by Crysothemis

Pairing: John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17 — for adults only
Wordcount: ~3,000
Summary: It didn't look like a sex toy, but then again, it didn't look like a teacup, either.
Thanks yous: To WPAdmirer for lightning beta
Warnings: slight dubious consent
Notes: fluffy silliness or is that silly fluffiness? Also, not mine.

"Wait, wait, what do you think you're doing? You can't just go . . . what is that thing, anyway?"

John looked down at the small, oval box in his hands. It looked like it was made of enamel, or maybe Japanese lacquer, only it was all different shades of blue and turquoise, with lines of gold running through it like a web. Not really the kind of thing you'd store a weapon in. Or a nanovirus. Or an energy creature. Even if they were in a previously unexplored part of the city. "It's a box, Rodney. I just wanted to see what was in it."

"Oh, for God's sake. Here, let me scan it."

John noticed that Rodney didn't touch it, just brought his sensor up to it and muttered over the screen.

"Well?" he asked, when Rodney had had plenty of muttering time, "is it going to kill us?"

"I'm not getting a energy reading," Rodney admitted. "But it's not like that actually means anything. There are plenty of really, really dangerous things that don't give off energy readings."

John held up the box and squinted at it. "You know, call me crazy, but I really don't think a dormant Wraith could fit in here."

"Oh, please." Rodney rolled his eyes. "Well, are you going to open it?"

"I thought you just told me not to."

"It's probably just Ancient perfume or something," Rodney said.

It was pretty gaudy, unlike the Ancients' usually more spare aesthetic. "Or a jewelry box."


"A funerary urn."

"Ew," Rodney said. "Just open it already, okay?"

John searched the box for a catch and didn't find one, but then the lid popped open, all by itself. The interior was lined with what looked like blue silk, and in the center nestled an object that looked like . . . a wrinkled pink slug.

"What the . . . ?" John couldn't help himself. He reached out a finger and poked it. It felt soft and surprisingly warm to the touch, not at all unpleasant, but almost . . . alive. "Rodney? Are you sure about those energy readings?"

"Yes!" But Rodney was checking his readout again. "No, there's nothing . . . wait. Okay, I think you just turned it on."

"No shit," John said. The slug was pulsing visibly now, a little ripple traveling down its pink skin from one end to the other. "Is it alive?"

"The energy readings are incredibly faint," Rodney said. "I can't really—Jesus!"

It was moving, moving astonishingly fast for something that had no legs. It rippled right out of the box and then somehow it leaped onto Rodney's jacket and stuck there, quivering.

"Aaahhhgh!" Rodney beat at it with his hands, but the thing stayed right where it was on his chest. "Get it off me! I don't care what it is, just get it off!"

John grabbed for it—got his hands right around it, even—but it was as slippery as it was warm, and when he pulled, it just slid right out of his hands and stayed stuck to Rodney. Only it wasn't stuck in one place. It was rippling its way across the front of his jacket and onto his shirt.

"Oh my God. Get it off!" Rodney batted at it again, which only meant his hands were in the way of where John's needed to go. "It told you it could be dangerous. It told you not to open it. I said—"

"I'm trying!" John wrapped his hands around it again and yanked, but it slithered right out one more time. It was all the way to the bottom of Rodney's shirt, now, and it was—crap—oozing its way underneath.

"Oh God ohgodohgod."

"Just can't get my hands on it," John said, yanking up Rodney's shirt. "Damn thing's too slick." And it was currently worming its way right down underneath Rodney's waistband. "Crap," John said. "Sorry." And he yanked open Rodney's fly just as the thing disappeared into Rodney's boxers.

"There are some very important parts of my anatomy down there," Rodney whimpered, his hands scrabbling next to John's. "Parts I really am rather attached . . . oh God."

John grabbed the waistband of Rodney's boxers and shoved them down, and Jesus, this was just not the way he'd imagined getting into Rodney's pants. It really wasn't. The damn pink slug was right there, and he grabbed for it one more time, but his hands just slid right off, and Rodney's arms had gone strangely limp at his sides.

"Oh, God," Rodney whimpered again, and John jerked his eyes up. Rodney's face was pink and his eyes were closed and . . . oh. Oh.


