Amireal's Library

facepalms

2007-04-28T02:29:53Z

I'm looking at some of my unanswered feedback and I feel UTTER shame. Even with the most recent setback. I've decided to keep the window open and get at least 10 comments answered a day. *sigh* So uh, don't mind if you see an old, OLD comment of yours replied to. You all deserve replies. Sorry!

crossposted to my regular LJ.

Fic: Superman Never Dealt With This Shit (1/1) NC-17, McKay/Sheppard

2007-01-15T04:04:04Z

Title: Superman Never Dealt With This Shit
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17, John/Rodney with a few bits of miscellaneous adult contact
Length: ~6800 words
Author's Notes: With great thanks to mecurtin (who is probably still weeping at some of the stunts the combined power of me and MS WORD can produce), siriaeve, luthien and everagaby (who felt the need to TRAUMATISE me with a manip which I am posting a link to at the end). I feel it's only fair to say that this was inspired by an sga_flashfic prompt from many months ago. You'll figure out which pretty quick.
Disclaimer: No shins were harmed in the making of this fic. As for the title? I BLAME seperis.

Summary: Radiation. That was the big one, echoing through his brain, bouncing from one part of his skull to the other.

He'd possibly freaked out a little, okay maybe more than a little, because Rodney was the calm and cool voice offering reasonable statistics about radiation and there was something really fucked up about that.

They'd fished John out of the rubble, unconscious but with few external injuries. He'd slept for three days--artificial coma, Carson had said. A long nap, Rodney had insinuated--and by 'insinuated' John meant 'flat-out said, complete with accusing finger-pointing, making it sound sordid and wonderful and a little lazy all at once'.

All in all, John liked Rodney's interpretation better.

He drifted for a little while longer after that, hazy and tired, and it took another day at least for the words to really penetrate through the careful fog that John was sure was all Carson's doing.

Radiation. That was the big one, echoing through his brain, bouncing from one part of his skull to the other.

He'd possibly freaked out a little, okay maybe more than a little, because Rodney was the calm and cool voice offering reasonable statistics about radiation and there was something really fucked up about that.

When he woke up from that, eyes gritty and aching, there was a mirror, a personal Geiger counter, and a handwritten note on the bedside table.

Carson caught me trying to steal you some valium.

John laughed quietly and absolutely did not peek in the mirror and breathe a heavy sigh of relief at the bed-head peeking back. Not at all.

The night nurse snuck him some extra dessert because he was 'such a good patient'. John frowned between bites of slick, delicious pastry, warm from the oven with just a hint of tart over its sweet. That was the third nurse who'd said as much in two days. He didn't remember being any more cooperative than usual--not that he was a horrible patient normally, he was just sort of... fidgety. He didn't think being unconscious for most of his convalescence really qualified him as well-behaved. Then again, he'd never been a duty nurse, so what did he know?

Day five, he was starting to get itchy, awake for long enough to get bored of falling asleep. "Your visiting hours have been greatly expanded," Carson told him with a gentle pat and rub on the shoulder. "Just please, no repeat of the wheelchair olypmics?"

John gave his best 'I was delirious then and I am ashamed now, really,' smile. "Sure doc, no problem."

Ronon was his first extended visitor, casually commenting on his new running time, rubbing it in just a little. "I think I need to find a new path. Old one's getting too easy." He leaned easily against a wall, arms crossed lazily over his chest.

John squinted -- was Ronon showing off his chest? "Any and all performances during our usual workouts will not be made fun of until I am fully recovered."

"And then I can say whatever I want, right?" Ronon pushed away from the wall.

John sighed. "Yes Ronon."

"Good, let's not change a good thing."

Ronon's visits often left John feeling like he'd just lost some sort of pissing contest, though in a good way. Come to think of it, it also left him in need of a beer and a football game.

Rodney popped in with dinner, untouched even by physicist's hands. "Feeling less hysterical?" he asked, plopping the tray down hap-hazardly on the rolling table.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer." He dug into his food, chewing slowly, the day of being awake having finally caught up with him.

"I'm sure I can dig up the surveillance footage," Rodney smiled, taking a large bite of a power bar.

"McKay, they'll never find the body," John said, not even looking up from his chicken.

"I brought you dinner!" Rodney protested and started digging around in his pockets. "I even got you an extra set of cookies!" They were tossed as neatly onto the table as the tray had been.

John eyed the package warily, poking at it with his fork, not all that hungry any more.

"What?" Rodney frowned at him.

"You take 'em," John said, pushing them away, not really sure why the bag was giving him the heebie jeebies.

Rodney smiled, delight lighting his features and flushing his cheeks. "Okay." He snatched the bag back, stuffing it into a pocket, and started eyeing the rest of John's chicken.

John pulled his tray a little closer and directed the conversation towards what he'd missed during his prolonged nap time.

The next day John felt even better -- he got to shower and dress and eat all in one bout of wakefulness, and then settled in with the laptop and some dvds, not quite ready for a nap. It was a relief.

"You are looking better than Dr. McKay described." Teyla's quiet voice spoke over Christian Bale's pouting dialog in a strangely complimentary way.

He pressed pause. "I'm feeling pretty good," he smiled up at her.

She smiled back, head dipping slightly, hair brushing her shoulders. "I did not want to go to the mainland, but as there was little I could do here once you had been pronounced stable, I could not in good conscience ignore Halling's request."

"Hey, I understand," John smiled again, "the mainland is good for you." She looked serene, relaxed even, her hair shinier, her skin a little darker, sun warmed almost. There was a healthy glow that sometimes faded after days of endless meetings in which they discussed their own demise.

Teyla shifted from one foot to another, rolling her shoulders back, bracing one hip on the edge of the bed. "Atlantis is wonderful, but it is not the same."

John eyed her carefully, her hair fanning out against her neck, the light catching it around the edges. She was definitely very relaxed. "You got laid."

"Laid?" She pronounced the word carefully, shifting next to John, moving her leg to brace against the heavy table next to his bed, the one that didn't move.

Narrowing his eyes, John pointed a finger at her. "Uh uh, you got me with the whole 'what is a dildo?' thing, not again. Fool me twice, shame on me."

She ducked her head and scrunched her nose a bit, shifting again to face him more fully. "Perhaps my time at the mainland was more satisfying than usual." Her voice was low and breathy and all about sex in a way that made John tingly on just an observer level. He knew she was hot, she knew he knew she was hot. There wasn't really much of an urge to know more than that.

Teyla stretched, languid and smooth, arms reaching up and back, revealing one long, smooth stretch of stomach and a perfect arch of back.

For a single moment, John imagined it, all flexibility and agility and strength, legs wrapped around some hapless guy, totally out of his league and loving every minute of it. Next to him Teyla gasped, hand smacking his arm and he moved to shrug an apology, knowing it had to be written all over his face, but come on, he was only human and she was hot.

Only she gasped again, her hand tightening on his arm, she flopped forward, breathing heavily, losing her footing and her grip to fall heavily onto John's chest.

"Teyla?"

Pressed tightly together, he could feel her muscles twitching tightly in some sort of seizure.

Not good. "Beckett!" Against him, Teyla curled up tightly, choked back a sound and then collapsed. "Beckett!" He yelled again, louder.

"John?" Teyla pushed up, trembling arms on either side of him, looking sweaty and flushed.

"Hey," John said, helping her hold herself. "Just relax, Beckett's on his way."

She blinked at him, eyes slowly focusing, licking her lips intently. "I am fine." Only she rasped the words out, slightly slurred.

For a brief moment John worried that she'd just had a stroke, but she quickly regained mobility and pushed herself all the way out of her awkward sprawl and lay carefully down next to him, head gently on his shoulder. Automatically he wrapped one arm around her shoulder, frowning as she breathed deeply at his side. "You are not," he said finally, "and where the hell is Beckett?"

"I merely need to catch my breath," Teyla said, "I am already feeling better." She made a noise, almost like a muffled laugh at the end of the sentence.

Carson came running in, out of breath, stopping short of John's bed, looking confused.

"She collapsed," John said. "She went all shaky and then just went down."

Carson never moved faster than when someone needed his help and was already timing Teyla's pulse and checking her pupils. "A little fast, but slowing, and your eyes are a bit dilated. Can you tell me what happened, love?"

Teyla dipped her head, taking a moment buried in the junction of John's shoulder and neck, breathing hot moist air against him. John shivered, the sensation sudden and not entirely unwelcome and it was just strange because Teyla just didn't equate with those sorts of feelings. More like, 'ow ow, fine I'll practice more'.

She chuckled low and deep, hand reaching for John's fingers threading together before they clenched and Teyla literally curled around him, holding tightly.

"Beckett?" John asked, awkwardly patting her back with his free hand, but Carson just looked wide eyed and little shocked.

"Teyla love?" Carson said, sliding a hand up her back and to her shoulder.

A final back arch and followed by teeth, hot and sharp on John's shoulder had him yelp through her collapse, boneless against him once again.

"That was no seizure," Carson said, eyes still wide, but frowning slightly.

"I am well aware of that," Teyla said, not moving at all, her voice muffled in John's shoulder.

"Well, technically, it was and it very well could be." Carson went on. "Did you hit your head recently?"

"Not that I recall, no." She giggled a bit.

Teyla giggled.

John blinked. "You sure about that?"

"Positive." She rolled a bit, removing most of her weight from him again and releasing his hand.

"Let's get you your own bed," Carson said, offering her his arm to help her stand.

She giggled again, shaking her head. "Sorry, it is just that--"

Carson patted her arm, face coloring a bit. "No, I understand. Let's get you a private room then."

John watched Teyla slide off the bed, graceful, but oddly boneless, walking slowly across the room, firmly attached to Carson.

"Okay, what the hell just happened here?" John asked the ceiling. The ceiling was very unhelpful.

Beckett returned a few minutes later, looking perplexed and John knew exactly how he felt.

"She gonna be okay?"

"Well right now she's more okay than you think." Carson patted him gently on the shoulder, the moisture from Teyla's mouth and soreness from her teeth pressed in making John shiver again. He frowned through it, even when the heat from Carson's hand stayed and spread, warming the whole area.

John was just about to ask what was wrong, because it was obvious that Carson knew something he wasn't telling when his eyes went unbelievably wide and his mouth flapped up and down a few times before tightening into a neat little 'oh'.

Bent over at the waist, Carson panted, eyes squeezed shut. "Well now, that definitely eliminates head trauma," he said shakily, when he finally stood. He crossed his arms tightly and tugged his lab coat tight, looking flushed and sweaty. An utterly familiar look, one that Teyla had been wearing not five minutes earlier.

John sat up, ignoring his own lingering illness, a strange fatigue weighing him down every so often. "Doc?" John reached out, but Carson stepped back.

"I'm okay," Carson said.

"Then what the hell just happened?" John ran a hand through his hair, frustrated.

"Well, it wasn't a seizure," Carson hedged and, if possible, crossing his arms tighter, "well, not in the sense you're thinking of, I'd wager."

"Then what was it?"

"Ah," Carson went bright red, "it was a fairly spectacular and spontaneous orgasm."

John blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

John's mouth opened and closed and he tilted his head trying to make the words come back out. "Orgasm?" he whispered.

Carson nodded.

"Spontaneous?" John asked.

Carson nodded again.

"Isn't that like… spontaneous combustion?" John asked, eyes wide, now realizing exactly what Teyla had been doing when she'd been struggling against him, breathing heavily in his ear. Jesus, that was hot.

Beckett went to his knees, hand braced on his thighs, gasping loudly.

John narrowed his eyes. "You're joking, because that would mean that you just--"

"Don't say it!" Carson wheezed, straightening up and pulling his lab coat tight around him. "Don't even think it."

John started humming 'Row, Row, Row your boat.'

******

Shutting his eyes tightly and maxing out the volume on his iPod with bad 80s power ballads helped John think completely unsexy thoughts. That, and the sheer terror of the idea of letting his mind wander in that general direction in public. After those few scary moments where he'd stared at Teyla and thought about how awesome her breasts were, and he really didn't want to get into how weird it was to be told to fantasize about her, and she had convulsed before his eyes. John stared avidly as her hips had moved suggestively and her fingers spread out wide from her palm, bracing on the bed.

There had been a scary loop of infinite hotness until Carson had kicked him in the shins and interrupted his train of thought enough to close his eyes. Needless to say, they had figured out that touch wasn't the instigating factor.

A quick decision and some very fast equipment moves had John moving to a private room for the rest of his recovery. Nice and private and far away from people. Well not too far, but there was a nice buffer of several rooms between him and anyone else.

Surprisingly, the first thing he did after having his first free thought in hours--though after the five minutes of waiting tensely for a call that someone had an unexplained seizure in a nearby hallway--was sleep.

Later, after a long and fairly refreshing nap, John wished he were still asleep. "You want to what?"

Over the comm, John could hear Carson sigh. "We need to do some testing and since Teyla already knows and has volunteered to be a barometer; and well frankly, a woman would just be plain less messy--" John sure hoped Carson was blushing just as hard at that one-- "it seemed like a good solution."

"She wants to what?" John, for some reason, couldn't really get past Teyla and orgasms and produced by him. Possibly because there was the additional fact that these orgasms were caused by him just using his brain.

"John," Teyla's voice broke in, "I would be honored to help you in this time of need." Was that a giggle?

