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There finally came a time when the caffeine wasn't doing it for him anymore, and Rodney, exhausted, staggered back to his quarters and was out cold about a quarter of a second after he hit the bed. Just as sleep claimed him, he experienced a brief frisson of terror, but he swiftly identified it as the garden-variety anxiety he always experienced at that moment, a natural reluctance to give up control over his higher brain functions, so he let it go.
When he dreamed, there were no whales. He was in the jumper bay, rewiring one of the drive pods, when he heard the door hiss open. Normally, he wouldn't bother to look up, but this time he did.
It was Sheppard. He looked determined, focused, a damn sight better than he had in the last dream they'd shared. Reluctantly, Rodney dredged up an image of the dream John's face when Rodney'd first walked down the stairs to the gate room: Sheppard had been dazed, his eyes dull and listless. It was more than the physical beating the evil twin Sheppard had inflicted on him; John looked like he didn't have a reason to fight anymore, and that had scared the hell out of Rodney in a way no bogeyman ever could.
And then he hadn't had any more time to think about it, because bad John had lunged for him, shoving him back against the wall, his snarling face mere inches from Rodney's. And Rodney had been surprised to find himself snarling right back. He hadn't been scared anymore; in fact, he'd felt like laughing, because he knew they finally had this thing beat. Keller had made the connection a split second before Rodney and Zelenka had, and Radek and Keller had started talking over one another in their excitement. Meanwhile, Rodney had been watching John's heart monitor leap around like a demented frog, and finally he'd snapped, “Tick tock, people,” and Keller and Zelenka had glanced at him guiltily and hooked him up again.
As the evil Sheppard's hands had pinned his shoulders to the wall, Rodney had grinned like a maniac, knowing it would piss his adversary off even more. If John didn't have any fight left, that was okay. In that moment, Rodney had had enough for both of them.
“Rodney.”
Rodney returned his attention to his current dream, where Sheppard was coming closer, his gaze intent. That loose, loping gait he usually had slowed to a prowl.
Rodney gulped.
He scrambled to his feet, but it was obviously going to be one of those dreams where you couldn't coordinate your limbs properly, because it took him twice as long to get up as it should have. By the time he was finally standing, Sheppard was almost on top of him, and then he was on top of him, shoving Rodney back against the cool, curved hull of the jumper.
Rodney struggled, but John's hands on his shoulders held him fast. “Oh, God,” Rodney whispered, suddenly terrified, “you're not gone, are you? We didn't get rid of you.”
John stared at him uncomprehendingly for a moment, then grinned. Rodney paused, confused; that wasn't an evil John grin, but it wasn't exactly a regular John grin, either. It was wicked but not malicious, not that that made any –
Sheppard leaned in close until his lips were brushing Rodney's ear. “Relax, Rodney,” he crooned softly. “It's me.” A pause in which Rodney felt the barest flicker of something tickle his earlobe. “Me – me.”
Rodney shivered. Holy shit, was this his subconscious?
Then one of Sheppard's hands left his shoulder and trailed down his chest to cup his dick. His dick apparently seemed to like Sheppard's hand – wow, a lot.
“Is that you – you?” John growled, and yes, that was a tongue, that was definitely a tongue on Rodney's ear. Rodney was momentarily torn between horniness and a fleeting moral qualm about giving in to a fantasy about a coworker, particularly one who could make his life a living hell if he ever found out about this.
Horniness swiftly won out, of course, Rodney never having been one to pass up an opportunity for a good orgasm. And this one, even as X-rated fantasies went, was promising to be spectacular. Sheppard was licking his neck now, tongue blazing hot, electric trails up Rodney's jugular. His hand kept up the perfect pressure on Rodney's dick, while his other hand had stopped pinning Rodney to the jumper – Rodney wasn't exactly fighting him at this point – in favor of gliding up under the hem of Rodney's t-shirt and caressing his belly and chest. Dream John seemed to want to get his hands on as much of Rodney as possible, and you know, Rodney had no problem with that.
John undid Rodney's pants one-handed, and then his hand was inside. Rodney groaned and threw his head back against the jumper, where it hit the metal with a clunking sound.
“You okay?” John asked, looking up, his face concerned.
“Fine,” Rodney said, frowning. This was a dream, after all, and generally he didn't feel pain in his dreams, but it would kind of kill the mood to bring it up, so he just offered dream John what he hoped was a reassuring smile instead.