John couldn't help himself. His gaze traveled back down to where Rodney's pants were pushed down, his boxers tight against his balls, the damn slug thing obviously—way too obviously—wrapped around Rodney's dick and undulating.

"Think it off, Rodney," John said, but if his face was anything to go by, Rodney wasn't doing much thinking.

"I . . . ohgod . . . can't. Tried that . . . Christ . . . already."

John wrapped both hands around the slippery thing, doing his damnedest to ignore the fact that that meant he was holding onto Rodney's dick, and squeezed and yanked as hard as he could. And ended up on his ass on the floor. "Crap."

Rodney was moaning, now, sweating and trembling, and now that John was at eye level with it, the damn thing looked like it was shimmying even faster.

"Rodney?" John tried. "I don't think I can get it."

"S'okay," Rodney muttered, his eyes meeting John's. "It's really not going to matter in a moment, anyway." His hips jerked once and his head tipped back and oh, Jesus, he was coming inside that thing.

"Christ," John said. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed for the slug again, and this time, damn it all, it popped right off in his hand, leaving Rodney limp and spent and groping for a wall to lean against.

The pink slug quivered in John's hands, then kind of bulged and rolled, like it was going to . . . shit. John tossed it back into the box where it had come from, and it rippled some more, then let out a noise like a burp.

"Um," Rodney said. John jerked his head over, then wished he hadn't. Rodney looked completely X-rated, with his pants still halfway down his thighs and his half-hard dick hanging out over his boxers.

"You okay?" John asked, which was, right, pretty ludicrous, but he had to say something.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine," Rodney managed. He reached down without looking and fumbled with his boxers.

John wasn't going to ask him if he needed help. Hell, no. Fortunately it only took Rodney three tries to get himself tucked away and his fly fastened back up. "You probably should go to the infirmary," John said.

"What? No! No, that really won't be necessary. I'm perfectly fine."

"Rodney, you just got molested by an Ancient sex toy," John said. "There's no telling what it might have done to you."

"Trust me, I know exactly what it did to me," Rodney said. He pushed himself away from the wall. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I will look the thing up in the database and make sure there aren't any . . . side effects, all right?"

John tried to picture dragging Rodney down to the infirmary himself. Right, okay, Rodney had a point there. "Okay," he said slowly. "But if you find anything, you have to go to the infirmary, or at least tell me. Deal?"

Rodney waved a hand, "Yes, sure, whatever. Now, will you shut that ridiculous box so we can get out of here?"

"Oh, right," John said, and shut the box. "Look, are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," Rodney said grumpily. "But this hovering thing? Really doesn't suit you at all." And he stalked out the door.

* * *

It kept replaying in John's head all day, and he remembered—or possibly imagined—more details each time. The bead of sweat on Rodney's forehead. The stain of color across his cheeks. The little broken noise he'd made when he came. The smell of semen afterward, and the full, damp weight of Rodney's spent cock.

It wasn't right, that John had seen that. It was the worst sort of invasion of privacy, and there had been nothing hot about it. Nothing at all. Not even when Rodney had looked over at him. And he sure as hell hadn't been wishing he were the one doing the . . . well, okay, yes, actually he had. It wasn't fair that some stupid Ancient sex toy got to touch Rodney when he had to keep his hands in his pockets.

But he wasn't thinking about the damn pink worm as he pulled on his dick in the shower. He wasn't thinking about the flush on Rodney's neck, or how his eyes had rolled back, or the way his hair had stood up afterward, damp and spiky.

He wasn't thinking about the hair on Rodney's belly, or the mouth-watering shape of his cock. He wasn't thinking about sucking that cock, wasn't imagining what it would taste like, wasn't reveling in how vivid his fantasies were, now that he'd seen the object of them panting and writhing and coming right in front of him.

God, yes. He wasn't thinking—because, really, he didn't need to think anymore. All he needed to do was let go, and he was coming all over the shower walls. John braced himself against a handy ledge, catching his breath. Damn. He should probably feel guilty, but mostly he just felt good. It wasn't like Rodney would ever know, anyway, and whoa, was that his door chime?

He scrubbed his hair quickly, stepped out of the shower and reached for his towel, and damn it, there was the chime again. persistent bastard, whoever it was. Probably had a life-signs detector and knew he was in here.

