The first month of the Atlantis expedition, Rodney doesn’t want for much. He is so insanely busy that he’s only half-aware of which MRE he’s pushing into his mouth, let alone the absence of creature comforts of home.
The second month, he misses Carter, because as good as Zelenka is, the pressure of having to always be right is weighing on Rodney, a bit.
The third month, he misses the internet, and his cat.
By the time six months have passed, they’re pretty settled in, and he’s climbed up the hierarchy of needs to get to the point of missing sex. Not that there’s much he can do about it, really.
Thing is, thing is that he went to university at sixteen. Would’ve gone earlier, but his parents had insisted that he at least reach 16 before moving out on his own. He’d hated them for that decision - he couldn’t wait to get out of that house - until he’d arrived on campus. He’d known he wasn’t exactly popular in high school, but wow. University life really put that into perspective. He barely had a sad few hairs on his chin and saying he didn’t fit in or had any shot at any of his classmates would be as much of an understatement as saying that the core of the Earth was a little warm.
His innate awkwardness and lack of patience for other people was always going to make courtship a little difficult, he’d known that since he’d turned twelve, but he hadn’t truly appreciated how difficult it would be. As he’d grown up, he’d found a few different types of sex that he could reliably get, if he so chose:
- Creepy faculty or TAs that were turned on by his intellect and saw Rodney as pretty much a series of brain curves in a meat puppet;
- Using some of his grant money to hire a professional;
The first one he’d went through with only one time. No matter how desperate, he couldn’t shake the creepiness factor of it off, they were all so much older than him, and he knew he looked young.
The second one he’d loved until one time, as soon as she’d entered the room, the girl had said “oh hi again, Rawdney.” He didn’t want this to become a Cheers situation, he didn’t need his lack of non-transactional human interaction to be that clear.
The third one… the third one had been the jackpot, really. Short of a couple top-secret locations, he’d always been able to count on it. It was a website where he could find exactly what he was looking for, that day.
Not that that was any help, right now, with no hope to access internet, or Earth in general.
So he and his left hand got more and more well acquainted as the months rolled on. Thankfully, he was usually busy enough that his libido wasn’t exactly raging, anyway.
On month sixteen, something magical happens. 241y53cgy7kegs1 is still unavailable, but there’s something almost as good. In the complete absence of potential partners other than the few who’ve managed to pair off with scientists, Atlantis marines have started a different way of releasing tension: a bulletin board and a dark room, with a shoddy panel to separate it into two.
Between Rodney’s busy schedule and his people’s insistence on not letting him in on the good gossip, the grapevine takes another month to get to him. But now, now he has a golden ticket. The address of the bulletin board, and a map to the room. He knows it’s not a prank because at this point in the expedition, he doesn’t think anybody would be heartless enough to joke about this.
So he writes, quickly before he can regret it, the thing with the least amount of risk of being found out, while still letting Rodney get something he craves:
Thursday, 2500. Seeking to give BJ.
The late time is by design. He knows that it’ll rule out two people he wants to avoid: his scientists who work in shifts and have handovers or are sleeping at 26, and the gym-obsessed marines who have a date with the bench or need to sleep to get up early for their 5AM workouts.
He suspects he’ll get one of the lankier, relaxed marines, or perhaps someone from the control room. He doesn’t think too much about it until Thursday rolls around.
He’s in the room and has the appropriate yellow light up at 24:45. He turns the panel around, happy to see that it already has a big hole at around hip height. One problem gone. Then, he drags over a small table, and puts the headphones, a tiny blue ancient light, and his note on top of it. Then, he goes to the other side, and waits.
At 25:01, the door swooshes open and closed quickly. Whoever it is, understandably, doesn’t want to be seen. Or see, probably. It’s not that Atlantis people were unattractive or anything, but there was more than one reason for the anonymity of this room.
There’s a soft chuckle which Rodney assumes means whoever it is has read the note.
Put the headphones on. Non-negotiable. I’ll know.
Rodney’s no fool, and he doesn’t count on the sounds alone to ensure that the headphones are on. He’s modified them and the wireless headphones require warmth to work, and he has a remote screen in his hand showing the status. He puts on white noise after the gadget gives him the green light. There’s a grunt, but no other sound.
Then there’s the sound of a buckle, pants hitting the ground, and Rodney’s faced with a sight for eyes so sore that he lets out a happy noise. Oh, he’s definitely done the right thing, arranging this, Rodney thinks. Not only can he see the tell-tale signs of a fit body through the circular hole in the panel (a defined - but not too defined - V-line, and strong thighs), but the cock is just gorgeous. He wonders, for half a second, why somebody like that isn’t just making rounds across Atlantis, then remembers that it’s not only him that has trouble getting laid in the tiny fish bowl of the Atlantis Expedition.
“Please,” he whispers out, testing it, almost. There’s going to be more imagination needed when doing this without the other person playing along, but he’s nothing if not imaginative. He leans forward, and stops just shy of his tongue touching the head of the cock. He puts his tongue back in, then repeats: “Please, please. Can I please suck on it?”
He pretends the other person’s mocking him, saying something sarcastic along the lines of ‘well if you’re so desperate for it, maybe I’ll let you, for a bit’.
