zeegoeshere

Title: Fisticuffs
Summary: John is used to what people say about him behind his back. Rodney isn't.
Rated: NC-17.
Disclaimer: Not mine. Am poor. Don't sue.
Notes: Takes place between Siege III and Intruder, during their time on Earth. Thanks to lavenderoracle, liviapenn and anyone else who was unfortunate enough to be on aim when I needed an audience. Also, blame onetrulou for the title, and plainsong_x by proxy because everything is her fault.




John pretends that he doesn’t notice the surprise, shock, and blatant disbelief on everyone’s faces when they return the earth. Pretends that he doesn’t know what people are whispering behind his back.

Surprisingly, the speculations about his motivations in shooting Sumner don’t aggravate him nearly as much as the blatant incredulity and shock that he managed to keep not only himself, but an entire city, alive through several alien attacks.

It’s not that he isn’t finding it hard to deal with, himself. Now that he’s back on Earth, back where he fucked everything up so many times, it’s much harder to believe that he got them through unscathed.

That *he* did it. He saved their lives, more than once, *he* took command (at least of the military end) and didn’t waver.

So really, fuck everyone else. Fuck their whispers about Sumner, and their blatant skepticism that dumb old Shep could have saved the day. Atlantis knows, and he knows, and that’s good enough for him.

After a few days, he realizes he’s not the only one going through this kind of treatment. He’s wandering down the halls of SGC, wondering for the zillionth time what to do with his time on earth, when he spots Rodney in one of the empty labs, talking to Random Scientist No. 42.

“Oh come on, McKay, you doing field work?” The scientist laughs outright, in Rodney’s face. “Pull the *other* one.”

John has to resist the sudden, strong urge to punch the guy. It’s kind of hard to feel like he needs to charge to Rodney’s rescue, however, because Rodney just rolls his eyes and says, “What would you know about it, Daniels? If I recall correctly, you screamed like a little girl and wet yourself the last time you faced a life-threatening emergency.”

He realizes that, despite the fact that Rodney is quickly becoming one of his best (who is he kidding? One of his *only*) friends, he’s never actually asked him about his life before Atlantis. It never really seemed relevant.

Now, though, John can see why Rodney might not have wanted to talk about it. Almost everywhere they go, it seems like people are reacting the same way. Even Colonel Carter, who John had always thought was nice enough, raises her eyebrows skeptically and says ‘Seriously?’ when Weir fills her in on everything Rodney’s done for them.

John reminds himself that not everyone else has had their asses saved by Rodney McKay twice a day for the last year, so they might not understand. Also, that he can’t go around punching *everyone,* can he?

He’s still wandering the halls wondering what to do with himself a week into their stay. He’s thinking vaguely of heading to the Mess for a snack when he hears yelling and the sounds of a scuffle from the next hallway over.

He rounds the corner just in time to see an angry-looking marine with a bleeding nose being restrained by two other marines, to keep him from getting at Rodney, who is red-faced, panting, and hiding behind two scared-looking scientists.

John just stares. Rodney sees John and goes even redder, opening his mouth to speak but then closing it and scowling.

General O’Neill is already there, handing the marine a few tissues and pointing towards the med labs. He turns around to face Rodney. “Don’t do that again,” he says, his eyes narrowing, before he turns around and walks away.

John continues staring. “Did you—did you *punch* him??”

“No! I—well.” Rodney scowls. “He was being a moron. He has poor directional sense, he may have wandered in front of my fist-“

“You punched him! You seriously just punched a marine. Christ, Rodney, you’re lucky you still have your hand.”

“I beg your pardon! I could have taken him. Oh, shut up,” he snaps to the two scientists, who have started sniggering.

John bites his lip to keep from smiling. “And is there a *reason* you decided to play fisticuffs with a man who has military training and is twice your size?”

Rodney sighs huffily. “I am insanely sleep-deprived, and still coming down off of stimulant highs from *two weeks ago*. The stress simply... got to me.”

“Right. Guys, I think I can take it from here,” John says to the scientists, and they leave, looking reluctant to miss out on any drama and/or gossip.

John raises an eyebrow at Rodney, who is avoiding his eyes. “Why did you punch him? Really.”