John tossed the towel on the floor and went to find some clothes. And the persistent bastard pounded on his door.

"Sheppard," Rodney's voice called out, muffled through the door. "Come on, I know you're in there."

"Hold on a damn minute!" John lunged for his drawer, pulled on boxers and a t-shirt and shoved his legs into some pants, then hopped for the door, still pulling them up. He got them fastened and swiped the door control, just as Rodney was reaching up to pound again.

Rodney blinked at him, his fist still raised. "Oh. You were in the shower."

John ran a hand through his still-dripping hair. "Yes, Rodney, I was in the shower. What's so urgent you couldn't wait two minutes or use your radio?"

"Um, can I come in? I just had a look through the database."

Oh, shit. "Yeah, come in. What is it?" There was something odd about Rodney's expression, and . . . okay, that was even weirder. Rodney had his jacket zipped and there was a bulge underneath it. "Oh God, don't tell me you're pregnant."

"What?" Rodney gave him a look like he was insane. "Are you insane?"

"Come on, these are the Ancients we're dealing with." John crossed his arms over his chest. "I really wouldn't put it past them."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Oh, please. No, Colonel, you're perfectly safe. You didn't knock me up. On the other hand, you did do something else."

"Yeah, yeah, I turned the damn thing on. Sorry about that. It really wasn't what I meant to do."

Rodney took a step toward him, his head tilted meaningfully. "Ah, see, there's where you're wrong. According to the database, you did mean to."

Crap. "What?"

Rodney took another step. He was looking . . . God, seriously smug. "The device responds to the person who initializes it. Ordinarily, that means it, ah, services the initializer. But apparently it can also be used with a partner."

"Now, hang on a second." He hadn't done anything but touch it. He really hadn't. "I did not tell that thing to attack you."

"Well, no, of course not. Not exactly, that is." Rodney fumbled with his jacket zipper, yanking it down, and oh shit, the bulge inside was the damn blue box. "You see, the device actually—Oops." The damn blue box promptly tumbled out of Rodney's jacket front and onto the floor, spilling its contents.

"Okay, don't touch that," Rodney said, not that John was ever going to touch that damn thing again. "Don't touch, I'll just, um, here, maybe if I . . ."

Rodney pulled off his jacket and knelt, using it to shield his hands as he tried to scoop up the motionless pink slug. But he must have forgotten how slippery the thing was, because he'd only just gotten it up off the floor when it rolled and slithered right off the jacket. Rodney flailed to catch it, got one hand on it, and then, shit the damn thing was on John's pant leg.


"Oh, no. That is just not what was supposed to happen. Off, damn it. Off!"

"Then why the hell did you bring it here?" John pawed at it, but it made no difference. The damn thing was oozing right up his leg, and every time he got his hands around it, it just slithered right through. John scrabbled at it, beat at it, but only succeeded in bruising his hip. And then the damn thing was against the skin of his belly, soft and warm, and it was sliding into his pants.

"Well, according to the database—oh, God. It's not supposed to—are you thinking off at it? Think harder."

John just rolled his eyes, because it was oozing down inside his boxers now, and it felt . . . not like a hand. It was too soft for that, soft and slick and wow, more like a mouth. Only not, because there was nothing like a tongue or teeth and Jesus, it was around his dick.

It wasn't that it didn't feel good, because it did, in a weird, disembodied kind of way. But slimy pink slugs were really not high on his list of kinks, and he'd just come in the shower, so it was just . . . okay, ow, that was too much. That was really too much.

"Oh, God, is it hurting you?" Rodney's hands flailed. "It's hurting you. It's not supposed to be hurting you. I mean, it didn't hurt me, really, pretty much the opposite there, and why the hell is it hurting you?"

The soft pressure eased suddenly, and John felt the thing ooze back up toward his stomach. "It's okay," John managed, and then the thing squirmed over his waistband and flopped down to the floor to lie there, quivering. "Huh. I guess you can turn it off, after all."

"Oh, wow, that worked." Rodney blinked at him, looking decidedly relieved. "Wait, was that you or me?"

"You're asking me?"

