Title: Believe What You Breathe
Codes: McKay, Sheppard/McKay/Teyla
Spoilers: none specific
Summary: So there's this--planet. And it has--people. Who are armed. And then there's this room. And then there is porn.
Author Notes: For pentapus, who asked nicely and inspired me with art. Art! Which I don't have at work, because work, and so will have to post later. Is very pretty. Is very, very inspirational.
ETA: pentapus posted the art here. So many *kinds* of guh.
They make him kneel in the muddy center of the town, stripped of his weapons and his vest. Rodney feels a small sound catch in his throat when they pull away his belt, winding it around big hands before they circle him again like starving vultures, and Teyla's fingers close over his before he can do something stupid, like say something and earn another bruise. Earn Sheppard another bruise, to add to the collection he already has.
They cuff him, arms behind his back, and even from here, Rodney can see the hazel eyes are dilated black, something simmering just beneath the surface. When one of the women pauses, reaching out to grab a handful of hair, jerking Sheppard's head up, Rodney can feel Teyla's nails dig into his skin.
"Outworlder," the woman spits, with a backhand that snaps Sheppard's head to the side. Rodney feels himself take a step forward--and God, stupid, so stupid, he knows it, can't stop it--and the knife against his throat draws blood, trickling hot into the hollow of his throat. Teyla pulls him back with a stumble, pushing against his side, fingernails sinking into his wrist.
"We have not threatened you," Teyla says steadily, like there's not a knife against her throat, her own P-90 digging into her spine. They ignore her.
The woman ignores them and lets Sheppard go, circling again, jerking her chin sharply at one of the men. Rodney watches as a man eases down behind Sheppard, knees pressing Sheppard's farther apart, reaching around to unbutton the top of his BDUs.
"Stop it," Rodney says, and Sheppard's eyes flicker to them, fixing. The tiniest shake of his head, a flash of eyebrow, an order that Rodney recognizes, even as the guy pushes the pants down narrow hips, hands smoothing down Sheppard's thighs. He says something to the woman that Rodney can't hear, and then one big hand is pushing inside the boxers.
"No." Rodney's jerked back beside Teyla before he finishes the word, watching as Sheppard's boxers are eased to his knees, the woman watching with blank eyes. A snap of fingers brings another man to her side, who strips away Sheppard's shirt, cutting it free with casual swipes of his knife that bring up thin lines of blood. "Stop it. We'll *leave*, Jesus, you're this fucking touchy about being found--"
"Silence," the woman says casually, and the next thing Rodney knows, he's sitting on the ground, jaw throbbing, and Teyla's behind him, holding him up when he'd much rather be laid flat. When his eyes clear, Sheppard's standing, stepping away from his pants, face unreadable as the woman steps close, one finger reaching to slide along a cut, bringing the bloody finger to her mouth. "Take them away," she says with a wave of her hand. "We will satisfy honor with this one only."
Teyla moves, almost faster than Rodney can see, one foot catching their guard hard in the groin, and Rodney's scrabbling for the gun they took from him, trying to see through the haze of dirt, kicking whoever tries to touch him, trying to find Sheppard in the mess of bodies and dust.
They can get away, he thinks for a second, seeing Teyla dispatch another of the men, feeling something loosen in his chest that's been tight from the first time the woman looked at them as they walked into the village. They'll get away, get Sheppard, and they'll leave this godawful dreary planet and it's psychotic inhabitants, go home and write a report and go to bed, and it'll be like--
"If you do not stop, I will cut his throat."
Rodney goes still, gun out of its holster, pointed at--Sheppard, Jesus *fuck*, and Rodney's not sure he's even conscious. . Her eyes are on Rodney like she knows his hand wants to shake, and that he's never had to take a shot like this in his life.
"Put it down," the woman says calmly, and Rodney watches a thin line of blood well up beneath the edge of the blade. "Or I will kill him."
Rodney puts down the gun, and the next thing he sees is nothing at all.
