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Rodney was tired, the good kind of tired, and he was willing to give John a break. He followed his wrong-headed, idiot boyfriend into their quarters and gave him a good shove toward the bathroom.
"Hey!" John protested and promptly tripped over someone's dirty bath towel. Probably Rodney's, Rodney thought.
"You stink," he said. "All that tramping about in the desert heat on P5-whatever with Ronon and the marines playing war games. Go shower and think very hard over the fact you somehow completely forgot Julie Newmar ever existed—again."
"I was just trying to explain to Teyla—"
"Who had the good sense not to go with you to P5-whatever."
"—the mystique and lore of Eartha Kitt, a fine actress, singer, and the best Catwoman ever cast."
Rodney didn't roll his eyes, although he was tempted. While John stripped out of his black t-shirt—always a welcome sight—Rodney searched for clean boxers; the Mighty Mouse ones would do. He picked up the dirty towel—maybe it was John's after all—and tossed it toward the laundry basket. He missed.
"Two years!" Rodney said. "Julie Newmar, all six feet of her, played Catwoman for two years! How could you block that out?"
"Rodney."
He knew that tone of voice and turned to see John shimmying out of his pants. He'd gone commando again, and Rodney licked his lips. "Hmmm?"
"It's been a nice day. Are we really going to argue about Catwoman?"
Rodney let his gaze travel up John's body—not bad for a 42-year-old colonel—until he met dancing green eyes. "We could always rehash the Ray Wars," Rodney suggested.
John flopped back on the bed and covered his face with his shirt. "Oh, God, no."
Rodney grinned. "You still stink. Shower. I want to have sex with you some time tonight."
John heaved himself up dramatically and sighed. "As long as we don't have to talk about Catwoman or the Rays. Besides, Vecchio had the best thing going with Fraser so don't even start."
"He did not! Kowalski did all the hugging."
"But Vecchio took a bullet for Fraser. Now that's a Ray I can get behind."
"Oh, please. It's always about munitions with you."
John flipped him off on the way to the bathroom and Rodney changed out of his uniform before puttering around a bit and settling down with his laptop. These nights were the best: no crises to manage, no wounds to soothe, and as much as he liked them, no teammates to barge in, Ronon wanting beer and Hollywood blockbusters, and Teyla—
Teyla.
Small, dangerous Teyla with her catlike grace and beautiful voice. Rodney shivered. The first time he'd met her, he'd thought of her as Catwoman, decked out in black leather, a gold belt around her hips, and a whip in her hand…
John came out of the bathroom toweling his hair, and Rodney stared at him blankly for two seconds before shouting, "You!"
"What?"
"Teyla! Catwoman!"
"What?" John's voice went up an octave and broke as he took a step back and covered himself with the towel.
Rodney leapt off the bed, laptop flying harmlessly against the pillows, and advanced on him, one finger raised in fanboy triumph. "That's why you forgot about Julie Newmar. You were imagining Teyla as Catwoman!"
John shifted the towel again. "Uh, no?"
"Were too!"
"Was not!"
Rodney grabbed the towel and pointed to John's rather impressive erection. "Tell that to your dick."
"Gimme that!"
After a brief, undignified tug-of-war, John won back the towel, and Rodney glared while he tucked it around his hips.
Rodney let his big brain analyze all the factors and permutations for a nanosecond, then he put his hands on his hips and nodded once. "Fine. Free pass," he said magnanimously.
John, the moron, gaped at him. "'Free pass'? You're giving me a free pass for Teyla?"
"Well, hypothetically, of course," Rodney said, carefully casual, "It's not like she's ever going to make a move on you—you being you and all—so why not?"
The towel sailed off to Rodney's left, distracting him long enough for John rush him like a linebacker and land them both on the bed.
"Oof!" Rodney looked up to see John looming over him, smirking, his cock brushing against the bottom of Rodney's t-shirt. "Oh, my, yes, that is impressive."