He sets to “prove” himself to the imaginary antagonist, and starts by licking right beneath the head, starting with a soft approach for merely a few moments, before taking the cock as far in as he can. Even when he wasn’t rusty, he’s never been able to deep-throat, but he does his best to make up for it with his hands and sloppy blowjob, allowing the wetness to spread. He works the cock with all the desperation and want of the past year and a half, doing his best.
Every minute or two, he takes a break to both help his jaw, and to beg. He keeps stroking the guy, but only enough to keep him interested, not make him come. “I’ll be so good, I promise. Please let me keep going,” he begs to the imaginary, teasing guy in his head. “I can’t do without it, please. I’ll do anything.” He imagines the guy telling him to be quick with it, make him come, he has ‘things to do’.
Rodney gets back to work, going for more suction and bobbing versus the licking, trying to push the guy over the edge. He’s been given a task, after all, and told to be quicker. He’ll be good, and maybe, maybe the guy will let him suck him off again.
When the cock in his mouth starts getting harder, pushing against his lips and hurting his teeth underneath them, Rodney knows he doesn’t have much more time. He finally starts jerking himself off with one hand. Oh god, it’s covered in his spit and the guy’s precome.
Rodney, unsurprisingly, comes before the guy does. This fantasy never fails to get him off. He thinks it’s the disparity between how he sees himself in real life, and how he behaves. He’s definitely not docile, nor prone to begging, in real life. It’s a nice change.
When the guy comes, Rodney swallows greedily, then gently lets the cock slide out of his mouth.
There’s some shuffling and other sounds as the guy gets dressed and puts the headphones down. When he’s gone and Rodney steps to the other side of the panel, he sees that the guy has written under Rodney’s note: Every Thursday. 25:00.
Well, Rodney’s not going to argue with that.
This goes on for five marvelous weeks. It gets better, actually. The guy starts actually fucking Rodney’s mouth, and wow that feels wonderful, and is new to Rodney. Rodney never lasts long enough to require reciprocation, although the guy offers on the note the second time around. “No need” he writes, and that’s that.
On their seventh encounter, the guy’s fucking his mouth with vigor, and this time he’s squeezed his hand through the panel’s hole to hold Rodney’s hair. Rodney panics for a moment, because he has a receding hairline, and what if the guy was expecting a woman? Then he remembers that he’s had stubble a few times, and that there’s more than one man in the expedition with a head that looks like his, and relaxes.
After a while, he pulls back to breathe and get his roleplaying fix in, but the guy seems really into it, and growls, trying to make him stay with his fingers. Rodney ignores the unspoken message, and pulls completely off of the guy’s cock. “Please, please keep fucking my mouth,” he says. As the encounters have gone on, he’s gotten more and more bold with this, speaking at full volume now. “I love your cock, please, please let me have more.” He pretends the guy’s refusing, pulling his cock back, teasing. The guy seems to almost sense this, and his hands recede back to the other side of the panel, and he stands straighter, moving his cock back a bit.
Probably bored, let me get back to it, Rodney thinks, and leans back. Just as his tongue touches the tip of the guy’s cock, the guy speaks.
Oh, this can’t be happening.
Rodney says nothing. He’s frozen, and feels like tipping over like that goat, too scared to do anything else.
There’s a few seconds’ absolute silence which feels, to Rodney, like aeons.
“You want your mouth fucked?” John says, voice gravelly, leaning onto the panel to put as much of his body through the hole as possible.
“Please,” Rodney begs, with no hesitation.
“Then come here,” John says, giving Rodney no choice but to obey, really.
By the time John’s about to come in Rodney’s mouth, Rodney hasn’t just finished himself off - how could he not, with John speaking dirty to him the whole time? - but he’s gotten hard again.
“Such a good cock-whore, aren’t you?” John says, a harsh whisper in the quiet room. He pulls his cock out again, holding Rodney by the neck, and slowly, slowly thrusting half of his cock in and out of Rodney’s willing mouth.
“P-lease,” Rodney says, as well as he can with a cock stroking along his tongue. “Don’t stop.”
“Fuck,” John breathes out, then goes back to fucking Rodney’s mouth again for maybe another minute before coming in his mouth on an up-stroke, causing some of the come to drip down onto Rodney’s lips. Rodney licks it away quickly, but feels deliciously dirty regardless.
Rodney hears John put his pants back on, and waits for a bit. Soon enough, it’s clear that John has no intention of leaving, so he zips up and walks over to the other side of the panel.
“So,” John says, when Rodney doesn’t speak. “Begging, huh?”
“I told you to keep the headphones on!” Rodney snaps, face growing warm despite his trying to will the reaction away.
“They fell,” John says, shrugging with both arms. Then he points to the floor where, indeed, they’re laying close to where John’d been standing. John grabs them and hands them to Rodney.
“I didn’t hear,” Rodney mumbles.
“Me neither, to be honest.”
Rodney tries to visualize that, a John so lost in fucking his mouth that he doesn’t even feel the weight of the headphones slip, nor hear the sound of them hitting the floor.
“Next Thursday?” Rodney hazards, looking anywhere but at John, hoping they won’t have to stop this, now. If anything, he’s sure he’ll do even better now, his imagination fueled further with all the things he knows about John.
“Oh, we can do better than that I think, buddy,” John says. When Rodney dares look back at him, John has the most smug grin on his face.
Maybe Rodney won’t get blue balls in the Pegasus Galaxy, after all.