"Mmmmmmmm, makeshift rain shelter. My favorite." Rodney looked out at the sheeting rain from under the tarp. "Why is it that you can carry thirty pounds of stuff and not have a tent? I bet you replaced it with equal weight of C-4."

"Grenades, actually." John didn't even bother to wipe the grin off his face. "And this is an excellent makeshift rain shelter."

"It barely covers the two of us! We have to be packed in like sardines just to stay dry!"

"That's one of the things that makes it excellent." Rodney didn't have to see John, who'd squirmed around behind him, to hear the maniacal grin.

"Don't move, okay?" John said, and Rodney froze as he heard the sound of John's field knife sliding out of its sheath.

"Whoa," Rodney said. "Really, I love this rain shelter. It's the best rain shelter on this planet."

Rodney felt John touch the back of his damp pants. "Hush," he said. "And stay still." He felt John's fingers sliding down his ass to his inseam. He felt a quick push through the cloth, then felt the knife part the heavy canvas all the way up to the bottom of his pockets.

"Jesus, John," Rodney whispered. "What are you doing?"

John kissed the back of his neck. "These boxers are old, right?"

"Yeah, why?" When Rodney heard the sound of the knife going back into the sheath, he let out a deep breath. John's fingers trailed down to the beginning of the tear in his pants, and John carefully gathered enough of the wash-worn cotton of Rodney's boxers in his fingers to rip it open.

Rodney let his head hang down when the cold tips of John's fingers touched him. They never had time on Atlantis. They couldn't do anything except quick handjobs, and those were great, but sometimes Rodney wanted more. Looked like he was going to get it. Here, in the rain - finally a place with no distractions or interruptions.

"Hold on," John said, and Rodney grabbed the two slender trees John had used to anchor their shelter. He moaned when he heard John open some sort of bottle, and moaned harder when a slick finger slid into him. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know what John was using for lube.

"Jesus," Rodney said, voice low and tight. "Jesus, John. Are you gonna fuck me?"

"Just like this." John pushed his finger in further. "Just my fingers in you."

"What? You're saving fucking me for a rainy day? Well, I've got news for you..." John shut him up by slowly sliding another finger in.

Rodney leaned forward as much as he could without sticking his head out into the rain. "I think this is going to be quick," he said. John's fingers in him felt incredible, long and slick and smooth, going in and out in a steady rhythm.

"That's okay," John said. "I want to feel you come; I want to feel everything."

"Yeah," Rodney said, pushing back. "Close."

When John abruptly pushed the tips of three fingers inside, stretching him wide, he couldn't hold off. As the first shudders wracked his body, John slid all the way in. Rodney's cry was louder than the rain, and he didn't even want to complain about his ripped pants and the come running down his thigh.

He pulled off John's fingers and turned in the small space. He breathed the last pants of his exertion into John's mouth and rubbed him off through the wet cloth of his trousers, catching John's moans and yelps in his mouth, knowing what the soaked cloth felt like against sensitive flesh.

When their breathing calmed, Rodney swung John around and pushed him out into the rain.

"Whaaa?" John protested, but Rodney just pushed him back and and tumbled them both down to the ground.

"Can't go back with come-stains, John," Rodney said, grinding a handful of mud against John's crotch.

"Fuck," John yelled, and rolled them, trying to shove mud into the slit he'd cut in Rodney's pants.

"This means war," Rodney said, and went for the hair.