Sheppard's face went kind of funny at that, some indefinable expression between stricken and blank, and Rodney's face fell, because obviously he'd done something wrong.
And then John made a low, helpless sound in his throat, grabbed Rodney's face in both hands, and kissed him.
Rodney felt a brief stab of disappointment – he'd been enjoying the hand on his dick – but it swiftly vanished when he registered what was happening. His first thought was, I didn't know I wanted that, but then he supposed that was what made it a subconscious desire, and then he realized his subconscious was really on the ball tonight, because being kissed by John Sheppard was amazing. It hadn't escaped Rodney that Sheppard tended to keep a great deal of himself to himself, but this version of him seemed to be giving that up for Lent, because he kissed with his whole body, his hands everywhere, his torso from shoulders to hips pressed against the matching parts of Rodney, his knee thrust between Rodney's legs, providing additional friction just south of where Rodney needed it most.
As abruptly as he'd started, Sheppard broke off the kiss and buried his face in Rodney's neck again. This time there was no licking, though, only a ragged, hoarse panting. “Thought I'd lost you,” he rasped, which, okay, also not an expected part of the fantasy, but considering the way John was holding him with a kind of fierce determination that felt shockingly good, Rodney was willing to go with it.
“Hey,” he murmured, turning his face into Sheppard's hair, which was softer than he thought it'd be, “it's okay. We made it.” Tentatively, he wound his own arms around Sheppard's back, and John stiffened, then shuddered in his hold. Jesus. Rodney tightened his grip, giving back a little of that fierceness, and then John lifted his head and it was entirely possible that Rodney was the one who kissed him this time.
In the crowded space between one heartbeat and the next, things got hot and heavy again. The next thing Rodney knew, his pants were around his ankles and his dick was in John's hand. Boldly, he pressed his own palm to the front of John's trousers, where he felt the hard outline of Sheppard's cock. Okay, wow, Sheppard's cock. That was a new concept; obviously, he'd always known Sheppard had one, but until now he hadn't devoted a whole lot of time to contemplating the subject, and jeez, just stop thinking.
“Christ,” John groaned. Rodney tried an experimental stroke, mirroring the one John was using on his own dick, and John groaned again, wordlessly. Rodney pulled back to look at him and saw that his eyes were screwed shut and his mouth was open and his lips were swollen with Rodney's kisses and – oh God, he was, he was –
Rodney awoke to the last spasms of one of the best orgasms he'd had in years and a hell of a mess in his boxers. After a quick wipedown, he dropped right off to sleep again.
He didn't dream for the rest of the night.
John woke gasping, his throat scratchy and his dick still hard enough to pulverize diamonds. He swiftly brought himself to a sharp, shattering climax that left him trembling and weak and wholly unsatisfied.
He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.
In the morning, John arrived late for breakfast again, having gone for a long run that took him to the far western perimeter of the city. He told himself he was assessing some of the asteroid damage up close, but he knew he was full of shit.
When he sat down with his coffee and oatmeal, Teyla and Ronon greeted him pleasantly, or as pleasantly as Ronon ever did before he'd finished his second cup of coffee. Rodney, across the table from him, kept his gaze on his breakfast.
“Well,” Rodney said suddenly, picking up his tray as he rose, “I must be off to the labs.” His tone was weirdly cheerful, and John looked up at him, annoyed, as he strode off. He told himself he wasn't watching the way Rodney's new black pants hugged the curve of his ass as he departed.
Yeah. Still full of shit.
“Good morning to you, too,” he muttered. “What the hell's the matter with him?”
Ronon shrugged. “He was fine until you showed up.”
“Perhaps he had a dream about you,” Teyla said sweetly. John suddenly found his oatmeal fascinating.
Rodney's dreams soon fell into a predictable pattern, not that he minded regular, mind-blowing orgasms, predictable or not. He'd be working somewhere – the jumper bay, a deserted lab, the gate room – and John would arrive and work on Rodney. He was always the aggressor, the one who shoved Rodney against the wall or dragged him down to the floor. Rodney tried to figure out what this said about him, but it was kind of tough to reason out his deeper motivations while John was jerking him off and murmuring, “Gonna make you feel so good,” in his ear. Mainly he just went with it.
