As such, Rodney came prepared, complete with detailed reports about their power capacity, long-term projections for the city’s viability, and specific ideas regarding their future. He didn’t expect Dr. Weir to care about those reports, but he wanted them on the record. That way, when she asked him what he’d been doing for the last few months, Rodney could just point and smirk.

“Good morning,” Dr. Weir murmured as Rodney found a seat next to John. The Major smiled briefly but warmly as Rodney sat down, passing over a cup of not-coffee he’d reserved for the scientist.

“Please tell me you have something to say,” John whispered to Rodney before the meeting got started.

“When have I ever been speechless during a meeting?” Rodney retorted with a smirk. “Dare I ask why you want to know?”

“She wanted me to give a report,” John replied. “And you know what happens whenever I open my mouth in these things; either you, her, or Teyla rips me a new orifice. It’s getting old. If you have enough to say, we won’t spend much time on me.”

Rodney rolled his eyes at John, but his brain was already working overtime. “Forewarn me, then. What idiotic little bon mots do you plan to excrete for us today?”

John snickered at Rodney’s biting humor. “Nothing new; we need an offensive strategy regarding the Wraith. I’m thinking reconnaissance on their culling habits, maybe some more intensive searches for anti-Wraith weaponry, that kind of thing.”

Rodney started to speak, but John interrupted him. “Not that I don’t think looking for Ancient tech is worthless, but right now we’re in the same boat as the Ancients—stuck in Atlantis. I think we can do better.”

Rodney merely lifted one eyebrow. “I’m not disagreeing with you,” He stated, just as Dr. Weir began the meeting.

The beginning of the meeting was so typical Rodney almost fell asleep through it; he knew that hearing about how this and that was going, and who was complaining about the thread count on the sheets was important, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It wasn’t until Dr. Weir called on him that Rodney actually perked up.

“I have a series of reports prepared,” Rodney said, bringing the first of them up on the room’s projection screen. “As you can see, we currently have adequate power production capacity. Along with what we have stored, and factoring in normal power usage, we should be covered for at least another nineteen months—unless something happens.”

“Define something,” John demanded. “As in, we turn on too many lights, or we have another unplanned invasion?”

“Are we planning to have an invasion?” Rodney countered dryly. “Meaning, if we don’t try to really do anything but continue to live in the city as we are now, and no catastrophes occur, and we don’t have any significant breakdown of equipment, and so on and so forth.”

“That’s a lot of contingencies,” John murmured, his commentary drawing nods and worried looks from the other scientists at the table.

“Which is why I propose we bolster our resources,” Rodney said. “Right now we can’t afford to do enough research on the technology in Atlantis, so we don’t know for sure what’s lying around here. Building the matrix generators used up most of our chemical supplies, we’re still running on a finite amount of ammunition for our Earth-based armaments and if anyone’s forgotten, there’s a bunch of Wraith in the system, waiting for another shot at us.”

“We know all this, Rodney,” Dr. Weir said. “Do you have anything new to add?”

“A suggestion,” Rodney snapped. “Our recent missions have been about food and now we’re doing well in that area. It’s past time we started focusing on a way to get rid of the Wraith. Yes, yes, I know we’re already working on that, but we’re either thinking too big, too small, or in the wrong direction. What we need is something that is going to work now, and work well, against them.”

Several people started to interrupt, but Rodney ran right over them. “Failing that, we need to trade for more supplies. Raw materials and the like, things we can use to keep this place running. At the same time, we need to trade for information.”

“We already do that,” One linguist pointed out. “That’s not new.”

“No,” Rodney argued, “We trade for the location of Ancient sites or for possible access to ZedPMs. We need information on the Wraith. When have they visited a planet? Did they cull or destroy? How did a civilization devise a certain type of weapon? Any information like that is useful.”

“Again, we’ve been doing that,” Dr. Weir remarked.

