Five Ways John Sheppard Gets Laid

a Stargate: Atlantis story

by dirty diana

graciously beta'd by Eleanor K.


John isn't a talker. Elizabeth doesn't seem to mind. John remembers asking her in. But not asking her to stay.

She's got a boyfriend, back home. John doesn't remember her telling him that, but he's sure of it just the same. He wonders who that guy is, and what he would think of this, them, here right now. He wonders when Elizabeth decided that the rules weren't worth keeping.

He wonders when they decided that there were rules in the first place, and how long this would have gone on. Neither of them with much to say to each other, except good morning, and what time is the mission briefing. With nothing much in common at all.

In the dark, with nothing to talk about, it doesn't make a difference anyway.

"Stop thinking so much," Elizabeth whispers, and her fingers travel lightly across his skin.

"Sorry," John answers, and she smiles at him.

She's got a boyfriend, back home, and John wonders if she misses him, and if she thinks that she'll see him again. John wonders if he and this guy look anything alike, and what she's seeing when she closes her eyes. He presses his mouth to the curve of her shoulder, and she smells sweet, like flowers.


"I'm sorry." Teyla takes one step back, and lowers her head. "I have made you uncomfortable."

"No," John says, frowning. "It's just that, on Earth, the guy usually asks the girl out."

"Out? Teyla looks around the common room in confusion, and then up at the ceiling.

"Yeah, out." John waves his hands, by way of explanation. "Like, on a date."

"Date," she repeats slowly, eyebrows still twisted in confusion.

"Yeah. Like, I'd come up to you, and I'd say, hey, Teyla, what are you doing tomorrow night?"

"Ah." A smile touches Teyla's mouth, and gravitates towards her eyes. "And then I would say..."

"You would say, 'Why, nothing, John.'" He pauses, thinking. "Unless you do have plans."

She smiles, and steps closer to him, so that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to. "No," she says. "No plans."

"Oh." He smiles back at her, watching her smile grow wider. "Good."

"Is that all?" she asks, and he imagines that she will write all of this down later, to make sure that she understands.

"No, there's more. Then I would say, we should do something. You know, as if I'd just thought of it."

"Of course."

He keeps going. "I know a great beach, totally secluded. We could fly down there, have a picnic." At Teyla's frown, he adds, "dinner. We could have dinner. Outdoors. On a blanket."

"That sounds impractical," she says.

"You'd rather sit on the sand?"

Now she smiles, and John does touch her then, reaches out and puts a hand on her arm. "I could pick you up at eight," he says.

On the beach, with her bare toes covered in sand, Teyla lets him put his hand up her skirt.


She is twenty. Maybe twenty. John doesn't ask. She's scared. John can tell that much. She appears in his doorway after dinner, breathless with nervousness.

"I just wanted to say...thank you."

"For what," John asks her.

Breathless, and blushing. "For...before."

Sergeant Coxwell wasn't much older than she was. He had scowled when John had pulled him off her, red-faced and indignant.

John shrugs. He has already forgotten about it. "Not necessary," he says, and means it.


"Elizabeth," John had answered, and kept walking.

"Why is it that I can't go into the solarium? One of your men told me that it was off-limits."

"It is," John says, abruptly. He picks up a jug on the briefing room table, and shakes it, finding it empty. McKay has already been through here.

"May I ask why?"

"It's our new detention centre."

She raises both eyebrows. "You mean jail," she says.


"We need a jail?"

He sighs, because it's not her department, and therefore not her business. "Some of the men are getting a bit restless."

"Restless?" she repeats. "Restless how?"

"Just restless." He is following her now, through the gateroom and into her office. "Did you read my mission report?"

"Yes." She sits when he does, switching gears with matching ease. "You really think that they're prepared to sign this treaty?"

She is blond, long hair knotted in a bun. She looks like someone that he used to know, but could no longer name. She has blue eyes, that always watch the floor when he speaks to her.

"Do you have any hand-to-hand, Airman?" John smiles, slightly. "Because next time, you should just kick him in the balls."

