Doctor Rodney McKay might be the most intelligent man in two galaxies, capable of saving Atlantis and all who live in her a dozen times a week (before and after coffee, even, although the first means nobody wants to get close enough to give him any help), but some things still evade him. Like, for example, why even after Carson’s gene therapy some of the Ancient devices in Atlantis still refuse to work for him.

If he was thinking with his usual analytical and methodical thought patterns, Rodney would realise that some artifacts simply need the added boost of a completely integrated gene. That is to say, one that has been present in someone since birth, a real gene carrier. Rodney just doesn’t have the mental link with his gene that the natural bearers have.

Of course, he’s not thinking like that. He’s annoyed and a little put out that even after all he’s doing for her (everyone calls Atlantis ‘her’, whether they mean to or not. It just fits) he can’t use everything with a well-aimed thought and some funky artificial gene. Irrationally, it makes him annoyed with John as well, who seems to be totally oblivious of how useful his gene would be in the hands of someone who actually cares about that curiously shaped set of control panels in one of the East pier labs.

John walks around Atlantis with an air of bemused confidence, smiling a little with one corner of his mouth when he opens a door with a thought or lays his hand on a piece of unidentified junk and watches it light up. If Rodney is honest with himself, which he always is in order to pre-empt everyone else being honest with him, then he’s a little jealous of John.

Okay, maybe more than a little.

He can’t quite bring himself to hate John, though; hating him would be like hating a puppy just for looking adorable when you feel like hell. The crush Rodney was failing to, well, crush wasn’t helping matters either. It seemed like there was nothing he could do but ignore the occasional flash of irritation whenever John got an artefact working that Rodney had failed to work himself.

It was a good plan, and it worked; they went offworld, got shot at, got captured, did some more shooting, and came home, with a seemingly infinite variety of reasons for why exactly this happened. There was the occasional quiet mission, which were admittedly a nice break, but also gave Rodney too much time to notice things about John. All in all, it was pretty obvious that not only was Rodney ever going to get over his completely ridiculous crush, but also that John’s gene would be a constant annoyance unless Rodney let it go.

Which would’ve worked, because apparently when he decided to do just that Rodney discovered he was good at overlooking things about John that irritated him. The hair, for one, was ignored unless it reached heights that deserved a comment, and his habit of self-effacing modesty was galling to a man who lost no opportunities to proclaim his intelligence.

So, really, if it hadn’t been for Zelenka and his wondrous (unfortunate) discovery of Ancient….stuff - they’d given up on technical names about three days after arriving in Atlantis, too many things which didn’t fit into pre-established categories - then John would’ve been still ignorant about certain things concerning Rodney, Rodney would not have been (almost) unbelievably embarrassed and Kavanagh wouldn’t have needed yelling at again.

Actually, the last would probably have happened anyway. He was being an inconsiderate asshole with the physics capabilities of a five-year-old.

Again.

What happened was this. With so much of Atlantis still unexplored, and things being as quiet as they ever get (read: no one attacking them/trying to take over the city/trying to kidnap any of them) then Elizabeth had authorised John’s request for exploratory missions into areas identified as containing labs and/or other useful items. Zelenka had literally fallen over a console, which has then obligingly popped open the way some things did.

The jumble of things inside made sense to no one on first glance, although Rodney suspected at least two of the tubular items were meant to fit into some odd slots they’d found when investigating the lighting system. Lighting effects, maybe? A couple of the marines he and the other scientists had been assigned were commandeered from checking the rest of the lab for the kind of nasty surprises the Ancients sometimes left in the more dangerous rooms and told to move the new box of tricks up to  where the physicists usually worked.

It was all going so well until Rodney picked up an artefact, tried to turn it on and…nothing. “Oh for the love of whatever. Stupid damn thing won’t, why the hell, this is stupid—” he was turning the cuboid over and over, staring at it when John walked in. not his finest moment, muttering entreaties to the lump of almost soapy-feeling material in an attempt to get his gene to turn it on.

“Rodney, you’re talking to a lump of stone.”