After about a week, though, he found himself feeling – well, not bored, exactly, but – selfish. He knew that was crazy; after all, these were his fantasies, not John's, and getting off was the name of the game – but it bothered him that he was doing so little to reciprocate. Sure, he could use his imaginary Sheppard to fulfill his wildest desires, but he couldn't use him, and oh, hell, he knew that made no sense, but he didn't care. And so that night, when Sheppard lunged for him, Rodney sidestepped him neatly, then – in a move that would have made Ronon proud – used Sheppard's own momentum against him, spinning around before he could change tack and shoving him into the wall this time.
Dream John stared at him stupidly for a moment, his mouth slightly open. He glanced down at Rodney's hands on his biceps, then back up at Rodney, while Rodney tried desperately to read his expression.
And then John's mouth curved, and God, John Sheppard's mouth was pure porn, even when he wasn't actively using it on some part of Rodney's anatomy. “Yeah, c'mon,” he said, his eyes narrowing to slits.
Rodney pounced.
Three days after that, Rodney blew him.
John'd been determined not to think about that, but the idea of Rodney's wide mouth wrapped around his cock had been one of his favorite jerk-off scenarios for longer than he wanted to admit, and so when Rodney slid to his knees, he didn't protest.
“Okay, just to warn you in advance, I might not be any good at this,” Rodney said, as he gingerly freed John's aching cock from his pants.
John's hand reached down and stroked Rodney's baby-fine hair gently; Rodney looked up at him, surprise etched on his features.
“You don't have to...”
Rodney looked crestfallen. “Don't you want me to?”
“Jesus, Rodney,” John breathed, the words tumbling out of him, “I haven't been able to think of anything else since we started this.” He didn't know why his subconscious had decided it was true confession time, except that saying this kind of stuff to an imaginary Rodney was a hell of a lot easier than saying it to the real thing. It wasn't a huge shock for John to learn he was better at relationships with people who weren't actually there.
“Really?” Rodney asked, eyes widening. “Huh,” he added, and without ceremony leaned in and licked up the underside of John's dick.
John might have shouted; his memory got a little fuzzy at that point, because all he could remember afterwards was the incredible sight and feel of Rodney's mouth on him, ten times as good as he would have imagined. Christ, it was like Rodney was really there, and he knew it wasn't smart to think that, but he couldn't help himself, and when he came, the only word that made sense was Rodney, Rodney, Rodney.
They went on a mission where John tripped and slid thirty feet down a steep slope. He wasn't seriously hurt, but he had a few nasty bruises and cuts from his encounters with rocks and sharp branches on the way down.
“How the hell have you survived all these years?” Rodney yelled at him, storming out of the infirmary before he could hear John's answer, before John could see the trembling Rodney couldn't seem to control now that he'd finally convinced himself nobody was going to die this time.
“I'm sorry,” John murmured, while Rodney stripped him carefully, like he was unwrapping something fragile and important.
“Shut up,” Rodney answered. John lay back and let Rodney finish the job, let Rodney's not-there hands stake claim to every inch of his body.
When Rodney slid a finger inside him, taking possession of that last scrap of territory, John closed his eyes and groaned.
“Tell me you want this,” Rodney murmured, and John told him, because he wanted to tell him, because here it was easy.
“We – what?”
“We're going to stay here for the night,” John said, annoyance clear in his tone. “Teyla hasn't finished her negotiations, and our hosts consider it the height of rudeness to decline hospitality that's been offered. So I accepted.”
“And this is the best their hospitality can come up with?” Rodney demanded. “Three rooms with a single bed in each?”
“This is all they have,” John snapped. “I'm sorry it's not the Hilton, but I think you can live with it for one night.”
Rodney bit his lip. Oh, God, he was going to sleep in the same bed with Sheppard tonight. The way the past two weeks had been going, Rodney would wake up in the middle of the night humping John's leg like a horny Pomeranian. Terrific.
Sheppard was still watching him, and that made his cheeks warm. “Look,” John began, “I can bunk with Ronon – ”
“Don't be stupid, he's gigantic, he'll roll over on you in the middle of the night and you'll be asphyxiated.”
John raised an eyebrow. “I'm gonna tell him you said that.”
Go ahead, Rodney thought, as he stared forlornly at the bed, I'm dead anyway.
“Rodney,” John sighed.
“What?”
“For Christ's sake, will you please go to sleep?”
More thrashing; John yelped as a knee connected with his thigh. “Sorry, sorry.”
John rolled on his side to face him and inadvertently brushed Rodney's arm with his hand. God, this bed was too damned narrow. “McKay.”