"Right. Okay, there's really no way to tell. It responds primarily to the initializer, but it also takes the partner's feelings into account, so it won't touch someone who doesn't want to be . . . which means you did want it, right? Maybe a little? Or maybe it just took awhile to figure out that you didn't want it; right, that could be it. Given the amount of time it's been dormant—"

"Rodney," John said, just to stop the babble. "Did you honestly think I'd want to be assaulted by a slimy pink slug?"

Rodney winced, and looked away. "It felt really, really good."

Okay, Rodney was acting pretty weird there. "Look," John said, and it was ridiculous to feel apologetic, ridiculous to feel the need to explain. "It's nothing personal against the damn slug, okay? I just got out of the shower."

"Yes, yes, I noticed, remember? What with the wet hair and all and—oh. God . You just took a shower."

Christ. John's face was not going warm. If anyone ought to be embarrassed, it was Rodney. "Yeah, so, we're even now. Fair's fair, and you can take your little toy and do . . . whatever, okay?"

"It was an accident," Rodney said. "I didn't mean . . . so, yes, okay, I get it. I get that you didn't mean it either, even if . . . I guess things just happen sometimes, so we can both chalk this up to a learning experience, except I don't know what we've actually learned here, apart from the obvious stricture against touching unknown Ancient objects, which, I might add, was entirely your fault in the first place."

"Wait, hang on a second," John said, because there was something he wasn't getting here. "Are you telling me that thing does stuff when you touch it, even if you don't tell it to?"

Rodney waved a hand. "Yes, yes, I explained that part."

"Well, excuse me if I was a little distracted. So it, what, acts on your private desires or something?"

Rodney went a little pink. "It's supposed to do what you want to do, to yourself or to, um, someone else."

Okay, wow, that made sense, but if it did . . . "So when you touched it, it jumped me?"

"Yes, and when you touched it, it jumped me. Apparently it's—"

"Cool," John said. And yes, okay, there were a million reasons why this was a bad idea, starting with codes of conduct and ending with the fact that Rodney was high enough maintenance as a teammate, but hell, he hadn't gotten laid in forever, if Rodney was actually interested, there was no way he was going to be able to settle for fantasies in the shower. He canted his hips and waited for Rodney to catch on.

Rodney blinked at him. "Wait, you mean you really, um . . ."

"Yes," John said. "I really um."

"Wow," Rodney said, his eyes gone wide. And then John didn't have to do anything, because Rodney was leaning toward him, looking at his eyes and then his mouth, and then back at his eyes again, like he couldn't believe this was for real. John closed the distance between them, and then Rodney was kissing him, his mouth soft and eager, his hands wrapping their way around John's back.

John slid his hands up to cup Rodney's face, tipped his own to get a better angle, then flicked his tongue across Rodney's lower lip. Rodney made a surprisingly high-pitched grunt and opened his mouth, and that was even better, that was . . . right, that was Rodney's cock, bumping against his hip.

Damn, he wished he hadn't just jerked off in the shower. If he'd known Rodney was coming over . . . if he'd had any idea Rodney wanted him . . .

Rodney's hands slid lower, cupping his ass, and that was good, that was damn good, that was really pretty much great.

"Ha!" Rodney said. "You really do um." And he shifted his hips, dragging his erection across John's . . . okay, wow, he wasn't exactly hard—it was way too soon for that—but he was feeling a certain stirring down there, and obviously Rodney was feeling it, too.

"Said so, didn't I?" John let go of Rodney's lips to taste the line of his jaw, then the spot just below his ear.

"Yes, but you . . . wait, okay, you didn't want the slug thing, but you do want me?"

John turned his head to nibble on the skin at the base of Rodney's neck. "Mm, yeah, that pretty much sums it up."

"Wow." Rodney carded his hands through John's still-damp hair until John had to give up his exploration of Rodney's neck and look up. "You realize we are never, ever, ever going to tell anyone how we got together, right? I mean, I've heard a few embarrassing stories, but there is no way I'm giving anyone—and I mean anyone —this kind of ammunition."

"Rodney," John said. He wasn't sure what he'd said or done to make Rodney think this was long-term, but, well, okay, actually he was good with that. He was really surprisingly good with that. "We can worry about that later. Let's have sex first."

"Yes, right, okay then," Rodney said, and pulled John in for another kiss.

Of course, that was when John stepped on the damn pink slug.

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