Seating Arrangements, by Temaris

by Temaris

He's wanted to do this for months; this is the first chance he's had to get all the elements in place.

"A little to the left, Colonel?" he calls, and from somewhere up above him John Sheppard grunts and says, "Yeah, okay, is that--"

"Radek?"

"I have nothing showing here, I must agree with the Colonel, these changes are --wait!"

"Got something?"

"Yes, yes, one moment." He isn't even there, tucked outside running diagnostics through three interfaces to get it into a language he understands. And even if he were to get up, walk around the corner, look into the puddlejumper, why then John Sheppard is standing on a bench with back to the wall, reaching both hands up into an overhead compartment adjusting crystals, and Doctor McKay, his good friend Rodney McKay is helping him with his balance by leaning his chest against John's hips, and supporting him with one hand on his chest. Lending him a hand. Or two. Rodney grins and slides his other hand slowly and carefully down the back of John's pants, under the waistband of his boxers, and yes, it's probably going to cut off circulation and cause deep vein thrombosis -- are the veins in the wrist deep enough? -- or gangrene, or at the very least some extremely painful pins and needles.

John's back arches a little and gives him some room between the wall and the weight of his lower back. Gangrene, possibly, but oh, so worth it.

"Okay, try moving the third one out, and setting the first one we took out in its place."

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" John asks, but Rodney knows his smile has nothing to do with crystals, and everything to do with the way his fingers crook up, just a little, nudging into John's hole. He can feel John's hard swallow, his shoulder leaning against John's ribs as his chest stutters.

"Trust me."

He pushes a little deeper.

"I thought I had something, Rodney, but the change was brief, are you sure it is seated correctly?"

"Colonel?" Rodney asks, and John shivers against him and pushes down a little, bracing his hands against the ceiling. He pushes harder and the crystals above them flicker. Yeah, that feels good.

"Ah! That is it! I have the complete diagnostics in place!"

"Great, wonderful, can we go now?" John says and makes as though to jump down. The logistics are going to be tricky with Rodney's fingers still up his ass, and Rodney winces.

"You're going to break my fingers."

John just looks at him incredulously, "I'm not that tight."

Rodney grins and twists his fingers. John swallows, wildly reaching for a handhold as he almost loses his balance and then regains it.

"We'll finish clearing this up, Radek, if you want to get on with running the systems analysis."

"You mean, Colonel Sheppard will clean up while you complain and carry lightest possible parts of toolkit, and I do all the hard engineering and analytical work," Radek says cheerfully. "For this, there will be much coffee."

"It's nothing a half decent mechanic couldn't do," Rodney calls, and shifts a little, the sound of Radek's feet accompanied by Rodney's face pressing into John's stomach, pushing into the gap between shirt and pants.

"I'm not getting stiffed with your clean-up, McKay." But John's voice is quiet, and he's not moving except in tiny shifts of his hips.

"You're getting stiff with something else," Rodney murmurs, and pushes deeper, then works his fingers in a slow thrust in and out, strangling John's next retort still-born. "God. Every time you reached up--" Rodney licks at the exposed line of skin above John's waistband, then slides his other hand down from John's hip, sweeping a long line down his thigh, then up, then down again, further behind his knee and the tender skin there, rubbing tiny circles, the fabric of his pants between skin until it's almost too much to bear, up again, warm and heavy on his ass, with Rodney's fingers still sliding in and out of him. He's barely aware of tiny, choked gasps, the sound barely under control, desperately held in, because Zelenka is still out there, analysing the data from the Jumper.

Rodney shifts, his chest pressing against John's hard dick, his cheek smushed into John's belly, "I wanted to --" he licks again, then blows cool air over his wet skin. John shivers, pushes forwards, and winces as his waistband cuts into him. He pushes past Rodney with urgent hands, unbuttoning, pulling at his belt, the front of his pants open until a neat triangle frames his aching crotch.

"Please?" His voice is shaky, and he's not entirely sure Rodney even heard him, and then Rodney smiles, hugs him hard, one arm around his waist, the other --

"Mmm," Rodney says, "give me more," and John thinks that he's the one who should be asking for more, and he thrusts forward and nearly falls, the bench isn't wide enough. Rodney laughs softly, chuffs of air brushing over him. "Hold still."

His shorts are pushed just low enough, the elastic bunched under his balls, lifting them up, and Rodney goes down on him without any warning at all, just dropping his head, cheek pressed tight against him, stubble scraping soft skin, teeth and tongue and hot wet suction drowning everything. He sways, and grips at the handholds, staring blindly across the little cargo hold, trying to hold still and failing utterly as Rodney takes him apart.

When he comes back again, they're lying on the floor of the Jumper, and Rodney's whispering into his neck, between kisses and urgent strokes of his hands, "Please, John, can I, will you, I have to, please, please--"

He's too lethargic to do more than nuzzle contentedly back and push his hips up a little. His pants and shorts are already half off, and Rodney just rolls him and slides in, lying on their sides, one of Rodney's arms crooked under his head, the other still sliding up and down his thigh, barely brushing his hardening dick, over his belly, his chest, down his arm, lacing fingers in his own, and then sweeping them both over him in the same pattern until John twists their hands and it's Rodney's touch on his skin again, him guiding, more pressure here, less there, press deep, oh, and Rodney thrusts hard up into him, driving against the push of their hands, and that's it, he's gone again.

He drifts down slowly, feeling Rodney's breath harsh on the back of his neck. "Y'okay?" he whispers, and Rodney groans and tugs at his arm still trapped under John's head.

"Apart from my arm going *dead*." He pauses and tightens his grip around John's waist. They are plastered together, sealed by sweat and heat and will, he feels a faint tug in his ass as they breath in and out, slightly out of sync with each other, the heaviness good for now.

"I don't think okay is the right word, Colonel," he whispers a moment later, and John hums a little in agreement, content to doze, his faith in Rodney's ability to keep them safe in this at least, utterly undoubted.