In Flagrante

"Rodney!" John whispered.

"What?" Rodney whispered back, his hand sliding up the inside of John's thigh, fingers edging beneath his boxers.

John took hold of his wrist and pulled his hand away, moving as far away as he could get on a double bed. "Your parents are in the next room," John hissed.

"So what? It's not like they don't know we sleep together."

Crossing his arms, John glared at him, knowing it wasn't probably going to have much impact in the darkened room. "No."

"We just have to be quiet."

John snorted. "You don't know how to be quiet."

"Sure, I do," Rodney said, inching forward.

"No, you don't." John backed away. As much as he liked Rodney's hands on him, Robert had finally stopped addressing him as 'you', and John liked having a name, although he wasn't entirely sure "Tufty" counted.

"It'll be fun. Trying to stay quiet, it'll give it an added intensity, another whole dimension." He inched closer.

Backing away, John said warningly, "Rod--" Then he hit the edge of the bed, his ass going over the side and landing on the floor.

"Rodney!" Marge called, sounding worried. "Everything okay in there?"

Rodney was leaning over the side, grinning down at John, who glared at him and rubbed his backside. "Everything's fine, Mom. John just bumped into the desk in the dark."

"Tell him to turn on a light," Robert bellowed.

"Yes, Dad," Rodney bellowed back.

John continued to glare at him.

"You going to get back in the bed?" Rodney asked in an annoyingly light tone. He didn't appear the least concerned for John's well-being.

Narrowing his eyes, John said, "I might've broken something."

"In your ass? By all means, let's wake up the house and take you to an emergency room."

"Hmmpff," John grunted and pulled himself up. He pointed at the far side of the bed. "Over there." Rodney looked up at him, all dimly lit blue eyes. "I mean it, McKay. Stay on your side of the bed or sleep on the floor."

A couple of slow blinks, during which Rodney apparently remembered that John could be a very dangerous man, and Rodney slid slowly back to his side of the bed. "Fine. But when you wake up horny in the morning, not having slept well because you didn't get to have an orgasm, just remember that I offered."

Climbing back into the bed, John wrapped his arms around his pillow and snuggled down into it. "I'll keep that in mind."

Settling onto his side facing John, Rodney was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Night, John."

"Good-night, Rodney."

Rodney sighed, and, cursing himself for being weak, John leaned in to kiss him good-night.

***

When John woke it was to the feel of suction, sweet, easy suction, the kind that invited him to lift his hips and--

"McKay," he hissed, sitting up and trying to pull his hips back, his dick from Rodney's mouth.

"Mmmm," Rodney answered, swirling his tongue over the head of John's cock.

"Stop it," John said, sliding further up the bed. "Stop it, right now."

Letting go with his mouth, Rodney wrapped his hand around John's cock and slowly stroked him. "You don't mean that."

John grabbed his wrist and pulled Rodney's hand from his cock. "We are not having sex in your parents' house. How many times do I have to say it?" Realization dawned and John added, "You have some sort of weird parent kink, don't you?"

"No, no, I do not have a weird parent kink. I have a you kink. We're on vacation. And vacation with your boyfriend, significant other, life partner, whatever the term of the week is, should mean sex."

"You just want to get laid."

Sitting back on his heels, Rodney crossed his arms over his chest. His bare chest. John tried not to notice how crossing his arms made Rodney's biceps bulge. "Yes, I do. What's wrong with that?"

"We're in your parents' house, that's what's wrong."

"And they're in another room, fast asleep." Rodney uncrossed his arms and placed a hand on John's leg, just above his knee. He slid his hand slowly upward. "Just let me finish what I started. You don't have to do me, just let suck you off. I'll take care of myself. It's not like I didn't spend years in this house learning not to make noise when I masturbated."

Talking about masturbating was a low blow and Rodney knew it. John shook his head, trying to clear it of images of a teenaged Rodney lying in this very room, his hand on his cock, getting himself off. "You have to stay quiet," John heard himself say.

"You can gag me if you want to."

John's dick twitched. He told it to give it up.