John pulled the blankets up over his head and sighed. He was still feeling a bit radioactive and it would be nice to at least not die from that so that he could save up all his death for humiliation. "Fine," He answered before muffling his head in his pillow.

Of course--and John shouldn't have been surprised, really--the knock on the door that John answered without thinking came from Rodney.

Rodney, who got as far as "I got these--" with his arms thrust out, full of what were probably amusing things, before John's brain went to that place and Rodney's fingers opened, slack with surprise, and everything fell to the floor. Including Rodney.

He was shaking, arms thrust out and bracing himself from falling to the floor. John stood frozen, not really sure what to do, because bringing him inside was just an invitation to messy, messy trouble. Rodney took a deep, shaky breath and looked up, pupils dilated, wide and messy, whole faced flushed and a mask of confusion and afterglow.

John's neck snapped his head away, but it was too late--Rodney gurgled and rocked back and forth, making small sounds of pleasure tinged with fear.

Well, too late now. He dragged Rodney inside while singing Mary Had a Little Lamb very loudly, only taking a break to shove him into the bathroom and mutter "Call Carson."

This was what John got for asking for discretion. Carson hadn't put a quarantine marker on his new location and had promised to concoct a reasonable flu-like virus to keep people away.

John got ten minutes of Rodney in the shower--well more like thirty seconds before he put his iPod back on because--well better not to think about it really. During an almost nonexistent silent moment between songs John noted the shower sounds had been replaced by dulcet tones of Rodney's muffled voice going up and down the register of disbelief and anger.

Possibly with a dash of horror.

"Radiation doesn't work that way!"

Disbelief too.

"Did you really go to med school?"

Sarcasm. Rodney was going through the seven stages of 'Weird Shit Happens, Get Used to It' very quickly. The most impressive thing was how the words were bleeding through the iPod. John turned the volume up and tried to find something to do.

John was just bringing in the pile of items that Rodney had dropped mid-thing he wasn't thinking about, when a voice called from inside his bathroom. "Seriously, only you!"

John opened his mouth to argue, but just as swiftly closed it. Well, he had a point. Once you turn into a bug, you sort of get pinned for a lot of weird shit. "Sorry?"

There was an echoing silence, a full five seconds of blessed silence before Rodney spoke again. "My knees will never be the same!"

Rodney. Knees. John's brain flashed and he didn't quite make it to "Mary" before Rodney's soft gasp reached his ears.

"Sorry!" John yelled, "Sorry!" He put on his iPod and upped the volume and thought really hard about that audiobook. "Just go!" he yelled over the noise. Jesus, this was getting really embarrassing and annoyingly enlightening. He sat on the bed and stared at the floor, picking out patterns in the irregular flooring.

Two feet came into his line of sight, bare and slightly damp and attached to two slightly damp and mildly hairy legs. John risked a quick peek up, more curious than anything else. Rodney was wearing his gray t shirt and a towel. Smart man. Other than that whole not leaving the room thing.

The earbuds were unceremoniously popped out of his ears; John frowned and rubbed the sting and looked up.

"Seriously, you can't be this oversexed."

They both tensed and John frowned, feeling something inside his head not move, consciously not letting it move.

Rodney relaxed and then smacked him on the head. "Next time you have a stomach bug, tell me to leave the room, hell, the planet. This I find I am not all that adverse to helping with."

John let his head drop. "You're all sluts, you know that. It's all about the free orgasms with you people."

"You people?" Rodney dropped on the bed next to him, arranging his towel primly. "Someone else volunteered?"

"Teyla," John blurted out, before thinking better of it.

"Really?" Rodney's voice was high pitched.

John remained silent, trying not to move that part of his brain that he could feel.

"No seriously, really?" Rodney reached out to grab his arm, as if to shake him for his attention.

The sensation of heat and soft skin exploded through him, just unexpected and solid and he couldn't stop it. Rodney's eyes rolled and his hand tightened solidly around John's arm and he hiccuped a few breaths before collapsing back onto the bed. "Ow."

"You can keep the towel," John said breathlessly.

"Thanks," Rodney said hoarsely.

John didn't turn to look. "Ready to leave yet?"

"Shut up and think unsexy thoughts." Rodney sat up and managed to look only slightly tousled; John managed to hold back, just barely.

******

Rodney managed to make learning to manage the mind-controlled, previously unheard of, and possibly radiation-induced hallucination-type incidents seem incredibly scientific, logical and straight. Dirty towels aside.

Orgasmanomics, as Rodney called it.

"You freak," John shot back, but at least it didn't make him think directly about sex.

There were categories based on distance, line of sight, knowledge of the other subject, intent--the list went on and on and eventually Rodney admitted that they would need at least one other person for all of the testing. A woman would probably be of more use, especially for more public occasions. Plus Rodney admitted that two that close together sort of made him sore. John had quickly put a hand up and motioned for him to stop, seriously, who needs to know that sort of thing?

The problem, John discovered about day two into the official testing, watching Rodney bent over and panting, flush going all the way to his ankles which were easily visible from under the towel, was that the more he tested and controlled and figured things out--the more aware he was of exactly how horny he was.

Denial only worked when you weren't really thinking about it.

The other, more pressing matter, as it were, was that he was becoming very aware of what exactly made him horny. Really aware. Intimately aware. Worse, things were quickly being adding to his repertoire. Teyla's heavy and husky "John" just post 'incident', or her bright smile, different than the one she used just after she's kicked his ass.

Rodney. Deep in thought or flushed from something that John did to him; or worse, not making a big deal of it, being a decent human being and only once in and once in a while letting on that hey, it's not that much of a hardship for him.

Once he started avoiding the big things, like fantasies, or noting something overtly sexual, the little things started cropping up. The hint of a wrist, or the glimpse of an ankle, all sent an illicit thrill through him, like he was watching a group of strangely inverted geisha. It was all so 1940s and unreal.

The worst though, the very, utter, absolute worst was that he was afraid to masturbate. Not afraid so much as every time he thought about it, noticed he was a bit hard or just you know, got that feeling, he'd flash to the entire base falling down in ecstasy. That was enough like a bucket of cold water to cool down most amorous thoughts.

It was making him grumpy though.

Possibly he was taking it out on others; poor Rodney had dropped to the floor within seconds of his most recent visit, his hand reaching out to hold onto the nearby desk leg for support as he rode out the sensations. John felt a little bad; they'd normally managed to wait until Rodney was out of his pants and work the first one or two out while he was in the shower. John was really happy with that arrangement because despite finding the man hotter than all reason by this point, he didn't need someone else's spunk all over the room.

"Just because I keep a spare pair of pants here doesn't mean I should use them." Rodney panted, not even getting up, just crawling to an out of the way corner and curling up on his side looking tuckered out. "So that was also a bit more intense than usual. Playing with variables without telling me was a no-no, we talked about that."

John just sat on his bed and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry." God, he'd invented the malicious orgasm. Rodney waved his hand limply. Okay maybe not malicious, but still. "I'm having a bad morning."

"I'm having a rubber knee morning," Rodney said back, finally pushing up to at least a sitting position. "Maybe we should call Teyla in today if you're going to be like that. God, you're going to have the best advantage ever in bed."

John bit his lip and laid down, staring resolutely at the ceiling. "Yeah, probably not."

"What?" Rodney folded his legs Indian style and peered over the edge of John's bed. "Seriously, no more worrying if they faked it!"

"And lots more worrying if everyone in a fifty mile radius just came at the same time." John flung an arm over his eyes.

"Oh." Rodney actually sounded like he hadn't considered that. "Interesting." Followed by the weighty sound of Rodney thinking really hard. Never a good sign.

"Whatever you're thinking, no," John pre-empted. "I'm not really even in the mood."

Rodney snorted. "You're talking to the guy you just floored with the best orgasm he's had all week, and that's saying something." He actually got up onto his knees and draped himself haphazardly over the bottom half of John's bed. "You're so in the mood it has to hurt."

"Just go clean up." John was studiously not looking at Rodney.

"Fine." Rodney finally moved, making sure his lower body was turned very away from John, a tiny comfort for which John was supremely grateful. "But this isn't over!"

John counted to sixty after he heard the shower come on and thought really hard about the lazy way Rodney's eyes only half opened after the fourth orgasm and how he needed a few seconds to stop his speech from slurring and the slow blink that he acquired after the first.

The muffled thump from the other room made John smile.

"Bastard!"

******

"Camping?" John eyed Rodney carefully. "Have you been offworld recently?"

"What? No," Rodney frowned typing uninterrupted.

"In contact with anyone who's been offworld?"

"I do not have an alien virus!" Rodney shut his laptop with a click. "You said fifty miles, we can arrange fifty miles!"

John made a face.

"Look we've already proved that unintentionally you can't reach too far into the city, fifty miles seems like a fair number to start to test...er" Rodney shifted, "really unintentionally."

"You want to go camping just so I can--"John stopped; he could feel the urge/need/feeling/whatever rising at just the thought. Over the past week, he'd managed to categorize it, control it somewhat, but that didn't stop it from rising up against him from time to time.

Rodney shrugged, almost stuffing his hands into his nonexistent pockets. He'd done that absently on one of the first days and almost lost his towel; since then he'd managed to replace the motion with crossing his arms. "It only seems fair."

Fair. John blinked. Fair. Rodney was looking away and John realized that Rodney was feeling bad for getting what he felt was the better end of the deal. "It occurs to me, in someplace closer to reality, this would be awkward by now."

"Yeah, well, there also wouldn't be life sucking space vampires." Rodney shrugged, not looking at him.

Helloo awkward. John really needed to learn to keep his mouth shut.

They went camping.

By then Elizabeth had been briefed; all Rodney had to do was start talking about the Colonel and his Problem and apparently she did the adult equivalent of plugging her ears and singing "lalalalala". Needless to say, they got their permission.

Teyla saw them off, giving John a saucy smile and some subtle innuendo. "Ronon wishes you luck, but he remains firm in his decision to stay away until you feel comfortable and he knows he will not be suddenly incapacitated without warning."

"Wimp," Rodney muttered, not at all looking like he meant it and thus only receiving light smacks from both of them.

John kept his iPod plugged in and handy for their trip to the jumper bay, happily surprised that as long as he concentrated, he didn't feel overwhelmed by the tidal wave inside his head.

Funny thing, when it came down to it, and Rodney handed him pillows and a soft blanket and asked if he wanted indoors or outdoors, John sort of froze. Which was stupid; he'd been giving Rodney 'incidents' for a week, while in the same room, sitting right next to him sometimes. Turn about was fair play, and it wasn't like Rodney got to control it in any way. John, in a certain sense, was one up on him.

"The jumper," John said eventually, feeling overexposed as it was.

Rodney patted his jacket pocket. "I brought sunscreen. Give a yell-- Um. Call me, whenever."

He darted out, large bag and tablet in hand. John's brain supplied a Rodney shaped dust cloud for half a second before sighing and looking around at what Rodney had left him. To be honest, the chair would have been good enough, but Rodney went to some trouble and John wasn't feeling too randy at the moment, so maybe some good old fashioned present opening would help.

The blanket unrolled with a thunk. John retrieved a small plastic thing of lube. Travel sized. The small bag in the corner had two folded magazines of mildly good taste, relatively speaking, and a small bottle of booze. Not bad for quick scrounging.

There was even a pillow in the corner. John wasn't going to think of Rodney thinking he was being unobtrusive while getting all of these things. He was feeling weird enough.

So. Right. Orgasms. His. He should probably stop staring at the wall. Okay, he's been naked in the jumpers before. Usually while bleeding or getting changed quickly, but still, naked. It counted.

On second thought, maybe half naked would be enough. He folded the blanket and made a soft landing for his knees, settling onto it gingerly. He took the pillow and placed it on the long bench he was facing and then slowly undid his pants. With the fly half open he reached inside and was grateful to find himself at least half hard. He could do it, really. A few slow strokes, the first in a while, and the first since he'd started on the path to constant, low-level arousal.

Yeah, he could do this, already it was feeling good, the sort of good that you get when it's been a while and you really need it, but it's still not desperate. He shimmied his pants down, leaving them on just far enough so his ass wouldn't be pressed nakedly against his boots.

The bottle of lube was opened next and it was like an old worn shirt, all the motions falling onto him comfortably, easily. Better, because it felt so damn good, just the slow glide of his hand on his cock.

It was a quick burn; it felt like only seconds later that he was using the pillow to cushion his elbow, burying his face against it, whimpering desperately. It became less about his hand and more about his hips, canting up and down, through his tight fist in short jerks.

Close already, too soon almost, but he could feel the tingle, the fast building edge rushing towards him, pulling almost too high. The slow burning had rapidly turned hot and fast and his orgasm started before he was ready, surprising him, making him gasp and plead into his arm, shoving his cock hard and wild into his hand until there was nothing left to wring out.

John slumped, exhausted and limp, onto the bench, letting his breathing even out and savoring the lazy tingle spreading through his muscles. His lips curled up into an easy smile as he, almost limply, reached out for the package of wipes Rodney conveniently left around. God that was good, amazing even, spectacular, splendiferous and all sorts of multi-syllable adjectives and he wanted to do it all over again. Soon.