His head's in Teyla's lap when he wakes up--and God, does his head hurt. "Tell me we're home." Miracles happen every day. This could be one of them. The ground's hard and uncomfortable under his back, and even when he opens his eyes, he can't see a damn thing.
"I am afraid we are not, Dr. McKay," Teyla says softly, hands bracketing his face with warmth. "Please do not move."
It wasn't like he was planning on it. "Right." His head aches, and he's pretty sure there's blood, from the dry stickiness tightening the skin on his forehead. Reaching slowly, he feels the ground--a floor, improvement over mud and dirt, though not by much. "Are you okay? We're going to die, aren't we?"
Teyla's quiet for a moment. "I am well, Dr. McKay." Her fingers gently stroke through his hair before she finally lets out a slow breath. "I was worried you would not awaken."
Rodney reaches up, batting her hand away, and traces the line of pain with the tips of his fingers, wincing at the light touch. "Yeah, me too." Pushing a hand into the floor, Rodney makes himself sit up, fighting off the rush of nausea sweet in the back of his throat. "Okay, maybe not a good idea," he murmurs, leaning forward before reaching, and finding, the solid wall to his left. Shifting, he puts his back against it, and Teyla moves so her shoulder is against his. "Please tell me I'm not blind."
"They did not give us light," Teyla says, squeezing his arm. "The room is small and seems to be empty."
Rodney swallows hard. "Sheppard?"
Her hand squeezes tightly. "I do not know."
Rodney closes his eyes, leaning back into the wall and thinking of Ronon, trying to calculate how long it will take him to get back to the gate, call for reinforcements--and he won't think about the goon-like men that went after him, won't believe that Ronon won't beat the shit out of them, won't dial home. A puddlejumper could be on its way right now, arrowing toward the village with Marines and medics and painkillers, he knows it.
He *knows* it, which is why he's not panicking, but he reaches for Teyla's hand anyway, leaning a little harder against her shoulder. "They won't kill him," Rodney says, because saying it will make it true.
"No," Teyla says softly, and leans into his shoulder. Rodney wonders if she's thinking the same thing.
It's minutes or hours later when they hear voices--chanting, singing, *something* rhythmic and fast, drums pounding out a beat that shivers through the walls, pressing into Rodney's spine until he can feel it in his teeth. Teyla's hand squeezes his before she pulls away, standing up, and Rodney grabs for her calf. "Wait."
"Dr. McKay, you should not move," she says, but she waits as Rodney gets to his feet, using the wall to steady himself at the rush of dizziness. The nausea is less, so maybe not concussion. God, he hopes no concussion. Pegasus is responsible for too many dead brain cells already. Reaching out, Rodney gets two fingers into her belt loop.
"There's no way I'm sitting here alone," he says breathlessly, trying to sound strong and certain, but it's taking all his air just to stay upright. They creep along the wall, rough wood against Rodney's searching hand, and he worries about splinters and infection, wonders about head wounds and mud, to avoid thinking about Sheppard and a woman with a knife. "Where are we going?" he asks, jerking his mind from the inevitable track of why, what, and of course.
The music grows louder, and Rodney feels her pause briefly before she leans into the wall--no, wait, the door. Rodney leans against it, too, listening to the voices, trying to work out what's going on out there. "What are they saying?" Rodney hisses, unable to wait.
"I do not know," Teyla says softly. Rodney hears her shift, pressing against the door. "It seems to be a--celebration. This music I have heard at feasts on different worlds."
Feasts or bizarre, ridiculous executions. Rodney leans back against the wall, wondering if it's his imagination or his eyes are finally adjusting to the dark. He can see her shape beside him. Licking his lips, Rodney tastes blood. "Teyla--"
"They are coming."
The door opens in a blaze of light and heat--a torch, Rodney's dazzled eyes tell him, before he winces away, stumbling back and down, jarring his spine, a jolt of pure pain replacing the low ache in his head. Teyla lands on top of him with a grunt, and Rodney gives up and lies flat, wishing he had the air to groan.