“Not in the last month, since there haven’t been any missions,” Rodney pointed out. “And before that, all the missions were about food. We stopped seriously looking for information and technology months ago—at least, beyond something that would keep us alive before the Wraith came. Once we built the generators, we stopped looking altogether.”

“We’ve also been sticking mostly to planets the Athosians visit,” John added quietly. “Which is good, because the last place we went that was new? Well, it didn’t go so well. Thing is, most everyone the Athosians know are victims of the Wraith. There have to be planets out there that have had some success against the Wraith, without using an Ascended guard dog or the Genii’s tactics.”

Teyla jumped in at that point, discussing how her trading allies could provide the desired information about the Wraith. Then the linguists informed the meeting that they had the information, they just didn’t know anyone had wanted it—it was tied up in the reports the anthropologists had given them. John and Rodney sat back and watched the room turn into a slightly civilized shouting match, with Dr. Weir as hapless referee.

“Think this will get us back on real missions and not glorified shopping trips?” John asked Rodney.

“Probably,” Rodney replied brightly. “If only to keep us away from everyone else. We stir up trouble too easily.”

•••

“There’s no rule saying I have to like it,” Carson insisted from his corner of the couch. “And I don’t, just so you know.”

Rodney sighed and beat his head against his pillow. This argument wasn’t precisely how he’d wanted to spend his evening, but it wasn’t exactly avoidable. “Duly noted, and just so you know, we’re going anyway.”

“I’m well aware of that,” Carson snipped. “And yes, I realize it’s important, imperative and all-around necessary for you to go traipsing off to strange planets looking for a way to obtain...saltpetre, was it? Or aluminium, or maybe it was bauxite; I never can tell what it is you think you need.”

“Carson,” Rodney growled impatiently, “If we don’t start going on missions again, we’ll end up in the same position the Ancients were in, just with no way to get out of here.”

The sigh that followed told Rodney quite a bit about Carson’s state of mind. Rodney himself was anxious about leaving the city but what else could they do? They weren’t quite self-sustaining, not yet. Until they came up with a more stable supply of raw materials and power, the city was in a very tenuous position. “I promise to stay away from strange buildings not of distinctly Ancient design, if it helps any.”

“It doesn’t,” Carson said quickly. “A perfectly normal, modern building could contain a dozen—or a hundred—hostile humans, which is just as bad as a strange, old temple with faulty programming.”

“Neither of us is going to win this argument,” Rodney stated as the door to his quarters slid open. John stepped through and shut the door, locking it with a thought.

“What argument?” John asked as he glanced between Carson and Rodney. The two men were arranged very casually but their expressions were anything but relaxed.

Rodney huffed humorlessly. “The one where Carson gets upset that we’re going off-world again.”

John grimaced. “That one, right.”

Carson glared at John. “You’re as much at fault for this as he is. Hell, you probably want to go away and risk your life trying to buy weapons and I know I’m being unreasonable but don’t you see?” He grated out, hands curling into fists.

John edged towards a nearby chair and sat down. “I think so,” He murmured, looking at Rodney for support. “But you’re the doctor here, Carson, the one who understands the PTSD Heitmeyer insists we all have. What are we supposed to do?”

“What does she know?” Carson grumbled meanly. “Have you ever tried explaining to her that you hate being at home because you don’t trust your own city not to try to kill you?”

“Not that it hasn’t tried a few times already,” Rodney commented. “She’s doing her best, but even Heitmeyer thinks we’re ready to go out on missions again.”

“She’s biased,” Carson shot back. “Dr. Weir and her are great friends and it’s all for the good of the city.”

“Catch-22,” John said, mostly to himself. “You’re right, Rodney, this argument won’t be won, not by anybody.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Carson remarked. “Not saying it was going to eat me up inside, when I’m stuck here and you two are off...”

Rodney glared at the ceiling. “We wanted to fix that, you know. It really is stupid not to have a trained medic on our team, considering how frequently we get shot at, poisoned, or wounded in some strange way.”