"There are bandanas in the dresser. You could use one of them," Rodney said.

"Bandanas? Carried a red one in your back pocket, did you?"

"Very funny," Rodney said. "I'm a child of the 80's, not 1970's San Francisco."

Rubbing Rodney's side with his foot, John said, "So what did you do with them?"

"I wore them. What do you think I did?"

Now John was picturing a teenaged Rodney, naked except for the bandana on his head, lying in the center of this bed, hand on his cock-- "Where are they?"

"Top drawer," Rodney answered, short and clipped, and clearly pleased with his victory. John tried to feel bad for being so easy. "My mother never throws away anything."

John stood and pushed the boxers Rodney had somehow managed to get part-way down his thighs to the floor. Crossing to Rodney's dresser, he pulled a slightly faded bandana from the top drawer and began rolling it diagonally as he returned to the bed. "Are you sure it'll fit around your head?"

"Of course, it'll fit." Rodney tugged the bandana from John's hands and wrapped it around his head, effectively gagging himself. "See?" he said, turning to show John where the ends met. At least that's what John assumed he'd said, it was hard to tell.

Grinning, John took the ends from Rodney's hands and tied them securely, sliding a finger between the bandana and Rodney's head, making sure it wasn't too tight. When he let go, Rodney slid into the center of the bed, stretching out and taking hold of the metal rods in the headboard.

John knelt on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to just enjoy the view. Rodney looked amazing stretched out like that, the moonlight--it was probably just light from the streetlamps coming through the curtains-- highlighting his soft, pale skin and the shadow between his legs.

Rodney shifted, tilting his hips and spreading his legs invitingly.

"Lube?" John asked, resting a hand on Rodney's thigh.

Rodney tilted his head in the direction of his pack.

Giving Rodney's thigh a quick squeeze, John rose to get the lube. His hand had just closed around it, when Rodney said, "There's rope in the closet."

Once again ignoring his dick, John turned to face him. "Rope?"

"Since I'm already gagged."

"You're talking."

"If I'm bound I won't be able to take the gag out."

John closed his eyes, trying to will away the image of a bound and gagged Rodney, one who couldn't offer a non-stop commentary, or grab John's hands and move them somewhere else before John was ready, a Rodney entirely at John's mercy.

John's cock was practically begging.

The curious part of him wanted to know why Rodney had rope in his boyhood closet.

His cock pointed out that it really didn't matter why as long as he did.

John thought that just this once his cock might have a point. Tossing the lube onto the bed, he went to the closet.

"Top shelf in the back."

Rising up onto his toes, John shoved aside a stack of small cardboard boxes to reveal a small coil of rope. Pulling it down, he took a length of it in his hands and tugged. It seemed strong enough. "Do I want to know why you had rope in your closet?" he asked, approaching the bed.

"I used it for experiments," Rodney said, his eyes on the rope in John's hands.

"I'm sure you did."

"Not for the ones I wanted to use it for. I didn't get laid much in high school."

"I am shocked to hear that."

"Shut up and start--"

John lifted the gag and placed it back in Rodney's mouth, then knelt with one knee on either side of Rodney's chest, his cock bumping Rodney's cheek as Rodney eagerly lifted his hands and once again took hold of the metal headboard. Looping the rope around Rodney's wrists and then around the headboard, John tried not to be distracted by the feel of Rodney's breath on his cock. Maybe he should've waited to re-gag him. Then again, being in Rodney's mouth would have distracted him, and John wasn't exactly an expert in rope-tying. Ends bound in what John hoped was a serviceable knot, he sat back on his heels and examined his handiwork.

Rodney had nice arms, really nice arms, strong and solid. They looked exposed somehow, stretched up over his head and tied in place. It was hot.

John stroked his cock, and Rodney made a muffled sound of protest. Smiling down at him, John said, "Don't worry, Rodney. I won't leave you hanging."

Furrowing his brow, Rodney glared at him in a way which clearly said, "You hadn't better."

