Author's Note: Thanks to all the usual suspects for glancing at this: shalott, lim, res, terri, giddy, merry, etc.
"So hey," Sheppard said, sliding his dinner tray onto the table, "can I ask you a favor?"
Rodney glanced up from his tablet with a sigh and waved a hand in beleaguered acquiescence; yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, he'd do whatever Sheppard wanted once he got the long-range sensors recalibrated. "Yes, what?"
His attention had already returned to the outputs, and so he was only dimly aware of Sheppard's embarrassed little cough. "It's about porn," Sheppard said, and that got Rodney's attention. He put down the tablet and stared across the table at Sheppard, who winced, sighed, then shrugged. "I got deputized to ask you," he admitted, picking up a triangle of turkey sandwich with a bit more deliberation than turkey sandwiches normally warranted. "If you'd be willing to donate some porn. Jergenson's getting married and—" and God, yes, enough already. Sgt. Jergenson was marrying some local girl; it was all anyone had talked about for months. Sometimes Atlantis was a depressingly small town.
Sheppard took a bite of his sandwich and said, still chewing, "The Marines want to throw him a bachelor party. And strippers being thin on the ground..." He shrugged again. "You know how it goes." He put down the sandwich, licked his fingers, then tipped his head forward ironically. "It is the way of my people."
Rodney huffed out a laugh. "Fine," he said, digging into his pudding, "but I don't see what it has to do with me. I don't have any porn." Sheppard tilted his head accusingly, and Rodney hastily added, "—all right, fine, but no more than anybody else does. Since when did I become the designated porn baron of Atlantis?"
"Oh, c'mon, McKay. You've got fourteen thousand root-access .avi files on the server. They can't all be episodes of Dr. Who—"
Rodney stabbed his pudding spoon at him. "That show ran for twenty-five years."
"Spare me. Come on, McKay, hand it over—"
"Seriously, are you saying there's no other porn in Atlantis?" Rodney demanded. "Seventy marines and a two-to-one male to female ratio? I'm pretty sure we have an entire public server full of porn—"
"Yeah, yeah, but everybody's seen that stuff a thousand times. Pony up, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You're our only hope."
"No. Sorry." Rodney crossed his arms. "I can't help you."
For a moment, Sheppard looked really disgusted with him. "Rod-ney—"
"No. Really. I haven't got anything suitable," Rodney said, and averted his eyes. "Porn is very personal, and my tastes aren't—"
Sheppard groaned and said, quietly, "You didn't bring anything straight?"
Rodney darted an awkward glance at him. "A couple of threesomes, maybe; I'd have to check. Look, I wasn't thinking about catering a Marine bachelor party! I was thinking about spending the rest of my life in a galaxy without porn, and maybe even without any gay people. So all right, yes, fine, I was being horribly, unreasonably selfish in my choice of porn, being as—silly me—I thought it was for me. So sorry I didn't bring enough for everybody!"
Sheppard sighed in disappointment, but still nodded. "All right, yeah, I get it," he said. "I'll figure out something to tell them." A moment later, he tilted his head and said, in a low voice, "You know, I have a secret stash of popcorn."
Rodney stared at him for a long moment. "Okay, fine."
"Seriously," Sheppard said, throwing popcorn into his mouth, "I can't believe these guys haven't come already."
Rodney nodded, and blindly reached into the bowl for another handful. "Yeah, I know. I would have come, like, forty minutes ago."
"It's really almost unsexy." Sheppard tilted his head to the side and studied the screen Rodney'd set up. "Like, what are they doing wrong that they haven't come already? Did their dicks go numb or what?"
Rodney shrugged, and his shoulder bumped Sheppard's. The couch in his room, like all Ancient furniture, was narrow and white and not particularly comfortable. "I don't know. Maybe they have—what is that called?" He snapped his fingers trying to think of the word. "Priapism," he said triumphantly, remembering suddenly. "It's a form of erectile dysfunction where you get a really persistent erection—"
"Yeah; I call that 'too much of a good thing.' There's stamina and there's that," Sheppard said. "Also, hey, come on: some body hair is nice."