“Oh, really, I hadn’t noticed. Is this what three days rest does to you, Colonel, turns you into someone incapable of saying anything but the most obvious observation?” All he gets is a raised eyebrow. Apparently John has become as used to ignoring the sarcasm frequently directed his way as Rodney has at ignoring how good John’s ass looks in his off-duty jeans.

“I’m just saying, you don’t usually do that. Not after….” He raises the eyebrow again as he counts the amount of empty coffee mugs on Rodney’s desk. “that much coffee, jeez McKay.”

“Are you done with the eyebrow-raising now? Only, some of us have very important work to do, which needs to be done, and I think -” oh great, he’s babbling. John’s grinning as well, the tilt of his head never a good thing. It spells trouble for Rodney.

“Important work?” Rodney nods curtly. “With this stuff?” Another nod as John gestures to the jumble of newly discovered artefacts now spread over three tables and being peered at by people Rodney feels sure are only here by accident, because their physics skills currently leave a lot to be desired. His aim is to keep agreeing until John looses interest and leaves, allowing Rodney to function at full grain capacity again. “Can I have a look?”

“Fine, fine, if you must. Just don’t get in my way.” Okay, not exactly how that was meant to go. Rodney is incapable of saying no when John looks comfortably dishevelled, meaning from running or sparring with Teyla, instead of having to run for his life and do other hopefully death-defying things. Rodney likes this look, but he doesn’t get to see it that often.

Which is not why, Rodney tells himself, he lets John move around the tables and touch various thing, talking to Rodney's underlings and often writing something in Ancient down for later translation. Rodney lets John loose in his lab for the good of the city, alright, because a rested Major means a Major more likely to successfully save their collective asses next time the shit hits the fan.

Or they go on a mission; it’s beginning to mean the same thing by now.

After three hours John’s finally finished poking around and - purposely, of course - getting in Rodney's way. He’s like that. The city can hold his attention for incredible lengths of time, far beyond what Rodney had first assumed he’d be able to stand still and just look at something for. The little pieces that make up Atlantis are no different; several times Rodney has had to physically drag John out a room and away from a new discovery.

Rodney’s reserved some of the more interesting looking pieces for himself, planning on trying to activate them later when there’s no one around, so he uses all his powers pf persuasion to get rid of John and the rest of the scientists. It’s not difficult. All he has to do is yell and threaten to make them work on their next rest day, and boom. Empty lab for the rest of the evening.

--

Food and one turned-down movie night invitation later, and Rodney’s back in his lab staring at the same cube of stone he was staring at earlier. This time, though, no John Sheppard comes barging in to interrupt his increasingly irate demands that the…whatever it is responds to his artificial gene. Atlantis’ apparent favouritism for natural gene-bearers does, in fact, go beyond that.

She’s shown a liking for John specifically, the strongest argument those who believe in such a thing have that Atlantis is sentient. Whereas others with the gene have to try several times for some of the consoles and doors to work, everything slides smoothly out of John’s way, or lights up happily for him. It’s this minorly frustrating thing that Rodney has in his head when he glares at the little cube in one last attempt at activating it.

Whether it’s the boost from his slight anger, or because he’s thinking about John so hard, Rodney doesn’t know. Doesn’t care, in fact, because now the stone is glowing softly and the Ancient version of porn is currently being displayed in, ohgod, glorious Technicolor on the walls of his lab. Graceful, elegant and so incredibly dirty, Rodney drops the oh-so-innocent seeming cube onto his desk with a clunk, backing up until his back hits the door.

“Well, that’s, um, huh. What?!” Atlantis gives him no answers. His frantic commands of “Off! Turn off! Switch off, end, finish” are both verbal and mental, and both have the same effect. That is to say, precisely nothing. And then, just because this universe hates Rodney with as much passion as it love John Sheppard, the images alter.

Ancient technology sometimes does this. It alters to better suit the user, like the music box that played at exactly the best tones for anyone who tried it, or the store of personal shields they found which upgraded in density after being used by their owner more than once, (John’s reached a state of density they couldn’t calibrate on any of the others, incidentally).

