Sixty-Eight by alyse [ - ]
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Category: Stargate: Atlantis > Slash
Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Established Relationship, Humour, PWP - Plot, What Plot?, Romance
Warnings: None

Summary: They have, by Rodney's calculations (and Rodney's calculations are never wrong), had sex sixty-eight times.

Thanks: To davechicken for saving my arse with the whole boat thing. And kageygirl for confirming that my arse needed saving and for the beta. And Munchkinott, just 'cause ;)


"We've had sex sixty-eight times."

John blinked. It was hardly the conversation opener he'd expected when he'd finally dragged himself up off the (gravitationally sucking) bed to answer the door. And, yet, somehow he wasn't surprised. But then very little that Rodney said or did surprised him anymore.

Rodney was bouncing on his toes, thrumming with far too much excitement for a man who had apparently had sex with him - Jesus - a sufficient number of times for it to be sliding rapidly towards three figures. He had vague thoughts of pointing out to Rodney that if that were the case, surely the novelty should have worn off by now, but there was something about a bouncy, happy Rodney that drove home the fact that he was being bouncy and happy in the goddamned corridor.

While Rodney had always claimed that self-preservations wasn't John's forte, even John wasn't stupid enough to announce 'sex', 'we' and 'sixty-eight' in the same sentence in a public thoroughfare.

So he reached and grabbed and pulled and ended up with a bouncy, happy Rodney in his personal space; the emphasis, of course, being on personal.

"Sixty-eight times," Rodney crowed, thankfully now bouncing somewhere he wasn't likely to be stumbled across by the entire military contingent of Atlantis. "Do you know what that means?"

If John hadn't spent the morning being bounced off the mat by Teyla - and the afternoon being bounced off the walls by Ronon just for the sake of variety - he might have come back with something snappy and sarcastic, along the lines of 'You need another hobby?' or 'Does the word 'public' mean anything to you?'

Luckily for John, the exhaustion tugging at his limbs and sliding sluggishly through his brain slowed his mouth down too. It took more energy than he initially had to get his tongue to form the words, and by the time he'd dragged the energy up from somewhere, he'd had time to reconsider and weigh up the fact that saying something along those lines would probably mean that sixty-eight times would be the sum total of his Rodney experience. Besides, it was kind of rude to say that to someone who had been kind enough to give you sixty-eight orgasms. Hell, it was rude to say it to someone who had given you one, and John had been going through kind of a dry spell before Rodney took him in hand, as it were… okay, literally in the first instance. Not that John would ever admit that, least of all to Rodney. While Rodney crowing was cute, Rodney crowing over John's inability to score… not so much.

Rodney bouncing and looking like he'd just discovered the secret of life, the universe and everything was probably the cutest thing ever though, and really, when he thought about it, maybe he wasn't quite as bruised and exhausted as he'd felt five minutes ago.

Sixty-eight. He had to admit that that was pretty cool. Of course, it might explain why he'd felt like he'd aged a hell of lot in the last year or so. He was pretty sure that this time last year, Teyla hadn't thrown him down quite so often. He'd been thinking that maybe that was simply because she was no longer taking it easy on him (although that in itself was a depressing thought) but maybe the problem was that he really was all out of juice.

Literally. Not so much beaten down as beaten off.

Sixty-eight times. Sixty-eight …

"Wait? You keep count?"

"What? Yes, of course I keep track of the things that are important." Rodney momentarily irritated and frowning was, God help him, even more adorable than a bouncing Rodney, especially when classifying John - or at least sex with John - as something 'important'. John let idea warm him for a moment, before an awful thought struck him.

"Please tell me you don't keep it all on a spreadsheet."

If the question came out a little strangled, he could hardly be blamed for that. Apart from the fact that Teyla? Deadly thighs as he'd discovered - again - to his cost that morning, there was also the whole 'Oh God. Spreadsheets!' thing.

Not to mention the 'Oh God. Written records and court-martial in the offing' thing.