Teyla's jerked away almost immediately, and Rodney opens his eyes. "What--"
It's too bright to see--he feels big hands on his head, his face, pushing him roughly up until he's leaned against something hard and fingers push at his mouth. "No," he says, though he's not sure what he's saying, and then he's choking, something syrup thick and sweet pouring into his mouth.
Bad idea, he thinks, trying to spit it out, but a hand massages his throat, fingers pinching his nose shut, and he's coughing and swallowing, liquid running slowly down his throat, hands pinned behind him as another mouthful is poured into his mouth. From the other side of the room, he hears Teyla fighting, and fighting hard, then coughing, words murmured that he can't understand before he's suddenly back on the floor, mouth tasting of sweet syrup, stomach heavy with it. He wants to throw up, but he can't move.
After a long time, the room clears, and Rodney stares up at the logs that make up the ceiling high above them. "Teyla," he says thickly. Every limb seems drenched in honey, and it's hot, too hot, he's sweating through his shirt. When he sits up, though, he feels better, lightheaded and weirdly buoyant, like he could float to the roof. "Oh, no."
Across the room, Teyla's braced against the wall. There's no light, but her eyes focus on him. "Dr. McKay," she says huskily, and Rodney can see her hands clench into fists. "You are well?"
"Surprisingly, yes. This can't be good."
"No," Teyla says with a grimace. "It is not."
Rodney drags himself across the floor, dropping full-length on the floor beside her. Running a hand across his face, it comes back slick with sweat. "Just to be clear, you can see, too?"
Teyla's mouth goes tight. "Yes."
Drugged. Just great. Rodney watches as Teyla shifts, skin damp and glistening, and he finds himself staring at a drop of sweat gathering just above her mouth. Rodney jerks his gaze to the wall, the ceiling, the floor, feeling himself get painfully hard just from seeing Teyla's mouth.
Not good. Not good. "So," he says, voice too high. He swallows roughly, clearing his throat, taking a deep breath, and--God, he can smell her. Smell the Athosian soaps she uses, thick with herbs, clean sweat, the iron trace of her blood. "Oh God, you are kidding."
Teyla's foot brushes his shoulder, and it's like a hand on his cock. "Dr. McKay," she says uncertainly, then her foot jerks back. "I feel--strange."
"Yeah." Hands clenched at his side, Rodney makes himself stare at the ceiling. "What kind of--all we said was hi!"
Teyla's breath roughens. Rodney thinks under normal circumstances, he shouldn't be able to hear her breathe. "They seem to be--"
"A little touchy. And by touchy, I mean insane." Rodney flashes on Sheppard on his knees and fights the urge to reach down, stroke a slow hand over his cock. No. No, he's not that kind of guy. He'll never be that kind of guy. "We have to--we have to get out of here."
"Yes," Teyla says. Rodney tries to think of a plan, but his mind's fragmenting, going in a thousand directions at once, images filling his mind: Sheppard in the mud, pants around his knees, Teyla with her sticks, the scent of Sheppard's cologne, and Teyla's small, strong fingers against his skin. Palms spread flat on the floor, cool against his overheated skin, Rodney tries to breathe and it comes out in a gasp. "Dr. McKay--"
"No," he says, because even her *voice* is doing it, and he wants to crawl over her, lick the words out of her mouth so badly he has to clench his teeth to keep from doing it. Turning his head, Rodney looks past her legs and sees a pallet on the floor in the far corner--a very large pallet, soft-looking and inviting. "I don't--no, I do believe this, this galaxy is--" But now he has a pallet for his imagination, and the room is hotter, air heavy in his lungs and pressing down on every limb.
He's never wanted to move more in his life.