“She did say she’d think on it,” John reminded Rodney. “We told her we wanted you with us on the missions.”

“Me?” Carson mumbled, blinking. “I’m terrible at missions.”

“No, you’re not,” Rodney countered. “If you were terrible at missions, you wouldn’t have made it back after the last one.”

John nodded in agreement. “You kept your head—and came up with some pretty good ideas. And you got back, which says a lot.”

“I’ve got work here,” Carson told them. “Things I can’t do off-world.”

“So do we,” Rodney reminded Carson. “It probably won’t matter; I doubt she’ll approve the suggestion.”

“Anyway,” John said, “You asked me to come by, but I doubt it was to mediate an argument.”

“Carson, have you ever noticed that he slips in big words when there aren’t any grunts around?” Rodney said, turning onto his side.

“I’ve never really thought about it,” Carson admitted. “But you do have a point.”

“So we’re here to discuss my vocabulary?” John inquired. “Or maybe some other equally irrelevant topic?”

“How have you been sleeping lately?” Rodney asked, ignoring John’s snarkiness.

John was momentarily thrown by the question. “The same,” He said, not bothering to lie. The few hours he’d spent here had been more restful than any night since, and John suspected the other two knew it.

“So we’re that distasteful?” Carson wondered out loud, frowning.

“I didn’t say that,” John replied, mystified at how Carson came to that conclusion. “I’m really not following you,” He admitted.

Rodney’s expression quickly turned to the one he used when he told someone just how stupid they were. “You slept well enough when you were here—better than usual, at any rate. So if you’d rather sleep poorly alone than sleep well with company, it’s the company that’s determining how well and where you sleep. It’s not a difficult conclusion.”

John frowned severely. “But not the right one,” He argued. “I can’t just barge in here and crawl into bed whenever I have bad dreams, McKay. I’m not a little kid.”

“We’re well aware of that,” Carson stated. “I think you’re missing the point, John. We’re all suffering the same thing. Rodney and I have an easier time of it because we’re rarely alone at night, but we still have the dreams.”

“And don’t think you bothered us, because you didn’t,” Rodney added. “We don’t just dream about Carson dying, you know. You star in your fair share of nightmares.”

That last statement made John look up. Both Carson and Rodney were looking right back at him with open, honest expressions. He’d never really considered that they might have fears of their own—they’d certainly never mentioned them. It was hard, though, to go through the days and nights when his body was a constant reminder of what he’d been put through. No matter how fascinated John was with what he could do with his new self, the fact remained that he hadn’t asked for it. His mind railed against the injustice of imposed change and somewhere in his suffering John had lost sight of the fact that two other people were also involved.

He wasn’t sure that meant he should be sleeping with them.

“As nice as it is to have you wanting to help,” John began, pushing himself out of the chair, “I think I can handle this myself.”

Rodney rolled out of bed and glided across the floor, utilizing a type of partial change John had never seen the man attempt before. John was just distracted enough by the maneuver that Rodney actually reached him, grabbing onto his upper arms and leaning in close. Out of the corner of his eye, John could see Carson coming over to where they were.

“Maybe we don’t want you to handle it by yourself,” Rodney said forcefully. “Or are you so dense you can’t figure out what we’re trying to say?”

Carson placed his hands over Rodney’s, gently prizing them off John’s arms. “Perhaps he doesn’t want to understand, or thinks saying no will hurt us, Rodney.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “John’s not that tactful, not where we’re concerned.” He let Carson pull him back, but kept his gaze on John’s face. “We want you here, John, and not out of pity or some misplaced sense of responsibility. Neither of us are masochists.”

“We like you,” Carson said simply, continuing to keep hold of Rodney’s hands. “If we didn’t, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

John’s eyes darted between Rodney’s and Carson’s faces. He couldn’t think, not with the two of them looking at him like that. It was too much to think about anyway, even without them staring at him like they wanted him there, and not just for dinner conversation. “I, ah...It’s getting late. I need to go away and think now,” He mumbled, backing away from them and thinking the door open. “See you in the morning.”