Rodney waved the question away. "Oh, please. Do I look like I lack any kind of sense? No, don't answer that question. Of course I have more sense that that. Believe me, I knew the value of 'discretion' and 'keeping a secret' long before I was having sex with someone who has to abide by the positively Neolithic rules and regulations of the U.S. Air Force. I'm hardly likely to keep records of our activities where anyone could stumble across them."

John relaxed for a moment.

"Honestly," Rodney continued, still with that insanely appealing irritated look. "Apart from the fact that it's a database not a spreadsheet - and it's clear why your paperwork takes so long to do if you're still messing around with Excel - it's clearly labelled as a list of the people who have pissed me off the most." He leant forward conspiratorially, his eyes gleaming with suppressed glee while John's tired (and probably concussed) brain was still struggling to assimilate that information. "You know that thing that you do? The thing with the thing that I really, really like? I mean, really like."

Rodney rocked back on his heels, face glowing with smug satisfaction and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. "I've labelled that one 'Kavanagh'."

John was never doing that thing again. Ever.

"You categorise it? Not just record but… categorise? Everything?"

Visions of pie-charts were dancing around in John's head. 'Disturbing' didn't begin to cover it.

Weirdly enough, 'hot' probably did, especially when his treacherous (and concussed - he was clinging to concussed as a likely explanation for… well, everything really) brain started imagining Rodney's gleeful cackling as he logged yet another example of wringing an orgasm out of John's exhausted body.

It was official. He was doomed. He'd been geeked and he'd never go back.

Still… sixty-eight. Pretty damn impressive for a man who'd passed (okay, recently, but still) forty.

Rodney was waving his hand around again impatiently. "Look, far be it for me to intrude on whatever latest freak-out is going on in that freakishly haired head of yours, but you've missed the most important part of this conversation." He leant closer again and announced, "Sixty-nine!"

"Sixty… nine?"

Rodney nodded enthusiastically. "Yes. Nice of you to finally join me in the conversation, Colonel. Please try to keep up. Sixty-nine. As in… sixty-nine."

"As in…?" John gestured vaguely between them.

Rodney's nodding grew even more enthusiastic. "Exactly."


"Not exactly the enthusiasm I was looking for."

Rodney was looking a little put out and, okay, he couldn't exactly blame him for that. After all, sex was sex and even after sixty-eight times John was still a guy and not likely to turn it down, even as exhausted and battered and bruised (and a little bit humiliated) as he was. But…

"We've done that."

Rodney was shaking his head. "No. Actually, we haven't. I mean, obviously we've given each other blow jobs…" There should be a law that said that Rodney had to use those words as frequently as possible because the way his lips formed around them was positively obscene. As long as he didn't do it in public of course because, yeah, court-martial… Actually, that was a damned good reason for keeping it off the statute books.

"Quite a few, actually," Rodney continued. "But not…"

The gestures he was making were a mirror of John's earlier.


"Exactly. Consecutive," Rodney stated decisively, dropping the mime act in favour of giving John a distinctly hopeful, and rather lecherous, look. "Not simultaneous."

"And you think that simultaneous…"

"Sixty-nine, John!"

Well, when Rodney put it like that.

Huh. In spite of the exhaustion (and the bruises and probable concussion), it appeared that his body wasn't averse to some more strenuous exercise. Maybe even after a year the novelty hadn't worn off. Hadn't worn off to the extent that not even Rodney knowing in that much detail what they had - or hadn't - done in the sixty-eight times that they'd had sex was enough to faze him.

Although, he had to wonder - was it sixty-eight occasions or sixty-eight orgasms? It wasn't like Rodney not to be precise when figures were under discussion.

And, frankly, if he continued this train of thought, the next thing he knew he'd be asking for flowcharts and PowerPoint presentations from the data that Rodney had collected, and that way lay madness. There had to be a limit to his contracted geekness, even if it was self-imposed.

"Well," he said slowly. "I guess it's kind of a milestone."

Rodney nodded enthusiastically again.

"And it's certainly not the kind of thing we should pass on by…"

If Rodney's nodding continued to increase in enthusiasm the way it was doing at the moment, at some point on along that exponential curve it was going to cave to the laws of physics and fly right off. Not that John could blame him for the enthusiasm.