Sadly, when it was that good, 'again' (at least at his age, he thought morosely) and 'soon' weren't concepts that went together all that well. The spirit was willing, but the flesh was being a treacherous bastard. He pulled his pants back up and laid down on the floor, dragging the pillow with him, and settled in as comfortably as possible, just taking some time to enjoy the newly relaxed feeling settling inside him.

Then a thought occurred to him. It was possibly a deeply troubled thought, maybe a bit reckless or possibly just really, really stupid.

That didn't stop him from opening his pants back up and wiggling them back down and out of the way, however. Out of habit, he wrapped his hand around his cock, giving it one slow pet, shivering at the small aftershock he felt and then closed his eyes and felt for that pressure inside his head.

Slowly, he sank into it, let it lick its way around him, suffuse every inch of his body with tingling anticipation. It built and doubled and built again until John couldn't breathe or move or even think; but he couldn't come, it wouldn't turn over and race away, just pulled tighter and tighter until finally his brain unlocked, possibly hurting itself from the pressure and an image, a single image of Rodney lax and sleepy from an entire day of testing John, eyes heavy and glassy and finally, finally his entire body shuddered, curling in on itself and his vision blacked out at the peak.

He was still concentrating on remembering how to breathe when Rodney's gravelly voice hit his ears. "What the hell did you do?"

John waved his hand limply. "Something really cool." Only his lips wouldn't quite work right and it all came out slurred.

"Well… yes," Rodney was on his knees, crawling towards the slim open space large enough for another man to lie down, or rather, collapse. Rodney moved his elbow from John's ribs and glared at him from under heavy lids. "Assuming you were ready for it."

Rodney was a warm heavy weight next to him, his breathing even and slow and comforting. "Why did you… you know, do that?"

"Was curious." John resisted turning into him and finding his head a warm place to rest.

"It's a good thing I brought a change of clothes." Rodney pulled at the pillow under John's head and settled down onto his newly claimed corner, nose inches from John's chin.

"So we're napping then?"

"Yes, you freak."

John's eyes were closed before Rodney even finished the sentence. He woke up an undetermined time later with Rodney's arm draped over his stomach--and the realization that he hadn't tucked himself back into his pants before dropping off.

He felt too good to really care though, and Rodney's comforting shape was keeping him pretty relaxed. John wasn't sure who moved first, but someone turned and then someone else wiggled and somehow they were staring at each other across a pillow, eyes half open, staring sleepily. There was a leg resting across the back of his knee and John's hand was curving around the small of Rodney's back.

"Hello," Rodney whispered.

"Hi," John whispered back.

They stared, glassy eyed, for too long.

"You hand is on my ass," Rodney whispered again, smiling a little.

"It is--" Oh, John flexed his hand. "Er. It is."

Rodney wiggled luxuriously, firmly planting himself further into John's hand. "Yep."

"I dunno. " John flexed again, giving it a squeeze--caress, "I think your ass is on my hand. It's very forward."

"Pushy?" Rodney asked, wiggling some more.

"Presumptuous." John flexed his fingers and tugged forward till Rodney was flush against him and his still exposed cock.

"Speaking of," Rodney wiggled a third time, settling John against him comfortably, "your dick is pretty presumptuous itself."

"Well, we might as well give in, we'll never hear the end of it." John had a goofy grin all over his face--two orgasms, spectacular ones at that, and the warm pliant body of someone who made John's skin buzz, with the potential of more skin buzzing contact--and he figured he was allowed.

"Hmm," Rodney said, head drooping forward, not really going in for a kiss, just resting gently against John's forehead.

"Hmm, " John agreed, rubbing their noses together.

"What are you, a big puppy?" Rodney leaned in further, trailing the tip of his nose along John's cheek bone. "Don't you dare say you're a dog."

John closed his mouth with a clack.

There was no conscious decision to kiss; from one moment to the next their lips came close enough to each others to touch. A press of lips like a gravitational pull and their bodies swayed to the side, Rodney going as flat as he was able and John following, gravity pulling them tighter, lending weight and depth to their kiss.

Lazy and slick gliding of tongues and teeth and lips all gentle and slow and mesmerizing, lending a lust fueled haze to the whole affair and John just hummed happily as one kiss melted into the next.

Rodney's hands wandered all over John, down his arms, across his shoulders, dipping under his shirt until finally the warm and giving palm settled over John's cock, giving it a perfect place to nudge up against with the gentle sway of his hips.

It was slow and lazy and perfect in ways it hadn't been before and when he finally reached the top, toes curling and breath catching, Rodney just held him through it, hand moving carefully up and down.

He was mouthing Rodney's ear, sucking on it and Rodney made an inarticulate noise and wrapped around him tightly and thrust against his thigh for a dozen or so long and involved thrusts before going frozen and then relaxing back into John.

"I hate you and your ability to make me come in my pants."

John just kissed Rodney on his bruised lips and smiled.

"No seriously, remember that conversation about chafing and the limitations of a male humanoid in his thirties?"

"You're describing yourself as humanoid now?"

******

After that, the experiment got a bit sidetracked, because John became fascinated with Rodney's gasp into John's neck and watching stripes of come landing somewhere on both of them. Of course afterwards, when Rodney slid to his knees and sucked John's cock into his hot, wet mouth--all in the name of control, really--and John came spectacularly each time and went gloriously boneless, had nothing to do with it at all.

John, however, started to note a change; something inside his head felt slicker, sleeker, honed maybe. Each time he tried something different, pushed at it precisely and with exacting standards, it shaved off a rough edge somewhere.

One morning, about two weeks in, he woke up feeling better. A pressure he hadn't been aware of was gone, a tension headache that had been lingering finally dissipating. For a moment, he thought it was gone. For a moment, he was happy with the idea because while fun and exciting, it just made him feel, well, really, really different. Then he felt a little sad.

Rodney, who had fallen asleep next to him the night before was glaring at him from under the covers. "God, how do you just sit right up like that?"

"Years of training," John murmured before pushing a hand under the blanket, stroking a hand down Rodney's neck and focusing.

"Oh god!" Rodney sputtered, curling onto his side, one knee ending up on John's lap. "You--" he gasped, "bastard."

"Yep. Still got it." John sighed, pretty sure he was happy with that. "Hey, I'm better than any alarm clock."

Rodney grumbled all the way through John's spectacular hand job and good morning kisses before staggering to the shower and out the door with a completely over exaggerated glance left and right.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair, legs still tingly from Rodney's revenge; they were going to have to work on that.

******

The bullet hit the ground beside him and John scrambled back behind cover, shaking his head at Ronon and Teyla. "I am seriously reconsidering my argument to Carson about being fit for duty."

Ronon took a peek too and hastily scuttled back as well, a near miss for his hair. He patted it carefully, probably counting knives.

Next to John, Rodney made a hurry up face and unconsciously fiddled with the bandage on his right leg, the faint shadow of blood slowly seeping to the top. It wasn't anything horribly fatal, no femoral artery hit like John had originally thought in those heart-clenching first seconds. Just something slightly worrying and definitely an impediment to running fast.

More bullets scattered in, hitting the large rock that was currently John's favorite rock in the entire galaxy.

John stared at Rodney, biting his lip and thinking, if they just had some time, a distraction, they could make the three hundred or so yard dash to the gate and dial it up.

John stared at Rodney.

A distraction. He smiled brightly. "I've got an idea."

John picked up Rodney's hand and squeezed it gently before moving his thumb to the wrist, feeling the soft skin just under the palm. Perfect. "Get ready to run."

Teyla raised an eyebrow, but shifted into position none the less, Ronon gave off the air of "I'm going to be pissed if I die, but I trust you" and moved as well. John got his free arm under Rodney and pulled him up; Rodney was looking at him funny, but John just concentrated on his wrist, smooth and soft under his finger tips. He didn't even close his eyes, just stared at Rodney and let it build until his teeth practically vibrated and he nearly lost control; and then the hard part. The part that they hadn't practiced because after that afternoon in the jumper they hadn't asked Teyla back; it wasn't a slight, it just wasn't something that had occurred to them and without a second person there wasn't really any way to practice directionality. John, however, had a pretty good feeling and so he let it go.

No one on his team doubled over, which was a plus. He threw a rock into the open and there was silence. "Run!"

They ran, Ronon able to take care of the quick recoverers. The whole time Rodney was talking beside him. "I can't believe you actually did that. That's insane. That's like Marvel X rated. Who thinks of that?" John just gave Rodney a bland look.

They dialed and warned of hostile fire and just before John and Rodney stepped through Rodney whispered, "You have the coolest superpower ever."

John squeezed Rodney's ass. "And it's all yours."

THE END

For those of you who stuck it out, you can find the very special image from everagaby here. You're welcome everagaby!! *hugs and kisses!*

*flees!*

ETA: The word Orgasmonomics was thought up by my sister muppetk. She's very proud of it. *pats her head*

Fic: And Be One Traveler (Link to full)

2006-10-31T23:43:52Z

Title: And Be One Traveler
Authors: amireal and trinityofone
Rating: NC-17 for sexual situations and adult content
Length: 69,294 words

Excerpt: Sheppard shrugged off the reference. "Are you any good?"

"At acting?" David asked, eyebrow raised. "I keep getting jobs, which I suppose means something."

"Be McKay," Sheppard said. "I want to see."

David frowned and then slowly his posture changed, shoulders reaching out and back, hands loosening up, eyes narrowing. "Shouldn't you be off somewhere attempting to plan or strategize or something? I mean I can understand the urge to rely on my amazing intellect but even I am not above a completely unneeded backup plan."

Sheppard's eyes bugged out more than just a little. “Okay, okay, stop,” he said, and David leaned again against the railing, his body relaxing, his lips quirking inevitably upward into a smirk.

Oddly, he thought Sheppard's reaction was one of the best compliments he had ever received.

“No, really, you can stop,” Sheppard said.

David blinked. “Oh, right, the smugness. No, right now, that’s all me.”

Sheppard looked like he couldn’t decide between being disturbed and amused, which seemed about right.

“You’re not what I would have expected,” he said, after a minute. “I mean, not that I would have expected any of this.”

How to find the story and why: The story is posted in several places all of which are reachable through fic_of_doom. All posts are locked, as we would rather not have it indexable by search engine, but membership is open to everyone. The website requires a username and password. All you have to do is join the community and go to this post (the index) and all the information you could ever need will be there.

As a thank you for spending extra time and effort to get to this fic, we've decided to offer it in as many formats possible as well as cover art and an pretty shiny webpage to find it all.

On the index page (linked here) you will find an extended set of headers as well as a different excerpt so that you can more fully make an informed decision about reading this story."

ETA: If you have joined the community and still aren't authorised to see the entries, try logging out and logging back in. That's actually a livejournal quirk that's always been there.

Local Symmetries, SGA, McKay/Sheppard, PG (1/1)

2006-09-06T19:12:04Z

Title: Local Symmetries
Author: amireal
Rating: PG, ~360 words
Sequel: Quick epilogue to Quarks, Quantum Chromodynamics and Other Unproven Theories

Notes: Thanks to siriaeve for the quick beta. Blame the mistakes on her! *koff* This was originally comment fic for seperis, but its been cleaned up a bit and reposted here because I find it fits in nicely and am very happy to make this their epilogue.

McKay waited patiently in the copilot's seat while John fiddled with dials and levers. He was pretty okay with just watching John work. Even if he wanted to get his hands on the obviously different equipment while he could still remember how this ship was different from the one he'd traveled in.

But mostly he just looked.

There was a moment where the stars blurred and space bent and twisted and then *pop*. Something inside McKay's chest eased and John just released the controls with a heavy sigh and sat back in his own chair, easy slump and sprawled limbs so familiar. "Thank god," John muttered, turning to McKay with a broad grin.

"We're back?" McKay asked, already sliding out of his own seat. He didn't really need an answer. He could read the machine better than even John sometimes.

"Oh yes. See that slightly brighter pinprick of light at seven o'clock? That was that thing with the big gun and the two wraith hive ships."

He looked, taking in angles and coordinates. Below them Atlantis was a careful blotch in the calm sea. McKay knew this sky, *knew* it. Not just remembered it, but knew it. A small welling of joy, higher and tighter and sharper than when he'd first hopped off that exam table in the past. So much less pain the absence was shocking, spread through him warm and happy and some little insane part of his brain rolled over and died.

"Good." McKay sighed, twirling John's chair around. "Great."

John was already scooting foward and opening his arms even as McKay climbed up, god so easily, the memory of shooting pain even now fading into the background, and wrapped his arms tightly around John.

"Terrific," John mumbled into his neck, holding back just as hard.

McKay's knees ached a little, crammed the way they were between John's thighs and the chair, his back twinged a little at the taut bow he made it conform to but he didn't care.

John looked up at him and for a brief moment his eyes were dark with fear and worry. Rodney kissed him, slow and deep and desperate and John kissed back, just as desperate, just as frightened.

FIC: Hunger, SGA, NC-17, John/Teyla, John/Rodney

2006-08-26T23:25:17Z

Title: Hunger
Author: amireal
Rating/pairing: NC-17, John/Teyla, John/Rodney
Length: Approx 3700 words
Spoilers: Post Common Ground fic.
Author's notes: seperis begged and pleaded and looked really pretty. z_rayne is the bestest beta ever and is a beacon of patience and light as I mangle the English language horribly.

