The Waiting Game

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The door opened and there was the grin, the grin that right now, this very second convinced John Sheppard that he was going to kill McKay in the slowest most painful way he could imagine.

After all, he’d had time to think on it. There wasn’t much else to do, in his current position, except work out the area of Rodney’s ceiling, calculate the odds on which of the science staff was most likely to eventually snap and attack him in the mess hall with the contents of a Jif plastic lemon and how easy it would be to get Carson to lie on the autopsy report.

And he had been here for a whole fucking hour, since Rodney had cocked his head to one side, listening to an inaudible voice over the radio and then shooed, muttering ‘Emergency, they’ve done it again, would you actually believe it, twice in one day, be back five minutes.”

So either the person on the radio had understated the ‘emergency’ or Rodney had once again let his ego run away with him. Sheppard had a distinct conviction as to which one it was.

And the worst of it? McKay should not, not at all, be standing there looking so goddamned pleased with himself. He was going to tell him that.

“Mmfffph,” he said.

Rodney sighed. “I’ve been thinking of putting a cage in the science lab; instead of a ‘don’t feed the animals’ sign, I could put up one that says ‘don’t allow near anything with a current or a hard-drive’. Or maybe just ‘don’t allow near anything’.”

Sheppard glared at him, the one he used to make hostile natives suddenly realise that maybe threatening his team with stone tipped spears was not a good idea. Of course, the glare had become pretty much redundant since Ronon joined the team: when they saw him coming, the hostile natives tended to by pass the threatening and go straight to cowering or just good old fashioned running away.

So he was either out of practice or the fact that he was naked – and oh, wait, tied hand and foot to the bed – was diminishing the effect.

“Mmmffffph. MMMPPHH,” he reiterated, motioning downward with his eyes.

“Oh. Oh, right.” Rodney reached behind Sheppard’s head and removed the gag. John winced, stretched his mouth open as far as it would go then slid his jaw left and right a few times.

“Bastard,” he complained.

“Hey, I thought I was going to be five minutes. You’re okay, right?”

Oh, sure. He vaguely remembered what his fingers and toes felt like but it was his ass that was the numbest of all.

“Peachy. I had pins and needles about forty five minutes ago; now I’m so beyond that. You couldn’t spare even a minute to come back and untie me?”

Rodney sat down beside him, his thigh a thick block of warmth against Sheppard’s side. “Right – can we delay the potentially Atlantis destroying catastrophe, I just remembered I left my boy toy in inescapable bondage in my bedroom. Won’t be long. At least I never left you hard.”

That was true: there hadn’t been time.

“Well, untie me now. Seriously, Rodney, I’m not in the mood. And I don’t want Carson to have to amputate my extremities because my circulation’s cut off. And hey! Boy toy?”

McKay grinned. Again.

Oh, his painful death was imminent.

He undid the silk tethers around Sheppard’s wrists and ankles, busying himself rubbing the life back into them. Sheppard winced as his blood flow returned to normal: prickling heat was spreading back into his fingers and toes and while Rodney’s firm massage wasn’t wholly unpleasant, when he got to his feet, he had to bite back a giggle.

“Ticklish,” Rodney said and stroked his thumb up Sheppard’s sole again, earning him a glare. “A good scientist always double checks his results.”

Sheppard gave up on the irritation; it was fading fast, had started to go the minute Rodney had bounced back into the room if he was honest. And now Rodney’s fingers were on his skin, pressing in, alternated with the lightest kisses he’d ever felt that still somehow were firm enough to bruise, he was getting hard.

“Rodney,” he breathed and grabbed at McKay’s shoulder. The scientist grinned and took his time working his way up Sheppard’s writhing form to his lips. Okay, good, that was better. Rodney’s tongue manoeuvred its way between his lips, exploring slowly as though this was new territory. Normally, Sheppard wasn’t one for slow and easy, but while his mouth was busy, Rodney’s hands were their usual industrious selves. One was on his chest, fingers applying just the right pressure to one nipple, then the other. His other hand was sliding down, over his stomach and –

Shit!

Sheppard bucked as the current running through Rodney went straight to his dick and he had to bite down on his lip to keep from coming. Not yet, although if Rodney didn’t get a move on he wasn’t going to be able to hold it back.

“Uh, now, now,” he gasped.

Rodney leaned back from the kiss. “Well, you waited an hour, colonel. What’s a few minutes more?”

Oh, really. Sheppard flipped them over, so he was astride Rodney and wondered if Cadman could convince her boyfriend that if he issued a slightly falsified death certificate, no one would ever know.