The alterations currently taking place in front of Rodney’s eyes are neither as interesting nor as useful as those examples, however, although they’re most certainly….fascinating. And incredibly mortifying. Apparently the  Ancient porn-projector personalises itself with images from the users’ head, and as all Rodney’s been imagining while jerking off for the last three months is John, he watches in mixed horror and appreciation as the previous images shift and wobble into surprisingly vivid representations of himself and said scruffy-haired flyboy.

He’s watching a highly plausible scene being enacted above Zelenka’s desk, in which John is engaged in attacking his mouth with those incredibly kissable lips of his, when it suddenly hits Rodney that the glint of metal that he can see isn’t something on the wall, but actually the simulated reflection off John’s dog tags. Rodney gives his head a sharp shake, trying to get rid of the images before they cause the death of so many brain cells that he won’t be able to look at John without seeing him laid out of a bed, all long limbs and taught muscle.

Possibly too late now.

His efforts to turn off the cube are as pointless as they were before, leaving him staring at a glazed-looking John who seems very happy about being on his knees and sucking Rodney off. “This is so not fair. It has to be a form of torture on some planets, somewhere. Or even whole galaxies." No one should look that good even still half-dressed, although that particular image Rodney happened to know was, in fact, true.

There were only so many times you could share a room with a guy and not look, even if you happened to be straight. Which Rodney was not, something his alter-ego on the walls was taking very seriously, if the way he was fucking a blessed-out John was any indication.

Now, here’s the thing about Rodney McKay. Intelligent, yes, even a genius, and certainly well able to perform difficult repairs under very stressful situations, but when it comes to actual people he’s not so hot. Like, when it comes to remembering that his friends tend to assume he’s going to be working late if he declines a movie invite, and they usually send someone looking for him.

Someone who doesn’t need to touch the doors to open them, someone who just thinks a fleeting thought and…the door slides open behind Rodney, sending him sprawling flat on his back with no little shock. He can only blink at John for a moment, while John does the same down at him. Then he holds out a hand and helps heft Rodney to his feet.

Rodney knows the instant John looks over his shoulder and sees the inside of the lab, covered in amazingly realistic porn. If he was thinking properly, he’d be concerned with how the Ancients managed to get the cube to produce the images, what it’s made of, and can they be replicated (minus the porn) for use recording stuff on missions. But he’s not. Instead, Rodney is thinking about how John looks sexier standing in the middle of the lab, looking amused and something Rodney can’t identify, than the five other John’s currently either getting/giving the blowjob of their lives, being fucked senseless or doing the same thing to Rodney, or pressing Rodney against a wall for mind-blowing kisses.

Rodney can tell exactly what’s going on in that last one, because it happens to be his favourite fantasy. He stands by the door, barely registering the soft swish and click of it shutting again, and watches John watch them. He has no words, biting sarcasm or twisting equations, nothing to explain this away. John’s not stupid, not matter what sort of persona he projects. A glance at Rodney’s scribblings on one of the boards tells him some stuff (the failed attempts at turning other stuff on), and the going cube perched on Rodney’s desk tells him the rest.

As will sometimes happen in Atlantis, other sounds fade away from them. The hum of circuits, the hush-hush of water on the breakers, all of it fades. John turns on his heels slowly, body tense in a way Rodney doesn’t recognise from any perilous situation, which is a little worrying because he’s got all of Sheppard’s reactions memorised, to get a headstart in the running if needs be. Applying Sheppard to John, though, seems not to work in this instance.

In the end he has to speak. John’s still looking, and that’s worrying enough to make Rodney want to get his attention off the images. “I, uh, I got it working. Finally.”

“Now who’s stating the obvious?” John’s smile is entirely too sharp for Rodney’s peace of mind, the kind he wears before seriously screwing over the resident evil dictator or wiping out a platoon of Wraith darts with one puddlejumper. It’s his reckless smile, and Rodney equates it with injuries. “That is, technically, true, but I think you need to remember that—”

He needs to remember nothing, not with John moving, no, slinking towards him like some sort of overgrown cat, except a cat would never look that good in dark jeans and a t-shirt clinging to places Rodney wants to touch so badly his hands ache from keeping them still. Then his back is against the wall again, John close against him from chest to knee, close enough for heat to build rapidly between them but not quite close enough.

