Yoshino

It was Colonel Sheppard who had the driver stop.

"I think I'll walk," he declared as he exited the car. "You guys can take the car wherever."

To Sam's surprise, McKay didn't sit back against the leather upholstery and accept the opportunity to be alone with her. Instead he got out too, folded his arms and glared at Sheppard, grumbling, "You have a fetish for walking, don't you? Do you realize how dangerous Washington, DC is? And you want to wander around in the middle of the night, while wearing a tuxedo."

"Well, I thought about wearing board shorts and a tee, but someone insisted I actually had to wear this penguin suit," Sheppard replied. The dry humor in his voice might have owed a little to the wine they'd all been served during dinner with the President.

"Whatever," McKay muttered. He was looking around. They weren't far from the Mall. If Sam craned her head out the open car door, she could see the brilliantly lit Washington Monument.

"Come on, McKay. Tomorrow we head home," Sheppard said. He waved, encompassing the whole city somehow, smiling. "Let's enjoy ourselves."

"I had every intention of enjoying myself in my hotel room," McKay said.

"Rodney...," Sheppard drawled.

"What?"

Sheppard shrugged. "Cherry blossoms."

Sam wondered exactly how many glasses of wine Colonel Sheppard had downed at the reception following the medal presentation in the Oval Office. McKay had muttered sotto voce complaints about secret medals that were taken away and locked up immediately, until Sheppard stuck an elbow into his ribs. By the time they had left the White House, he had been back in full swing. "You would think that the last so-called superpower could spring for a little some thing more than a passable meal and a handshake from the latest toothpaste salesman, turned politician, for the three people who saved the entire planet."

"Gratitude of your country, McKay," Sheppard had replied as the three of them were whisked away in the hired car.

"Some gratitude, and it's not even my country, as you very well know."

Now the two of them were standing under a streetlight, squabbling again in the way Sam had grown used to. She wanted to compare them to O'Neill and Daniel, but the dynamic between them was as different to her old teammates as their appearance. The one thing in common was the deep, unshakable connection between them; it was something more than friendship, something that endured even through anger. Sheppard just shook his head at McKay. The streetlight gleamed off his dark hair and then on the tiny maple leaf pin McKay had on his lapel.

Before she could think better of it, Sam slid a leg out of the car and got out. It was a perfect April night and she wasn't really ready to go back to her sensible hotel room and strip off the Cinderella gear yet. To tell the truth, she wasn't quite ready to say goodbye to these two men after spending three weeks working with them in Antarctica.

She tapped the window of the driver's door and, when he let it down told him, "We're going to walk down the Mall. You can go home." She'd hire a cab to take her to her hotel afterward.

"Ma'am, I'm assigned to you all night."

Sam didn't think the driver was a Marine, but he had a certain military posture. Maybe ex. The car service and all its employees were probably vetted...She shrugged.

"Ma'am," the driver said, drawing her attention back to him. He held out a card. "If you've got a cell, just ring this number and I'll pick you and your friends up, other side of the Mall."

"Thank you," she told him and tucked the card into her purse with her cell.

The window glided up and the sedan rolled away, leaving her with Sheppard and McKay. They regarded her curiously and Sam pulled her velvet wrap a little tighter over her bare shoulders. "I felt like walking, too."

McKay looked at her legs and the tall heels she'd bought just to wear with her ridiculously expensive dark blue dress. "Sure."

Sheppard just shrugged and offered her his arm, prompting McKay to take her other, either out of belated gentlemanly courtesy or sheer competitiveness.

They wandered toward the monument, white and shining under its spotlights, until they found some of the cherry trees. There weren't as many here as at the Tidal Basin, but by night they were ethereally beautiful, petals of moon-washed pink drifting to the grass pale as snow.

 "Are we even supposed to be here this time of night?" Rodney asked. Sometime during their walk it had become Rodney and not McKay.

Sheppard rolled his shoulders and grinned at him and Sam. "No idea. Guess we'll find out if the Capitol Police bust us."

"Oh, that's wonderful. I'll be able to add Earth to my list of worlds with jails I've visited."

Sam found herself laughing to herself.

They walked down to the Reflecting Pool toward the Lincoln Memorial. The dark water reflected the wide steps and Doric columns mirror sharp. The rippled surface reminded Sam of event horizons and quantum mirrors, as though she could step through it into the next universe, but her reflection was there too and it was only water. Petals floated on the surface. The scent of the blossoming trees hung heavy in the air, noticeable despite the city smells, and Sam breathed deep, catching a light whiff of cologne from both Rodney and Sheppard. She stopped walking, pulling the velvet shawl tighter around her shoulders. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen cherry-trees in bloom and the realization of how much she had missed since she started working for the SGC hit her suddenly, unexpectedly. So many seasons missed, gone like the flowers. She had seen them on other planets, but never at home. That knowledge hurt. The petals floating weightlessly on the water captured her gaze. Daniel would have quoted something Zen or a Haiku in Japanese. McKay was muttering something about the energy requirements for the new Antarctica shield generator and oblivious to the beauty around them.

And Sheppard?

Sam glanced up and was transfixed: Sheppard's face was turned to the night sky, the breeze that had her pulling her velvet wrap over her shoulders stirring his dark hair. A few stray cherry blossom petals caught in it, pale and delicate as a promise. She knew he was searching for the stars lost in the city's glare.

It was a moment set aside from the rest of their lives, a bubble that held just the three of them, herself and Rodney and Colonel Sheppard. She barely knew him, beyond the three frantic weeks they'd spent cobbling together a defense against the Wraith threat, but they were still all bound together by that experience and the strange emptiness that had followed their success.

The sounds of Washington DC: the traffic, the horns, music and voices of thousands of people obliviously living their lives, seemed set at a remove. As though they were the only ones to ever stand by the Reflecting Pool, amid the spotlights and the marble, midway between Washington's white obelisk and the grandeur and dignity of Lincoln's memorial.

"You can't even see Polaris from here," Sheppard said.

"Pegasus is still there, Colonel," Rodney told him.

Sheppard's eyes were dark and glittering like they held the stars themselves when he looked down. "It better be," he said and it was a joke, but it was also something else. Something Sam knew Rodney felt as well. Tomorrow these two would board the Daedalus and return to Atlantis, leaving Earth behind, to go home.

She wanted suddenly, badly, to give them something of Earth to remember, to remind them that it had once been home, to take something of her with them. She'd had to accept she was never going to Pegasus; there were too many responsibilities here for her to abandon them. She sighed softly. It wasn't like she hadn't had her own adventures, or that she was never going to step through a stargate again.

Sheppard's gaze caught hers. His expression changed from curious to questioning to intent.

"You've got to come someday, Colonel," Rodney said, startling her. "Atlantis is so much more than you imagine from videos and reports."

She smiled at him. "Someday," she said, meaning it, no matter how hollow a promise it was. She might die on the next mission SG-1 went on. There were no guarantees. They might die fighting the Wraith.

"We'll give you the grand tour," Rodney said, but his voice cracked.

"Someday," Sheppard echoed and she knew they both understood. "We'll be waiting."

Pretty, empty promises.

On impulse, Sam reached up and brushed the cherry petals away, letting her fingers linger in the cool silk of Sheppard's hair then cupping his cheek. The faintest prickle of beard rasped against her palm.

She smiled, a little embarrassed, and pulled her hand back. Her wrap slipped with the movement, falling from her shoulder to the crook of her elbow. It caught and pulled the bit of silver ribbon masquerading as a strap on her dress down with it. She laughed awkwardly and started to straighten it, but Sheppard's fingers were there first, his raspy "Let me," kindling a warmth matching the heat of his fingertips that brushed her arm as he pulled the strap back into place. Rodney pulled her wrap back up and his hand brushed against Sheppard's, so that they both jerked away and she had to laugh.

Rodney glared at Sheppard, who gave him a 'Who-me?' look to equal any of Jack O'Neill's.

So, maybe she was a little tipsy, or just a little wild for once, but they would both be gone too soon. Cherry blossoms weren’t forever. Sam went with it. She took the single necessary step closer and kissed the corner of Rodney's mouth, just brushing her lips over his on the side that angled down.

He stared at her as she pulled away, eyes wide and spooked. "What – ?"

He looked so surprised in that very moment, so much closer than he had ever been, so very far away from the annoying asshole he could be that Sam just followed her instincts – she hugged him to her. Her hands flexed against his shoulder blades. He stilled completely for a second, not even breathing. She smiled into his shoulder and tightened her arms.

He expelled his breath in a whoosh and returned the hug with something that was too close to desperation for her taste and didn't fit the light mood.

Behind them, Sheppard cleared his throat. Rodney's death-grip on her eased a little and he drew back, looking at her. The smugness was there, just waiting to break free, but he reined it in. She was grateful for that, because she really didn't want to slap him right now.

His hands slipped to her shoulder and he murmured: "Thanks, Colonel."

"Sam," she corrected him, smiling.