That is the first time that she looks at him properly. "Hand-to-hand, sir?"


She's twenty. She's scared. They're all scared. John invites her in.


He doesn't really know if the kid realises that he's doing it. He doesn't know if it is his fault for zipping the sleeping bags together, but P3X 717 is cold, almost Antarctica cold, and the last thing that John wants to do when he wakes up is treat the entire team for frostbite.

Ford is generating body heat, as he rolls over and pressed himself against John. He is warm all over, leg, belly, hand as it rests carelessly on John's thigh.

He breathes in and out, still asleep. John doesn't move. McKay is snoring, Teyla's sleeping bag still cold and empty. Teyla likes first watch.

Ford's breath is hot, at the top of John's collar. Twenty-five. John remembers twenty-five. He remembers being able to sleep like a stone on missions, until someone kicked you to tell you it was time to get up.

Twenty-five. Christ. Gently John shifts, and now Ford's hips press squarely against his ass, leaving no room. The heat seeps through Ford's uniform. His belt buckle is sharp, in the small of John's back.

The mission has been quiet. So far. Quiet, but cold, with a little too much walking.

"What's the first thing that you're going to do when you get home, sir?" Ford asked him that, walking beside him, footsteps heaving in the snow. Twenty-fucking-five. John said the first thing that he thought of, and changed the subject.

All day walking, and he's definitely tired, but he can't sleep. His fingers moves against the tense inside of his thigh, massaging a small knot.

Ford shifts.

Abruptly, John's hand drifts. He tugs, restlessly, at the front of his BDUs. He's watching nothing, watching the black, a cold alien cave drowning in darkness. His cock aches.

John's grip tightens.

Ford's breath is warm.


"What the hell was that?" McKay jumps back, but can't go far in the small space.

John shrugs. "I was getting tired of listening to you yap."

"So you thought that you'd attack me with your mouth?

"No." John's fingers examine the grip of his nine mil, as he watches Rodney pacing. "Tell me some more about how we're maybe going to die."

"Not maybe, Major. Definitely. Definitely. We are definitely going to die."

"Teyla and Ford will be back any moment now," John says, and hopes that his voice sounds reassuring. "They'll be able to blow the door mechanism from the outside."

"Yeah?" McKay challenges. "What if they're not able to make it back within the next twelve hours?"

"What if I throw you against the wall and fuck you until you pass out?"

McKay pauses, mid-stride. His mouth gapes open. "What?"

John can't help smirking slightly. "You stopped talking again."

McKay rolls his eyes. "Oh, that's great. I'm doomed to spend the last hours of my life trapped with you and your over-active libido."

"What do you know about my libido?"

"Please, Major." Rodney waves his hand dismissively, as John's eyes narrow. "I see the way you are."

"The way I am? What does that mean?'

"You know what it means."

"No. I really don't." John moves closer.

McKay blinks, but stands his ground. "You hit on everyone."

"I really don't see how you constitute everyone." John frowns. "Twelve hours?"


"You said something about needing to get Ford and Teyla back in twelve hours."

"Oh." McKay waves his hand distractedly. "Based on the cubic dimensions of this room and the atmosphere readings I'm getting, I estimate that that's approximately how long we have until the oxygen in here runs out. We'll run out of food long before that, of course."

John is within arm's reach now, and he reaches out, hand brushing Rodney's chest. "Except that we're getting rescued."

"Right," McKay says uncertainly. But he doesn't step back, this time. Instead he lets John's fingers roam, across his waist and hips. "You're really..."

"What? John asks him.

"I don't know. Something."

John's touch is more insistent, and he can feel the tension draining from McKay's body as he relaxes into John's hand. "You can tell me more about how we're going to die. If you want."

"Oh." Rodney's mouth twists. "Well, the oxygen to air ratio in this room is about twenty percent."

"Twenty," John repeats, his mouth inches from Rodney's skin.

"Twenty point one two, to be more precise. It's quite interesting. The Ancients' atmospheric controls were quite exact. "

"Really?" John's hands slip inside Rodney's fly.

"Really," McKay answers, and exhales.