Rodney glares at the ground. “I told you, it was just some—stupid male aggression thing that I’ve probably picked up from hanging around you too much. In fact—“ Rodney narrows his eyes at John. “This is all your fault, isn’t it? All this spending time with you, trailing after you on missions while you do your best to get killed—it’s made me into a violent lunatic!”

John shakes his head in confusion. “I fail to see how I *made* you punch someone twice your size.”

Rodney gets even redder, if that’s even possible, and his mouth does that thing where it pulls itself down and to one side in a really weird grimace. “You just—you just *did!* You’re turning me into a pudgy, wannabe Arnold Shwarzenegger! Next thing I know I’ll be talking in a horrible Austrian accent and quoting Terminator-”

“Rodney.” Dear lord, he’s turning purple. “Calm down.”

Rodney glares at him for a little while longer, then harrumphs. “I’m perfectly calm. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go wait for the big scary man to come wreak his vengeance upon me in private.” He turns away, and John notices him cradling his hand.

“Wait, did you hurt yourself?” He grabs for Rodney’s hand, but Rodney clutches it to his chest, turning away.

“No, of course I didn’t. I wouldn’t break my hand punching someone else, because Arnold Shwarzenegger would *never* do that.” Rodney snaps.

“Stop sulking,” John says, and tries to look at Rodney’s hand again. “We should get you to the med labs if you really did hurt yourself.”

Rodney’s hand twitches a little when John touches it. “All right—fine. I’ll go to the medlabs. Just—let me go!”

John holds on to Rodney’s wrist, smirking at him, and is mildly surprised when Rodney jerks away from him so hard he stumbles.

“I—okay, letting go,” John says, unsure of what to make of the situation.

Rodney just glares, and John feels a creeping sensation that there’s an important detail here he somehow missed. He *hates* that feeling.

“Don’t you have—important colonel things you need to go do, or something? Leave me and my wounded pride alone!” Rodney’s voice is breathless and nearing hysterical, and John knows better than to push if he wants to avoid a full-blown tantrum. So he just holds his hand up in the universal signal of peace, and Rodney glares at him some more and stomps away.

John shakes his head. Rodney McKay, secret boxer: who knew?

***
He’s still thinking about the fight when a lieutenant finds him in the mess hall. John knows that he’s been introduced to this guy; he’s even pretty sure that he’s coming with them to Atlantis, but John can’t remember his name for the life of him. Which... makes conversing a little difficult.

The lieutenant seems really, really interested in talking to John. A lot, about anything and everything. John is thinking frantically of ways to ditch the guy when the subject of Rodney’s hallway dramatics comes up.

“Of course, I think it’s awful what Sorenson said,” the guy says, scowling. “I would have punched him, too, if Dr. McKay hadn’t gotten there first.”

That gets John’s attention. “And what, exactly, did Sorenson say?”

“But haven’t you heard?” The lieutenant’s brow wrinkles in confusion. “It’s been all over the SGC-“

“Clearly, I haven’t, so why don’t you *tell* me?” John says, working to keep the irritation out of his voice.

The lieutenant makes an awkward little cough. “Sir—Dr. McKay punched him because Sorenson insulted you.”

“*Really.*” John leans in, raising his eyebrows. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you heard and saw, Lieutenant?”

“Uh-“ the lieutenant licks his lips nervously. “Well, I don’t remember *exactly* what Sorensen said, but it was something along the lines of asking whether or not you had collected any more black marks in Atlantis. And then Dr. McKay, he, uh, he punched him.” His lips twitch in a small smirk. “If you could call that a punch.”

Yeah, John has seen Rodney’s punches. He shakes his head. “So, what you’re saying is, Rod—Dr. McKay punched out a marine twice his size.... because the guy talked shit about me.”

The lieutenant raises his eyebrows. “That’s what it seems like, sir.”

John has never had a friend punch someone for him before. Considering that he’s been friends with jocks and army guys since he was thirteen, that’s... saying something, though he’s not sure what.

He grins at the nonplussed lieutenant. “Thanks for the info, lieutenant. If you see Sorenson around, give him my warmest regards, will you?”

***

John arrives at Rodney’s room ten minutes later, still grinning from ear to ear. Rodney is sitting at his desk, yelling at someone over the phone; John presses the hangup button and says, “You lied, Rodney.”

Rodney stares at him in blank horror. “Do you have *any idea* what you just interrupted? What kind of a moron *are* you?! And stop grinning like that, it’s creepy.”

