Chapter Text
The harvest festival on M6X-388 looked like a lot of harvest festivals. There was a feast, some music, a live band, children running around, hell even a game that looked a little bit like baseball John thought. All in all the festival had a safe, familiar quality about it.
When they’d arrived through the gate a local woman had handed everyone their own plain, white flowing shirt and asked them to change before they sat for the feast before showing them to a small hut.
“There are no weapons permitted at the meal,” Teyla reminded everyone as they stood together in the makeshift changing room.
Rodney had already shed his tac vest and gun as he pulled off his black undershirt. After grumbling about heat stroke he’d finally decided that you simply could not wear anything beneath the flowing shirt and have it fit. His pale skin almost glowed in the low light as he reached to grab his replacement shirt.
John let his eyes linger for just a second before diverting back to Teyla, “No weapons.” He repeated back to her.
“No weapons,” Ronon grunted as he tapped the knife secreted in a hidden knee pocket. Teyla gave him a look that would have killed a weaker man but Ronon merely shrugged.
“Could they make this thing any more see through?” Rodney asked as he looked at himself in the small polished mirror propped up on a dresser in the corner. The shirt had long bell sleeves and a slit cut into the neck showing just a hint of chest hair. He was right though, thought John, the linen of the shirt left nothing to the imagination. Pointing at Teyla’s he asked, “Is yours like this? I don’t think you should wear something like this around all of those,” he waved his hand around, “men.”
She unfolded the shirt and held it to the light. It was a heavier material although it retained the signature shape, “I believe it will be fine.”
There was that tired smile again. She’d been doing that a lot recently. When they weren’t off-world she was busy coordinating with the Athosians and handling their trade negotiations on top of her usual work. John felt a tiny pang of guilt that he hadn’t been by to help recently. On the next off day he promised himself he’d go take some of the burden and help her with logistics planning.
Quietly John stripped himself of his gun, vest, and shirt before pulling on the new one. It was too big, hanging off his frame and practically drowning him. Pinching the shoulders he tried to situate it as he looked in the mirror so it didn’t look so ridiculous. At least the extra room meant it didn’t appear quite so translucent.
Ronon pulled his top off with a fluid motion, “What’s the point of wearing this anyway?”
“It is a symbol of unity. Everyone is equal at the festival and the shirt is a sign of that.” Teyla was the closest thing to a sociologist on a regular off-world team and apparently the only one of them who had bothered listening to their hostess.
“Oh come on!” Rodney was exasperated, “I can’t believe I have to go out there and sit next to Fabio and Fabio!”
John opened his mouth to argue but he couldn’t dispute the fact that Ronon looked like a romance novel cover model. Surely between his height and his good looks he’d be a hit at the party tonight. Maybe they could parlay some of that goodwill into more textiles which had sat untouched on their wishlist for years. John himself though felt something more akin to a child wearing his father’s shirt.
“Who is Fabio?” Ronon asked, perplexed.
“No one. Someone famous on Earth. Let’s give Teyla some room to change.” John said. He jerked his head towards the door.
Once everyone had changed and they’d left their things with a young woman who promised their rooms would be ready after the feast they made their way down to the party which was just starting.
The four of them were tucked away in the back at a long table. Down the center of the table was a spread of finger foods and many bottles of wine. Hesitantly John took a sip and found it was sweet and fruity. Something easy to drink on a pleasantly warm night like this. With more confidence he took a deeper drink.
“Any citrus?” Rodney asked as he watched John drink. They were sitting close together on the bench.
“None I can taste,” he set the glass down and reached for the grape like things, “If you don’t have your epipen I have a spare one.”
“Oh,” Rodney was blushing slightly, “well thank you but I never go anywhere without one.”
They ate and drank for hours. Bottles and bottles of wine appeared in the blink of an eye to accompany course after course of delicious food. John could feel himself settling into a comfortable drunkenness as the night wore on. Teyla was happily chatting with everyone while Ronon was busy hoovering up all of the food in sight.
“This isn’t half bad,” John whispered to Rodney. He wasn’t sure why he was whispering. It wasn’t a secret and no one present would take offense but he wanted to share something, a private moment between the two of them.