"Sam," he repeated and grinned that manic grin that shouldn't be as charming as it was. Then he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek – warm, dry lips, just barely foregoing the loud smack. She frowned and remembered her first kiss. Far later then it should have been - even at a very young age, she had been ambitious, a nerd and not popular with other kids. So the logical choice when she still hadn't been kissed at eighteen had been her best and only male friend at the time: a catastrophe she didn't like being reminded of – and absolutely terrible. She remembered being revolted by his invading tongue and she had wondered why people considered kissing such a big deal. She hadn't kissed anyone again until she left the academy, and still hadn't found someone whom she would consider a good enough kisser to make her actually enjoy it.

She wondered, though. Wondered if that cockiness Rodney McKay displayed extended to non-professional things as well.

He didn't try anything, though, and she was almost disappointed. She didn't know what she had expected, so she steered them back to safer territory. "You have to come back some day, too, Rodney."

"Well, of course, I do. I'll need to accept my Nobel, for one thing," he said with a huff. Beside her, Sheppard's eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned, quirky and obviously delighted by Rodney, and Sam felt a stab of relief as she realized that the feeling between these two went both ways. "I'll expect a better kiss than that when I do."

Rodney's gaze turned speculative and she opened her eyes wider, challenging him into something she wasn't even sure she wanted. Except she did. It was one more night until they went back to Atlantis and she returned to the mountain to find a new strategy against the Ori. She grinned cheekily. "Oh? Can you give as good as you get?"

He snorted, and that haughty look she used to hate flickered over his face. "Better," Rodney said, all smug superiority.

"Prove it."

"Is that a challenge?"

Her eyebrow rose and Rodney's gaze changed – suddenly, it was all intent and concentration. She found her stomach fluttering at the look in his eyes and wondered briefly if challenging him had been a good idea, but it was too late. He took her by surprise when he pulled her into his arms – there was muscle, firm and warm, under that dress shirt. His hands came up to frame her face and his eyes never left hers, their blue shadowed to a darker gray in the dim light, close, so very close, her breasts against his chest, his breath on her face and his lashes almost brushing her cheek ... She lost her breath for an instant, then inhaled as Rodney proved he deserved a medal, at least, for kissing. A hint of his scent under the soap and aftershave teased her. His lips were firm and persuasive, until she parted hers and then she had to wind her arms around his neck as he bent her back over his arm, the kiss getting deeper and wilder, reminding her how long it had been since she'd been with anyone. She really hadn't anticipated this: Rodney didn't kiss like an uncle bussing her cheek, nor like the awkward nervous geek she had been at nineteen; no, Rodney kissed like he could have made a profession of it, a vocation. Sweet and sure enough she felt her wrap slip and fall and didn't care. Her lips were going to be swollen, her lipstick gone, and she didn't mind, not at all. His hand stroked over her cheek, while his tongue teased hers.

She kept hold of Rodney's arm after he released her. Just for balance, she wasn't used to heels as high as she was wearing tonight. She had goosebumps. Wow. She rubbed at her upper arms, satin opera gloves rubbing over the tops and onto skin with a soft fabric hiss.

Sheppard cleared his throat and offered her the wrap. "I think I should just...let you two go on," he said.

Sam took the wrap and caught his arm at the same time. "Wait."

"Really – "

"Sheppard," Rodney snapped in annoyance. "Don't be an idiot. Well, more of one than you usually are. In fact, why aren't you doing that thing you usually do? You know, where you interfere the instant it looks like a woman might like me?"

Sheppard shook his head. "Sorry, Rodney." He tugged at his arm that Sam still held. One eyebrow rose.

"Do you really do that?" Sam asked him.

He had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "One time."

"Every time," Rodney insisted.

"Rodney..."

"And they always fall all over themselves for him," Rodney complained, but there was glint in his eyes, a light, happy tone to his voice, "like good hair and a come-hither smile are better than, oh, saving everyone from dying in a giant super-volcano's eruption."

"Maybe it is," Sheppard replied.

"Hah."

"Well, Colonel," Sam said recklessly, "there's one way to find out how you stand in comparison with Rodney."

"What!?" Rodney exclaimed.

She gave a tug to Sheppard's arm and he came to her, smiling, obviously not believing she had any intention of following through, and she hadn't, not until she saw that. Then she decided she would have to kiss Sheppard, just to prove she could.

Sam lifted her face and touched her lips to his. He appeared startled that she was doing this after all. His immobility didn’t last long and when his lips started moving over hers, challenging him as well seemed like the best idea she’d ever had.

Sheppard didn't kiss like Rodney. He was certain, but unhurried, seducing Sam's mouth slowly, lips warm and silky against hers. He teased and invited with gentle, sure pressure that caught at her imagination. He smiled and she felt that, couldn't help smiling too. When he licked playfully at the corner of her mouth, she parted her lips and touched her tongue to his, surprising him, she thought. She could feel his chuckle where her hand rested against his chest. She felt the heat of his body through the layers of his tuxedo and the thud of his heart picking up speed. His tongue stroked into her mouth, sweetness languorously transforming into heat. He tasted of the same brandy Rodney had and smelled of the same aftershave and was nothing like Rodney at all. Except in his intense focus, taking his time to learn her mouth, lazily stoking a slow burning fire. All without touching her with more than his mouth once.

The only word for the way Sheppard kissed, was lush.

The wind picked up and chilled her. The kiss slowed to an end and she stepped back a little, away from his warmth.
 
Sheppard's eyes were trained on her, hooded but intense, and just behind him, Rodney stood, watching them both with eyes that seemed to have grown even bigger than before.

They were breathing fast now, all of them. Cherry petals drifted down on their clothes and hair giving them a connection that was different from before, when there was just work. Life and death situations had a way of fusing people together stronger and closer than life ever did for others, but she knew that those forged bonds and a few kisses wouldn't be enough now. She gazed at Rodney and Sheppard, both ridiculously handsome in their black tuxes. Sheppard had the slightly darker look she had fallen for before, while Rodney…he wouldn't stand out in a crowd like Sheppard, but his broad shoulders and crooked mouth and wide blue eyes made him more than just vaguely attractive. Sam had never gone for just a pretty face, anyway. Which was what made Sheppard so appealing – he was downright pretty, but there was more, hidden, but swirling under the surface.

She wondered if she could strip some of Sheppard's control away and look deeper. She wondered if Rodney was as cocky in bed as he was at work. She wondered how they would look against crisp white sheets, both of them, with their hands on her. All focus, energy and a dark night-wind carrying silky petals.

It was an insane thought to have. She decided she liked insanity, for once. It was their last night. They might never have this chance again.

Sam reached for both men's hands. Took them. Looked at them both, trying to broadcast her intent without words.

Rodney swallowed and threw a surreptitious glance in Sheppard's direction. Sheppard didn't notice, though. His fingers were rubbing small circles on the back of her glove and he was looking at her with an intensity that would make her knees go weak if she allowed them to.

They needed no words – in fact, Sam was pretty sure that spelling it out would have ruined the moment and, at the very least, made Sheppard run, if not herself, too – so Sam started walking, knowing they would follow.

She reached into her purse and flicked open her mobile phone, and called back the dark, unofficial limousine that had brought them here.

The limousine arrived by the time they reached the edge of the park, and Sam was glad they didn't have to wait. Waiting would have meant thinking, and thinking would have led to over thinking. She didn't want to think now.

They got inside, Rodney first, then her and then Sheppard. The door closed; the soft, muffled snap of an expensive car. Then she could only hear their breathing, the rustling of their clothes against the leather seats. It was surprisingly warm inside the backseat, or maybe it was just Rodney and Sheppard's legs against her own.

The small window that shielded the driver's space from their own was wound down and the driver – the same young, serious-looking man – asked: "Where to, Ma'am?"

She was just about to answer when Rodney pushed against her, looking at the driver: "The Mandarin Oriental."

The driver's eyebrows rose a notch and he turned. "Yes, Sir."

The glass partition closed again and Rodney leaned back, a smug grin on his face. "You don't mind, do you?"

She wanted to tell him that hell, of course she didn't mind staying in one of the most expensive hotels in DC, but she didn't like being walked over like that. She knew that she might let this one thing go, but any more and Rodney would be taking charge of this, making her want to hit him sooner or later. Plus, Sheppard – who was just drifting along right now - would be gone for sure. She knew she needed to do something to keep him with them, and do it soon, or he would give into his first impulse – leave.

"No, Rodney," she answered, making sure to give her voice a long-suffering inflection.

Sam turned to Sheppard, saw him look out the window at the city rolling past in its brilliantly colored night. Red and blue chased over his face, reminding her of the alarms ringing out in Antarctica and of too many life-and-death-situations in the SGC.

As though catching her thoughts, Sheppard turned to her and gave her a small quirk of his lips; a facial shrug and Sam couldn't help but smile back. She reached for his left hand that lay loosely on his thigh. Laced their fingers for a moment and then rested his hand on her knee, just above the slit revealing her dark blue underskirt and her silk-clad legs. His hand looked bright against the dark blue of her dress.

With her hand over his, she pressed his palm against her leg, felt the warmth seep into her skin. He dipped his head forward, before hesitating again and Sam could barely resist rolling her eyes. They were nearing the end of their thirties for heaven's sake. She closed the gap between them, kissing Sheppard again. It wasn't hard. She wanted to stay with those lips for a long, long time, just feel the wet, hot glide of his tongue and the way he breathed in sharply when she threaded her hand under his tux-jacket and slipped a part of his shirt out of his pants, finally touching warm skin. He groaned into her mouth and she felt the sound vibrate against her lips. His hand moved on her thigh, disturbing the dress. Fabric moving against fabric, when what she wanted was nothing more than the feel of his hand on skin. Her nipples were tightening, and her bra began to chafe her.