The door shut firmly, leaving Carson and Rodney alone. “That went...” Carson began, stopping when he realized he wasn’t sure how to describe what had just gone on. All he knew was that John was confused and aching.

“Somewhere,” Rodney murmured as Carson led him to bed. Somewhere very strange, he added silently.

•••

The next morning brought another meeting, this one slightly less contentious than the previous day’s had been. Most of the improvement was due to the absence of Dr. Weir, who had more pressing matters to attend to, so John and Rodney met with Teyla, Ford and their re-formed second off-world team to hash out their upcoming missions.

“You’re sure they produce these chemicals?” Rodney asked skeptically. “The last time we were there, nobody mentioned it.”

Teyla sighed. “The last time we visited, the purpose was food. They don’t have advanced weapons, so I doubt anyone thought to trade for things that, at the time, we didn’t need.”

“Now we need this stuff,” John murmured, “And a list of their trading partners.” He ignored the warmth emanating from Rodney, who was situated right next to him. John hadn’t slept the night before, but it wasn’t due to nightmares. No, every time he closed his eyes, John felt echoes of Rodney’s hands on him and he couldn’t help but remember the frustration and want he could feel in the other man’s touch. Rodney had wanted him, but it hadn’t been pure lust and John wasn’t sure he understood. Or maybe he did and didn’t want to, because letting himself believe Rodney wanted him for anything opened John up to a lot of pain. And then there was Carson, who looked calmer but in their very brief contact turned out to be more nervous but just as wanting as Rodney had been.

John wished he could lie with his body the way he could lie with his voice; that way Rodney and Carson wouldn’t know everything he wanted to hide, just by brushing against him. It was easy enough to block what he got out of physical contact when the other person was human, but with those two the best he could do was dim it slightly or project a confusing mixture of other emotions.

“So...” Ford said as he studied the mission briefing, “When are you gonna practice that bird-thing again?”

“Bird-thing?” John echoed softly.

“Yeah,” Ford confirmed, grinning. “I wanna watch.”

John stared at his Lieutenant, wondering what level of damage he could inflict without getting thrown in the brig. “Contrary to popular belief,” Rodney spat, glaring at Ford, “We aren’t here for your amusement.”

Ford sighed dramatically. “Come on, McKay. Don’t be a spoilsport. The bird-thing was fun, right? I mean, you looked like you were having fun. I guess you could try something else—like dolphins. Yeah, dolphins would be cute.”

“Cute,” John murmured. “Cute? Ford, shut up.”

“Maj—

“Shut up,” Rodney said, interrupting whatever idiocy Ford was about to spew. “Although I normally have great disdain for military hierarchy, in this instance I firmly believe that following your commanding officer’s orders is a fine, even brilliant, idea. So shut up before you dig yourself a hole out of which you cannot climb.”

Ford scowled but remained silent, his glare deepening when he saw that Teyla was barely suppressing a grin at his predicament.

All too soon, however, the meeting adjourned. John was relieved when Rodney muttered something about going to do real work in his lab, as that meant he could put off any serious conversation with the man until later. Much later, John hoped quite desperately. Of course, without Rodney to take up his time, Ford would have plenty of it to use harassing John into giving him some sort of punitive duty.

Ford was, in fact, winding up to say something frustratingly stupid. John cut him off, thought. “Lieutenant, Stackhouse and Bates have utterly fubarred the duty rosters for security patrols around the generators and the greenhouses. Go fix it.”

“Yes, sir,” Ford said, obviously disappointed at being given such an assignment. He marched off to find the Sergeants, slightly mollified by being given the opportunity to yell at someone.

“He means no harm,” Teyla chided John as they exited the meeting room. “It is his way of coping with change.”

