goes to prove one thing I've always known: you really are Kirk.”
“Quit calling me that.” John growled, his last thread of patience snapping. He took a step forward and watched in grim triumph as Rodney took a step back. “I am not Kirk. I never have been Kirk.” Another step. “I don't screw everything that moves. I don't have fuck buddies, and if I did, you'd be the last person I'd pick to be one.”
“Oh, wonderful,” Rodney snapped, “thank you for that.”
John took another step, then another, and then there was nowhere else to go, because Rodney's back was flat against the wall and his chest was plastered to John's. John braced one hand on the wall between the framed photo of Rodney holding up his second Ph.D. and Rodney's head; Rodney's eyes widened in astonishment. “Oddly enough,” John said easily, “that wasn't meant as an insult. Rod and his Sheppard might be able to have casual sex, but you and I never could.” He leaned in slowly, lips brushing Rodney's cheek with the lightest of touches.
“You and I,” John murmured in Rodney's ear, “would have hot, dirty, mind-altering sex. We'd argue before, during and after about whose turn it was to get condoms, who got to be on top, who had to sleep in the wet spot. We'd fight fast, and we'd fuck faster. Then we'd figure out how to slow it down, and then we'd really start to have fun. We'd fuck after missions where we had a close call just to convince one another we survived. And we'd fuck when it was quiet because there's no way of knowing when it's all going to go to hell.” He bit down gently on Rodney's earlobe and felt Rodney shudder.
“Oh,” Rodney managed weakly. “So, not fuck buddies, then.”
“No.” John's mouth was bolder on the way back, pressing more firmly to jugular, jaw, chin. “I can't speak for the guys from the other universes, but this John Sheppard isn't interested in casual.” He pulled back slightly so that he could look Rodney in the eye. “That all right with you?”
Rodney's answer was to raise a tentative hand to John's face and stroke two fingers over his mouth, like he couldn't quite believe he was allowed to, and Jesus, this was going to be good.
“Yeah,” Rodney said, treating him to a smile that was pure joy, “this universe's Rodney McKay is fine with that.”
End
October 2006
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