Standing up, he grabs for the wall, hearing himself growl when Teyla reaches out to steady him, pulling away before he does something stupid that ends with Teyla's foot in his groin--God, don't think that. His head doesn't hurt at all, and the stiffness of muscles at rest too long is gone completely. The room is tinier and huge and he can hear his own feet against the floor.
And he can smell Teyla on him, where she held his arm and his hand, where she touched his face, and he's licking the taste of her away.
Sinking down against the far wall, he pulls his fingers from his own mouth and sees Teyla watching him with wide, hungry eyes.
"No," he says, but mostly to himself. "No, this never ends well. I've--well, okay, it's never *happened* to me, but if it did, I know it would end badly."
"Yes," Teyla agrees, sounding like she completely disagrees. Rodney pushes his hands into the wall to stop the shaking--but he thinks if he touched her, they would stop. He knows it. "Dr. McKay," she says slowly, like she's speaking through her teeth, "we must--"
"Yes. Stay right where we are."
"Yes," she says, and Rodney closes his eyes and thinks about cold water and open fields and jumpers to the rescue. Any minute now.
When the door opens again, it's the woman.
Rodney pushes himself up off his curl on the floor, blinking slowly as she resolves into an unhappy, straight-back figure in a white robe, looking between him and Teyla with angry eyes. "It should have worked. Why does it not?"
Rodney stares at her, smelling her sweat, unpleasantly sour, the cosmetics that he doesn't remember her wearing earlier, smeared red mouth and black-ringed eyes. She looks angry. He thinks--maybe--that this is bad.
She feels wrong. She smells of Sheppard's aftershave and sweat and blood, and he kind of wants to kill her and lick her at the same time.
Yeah, he's so fucking high.
"Why is it not working?" she says petulantly, then makes a sharp gesture. Rodney follows her movement and watches two goons drag Sheppard into the room--looking really different than Rodney's uncertain memory says he should. A white robe is thrown over him, and his hair's even more of a disaster. His eyes are open, but Rodney doesn't think he's tracking, right before Sheppard gets his feet under him and lands a punch that send goon number one to his knees.
Sheppard stumbles on the edge of the robe and hits the floor with a bone-jarring thump that makes Rodney ache for him before the woman points his own gun at him. "Do not move," she says bitterly, and there's something dangerously angry on her face. Sheppard stares up at her, licking his lips, before they part in a slow smirk.
"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "You're not my type."
She tries to backhand him, but Sheppard moves out of range, falling on his ass. The strange smile never changes, and Rodney finds himself smiling, too. "You are *useless*," she says angrily. "Stay here and rot." Turning she storms out, goons behind her, and the door shuts with a click, then the sound of a lock.
Rodney should worry, but he can't quite make himself stop staring at Sheppard as he moves easily to his knees, loose and relaxed in a way that Rodney's only seen when he's unconscious. Unselfconsciously, Sheppard wipes a hand across his mouth, then sits back on his heels, looking between them with a grin. "I'm really high."
"Join the club," Rodney hears himself say softly. She's all over him, coating him like a skin--perfume and sweat and her body, anathema. Across the room, Teyla's focused on Sheppard with disquieting intensity. Or really hot intensity.
Rodney's not really sure.
"Are you well, Colonel Sheppard?" Teyla says, voice low. Rodney watches her push off the wall, coming up on her knees.
"Yeah." Sheppard closes his eyes briefly, then shakes his head. "No. She gave me something--"
"We were drugged as well," Teyla says, and Jesus, she's crawling the floor toward Sheppard, body lithe and sinuous and so fucking sexy Rodney can't even breathe through it. Sheppard's gaze flickers to her, freezing briefly. "Did she hurt you?"
"No," Sheppard says slowly, and Rodney watches him lick his lips, wet and shiny. Rodney starts to move closer, the smell stronger--the wrong smell, her, all over him, and Rodney's sure it shouldn't be there. Sheppard shouldn't smell of her. He shouldn't smell of anyone but-- "Guys," Sheppard says in a husky drawl as Teyla stops inches from him, coiling herself just short of his knees.