John grimaced. “I know that; he needs to learn that there are limits, at least for him.”

“As there are not for others?” Teyla asked, obviously amused. “Dr. McKay is given more latitude.”

“Dr. McKay has earned that freedom,” John replied. “And he’s got both the seniority and the balls to take it anyway. Ford’s doesn’t have the constitution to put up with the backlash from that kind of thing.”

“True,” Teyla admitted. “You and Rodney seem to be on better terms.”

John shrugged but said nothing. His relationship with Rodney, whatever it was, wasn’t anyone’s business but theirs.

And Carson’s.

•••

John stood in Rodney’s room, feeling distinctly idiotic.

He was the only one there, which instead of making John feel better, was the source of his problem.

It had taken all his courage to walk from his own room to Rodney’s. Once there, John had stared at the door for a good five minutes, hoping he could decide whether to go in or go home before one of his soldiers walked by. It was the very sound of one approaching that drove John into Rodney’s quarters.

Where he found no one.

John had come here to get a nice, solid answer out of Rodney and Carson regarding what they hell they were doing to him. He was already confused and shaken and barely hanging onto himself and now they were throwing things at him he couldn’t handle. Once upon a time, they liked him. Then he fucked up and they hated him.

During their extended jaunt through a very psychedelic hell, John thought they’d forgiven him. Then they got back and maybe he hadn’t been forgiven after all.

And then they liked him again, at least a little. They were nice, they joked; Rodney insulted him like he used to, without heat. Carson smiled at him like he meant it and not like he wanted to stick a catheter up his dick.

Then John found himself drifting in and out of sleep one morning, with Carson weighing down his right arm and Rodney’s head tucked into his left shoulder. He’d never pictured either man as particularly tactile, not until then. They were peaceful in their slumber, skin drifting in a muted pattern of relaxation and nothingness. If they were dreaming, it wasn’t anything notable. John could see how having someone nearby would make the nightmares easier to handle.

None of those things were helping John, who was standing in the middle of Rodney’s living area, staring at a neatly made bed and thinking maybe this was fate’s way of telling him he should just go back to his room and forget about what they’d said earlier.

They were in Carson’s room, a small voice in John’s head suggested. After all, they did have both rooms to choose from and Carson’s room had the good chess set. John remembered that from before, prior to when all of this weirdness had started.

John spun on his heel and marched out of the room, making sure to lock it behind him. He was going to go back to his own quarters, pick up one of the few books sitting around, and read himself into oblivion. If that didn’t work, he’d work out duty rosters for the next year or two. Or maybe he’d try his hand at learning Ancient, or maybe work on Rodney’s sekoy’e-English dictionary. Maybe he could scrub his shower.

Thinking about ways to distract himself from the issue at hand was distracting enough that John didn’t realize where he was going until a door slid open in front of him and he’d put one foot into the room behind it.

It wasn’t his.

“We were beginning to think you weren’t gonna show,” Rodney commented as he moved a pawn. Carson checked out Rodney’s move and countered before looking over at John.

“Could you close the door?” He asked casually.

John frowned bemusedly and stepped into the room. Well, there went the avoidance angle. “Um...”

“So, did you do your thinking?” Rodney inquired from his seat at the chessboard. “Or is this official business?”

“It’s a bit late to go gallivanting around Atlantis shaped like rodentia,” Carson commented, referring to a rather ill-conceived idea Bates had brought up earlier that day.

“Should I go?” John murmured, waving one hand in the direction of the door. “If I’m interrupting...”

Rodney wondered why John lost every scrap of confidence when he was alone with the two of them. It probably had to do with John’s insistence that he fucked things up with alacrity. “Stay,” Rodney ordered. “In fact, have a seat.”

“I like standing,” John stated defiantly. “So...”

“Thinking,” Carson prompted. “Did you do any?”

“Yeah,” John said, “I did.”