"Definitely. We should…"

"Mark the occasion by…?"

The mere combination of 'Rodney' and 'marking' in the same sentence was having a miraculous effect on his exhaustion levels.

"Sixty-nine. I mean, with a…" Rodney looked confused for a moment again, his hands sketching out various positions and a small frown creasing his brow. "By sixty-nining? Is that even a word?"

"Do you care?"

Rodney's hands paused in their ballet mid-movement. "No," he said after a moment's thought. "Not with…"

"Blow jobs," John said seriously, nodding himself. "In the offing."

"Oh hell, yes." Rodney's eyes grew huge and hungry and his hands dropped to his side as he crowded into John's personal space again. "So…" One large hand settled on John's hip, broad and warm and heavy. "How… offing would 'offing' be, precisely?" His fingers flexed, digging into the heavy fabric of John's pants, and John leant into the touch automatically.

Ouch. His back protested the move, reminding him pointedly of the number of times it had already been bounced off things that day. He ignored it, shifting his stance slightly so that his forehead was pressed against Rodney's. Rodney's hand slipped around to cup the cheek of his ass more than a little suggestively.

"Offing would be very offing," he breathed against Rodney's temple. "But I get to be on the bottom," he added as his sore muscles twinged again.

Rodney snorted. "Statistically speaking, yes, you probably will."

John blinked and pulled back a little, but before he could say anything - and, really, how much offence did he want to take given that there were blow jobs in the offing? - Rodney was already crowding him again, an encouraging little smile on his face. There was always something so transparently hopeful about the look that it generally… well, it generally made John roll over and let Rodney do whatever the hell he wanted, and he wondered if that little correlation was plotted out anywhere in Rodney's spreadsheet-cum-database.

He wouldn't put it past him.

Rodney was manoeuvring him back towards the bed in a way that was less than suave and still did it for him anyway. Must have been the look - that slightly glazed, slightly expectant and still somehow bouncy look that Rodney wore whenever sex was on the horizon. Sixty-eight times and he'd still not grown tired of that look on Rodney's face. He doubted he'd get tired of that look even if he saw it a hundred times more.

"So," Rodney repeated, waggling his eyebrows in a way that was also very far from suave and something that John suspected, deep in the dark recesses of his soul, Rodney had picked up from him. He still had that hopeful- expectant- definitely horny look on his face, and John gave into the inevitable - and the effects of gravity - and simply fell back, arms spread wide, to bounce slightly on the bed.

"Come in, number sixty-nine," he intoned - and God, it appeared that his level of geekery had now reached the incurable. "Your time is up."

Rodney frowned down at him. "You are, on occasion, remarkably weird. How on earth did you ever manage to convince anyone that you were normal?"

He should have been offended by that too, but again that was the miraculous effect of promised blow jobs, not to mention that, sharing equal space with Rodney's frown, there was open affection on Rodney's face. He grinned up unrepentantly, and the frown disappeared, leaving nothing but affection behind in its wake.

"Figures you'd be a Pink Floyd fan." Rodney's look was purely indulgent now and John only grinned wider. "Please tell me you didn't do the whole 'Listening to Dark Side of the Moon while watching The Wizard of Oz' thing?"

John's smile grew positively beatific, and he nudged Rodney's leg with his foot. "Friend of Dorothy," he smirked.

Rodney -predictably - rolled his eyes. "It's a good thing you're good in bed," he muttered, in a way that he probably hoped was under his breath, "because the humour…"

"You're about to put your dick in my mouth," John said mildly, then let his grin grow shark-like, all teeth and menace.

Sixty-eight times without being bitten, however, was enough to have Rodney rolling his eyes again, apparently not worried in the slightest. "Ditto," he said dryly, finally lowering himself down onto the bed next to John.

The mattress bounced again slightly, and John went with the flow, enjoying the way that Rodney's body rolled slightly until it was resting against his, as it should. Rodney propped himself up on his elbow and stared down at him, the expression on his face still indulgent.

"So, are you going to get naked or am I starting this thing without you? Chop chop."