Summary: The most violent appetites in all creatures are lust and hunger; the first is a perpetual call upon them to propagate their kind, the latter to preserve themselves.
—Joseph Addison

John feels too alive.

John feels too alive.

His skin bursting and tight over muscle that's just a bit stronger, tighter. He feels energy inside him, coiling tightly.

His dick has been straining against his pants for hours.

The Wraith had made him younger, but John is pretty sure the word 'brothers' lost something in the translation, because the when he tried to sleep, all he could feel was a steady pressure on his chest and five sharp pinpricks fanning out.

And he feels arousal so strong it makes him sick.

Alone in the dark, his skin buzzes, his fingertips tingle and his heart beats heavily, thrumming low in his veins. John closes his eyes and bites his lip; God he feels—feels—

There's something calling him. Not far away, something faint, but he can taste it on the back of his tongue. He stumbles out, shoeless, beltless, weaponless—he doesn't even remember he should need them until the door closes behind him. Despite it all, everything seems sharp, focused; now that he's moving, he has a purpose, not that he actually knows what it is.

Teyla's face is outlined sharply by the low light from inside the room and she looks just as surprised to see him as he is to be there.

"Colonel?" she asks, hair down, framing her face gently. "John?" She frowns and tilts her head to the side. "Are you all right?"

"I—" he clears his throat, his voice a low rasp that startles him. "I don't know."

"Come in." She steps back, offering entrance.

They stand, awkwardly, John looking at everything except her, feeling weird and not exactly sure why.

"Is there a problem? Should I call Dr. Beckett?" Teyla asks, stepping right in front of him, gentle hand on his shoulder.

John looks down, sees the deceptively delicate fingers resting on him and he wants—God he wants— They're against a wall before he can figure it out, his hand on her chest, resting between the swell of her breasts, the brush against the sides of his palm with each even breath in and out.

"John?" Her eyebrow is raised. "Is it the retrovirus again?"

Finally something slots: a feeling, a thought, some part of what's buzzing under his skin is classified and dismissed. "I don't think so." He doesn't move.

"John?" She moves slowly, placing her hand above his. "Among my people, this action is very…deeply divided."

John blinks at her, the breath in his lungs feeling heavy, sweat is breaking out all over his body and he wants to—he wants to sink into her, breathe her in—it freaks him out a little bit. "It is?" John rasps, his voice wobbling in his throat.

"I am assuming you did not come to my room in the middle of the night to insult me," Teyla presses his hand in more firmly, fingers spreading, feeling her breastbone and her warmth seeping into him.

"No," John says, entranced as he stares down at their hands. "No I didn't."

Her head tilts again. "Do you know why you are here?"

John shakes his head frantically.

Teyla closes her eyes and breathes deeply. "Does it perhaps have something to do with why I can sense you?"

Her breast is filling his palm, soft and firm, her nipple a small ripple through the shirt material, John's fingers are moving gently, even as he tries to figure out when his free hand had moved at all.

"John, look at me," Teyla demands even as she arches into the touch. "Look at me and tell me you know who I am, that you know who you are."

John leans in, finally moving his hand away from the center of her chest, taking her other breast in hand, holding them firmly, rubbing in small circles. "Teyla," he breathes, "please?" He needs and he can't even describe it, understand it. He's gone without sex for years on one occasion, it was never like this. He has to have something only she can give.

Her legs are already falling open, pulling him in until the wall supports their entire weight and John finds himself sliding a leg between hers. "The other meaning of your actions is one of trust and love." She says, drawing him in closer.

He's lost. Her very presence feeds him, soothes him. He buries his face in her neck, breathing deep, her scent perfect in his nostrils. He licks a stripe down her neck, sucking gently. She gasps, winding a leg around his waist. His hands slide away from her breast and down, down to her split skirt and under and up the soft smooth skin on the backs of her thighs only to find she's not wearing anything underneath.

It's hot, God it's hot and he's melting, clinging as he runs his fingers through her slick folds, thumb pressing into the spot that makes her gasp and arch some more. His pants are around his ankles and strong fingers are stroking down his ass, cupping him closer urging him.

"Do not worry," Teyla whispers, thumb pushing into the crease between his cheeks, making him arch into her, his dick unerringly finding a warm, slick place to slide.

Somewhere in there, someone managed to undo parts of Teyla's shirt and her breasts are right there, beautiful works of art he needs to lick.

Teyla climbs him like it's nothing, like he's air and she's a bird, and suddenly the head of his dick is surrounded by tighttight ohGodhot, heat, slowly sliding down until he's buried deep in her and some strange itch inside him is gone.

Teyla breathes heavily in his ear and John moves once, in and out, feeling every second, taking in everything he can. He captures a nipple, sucking gently and Teyla holds him steady as finds his balance.

He still wants, so badly; he sees himself pounding in without forgiveness, the need in him so great, like fire engulfing him. He thrusts once more, a single move, hard and fast.

"Yes," Teyla hisses. "Again." Like she's teaching him the sticks, a heady surge of pleasure filters through him.

He pops the nipple out of his mouth and still doesn't move, though it physically hurts just a little to hold back. "Desk?" He's out of breath already and he wants to fuck, hard and hot and he needs more than the wall and her delicious, amazing legs wrapped around his hips.

"Yes." Teyla pushes at him. "Fine." She tightens her legs around him. "Quickly."

He scoops her close, pushing hard on her lower back so he can't slip out. He manages to get his pants from around his ankles with minimal fuss, his bare feet making the task easier, and he takes four long steps, each one threatening to buckle his legs with the friction even that little movement causes.

She's on her back, skirt rucked up, shirt askew, breathing hard, nipples tightening in the air and John can't even stare for half a second before he has to move. Has to have and take and God, he's fully inside again, slipping and out and she's hot and tight and just a little elastic around him.

He pushes her knees up and she obliges neatly, shifting her hips, giving him space and he sinks in a little deeper.

"Harder," Teyla says biting his neck.

Fuck. He hisses, slamming home over and over. Under him, Teyla is making noises that only fuel him further. He's close, so close he can taste it. She guides his head down and he takes her nipple back, sucking harshly, nipping on it slightly. His hand pushes between them, sliding on sweaty skin until his thumb can just reach her clit, finding it by touch and gasp. She tightens around him when his questing thumb circles in the right spot; it's awkward and makes his muscles burn a little, but that just makes it better.

"John," she gasps, hips shifting, legs widening even more, their skin slapping together in loud raunchy smacks.

He's hitting the spot; he knows it by her breathing and her movements and the way she's starting to curl around him completely.

Her orgasm, when it hits, is sudden and hard and she grips him so tightly there will be bruises on his arms, and his dick fucking screams in pleasure. He slows out of courtesy, letting her ride it out slowly, but he can only hold back for so long; something wild and alien is swelling inside him, hot and hard and hungry and his teeth find her neck again and he bites down even as his hand pushes behind her knee, spreading her open further and he pounds, just pounds and fucks and God it's right there, hot and perfect and sweet, clenching and releasing and—

—he's twitching, muscles spasming randomly, even nearly a minute after he's come.

Teyla is petting him gently, drawing slow circles on his back. Even that feels good, sending strange shivers down his back.

"Feel better?" Teyla asks, her voice resonating in her chest, where his ear rests.

John swallows, something bitter angry in the back of his throat. "I think I need to see Beckett."

"Did I hurt you?"

He can feel her frown, he looks up, moving very little, only then realizing he's still inside her. "I—don't know." He smiles tentatively. "No you didn't hurt me," he says to her deepening frown. "I just don't know why I—well you know." He shrugs.

"I do not wish to alarm you but—"

"The Wraith. I know." He sighs and puts his head down. The edge of the desk is biting into him, so he moves.

Teyla gasps a little.

"Did I hurt you?" John asks, worried. He didn't hold back at all; in the end he was out of control in ways he'd never even wanted to be except when he was in the air. Which is to say, completely in control, just having a lot of fun going a couple hundred miles an hour.

"No, John," Teyla settles, shifting her hips again, "I have always been…energetic."

Oh. Oh. John is apparently a little energetic as well, this evening.

The second time is gentle but, it turns out, just as desperate. John can hear himself making choked little noises, muffling them in her skin.

They fall over the edge of orgasm easily, tightly clenched in each other and panting quietly.

When it's over, John feels wrung out, his muscles slow and lethargic, and when he finally pulls out of Teyla he feels a little hollow himself, but the original burning through his veins is slaked, even if only for a moment.

His underwear and pants feel cold and foreign on his body as he pulls them up. He catches Teyla adjusting herself back into her shirt and he feels a hot blush crawl up his neck. He feels a little cheap until she looks up, smiling gently.

John shifts uncomfortably, a little sticky and aching for a shower. "Hey, I...." He runs his hand through his hair, unsure of what to say.

"Go sleep. Tomorrow you will visit Dr. Beckett and then we will talk."

John nods, smiling awkwardly.

"Or maybe I will talk and you will nod when I get it right."

John's head shoots up, but she's smiling warmly, taking a few easy steps toward him, her entire body looking satisfied. He feels a small glow of pride at that.

They bend heads, her hands gentle on his shoulders, but he feels—used—cheap. "Wait," he calls as she starts to pull away. "I—that is—" John shifts uncomfortably again. "Thank you," he says finally, reaching out, tilting her chin and slanting his lips over hers carefully. He kisses her softly, pushing every feeling he's got tumbling under the surface into it, drawing it out until the small ache in his chest finally releases.

Teyla steps back when they're done and the reaches out, slowly placing her hand on John's chest, palm forward. "Love and trust John." She quirks an eyebrow.

John muffles a chuckle. "Right. I'll see you in the morning?"

"Of course." She smiles. "Now go, I find I am in need of rest."

John smiles half-heartedly, not wanting to think about how that conversation is going to go. He nods his head in a silent goodnight and turns to leave, but when the door closes behind him, the heavy weight of what happened settles over him. He can still feel an echo of the low energy buzzing in his system, the smoky remains of a heavy fire. He's tired, exhausted, and he aches for a shower.

There's a shadow near his door when he makes it back: Rodney pacing back and forth, looking pale and tired in the low light of the corridor. Before John can slip away, he's seen, Rodney's eyes going wide with surprise.

"It's late Rodney," John says, his voice still gravelly.

"You're not wearing any shoes," Rodney counters, frowning.

"And the floor is cold." John pushes past him to open his door. "And I want a shower."

Rodney frowns. "What have you been doing?" He's eyeing John up and down.

Fucking Teyla, and I have no idea why.

"What?"

"Oh, God." John sits heavily. "Did I say that out loud?" He feels disoriented, the edges of irritation pushing at him, calmer but still messing with his head.

"Yes." Rodney sits next to him. "Yes, you did, and now coming here and babbling about how I really thought you were dead and I'd be a little upset about that and how I kept hearing you in my head and— I'm shutting up now."

John smiles a little, because Rodney is so…Rodney, and it hurts just how perfect that is, just like Teyla's easy acceptance made it all smooth and simple, but shockingly strange in the end. "I'm glad I'm not dead too."

"I shot a mouse for you," Rodney grumbles.

John's mouth twitches. "I bet it was a mean mouse."

"With fangs."

"Mutant mouse." John nods sagely and then cracks a smile.

"You really slept with Teyla?" Rodney asks, licking his lips, looking tentative and uncertain.

John sighs, rubbing a hand through his hair. He shifts, feeling something stick and unstick inside his underwear, and remembers that he really needs a shower. "There wasn't much sleeping involved. You tell anyone and I personally kill you."

Rodney nods, a quick headbob, a little frantic. "But you don't know why?"

That's a lie; he's pretty sure he knows exactly why. "Nope, not a clue."

"I thought it might have something to do with the Wraith and how he—"

"I don't know, you don't know, we all don't know," John interrupts, needing to not think about it. "Even later, when I talk to Beckett and he runs his tests. We still won't know."

"Ah…sure." Rodney fidgets. "Only, you really do know it has to do with the Wraith right?" He says it so fast that it all runs together.

"I'm taking a shower." John stands, abrupt and angry. God, of course he knows. "I'll see you in the morning."

"I'm sorry!" Rodney squeaks out, high pitched and frantic. "I'm sorry I just— I thought you were dead!"

John stops, back stiff, joints achy and tired. God, he does not have the energy. "I thought I was dead too."

"I would have cried," Rodney whispers. "I think I would have cried and I don't know— I just needed to see and— Then you say that you— With Teyla, and there's obviously some after-effects, and with the lives we lead you could be in a coma tomorrow and you could be almost dead again—"

John spins and sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. He walks over to where Rodney is still sitting on the bed, and squats down so they can be eye to eye. "You are just as shit at this sort of thing as I am."

Rodney nods frantically.

John hugs him. It's weird and foreign and feels just as odd and right as fucking Teyla against the wall. "I have no plans to be in a coma tomorrow, Rodney."

"Oh, God," Rodney breathes into his neck. "Oh, God, I know. I mean you're insane but you're not a lunatic, but God. I really thought you were dead when we got to the clearing and you were there on the ground."

"Me too," John says, drawing Rodney closer, feeling the last of the itch fade away as they breathe together.

"I was always going to come for you, you know that right? Because back on the planet you said—"

"I knew."

"Good."

They stay like that for a little longer, John shifting to his knees, settling in between Rodney's spread ones.