Sam ran her hands over that small, hot strip of skin, scraping lightly with her fingernails. Sheppard groaned again, kissed her more deeply.

Behind them, Rodney made an impatient sound and then there was a flurry of motion. Hands reached for her waist and turned her around, rough in their eagerness, thumbs pressing uncomfortably against her ribs. She was half in Rodney's lap before she could do so much as protest.

He growled: "My turn," and kissed her – deep, hot and hungry, shooting sparks of pleasure straight to her groin. For a moment, she didn't mind the manhandling at all. Half-heartedly, she put her hands on Rodney's shoulders and pushed. He didn't let go, however, too intent on kissing her and she didn't want to admit it but he was good at this. Much better than she ever would have imagined, and she might just forgive him the rough handling if he went on sucking on her tongue and teasing her like he knew exactly what she wanted.

Almost forgotten, Sheppard's hand suddenly flexed, moved from her knee higher on her thigh, long fingers just grazing the lace edge of the thigh-highs, flexing and unflexing, massaging and brushing and scraping blunt fingernails over the silk. She jerked against his hand, felt damp heat spreading between her legs. Rodney noticed her distraction and reached for her, clamping both hands on her face and throwing even more of himself into the kiss, bruising pressure and a dominance that was at war with Sheppard's ministrations.

Her brain kicked in despite the assault on her senses. She was not a piece of taffy they could pull and bend and shape to their will, damn it.

She kissed Rodney back, teasingly, followed his lead for a few more moments before she bit his lower lip in retaliation.

He jerked back from her so fast she almost fell against Sheppard.

There was silence in the limousine suddenly, just the quiet rumble of the car's motor and their own ragged breathing.

Rodney's eyes were dark and his face was even more open than earlier: Hurt and surprise clashed with something darker, more basic. He looked hot, hungry and incredibly turned on. She wondered if he'd ever fantasized about her wanting him and taking him, showing him exactly where his place was. He hadn't taken the bite as a reprimand, she realized as she watched him lick at the cut she had left. He looked on this as foreplay. He wanted her to be dominating.

Something in her belly fluttered – panic or arousal, she couldn't say. She had never assumed this role before, not when it came to sex at any rate, but, looking at Rodney; at his dilated eyes, high color and look of naked, unfiltered need made her want to try. Besides, she realized when Sheppard's hand continued its slow erotic journey on her thigh, she was enjoying it as much as Rodney and Sheppard were.

The silence had lasted too long and given the three of them time to think. She didn't want to think. She wanted Rodney's kisses and Sheppard's hands back on her thighs and on her panties and under them and in her and…the slow rolling pleasure had escalated into something more. She wanted, now.

Rodney was about to say something but she cut him off. "Don't." Rodney going into full nervous talking mode would be absolutely detrimental to maintaining her mood. Doing this meant keeping Rodney as quiet as possible.

So she said: "Wait your turn," and moved to Sheppard, giving him a quick kiss and perching half on his knee – God, yeah, there was the friction she wanted – and pushed his other hand on her hip. The skirt of her dress rode up and up as his hands moved from her hip to her thigh and back, lighting fire after fire on her skin.

She turned back to Rodney, then. "Come here," she said huskily. He surged forward but she stopped him with a hand against his chest. "Slow. You can do slow, right, McKay?"

She should know better than to challenge him. He dipped his head down and just watched, his eyes burning holes into her. His absurdly long lashes almost touched her cheeks when he blinked. Their lips were mere millimeters away from each other, near enough to feel the warmth and taste his breath, but not close enough to touch. His tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip carefully, a small electric shock to her system. She had to fight to not follow his lips with hers when he pulled back. He dipped forward again, his teeth just grazing her lip.

Both of Sheppard's hands were on her thighs now, under her dress, drawing trails of heat on her skin. His long fingers found the lace of her thigh-highs and lifted them minutely, dipping under and moving in the tiniest of circles. His calloused fingertips were rough against her skin.

Rodney's lips finally closed in on hers again and she ground down on Sheppard's knee, desperate for the friction he was holding back. Rodney's slow; focused and intense kisses left her head spinning, her hands clawing into his shoulders.

She floated in the sensations when a new one sent another shock of pleasure to her center – Sheppard's lips on her shoulder; small, delicate kisses along the line of her shoulder to her neck. Hot, moist breath stirring her hair. He nipped on her earlobe and she didn't know where to turn – toward Rodney or toward Sheppard. All she wanted was for them to melt into her skin so she could keep those sensations with her. Gasping out, she tore her mouth away from Rodney and tried to find her breath along with her composure.

It was in that moment – Sheppard's lips on her shoulder and Rodney's on her jaw – when she noticed the driver looking into the mirror intently. The realization they were being watched, and probably had been for a while cooled her down fast. She twisted away from Rodney and slipped off Sheppard's knee, pulling her dress smooth over her knees again.

"How much longer?"

Her voice shocked both Rodney and Sheppard into sitting up straighter than before, though neither let go of her completely. Sheppard's hand was still under her skirt and she felt both dirty and aroused because of it.

"Just one more block, Ma'am," the driver answered and turned his gaze back on the street.

None of them spoke through the rest of the drive, sitting straight and staring forward while their breathing returned to normal.

Sheppard handed her out of the car when they arrived at the hotel, while Rodney dealt with the driver. They walked inside without touching. Sam wondered how Rodney and Sheppard had ended up staying at the Mandarin Oriental. Uncle Sam wasn't paying for her to stay anywhere half as ritzy, even if she was in town to have dinner with the President.

The lobby was huge – cherry wood pillars carrying a round paneled roof and opening to the dusky blue-black that was the DC night, something close to an atrium shedding light on a small, stylish table with exotic flowers and a floor of highly polished dark and light marble in warm, inviting colors.

Sam tried to not let her surprise show, instead concentrating on the floor and the sudden urge to take off her shoes and slide over the polished marble with a loud whoop. She caught Sheppard's look and smiled, realizing that he was thinking something similar as he mouthed, "Zoom." For a moment, she wondered if they would be able to get Rodney to join them.

Before she finished the thought, however, the doors to the elevator had opened and they were stepping inside, around the porter who gave them a professionally cheerful smile.

"Which floor?" he asked and Sheppard was about to answer when Rodney cut in. "Sixth, please."

"Gladly, Sir."

The porter straightened a little and smiled with studied friendliness and Sam wondered what kind of a suite Rodney had rented that that garnered that sort of response.

The doors of the elevator closed and next to her, Rodney breathed deep and even, but too forced. Claustrophobia, she remembered, had been a problem ever since she knew him. How he could stand the transporters on Atlantis when every elevator on Earth gave him the creeps was a mystery for the ages. Maybe the transporters in Atlantis didn't give him time to get nervous or feel that swoopy feeling at the pit of his stomach.

She straightened the fall of her wrap over her shoulders and arms; suddenly aware Rodney was watching her again. Sam smiled. The dress had been worth every cent. Rodney and every other man had looked more than once during the night. The President had remarked that he'd make something like that the uniform for Air Force officers if they all looked as good as she did. Sheppard had coughed and the President had laughed, admitting it probably wouldn't flatter him. She'd felt beautiful all night.

She smiled at Rodney.

"So...," Sheppard drawled, leaning back against the elevator wall. "I think I'll just head for my room."

"I don't think so," Sam told him.

Rodney's gaze slid toward them. "I've got the suite. We should at least have a drink before we say good night," he suggested with more discretion than Sam would have credited him having.

"You're sure?" Sheppard asked doubtfully, just as the elevator came to stop at the sixth floor.

"Yes, yes, obviously," Rodney snapped.

Sheppard gestured for Sam to precede him through the door. She touched his arm as she went. "I'm sure."

Rodney took the lead, taking them to his room and using the key card impatiently. "Come on."

"You know this is probably a bad idea?" Sheppard asked as they entered the suite.

Sam shrugged. "Take a chance." She smiled seductively at him.

"I'm the one who over thinks things, usually," Rodney added. "Quit trying to be sensible, Sheppard, it doesn't suit you."

Sam looked around, comparing Rodney's suite to her own economy room at the hotel near Dulles Airport. She sucked in her breath. She'd seen luxurious before; she'd been on Goa'uld motherships that were hedonistic showplaces, but this was still impressive, and unlike anything Goa'uld, in its good taste. The suite had everything: dining room, balcony, piano in the room overlooking the monument – Jesus, a piano – a king-sized bed with the four dark posters, fresh flowers...Every single thing looked wealthy and stylish and just right – and she knew why Rodney chosen the hotel. The indulgence was small compared to things he could have asked for and she didn't want to comment, but knew he expected her to.

"You planned this, didn't you?"

He looked flustered, as though he was trying hard to look hurt by her comment, but the utter delight that was just barely contained gave him away: He was glad she had asked.

"All the best Earth can provide," he said, managing to convey the rest of it: isn't this what we deserve, more than medals that go back into a vault at the end of the evening, never to be seen until they all are probably dead and the Stargate Program was declassified?

