John has gotten used to not knowing. Rodney's creativity and snap-snap-snap brilliance translate into the best sex John's ever had. Rodney notices everything, every flinch and shiver, every jump and moan.

There's no shame in him either. He's always got some new plan, and John is most definitely along for the ride. Which is how he winds up bent over a table in Rodney's office - Rodney has an office? And it's bigger than John's? - with his face in a stack of papers, his BDU pants around his ankles, his legs spread wide and Rodney's tongue doing things to his ass. Things that make him blush harder than he ever has, feeling the color creep up his chest to his neck and face in a hot wave.

But then Rodney stops. John wants to whine out loud, but there are people out there. There are scientists running experiments and simulations; technicians and assistants doing...things. And John really doesn't want all of them to know that their boss is rimming him on top of their annual performance reviews.

When Rodney stops, John lifts his head to look angrily over his shoulder. His frown turns into something else - he can feel his eyes widening and his mouth falling open. Rodney's drinking from a glass of ice water. John puts his face back onto the desk and braces his hands on the edge, not giving a good goddamn if he's going to have ink on his face.