"This hug has gone on for too long hasn't it?" Rodney eventually asks.

"Maybe," John says, dragging away, just far enough to look at Rodney, to see the high flush and the uncertain look in his eyes. He traces a simple line with his thumb, along Rodney's hairline on the back of his neck.

"Oh, thank God," Rodney breathes, leaning in, but he stops inches from John. "I'm right, right?"

"Yeah, I think so." John nods slightly, tilting his head so that Rodney's nose doesn't give him a black eye.

Rodney maps out John's mouth softly and with a hint of desperation, and John lets him because he feels it too. A little of the Wraith, a lot of happy to be alive, and a dash of Rodney being there when John thought he might never see him again.

The kiss never actually goes beyond soft exploration, which is fine for John because he's exhausted all the way through and he wants a warm shower and long night's sleep curled up under the blankets.

Rodney ends it first, pulling back gently. "You're not going to go out and find Ronon after this, are you?"

John snorts and reaches for the pillow to his right, whapping Rodney somewhere near his shoulder with it, then stands, wincing at the creaking in his knees, which feels at odds with the low level energy still buzzing around. "Only if he asks really nicely."

Rodney strips him of his remaining clothes, brushing his hands over bruises that managed to stick around despite whatever de-aging process the Wraith had done to him. John blushes profusely at one or two spots that are pre-bruises, left over from Teyla's hands and body.

"That's really hot," Rodney murmurs, kissing them softly.

He showers, the hot water feeling ungodly good, warming him up in places he hadn't known were cold.

Rodney is fidgeting on his bed, waiting for him when he steps out in a fresh pair of boxers and damp hair.

"Take your shoes off at least," John murmurs, crawling into bed. "If you don't elbow me in the side, there could be a blowjob in your future."

Rodney makes a choked noise and pushes his shoes and jacket off, hesitates for a few seconds and does the same with his pants. "No teasing."

"Go ahead, jerk off. I won't mind," John says, curling up around a pillow, eyeing the bulge just under the cloth at eye level.

One blink, then two, and Rodney pushes his boxers down just enough to reach in and wrap his hand around his dick and start slow careful movements.

"Come on, Rodney," John encourages. "Yeah that's it." He reaches out, hand squeezing Rodney's thigh gently. "That's right." Rodney makes a low keening sound and his hips start to rock slowly, fucking his fist in short, shallow thrusts.

John feels the warm slick of sweat under his hand as he moves it up Rodney's thigh so that his fingers just brush Rodney's balls. "Come on. I came twice not even an hour ago, you get to come too. Come on, Rodney, that's it." He wishes he had more energy; he'd pin Rodney to the bed, press a thigh in the right place, or maybe roll over and spread his legs or even just—well maybe he has that much energy.

He moves, leans just enough and puts his hand over Rodney's, stopping him just long enough so that John can get his mouth over the head of Rodney's dick, so he can suck slow and sweet without getting a fist in the eye.

"Oh, God, John," Rodney chokes, giving two more shallow thrusts and then coming hard.

John swallows a little, and then reaches for some tissues, carefully spitting the rest out. Rodney doesn't seem to mind. When John looks up from being draped artlessly across Rodney's thighs, Rodney looks as wrecked as John feels.

John smiles goofily, a little giddy. "I have the best friends."

Rodney looks at him, only one eye really giving that focused feeling. "You do this with all your friends?"

"Well if Ronon asks...." There's a pillow in his face before he can finish the thought.

"I'm not some cheap one night stand."

"Nah, you're at least a week." John throws the pillow back, goofy smile still wide on his lips. "I totally believed in you guys this time. It was a cool feeling."

Rodney mutters and shifts and hauls him close, feeling lax and warm against John's skin. "We believed in you too."

John's eyes slide shut, and he mentally adds 'more knife practice with Ronon' to his to-do list, because he totally rocked out there, even as a decrepit old man.

They shift a little more, and just before John sleeps he feels his palm, flat and heavy against Rodney's slowly moving chest. He freezes, going stiff and tense until he hears Teyla's voice inside his head. 'Love and trust.' He turns his head into the soft skin of Rodney's shoulder and repeats the words, lips moving softly against skin.

He whispers it over and over again until he believes it, until it sinks into him and his limbs feel heavy again and he remembers the belief he had during those long, cold hours of captivity, and he reminds himself that not all trust is about love and not all love is about trust.

Inside his head, something slow and fiery pulses, and then sleep claims him.

THE END

Fic: Electron Bonding, CSI/Buffy, NC-17, Gil/Greg

2006-08-25T22:36:34Z

Title: Electron Bonding (CSI/Buffy)
Series: Better Living Through Science
Authors: amireal and blueraccoon
Pairing: Greg/Grissom
Rating: NC - 17
Length: Approx 26,000 words

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Anthony Zuiker and Jerry Bruckheimmerare gods. We merely play in their worlds

Summary: Electrovalent bonding occurs when one atom releases an electron and another accepts an electron.

Story posted in whole to my website.

DVD Commentary, Cleave (3/3)

2006-07-23T18:33:44Z

DVD Commentary for Cleave in three parts.

Part 2 can be found here.

They found other things to do. Paperwork became a haven, because they could be in the same room, sit across from each other and carefully press their calves together, and finish off some annoying report or memo.

I really like the whole knees touching thing. A lot.

Rodney worked out some very specific climate controls for their quarters so he could lower the temperature by several degrees and they could comfortably curl around each other in their many layers and not sweat off several pounds each time.

John liked to kiss the back of his neck through his sweatshirt. Not a lot, but more often than not Rodney would receive a hug from behind and a wisp of heat just under his hairline.

Cuddling. In sweats. No seriously, this whole story was an excuse to get them to do that.

Actually John is a secret cuddler, he's got poor circulation and he likes to inflict his cold toes on other people.

Later this will involve Rodney getting sweet, sweet revenge by first cleaning John's feet thoroughly and then sucking on his toes until John can't see straight.

Possibly Rodney isn't very good at planning revenge.

They started watching movies and television together when holding hands over a chess board became too prosaic. Because Rodney had a finely honed sense of irony, he picked up Dark Angel from Cadman (at a hefty fee) and let John read the little synopsis, smiling when he shrugged and nodded.

Hey I figure if you're gonna steal, you might as well attribute.

"Sci-fi based on Earth. It'd be a change for me."

John took to laying his head in Rodney's lap. It was a bit disconcerting at first, but it seemed the safest option. Besides, Rodney sort of enjoyed it.

They marathoned the latter half of the first season the day after John came back from another off-world mission walking carefully, though that time it was nothing more than an interesting initiation involving standing and sitting in strange ways. John had spent a very long three hours doing deep knee bends.

"You're kidding me," John said at the end of the season two opener. "A genetically engineered virus that will kill him if they touch." John hit Rodney with a pillow. "You so knew that was coming."

He did, but Rodney has a totally well developed sense of irony. I mean, being him? You'd have to.

Rodney gently took the pillow and dropped it behind the couch so his dead skin cells could slowly decontaminate. Another lovely step that Carson had discovered, and it helped relieve the strain on the disinfectant soap.

"Maybe," Rodney hedged, "but we shouldn't let that stop us from enjoying the show."

"Does it last the whole season?" John asked, stopping the DVD and stretching, yawning hugely then wincing.

"Of course it does, but I always felt that stretched it a bit." Rodney closed the laptop and turned so that his back was braced against the arm of the couch. "I mean, holding on for that long?"

John shrugged. "Rogue and Gambit did it."

Come on, you were all thinking it.

Also, John has the entire x-men legends, x-men ultimates and that third really long ass x-me series on a couple of DVD-r's stashed away somewhere. Possibly he has them in hard copy in an temperature controlled storage locker. He says he's waiting for them to be worth selling, but we know better.

Also, the spaz on the other end of the phone line with me while I was writing this is an obsessive X-Men fan who just danced a little dance on the grave of Rogue and Gambit's relationship

Rodney's jaw dropped.

"What?"

"You can't say things like that. It's not fair!"

Oh yes, did I forget that I find that terribly hot too?

John yawned again. "When I wake up I'm not going to be able to move." He winced, swinging off the couch. "Oh god, this is going to hurt."

Okay, I have this thing where we see our heroes get thrown and bashed about and are all bouncy and bright eyed the next day. This bothers me. These are nearly 40 year old men. They're gonna have sore muscles. And you know those nights where you can feel it? You've sat still for five minutes and moving just takes a little bit more effort and ow your muscles really sort of stretch in that bad way. That's how John feels.

And we're also back to me wanting someone to put liniment on John.

Before he could move, Rodney stepped off the couch and offered him a hand, but somewhere in there John had stiffened up past fine motor control and he staggered forward and into Rodney who managed to turn his head away just in time.

"Mm. Comfy," John said into his shoulder.

Rodney reached for his hood, pulling it tight. "No sleeping standing up. Tried that once; bad for the--everything."

"It's ok," John said, sliding his arms comfortably around Rodney's midsection. "I'm starting to really like things that are bad for me."

Ooooh. John. Your issues are showing.

This sentence right here could be a whole long essay on John Sheppard, but seeing as how I'm nearly 8000 words into this commentary of a 15,000 word story. I'll leave it for now.

Chest clenching tightly, Rodney hugged him back. "You really have to stop saying things like that, too."

And Rodney. Oh Rodney. He's really quite lonely and quite beside himself with the thought that he could, through carelessness and stupidity, kill John.

"You should go," John said quietly.

Rodney could feel it, the slightly higher heat near his hip, John hard and ready, right near him.

They want, pretty badly. I had this idea of them slipping up in the heat of cuddling (I spoke of this earlier) but seriously, how many times can I write John waking up in the infirmary.

No. Don't answer.

He couldn't pretend he wasn't in a similar state. "Yes. I should."

They let go, fingers leaving slowly. "See you tomorrow."

******

Tube socks. Rodney was starting to relate tube socks to sexy thoughts and he really didn't need that at the moment.

There is a list titled: Thing Ami has Ruined for me Forever and so far it includes:
1. Cornbread (see "Promotion")
2. Ponchos
3. TUBE SOCKS

There ah… was a little more defiling the virtue of the beloved tube sock originally planned. There may have been begging and pleading and threats of a dire nature to drop it.

And yet, there were John's feet, cotton clad, mixed up with his own, and John's face pressed to his chest as they somehow sat comfortably entwined on the couch.

Because damn it, tube socks weren't sexy.

Imagine: John's feet. Clad in nice warm tube sock, mingling with another pair of feet. Wiggling gently.

Sorry Rodney, I beg to differ.

John's toes chose that moment to wiggle. They mocked him. They whispered "yes they are; tube socks are the bomb." Of course John's toes would use "the bomb." That was so them.

You don't want to know the mental image I have for this bit.

Rodney blinked. Oh God. Hallucinations fueled by sexual frustration. Not good.

He briefly entertained the idea of combining tube socks and condoms, but nixed it because he could just see John's face going red from laughter. Or possibly pale in anger.

Hrmmm… this would be Rodney having my thoughts just a little bit. Frankly I'd need them far more desperate to do to that tube sock what I had planned.

"You're hard," John's voice rumbled near his stomach.

"A little!" Rodney winced, the excuse sounding worse than the crime, but it was true, being in the same room as John would pretty much get his engine purring. Only nowadays he seemed to get all he needed out of a hug, or a quick press of fingers. It was strange.

By now they've spent a good portion of time wrapped around each other and John has memorized every bump and curve of Rodney as well as he can.

Also I love Rodney's defense here. It cracks me up.

John chuckled. "Just different, that's all. Also? I'm used to being taller, or broader, or something. Mostly." He made a pleased sound. "Except for that once, but she was flexible."

OMG SHE INFERRED HET! OH NOES!

Rodney suppressed a shudder. They'd managed to not talk about sex so directly until then. Rodney had also managed to forget that John was sort of new to all of it. Until something got said or done that reminded him and it was so fierce it felt like slamming into a wall.

Rodney's problem is that he finds the concept very, incredibly, scorchingly hot and it sneaks up on him at random intervals. There's a burn mark in science lab 3 because of it. If anyone asks, however, it was Zelenka's fault.

John shifted a little, curling tighter around him. "You okay?" His hand spread out on Rodney's stomach, just below his chest. "Your heart just went haywire."

"I bet you're bendy," Rodney blurted, and then blushed bright red. "Oh God. Just--sorry."

I love the word bendy. I also love the idea of something random and a little dirty just slipping out of Rodney's mouth. Just some opinion that he's sort of turned into a little fantasy.

There's that one with the trapeze and the tights but he's never, ever telling John about that one. Not because he's embarrassed but in case John decides he wants to try an actual trapeze.

"Define bendy." John had gone from pliable to unbending next to Rodney.

Rodney sighed. "It probably means what you think it means."

"Rodney, I don't know if I--"

"And that's perfectly fine. There are lots of ways to be bendy." He flushed again momentarily at the word.

"Maybe, we can be bendy together?" John asked, slowly relaxing again, eyes going half-lidded. "In ways that don't include things that remind me of that one woman in Vegas?"

And there they go, being all cute and using bad metaphors. I love it. I also like to give my characters full histories, or at least imply they have full histories. John's no virgin and he's pretty enough that he can attract a wide variety. Invariably everyone's got that 'Woah, when did I say it was okay to do that?' story.