Sheppard chuckled. "For as much every night as a lot of people make all year." He shrugged, though. "What the hell, it's only money. It won't do us any good in Atlantis."

"Exactly."

Sam couldn't argue with that.

The moments trickled past too slow as they all stood there quietly and took in what was on display. Sheppard looked like something from a 40s movie in his black tux, leaning against the patent leather shine and curve of the piano. He wasn't as sure as he looked at first; his hand was locked on the edge of the piano and the knuckles were white. There was still hesitancy there and Sam wasn't sure how to break it. She wasn't even sure if coming here was such a good idea. Kissing and mutual groping were one thing, but this… This was a lot bigger. She looked at Rodney and Sheppard and swallowed when she remembered Sheppard's hands on her leg, under her skirt, skin hot against hers and Rodney's lips against hers. Dark arousal was still pooled low in her belly. Sheppard swallowed and his Adam's apple bobbed under skin that she wanted to taste. Rodney started moving restlessly, searching for the bar. She watched the mole on the back of his neck and wanted to touch it. He turned his back to her and bent down to retrieve a bottle of Whisky and three stout glasses. The clink of glass against glass was too loud.

"Whisky?"

"Whisky's good," Sam said. She slipped her wrap off and folded it over the back of a chair, setting her little purse on the seat.

Sheppard nodded.

Rodney handed the glasses to Sheppard and Sam before filling them – too full; his hands weren't entirely steady.

"Cheers."

"Bottoms up," Sam toasted recklessly and took a swallow.

The whisky fumes were heady and Sam was once again reminded of how both Rodney and Sheppard had tasted when she first kissed them. The silence grew deafening, even after they clinked their glasses together and drank. Sam suddenly couldn't stand it anymore.

She tossed her drink back – a waste, she knew, the whisky probably cost more than she made in a week - and reached out. Took the glasses from Rodney's and Sheppard's hands and placed them on the table. Pulled Rodney down to her and kissed him deeply, tasting smoky whisky and need before she stepped away and turned to Sheppard. His eyes flickered over her face and for a moment she was afraid that he would leave. She didn't let him, reached for the lapels of his tux and pulled him flush against her before crashing her lips to his. There was no hesitance there when he opened her lips and kissed her deep enough to strip her senses away. She knew she could get addicted to those lips and the way he kissed if she was not careful. To both of them, if she was honest. They made up for all she had missed in the past and she didn't know whom she wanted more right that moment.

Sheppard kissed her with the same undivided attention Rodney had given her before, his hands moving on her shoulders, disturbing the strap again, slithering it down her arms, but there was more. It was like he was searching for something, a lingering taste. A stab of arousal ran through her when she realized what he probably didn't even understand himself: he was trying to find Rodney's taste on her tongue.

She pulled away, panting. Sheppard looked at her with hooded eyes. Rodney's eyes were bright and he, too, was breathing fast. He reached out for the silver strap. Ran his index finger over and around it in circles that grew bigger with every new sweep, coming close to her breasts, grazing but never quite touching, stirring goose flesh on her arms. Sheppard mirrored Rodney and soon they had her shivering and aching for more.

It was Sheppard who finally abandoned her arm and ghosted a finger over her cleavage. Over the top of her dress. Under it, just dipping in before moving on, teasing her.

It was too much. She took both men's wrists and turned, pulling them into the bedroom.

She let go and turned around, facing them and before they could come any closer she ordered: "Strip."

Rodney grinned his smug little grin and shrugged out of his jacket immediately, while Sheppard stood there by the bedpost, giving Sam this disbelieving lift of an eyebrow, a look that telegraphed, You did not just 'order' me to take off my clothes. Except Sam had and she gave him an imperious little headlift in response. Very slowly, he lifted his hands to his tie and began unknotting it. His look challenged her to take something off as well.

Sam had always loved challenges.

With a toss of her head she reached her back, a contortion that made her arch a little and Rodney suck in his breath in appreciation, and unhooked the catch at the top of her dress. One tug then had the zip sliding down, silky lining slipping over her skin like a caress until it was no more than dark blue puddle around her feet.

Sheppard was staring at her. Rodney was staring at her. There was something thrilling about stunning them both into immobility. Sam liked being in charge and had a feeling that if she didn't keep control now, Rodney would try to take over, causing Sheppard to go. She'd have liked to have seen what was under the BDUs that were all she had seen him in until tonight, though he was spectacular in the black tuxedo.

Seeing Rodney push his sleeve up and pinch his forearm made her laugh out loud. She stepped away from her dress and walked over to the chair holding her purse to fish out the packet of condoms she'd tucked inside along with her credit card, some cash, a little make-up, a bottle of Mace and her hotel key. So she wasn't a Boy Scout, she could still be prepared, she'd always figured. She hadn't had any plans, but she never wanted to rely on whatever a man might have had squished in his wallet for the last six months.

"Honestly, even my hallucinations aren't this good," Rodney said, rubbing at where he pinched.

"It's going to get better," Sam promised. She held up the little gold foil packages so the light caught on them, tossed through the doorway to land on the bed and strolled over to Rodney, watching his eyes get wider, the pupils dilating, and knowing what he was seeing: her, in a strapless satin bra and panties set, purchased to match the dress she really couldn't afford, opera length gloves, thigh-high sheer silk stockings and blue high heels with a strap around her ankle.

"Oh my God, you're beautiful, you're really incredible," Rodney blurted out as she stopped in front of him.

Sam grinned. "Didn't I tell you to do something?"

"I'm a civilian," Rodney replied and set his hands on her hips. He was looking down her bra. Under the circumstances, it would have been insulting if he hadn't looked. His thumbs were moving in little circles over her hipbones, just above the lace edge of her underwear.

Sam snapped her fingers in front of his nose. "Undressing? You're falling behind." She turned her head and looked at Sheppard. His tie dangled from his collar but he hadn't moved to take anything else off. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

He glanced past her, looking at Rodney, and hesitated. Rodney lifted his hands away from Sam and began working on his shirt studs, fumbling a little, a faint tremor in his fingers. Sam was proud of that. She had just spent three weeks working on incredibly delicate Ancient equipment along with Rodney. One slip and they could have blown up most of Antarctica. Rodney's hands had never shook once. And Sheppard had never hesitated once when Rodney had told him to do something.

"Yes, Colonel," Rodney added, "are you slow?" One of the studs dropped down to the carpet, glinting dull gold by lamplight.

Sheppard still hadn't moved.

Sam swayed over to him, the high heels making her strut. They sank into the lush carpet and if she hadn't wanted the height they gave her, she'd have kicked them off. She needed it for now, though, as she stopped in front of Sheppard. She wanted his attention on her. He and Rodney may have showered in the same SGC facilities; seen each other naked in the locker room, but this was very different. It was naked with intent. It was funny, but she could see, Rodney wasn't the one who was nervous. It was Sheppard, but then, Sheppard was Air Force and had had the rules drummed into him, just like Sam had.

Sam never made a conscious, in her right mind, move on O'Neill while he was her team leader or superior officer, and she would never get involved with a subordinate, but while she and Sheppard held the same rank, they lived in different galaxies, and she would fly out to Area 51 again tomorrow while he and Rodney were going back to Atlantis. Possibly the wine and whiskey and champagne had combined to make this seem like a better idea than it really was, but she couldn't see the harm in it, either.

She set her hands on his lapels and pushed the jacket off, down over his shoulders. Sheppard stood there and let her, eyes glinting, a smile playing over his lips. His gaze drifted back over her shoulder to Rodney, though, and turned unsure. There was a heat there, too, that Sam thought she recognized, and she wondered if he was even aware of it or if that wasn't what scared him. It made her smile.

She tossed his jacket toward the couch. It hit and slithered to the floor. Between her dress, Rodney's shirt studs and Sheppard's jacket, the room was taking on a lived-in look.

"Hey," Sheppard protested quietly. "The rental was expensive, you know."

"Forget it, I'll fucking buy it," Rodney said from just behind her. Sam hadn't heard his steps. The thick carpet had muffled them. She ignored him in favor of working on Sheppard's belt. He was looking spooked.

"Maybe – "

"Stop thinking, Colonel," Rodney told him. Sheppard stiffened when Rodney said Colonel, pulling back from Sam, and in turn, Rodney. Rodney needed to stop using Sheppard's rank and reminding him, Sam decided, or Sheppard would end up so spooked he'd bolt. She took Sheppard's face in her hands and stood on her toes a little more to kiss him. It was like the kiss at the reflecting pool, luxurious and slow as cold honey when Sheppard relaxed into it and kissed her back. She liked his tongue in her mouth, liked the heat radiating off him through the layers of his tux, even the feel of his trousers against her silk clad legs.

A new sensation added to the heat as Rodney's lips touched her neck, moist and warm. His breath stirred her hair. Her hands on Sheppard's belt grew unsteady for a moment - Sheppard was stripping her senses with his tongue and Rodney was mouthing the back of her neck to her ear and all she wanted for a few second was to let go of control, but she remembered the thrill it gave her to have them obey her and so she kissed Sheppard back a little more forcefully while she pulled his belt free. Sheppard stepped back, his lips swollen and his eyes dark and startled. She dropped the heavy leather of the belt onto the floor where it landed with a resounding thud. His hands flexed on her hip in a teasing encouragement and he grinned. She made short work of the button and unzipped him … and couldn't hold back the laugh when the pants slithered off his slim hips.