Shifting backwards, John settled between Rodney's legs and reached for the lube. He was tempted to play with Rodney for a while, tease his nipples, suck his cock, maybe touch a few of the places Rodney never seemed to have the patience to let John explore, but he was painfully conscious of Marge and Robert sleeping just down the hall. Giving Rodney what he wanted and then getting back to sleep as quickly as possible was definitely the best course of action.

He squirted some lube onto his fingers.

Ten minutes later he was pressing his cock into Rodney, much to his cock's approval. It liked Rodney's ass. A lot. John suspected his cock was convinced Rodney's ass was pretty much the finest place in two galaxies that a cock could visit. It would probably move in and start rearranging furniture if he let it.

Not letting it wasn't easy, because John pretty much agreed with his cock. Rodney's ass was an incredible place to be, softer than velvet, but with a grip of steel. It even had a cushion for John's hipbones.

With Rodney staring up at him, panting around the gag, lifting his hips as much as the position would allow, John was pretty much gone, lost in a haze of lust and pleasure and Rodney that had him moving faster and harder, had him rocking the bed with the force of his thrusts.

Rodney just kept trying to thrust back.

Damn, they were good together.

Rodney's ass clutched at him and John wrapped a hand around Rodney's cock.

A groan escaped the gag and John thrust a little harder.

The bed shuddered.

John didn't notice.

The bottom half of the mattress collapsed, the baseboard hitting the floor with a loud, metallic clang.

"Fuck," John said, looking over his shoulder, his cock half-inside Rodney. Rodney made a noise John was pretty sure was agreement and John looked back at him. Rodney's eyes were widening with panic.

Marge's yell of "Rodney" was followed by a "son" from Robert. John could hear them running up the hallway.

They'd locked the door. He was pretty sure they'd locked the door. What if Rodney hadn't locked the door?

The doorknob turned but the door didn't open. Thank God.

"Rodney, are you okay?" Marge called.

"We're fine," John said, pulling his hips and gently sliding his rapidly-softening cock from Rodney's ass. "Just a little accident."

"At 4 a.m.," Robert yelled.

John winced. Rodney grunted and tilted his head toward the door. John slid from the bed and tugged the sheet out from under Rodney. Wrapping it around his waist, he opened the door just enough so he could peer out.

Marge was wearing a silky orange robe that matched the curlers in her hair. Robert had on a white t-shirt and a pair of bizarrely patterned boxers. Must run in the family, John thought before wrenching his eyes upward. "We're fine," he said, smiling his non-threatening smile. "Just a little problem with the bed. We're sorry we woke you, but we're fine. Really. You can go back to sleep," he added, frantically thinking these aren't the droids you're looking for.

Once again, the Force failed him.

"Where's Rodney?" Robert asked, looking at John like he'd just been molesting the man's son. Which he had.

"He's inside. In bed."

"So what's this little problem?" Robert asked, gazing steadily at him with those damn blue eyes. How those eyes could be so hot on Rodney and so scary on Robert, John had no idea, but at least now he knew where Rodney had gotten his suspicious look, the one that said, 'I am a thousand times smarter than you are so there is no point in trying to hide anything from me, ever.' Not that John had wanted to know where Rodney had gotten that look.

"I'll get Rodney for you," John said and closed the door, locking it.

Jogging the few feet to the bed, he pulled the gag from Rodney's mouth. "Tell your parents you're fine," John hissed, dropping the sheet and reaching for the ropes.

"I'm fine," Rodney yelled. "Go back to bed. I'll see you in the morning." Lowering his voice he whispered demandingly, "Didn't you use a slipknot?"

"I thought I did. You tightened it with all your pulling."

"I only pulled because you thought it was hot."

John had thought that watching Rodney tugging on the ropes had been hot, but that was beside the point. "I did not."

"Yes, you did. I could see it in your face. Now come on."

"Hold still."

"I am holding still."

"Rodney," Marge yelled.

"Good-night, Mom," Rodney yelled back, adding, "I think we'll take you out to breakfast tomorrow."

"You know you don't have to do that."

"Least we can do," Rodney called, glaring at John, whose fingers promptly slipped off the rope he was trying to work free.

"Do you have a knife?"