Closer, Rodney can see the smear of her lipstick on his throat, and that his eyes are lined in black kohl, straight lines that make him exotic, different. His mouth is stained red, slightly smeared, lips fuller than Rodney remembers. Lush. Soft. Something--
Teyla breathes in sharply. "What did she want?" Because it's not obvious as hell. On Sheppard's left cheek is a black swirl, sharply painted like the lines around his eyes, traveling down the stretch of golden throat, disappearing into the neck of his robe. Rodney reaches out, ghosting a finger over it, breathing in the scent of it.
"She marked you," Rodney says, and Sheppard's head turns sharply, meeting his eyes. Something flares hot and bright in the thin rim of green around dilated pupils. "What did she do?"
Sheppard's lips part slightly, and Rodney can almost taste the wariness, surprise. "Nothing. Nothing she wanted."
Teyla moves closer until her knees touch Sheppard's, and Rodney feels her gaze flicker to him. Rodney shifts over, holding Sheppard's eyes as he fits himself against Teyla's back--God, finally, yes, touching--running his hands down her arms as she tilts her head, and he's finally got the taste of her skin, spicy and salty-sweet, rich as he'd imagined, using his teeth when her fingernails dig into the back of his hands. He can feel Sheppard's eyes on them, widening more, breath speeding up, and takes another second to breathe her in, nuzzle the warm skin of her throat before he lets go and Teyla slides smoothly onto Sheppard's lap.
His hands catch hers. "Teyla," he whispers, shaking his head, but Rodney's ready for that, reaching for Sheppard's shoulder, catching his attention as Teyla leans up to kiss him.
It's--really, insanely hot. Sheppard lets go of her wrists and leans into it, closing on her shoulders, and Rodney leans over to lick a line along Johns' cheek, tasting the kohl they'd use to draw on him, smearing the crisp lines. He wants to rub it away, all mark of her from Sheppard's body, and licks again, then captures Sheppard's mouth when Teyla pulls back, mouthing the side of Sheppard's throat.
Sheppard's breath catches, and Rodney pushes his tongue between Sheppard's lip--he tastes of Teyla and someone else, someone foreign, someone he shouldn't. Teyla reaches for his hand, sliding it up her side, and Rodney takes the hint, cupping her breast through her top as Sheppard starts to kiss him back, rough swipes of tongue and teeth. Rodney crowds up against Teyla's back, needing the contact so badly his skin's shivering with it, reaching down to unlace her top with shaking fingers as she pulls roughly at Sheppard's robe, leaving red mouth-shaped bruises below his jaw, on his collar.
"Bad idea," Sheppard whispers into his mouth even as he pulls back. Rodney follows, but Sheppard's just pulling off the robe, and Rodney's eyes follow the black whorls and patterns down his bicep, ending just above his elbow. Then he's twisting away, which is so fundamentally wrong that Rodney can't imagine why he's doing it, but it's just slip back a few feet, climbing on the pallet, coming up on his knees so Rodney can see he's hard, and painted there, too, black lines blurrier, down his inner thigh to his knee.
Teyla makes a sound low in her throat that Rodney finds himself echoing--the woman *touched* him, drew on his skin like she possessed him, like she owned him, and there's nothing forgivable about that. Ran her fingers through his hair, touched his face, licked inside his mouth, left her scent on him like a brand. It's--wrong, Rodney thinks hazily, finding himself kneeling behind Sheppard, sinking into the soft pallet, one arm going around his waist and rubbing his nose against the back of Sheppard's neck, nuzzling the skin there before leaning over Sheppard's shoulder, licking open Teyla's warm mouth. Sheppard--
"John," he whispers against Teyla's neck. "Just--"
"Yeah," Rodney says, twining his fingers in Teyla's hair. She tastes amazing, familiar and home and sweet, the edges of John and syrup clinging to her tongue. Her nails are sharp against his thigh, scratching slow lines of heat as Sheppard cups her breasts, growling low in her throat. Then John's stretching her out on the bed, pushing her thighs up, and Rodney watches as he unfastens her pants and eases them and underwear away before pressing his mouth against her.