"Okay, seriously? Stop saying things like that." Rodney frowned. Then frowned harder as John laughed against him. Now all he could think about was John on his knees with some hot blond lubing up a dildo. And three, two, one. Yes, thank you, subconscious; now the blonde was Sam Carter. He shuddered. Surprisingly, not in arousal.

Okay I admit it. I am twisted. But seriously, considering the way he talked about her and hallucinated her, if we're talking about sex at all, she's gotta show up at some point.

"Maybe one day," John whispered, reaching over to press play on the laptop to start another episode.

Rodney felt something warm and precious slide up his spine, and he ran a single finger down the outer shell of John's ear, feeling John make a small drowsy sound. Rodney closed his eyes and listened to him breathe.

******

They hit him in the face. Rodney watched in horror as John's head snapped back and then he slid to the ground.

See my transition? And by transition I mean two scenes that have nothing in common right down to their tone butted up against each other? That's sort of my metaphor for Atlantis.

"No speaking," Theilan said.

Rodney was going to write a memo. No one was ever allowed to visit Atlantis again. Unless they were originally from Earth. Or Teyla knew their mothers.

I think this is good procedure since they haven't really been so successful with the open armed approach. I may possibly revise this to include visiting of other planets without a full platoon waiting to come in if they don't check in on the hour every hour for the first 12. After that, make it once every 5 hours.

Some random thug dragged John out of the room, and the anger that washed over Rodney was blinding.

"Now." Theilan turned to him, robes swirling around him. "The access codes please?"

"Bite me." Rodney got slapped for that.

See? It just rolls off his tongue. Not my fault. Really. Someone else did this whole thing about Rodney and his character and how he's really gotten there, where he'll whine and complain but will totally tell the baddie to sit on it and rotate when he's pissed.

I? Just think it's pretty. *handwave* Yeah, all of that stuff too. But. Pretty.

"You do not need to speak to give me the codes." Theilan produced a long blade. It looked dirty.

Why was it always knives? Rodney was seriously starting to get a complex.

"Think about it for a little longer," Theilan allowed and then nodded to another large, nameless and very ugly thug.

Rodney was dragged out, too. He found himself thrown into a room and he landed on something firm but with give. He rolled off abruptly when he recognized the harsh exhalation of breath. "Did I touch you?" Rodney demanded.

John struggled to sit up, obviously only just regaining consciousness. "I dunno. I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"Don't joke!"

"Not joking." John took a few deep breaths. "I feel fine. What'd he want?"

"What do you think he wanted?" Rodney pushed himself to the other side of the small room. "Access codes, only he has a funny way of saying please."

"How long do we have?" John shifted around, rolling his neck. "Man, you wouldn't think a skinny bastard like that would pack such a wallop."

"I don't know." Rodney banged his head against the wall. "I'm supposed to sit here and contemplate life without a tongue."

"What?" John's voice was sharp and angry, and when Rodney opened his eyes he could see the tense line of fury in his back. "Well then. I was going to be nice when I escaped. Now? Not so much."

Aaw John. This, FYI, is when he decided to pull the trigger if it ever came down to a choice.

"What? Going to spit in their celebratory cups of tea?" Rodney asked.

"Piss," John muttered, head leaning back, throat swallowing harshly. "In their cornflakes." He took a deep breath.

Rodney watched him, eyes narrowing. "I did touch you, didn't I?" There was a catch in his voice, he could feel it starting somewhere in his stomach That was it; John was going to die and Rodney would have killed him and it would be like every single nightmare he'd had since--

Wait a minute. That's right, the first nightmare he'd had after Carson had dumped all of those meds on him, he'd stashed some in his pockets and kept them there. He'd felt stupid that it hadn't occurred to him before then.

He got onto his knees and scrounged around, letting out a relieved gasp when his fingers closed over the spare blister packs wrapped in a latex glove in his pocket. God bless arrogant terrorists.

"What?" John asked, seeing him move around. "And I'm fine."

"You will be," Rodney said, carefully dumping the contents of the glove on the ground.

John smiled, a big soft smile that reached his eyes. "Thanks, Rodney, but I have my own in my right boot." He nodded to the ones on the floor. "You put those away. Also? I'm fine."

I like to think of John as a little more prepared than we sometimes see him. I mean he's really gotten into the worst case scenario too, you think he'd plan a little for it also.

And? I just think he's adorable right here.

"Boot?" Rodney asked faintly, before picking up the meds with the tips of the inside of the glove and carefully sliding them back in. "Since when?"

"You really need to ask?"

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a little while.

"You'll tell them whatever they want to know, Rodney," John said eventually. "No arguments."

"With you or with them?" Rodney snapped.

"Rodney," John said carefully, voice low and desperate. "You will tell them what they want and you will not come back here missing body parts."

Because John would never be able to live with himself. No seriously, he'd be a changed man.

Rodney swallowed. "You think they'd do it?"

"Who knows?" John said, dropping his head and running a hand through his hair. "And I don't want to find out." He looked up again, eyes cold and hard. "There are a lot of things I don't want to find out." He breathed deeply, eyes closing and then opening, this time with a softer gaze; his lips twitched slightly, forming a half smile. "And a lot of things I do."

John doesn't want to know what he'd do, he's actively frightened of it and that scares him more. Rodney has dug deep and stuck and he doesn’t quite know what to make of it.

"Me too," Rodney said fervently.

John nodded. "Good thing we're clear then. So, did you see where they took Elizabeth and the others?"

"I saw some more guards nearby, maybe they're in the other rooms?" Rodney guessed.

******

Rodney got dragged out again a little while later, and the last thing he saw of John was a wink and nod before the door closed between them.

He did as he was told, mostly. Recently he and Radek had spent a few sleepless nights rewriting the security codes. Now everyone had two passkeys: the real one and the one that was off by a single character. That one hid and disguised information, letting the user think they were doing all sorts of dangerous things like locking people out, but in reality it was just accepting the commands and passing back the correct messages. Of course, the memo about it was still being written, as they had only really put the finishing touches on it recently.

This is not a new concept. I had a 'coercion' code for my parent's first alarm which was basically the usually process, just one digit off. This makes sense to me that they would use this sort of tactic. I mean, *how* many times do people try to get codes out of them?

To quote another series: "Dawn's in trouble, it must be Tuesday."

Theilan dragged him away as soon as he'd hit the enter key and Rodney sat meekly off to the side and waited. As soon as the lights went out, he ducked under the table he'd scouted out, curled up tightly and waited. The shooting sort of echoed off the walls and Rodney pushed himself even further under the table.

Between the laptop monitors and the strange strobe affect of three energy weapons firing simultaneously, Rodney could just make out the action. John came in shooting, followed by Lorne and Ronon. The three thugs were easy, but surprisingly no one aimed for Theilan himself, though Ronon did knock his weapon out of his hands.

"How did you--" That was as far as Theilan got; he was interrupted by John's fist to his nose, which was followed up by a knee to the stomach. Theilan went down gasping.

I planned that from early on. I wanted John to physically man handle the guy back. One, because *dreamy sigh* it's pretty and two because he's really pissed.

Ronon came up next to John and nodded his head in approval.

Lorne stepped up and shot him anyway, the electric blue of the energy weapon glowing brightly.

"Rodney?" John called. "Can you get the lights back on and get me readings on where the rest of his guys are?"

Rodney crawled out and got to the nearest computer.

John, Ronon and Lorne all sat down heavily. "Also? Care to explain what the hell?"

Rodney finished his sequence and hit enter, making a gratified sound when the lights went up. "New thing Radek and I were trying; we programmed the doors to unlock and the lights to go out with the right--or rather, wrong--command code."

The exact how it all worked got rewritten three times. My beta was at the top of a hit list for a while.

"Oh, cool," John said. "We should talk about that later. Maybe improve on it."

And possibly later, when they can touch, have hot sweaty sex on some nearby horizontal surface because John likes it when Rodney can do strategy and outwit the badguys.

"Sure." Rodney nodded. "For now? There's about twenty other guys out there who might need taking care of."

"I've got a squad of Marines already going through the hallways. They should be back on radio by now," John said, reaching for one of the earpieces in the pile their captors had made. He threw one to Ronon and one to Lorne. "Stay on channel twelve for now." He turned to Rodney. "Get on those sensors and start sorting out personnel. I'll send some more people up here soon."

Rodney picked up his own radio and got down to work. It was a long hour, finding and marking each individual life sign.

"Colonel Sheppard," Rodney called, "I'm pretty sure that's the last one." By then he had a full team in the control room and they all nodded in agreement.

"That's good, Rodney," John said in his ear.

Rodney frowned. John sounded out of breath but Rodney had been monitoring and John hadn't had to give chase or been chased in nearly twenty minutes--oh. Oh God. "Colonel!"

It has been one shitty day for Rodney

"Yeah, Rodney?" Low and gravelly.

"Take those pills and get to the infirmary now!" God it had been an hour. An hour.

"What?" John sounded slurred.

"You must have touched me somehow."

"I did not." John argued. "I did not touch you."

And he really wishes he had. No seriously, this is the first time Rodney's been in danger since the night of a thousand snuggles and the snuggle of a thousand nights has started. John wanted something before he went off and did his job, but he didn't get anything. Which is why he's so sure he didn't touch Rodney.

"The console I was working on?" Rodney pressed; he knew that wheezing. "Please tell me you're going to the infirmary."

"I'm going, I'm going. And no I didn't touch that either."

John is thinking he never thought he'd marry a nag. And then he's thinking, 'good god, married'. Followed closely by, 'the nagging is kind of endearing'. Soon to be followed up with 'dear god, I need therapy. Or to get laid.'

Rodney shoved his laptop at the next person over. Radek, right. "I'm going down there, don't break anything."

"Don't go too far; I might need you to remind me how to breathe!" Radek called after him. "Do I inhale or exhale first?"

I love them. I love their whole relationship. It's so… wonderfully full of affection. You know, the kind of affection the road runner had for the coyote.

Seriously, there's real affection and respect there. Their banter reminds me of the stuff I participated in during my run as a tech major.

******

"What did you touch?" Rodney asked as soon as he was in the same room as John.

"Why, Rodney, I'll be fine. Your concern is touching," John said dryly.

"List everything. Now." He sat down on a nearby chair.

John rolled his eyes. "The floor, the wall, my boots, my shirt, probably my pants--"

John can't help it, he really can't.

"Colonel."

"Seriously, Rodney, nothing." He paused, eyebrow raising. "The guard maybe?"

"Maybe," Rodney grunted. "Go on."

"His gun. His arm. The wall in the transporter." John's eyes narrowed. "Theilan."

Rodney shook his head. "I didn't do a whole lot of touching of his nose and his stomach."

"That would have been odd, yes."

And yet, so unexpected in the gateverse. Now I want a planet where nose touching is a sign of respect.

*bright eyes* No really, when I was younger, those 'nose bop' was totally in. So John and Rodney and co have to run around poking noses and making cute little 'bopping' noises and Rodney will break out the disinfectant gel and think he's caught the Plague the first time he so much as coughs.

John will laugh really, really hard when Rodney's not looking and wear his dorky sympathetic face when he is. Because that's what you do when you marry a nag. Later, he will bop Rodney's nose during sex and Rodney will never forgive him.

"Now what consoles did you touch?"

John shrugged. "None." He frowned, the wheezing coming back suddenly.

"Polyphasic?" Rodney asked frantically. What the hell could John have touched that would give him that large a dose? He thought back to their time in the control room. John finished kneeing Theilan in the stomach. Sat down. Asked some questions and then snagged a radio before heading out. Snagged a radio.

Snagged Rodney's radio.

"Take out his earpiece!"

When I thought of this there was a lot of bopping and bouncing. I really liked this idea and it was so easy to do and I really needed this careless moment for Rodney. Or rather, I wanted this scary moment of not knowing if they'd get through this because there's just too much shit to avoid.

Also I seriously considered not curing Rodney.

A nurse with the good sense to realize that maybe Carson shouldn't touch it either, gloved or not, quickly removed it.

"Rodney, go sit down before you fall," Carson said to him. "He'll be fine now; you figured it out. He had a prolonged exposure--nearly an hour I'd say--and look at how long it took for anything to happen at all."

Rodney clenched his jaw and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've got work to do."

"Sit down," Carson told him while adding something to John's IV. "You've had a long day."

Rodney couldn't. He couldn't just sit. So he left.

Walking away. *sigh* And not because I love his ass. It was a recurring motif really, mostly me really loving the whole lonely aspect. He just can't watch, or sit and be helpless. He's good at it. He can do it. But he doesn't like it. And it's far worse when he is the cause of his own helplessness. I just wanted a series of scenes where Rodney has to walk away, it's just this great imagine of loneliness.

******

Two weeks later, after Rodney's morning unhappy time where he had to stumble to the infirmary before coffee, Carson snapped off a glove, took Rodney's hand and shook it firmly.

Rodney wrenched it away and considered hiding it under his shirt. "Are you insane?"

"Congratulations, Rodney, you're no longer toxic." Carson smiled. "Well, you're back to pre-Wraith-manipulated levels."

I like slightly teasing (and not in a fluffy way) Carson. We saw that a bit in the first couple of episodes before they went down, dingy, thorn laden path of The Mama's Boy for a little while.

