The first time he kisses John, Rodney's dipped into Teyla's stash of Athosian liquor that burns going down but tastes like honey. She gave him the little flagon months ago, celebrating his non-Ascension, and he'd thanked her and tucked it away. Contrary to popular belief he does not hoard things; he just likes having them in reserve. Until he needs them. Like now.
He doesn't drink much; he isn't drunk by any stretch of the imagination. (And the Pegasus galaxy has required a lot of imaginative stretching, all things considered.) Just one long bolt. What Carson would have called a nip. Dutch courage: enough to give him an excuse to hide behind if John completely freaks.
He tips back the glass and strides to the transporter like a man with a plan. Next thing he knows, he's in front of John's door, and John is standing there dressed for bed in sweatpants and a faded t-shirt, looking faintly surprised.
Rodney muscles his way past him, because even if it's the middle of the night someone might materialize in the hallway and whether this goes well or poorly he's pretty sure he doesn't want witnesses. John's Cash poster looks down on them like a benevolent god.
"McKay," John says, "is there —"
And Rodney kisses him.
As first kisses go, it's nothing to write home about. He's too terrified to do it right. Even though he knows John isn't going to haul off and deck him, some part of him still dreads the prospect of John pulling back and looking wounded. Saying "McKay, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Like they haven't been exchanging looks for three years.
But that isn't what happens. What happens is that John's arms close around him immediately, holding him, as if he were the skittish one. And one of John's hands comes up to hold his face steady, fingers curling behind his neck. And suddenly Rodney is gasping brokenly into John's mouth because this is serious. This is a kiss with intent.
This is a kiss that leads directly to blowjobs, and possibly fucking. This kiss suggests that as much as Rodney's imagined this, yearned for it—mirabile dictu, John has, too. Rodney discards the speech he's spent all evening preparing, the one about why this really is a good idea and John needs to trust him, in favor of all the things their bodies are currently saying to each other without words. Like so good. And oh God do that again. And not ever gonna stop.
"That went well," Rodney says, a little dazed, when they break for air.
John's grin is giddy and smug at the same time. "We might need to...try it again."
"See if we can duplicate our results," Rodney agrees, feeling like his heart might burst, and licks his way in again.
(500 words)
The End