Written as comment fic for Icarusancalion's birthday.

Warnings: moderately graphic slash sexual content.

John doesn't like to think about the fact that he was the one that started the whole birthday gift-giving thing in Atlantis. He'd only gotten Elizabeth that little clay pot in the first year because she had looked so... sad for the weeks leading up to her birthday. But regardless of that fact, once the first birthday had officially been recognized in some fashion, the gift giving began.

It had started out with little practical or "priceless" gifts at first: reformatted and repaired hard drives, fresh clothing made by the Athosians or traded for off world, a cup of the really good coffee (even if it tasted a little stale), a chocolate bar, a movie you hadn't seen (be it an actual movie, or a porn clip that you somehow managed not to hear about yet). Those were the kinds of things that got passed around and gifted to other people. And there was that extremely ugly looking little statue thing (that might have been two misshaped people groping, or some rendition of vertically growing sludge) that got passed around from person to person on every birthday and celebratory gift-giving occasion people could think of.

But those were just the material things that people gave (during the first year and even after they regained contact with Earth). They were the expected gifts to get in Atlantis. Though sometimes something unique was giving as well. Lorne drew a truly spectacular picture of Scotland for Carson's birthday one year. Rodney had harassed, brow beaten, and traded with every single one of their trading partners (and with some of their first contact missions that didn't turn out anything) of three years for local stories - folktales, legends, myths, romances - and gave them to Teyla (a written and a recorded oral version) for her birthday their third year.

After that, it was the gifts that people didn't really talk about in the mess where anyone and everyone could hear them. Those were the gifts that had no real material piece to go with them - usually. Those were gifts that where exchanged behind closed doors, sometimes with the lights off, other times with the lights on. They were private exchanges, physical gifts.

Simpson's birthday came a week after Elizabeth's. She was the first one to get a birthday orgasm. She didn't go announcing it to the entire base, for which John was grateful, but it was obvious.

John had been in the labs, turning on tech that Rodney was having a hard time activating when Simpson came in. She had a very pretty silk-like scarf around her neck, and she practically glowed. Her smile was soft and full, her bright eyes slightly glazed. And she looked a lot more curvy than usual. It was kind of disturbing, because John thought she was stoned at first. But then Kavanagh came back from a coffee break and Rodney snapped at him, which made Kavanagh look in their direction (Simpson was sitting at the table next to them) and he flushed when he saw Simpson fingering her scarf before tossing a scathing remark back at Rodney.

Miko asked about the scarf and John heard her answer, "It was my birthday yesterday. I don't know who left it for me." And John could tell that she was telling the absolute truth, because she was working with the lie-detecting-snow globe-thing and it wasn't blinking any kind of colours.

After that it wasn't unusual for people to walk around sated and glassy-eyed the day after their birthday, or even on their birthday.

John got a blowjob in the back of a jumper for his first birthday in Atlantis. He and Rodney hadn't figured out how to get the pilot seat back far enough for John to get a blowjob while flying. He'd also gotten two chocolate bars, a light almost-cotton long sleeved shirt, and a clay pot as well.

John gave Rodney a blow job during his flying lesson for his birthday (which landed three weeks after they regained contact with Earth). Because John had finally, finally found the stupid little pull tab thing that let the seat slid back just enough for him to fit between the seat and the console between Rodney's spread legs. Rodney got the first flying puddlejumper blow job because John had given him that really ugly statue thing earlier in the day.

For John's fortieth birthday Lorne got him a hot DVD of some great porn, Teyla had commissioned the making of a pair of leather shooter gloves made of the softest leather he'd ever come across, Elizabeth got him three best seller novels to read, Ronon gave him a wicked looking knife that was more ceremonial than practical, and Rodney gave him a tiny model jumper. There were other things too, but John doesn't really remember who gave them to him, his memory was seared by the 'physical' gift (which was and is still traditional in Atlantis on someone's birthday) that he got the night before and the afternoon of his birthday.

John had fucked Rodney half bent over his desk in his 'office' just off his semi-private lab. It had been great, thrilling, and hot - because they didn't usually take those kinds of chances when the Daedalus was in orbit.

They ended up spending the night together that night as well. And the next morning, when John woke up, Rodney had already gotten breakfast from the mess (with real, fresh coffee – the good stuff).

Once they'd eaten breakfast in bed and Elizabeth radioed to tell him he had the day off, John thought about going back to sleep. Rodney had something else in mind.

Rodney pushed and shoved John around on the bed until he was on his hands and knees with Rodney behind him and rimmed him until John was writhing on the bed, almost unable to speak. And then the lube came out and it was a slow prep. All careful stretching and rubbing and thick, wonderful fingers that left him breathless and panting all at once.

When Rodney finally, finally pushed into him, the sex was even slower, even better. It was a pleasure so sharp it was almost painful. John had stretched out his arms, hands wrapping around the hardly-there headboard, forehead pressed into the mattress. Rodney was bent over him, resting almost all of his weight on John, arms wrapped around him, one hand on his hip, the other clutching his shoulder. Rodney kissed, licked, and nipped at his shoulder. Rodney didn't have enough leverage to fuck him. His thrusts were little more than slight shifts of his hips that rubbed his cock over John's prostate, sending flashes of white skittering across John's vision with his eyes open or closed.

It was a slow, gradual build of pleasure that filled him every time Rodney's thrust into him, every time Rodney's teeth scraped his shoulder. It was being filled and surrounded by Rodney in every possible way, hearing his slightly laboured breathing in his ear. It was slow and careful and everything they usually didn't have time for. And it built and built and built, until John could hardly stand it, until all that pleasure became just this side of painful, until John thought he was going to go out of his mind. He could feel Rodney's arms and hands clutching harder, tighter to him. Could hear his breathing change and felt him swallow hard behind him. And John knew, knew, that Rodney was holding back, holding on tight to his own release, had just swallowed back his own orgasm because this was about John, this was for John.

It was enough, more than enough and far too much all that the same time. John came hard enough that his vision greyed out and his body clenched and writhed and shook from the ecstasy and relief and pleasure-pain.

"Happy birthday," Rodney panted into John's neck.