My theory is that he was hitting the stims too and they sort of made him a little wacky.

"What?" Rodney blinked several times. "Wait, what?"

"I'll be expecting the remaining supply of pills and gloves back tomorrow." Carson patted him on the shoulder. "Maybe you should take the day? Celebrate?" He waggled his eyebrows.

They're friends. No really. I like that they're friends.

Personal theory: Carson is probably the person Rodney identifies with the most in the sense of 'prodigy' or 'child prodigy' considering the number of degrees he'd have to have in order to do his job, coupled with his actual age and how far he's gotten in said career. Also some of the vague allusions they've made to his abilities re: genetics. I think they get each other on non professional levels and they sort of cling to that. I want pre-series Rodney and Carson friendship fic.

Rodney recoiled in horror. "Oh my God. Never do that."

We may have noticed I have thing with the eyebrows. I really don't know why. Maybe there was a traumatic childhood incident I'm repressing.

Carson's face loomed as he leaned in to whisper, "Don't forget to use condoms."

Like a good friend, Carson has watched Rodney be miserable and felt really bad about it.

He won't tell this to Rodney, but he's pulled a couple of all nighters when instead he could have gone to bed because he genuinely wanted to help his friend.

John knows though and while he still can't look Carson in the face, or talk about it out loud to anyone other than Rodney, he made sure Cadman got her schedule changes the next time she put in for them.

Rodney was about to consider actual physical force when he remembered, and how could forget he didn't know, touching. There could be real, honest-to-God touching.

"Ah lad, that's actually a good look on you." Carson nodded approvingly.

"What?" Rodney asked, peeling off his own gloves with relish, staring at the twin lines of hairlessness on his wrists from all the taping.

"Happiness."

Daaaw. Rodney. *pinches cheeks* Seriously, he's thinking about John and touching and it's not a lecherous or lascivious smile that comes to him. But a soft smile and dopey eyes because he's genuinely happy.

Crap, his reputation was ruined.

******

The urge to just walk into John's office, lock the door and stick his tongue down John's throat held a certain appeal. The down side included the fact that the possibility of not being able to stop until neither of them could walk without traction, rest, and maybe some crutches was fairly high, and that Rodney had actually sort of, maybe thought about it a little bit. God, he was such a girl.

I hear I nearly killed someone with this line. Choking on a lozenge or something. *proud*.

So instead he walked in easily, hands stuck in his pockets and stayed way the hell on the other side of the room.

"What's up?" John asked, pressing angrily at his space bar.

Rodney stared at his fingers: strong, calloused. Nice looking mostly. He blinked, realizing he'd lost time. "Oh. I visited Carson."

He's having this moment, where he suddenly realizes that his fantasies, his wants, can be real and it's a little overwhelming. Plus a lot of his new body language has sort of taken over. I imagine he'll be doing the hands in pocket thing for weeks.

John nodded and made an 'and, this is new because?' gesture.

Rodney retrieved his hands from his pockets and waved them around. "I'm supposed to return all the supplies tomorrow."

John stared. "Excuse me, what?"

"No more. Done. Finito. I am no longer toxic."

John smirked.

Because they all love Rodney. Atlantis is one big, dysfunctional family. Everyone's foibles (by this time) are long running jokes. I like the idea that the same joke is hinted at by two separate people. This happens in small communities. The hive mind starts to take over and suddenly you're all telepathic.

Rodney dropped his hands. "Oh shut up."

"So...." John started, then averted his eyes and blushed. "Tonight?"

Blushed. He blushed. Rodney stuffed his hands back in his pockets so he could avoid doing something stupid right there. "Would it be really bad if we both took the day off tomorrow?"

Rodney wants to pack a cooler, roll it up to the bed, grab a couple of packs of cleaning wipes and some tissues and park in a bed for about a week. Since he knows he can't swing a week, he'll take a day.

John made a thinking sound before shrugging. "I ah...I can't seem to care all that much. That's probably bad, right?"

Oh John. He's in love. He's pretty sure he knows it too. He's also a little freaked out by the impulses he's having.

"Maybe." Rodney shrugged too. He didn't care either, at the moment. "But I think one day might be okay?"

"Maybe not a whole day," John murmured, eyes glazing a little. "Maybe."

He's hedging his bets. It's so that if he starts to get the feeling that they're being too suspicious, one of them can go to work for a few hours.
Also John's worried he might need to cut their tryst short at some point so he can go back to his place and curl up a in a little ball and breathe.

"Okay I'm leaving now because...um...you know. Eight o'clock, my place?" Rodney was already leaving.

"Be there with bells."

"Forget bells, bring food," Rodney said and then darted out.

A little birdy in my ear has told me that this line should be canon. Somehow, JF and his I'm a Little Tea Pot school of acting (I kid! I don't blame him at all!) could really pull it off. I see a dorktastic little jump and heel click following it. *dreamy sigh*

******

"Okay, I'd like to file a complaint," Rodney said into his radio, surveying the darkness around him.

Monty Python. I don't know what it is, but I really like putting their words into Rodney's mouth. Maybe it's because their punchlines are that out of left field that not even Rodney McKay can predict them and therefore truly delights in their entertainment.

Also he once watched Meaning of Life and burst something at the Corporate Pirates scene.

"No seriously, Rodney," John's voice said into his ear, "how does one get stuck in a storage closet?" There was a small string of tension curling up under his usual good humor.

Ah the metaphor. Rodney is trying really hard not think about it. Also? John is kind of pissed. He loves his city, but he's seriously thinking about a temporary separation.

"Shut up. It's dark in here and the dimensions have got to be smaller than a port-a-potty."

"Radek is working as fast as he can," John said.

"Meanwhile, I've been stuck here for at least four hours. What the hell took so long? I mean I would have thought you--" Rodney stopped himself. Yes, John's voice hadn't appeared over the comms until after their date was supposed to have begun, but maybe he hadn't shown and that's why it had taken so long.

Rodney shouldn't be left alone with his own brain sometimes. He's worried, has been worrying, that John when he and John can finally touch John will suddenly find it all a little too real and freak out completely.

Hell I'd probably be thinking this too.

"It has not been four hours," John said dryly. "And I was busy dealing with the sudden rolling blackouts all over the city. Radek spent a half hour getting the radios back on."

John, bless him, knows exactly what Rodney's thinking. As usual.

Rodney knew that. He knew that because he'd spent long minutes calling for help. It still felt good to hear. He covered his eyes with his hand. He really needed to get a grip.

"Where are you?" Rodney asked, breathing; if he breathed he knew he had oxygen.

"Outside the door, leaning against the wall to the left because Radek is busy disassembling the one to the right."

Rodney reached out and placed his palm firmly against the wall, weeks of feeling through layers and stretching to feel muffled sensation had him convinced the wall was slightly warmer in that spot. "So I was thinking I should see if I can bribe the new Doctor Who from someone." He shuffled until he was sitting, propped against the wall, hand still pressed firmly against it, forehead resting gently.

I. Love. This. Image. Just two of them separate by a wall, pressing up against the same place. John all nonchalant on the floor, legs out and crossed casually at the ankle, back firmly against the wall, head tilted back, talking to the ceiling. Hand oh so carefully pressed flat against the wall next to him.

Rodney on the other side, on the floor, temple pressed against the wall, hand flat where John's heart would be. Yearning.

Damnit yes, I said yearning. Because *hand flails* come on.

Anyway, yes, I love this image.

"Yeah, I've heard good things," John said. "You know if this takes long enough we can always get the Daedalus to beam you out of there."

"They're not due for three days!" Rodney squawked, but smiled into the wall anyway.

"Well it's not a perfect solution...."

I revel in writing them dialogue post man!sex whose tenor doesn't change in the slightest. Yes they may be desperately in love and even more desperate to touch but in my experience this does not make two previous sarcastic, dorky, teasing people into big old marshmallows.

******

They got him out and, staring at his watch, Rodney knew it hadn't taken too long, despite it having felt like forever with nothing but a wall and John's smooth voice wrapping around him, talking the whole time.

John's eyebrows did a little dance. "The...thing still a go?"

I just totally see him using words like 'thing' and 'stuff' and 'coco channel' Okay that last one fits, I'm sure of it. Either way, he's got a level of dorkitude that I can totally jive with.

Rodney flushed and swallowed. "Yeah, I need time to shower; that thing was hot. Also food, ah sustenance is important."

"I'll bring something." John smiled and ambled off.

Rodney glared at Radek on his way past, just on principle, and headed straight for his room.

He showered and shaved and maybe used a tiny splash of the good aftershave. The lotiony kind that felt really good going on.

He has two aftershaves. And they are labeled.
1. Normal
2. The sex.

Without thinking, he slipped into his sweats and was halfway into the hooded shirt when he stopped and smiled nervously, then slipped into one of his more usual t-shirts.

He stared at the tube socks lying innocently in his drawer.

*glee*

Barefoot it was.

I uh… possibly also have a thing about this. It started with Alan Rickman and has blossomed into a strange, strange fetish where I like men fully dressed but in bare feet. Sue me.

John arrived just as Rodney was about to go insane and maybe make his bed or something. He entered smoothly, tossing two MREs on the table, and marched right up to Rodney, taking his hand threading their fingers together tightly.

Rodney had just enough time to register 'hot' and 'smooth' and 'skin' before John leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against Rodney's lips. It was closed-mouthed and chaste and it still sent a pleasant shock down Rodney's nerves.

"Just thought I'd get that out of the way," John said sheepishly. "You know, break the ice."

Actually John thought if they didn't do that right away they'd end up in a strange staring contest and never make it that far.

Rodney made a noise, possibly a grunt or strangled sound of frustration and then tugged John close and slid a hand up his chest and to the back of his neck, feeling every single hair as it passed his fingers. He pressed in for a kiss, tilting his head and starting with lips parted so he could suck on John's bottom lip, taste him just a little.

John, after an initial bout of apparent surprise, melted against him, his lips parting enough for it to be a real kiss. Soft, sweet kisses, one falling into another, were more than Rodney had actually allowed himself to think about, and John so tentative and shy it was amazing.

Nnnn. I just-- *flail* John tentative and nervous. Yes, you will find this a lot in my stuff in general. But specifically, he's got a lot to be nervous about. It's a lot of pressure to build this all up and worry that it'll fail at it's first real try.

"Okay," John said when they finally parted for longer than a fraction of a second, "this might really work." He rested their foreheads together.

"You doubted?" Rodney shifted so that he was nuzzling John's temple, breathing in as much as he could. "Did you forget about the smoking hot sex against the wall?"

Pfft. Doesn't count. *koff*

Against him, John shuddered. "No, Rodney, I didn't. Doesn't mean I didn't worry."

"You make the oddest things really hot," he kissed the side of John's neck. "Please stop that."

"I want to touch you," John whispered, thumb stroking down Rodney's neck. "I want to feel you, your skin, every patch of it; I've imagined it all, from your chest, to your stomach, to your arms and legs. Even your--" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Dick. Even your dick."

I'm with Rodney, John swallowing and getting up the courage to say that? Hot. And also brain meltingly sweet.

"Nnn," Rodney said, licking his way into John's mouth. He felt John's hands scramble and then settle for a moment on his shoulders before moving up his neck and face, taking hold, and then John was licking and kissing him back.

They parted, panting.

"Shirt," Rodney said, already pulling at its hem.

"You too." John nodded, voice breathless and lips already swollen.

Rodney slipped off his Neil Bohr did it with Energy tee-shirt and looked up to see John peeling out of his own. He reached out, carefully skimming over the nicely defined muscles that had been revealed, taking in John's startled gasp with a small smile.

Ah, the t-shirt slogan. I am such a nerd. No really. I am. Why? Because I made that up. But you know Rodney would have it and have put it on without even realizing it. Later John will pick it up off the floor, raise and eyebrow and make plans to humiliate Rodney with a vintage back to the future t-shirt. Possibly by wearing it the next time they have sex.

John did the same, reaching out, slowly tracing nonsense patterns on Rodney's chest before taking one step and sweeping him into a tight hug.

Miles of hot, firm skin surrounded Rodney, scorching where it had only warmed before. They shifted, skin rubbing gently against skin and Rodney arched into it, feeling so good.

More kisses, long wet kisses, with hands roaming carefully and John's shaking fingers feeling around tentatively.

"Bed," Rodney eventually said, hoarsely. "Before I fall down." He led the way, but stopped just shy of climbing in to turn and undo John's belt and pants and letting them fall to the floor. "Don't forget your shoes."

With and odd sort of grace, John managed to toe off his shoes without tripping or falling at all. Rodney, when not staring at the definite bump in the middle of John's briefs, was slowly lowering his own pants and scooting back into the bed.

When John climbed in after him, they found themselves lying on their sides facing each other. "So, at the risk of sounding like a fifteen-year-old, you can say stop whenever you want," Rodney offered.

"Cool," John said and smiled, reaching out with his left hand, running it down Rodney's right arm. He did it again, starting at the curve of Rodney's shoulder and ending at the tips of his fingers, leaving behind a lush trail of warmth.

Rodney cupped John's elbow, feeling the length of John's forearm press against his as he leaned in for another kiss. "Let me touch you," Rodney whispered against his lips.