“And?” Rodney pressed.

“Why?” John asked, even though he didn’t want to know why. He just wanted out of the room. Unfortunately, not knowing would really throw a kink into the whole ‘get back to normal’ thing he was trying to accomplish.

“Why?” Rodney and Carson said together, their voices considerably louder than John’s had been.

“You know,” Rodney began, sounding rather put-upon, “This horse has been flogged, beaten, whipped, kicked, cursed and stoned so far past death it’s barely recognizable as an equine.”

John’s expression went from nervous and uncomfortable to adorably confused. “Erm...”

Carson wondered if Rodney was shifting himself around to make his eyes roll like that. “We want you. Here. With us,” Rodney said, using very small words. “We like you. A lot, despite the fact that you can be a really big jerk.”

“It’s not a difficult concept to grasp,” Carson continued, sounding just the tiniest bit bitchy. “Stay here, or don’t.”

“It’s not that simple,” John said, a little angry at their flippancy. “You two are--”

“Asking you to stay,” Carson interjected. “We’re asking for a chance.”

John blinked. “A chance? At what?”

“To see what might’ve happened if you’d stayed around before,” Rodney supplied. “Maybe you’re right and it never would’ve worked. We happen to think you’re rather incredibly wrong, though.”

“If you don’t want us, it’s not really an issue,” Carson said reasonably. He stood up from the chessboard and approached John, moving slowly so he wouldn’t startle the obviously near-panicking man.

“Although, you know,” Rodney murmured, moving from his place at the table to stand just behind John, “I doubt that’s in question.”

John stared at the wall behind Carson’s head and willed himself to stay where he was, even though every bit of his being wanted to turn to dust and fly away. He was tight, vibrating in fear and uncertainty and he could feel them, just beyond the borders of his clothing.

He was cold and shaking, and they were so warm and calm. All he had to do was step forward and meet Carson’s hands, or rock backward and lean against Rodney’s solid strength. Forward or back and wasn’t that the rub? He couldn’t choose, couldn’t move. Stuck, impaled on his own fear. John was the fulcrum, what-might-be balanced on his mind.

John closed his eyes and willed one of them to move, to hear his brain screaming that he wanted this, but he couldn’t take it himself. Years of discipline prevented John from grabbing hold; they needed to place it in his hands before he dared hold on. Nothing he latched onto remained for long; maybe if they brought it to him instead...

Two broad and strong, yet different, hands found his and John opened his eyes.

Carson stepped forward, leaning into John as he tilted his head upwards. John was pushed back a half-step before he hit Rodney. Sandwiched between the two of them, John had nowhere to go so when Carson’s free hand reached up to find its way around the back of John’s head, he let himself be brought down. A steady arm wrapped around John’s midsection, holding him back against Rodney’s chest and Carson’s mouth was slick, warm and welcoming. Rodney was kissing the back of John’s neck and John wanted to turn around and return the caress but Carson was distracting. Both of them were distracting, their bodies hard and blatantly aroused. He could feel it, on and in and through the clothes they projected around themselves. Rodney was a dizzy blend of arousal and impatience; Carson, though more patient, was also more forceful. John felt his knees try to buckle but Carson’s hand simply shifted to his waist, arm going ‘round to hold him up.

“Get rid of these,” Rodney ordered, plucking at John’s clothes. John tilted his head back, breaking his kiss with Carson as Rodney’s lips trailed upwards to his ear, sucking at the perfect spot high on his neck. They were moving, albeit slowly and John was pretty sure they were going to the bed but Carson’s hands were sliding under his shirt. The shirt Rodney wanted gone. John was enjoying the way Carson’s hands were touching him, like he meant something, so it wasn’t until Rodney found John’s erection through his trousers that anything came of the demand to get naked.

John let his clothes fade back into himself and was momentarily embarrassed to be the only one naked, Rodney’s clothes alternately slick and rough against his back and thighs. Then Carson pressed forward again and skin was sliding against him, front and back and John was inundated by the intensity of what he could feel from them.