"God, that's hot," Rodney whispers, leaning over to kiss away her first gasp, feeling hear arch into John's mouth. The spicy scent of her arousal surrounds them both, and Rodney thumbs her nipples hard, riding the slow, sinuous movements of her body, tasting each indrawn breath before he pulls back and licks a slow line down until he can lick the curve of her breast.
"Rodney," she whispers, one hand sliding against his waist, pressing the heel of her hand against the front of his pants--he's so hard he's aching with it, shifting into the touch. He pulls his shirt off one-handed, smoothing a hand across her stomach as he sucks a nipple into his mouth, and it's too good, sensation overload, her hands working open his pants and sliding inside, wrapping around his cock. Calluses from stick and guns scrape up and down the sensitive skin, sending sparks of sensation through every inch of skin, and he's almost sure he's going to come just like this.
But he--he *can't*, fuck, body straining toward her with every sparkling line of heat she draws, tight and closer, closer, but not *there*--and Teyla moans when Sheppard does something with his tongue that makes her twist, free hand digging into the pallet. "John," she gasps, and John lifts his head, slick from her, licking his lips. "John, I need--"
"Yeah, he says breathlessly, eyes meeting Rodney's, and Rodney cant' help it, licking away the slickness from his mouth and chin--replacing the woman, Teyla's scent, Rodney's scent, blurring the sharp lines on his cheek, his shoulder, rubbing it into nonsense with sweaty fingers, curling his fingers in John's hair, "Mine," he mumbles, wondering what he means even as he pushes John back onto his heels, straddling his lap, spreading Teyla's scent with his fingers everywhere he can smell that woman. "She--"
"Rodney," John says, and Rodney can taste blood when John bites his tongue. He moves back to the pallet at the first touch of Teyla's hand on his shoulder, watching her reach for John's cock, straddling his knees, dark eyes as black and endless as space. Bringing herself up on both knees, she lets out a sharp breath as she eases herself down on John's cock, eyes closing, head tilted back as she closes her eyes. Rodney watches John's eyes widen as she sinks down, hand grasping her waist in instinct, and Rodney kisses the wide-open, panting mouth, breathing in every gasp. Teyla moves steadily, arms braced on John's shoulders, guiding Rodney's hand between her thighs, wet and slick, and he can feel John sliding into her. "Rodney, please--"
"Yeah," Rodney says with no idea what he's saying, cock throbbing. He can feel John's hand on his hip, pushing desperately at his pants, every brush against the hypersensitive skin of his cock making it harder to think, rubbing helplessly against John's hip as Teyla's hand strokes down his side. This is good, better, possibly the best sex he's had in his life, and he's barely done anything at all. "I want to fuck you," he says into John's ear, biting the lobe sharply, rubbing slowly over where John and Teyla are joined to feel them arch. "I want to--"
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dr. McKay--who as far as Rodney knows, has never, ever participated in an orgy--makes a faintly protesting noise, words like *team leader* and *friend* and *Air Force* crowding into the front of his mind, but Teyla's kissing John, messy and slick, and Rodney's running a slow hand down the line of John's spine, thumb pressing into each vertebrae, licking the back of his neck with slow intent. He's warm, damp from sweat, skin softer than Rodney would have thought, and so easy, leaning back into Rodney when he cups his hips, pulls gently. Rodney bites gently as he runs his hands down John's sides, feel his shiver against his body as John leans into him, head tilting back against Rodney's shoulder.
Rodney closes his eyes as his cock slots neatly against Sheppard's ass, warm and smooth, bucking a little as John's weight settles against him. John's shivering with every slow touch, and Rodney tries to ease him calm, stroking down his sides as he licks slow patterns onto Sheppard's shoulder, breathing warm against his ear, soothing strokes down his chest. Sheppard's heartbeat is fast and faint beneath his palm, and when Rodney pulls his head back farther for a kiss, he can almost taste John's tension. "You haven't done this before."