John smirks, instead. “You’re a liar, Rodney. You lied to me.”

Rodney crosses his arms, glaring at him. “Mind telling me *what*, exactly, I lied to you about?”

“You *lied* about the reason why you punched that marine. You claimed it was sleep deprivation, when really you were just defending my honor.” He grins again. “You’re kind of sweet in a mean way underneath your asshole exterior, you know that?”

“Oh, *that’s* what this is about?” And just like that, Rodney’s anger deflates, and he rubs his forehead. “Figures it would go to your head. Look, it wasn’t nearly as noble or flattering to you as you’re probably imagining.”

John sits on the desk, ignoring Rodney’s glare as he does. “It’s *you.* Why would I imagine noble or anything complimentary to me?”

That earns him another glare, but then Rodney stares at his hands and just looks... tired. “I don’t even know what I was thinking. I was taking a step towards him to argue my point, and my fist just... flew up.” He mimed a punching action. “And now my hand is broken, and he has a slightly-bruised nose.”

John isn’t fooled. “It’s all right, Rodney. I won’t tell anyone else that you got all brave just for me, I promise.”

Rodney just snorts at that, and he still looks... kind of tired, kind of sad. “You know that isn’t the first time he’s said that about you? I’ve had to overhear him and idiots like him say things *worse* than that all week.” He scowls. “If I catch the scientists gossiping, I can easily make their lives a living hell, but not so much the soldiers.”

John puts what was supposed to be a reassuring hand on Rodney’s shoulder, but Rodney just stiffens. “Rodney—look, it’s very nice that you feel the need to defend my honor, but I’m used to people talking shit behind my back. They’ve been doing it forever, even *before* I got the black marks.”

Rodney blinks and looks up at him at that. “Why? I mean, you’re kind of an idiot sometimes, but stupidity has always seemed like something to be *celebrated* in the military.”

John decides to ignore the insult. He shakes his head. “Nope; there’s been bad gossip because I’ve never been particularly good at... hiding things.” He gives Rodney a Look.

Rodney, of course, is clueless. “Hiding things? Like what?”

“Like certain... aspects of my personality.” John raises an eyebrow.

Rodney continues to stare at him. “Is this you trying to be subtle? Because you really, really suck at it.”

“Come on, think. What’s frowned upon in the military?”

“I don’t know, having a sense of humor?”

“How can a self-proclaimed genius be so thick?” John leans in, getting in Rodney’s face and enunciating clearly. “I’m gay, Rodney. I like cock.”

Rodney stares and blinks at him a lot. “You’re—no way. You can’t really expect me to believe that. You’ve slept with beautiful alien women who can give you an out-of-body experience during sex. There is *no way* that you’re gay.”

John rolls his eyes. “There is such thing as bisexuality, you realize.”

Rodney looks at him like John’s just told him that the sky is blue. “Well, I know *that.* It’s just....” He narrows his eyes at John. “You don’t seem the type.”

“The type?” John says incredulously. “What, would it make you feel better if I talked with a lisp and bought a toy poodle named Muffy?”

Rodney scowls. “No, I just meant—you know what? This is a ridiculous argument.” And before John can blink, Rodney is *kissing* him, and maybe John should have been surprised but he wasn’t at all, and when he opens his mouth Rodney’s tongue is in his mouth immediately, exploring his teeth and lips and the roof of his mouth, hands is in his hair, pulling him closer until John is half in Rodney’s lap.

Kissing Rodney was strangely similar to arguing with him: fast-paced, intense, brutal, bewildering. When they finally broke for air, John’s lips felt bruised.

Rodney is staring at him, a dazed expression on his face. “I... had no idea how much I wanted to do that.”

“Good thing I figured it out by myself, huh?” John absently traces a finger down Rodney’s collarbone. “Punching someone to defend my sullied name was kind of a dead giveaway.”

Rodney scowls at that. “I told you, it wasn’t anything-“ but John kisses him before he can finish the sentence.

He’s definitely on Rodney’s lap now, which is kind of embarrassing and awkward since John is a big guy. But then, after some aggressive pawing on John’s part, the chair tips *over* and they’re both on the floor.