“No negotiating tomorrow either. Just eat today, come back next week for the tech. I wish they’d let me look today.” Rodney’s mouth was stained purple from the wine. For not the first time John found himself staring.
Time for more wine he thought and took another swig. He’d lost count of the number of glasses he’d had- too many if there were an emergency he knew. Drunk enough now to remember that he wasn’t supposed to be looking at Rodney like that but being unable to resist the urge. It was the way he was finding himself looking at Rodney more and more with a fondness that ached in his heart and a want he couldn’t touch.
More wine, the voice in his head told him and he was more than happy to oblige. He hardly ever drank like this. Alcohol was scarce on Atlantis and most of what you found was so strong he feared it would blind someone while the alternative was often the extremely low percentage wheat beer the Athosians drank with their meals. Here though everyone drank as though the oceans were filled with wine.
“Colonel,” Teyla’s voice came clearly across the table. He turned his attention towards her. “I believe I will be going now. It is quite late.”
“Oh uh yeah, meet up time is 0900. Keep your radio nearby if you need anything.” He nodded his head tightly as he focused on sounding as sober as possible. She smiled at him, her lips slightly wine stained as well, and departed down the pathway. Her shirt was still perfectly pristine. John’s own was flecked with wine. Stealing another glance at McKay he could see his was covered in crumbs from the dessert tart.
Ronon had wandered off to talk to a gaggle of young women all eager for his attention. It wasn’t often that the team relaxed like this and John was happy to let him mingle. Wasn’t that what Teyla was always saying these parties were about? Building relations with the locals . It looked like there might be a lot of relationship building in Ronon’s future.
Draining the last of his glass John set it down. As he moved his foot to step over the bench he caught himself and in what felt like slow motion he saw himself falling towards the ground. He was weighing the options of breaking his face or potentially breaking his wrist if he tried to brace himself when Rodney grabbed his arm and righted him. The world was still spinning as Rodney guided his other foot over the bench.
“Too much wine, Colonel?” Rodney asked as he placed his other hand on John’s lower back to steady him.
“Too much wine,” John parroted back as he stared dumbly at Rodney. Shifting to support him Rodney draped John’s arm over his shoulders and left his hand on his back. They were pressed so close together that John could feel the warmth of Rodney’s body. Breathe, he reminded himself.
“Let’s get you to your room before you can cause an off-world incident.” Rodney turned around to wave at Ronon but he was busy leaning down to talk to a pretty brunette woman. “Looks like we won’t be seeing him tonight. How does he always do that? I can’t so much as look at a woman without being rejected and they’re just throwing themselves at him.”
John made a non-committal noise and pressed closer to Rodney than was strictly necessary.
“We need to negotiate for whatever beef substitute they served tonight. I’m sick of fish every night in the mess. People need to eat red meat for their health.” It was soothing to hear Rodney talk. Pressed close together there was a gentle vibration in his chest.
Slowly they made their way down the winding path to the secluded clutch of bungalows. John moved his outstretched hands to run his fingers through Rodney’s hair.
“Oh stop it. Can’t you lay off it for five minutes?” Rodney hissed.
John was taken aback, “Lay off what?” He didn’t move his hand.
“This,” Rodney shook his head, “I get it. Don’t think I’m not aware of my own mortality and thinning hair.” He sounded exasperated, talking to him like John was a small child or a junior scientist who had made a mistake.
“I like your hair,” he felt bold in the dim light. He was looking at Rodney, drinking him in in that way he was always tempted to when they weren’t under threat of imminent death. That stupid, silly flowing shirt which left nothing to the imagination and the frown on his face- it was making him lose his mind.
“Yeah yuck it up, Fabio. I’m not taking care of you when you puke up all that sweet wine tomorrow morning.” He wasn’t really annoyed this time, he was suppressing a smile at the corner of his mouth.
John pulled Rodney in tight and planted a kiss on his forehead just at his hairline. The two of them stumbled on the stone path but Rodney planted his feet firmly and grabbed John tight around the waist. They were just a few yards from the guest quarters now and the area was well lit with small hanging lanterns. Now he could see the shocked look on Rodney’s face, the same look he had when he was proven wrong. He put his hand on Rodney’s cheek and stroked gently.