Her laughter shook her and the vibration traveled to where Rodney was touching her. He was pressing against her back, his chest bare. Apparently he had gotten out of his shirt while she had been kissing Sheppard, and, who knew Rodney McKay would have such a nice chest? It was broad and smooth against her back, that little scattering of hair she had seen through the open shirt earlier scratched her back.

She was still chuckling when Sheppard stepped out of his pants. Rodney put his chin on her shoulder and snorted. "Everybody in Atlantis knows what his boxers look like," Rodney said. The gust of air accompanying his words ghosted over her cleavage, surprisingly arousing.

"Not my fault the BDUs don't fit better," Sheppard replied, a pout on his face and in his voice. It was much more sexy than it should be. "Besides," he continued, "nobody else is complaining."

She felt Rodney looking up at Sheppard. His voice was too low to be entirely intentional: "I didn't say I was."

At that, Sheppard was already tensing up again under her hands, pulling away, and Sam caught his hands. Rubbed his wrists in little circles for a while before pulling his hands around her waist. Despite still being tense, he followed her quiet instructions. His hands were warm and lightly calloused and fit perfectly over her hips, kneading and rubbing small circles. His fingers dipped down to her ass, sweeping up to her shoulder blades as she moved closer to him, against heat and soft skin. Rodney followed when she moved away from him, stepped closer and Sam felt Sheppard freeze completely when the backs of his hands brushed against Rodney's chest.

Rodney's hands tightened on her hips. Neither man was looking at each other, they both held perfectly still. Sam felt Rodney's heart against her back, and she could see the jump of Sheppard's pulse on that beautiful neck. She didn't need to look up any more to know that they both had their eyes closed now. The dynamic between them was complex, and if she was not entirely mistaken, very different from what they thought. She was going to have to gather some more data before she took more steps, though. Luckily, that task was going to be a real pleasure tonight.

She pushed her hips back against Rodney and felt his erection push against her through his pants. It shouldn't surprise her, but it was still a thrill to know how easily she affected him. His fingers dipped over her hip-bone toward her belly and hit a particularly sensitive spot and she had to admit that Rodney’s attraction to her was in no way one-sided. Back when they had worked on the malfunctioning gate, she had told him that she was attracted to him. She alone knew that it hadn't only been a teasing remark to throw him off-balance back then.

"Off with the pants, McKay," she teased, wiggling against him.

"Oh, God, yes," Rodney muttered and stepped back a little, making her miss his warmth and the feel of his chest against her. The sound of the button opening and the zipper being lowered was obscenely loud, but it was a welcome sound.

She looked up at Sheppard and saw his eyes flickering and unsure, his jaw tense and his posture unnaturally still. She heard Rodney drop his pants.

Sheppard had gone too still and she slipped her hand down the front of his boxers to distract him from Rodney. "You too ...John," she said, using his given name for the first time. His quick, indrawn breath was accompanied by a shift of hips, pressing into her palm, hot under the thin fabric of his boxers. Sam felt a corresponding need to squirm and grind against something between her own legs; she wasn't here just for the men, she needed tonight, too. She pressed her palm against him. Just a little encouragement, though it didn't feel like he needed much in that department. A soft groan slipped past his slightly parted lips and his eyelids dropped to half-closed.

Sam took advantage and kissed him again, closing her teeth gently on his lower lip. One more teasing rub against John's erection and she turned in his arms to face Rodney.

Who was standing in pin-striped boxers and dark socks, everything else, even his watch, gone. She couldn't help grinning. Rodney wasn't quite the image of suave she knew he'd like to present, not with the socks and the tent at the front of his boxers, but he wasn't ridiculous. The intensity of his gaze precluded that.

She pointed at the socks. "Cold feet, McKay?"

Behind her, John laughed. She felt it vibrate from his chest against her back and was relieved. He was finally starting to loosen up. That was good, because this wouldn't work unless he let go. Rodney glared and toed off the socks. John's hand stroked over the curve of her ribcage and she recognized the roughness of familiar calluses. A sweet, heavy warmth spread through her.
 
It was enough to distract her. Rodney's hands joined John's in a slow, expert exploration. Her nipples tightened and her cheeks flushed. John's breath moved through her hair, stirring the short strands, damp and hot. The damn bra was starting to chafe against her. Rodney skimmed his fingers over the tops of her breasts and John's hands had come up to cup them from below. He played with her breasts through the bra, lifting them into Rodney's teasing touch, while Rodney flirted with the lace at the edges. The stiffened material of the push-up bra muted everything to a frustrating degree, however.

Breathless, Sam decided it was time to do something about that. Time to take charge. Ordering them both to do what she wanted was proving to be a real turn-on and they'd obeyed so far. Licking lips that felt swollen with kissing already, she moaned a little as Rodney flicked at her nipple through the bra. His gaze was bright and hungry.

"Rodney."

He hovered his hands between her breasts, over the front fastener. John's fingers were brushing against his. Sam looked down at the picture they made and tried to breath through the arousal burning hotter and hotter within her. She was already wet and impatient to get to the bed.

"Shall I?" Rodney asked and added, "You're giving the orders tonight," proving he was cleverer and more observant than anyone who hadn't worked with him would believe.

"Do it," Sam told him. Her voice was huskier than usual. "Move it, McKay."

His hands were deft. He didn't fumble or hesitate and why that surprised her, she didn't know, but why it turned her on was obvious. She hoped his mouth was a talented as his fingers.

With the fastener open, John peeled the bra away and tossed it; Sam didn't care where. Rodney bent over her breast, his mouth on her nipple and she had to grab onto his shoulders when the hot, wet suction started.

"Did I tell you to do that?" she choked out.

John's lips brushed her ear and his breath was hot against it, making her shiver. "You didn't tell him not to." The rough, whisky rasp John's voice had taken on was just another spike of pleasure. He was getting into this and that made it much, much better, just like his palm, circling over the nipple of her other breast, his thumb brushing against Rodney's cheek each time it hollowed.  "We can stop any time."

"You don't stop until I tell you," Sam ground out. She'd have liked to drop her head back against John's shoulder and let this go on and on, but she'd rather stay in control a little longer. There was the bed just begging to be messed up by the three of them. With a regretful sigh, she pushed Rodney away. "Bed, now."

Rodney's mouth was wet and reddened and he looked...debauched already, Sam thought. She gave him a push and he followed her order, sitting on the edge of the bed. John wasn't quite as cooperative, hesitating again as Sam moved out of his arms and tugged him around, but a glance down showed he was as aroused as Rodney was. She wanted the boxers off, but decided the unbuttoned shirt could stay. The blinding white against John's darker skin, framing his chest, appealed to her.

"On your back," she told Rodney and he scooted back on the bed, spread out and looking particularly fuckable.

Beside her, John's breath stuttered. Sam walked him to where she wanted him and then pushed him off balance and down onto the bed. He fell back and froze as his hand encountered Rodney's shin. Rodney's hands were clenching and releasing on the coverlet, as though he wanted to touch more, himself, her, John, but wouldn't let himself. Neither of them moved an inch.

"Stay there," Sam instructed them both.

The two of them, both headstrong by all reports, doing everything she told them would be enough to get her hot by itself. She had to take a couple of breaths and figure out what came next. Rodney or John first? John's fingers flexed on Rodney's leg and Rodney gasped quietly. John's head turned toward him and his breathing picked up, too. Sam decided.

"Spread your legs."

John's gaze jerked back to Sam, eyes widening, but he slowly opened his thighs wider.

It was a bit of a trick, because Sam didn't spend a lot of time in three-inch heels, but she placed one foot on the edge of the bed, between John's legs, while balancing on one leg.

"Oh God," Rodney moaned.

"Take it off," Sam ordered.

Both of them stared at her. John traced over her leg from toe to hip and back with his gaze and he licked his lips. He closed his hand around her ankle, then down over her heel to the spike. The tips of his ears were flushed and he rubbed his thumb over the shoe, up and down. Sam felt a little giddy. She just found a John Sheppard kink. Who knew? The way he was stroking the leather of her shoe was making her breath hitch.

"Do you like that?" she purred at him.

The press of his erection, heavy and unmistakable, against the front of his boxers said yes. John just breathed in and out. Sam rocked her foot in his hand, while wondering how long she could maintain this position.

"Do you?" Rodney asked, in a voice rough and hungry enough to make Sam tremble.

John closed his eyes, just for an instant, and choked out, "Yes."

Sam could feel her leg going wobbly, though. "I told you to take it off," she snapped at him, with a whip crack to her voice that would have made a Parris Island DI proud. John jerked out of his half trance, but his eyes were dilated and a little dazed. He was completely into what they were doing now. He slid the pump off her foot and dropped it. Stroked her instep absently. It felt like it had in the car, hot and firm through the filter of the silk. It made her toes curl and then his touch almost tickled, making her squeal and jerk and wobble, grabbing at the bedpost to keep her balance.

"Damn it," she muttered ruefully.

