***

Sometimes Ronon asks the worst questions; and at the worst times. John would feel bad about the face full of cereal and milk Ronon is currently sporting, but it’s his own damn fault. What the hell kind of person asks, right here in the middle of the mess hall, a question like that? It probably seemed harmless enough to Ronon, but seriously, asking ‘what’s rimming?’ a mere two seconds after John has taken a big mouthful of his breakfast? Bad idea.

John is still staring at Ronon in shock when he realises Rodney is speaking.

“Of course, not everyone likes it. I, myself, love it. There are all sorts of ways to do it; kind of depends on your mood; and how much time you have, of course.” Rodney sounds like he’s talking about updating the applications on his laptop, or something equally normal, and John would call him on it; but the next thing Rodney says causes John’s brain to short out.

“Now; most men prefer you to work up to it a little; they get a bit embarrassed at the idea of having a tongue up their ass. Don’t ask me why, I have yet to meet a man who doesn’t beg for it once he knows what he’s been missing.”

John’s poor, mortally wounded, brain is reeling from the casual way Rodney just outed himself; as though this wasn’t some momentous, shocking thing.

And he’s still talking.

“If you don’t have a lot of time then you’re probably gonna go for the quick kill. Just throw him down, hold his ass open and push your tongue in; it’ll ache, and believe it or not it is possible to sprain your tongue; but so worth it. There really is nothing quite like making a man come without ever touching his dick.”

After pausing to take a sip of his rapidly cooling coffee, Rodney just goes right on talking.

“Then there’s the foreplay version. You want to take more time with that; open him up a bit first, lick your way in a little more gently. Of course, that one doesn’t require as much effort as far as holding him down is concerned; so you might be able to keep one hand free for jerking him off at the same time. If you time it right, you can get him to come while your tongue’s inside; and let me tell you, feeling that spasm from the inside? Very cool. Unless you don’t want him to come before you get to the fucking part. In which case you’ll need to avoid anything too stimulating.”

John is sure he hasn’t taken in any oxygen the whole time Rodney’s been talking; he’s afraid to breathe, afraid to make any kind of noise in case it breaks this spell and Rodney realises people can hear him. Too afraid to even move in his chair, to relieve the unbelievable pressure, John just sits there in rapt attention as Rodney keeps on talking.

“Ah, but then there’s the best one. This is the one you only ever do with your lover; with someone you know, someone you trust. This is the one that’ll have him losing the ability to speak.” Rodney, evil bastard that he is, pauses to chuckle and finish his damn coffee. “The slow build. Best after sex; you warm him up, taste every part of him before you get anywhere near his ass. Kiss and bite and suck and lick, explore his body everywhere until he’s so relaxed he can’t move a muscle. Then you slowly, as slowly as you can, lick him open. You don’t push in all at once; just a taste, just the tip of your tongue, teasing him until his asshole spasms around you in anticipation. You lick your way in and slowly bring him to the edge; and, if you can concentrate well enough, humming while you’re doing it will send him over the edge pretty quick. The vibrations will go up inside him and... Actually,” Rodney leans forward as though he’s imparting some really serious advice here, “if you do that, you need to make sure you’ve got a good grip on him. You don’t want to know how many times I’ve been thrown off a perfectly good bed while tongue-fucking someone.”

The son of a bitch actually stops to smile and take a bite of his goddamn toast. Just when John is pretty sure he’s gonna come right here, in the mess hall, in his BDU’s, Rodney says the thing that severs whatever tenuous link his brain had with reality.

“Of course; the best part about doing it after sex? You’re gonna have to trust me on this, but I swear to God; you haven’t lived until you’ve sucked your own come out of the man you just fucked.”

That’s it.

John is out of his seat and around the table before Rodney even notices he’s got up. He can’t fail to notice the hand that grabs his arm and drags him from the room. He eventually finds his voice just as John drags him into the nearest transporter.

“Colonel? John? What the hell?” Rodney doesn’t sound worried, so John decides he doesn’t really need a full explanation, not yet.

Through gritted teeth, he forces out. “McKay; stop talking.”

Rodney, to John’s amazement, shut’s up.

When they get to John’s room, Rodney is pushed up against the wall and has a tongue shoved down his throat before he has time to ask anything else. John allows every bit of want and need, and desperation, to show in his kiss; and by the time he’s finished they’re both panting harshly.

“Rodney, please, please. Rodney.” John takes a second to calm down, to try to form his thoughts into something coherent. Rodney seems to be having similar problems.

“John... wha.... what... Jesus, John. What?” His hands are everywhere, pushing John away, pulling him in, gripping him so tight he must be leaving bruises. John wants so much, but he doesn’t know how to ask. So he does the thing he does know how to do; he tells.

“Do it.”

“Huh? Do what?” Rodney is still breathless, but now he’s looking into John’s eyes and the hunger there is enough to give John the nerve he needs.

“Everything. Everything you said. Do it to me. Please?”

Rodney may be a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Almost as soon as his plea has been heard, John is naked on his bed, wondering why the fuck they never did this before.

Later, after Rodney has proved to John’s (repeated) satisfaction that he’s not all talk; John wonders if Ronon would like a fruit basket. Or perhaps a pot plant. He definitely deserves a gift of some kind. He does, after all, ask the best questions.

The End