“Look, I need a prescription mattress, and this is so far from a Posturepedic it might as well be a sack of moldy potatoes. How are these people not hunchbacks?”
It was a measure of how fucked up John's dreams had made him that Rodney's babble was turning him on. What would McKay do, he wondered for a wild moment, if he just went for it, right here, right now, pressed him down into the potato sack mattress and licked every inch of his body?
And maybe he finally was losing his mind, he reflected as he pulled back, appalled at his own thoughts.
He's here and he's real. And that scares the living shit out of you, doesn't it, John?
The crystal entity might be long gone, but that voice had been in John's head forever.
He was on his feet before he realized he was even moving.
“Where are you – ”
“I'm going for a walk,” John murmured, walking over to the chair to grab his pants.
There was a pause, and then Rodney said, in a small voice, “I'm sorry.”
“No,” John said hastily, “it's okay. Look, I'm keyed up myself; it's been a busy day.” He walked back to the bed, where Rodney was no more than an outline and the pinprick glitter of pupils in the faint moonslight coming in through the window. “Go to sleep,” he said, hand reaching for Rodney before he could stop himself, but pulling back before he could connect with warm, living skin.
“I'll – try,” Rodney promised, and John nodded and made his escape.
Rodney didn't dream that night, and when he woke up in the morning, John was nowhere to be seen. It didn't seem that he'd ever come back during the night – if he had, Rodney was almost sure he would have woken up – and that was as good an answer as any to the adolescent Gee, I wonder if he likes me, too? question.
Not that it mattered, he told himself stubbornly, since he had a willing partner whenever he wanted. When Teyla finally wrapped up the trade agreement and they headed back through the gate, Rodney could hardly wait for nightfall.
And the great thing was, the John in his dreams was just as eager to see him. The knock sounded at his door this time, and Rodney had barely thought it open before John was through it, striding toward Rodney and pulling him into his arms like his life depended on it.
“God, I missed you,” Rodney breathed, which he knew sounded stupid, because it had only been one night, but then John said, “Yeah, me too,” hooked an arm around the back of Rodney's neck and dragged him into a kiss.
John took his time tonight, undressing Rodney so slowly he thought he'd come just from sheer frustration. John was on his knees on the floor working on Rodney's left boot when Rodney heard himself growl through gritted teeth, “Jesus Christ, will you just fuck me already.”
John's head snapped back on his neck as he strained to see Rodney's face from his low vantage point while Rodney quietly panicked. He told himself it was just a dream, but he'd never done this before, and he didn't have any reference points in real life for what was coming. Okay, he'd experimented a little with his prostate, but never with a third party present. All he knew was that it would hurt, and would probably be a disaster.
Meanwhile, John had risen to his feet and was standing there, staring at Rodney like he was a circus freak. Hardly an auspicious start to the proceedings, imaginary or not. He opened his mouth to tell John as much when John took a step forward, leaned in and kissed him with a sweetness that was as alien to Rodney's experience as the sex he was contemplating.
“I can do that,” John murmured when they parted, and Rodney shivered with fear and anticipation and all the other things he still couldn't believe had been in John's kiss.
Then John picked up where he'd left off, removing the last of Rodney's clothes before starting on his own. Rodney lay back on the bed and tried to arrange himself in a manner he thought would be suitable.
His heels slipped and his legs slid off the edges of the narrow mattress.
“Okay, no, wait,” Rodney said, holding up a hand to forestall John from climbing on top of him. Closing his eyes and concentrating hard, he tried to think back to someplace relaxing, someplace that would actually help get him in the mood to stop freaking the hell out about this.
Ah. That might just work.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the Presidential Suite of the Banff Springs Hotel, the one General Dynamics had plumped for when various weapons manufacturers and IT companies had been courting him for his great big brain. He still remembered it vividly, if only because the Air Force accommodations had been so very Motel-Sixish compared to this. But then, after three hundred and sixty degree views of the Rockies, a giant Jacuzzi and unlimited room service, everything felt like a Motel Six.
The lights were dimmed to a golden glow, but even so, Rodney noticed right away that something important was missing from the king-sized bed. John was standing, wide-eyed and naked, a few feet away.
“John?”
Sheppard was staring at the room as though he'd just materialized inside a Wraith hive. “What – the hell just happened?” he demanded, though oddly he seemed to be asking it of the room in general rather than Rodney.