“What are you doing?” Rodney said in a breathy voice that was whisper quiet.
“I don’t know.” John admitted before he leaned his head down to kiss him on the mouth.
Rodney pressed back a slow kiss.
This was a fantasy come alive. Years of holding back unleashed into kissing Rodney with as much reckless abandon as possible. Greedily he slipped his tongue into Rodney’s mouth. He tasted like sweet wine and the sour bread they had eaten earlier and it was better than anything he had conjured up in his mind because for once it was actually real. Rodney slipped his hand under John’s shirt and skimmed his fingers along John’s hip with a low groan.
Lightheaded John pulled back, “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” Rodney took a deep breath, “I think my best friend is coming onto me while he’s black out drunk and we’re both wearing some stupid scratchy shirts and I just know I’m about to wake up from this dream and-”
John cut him off with another kiss. “I’m not blacking out. I’m just drunk. Let me take you to bed.”
Their generous hosts had given each of the AR-1 members a separate bungalow complete with a reasonably sized bed and a tiny private bathroom. Unfortunately this generosity meant that before they could continue Rodney’s things had to be collected from his cabin.
“How many laptops did you bring? We’re only here until tomorrow morning.” John’s arms were laden with Rodney’s belongings as they opened the door to John’s place. It was an identical copy of the other room but this time his own possessions had been left. Nudging everything over with his elbows he put down Rodney’s things.
“It’s just some light research. I was planning on leaving the party at my first chance. The linguists think they’ve refined the translation of some of the older entries in the database.” He blushed.
“And why didn’t you?” John lifted an eyebrow.
Rodney rolled his eyes, “Had to make sure you didn’t get so drunk you fell over and split your head open or walked off with some ascended woman.”
Crossing the room John put his hands on Rodney’s shoulders and pulled him into a kiss. They immediately resumed where they left off earlier. Hands reaching to touch bare skin and bodies pressed tight together. The world narrowed to just the sensation of touch, lost in one another.
“Naked. Bed.” Rodney commanded.
Never more happy to oblige, John pulled himself finally free of the cursed festival shirt and set to work on his boots.
Rodney was enthusiastically following. More than once John found himself stopping to watch. When they got back to Atlantis he knew he’d have to ask Rodney for a private show and enjoy himself. For now though he was focused on the task at hand.
The bed had a scratchy blanket woven in a complicated geometric pattern spread across it. The set up wasn’t a Waldorf but it would do in a pinch. He’d performed under worse conditions. As John laid back he looked up at the thatched roof and blew out a tiny breath. His heart was beating wildly in his chest.
With careful movements Rodney climbed between John’s legs. He looked beautiful and hungry and wanting. It took John’s breath away, “Rodney?”
“Shh,” Rodney brushed his lips along the inside of John’s thigh. It sent a thrill up John’s body and he squirmed at the sensation. With a gentle hand pressing John back against the bed Rodney began lavishing him with kisses along his thighs, nuzzling against him.
“Oh god,” he whispered, “you’re going to kill me.” His head was swimming from the wine and the touch.
A grin spread over Rodney’s face, “Don’t die yet colonel.” He moved his hand to John’s cock and gave it an experimental stroke. Satisfied with John’s sharp intake of breath he shifted his hand and began stroking in earnest. John ran his hand through Rodney’s soft hair as he panted, trying to keep his noise to a minimum, aware of the fact there were other cabins arounds them.
Rodney ran his thumb along that perfect spot on the head of his cock and he moaned involuntarily. Enthusiastically Rodney picked up his speed. It was all too much stimulation after years of wanting and waiting and he came quickly with a groan into Rodney’s hand.
“Jesus McKay,” John groped blindly, pulling Rodney up level with himself, “come here.” He kissed Rodney, hugging him tight.
I love you, I love you, I love you he thought as he looked at Rodney. At the tip of his tongue was the confession of feelings but before he could say anything Rodney shifted and laid his head against John’s chest. He let his gaze linger on Rodney’s strong arms before he leaned to kiss the top of his head.
“Do you want me to…?” John offered but Rodney shook his head. “Tomorrow,” Rodney said, his face buried into John, “we can do that tomorrow.”