Who'd have thought that Rodney McKay would be playful in bed - certainly not John, who found himself pinned to Rodney's prescription mattress, shaking with laughter - and maybe something else - with Rodney's cock in his ass and roving fingers ferreting out the ticklish spots along his ribs and the side of his neck?

Who'd have thought that fighting back with callused fingers skirting the edge of Rodney's underarm and the place where thigh and hip came together would only earn him a stronger push down into the bed, and Rodney's big hands on his wrists, stretching his arms up to gather those surprisingly delicate bones and sinew in one hand so the other could go back to work?

Who'd have thought that John Sheppard would take all of Rodney's weight and wish for more; that he'd squirm beneath another person, that he'd let someone inside his body, let them push slick fingers in and open him up wide before slowly filling him up with a thick, hard cock?

Who'd have thought that John Sheppard could quake his way through an orgasm while laughing like a demented hyena?

Who'd have thought that he'd love it so much?