Hands tugged this way and that and John was turning and falling. He closed his eyes against the blurry vision of skin and ceiling rushing past his eyes, not opening them until he was safely horizontal. Much to his surprise, it was Rodney facing him now and not Carson, who was plastered against John’s back.

“Hi,” Rodney murmured, cupping John’s face between his hands. Rodney kissed him deeply, drawing John into the act so well that he almost missed the way Carson was pushing his leg up and over Rodney’s hip. John groaned as his and Rodney’s cocks lined up and he thrust against the scientist, clutching at Rodney’s side with an embarrassingly shaky hand.

Carson was whispering something, but John was too caught up in being touched to translate the sounds into words. Fingers danced along the curve of his ass, dipping briefly to tease his hole. Then they were gone and Carson’s erection was demanding entrance. John’s head snapped back, a desperate protest forming in his throat. He could almost feel the pain, even before Carson really started to push.

“Shh,” Rodney hummed, stroking down John’s too-tense arms. “Just let him in,” He murmured against John’s cheek, still soothing and rocking against the man.

John swallowed nervously, still anticipating pain. It had been so long and why wasn’t there lube? John really liked lube; it was slick and slippery and helped so much when a guy was a little more than a little bit tight. Carson just kept nudging him, pushing him against Rodney and John wondered when he was going to get impatient and take.

Carson was talking again, this time using words John understood. “Let me in,” He pleaded softly, his voice shaky with desire. “This is new,” He continued, hands urging John on. “Forget how it used to be. Your body listens to you now, John.”

Memories of taste buds and cotton blends danced erratically through John’s brain and in a split-second John got it, just as Carson pushed again and he was still tight but not unbearably so. John groaned into Rodney’s mouth as Carson breached him and if he could make himself open surely he could oh god.

Rodney felt John scream, but the body he held wasn’t in any pain. John was so turned on, so electrifyingly aroused by having Carson inside him he was lost in it. Rodney thrust frantically against John, his own arousal magnified by John’s state.

John floated in a seething haze of pleasure, Carson drawing out and thrusting in while Rodney stroked him harsh and fast. He couldn’t be sure who was touching where, though, not when his body was one big sensation. The spot where Rodney’s fingers dug into his hip was as sensitive, as pleasure-filled as the head of his cock, even when Rodney’s erection was sliding along it.

A very tiny bit of John wondered, very briefly, if he shouldn’t be coming right about now. That thought brought itself into reality and orgasm struck, again and again and for once John truly understood that pleasure was felt in the brain because that’s where it started. Where it ended, he couldn’t tell because there wasn’t one, just jaw-dropping pleasure and delicious oblivion.

Carson paused when John’s body froze, even though he wanted to thrust the single time it would take to finish himself off. John was breathtaking in his pleasure, though; back arched, mouth open and sealed to Rodney’s. His scream was loud even with Rodney swallowing it down and Carson could see Rodney stroking himself off, John’s come slicking his hand. Finally, John’s body eased back from its peak and Carson moved, groaning brokenly as his cock was clasped by still-spasming muscles. When his own release started, Carson didn’t try to hold back, his cries blending with Rodney’s as they pressed against John, trying to get closer together.

John was aware, at some preconscious level, of the two men surrounding him. The sensation of their pleasure sent aftershocks through him, little jolts that kept John from going completely under. He winced as Carson withdrew, sighing under the soothing touch of both Rodney’s and Carson’s hands. They held him close, as though knowing as soon as he came down John would want to bolt.

The urge to run hit just then, but when John tried to get up, he was caught. Panic welled up but was smothered by the warmth of Rodney’s lips pressing against his and the comfort of Carson’s hand on John’s chest. He made one last, half-hearted effort to rise before succumbing to sleep, lulled by the susurrating murmur of familiar voices.