Title: All Part of the Service
Author: soleta
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Summary: The movie clip is around ten minutes long, and by the end of it, John has the cruelest idea he has ever come up with. On the one hand, Rodney will kill him so much. On the other, it should be extremely good sex, and John would go insane before he'd pass that up. PWP.
AN: for furina_1975 because she encouraged me, and libitina because she's a dirty h0r. I hope you both feel better. Thanks for the awesome beta go to ellixis and kyuuketsukirui.



John isn't easily disgusted. On the other hand, the state their quarters are in after he gets home from Earth is beyond belief. John wouldn't be entirely surprised to see giant Lantean rats or Iratean cockroaches duck underneath the furniture.

Half horrified, half fascinated, John says, "This is where single runaway socks go to die, isn't it."

Rodney's going to get it when he gets home.

John can't wait.

---

He finds it hidden under a pile of clothing that makes him think fondly of Hazmat suits. It's not the uncharacteristic blankness of the CD-R that flips the suspicion switch in his brain; it's that Rodney is extremely careful with anything that could be considered work-related, because he's convinced that anything he has ever written could suddenly be the clue the next time they have an appointment with screaming death, or win him his Nobel, or any of a thousand different excuses. This, on the other hand, is scratched and worn and pathetic-looking - well used.

John leans over his laptop, one hand braced on the desk, and opens the CD's file list. The single file is called 'hands.avi'. He doubleclicks.

The movie that opens is one long series of clips of - hands? John is about to close the window out of boredom, but stops. There's something - hands? - something very familiar about them.

When John realizes that every single frame so far is comprised of his hands, his interest jumps about a thousand percent and he starts the movie over from the beginning. There are his hands turning on Ancient artifacts, his hands on puddlejumper controls, his hands at rest on his P-90, his hands, his hands, his hands.

John thinks back to a couple years ago, before they had gotten together, when every time he turned around Rodney had a DV camera glued to his face. "Official records my ass," he mutters, grinning. There are his hands gesturing at a briefing, his hands in the mess hall, shaking hands with some village elder on Saffiyia. God, John thinks, watching.

The movie clip is around ten minutes long, and by the end of it, John has the cruelest idea he has ever come up with. On the one hand, Rodney will kill him so much. On the other, it should be extremely good sex, and John would go insane before he'd pass that up.

---

He has to wait until Rodney gets home that night, so he assembles what he'll need on the tiny table they use as a nightstand and continues cleaning. He hides the CD-R in a crevice that opened up when he was considering hiding spots (thank you, Ancient gene, he thinks, with deep, sincere gratitude) and goes about his work with good cheer.

John's running a last load of laundry in the dishwasher-cum-laundromat attachment in their apartment when the door slides open. "God, I'm glad you're home," Rodney groans as he drops onto the couch. "Your Marines have decided that my scientists need more exercise, so they're taking turns using us as punching bags. I think I have permanent kidney damage."

He must be enjoying it, John thinks. Otherwise, he would have heard the complaining from three floors down. "Hello, sweetheart." John smiles, showing teeth. "How was your day? Our little Bobby is coming down with the chicken pox, and Velma across the way is having a Tupperware party next week."

Rodney makes a face at him. "Yes, all right, I'm sorry, I was planning on cleaning before you got home but Simpson had some ideas on ZPM manufacture that weren't completely stupid - " And he's off and running, and John wanders over to the nightstand and picks up the first prop he needs for his plan.

He knocks Rodney's feet off the couch and sits down, puts his feet up, and opens the little bottle of baby oil Carson had slipped him with a wink when John and Rodney had moved in together. (John hadn't had the heart to tell him that they had actual lube, the kind that worked.) He drips a little on his fingers and rubs them together, making a show of it, and Rodney's voice falters for a second before carrying on, at least half again as fast as before. "- so we think that the Ancients used a combination of mineral and vegetable bases to synthesize the outer covering, because it's so tough and flexible; I'm thinking trinium, too." John drizzles a dime-sized pool on one palm and drops the bottle on the floor.

"Out of curiosity, what are you doing?"

John grins again, sharp and mischievous. "My hands are dry, what do you think I'm doing?" He rubs his hands together a little to spread the oil around and begins to lightly massage his palm, moving slowly, just to loosen the skin up a little; then he starts to dig his fingers slightly into the fleshy parts of his palms at odd intervals, stroking his way up to his fingers. When he gets there, he sidetracks to his cuticles and spends five minutes rubbing oil into each and every square millimeter around his nails, even going under them to score the sensitive skin there; his knuckles receive the same treatment, requiring more attention to get the oil worked into the toughened skin.

Rodney has long since fallen silent. He's shifting on the couch a little, like he can't decide whether to sit still or jump John. John grins inside his head with immense, wicked satisfaction.

To his surprise, he's starting to get into this. He had been telling the truth; his hands had been dry and achy since around his second day on Earth. John thinks it might have been the switch in climates, from ocean to mountain, but in all honesty he really doesn't care.

John is going all out now; he's digging deep into the muscle, rubbing slow, wide circles against the bone, switching from right to left hand whenever one feels neglected. He dares a single look at Rodney, whose eyes are practically popping out of his head and whose hand is suddenly covering more than just his lap, and decides that it's time to move right along on his program.

He slides his right hand down, down, and he's already unzipped himself and brought out his cock before Rodney sits up with a little yelp.

"What - John -"

"Shut up, Rodney," John says pleasantly, giving himself one long, slow stroke - not that he needs it, he's been at least half hard since he sat down, and Rodney's fast breathing and the bulge in his BDUs are the only things he needs to keep himself going.

He lets his left hand rest on his thigh, grasping convulsively, and peels back his foreskin to run his thumb over the head of his cock. He runs his fingers up and down his cock as long as he can stand to draw it out, but soon enough John is so fucking desperate for what he's denying himself that he makes a tight circle with his thumb and forefinger and begins to fuck it, slow and rhythmic.

God, it's so good; jerking off hasn't been like this in a long time, not in comparison to what he could have, but John can hear Rodney groaning, broken words of encouragement John is willing to bet Rodney doesn't even know he's making, and good as this is, John has a feeling that it's only going to get better.

His hips start to jerk to meet his hand, uncontrollable, until he's slamming into his fist, gripping so tightly that his fingers are white; John dips his other hand down into his pants and rolls his balls around in his fingers, squeezes once. That's what finally breaks him, and he shudders and lets go, dropping his head onto the back of the couch.

When John's decided that he's going to live, he lazily tips his head over to look at Rodney. John has to stop a moment and congratulate himself on his evil, evil plan, because Rodney has finally closed his eyes tight and has his hands balled into fists, like he's fighting for control with everything he's got.

John swallows his self-satisfied smirk and moves as quietly as he can, rolling onto his knees. He's got Rodney's pants unzipped before Rodney can say "Hey - wait," breaking off when John ducks his head and takes Rodney's cock into his mouth, running his tongue over the head, working the shaft with his hand.

Rodney lasts about thirty seconds, fucking John's mouth, before he jerks twice. "God, fuck, John," he says, and comes hard.

John swallows, grimacing faintly, and drops his head onto Rodney's stomach. They lie there for a few minutes before Rodney smacks John upside the head.

"Hey!" John says, injured, rubbing his head as he glares up at Rodney. "What was that for?"

"That was my brain you just sucked out through my dick!" Rodney glares right back. "I need that!"

John smirks. "Fine," he says, drawing out the words as much as he dares. "I'll never do it again."

"Well, I didn't - " Rodney stops and eyes John. "You are an evil, evil man, John Sheppard," he says slowly.

"All part of the service," John says with a laugh.