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This story starts at Madelyn's It Stops Being Funny At Skirts, takes the optional scenic route along Bone's Skirting the Issue, (both of which you should read first), and then veers off and takes the side road in a different direction. Madelyn and Bone were nice enough to let me play too. Many many thanks to Livia, Bas, resonant, and Terri for beta.

But Some Things Never Stop Being Funny
by shalott

"I thought—if—is this okay?" Rodney said, low and urgent, at the door, while John stared over his shoulder at Ronon lying naked and golden in the bed behind him. "Only if you want—I just thought, you—"

John took Rodney's face in his hands and kissed him, heart pounding, almost ridiculously shocked although he shouldn't have been; he'd already known that Rodney was all about broader horizons and better living through accessories after the last couple of weeks of going to pieces under the long narrow silver vibrator that Rodney slipped between his thighs and rubbed back and forth so very slowly; of riding Rodney into the bed while the slick shining beads came out of him one by one, his whole body almost convulsing around Rodney's cock. And you really couldn't have built or found anything more perfectly made-for-her-pleasure than Ronon anywhere in the city of Atlantis.

"Let me," Rodney murmured, and started peeling John's clothes off piece by piece while Ronon stayed on the bed and watched John being unveiled for him. Rodney's fingers and Ronon's eyes both stroking over his skin together, his breasts getting high and tight, nipples peaking, his thighs already getting slick; he wanted to press them together, to clench up around that sweet hot tight feeling, but Rodney's hands slipped between his legs and nudged them apart a little, made him wait for it.

"Leave the rest," Ronon growled, when Rodney had him down to bra and panties, lacy thin and silky, and then Rodney guided him to the bed and pushed him down, pushed his mouth towards Ronon's stiff, shiny cock.

"Suck him," Rodney said, a little hoarsely. John hadn't done this yet; weirdly, it now seemed to him, with the tender soft skin on his tongue, the feel of all that hot length in his mouth, Ronon's big hands stroking through his hair and cradling his head, the low rumbling pleasure-sounds Ronon was making that John could feel against his tongue, against his fingers where they wrapped around the shaft.

Rodney pulled his hips a little way up off the bed, and John moaned around Ronon's cock as Rodney pushed aside the panties and went to work on him with fingers and tongue, lapping at him urgently, teasing between the folds and hovering over the clit, circling, darting over and away, like little spikes of unpredictable pleasure that made him jump. Rodney's fingers dipped deep inside and came away wet, and then started rubbing slick and gentle at John's ass, pushing inside, opening him up.

Ronon canted his hips and slid himself a little further down the bed, his fingers rubbing circles on the back of John's neck. John let go of Ronon's cock and put his hands on Ronon's thighs instead, let Ronon drive; let Ronon slowly feed him the rest of his cock, sliding it bump-bump-bump along the roof of his mouth, over his tongue, hot and thick and salty, pulling back just when John needed to breathe, coming back in deep just when John needed to be filled up again.

The first shuddering, clenching wave came over him, Rodney's fingers catching the juices and rubbing them all over him, making John wet all over, front and back, and then he squirmed out from underneath and got the lubricant for more, two, now three fingers working in and out of John's ass. John was dripping all over his own thighs, onto the sheets, and Ronon said matter-of-factly, "I'm going to come." He never let go his control of John's throat, just pulled back about halfway like John's mouth was his to come in anytime he wanted, and John clenched up and came again too with the hot bitter spurts on his tongue.

Ronon slid out past the wet hungry seal of John's lips, cock still hard and flushed bright red. John was breathing the taste of sex; his mouth felt bruised when Ronon raised him up to kiss him, thumbs teasing John's nipples and breasts. Rodney pushed the panties down to John's knees and pulled them off. "Okay, hold him steady for me," Rodney said, low, rubbing John's back, and John shuddered as Ronon cupped him under the ass and pulled him forward against his chest and held him open for Rodney's cock.