John rolled his eyes - and damn it, apparently Rodney's mannerisms were contagious as well. "And they say romance is dead," he muttered, pushing himself upright so that he could start pulling off his boots. Rodney's hand settled on his hip again and when he turned his head, there was that look on his face, the one he'd seen before and which warmed him every time. The one that meant he didn't need to hear the words that went with the look, and didn't need to say them. He had his own repertoire of looks that Rodney understood too.

"I'll fetch the mouthwash for you afterwards," Rodney said. "Now if that isn't romance…"

He matched Rodney's smirk with one of his own and threw one boot to the side, quickly followed by the other. It wasn't suave either, but it didn't need to be judging by the way that Rodney's face lit up and the way Rodney was on him before he'd even managed to get his pants halfway down.

"Hey," he gasped, Rodney's weight driving the breath from his body - or maybe that was just the look of sheer glee on Rodney's face. "Aren't you supposed to be facing the other way?"

Rodney snorted, but wriggled down him - in a pretty interesting fashion - and yanked his pants down even further before obliging and turning to straddle him. It gave him a really interesting view of Rodney's - unfortunately still clad - behind.

"Hey," he said again, this time coming close to whining. "What happened to 'Are you going to get naked?'?"

"You're still wearing your t-shirt," came Rodney's muffled voice as he struggled to get John's pants all the way off.

"Oh for -" He pushed himself up and pushed Rodney off, ignoring the pouty and disgruntled look it earned him. As looks went, however - especially as Rodney's selection of pissed looks went - it didn't last long, but that, John suspected, had something to do with nakedness finally being achieved.

At least for him.

"Come on, Rodney. This is supposed to be a mutual thing." He pushed himself back up the bed, enjoying the way that Rodney's eyes widened as he stretched out, deliberately, he had to admit.

"What? Oh, yes. Yes, yes. Mutual nakedness."

If Rodney bouncy and gleeful about the prospect of sex for the sixty-ninth time was adorable, Rodney hopping around on one leg, simultaneously trying to remove shoes, pants and shirt was reaching near terminal levels. That or John was going to die laughing.

He waited until Rodney bounced back onto the bed, hair sticking every which way and eyes gleaming brightly before stealing a kiss, and oh yes. This was why they'd lasted almost a year and sixty-eight separate occasions. Rodney kissed like he did everything else - with everything he had, all focus and concentration and hands that went everywhere.

He pulled back a little breathlessly and swept his tongue over his lips, tasting Rodney. Rodney's eyes were still bright and a little desperate, and he'd never get used to that look either - he was certain that that look would be able to get him hard when he himself was approaching sixty-nine.

It was sure as hell making him hard now.

He took a deep breath and twirled his finger. Rodney, genius that he was, soon clued in and moved to straddle him, and there was his second favourite thing after Rodney's smile.

Rodney's absolutely perfect ass.

Okay, maybe not the second favourite thing, because Rodney's mouth settled somewhere in the region of his crotch and warm breath was gusting over his erection and it was possible that that might be his second favourite thing.

Maybe even first favourite thing as Rodney leant further down and nuzzled at the hair circling his groin. Warm breath gave way to warm tongue and he whined, tugging on Rodney's hips to pull him further up the bed so that he wasn't straddling John's chest anymore but John's head.

It was… interesting. Kind of weird looking at it from this angle though. He was normally between Rodney's legs, looking up, watching Rodney's face as he sucked on Rodney's cock. He wasn't used to staring up at Rodney's dick, watching it curve down towards him, red and slick and straining. Rodney's balls hung above him, and if he craned upwards he could nuzzle them too, pushing into them with his nose while his eyes took in the pale curve of Rodney's ass and his tongue curved its way around the base of Rodney's cock.

Rodney made some sound, rocking slightly above him and something hot and wet settled around his dick, reminding him to get with the programme.

He was longer in the torso than Rodney, which made it a pain in the neck - literally - to suck Rodney into his mouth but it was worth it for the gasp Rodney let out and the way Rodney's lips tightened around him and, God, Rodney had the best ideas ever, even if he did chart them out in Excel.