John hesitates in answer, and the glaze from Teyla's eyes clears long enough for her to nod as she leans forward, licking slowly up the side of Rodney's hand before taking two fingers into the wet heat of her mouth.
"Oh," John whispers, eyes wide, and Rodney kisses him to taste the sound of it, rubbing off against Sheppard's warm ass, spreading his palm on John's collar, thumb resting against a wildly pounding pulse. When Teyla draws back, slick-mouthed, she reaches for John's head as Rodney mouths one kohl-lined shoulder and works his hand between them, drawing slow circles against Sheppard's hole.
Teyla murmurs softly into John's mouth as he tenses, and Rodney licks his ear, whispering soothingly as both fingers slide inside too easily--someone had prepped him, *she* had, and when John stiffens again, Teyla kisses him quiet and languid. Rodney works him slowly open, brushing that tiny bundle of nerves with the tip of his finger, and Sheppard bucks up into Teyla, leaning into Rodney's fingers, reaching back with one hand to close tightly over Rodney's hip. He's shivering when Rodney slides a third finger inside, shaking as Teyla presses against him, pulling his attention to the slow rock of her hips, and then Rodney reaches around and Teyla comes up on her knees, and Rodney slides his fingers through her wet warmth, feeling her flutter against his hand when John leaves the mark of her teeth on his shoulders. Pulling back, Rodney slicks himself and takes John's hips in both hands, leaning his forehead against John's shoulder as he guides himself inside.
It's tight--God, and every entity he's never believed in, *tight*, and Rodney takes a second to breathe, head clearing as he presses against resistance. "John," he says, stroking one hand desperately down Sheppard's hip, gripping it as he starts to push--and maybe for a first time, he should have Sheppard on his belly, stretched out on the pallet, golden skin against white sheets--"God," Rodney whispers, bucking up, sliding in one tight inch, hand shaking on Sheppard's hip--moaning into the pillow when Rodney opens him up slower than his body will let him right now with tongue and fingers, relaxed from Rodney sucking him off slow and sweet--and then he forgets when Sheppard relaxes, letting him in another tight inch, and Teyla slides back down on Sheppard's cock.
It's slow--God, like being jerked off by inches--but immeasurably good, and Rodney has a sudden moment of clarity--he's fucking his team leader in a village in the ass end of nowhere, Jesus, how *did* his life get to this point?--and then he's lost in warmth, in John's scent and Teyla's and his own, mind-bendingly hot, warm flesh under his hands wherever he touches, the taste of Teyla's mouth and John's sweat and the way they feel--fever-hot, smooth, sticky, Teyla arching once, convulsing in John's arms before she goes limp, head resting on John's shoulder before she smiles dazedly, stretching out on the pallet, sweaty and flushed and so gorgeous Rodney bucks into John harder than he means to, dragging out a surprised sound as John tenses.
"Sorry," he whispers huskily, brushing frantic kisses down John's shoulder, sucking a little just below his ear, trying to keep his hips still, give John time to adjust. Teyla stretches carelessly, long legs spread, and Rodney urges John to push down, Teyla lazily reaching for John's cock, stroking him as Rodney braces a hand on John's hip and thrusts all the way inside.
"*Jesus*," Rodney whispers, watching Teyla sit up, glowing dark gold and satisfied, nails scratching along John's thighs, scraping away the kohl, mouth covering his cock just as Rodney steadies John and thrusts inside again. Her hair brushes against Rodney's fingers as she goes down, and John twitches, leaning back into Rodney, fighting the urge to thrust into her mouth. The green eyes are dilated to black, panting as they take him apart, shivering and shaking and Rodney doesn't think anything's ever been this hot, as hot as John's breathless sounds, words slurred into incomprehensibility before he stiffens, tightening around Rodney as he comes in Teyla's wet mouth.