"Not quite the professional dominatrix, huh, Sam?" Rodney laughed at her. He was sitting up and grinning. Even John looked amused, releasing her foot so she could switch feet and kick off the other pump. As soon as she had, she leaned past John and cuffed the side of Rodney's head.

He caught her hand and breathed a damp kiss through the material of her glove over her wrist. Sam had to blow out a breath and tug her hand away, before crawling onto the bed between them. She tried for sexy, but suspected she just looked silly. It didn't seem to make a difference to Rodney or John.

John looked doubtful again, however. Rodney didn't have a problem with the three of them together, in fact, he was amusingly eager about the whole thing, but John…There was doubt there, he was nowhere near as sure as Rodney was. Hell, she wasn't sure why and how she had come to offer this, but she wasn't going to back down now. With her dress lying abandoned on the floor, she was only dressed in her underwear and her thigh-highs and gloves; it was a little late to have doubts. She remembered John touching the stockings in the car and blood rushed to her face. He had incredible hands. Long, slim and slightly rough in texture, but warm and skilled. She wanted that touch again, without the constant feeling of being watched by the limousine-driver.

She lay back on her elbows and bent her knee, circling at the ankle, pointing her left foot at John. "Stocking," she demanded. John obliged. His hands skimmed over her shin and calves to her knee, circling around it for a moment before continuing a slow journey to the top of her thigh where the lace lay tight on her skin. His index and middle finger dipped under the lace top and she couldn't help the shiver. "Stop," she said, and with a reluctant caress, he did, looking up at her, perplexed and unsure.

"Rodney." She looked at Rodney on her other side. He wasn't moving, just stared at John and Sam, mouth slightly open, breath flowing fast. Back to John, who frowned for a second, then bent over her leg with an almost feral expression. Touched his lips to first the outside, then the inside of her thigh, making her shiver again. The shiver turned into goosebumps when his tongue met her skin through the silk stockings and his teeth - with some help of his right hand - closed around the lace top.

Hot, hot, moist breath on the inside of her thigh, just enough to reach her panties. Sam wanted to groan.

"Rodney," she said again instead, whipping the words out, covering up the hot stab of arousal she felt as John started pulling the thigh-high down her leg with his teeth.

She pointed a hand in his direction and his gaze moved from John's mouth - God, those lips were even more incredible on her legs than they were kissing her - to her arm that was still covered in the opera glove. A gleam lit up Rodney's eyes and he took her hand again, running his palm over the dark blue satin in movements that were slow and frustrating.

In a moment of unspoken understanding, the sort Sam was more used to seeing between team members under fire, John and Rodney's gazes met and they acted in concert. John drew the stocking down Sam's leg in sync with Rodney tugging her glove off. It made Sam shiver. So did watching John run the silky length of stocking between his fingers. A glimpse of the bedpost behind him gave her wicked, wicked idea.

It was easy to roll over and straddle him, to push him down flat on the bed with her hand on his chest. Not so easy to ignore the heat, the soft crinkle of chest hair and a tight nipple riding over lean muscle, or the hard thump of his heartbeat. Sam did it. She had a plan. She pulled his hands up to the post at the head of the bed. "Hold on," she whispered to him, stretching over him and slipping her stocking away from his slack fingers. The silk was still warm from her body. He moved, startled and maybe not so into this when she wound the silk around one wrist, but Rodney was there, taking John's wrists and holding them in place as Sam tied both hands firmly to the bed post.

John's breath sawed in and out and he craned his head back to look at his hands. "Rodney?" he murmured, half question, half disbelief, but he was still hard when Sam checked. His gaze flickered from his hands to Sam to Rodney. "What the hell are you doing?" It was funny and telling that he didn't ask Sam that, but she still answered.

"Making sure you don't run away," she told him and patted his chest, noticing he'd broken out in a light sweat. She added, "You keep talking about leaving, Colonel. We can't have that. Can we, Rodney?

"I don't run away," John protested, while Sam stripped his black boxers off.

Rodney snorted softly. "Yes, you do," he said, "So we're not giving you the chance."

Sam took the opportunity to slide the open dress shirt wider, so that it was rucked up near John's armpits. She liked the way he sucked his breath in, the way his stomach hollowed under his ribcage, the shiver she felt run through him where her thighs touched his sides, as she ran her fingers through the tufts of dark hair under his arms. The shirt kept her from seeing the muscles in his arms flex, but he twisted against the binding in a way that jolted heat through her like never before.

Rodney's hands were still around John's wrists. One thumb rubbed over the knotted stocking. John's throat was one long line of tension as he stared at that connection between them. Sam kissed the knob of his Adam's apple, feeling it move under her lips as John swallowed, then moved up to kiss his mouth, deep and dirty and wet. She didn't let it end until he was rubbing his entire body against her, against the sheets, against anything that would provide a little friction and he was moaning into her mouth non-stop. She was shivering, the muscles inside her quivering and aching, hovering on the edge of an orgasm without even a touch.

Not yet, though, she wanted everything, and she hadn't forgotten Rodney; in fact, now she could concentrate on him.

With a pat to John's chest, she slid off him. It was the work of a moment to strip off her other glove, her other stocking and her underwear and toss them. The condom packet slipped under her knee and she tossed it up to the pillows. Then Rodney surprised her, pulling her over him in one smooth move that had her straddling his hips, the tip of his cock nudging up against her soft, slick folds, making them both moan. "Condom," Sam reminded him when he rocked his hips up, sliding against her until all she wanted was to take him inside.

"Fuck," he muttered.

Sam pinched his nipple and he curled up, cursing and panting at the same time, cock slipping away from her just a little.

"You know, I'd help, but I'm a little tied up, here," John said, his voice hoarse. He was watching Sam, watching Rodney fumble and tear at a condom wrapper, even watching as Sam took it and rolled it onto Rodney's erection. Her leg was brushing against his hip.

She lowered herself over Rodney and kissed the hollow of his collarbone, then down to one tight nipple. Then arched her back to give him a good show while Rodney played with her breasts – she'd always been a little proud of her breasts, they were damn pretty – and that distracted her from John thoroughly. So did Rodney's hands, of course he could multitask, as he insinuated them between her legs, teasing and fingering her until the insides of her thighs were wet and she was shuddering and falling through a climax that was better than she'd had in at least two years.

"Rodney, if you don't untie me..."

She was still shuddering through the aftermath when Rodney untied one of John's hands, pulled it down and slid John's fingers into Sam's open mouth. John rolled onto his side and then it was John's fingers, and Rodney's fingers, and she brought her own hand to her mouth and licked her fingers too, before interlacing them with John's and bringing them down. Rodney's hands were damp on her hips and they left cool trails over her skin as he pulled her down and pushed inside her, swollen flesh filling her, and John jerked in surprise as he touched where Sam was stretched around Rodney. It was absolutely necessary to kiss Rodney; to suck his tongue in rhythm with the rock of their hips, before finding John's mouth, so that he could lick every trace of Rodney's from her tongue.

"Untie me," he begged into her mouth, twisting and dragging his erection against Rodney and Sam helplessly, just needing skin and friction.

"Not yet," she gasped back, catching his lip between her teeth and biting. "Not yet, not yet, not yet," she repeated as she began cresting toward another orgasm.

John was rubbing himself against Rodney now and she saw the instant he realized it, but he didn't stop, didn't stop circling his thumb over her clit either, until she dragged it away and wrapped his fingers, still wet with her juices, around his cock. Then he was squeezing and pulling himself desperately.

Sam wanted to watch him come for her and Rodney, wanted the sticky wet evidence to spill over them both, it made her clench inside and that set off a chain reaction, of Rodney bucking into her and babbling, "God, Sam, you're so hot, so tight, fucking fantastic, this is, this is, I never dreamed you'd be this good, I mean I dreamed you'd be good, but not this good and John – " before his mouth snapped shut on whatever else he would have blurted out.

"Rodney?"

"Yes," he hissed, thrusting up and feeling huge inside her. His eyes were squeezed shut.

"Make him come."

Those blue eyes snapped open as she took the hand nearest John from her hip and placed it over John's hand on his cock. One squeeze, one buck of Rodney's hips and Sam was climaxing again and felt the pulse inside that told her Rodney was coming, and John was jerking into both their hands, striping his come over their skin and the sheets with a whispered, breathless, "Fuck!"

Later, when she could think again, Sam rolled off Rodney and nearly off the side of the bed. Her heart was still pounding hard. Both men looked like their brains had been short-circuited, too. The bed was a spectacular mess and so were they. She wobbled on weak legs into the bathroom before she began chuckling and smothered her laughter with running water. One of John's arms was still stretched over his head, tied to the bedpost, his shirt was never going to recover, and Rodney was flat on his back, with the filled condom slipping off him. A glimpse of herself in the mirror just sparked more laughter. Her lipstick was gone, her hair looked like a haystack and there were hickeys on her breasts.

She managed a creditable repair job on her appearance thanks to the well-stocked washroom, then padded back out to the bed with a warm, wet washcloth to clean both men up. Rodney was asleep, with his hand still on John's softened cock. John had one leg thrown over Rodney's and his face against Rodney's shoulder. She wavered between chuckling at them and smiling.