"So if I get a free pass for Teyla, do you get one too?" John asked dangerously.
Rodney grabbed John's ass and lifted his hips, trying to get a little leverage for his own hard on, but John locked his elbows and grinned.
"Hypothetically, of course," John said. "You being you and all."
"Now see here—"
John kissed him silent, kissed him deep and messy and wet, and Rodney groaned. He pinched John's ass and John collapsed on him, laughing into the kiss. Rodney wrapped his legs around John's thighs and thrust upward, finding that sweet spot between John's cock and the crease of his groin.
"Ah, fuck!" John breathed.
Rodney slid his mouth across John's cheekbone as they both scrabbled for his boxers—down, down, down!—and Rodney took John in hand, smearing the wetness into his palm first, then tightening his grip just so, while stroking up John's chest with his left hand to tweak one dark nipple.
"Christ, Rodney," John gasped into his neck, "do that, do—"
Rodney did and whispered, "Catwoman, leather bodysuit—"
John moaned and pushed through Rodney's fist, almost frantic.
"—sharp gold nails, little black whip—"
And John came, hips jerking unevenly as Rodney huffed out a laugh. Boneless, John slurred out, "You bastard."
"Yes, yes, I am. I'm also a bastard with an erection. Oh, hey, let's do something with it!"
John lifted his head and Rodney saw the glazed humor in his eyes. He slid off to Rodney's right and cupped his balls, fingers pressing gently behind them. "I've got your free pass right here. Who's your Julie Newmar?"
"What? Wait—" He lifted into John's hand, aching for more pressure. He tried to grab for John's wrist but John pinned him neatly on the right, the sneak, and curled his left hand around to hold Rodney's hand to the pillow. Rodney thumped his left heel once and twined his right leg with John's, pulling him in. If he could just—
John licked his ear and said, "Tall, long legged, deadly thighs, perfect ass, wears a lot of leather—"
He felt John's hand rove up his cock, barely there, thumb teasing the foreskin but not where he needed it. Rodney thrust up twice, desperate, and fell back wheezing. He shuddered and curled his toes. "Fuck, John, you can't just—"
"Who do we know that can kill with their thighs?" John gave Rodney's cock a squeeze but backed right off.
"Ronon!" Rodney gasped. He felt his ears turn red. And his nipples.
"Ronon? Now you're just being greedy." John squeezed again, not so gently.
Rodney heard the laughter in John's voice and turned his glare up to eleven. "You're mocking me. I'm in extremis here and you're mocking me."
"Yeah, you really look like you're dying."
"More mocking! Why can't I have Ronon? I gave you Teyla."
"Sure, if you think you can pull that," John said as he stroked Rodney's cock, easing the foreskin up and over, down and back.
"It's all hypothetical. Just let me come already!" Rodney shouted.
"Actually, it's all physics." John bent down and took Rodney's cock in, tongue sweeping around the head and dipping into the slit to flick and play.
Rodney felt his nuts tighten up and grabbed John's solid shoulder in a death grip. A pert hum and a quick press on his dick made him loosen his nails from John's skin. "Sorry, sorry!"
He lay back and basked in the heady scent of John's come and his own arousal as John took him deep, edging him closer. He could see that dark head behind his closed eyelids and wondered briefly—really, just a passing thought—what John would look like with Catwoman's perky little ears and black mask. Rodney's thighs began to shake and he groaned deep in his chest. Then John pressed just behind Rodney's balls and he came, thrusting helplessly, and trusting John to see him through it.
His thighs were still trembling when he heard John say, "Here, let's get rid of this." And he sat up to help take off his sweat-soaked t-shirt.
He sagged back down and reached for John. "I take it back. No free passes. You could kill someone a little less prepared."
"But not Catwoman."
Still a little giddy, Rodney tweaked John's wild, sweaty hair. "Christ, no. You're Catwoman. That's the problem," he said, and pulled John down into a messy, laughing kiss.