Rodney's cock, pushing at him, the head popping inside. "Yes," John said, panting, "yes, God, I want it; Rodney, I want it, yes," and Rodney made a small choked desperate sound and started frantically kissing John's neck, John's shoulders, as he fucked his way into John's ass with small, steady thrusts.

And John realized—he hadn't done this before, either, and it wasn't a coincidence that these were all things he'd still be able to do if—when—when—Beckett finally figured this the hell out and fixed him, things he'd still be able to let Rodney or Ronon do to him—Ronon, grinning up at him, rubbed a hand over John's clit and stroked his fingers across John's pussy, brought them away wet and started to jack himself slowly back up to hardness.

"Yeah," John said blindly, "yeah, come on, give it to me," and opened himself as Ronon's cock pushed slowly and surely into him, thick and hot; he could feel Ronon rubbing up against Rodney inside him, the two of them surrounding him front and back, supporting his weight, his spread-open thighs, on their legs—

And John knew, panting, shivering, being fucked two ways at once, that he was going to, he was going to keep doing this, even after he got his own dick back; and he hadn't really thought about that before, he hadn't let this be real before. Because the breasts and the clit and the pussy, they weren't real, but this was, this was all him, his own well-fucked mouth gasping, his own hole swallowing every inch of Rodney's dick and loving it.

Except—except maybe that meant that all the rest of it was real; that this whole lush, curving, welcoming body was his after all: the eager clit, the tender breasts, the soft yielding lines of his hips and his thighs, asking to be fucked, asking to be taken—taken the way Rodney and Ronon were taking him right now, both of them working at him so tenderly, Rodney murmuring instructions and cautions and Ronon's deeper voice rumbling through him. "God, you're so—" Rodney was saying, breathless and almost choked up, kissing John's neck, Ronon's thumb sweeping in long strokes up and down over John's clit, "you're so beautiful—"

John looked down at himself, really looked: uneven breasts filling out Rodney's hands, nipples pebbled tight, slim waist sweetly curving out to hips and slick narrow thighs; he loved this body, how it could open up and hold Rodney and Ronon both, just singing in their hands, how he could watch Ronon's cock sliding in and out so easily—he was, she was beautiful, and if—if Beckett never—

John's belly was tightening up again, the clenching, stuttering waves coming; John was almost sobbing out loud with it, shaking to pieces between their arms as Rodney and Ronon both tumbled over, hot desperate breath panting against John's skin, Ronon's dick thrust deep and jerking hard and fast while Rodney struggled and fought and kept moving in slow, tiny increments even as he came.

They laid John down between them afterwards, Ronon warm and solid, Rodney stroking a long line down John's belly and thigh over and over, soothing and a little anxious. "Are you okay? You're not—"

"God, Rodney," John said, almost drunkenly, and twitched a hip meaningfully until Rodney said, "Oh," and started gently rubbing John's clit again with the heel of his hand, measured circles paced just right. John groaned. "Yeah, yeah, just like—fuck, yes."

"You're good," Ronon said, thoughtfully, to Rodney.

"Well, obviously," Rodney said, waving his free hand absently, attention focused down on where he was working John into something like an impossibly stretched-out orgasm that seemed like it would just go on and on. "Otherwise I'd have to be nice to people."

Ronon snorted. He stretched out and pulled John back against his chest, idly playing with John's breasts. Rodney lay down and rested his head on John's belly, teasing out the aftershocks with fingers and the occasional broad lick of his tongue.

John lay shivering, luxuriating in the heat of both of them, and abruptly reached down between—between her own legs: fingers tangling with Rodney's, exploring all the complicated folds and hollows where her cock should have been, her clit still pulsing gently against the heel of her palm, so wet and slick and hot it made her shudder all over again, thrilled and terrified all at once—

"Oh, hang on," Rodney said, and leaned over the side of the bed to rummage in the drawer for the vibrator. Ronon was rubbing lazy circles over John's nipple, watching Rodney with interest.

John breathed deep and let her head fall back against Ronon's shoulder, tilting up for a kiss while Rodney, humming happily to himself, went back to work between her thighs. "You know," John said, breathlessly, "I could get used to this."

= End =

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