She cleaned them up gently, as well as she could. Rodney's hand slipped off John's cock but stayed on his leg. When she was done, she crawled next to Rodney, wriggling against him until snug against his side, her leg over Rodney's so that her knee nudged against John's on the other side. Their breathing and the heavy warmth in her limbs lulled her. She looked out the window at the city that was still the same outside, oblivious to what had happened in this room, and smiled before she closed her eyes. Sleep came easily.


Sam woke up to wet suction on the inside of her thigh and on her ribcage. She wondered momentarily how long it was she had been out that both men were awake and in action again, but when those lips on her thigh moved higher and found her clit, she didn't give a damn anymore. She didn't open her eyes, giving into the sensation of licks that were in sync now - on her left nipple and her clit. Her breathing picked up, turning shallow and labored. Dimly, she thought that they are both making up for their earlier passiveness, and wondered if she had gotten more than she bargained for. A low groan - Rodney - against her inner lips brought vibrations against every nerve ending and she started shuddering. She kept her eyes closed. The sight of Rodney McKay kneeling between her legs and tasting her, licking her clean would have been too much to handle right now. She had never been the vocal type. She wouldn't start for him, but if she saw him now, she was afraid that … Sam never finished the thought. Rodney dipped his tongue deep into her just as John bit her nipple and then ran a wet and raspy tongue over it and she was flying. Everything inside her came apart in a blaze of gold as another orgasm hit, imploding inside her, sending bright shockwaves outside against her skin and she bucked against Rodney, clenching her hands in the sheets, and for the first time in her life, she had trouble swallowing the moan that wanted to slip free of her throat.

When she came down off the feverish high and her hips settled against the bed again, four hands were gentling her. She opened her eyes and squinted at them, still too breathless to speak.

Rodney raised his head – oh, God, his lips still glisten wet from her – and grinned smugly at John, who smiled too, almost wickedly, first at Rodney, then at her.

"I guess round one was a draw." He pulled away from her a little, immediately making her miss his warmth and weight against her thighs. "Well, at least she's awake now."

Sam's mind tripped and stuttered for just a moment, then she sat up and glared at Rodney as realization set in. "What is this, a competition?"

John drew her back against him so his head could dip down to her collar-bone. "You were too quiet, before," he murmured against her chest, leaving goosebumps in the trail of his lips.

"And we've got a reputation to lose, here," Rodney added, all smug superiority.

Sam didn't know if she wanted to kill him or laugh at him.

Ire clawed its way up and she was back in that mess hall at the SGC, when Rodney had told her that he had a thing for dumb blondes. She couldn't believe they were turning this into a competition about who could make her come the loudest. It was degrading. Sam scooted back on the bed, away from John's lips and Rodney hands and glared at them, knowing full well that the icy stare was only half as effective since she was completely naked.

"You two are incredible assholes, I hope you realize that."

Rodney's face fell a little, as though he realized that, really, no, she didn't find this amusing at all, and he really had hurt her, but John … There was a reaction she hadn't expected. John smirked. Slow and lazy, it crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"You're the one benefiting," he drawled, in a voice that glided over her like liquid velvet. "You want us to stop? Don't tell me you honestly mind."

It was hard not to gape at him.

Behind John, Rodney found his composure again and chimed in: "Really, Sam, you're supposed to be smart."

She knew she should answer. Find something to say that would slap them and their egos down and let her regain her...Oh, who the fuck was she kidding? They were right. Who in their right mind would complain that she had two men intent on giving her screamingly good orgasms? She'd already had three spectacular ones and now that both men were intent, she knew there were more to come. She loved being a woman so much right in that moment. Why should she give up the chance for more?

"I hate you," she sighed. When she felt the touch of hands against her skin again, she relaxed and smiled. "You won't get me to scream."

A hand grasped her thigh tighter, squeezed; a nip of teeth on her stomach, a hint of tongue and then cool breath blown across the wet path and Rodney said: "We'll see."

She really did hate him. Mostly because she knew he wouldn't give up.


She'd lost track of time, her body had become a live-wire. They'd changed positions again and John entered her in one sure, measured thrust. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment but she forced them open again, wanting to see John and those ever-changing eyes looking at her.

Sam slowly locked her ankles up around his waist as he moved inside her, making the angle better, sweeter. Over his shoulder, she saw Rodney kneel behind him. A quiver ran through John as Rodney stroked his hands over John's back. His eyes closed for a moment and his slow thrusts lost rhythm for a few seconds before she could see him building up his control again. He didn't look at Rodney, but concentrated on her breasts. He was ignoring that whatever Rodney was doing felt good. John played with her breasts, sucking one then the other, making her squirm between these long, slow, luxuriant thrusts into her. She was breathing hard, wanted more, faster, harder, but after making her come once already, John was taking his time, stroking into her, learning her taste and her sounds. He was in control now.

Except for Rodney.

Setting a hand on his shoulders, she caught Rodney's gaze again. He looked at her, different than he did before, much more naked and hungry. Positioned between John's legs. She had felt him nudging John's thighs apart earlier, when John had lost his steady, smooth rhythm. Rodney wrapped himself around John from behind. She felt the backs of his hands against her stomach and felt it rising in her again, slow and hot.

John went completely still and Sam wanted to groan in frustration. She pulled John close again and rehooking her legs so she could reach Rodney's sides with her feet, too. Pulled him closer and - oh, God, she should have calculated that - the additional weight pushed John deeper inside her still, hitting a spot that began to send sparks down her spine. John still didn't move, though, just panted and looked at her with an expression of both pain and longing and panic. The stillness stopped her from falling over into another climax, and that made her groan now. She didn't need another orgasm, strictly; could just roll with whatever John needed, but she was so close, it danced just out of her reach, and if he'd only move, God, move already, she'd have the chance of the longest, most intense one she'd had yet, because John was patient and slow and ... The flush spread down to her breasts and she wanted, needed him, them, all of them to finally go on moving, to create that little more friction that was missing. She grabbed John's face and kissed him, long and wet and messy while she pulled with her ankles at Rodney's side. The room was silent except for the sounds of wet suction and hard breathing. Rodney moved, she couldn't see his face over John's shoulder anymore. John kissed her back, slow and not as suave as before. She could feel the freak-out lingering underneath those kisses and she tried to gentle him despite being so fucking close herself, so close that she wanted nothing but for him to pound her into the mattress.

John suddenly jerked away from her lips and gasped, a look of surprised pain washing over his features. The sudden jerk traveled along his body into her and Sam gasped, too. Close, close, so close, but it still wasn't enough. Enough, however, to get John to start moving again. Too slow. Too damn slow. Fresh sweat broke out all over her body, slicking her skin. She could smell the musky scent of both men and it just added to the sensations.

Behind John, Rodney reached around, running his hand along John's arm, from shoulder to wrist. John shook, his shoulders trembling under Sam's fingers. He sped up his movement into her, she could feel his control starting to dissolve.

Rodney laced his fingers through John's fingers where his hand rested on her waist and dragged them up, playing with her nipples.

Sam watched them both, caught between wanting to finally fall over the edge and wanting to watch them together, the slow way in which Rodney got John used to his touch, even though she could see that Rodney looked as surprised as John looked terrified. Rodney's other hand came around John's other side, ran along his ribcage and down to where she and John were joined. John lost it when Rodney started touching him, felt it, too. John's movements got jerkier, faster, less coordinated.

Rodney moved now, she could feel the different rhythm. Something touched her next to where John was buried deep inside her and with a gasp, she realized that it was Rodney, rubbing his erection up against John's ass. Slipping it between his thighs, deep enough to have it touch her, too.

John stuttered out, "Jesus, Rodney – " and surged forward, a strangled cry on his lips. Rodney and John's fingers on her breast, Rodney's other hand between John and her, rubbing her just right, just there, she couldn't bite back a long moan for more. John sped up, jerkily, out of sync, out of control, one long, choking groan on his lips… Sam came. Her hands fell from John's shoulders, too weak to hang on when the climax crashed through her – colors and heat and pleasure so intense that she feared she might never be able to put herself together again, intense enough to hurt and make her beg them to stop, beg them to never stop. She couldn't remember how to breathe anymore. It went on and on, shockwaves of pleasure in time with John's unsteady thrusts, sparked harder by the helpless look of him: his eyes unfocused and his mouth open in an almost pained, "Ah..." Dimly, she felt John lose it completely. A few more thrusts and he was coming, his cock twitching inside her, the feel of him pulsing in her muted by the condom. The wet evidence of Rodney's release spilled over them soon after, as the last waves of her own orgasm crested over her.

They ended up in a sweaty heap, breathing hard. Neither of them spoke. Their weight wasn't uncomfortable yet, and Sam was glad for it anchoring her. Her head spun.

John was panting, too, but it sounded strange. She touched her hands to his hair but John didn't move, even hid his face in her chest. Rodney had his arms around John's chest and drew him out and away from Sam very gently. John tried to pull away, then just went still, quiet and withdrawn. He stayed in Rodney's arms and then began shaking. He was shaking badly, enough to worry Sam.

She'd wanted a night without consequences, but what if it wasn't? What if she and Rodney had pushed John farther than he'd wanted to go?

She curled closer to John and cradled his face in her hands. Kissed him really gently, while Rodney held him from behind still. Except it had become more a hug than anything sexual now.

John tasted of sorrow and missed opportunities and need and Sam understood. Even better when she felt Rodney run his hands along John's arms and John's shivering grew worse.