Rodney's mouth was moving on him, slick and slippery, and Rodney's cock was finally in his mouth, Rodney's taste on his tongue and the tang of Rodney's sweat in his nose. He was surrounded, drowning in Rodney and oh God, this was so damned good, such a goddamned good idea that maybe he would even go as far as to do the 'Kavanagh' thing again, as long as Rodney never, ever mentioned the label he'd used for it in John's hearing ever again.

He swallowed hard around Rodney's cock, feeling Rodney buck against his tongue, against his body, then felt Rodney mimic the movement so that this time it was John arching up against him and moaning.

"Wait, wait." Rodney sounded breathless but, even worse from John's perspective, he was moving away, his cock sliding out of John's mouth and maybe, just maybe John whined again. "Here." Still breathless, but sounding so damned hot and flustered, Rodney pulled at his thigh until they were lying side by side now. When he stared down his body, there was Rodney, staring back, all wide eyes and flushed face and wet and shiny lips.

He watched as Rodney lowered his head again, sucking him in, the curve of his throat stretched and dark with stubble.

It was easier this time, his head resting on Rodney's bent thigh, Rodney's other foot braced on the bed, knee above him. Rodney's cock was still hot on his tongue and Rodney's hands were now kneading his ass, pulling him deeper and deeper into the heat of Rodney's mouth.

Nothing else mattered but this - not how many times they'd done it before or how many times they were going to do it because it was never going to be enough. He was never going to get enough of Rodney, of tasting, touching, being with Rodney.

It didn't matter how many times Teyla and Ronon bounced him off walls, floor - and possibly even ceilings the way his luck was going. Aching muscles didn't matter, weren't going to stop him from having this. Hell, regs didn't matter either and weren't going to stop him; nothing mattered except Rodney's mouth and Rodney's tongue and the taste of Rodney in his throat, the tightening of the muscles in his belly as Rodney drove him closer to the edge.

Rodney's hands were tugging at him again, and he went with them, rolling over until his thighs were bracketing Rodney's head and Rodney's cock was deep in his throat. This he'd done, maybe not from this angle, but straddling Rodney's body, taking Rodney deep was becoming second nature to him.

Rodney's broad, warm hands were stroking up the inside of his thighs now, thumbs pressing firmly into his flesh. He swallowed a groan, muffled by the thickness in his mouth. The hands moved up further, now gliding over the cheeks of his ass, followed by a wet, agile tongue. It traced concentric circles on his flesh and he pushed back into those feather light touches, pushing forward again to slide down Rodney's length, mimicking those same patterns on Rodney's heated flesh as far as he was able.

Thumbs parted him and hands pulled him down, pushing and pulling him like so much putty until he was spread out over Rodney's face, Rodney's tongue in his ass and Rodney's cock down his throat.

He couldn't moan anymore, had no breath to moan. Could only gasp and shudder as that tongue darted in and out and Rodney's cock thrust between his lips.

He was close, so damned close when Rodney finally let him go, sliding beneath him until he could swallow John's cock, using that wicked and talented tongue to push him closer.

Rodney swallowed again, and he gasped around Rodney's cock, feeling the burn in his muscles as he fought to get Rodney deeper, to get deeper into Rodney. It made Rodney moan, and Rodney's mouth tightened around him, hot and wet and sliding up and down his length in a way that felt so good it should be illegal and was.

He slipped his hands underneath Rodney's ass, pulling him deeper, loving the feel of Rodney's flesh against his fingers. Rodney's belly was pressed against his chest, Rodney's hands now back to gripping his thighs as Rodney went to town on his cock and the tension ratcheted higher and higher until he was in this loop of Rodney's mouth and Rodney's dick and Rodney's scent and sweat and skin pressed against him.

And Rodney's wet and slippery fingers circling around his opening, pushing in, deeper and deeper until they broke him.

He swore around Rodney's cock, body pressing down into Rodney's again as his spine arched and he came.

"Bastard," he mumbled when he finally came up for air.