“This is a hotel room I stayed in once. I – um.” Really, he felt foolish explaining this to a figment of his imagination, especially since it was odd that said figment had noticed the change. “I wanted a more congenial setting for my deflowering, if you must know.”
John pointed out at the window, where the sun was setting behind the surrounding mountains. “I've never been here before.”
“No, but I have,” Rodney said, beginning to get a little testy. It figured that an attempt on his part to set a romantic mood would have the exact opposite effect. “Listen, I don't mean to be rude, but aren't these abrupt changes of perspective supposed to – not faze you very much?”
Dream John folded his arms. The nakedness made the gesture oddly incongruous. “And why would it not?”
Rodney waved a frustrated hand at him. “Because – because you're part of the dream!”
John frowned and unfolded his arms, then took a step forward. “Wait a minute. You think I'm...” He stopped, abruptly. “You – oh, shit. Rodney?”
Rodney's heart started pounding a split second before the realization hit him. John. It was really John standing before him, probably had been all along. It hadn't been Rodney's subconscious that jumped him that first night, it had been John's. Which led him to the inevitable conclusion that John wanted him. John.
John pointed a finger at the door. “Yeah. Uh. I have to – I have to go.”
Rodney leapt up off the bed. “Wait!” he shouted, but John was already gone, vanished into thin air like so much smoke.
“Oh, no you don't,” Rodney growled.
Rodney was pounding on his door before John was even fully awake. Goddammit, had the guy even bothered to get dressed before making a public spectacle of himself?
“I know you're in there! Open the door!”
“Jesus Christ,” John snarled, rising and palming the door control to let Rodney in. When the door slid open to reveal McKay in a bathrobe, John had his answer. “Get in here and pipe down, will you?”
Rodney barreled past John and turned to face him. “I just wanted to make sure you'd let me in,” he said, thankfully in a quieter tone.
John wished he were wearing more than a pair of boxer shorts; he would have felt more prepared for this conversation fully clothed. A full suit of Kevlar would've been nice, too. “You're in. What do you want?”
“What do I want?” Rodney demanded, incredulous. “You want to know what I want?”
“McKay.”
Rodney waggled a finger at him. “Don't you 'McKay' me. People who have had their dicks in my mouth do not get to 'McKay' me.”
“What the hell are you so angry about?”
“Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that I've been having virtual sex for over two weeks when I could have been having the real thing?”
“That's not my fault. I didn't know it was really you. I didn't think you...” John waved a hand, trying to encompass the magnitude of everything he couldn't bring himself to say. The thought that Rodney might want him as much as he did Rodney had been something he tried not to think about. He didn't make a habit of wishing for things; it never got you anywhere.
Still, there had been moments when he'd wondered what it would be like –
Rodney rolled his eyes. “All right, fine, true, I'm not exactly the poster boy for man-love. To tell you the truth, I've always shown a marked preference for breasts. But had you shown up in the flesh and offered me an incredibly hot hand job, I hardly think I would have turned you down.”
“Gee, thanks,” John drawled, strangely stung.
Rodney flapped his hands. “Look, don't even listen to me. I'm overwrought, and when I'm like this I'm not exactly – ” He sighed, took a deep breath. “Half of my brain is still trying to figure out how this was possible.”
“Residual effect of our first mind-meld, I guess,” John said, shrugging. He hadn't given it much thought, but it made sense.
“Oh my God, you did not just say mind-meld.”
John folded his arms. “It's a perfectly adequate analogy.”
“It is, that's the awful thing,” Rodney admitted. “Anyway. If this is caused by the crystal somehow – and it seems likely given the timing – we should get Keller to check us out, just in case we're still compromised somehow.”
John shook his head. “Rodney, we were thoroughly checked by Radek's device after the entity left us. We're clean.” He looked away. “As for compromised...”
Rodney bristled. “Well, I'm sorry you feel so violated – ”
“Goddammit,” John growled, taking a step forward, then another, “that's not what I said.”
Rodney lifted his chin as John approached. “Then what are you saying?”
John stared at Rodney, taking in the stubborn curve of his jaw, the mixture of determination and fear in his eyes that was uniquely McKay. He thought back to all the nights they'd spent together in his – their – dreams, thought about getting the chance to touch and taste and wrap himself around the real Rodney McKay.
And then he thought, Do you want to live forever?