Rodney snorted softly. "You would have to think so."
"I do, actually," Sheppard said, absently sliding his fingers between the buttons of his wrinkled shirt. Rodney swallowed and looked back at the screen, where the hairless guys were still fucking on their large, ridiculously plush bed; he was lucky his own bed had a mattress. After a moment, Sheppard stirred, his leg knocking Rodney's. "Okay, this one blows," he said, stretching. "What else have you got?"
"No, wait, it gets good," Rodney assured him. "After these guys," he added, waving his hand at the screen. "There's another plot after these guys, with these other guys who—"
"You remember the plots?" Sheppard asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Kind of. Yes," Rodney admitted. "Just hang on," and Sheppard sighed and slumped back on the couch. Together, they watched another minute of shoving and grunting.
"Man, that guy's limber," Sheppard murmured, nearly knocking the popcorn over as he scooped up another handful. "If I tried that, I'd rip something,"—but wait, finally, there was the come shot, and again with the come shot; and here was the come shot from a different angle. Then there was a cheesy dissolve, and an establishing shot of the house—and right, okay, now came the good part.
Down the road from the hairless boys and their giant bed, a man pulled the curtain of his window aside and peered out at his pool boy, who was standing, shirtless, skimming the water with a net on the end of a suggestively long pole. Rodney swallowed hard and tried to keep breathing normally; he, er, really liked the pool boy. He felt Sheppard shift beside him and then relax aggressively; maybe Sheppard liked the pool boy, too.
They watched as the man called the pool boy up to the house, pulled out his wallet, and paid him for his day's work. The pool boy smiled silkily and shoved the wad of cash into the front pocket of his loose, low-slung jeans, the twisting of his hips revealing the outline of his erection. And this was the part that Rodney liked best, where the man shoved the poolboy up against the table in the hallway and began kissing him and kneading his erection through the denim, roughly tugging and cupping and stroking. Christ, the sounds the boy was making, a kind of desperate, horny whimpering, so obviously hard—and Sheppard was breathing deep and slow beside him. Rodney managed to keep still, but he'd been hard for a while, and this was normally where he would start to jerk off; here, with the man biting the pool boy's stubbled jaw, hand sliding down to squeeze his balls. The pool boy's eyes closed, and the man's hand slid up the obvious outline of cock and clutched the head in his fist, rhythmically gripping it through the denim, and—
He was just wondering whether it would be okay to at least hold himself when Sheppard said, in a dry, cracked-sounding voice, "So, uh, that's—um."
"Told you," Rodney said tightly.
"Yeah. Yeah." Sheppard went unnaturally still for a long second, and then he turned and looked at Rodney with desperate eyes. "You, uh, wouldn't want to—" and if there was ever a sentence in the whole history of linguistics that didn't need to be finished, Rodney was sure this one, here, was the one. His hand was on the warm skin of Sheppard's neck, bringing their mouths together, even as Sheppard slid him down the sofa. Then Sheppard was kissing him and fumbling with his zipper. Rodney groped the straining length of him through his soft-worn jeans, hand rubbing the shaft, fingers squeezing the tip.
It was all over in seconds, before the pool boy had even unzipped; suddenly Sheppard was groaning softly, and the denim in Rodney's hand was damp with spreading stickiness. Rodney was so hard he was practically vibrating, and when Sheppard's warm hand slid up his cock and tightened, he came in long, messy spurts. He crooked his arm around Sheppard's neck and yanked him close, nipped his ear, then licked it. Sheppard's breath was hot against his cheek, and then his lips were. A kiss, maybe. A smile.
"So, all right," Sheppard said breathlessly, lifting his head. "Got any more snacks?"
"Bag of pretzels," Rodney confessed.
"Break it out," Sheppard said.