“*Ow!*” Rodney says, already shoving John off of him. “You oaf, I think I broke my back-“

John rolls his eyes. “You didn’t break anything. And who says this was *my* fault?” Okay, it totally kind of was, but still. John kisses Rodney again before Rodney can complain some more, and it’s much better on the ground, even though Rodney has the hardest carpet known to mankind.

He stops giving a shit when Rodney starts taking his clothes off, kissing him in between each part of the uniform he takes off. The jacket comes off, and Rodney kisses his jaw; then the t-shirt, and he kisses his collarbone; then his pants, and he kisses his hips, and by this point John is so hard can’t even think—all he can do is arch his hips up and gasp “Rodney, *please.*”

Rodney makes a ‘working on it’ gesture, and takes John’s boxers off. Then he kisses the tip of John’s dick, and John almost comes right there.

It just gets better, because Rodney is closing his eyes and making noises like he’s *enjoying* this, the noises John has only heard him make while consuming really good coffee. And he’s just inching his way down John’s cock, taking him in a little at a time so that it’s both agonizing, fiendish torture, yet simultaneously really, really hot.

When Rodney actually starts *sucking* him, John comes close to completely losing it. He grips Rodney’s hair and has to execute self-restraint he didn’t know he *had* to keep himself from thrusting up, fucking Rodney’s mouth. And he totally *was* going to warn Rodney, but then he does that *tongue* thing and John is coming in his mouth before he can say anything.

To Rodney’s credit, he just makes a strangled sound and swallows most of it. A little semen dribbles out onto his chin, and John tries hard not to find that hot, but mostly fails.

John lies back on the carpet, panting and trying to gently put the pieces of his brain back together. He feels Rodney crawling up his body, and then Rodney is at eye-level, and there’s nothing John can do but kiss him.

Rodney makes a muffled surprised sound and kisses back, and John can taste himself in Rodney’s mouth. He rolls them over until he’s on top, and wriggles his way downwards. He doesn’t bother getting Rodney naked, just shoves his pants and boxers down and takes him into his mouth.

Rodney makes a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a groan, and John really wants to make him do that again. He sucks hard and goes down as far as he can (having no gag reflex really comes in handy), and Rodney makes that sound again, and more sounds that are even *better.* John is just starting to figure out what rhythm results in the best sounds coming from Rodney when Rodney says, “John—I-“ and comes in his mouth.

John swallows as best as he can, and sits up, looking at Rodney. Who is staring right back at him, the same dazed expression on his face. And when John opens his mouth to speak, nothing clever, sarcastic or situation-appropriate falls out. He closes it again.

Rodney raises an eyebrow. “If this is your idea of behavioral modification training, I should point out that it's not likely to work.”

John blinks. “Huh?”

Rodney rolls his eyes and smirks at him. “How many marines do I need to punch before I get you in a bed?”

John blushes, and rolls his eyes back. “Great. You know, if this is encouraging your brand-new violent streak, maybe we should stop.”

Rodney grumbles under his breath. “Okay, *fine.* I’ll go back to being a meek, peaceful scientist.”

“You were never a meek, peaceful scientist.” John moves to sit next to Rodney, kissing him lightly on the lips.

“Point,” Rodney says, sounding distracted, as his fingers brush lazily over John’s thigh. John hopes that the door is locked, and that Rodney doesn’t have any pressing engagements or problems to tend to. He really doesn’t want to get dressed or stop touching Rodney yet.

The phone rings, jolting him out of the post-coital lazy happiness, but Rodney just reaches up, hangs up the phone, then takes it off the hook. He looks at John. “Are you free for dinner tonight?”

John raises his eyebrows. “You mean, for a date?”

Rodney shrugs, and his ears turn slightly pink. “Well, why not? Considering we just had sex on the floor of my office, I didn’t think a dinner for two would be a problem-“

“It’s not.” John is grinning stupidly again, but he can’t help it. “Eight-ish?”

Rodney nods. “And until then...” He gives the phone a stricken look. “I really should call back the asshole chemist you made me hang up on.”

John smiles at him. “Yeah, you do that. Just tell him that I did it, and then punch him if he insults me.”

“Oh god, get *out* of here.” Rodney shoos him out of the room while John laughs.

Later, as he’s walking down the hall, he sees Sorenson, sporting a bruised and reddened nose. He sees John and ducks his head, blushing, but John just grins at him.