“Let me guess,” John’s voice is, surprisingly, exactly the same as normal. Not dropped into the lower register, not husky or honeyed or anything like what Rodney had imagined in the dark with his hand around his dick. It’s just John, and wow is that even hotter, “you thought, military, therefore straight or repressed.” John’s using big words. Rodney can’t handle big words not even two inches away from the man he tried and failed not to fall for.

“Duh. Any reason why I shouldn’t have though that?” Oh good, some brain cells still work.

“Aside from the fact that I’ve been flirting with you since I threw you off that balcony?” Those last few brain cells of Rodney’s commit mass suicide at the realisation that yes, John has been flirting with him, and the subsequent realisation that if he hadn’t realised, then maybe he isn’t as clever as he’s always known himself to be.

“Relax, McKay, you’re still a genius.” John still manages to be infuriatingly good at reading him even when leaning in to close the last slim gap separating them. “Just not that great with people.”

Rodney manages a glare just before John’s lips close on his, but it’s half-hearted. Not even close to his usual glares, but with John’s tongue doing wonderful things to is own Rodney feels no worries about it. Later, but not now. Not with John, still sounding exactly like John, biting along the column of his neck to say in his ear “I guess the one above Zelenka’s desk is your favourite, right?”

“Nnngh?” John pulls back at Rodney’s inarticulate moan and moves to his left slightly. The image of porn!John shoving porn!Rodney up against a wall, still dressed in their field gear, is now larger than life and has moved to the very centre of the room. John moves to stand behind Rodney, both of them taking…well, themselves in. strong arms wrap around Rodney’s waist, holding him still.

“I’m not straight, Rodney. Or repressed. Just in love with a guy who was too oblivious to notice.”

Rodney regains enough higher brain function to realise something of huge, nay, giant importance was said there. “What? But you, I don’t, you just—”

“Right now, do you want to talk about it, or have sex?”

“Oh, give me a hard question, please.” Rodney snorts, biting the words out with a little of his natural abrasiveness and feeling Jon’s arms pull tighter around him. “Hey, wait, if you think I’m having sex with you for the first time here, forget it, disgustingly hot flyboy or not.”

John’s chuckle ghosts over Rodney’s neck and makes him shiver. “No, Rodney, not here. Not this time, anyway.” They get to the door, hands wandering pretty far in the few moments before they get out into the open and have to at least act normal. John flashes a smile that is way too knowledgeable for Rodney’s liking before reaching out to open the door the way every non-gene carrier does, but a split-second before he touches the control panel Rodney grabs his hand.

“Think maybe you could turn the porn off before we go?”

“I dunno, I was thinking we could send Ronon and Teyla down here for something.”

Rodney scoffs. “Those two? Not a chance in hell.” John lopes over to Rodney’s desk, making the image of them still playing out just above the floor ripple gently, and picks up the cube thoughtfully. “Opposites attract, right?” he says, eyes and smile full of mischief as he tosses Rodney the cube, tiling his head at it halfway over.

The images vanish and then he’s there, right next to Rodney as he stares at the unoffending lump of stone. “Look at us. We work well, and you’re nothing like me.” Rodney ignores the personal stuff there – later, John said, so later it is – and rolls his eyes.

“I use my intelligence, you mean?”

“Nah. You’re not as cool.”

Rodney glares, feeling a bit put out when he manages to make it as fierce as his everyday glare, good for scaring technicians and lower level scientists, but John just smiles at it and gives him a kiss that’s more of a lick, really. The glare slips away, and try as he might during the quick transport and quicker walk to John’s quarters, he can’t make it come back.

Once inside, John fixes him with a look as instance as those he gives possible points of attack, and narrows his gaze considering at the cube still clutched in Rodney’s hand. He says: “Hey, Rodney?” like he’s further away than two foot.

“Yes, yes, standing right here, what now?”

When John’s gaze flicks up to meet Rodney’s, Rodney can’t help but suck in a sharp breath. John’s expression is purely predatory now. His tongue flicks over his lower lip before he speaks. Still only John, no special ‘sex-voice’, and it’s so maddeningly hot that Rodney wants him naked, on the bed, now. But John’s taking the cube from Rodney’s limp grip and speaking.

“How flexible do you think I really am?”