"Do I look like Ronon? Why in the world would I have a knife in my bedroom?"

"You had rope." John tugged and part of the rope came free of the knot. "I think I've--"

The door opened.

Marge covered her eyes.

Robert yelled something that John couldn't quite make out.

John said, "This isn't what it looks like."

"It looks like you're performing a kinky gay sex act on my son," Robert answered, holding up the hairpin he'd used to open the lock even as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Pointing at Rodney, John said, "It was his idea."

"I need tea," Marge said and scurried from the room, although John was pretty sure that pause in the doorway was an excuse to look at things your mother-in-law should never, ever see. He immediately decided not to think about it ever again.

"Why is it always my fault?" Rodney said. "If you'd just agreed to have sex with me when we first went to bed, I'd never have had to resort to--"

"Waking me up with a blowjob," John interrupted.

"Most men like waking up to a little fellatio."

Robert covered his ears and started for the door.

"A little fellatio? You suck like a Hoover," John said.

"You've never complained before," Rodney answered, then added in a softer voice. "He's gone."

"Oh, thank God." Leaning over, he rested his forehead on the top of Rodney's head. "I'm never going to be able to get it up again."

"And you think I am?" Rodney tugged his bindings. "Come on. Untie me."

"Stop tightening them."

***

Fifteen minutes later, clad in jeans and a t-shirt, John ventured into the kitchen. Marge and Robert were sitting at the table sipping tea. "I, um, I need to borrow a knife."

Marge rose and wordlessly handed him the long, scary knife he'd watched her use to peel potatoes.

"Thanks," he said, offering her a smile.

She scowled at him, and John slunk from the room.

***

The next time John slunk into the kitchen, he made Rodney go first.

"Good morning," Rodney said, taking the seat at the table opposite his father, leaving John to sit next to the scary man whose son he'd just been molesting.

Scowling, John sat, just as Robert said, "It's 4:30. What's good about 4:30? The cows aren't even up yet."

"How would you know? It's not as if you've ever milked a cow," Rodney answered, getting up and pouring two mugs of tea. "Besides, you could have gone back to bed."

"After an adrenaline surge like that? I don't think so."

"Look," John said, because he had to, "I just want you to know that what you walked in on, that's not normal for us. We're usually pretty vanilla, for gay guys."

Rodney snorted and put a mug of Earl Gray in front of John.

"We are," John insisted.

"Only because we never have time for anything else," Rodney answered, sitting.

"I just want your parents to know that I don't, you know--"

Reaching across the table, Marge patted his hand. "It's okay if you do, dear, as long as he wants it, too."

"I didn't even like guys before Rodney," John grumbled.

Marge smiled; Rodney snorted; and Robert said, "So you're saying my son turns men queer."

"What? No." John shook his head. Leave it to a McKay to twist things all around. "I'm saying that he-- that I--"

"It's because he sucks like a Hoover, isn't that what you're saying?"

"No. No, that is not what I'm saying."

"He gets that from me," Marge said, smiling proudly at Rodney.

"I'm saying I love him," John said, his voice unusually loud.

Marge smiled even more brightly; Rodney ducked his head; and Robert said, "Why didn't you just say so?"

John dropped his head to the table.

"Breakfast," Robert said to Rodney. "You said you were buying."

"I was trying to keep you out of my bedroom. Something at which I failed. Spectacularly."

"You still offered."

John shook his head, rubbing his forehead against the table.

Finally, Marge and Robert went off to get ready for breakfast and John stood to clear the mugs from the table. He was pouring the last of his tea down the sink when Rodney came over and stood so close he was practically on John's toes.

"So--" Rodney said. "You, um--" Then, apparently having given up on words, he kissed John quickly and wrapped his arms around John's shoulders. Cup still in his hand, John hugged him back.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," Rodney said so quietly John wasn't entirely sure he'd heard correctly.

"Your parents have seen me naked."

Rodney patted him reassuringly. "We'll stay in a hotel tonight."

"Okay," John agreed, holding on a little more tighlty.

But they were taking the rope.

And a bandana.