He was gently pushed to one side and flopped back onto the bed next to Rodney, who smirked up at him, looking like the cat who'd got the cream. Literally. A small trickle of it glistened on the skin beside his mouth and as John watched, still dazed and coming down from that high, Rodney's pale pink tongue darted out and lapped it up. It shouldn't have been anywhere near that damned hot, and in spite of his (possibly sixty-ninth) climax, his traitorous cock gave a little twitch at the sight.

Somehow - magically - Rodney's fingers were still buried in John's ass and as John tried to muster the strength to glare at him, Rodney flexed them, forcing another curse out of him.


Rodney's smirk deepened and his fingers flexed again. "You know, I could…" he offered, leering up at John and sliding his fingers in and out suggestively.

Oh, hell no. Sixty-nine it was and sixty-nine it would be.

He found the strength to sit up and push Rodney over onto his back. Rodney yelped as his fingers finally slipped out and John's mouth settled over his cock again. Oh yeah. This was the life. Driving Rodney out of his fucking mind until Rodney couldn't even think of fucking. Couldn't think of anything except babbling John's name over and over again.

Like now.

"John, please, fuck, John. Yes, there. God, there. God, you have such a fucking dirty mouth. Please, John… yes… God."

After sixty-eight - no, sixty-nine times - he knew that as soon as Rodney deified him, it meant that Rodney was about to give it up to him. Everything. It wouldn't be the first time that he'd had Rodney promise him everything and anything if John just got him off, right now, yes, John, please.

And after sixty-nine times, he knew how to do that and do it with style.

He swallowed Rodney deep, his gag reflex now nothing but a memory, until his nose was buried back in the hair at the base of Rodney's cock and Rodney's cock was buried in his throat. It made breathing difficult, but all he had to do was swallow, once, twice and then Rodney was calling his name again, fast and frantic and strangled, and Rodney's cock was pulsing in his mouth.

He pulled back, caught the last drops of Rodney's come on his tongue, the rest sliding easily down his throat. It was enough to savour it, as he flopped back down next to Rodney on the bed, this time head to head rather than head to toe and with his own breathing almost as ragged as Rodney's.

"That," said Rodney, his arm moving from over his eyes to down between them so that he could grip John's hand with his own, "was the best idea ever!"

John chuckled, rolling over so that he could plant another kiss on Rodney's mouth, and pushing his tongue in so that Rodney could taste himself.

"Hmmm," Rodney purred, stretching against him so that he was pressed along the entire length of John's body, sweaty and earthy and real. "Dirty."

"Uh huh." He stole another kiss, and another, pushing his tongue deeper into the warm cavern of Rodney's mouth until he swore he could taste himself there too. "You do have good ideas sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Rodney sounded as offended as someone with John's tongue in his mouth could sound. "I have good ideas all the time."

"Okay, then." Another kiss, another sigh and Rodney's broad hand settling onto his ass, pulling him closer. "What do you have planned for number seventy?"

Rodney grunted, settling back onto his back and pulling John with him. "Nothing." He stretched and yawned, warm and slightly sweaty skin moving against John's in a way that should have been unpleasant but wasn't. "Had some ideas for number one hundred that involved my dick and your ass, but I figure I've still got time to work out the details. I mean," he waved his hand around before letting it settle back on John's ass, "it's all in the planning and I'm perfectly capable of coming up with something suitably spectacular. I am a genius, after all. And I have really, really good ideas. You shouldn't doubt me."

He did, and John didn't.

He let his fingers settle against Rodney's chest, although they definitely didn't tangle there in the chest hair. Definitely didn't, even if he couldn't resist tugging on the hairs slightly just to make Rodney jump. He certainly hadn't put them there just to feel the rhythm of Rodney's heartbeat beneath his touch while he basked in the warmth of the afterglow and everything else that lay between them. "What about five hundred?" he asked lazily.

The warm rumble of Rodney's laughter rolled through him where they were pressed together. "I figure we'll be back to blow jobs, since by then neither of us will have any teeth."

Yeah. He didn't need to hear the words.

But it was nice to hear Rodney say them anyway.

The End