"John?" she said when she released his lips. She waited until he opened his eyes and then held his gaze, warm and steady.

"It's okay," she said. A frown passed over John's face. He didn't want to understand her meaning, so she had to take matters into her own hands. She let go of him and pushed John over so he was facing Rodney. She propped herself on an elbow and looked at them both looking at each other. Rodney's gaze flickered and John's was terrified. She held a hand between them, touched first Rodney's, then John's, lips.

"It's okay," she emphasized again, then gave John a little push, just enough so his lips met Rodney's. She moved her hand to his shoulder, stroking, long and slow and careful.

They still didn't move, lips against each other as though they had been electrocuted and shocked into immobility, then, finally, Rodney snapped out of it and drew in a big, gasping breath and kissed John.

Finally, she felt the tension slip away as John gave in and kissed Rodney back almost delicately. She touched Rodney's hair and smiled wistfully as she watched them kiss, felt a little twinge at the tenderness between them. It went with the twinge between her legs. She was going to be sore tomorrow. She hadn't had this much sex in one night in longer than she cared to recall.

The kiss seemed to go on and on, John and Rodney learning and knowing and exploring each other's mouths, claiming in sweet tenderness and bright relief. When they finally let go of each other, they rolled apart and pulled her between them. Four arms embraced her and stroked her and the relief and gratefulness they broadcasted silently might have made her weep if she had been the weeping kind.

They were wordless for once.

Except Rodney was never wordless.

Only close.

He murmured into her ear, "This – I never thought – thank you, Sam. Thank you." And then, after a moment's consideration, "My God, we're a mess. Shower. Now."

She had used the bathroom before, but only now learned to appreciate its spaciousness fully. They all fit into the shower – a space large enough to hold almost half of her living room at home.

She stood between them when Rodney turned on the water. The steady, even stream of the two huge shower-heads made the hot water feel like raindrops on her skin, gentling places where enthusiastic hands had gripped too hard. Next to her, John lifted his face into the spray and closed his eyes. The water plastered the hair to his head and made him look impossibly younger. The sexual tension between them had eased by now, and she just felt warm and comfortable between those two men, even though she realized that, judging her normal unwillingness to experiment when it came to sex, and especially sex with co-workers, she really shouldn't be.

Sam shook herself out of the pointless contemplation and pulled John under the shower-spray completely. He was warm and pliant and seemed too tired to care much about what was happening besides getting clean. She smiled and reached around Rodney for the shower-gel and the shampoo. Poured some of the unisex scented gel into her open palm and began washing first John and then Rodney. Their relaxed muscles under slick skin felt pleasant to her hands. She felt like a sculptor, smoothing her hands over them again and again, from shoulder to ass, over biceps and down to slim, strong hands. What before had been an invitation for more was now received with muted sighs. Rodney hummed low under his breath. Sam noticed that John was leaning into her touch, a gesture that told her enough about how long he had been alone and how much he needed to be touched.

Indulging herself a little longer than strictly necessary, she poured shampoo into her palm as well and reached for John, pulling him down so she could reach his head comfortably without having to stand on her toes. Sam spread the shampoo into his hair and felt the lather forming. Gently, she began massaging his scalp, circling her fingers with a light pressure. John all but purred and pushed his head against her fingers, twisting and kissing her shoulder softly.

She was distracted enough that the feel of Rodney's hands on her back startled her at first, but then she came close to purring herself when he began washing her, those nimble, talented hands running over her body without one crude side-trip. He massaged her shoulders gently; finally drawing that moan from her he'd been aiming for all night.

She was glad when he didn't comment, just kissed her other shoulder and reached out to brush over John's hair as well.

They switched roles after a while, John washing Rodney, touching him with enough care to make Sam's heart heavy.

It was only when Sam half fell asleep standing up that they turned the shower off.

Rodney dried her off with a huge white towel, dabbing her skin carefully as though she were made of fine glass. Her hair distracted him and he ran his fingers through it again and again, combing it into shape.

"I've wanted to do this since I first saw you," he admitted. Her eyebrow rose when she met his gaze in the mirror. "Among…other things."

Looking at herself and them in the mirror, she saw John smiling fondly at Rodney's look of rapt concentration. John had a towel slung low around his hips and she was once again struck by how good he looked in white.

When Rodney moved to dry himself off, John bent down and placed a kiss at the crown of her hair. "My grandmother called it daffodil hair, " he said and she couldn't help smiling at him.

It felt slightly odd to have him bring up his grandmother in this moment, but Sam thought that little bit of information meant that John was at ease enough to let his mask slip for a bit. She was happy to see that he could allow it to slip here, with them.

After they had all dried and left the towels in wild disarray on the bathroom floor, they padded back to the bed. Sam was bone-deep tired, heavy lethargy settling in her body and one look at John and Rodney told her that they, too, were barely able to stand up anymore.

No way in hell was she sleeping on the messy sheet, however. With one swift movement, she pulled the sheet off the bed and spread the upper sheet over it.

Sam crawled onto the bed and curled on her side, closing her eyes already. The bed dipped on either side and then she was in their middle again, warm and safe. Hungers and desires sated now, all she could feel was contentment and warmth. Arms thrown over her, pulling her close between them. One of them pulled the duvet over them when Sam started to shiver.

Again, their warmth and their clean scent lulled her and pulled her under. She didn't fight sleep.


Morning reminded her that cherry blossoms were ephemeral things. The sun through the window warmed her feet until she woke, staring blankly around until the memories of the night before settled into place and she realized she was in Rodney's hotel room, along with John, who slept with a tanned arm slung over her waist. Even the dark stubble didn't make him look old enough to be the base military commander of an outpost in another galaxy. When she checked, Rodney looked a little more like the man she thought she knew: jaw blued with morning beard, brows drown together in a frown as his eyes moved under his eyelids, lost in REM sleep and mumbling.

She didn't have a watch on and it took some time to find a clock. She took a deep breath in relief. She still had time to clean up, get back to her own hotel, pack and make it to the airport with enough time to go through the security check-in. Her arms and legs felt heavy enough that she wasn't enthusiastic about the effort of even getting out of bed, however.

She did, though, slipping carefully free of John's arm. He rolled over and into Rodney's arms without waking.

Sam showered and appropriated one of the sinfully fine robes the hotel provided. She reflected that for the kind of money Rodney must have spent for this suite, the Mandarin Oriental would probably send someone out to buy her street clothes if she called down to the front desk and asked. Too bad she hadn't considered that she'd have to walk out this morning still - or back – in her evening dress.

She fished it up from the floor, frowning at the wrinkles. She didn't even bother with the gloves and stockings. Underwear, though, had to be salvaged. Everything looked different in the morning light, but it didn't look like a mistake, at least. She regretted nothing, she decided. She finished dressing and sat down on the edge of the bed nearest John, who was still resting his head against Rodney's chest. She sincerely hoped they would both be as free of second thoughts as she was, recognizing that if they weren't, it would be much harder for them, because they would have to see each other every day back on Atlantis.

She touched John's shoulder and he woke, tension stiffening his body. "John," she said quietly. He didn't move away from Rodney, but he turned his head and opened one eye. Rodney snorted and snuffled in his sleep. His hand tightened on John's back.

Sam bent close and kissed John's cheek, savoring the warm scent of him, the prickly scrape of his stubble, and the softness of his mouth when he turned enough to kiss her back. "Hey," he murmured blurrily when she pulled away.

She braced one hand on his shoulder and kissed Rodney next, pressing her lips to his until he blinked his eyes open.

John raised his head when she drew back. "You going?" he asked.

"Afraid so," she said.

"Plane to catch?"

"Yes."

"Damn."

Sam smiled.

"I might consider saving the world on a regular basis if last night was always the reward," Rodney said. John swatted him lightly. "Hey."

"Take care of him," she told Rodney.

"Take care of yourself, Colonel Carter," John replied. She knew the return to her rank meant he'd compartmentalized the night they'd just spent somewhere inside where it would never come up if they worked together again.

"You too, Colonel."

John caught her hand and pulled her down, giving her a scorching kiss. "Something to remember, Sam," he rasped into her mouth finally, licking her upper lip one last time, releasing her. His hand slid off her shoulder and down to the bed. Before she could say anything, Rodney sat up and leaned over John, cradling Sam's face between his hands. He looked her in the eye for a moment, then kissed her even better than he had the night before. Her toes curled and her breath caught.

"I've got to go," Sam panted when she managed to open her eyes and pull away again.

Rodney nodded. "Actually, we need to catch our flight back to the Colorado, too."

She went to the door, paused and looked back at them. She settled for an awkward hand wave before walking out of the bedroom and then the suite. A cab took her back to her hotel. No one raised an eyebrow and she supposed DC saw stranger things than a woman out in an evening dress before nine a.m.

Two weeks later, after she returned from Area 51 and the Daedalus had shipped out, she found a postcard in her inbox at the SGC. It showed the cherry trees in full blossom along the Tidal Basin. She read the message on the back and laughed, before tucking it away inside her locker in the gear room.

Flyboy wanted to use the card with a picture of the Washington Monument, but how phallic can you get? Come visit some day.

No signature, but it hardly mattered.

Maybe someday.