John reached out and cupped Rodney's face in one hand, brushed a thumb over his lips. Rodney let out a breath he'd obviously been holding for a while and closed his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks before finally coming to rest, and Christ, this was so much better and more terrifying than dreaming about it.
“What do you want me to say?” John asked, voice suddenly hoarse with want.
“You know, I've always thought talking is overrated,” Rodney babbled, as John pressed his body against him. “Really, really overrated.”
John chuckled as he leaned in. “You have not.”
“For God's sake, just – please – kiss me.”
“I can do that,” John assured him, covering Rodney's mouth with his own.
“The first thing we do tomorrow is scour this city for a big boy bed for you,” Rodney said, as he helped John arrange the mattress on the floor. The prospect of real sex aside, Rodney was not facing the too-real likelihood of falling out of bed on their first night together. The worst that would happen now was that he'd gently roll off John's postage-stamp mattress onto the floor instead of dropping like a stone; there was less chance for disaster that way.
“I'm sorry it's not the Banff Springs Hotel,” John drawled, fluffing the pillow with excess violence.
Rodney took John's face in his hands and kissed him, hard and fast. “Did you hear me complaining?” he murmured, taking the pillow from John's fisted grasp and placing it at the head of the bed.
“I guess not,” John said sulkily.
Rodney considered a retort, then gave it up in favor of more kissing. John soon softened under the assault, groaning into Rodney's mouth when Rodney sucked on that full lower lip. John's hands settled on Rodney's waist, fingers stroking his bare hips before gliding up his rib cage, and Rodney was nearly overwhelmed by how much better it felt to know it was John touching him.
Gently, he urged John to lie down, then did a fair bit of touching of his own. Real John, he noticed, was hairier than dream John, and the thought that Sheppard might be self-conscious about some aspect of his appearance was oddly endearing. Smiling to himself, Rodney leaned down and licked at a nipple. The smile turned to a grin when he felt John's hands tangle in his hair.
Smell and taste, he realized as he made his way down John's body, had been two senses dulled by the dream state. There was so much more than salt on John's skin, so much more of John's scent all around him. When Rodney sucked the tip of John's cock into his mouth and felt the flavors burst on his tongue like John's shout did in his ears, Rodney decided he was going to like having more of John.
John was saying his name now, over and over. Rodney had never been crazy about either of his names, but the way John turned his name into a plea was an incredible turn-on. Encouraged, he redoubled his efforts, but before he could finish the job, John tugged at his shoulders, urging him to slither up John's body until they were pressed together from mouth to groin.
“Rodney,” John said, and this time it was more like the answer to a question. Rodney pulled back to look at him, astonished; John tried to duck his head, but Rodney caught his chin before he could hide and tipped his head up for a kiss. He tried for the same sweetness John had given him earlier, and he thought he just might have succeeded when John sighed into his mouth and clutched at him like he was drowning.
Yes, Rodney thought as his hips took up a slow rhythm designed to drive them both crazy, there was definitely something to be said for the real thing.
Post-coital Rodney was pretty much the way John had expected: insufferably smug.
“You totally jumped me first,” Rodney said, grinning down at him.
John covered his eyes with his forearm and sighed the sigh of the perpetually put-upon.
“I might have known that wasn't my subconscious,” Rodney mused. “I'm not usually into the rough stuff.”
“Jesus, you make it sound like I raped you,” John growled, lifting his arm to glare at Rodney.
Rodney opened his mouth, closed it again. “Well – maybe you – ravished me a little?”
John considered this. “I can live with ravishing,” he said finally.
Rodney grinned again. “Good, because so can I. On a regular basis.”
By way of an answer, John pushed himself up on an elbow and kissed Rodney. “So what do you think will happen when we fall asleep?” John asked when he pulled back. “Are we gonna be in one another's dreams again?”
Rodney thought about it. “I'm not sure. Frankly, I don't know if I'll be able to take any more sex than I'm having now.”
John shrugged. “So if we dream tonight, we could just – watch a movie.”
Rodney lifted a finger. “I get to pick.”
“Why do you get to pick?”
“Because you'd make me watch The Princess Bride again.”
“Hey, Princess Bride is a classic!”
Rodney kissed him on the nose. “I can't believe I never clued in to the fact that you were gay.”
John thought about getting pissed off about that, but he was too damned happy. “Shut up, Rodney,” he said affectionately, pulling him down into his arms.
Rodney settled his head against John's shoulder and smiled. “In your dreams.”