Teyla slips out of the way, helping Rodney ease John down, one hand laced through John's, the other steadying on his hip as John lies limp and sated and heavy-eyed, letting Rodney do what he likes, and he likes slow, steady thrusts that make John's breath catch, licking slowly between his shoulder blades where the skin's smooth and soft and pale gold, tiny bites at his hairline and below the nape of his neck. Teyla stretches out beside them, stroking slowly through John's hair, kissing him to take in every low gasp, and Rodney comes just watching them, brown fingers against Sheppard's neck, tracing his face with the tips of short nails, foreheads pressed together as Rodney rides out the feeling, collapsing on Johns' back and wondering if he's ever going to move again.
John doesn't make him, and Rodney tightens his hold, studying the contrast of their skin as John smiles dazedly and says, "So. I'm guessing drugs?"
Teyla rolls onto her back and starts to laugh.
The woman comes back at least once, staring at them resentfully until John wakes up with a sleepy mumble and peers out from behind Rodney's shoulder before growling something impolite and burrowing back into Teyla's hair to sleep. The woman stomps back out again, looking disgruntled, but no one comes in to kill them, so Rodney feels comfortable dismissing her from his mind. Dazedly remembering they're not actually in a porn movie where everything ends well, Rodney briefly considers forming some kind of escape plan and drifts off before he remembers how those go.
Vaguely, he thinks puddlejumpers are involved, but then John's up on one elbow, pressing him into the pallet before grinning, mouth covering his cock, and honestly, *really*, who would give a shit after *that*?
The second time, John sits up so abruptly that Rodney thinks he sprains something in his back, looking around the room before shaking his head. "Headache," he says when Teyla pulls at his shoulder, and Rodney's mouth tastes like chalk and some kind of sewer system. His head aches and his back aches and God, even his ass aches, with vague memories of John's lips and fingers doing filthy and enjoyable things while Teyla slowly, slowly fucked herself on his cock.
It would have made a very, very good dream. Rodney's not so sure about reality matching. "Drugs," he says defensively, in case John forgot. "Dangerous hallucinogenic drugs."
John gives him an irritated look from black-ringed eyes. He's smeared everywhere with smudges of black, but then, so are Rodney and Teyla. "I seriously doubt you thought I was a blonde *woman*, Rodney." He doesn't scramble away, though, frowning slightly before he lies back down, so Rodney feels comfortable draping himself over one shoulder and curling back in, pretending he's not hard again and pressed into John's hip. "God," John mumbles, hand against his eyes. "What the *hell*."
That has to be a rhetorical question. "You seem well," Teyla says from John's other side, coming up on one elbow. Naked Teyla. Naked, naked Teyla. This has to honestly be, despite circumstances, the single best mission of Rodney's life, bar none. "Did they harm you, John?"
John snorts softly. "Just roughed me up. And gave me a bath." John frowns slightly, and Teyla reaches out, stroking a slow hand through John's hair, massaging the scalp with gentle fingers. "She just wanted to--" John makes an aborted gesture with one hand.
"I think at this point you can say sex," Rodney offers, resting his chin on John's chest and watching Teyla's breasts. "You--didn't, did you?" He doesn't think so, but memory's resting in his fingertips, his tongue, the feel of skin and the taste of it, not actual, say, *events*. Turning his head, he looks into John's eyes, seeing the amusement. "I'm still high."
John's mouth quirks slightly, callused fingers brushing his cheek. "Yeah. Me too." Rodney's body feels too heavy, and escape seems like an awful lot of work when there's the option of not moving on the table. Yawning, Rodney closes his eyes, letting his cheek rest on smooth skin, John warm and relaxed, one arm heavy around his shoulders, Teyla breathing softly inches away.
He doesn't wake again until John kisses him awake, smiling when he says it's time to go home.