John nodded frantically, relaxing back against the bed and Rodney followed him, leaning over him carefully and planting careful kisses down his neck and chest, licking the hollow between the muscles, nuzzling the occasional spot. Feeling John's minute tremors with each of his actions spurred him on. There was temptation to explore every inch, to learn it all, but John was making little noises and his hips were shifting cautiously, looking for some relief in the air above him.

Slowly, Rodney slid John's underwear off to reveal his dick, red and achy looking, fully erect and waiting. "Got any preferences?" Rodney asked.

John's eyes were wide, pupils blown and beginning to glaze over. He shook his head.

There was a really wrong Holy Grail moment before Rodney grasped it, but John's heartfelt gasp pretty much erased all that. It felt warm and heavy in his hand and he gave an experimental pull.

"Oh yeah," John murmured.

Rodney kissed the crease between thigh and hip and continued his slow careful pump, twisting slightly at the end.

"Nhh." John's hips shifted, pushing into his grip. "N-not long."

As much as I would have liked to have had a protracted, incredibly long, sex scene. I just couldn't see it happening here. Too much foreplay, too much tension, too much waiting. That doesn't mean it can't be brain killingly spectacular.

His own hips rubbing restlessly against the sheets, Rodney gave another few pulls and then let go.

John made a small whining sound that made Rodney's balls tingle.

"Touching," Rodney whispered, "trust me, touching." He crawled back up and then tugged John over until he was arranged on top of him. "Now, just move your leg like--yeah--that's--oh."

John had shifted so that their legs meshed together, dicks lining up gently. "Touching," John sighed, moving his hips experimentally.

They're going to have to watch themselves because they're going to spend an entire day getting used to reaching out and touching and stroking and petting and then have to go back to reality where they don't do that and it has been so long that they don't remember what was actually normal.

"God, yes." Rodney nodded, pulling him down for a kiss that curled his toes.

It was one long, lush kiss after another, even as their bodies moved in tight little thrusts and Rodney's leg shifted to wrap around John's, twining them tightly, using his calf as leverage. Sweat-slicked friction was white hot and sizzling and John kept pushing and finding the perfect angle and then he'd move an arm or a leg and it'd be even better and Rodney was slowly losing his mind, drowning in pleasure-soaked kisses and the hot slick-slide of skin.

Suddenly, John arched, wrenching his mouth away, hand clenching at Rodney's ass, pulling him in tightly. He buried his face in Rodney's neck and thrust down hard and fast until he came to a shuddering halt, wetness spreading between them.

Rodney's dick ached between them, feeling the slickness, jumping a little as John's stomach brushed against it. The hand on his ass kneaded slightly, thumb drawing lazy circles "Come on Rodney," John whispered hotly in his ear.

That was it, because if 'John' and 'hand' and 'his ass' wasn't enough, that pleasure-soaked voice rumbling in his ear would have done it.

Rodney came with a gasp, hips moving instinctively, dragging his dick through the satiny mess on their stomachs until he was wrung out and limp.

John eventually flopped over to the side with a muttered, "Jesus."

Hands out buckets and mops to everyone.

"Be right back," Rodney mumbled, stumbling, jelly-legged, to the bathroom and returning with a wet cloth. He cleaned John off and found John's hand taking the cloth gently from him and returning the favor.

John touching his dick for the first time was enough to get a small stirring of interest, but he needed at least forty-five minutes--and maybe a nap--before it was something more than a vague, passing interest.

"Can I?" John asked, still gently cleaning him off.

I thought it was important that John want to do this. To touch all the parts of Rodney to make sure he doesn't fool himself into forgetting about these parts.

Rodney nodded and watched as John carefully grasped and petted and felt.

"Mm. Nice." Rodney sighed.

John leaned in and gave the head a quick kiss and came up looking so utterly proud of himself that Rodney had to kiss him or risk returning the smile with equal fervor.

Things John Sheppard is proud of:
1. That time he made it from New York to Florida in 20 Hours.
2. His first set of wings.
3. That little pathetic plastic trophy thing he won at that surfing competition in Maui.
4. That Lieutenant he sucker punched that once.
5. Kissing Rodney's dick and liking it.

"Food or nap?" John asked when they parted. He settled down into the bed, drowsiness already apparent in his eyes, but it was nice that he asked anyway.

"Nap," Rodney said. They'd need their energy for the day he had planned anyway.

They wiggled and settled and finally ended up slightly spooned, Rodney's back pressed against John's front. It was easy to do this part, they'd been doing this part forever. John's arm snaked around, hauling Rodney close and just as Rodney felt his eyes sink shut, heat and warmth and moisture brushed against the back of his neck. Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized he knew that feeling--the ghost of warmth--only this time, he could feel John's smile pressed against his skin as he drifted off into sleep.

I ended it on that image because it was a perfect illustration of their touching and how its changed. Rodney doesn't have to sit absolutely still and take in every little detail in order to feel it. No, John is touching him, kissing him and he's utterly, horribly, eternally grateful for it.

THE END

That's all she wrote folks. I hope you had fun and that I made sense through at least half of this. Feel free to throw me any questions in the comments.

DVD Commentary, Cleave (2/3)

2006-07-23T18:27:13Z

DVD Commentary for Cleave in three parts.

Part 1 can be found here.

They didn't have it solved, just sort of...worked around. The genetic equivalent of allergy shots, only they were for Rodney and not the people actually allergic to him. They all still needed gloves and to avoid skin to skin contact, or something like sharing a cup of coffee, but they didn't have to worry that Rodney might kill them by being in the same room.

It was a mixed blessing. Rodney still sat away from the ATAs when eating; didn't anyone realize how much spit left the mouth when simply speaking?

Things Rodney learned/thought of while accidentally watching an episode of CSI:

1. The concept of scientists that Hollywood has cooked up is so wrong it makes Rodney's hair hurt.
2. Seriously contemplating a hair tie shortage.
3. My god, do we really spit that much?
4. Where on earth the writers got the idea that geeks aren't hot for it ALL THE FREAKING TIME.

When Sheppard showed for their evening round of chess, Rodney breathed a deep sigh of relief. He hadn't been sure. Their conversation in the hallway had left Rodney feeling raw, bursting under his skin with something he couldn't quite define.

Rodney is slower to catch the clue, he's far too worried about killing people in general to really figure out why killing this person is specific makes him all achy inside.

They skipped the masks; the small amount of exposure that would give Sheppard wasn't something they needed to worry about anymore.

"How's the head?" Sheppard made the first move.

"Good. Extremely intelligent," Rodney added for good measure.

Then came the awkward silence.

Only Rodney couldn't leave it at that. "So what would you have done if Carson hadn't had his little breakthrough that morning?"

He could never, ever leave it alone. He once sent a classmate off crying and he couldn't figure out why, later Rodney decided that he never really wanted to know again, lest he have to sit through another half hour of sniffling about a combination of subjects including yogart, someone's parakeet and their English paper.

That said, sometimes he doesn't understand why other people do things. Rodney asks why all the time.

Sheppard carefully moved a piece around. "Exactly the same thing. There wasn't anyone any closer."

There was no actual decision in getting to Rodney, it just happened.

"And die of anaphylaxis while you're at it?" Rodney pressed, not actually angry, but strangely flattered.

"I told you, I was prepared." Sheppard continued to study the board intently. "No one was going to die."

"It's not a pleasant experience," Rodney noted, almost absently, staring at the top of Sheppard's head so that when Sheppard did finally look up, their eyes met.

"You really think I'd let you die because I might spend a few minutes having a hard time breathing?"

Actually, yes possibly. I see Rodney's reactions about other people and what they will go through to save his own life as a conditioned response.

Rodney grimaced, of course not. "I'm sorry.... I don't know what I thought."

He does a little, but he's a little ashamed. He knows what his first impulses would have been. That's not to say he wouldn't, in the end, risk his own life without prompting, he already has in canon, he's just got very realistic first responses to danger.

They stared at each other for a long moment before Sheppard admitted, "I might've done it even without being prepared."

"Oh." Rodney swallowed roughly. His fingers twitched.

I did this a lot and I'm not sure how successful I was, this aborted movement type thing. The want to reach out and then remembering that you can't. I also wanted to convey a sense that despite Rodney quelling his own urges he doesn't actually know why he wants to reach out or even the sort of reaching out he wants to do.

"Your move," Sheppard said, eyes still firmly on Rodney.

Oooooo. Subtext. I told you about this earlier. I love conversations where characters are ostensibly saying one thing but are really having a whole 'nother conversation. They're just so yummy because you get the chance to say things with no concrete meanings and your characters body language become extra layers. Then again, you could be like me and utterly unsubtle about the whole thing.

"I--" His fingers tapped restlessly on the table and his heart hammered madly. "I--concede." He tipped his kind over gently. "I'm very tired and I think I should get some sleep." He stood abruptly and faked a yawn that wasn't anywhere near natural and waited patiently.

"Okay, Rodney." Sheppard stood quickly. "Get some sleep."

******

They didn't play chess the next night. Of course, Sheppard was off-world, but little details like that didn't seem to work their way through the uncomfortable feeling in Rodney's chest.

Ah the heart, it never listens to reason.

The team came back early the second day after having missed two check-ins and Rodney was just about ready to set something on fire with his eyes. All four of them looked dirty, bruised, and tired. Ronon had a patch of blood on his pants, Teyla had a long scratch down her arm, Zelenka's face had half a dozen really small ones, and Sheppard--Sheppard was limping slowly, holding his side and doing his best to resemble a walking bruise.

Okay, I like making people sore. It's a thing. Okay? And making John all ouchie and bruised? It's just-- yeah. Sorry. I want to make people give him massages and rub in ointments. I want him to look tired and limpy and needing a nap.

I possibly need to look into this need.

Rodney hurried down the stairs, "What the hell happened?"

"Native rock slide," Sheppard muttered.

Sheppard has a way with words doesn't he? And by that I mean, he drove his English teacher insane.

"What?"

"They threw rocks at us," Ronon clarified.

I am overly proud of this joke. Native rock slide. Tee hee.

Teyla rolled her neck. "It was very unexpected."

"It was insanity," Radek threw in.

I'm really proud of these two bits of dialogue too. I just. I hear the voices in them and since I am so horribly bad at remembering that other people exist in my stories, it's really important to me that they sound like these characters and not just generic people, spouting generic lines that could have been said by anyone.

Rodney gaped. "They stoned you?" He reached out, touching Sheppard's shoulder briefly. He wanted to ask 'What did you do?' only it never got out because Sheppard just looked so tired and hurt. "Are bleeding internally?" He asked instead.

Another line I love. Because how else would Rodney express concern than ask if you're going to die a slow painful death? No really? Tell me?

He never got an answer because Teyla grabbed an arm around Sheppard and dragged him away, looking wide-eyed and terrified. What? Sheppard was still looking at him, only his expression was slowly starting to melt into 'oh crap' also. His eyes darted down to Rodney's hands.

There were other tentative plans to have Rodney make a mistake and accidentally touch someone. One involved someone random, not John and the other involved him and John accidentally kissing in the heat of the... er... not!touch. They both got scrapped because there's only so many times you can relive this scene.

Fuck. He wasn't wearing gloves. Shoving them as far into his pockets as he could manage, Rodney stalked off too angry to spit.

Quietly angry Rodney is an interesting entity. It's scarier in my book. And he's quiet here because he doesn't quite know why he's so angry. Yes he doesn't relish the thought of killing his friend and he hates feeling stupid, but there's more to it and he knows it. He's mute with the inability to articulate it.

******

"I’m so sorry."

ZOMG RODNEY APPOLGISED IT MUST BE LOVE. *koff* No seriously, it's a big deal that he's apologizing.

Sheppard was pale and half asleep in the gurney. "Hey, no biggie."

Thank you John Sheppard for totally undermining Rodney's big moment. You suck.

"Carson, I think he has brain damage." Rodney shuffled away from both of them, using Ronon has a human gene shield.

I have this image. I am possibly not proud of this image. Of Rodney hiding behind Ronon, peeking out from under his elbow.

"He's fine," Carson said, "and he's right; we've managed to reduce the reaction drastically. He had nearly half an hour before it became acute."

"You know, I'd expect more worry from a doctor about things like respiratory distress." Rodney frowned, clenching his now-latex-covered hands inside his pockets.

*I'm just amused that the person who doesn't do the pocket thing, is now doing it constantly. At least he's not breaking regs.</font>

"I'm fine," Sheppard said again. "Really. I just want to sleep it off."

"Fine," Rodney huffed, leaving the room.

I keep having him walk away. I like this image and it means many things to me. If I could articulate them, I'd let you know. Promise.

******

Rodney paced outside of Sheppard's door for a bit, not really sure why he was there. The chess board was tucked under his arm, digging softly into his ribs.

"Is this some sort of new exercise regimen?"

Rodney jumped, spun, and nearly lost the board to the ground. Sheppard was leaning casually against his open doorway. He also looked tired enough to drop into sleep right there on the spot. There was a bruise peeking out from under the collar of his shirt and another only half-hidden by his short sleeves.

See. John bruised. It's so pretty.

"Because if it is," Sheppard went on, "I'm going to have to ask it happen somewhere I can't hear the loud clonking footsteps."

"I do not clonk!" Rodney said indignantly.

Oh sweety, you do. You're that guy who tries to be quiet and instead wakes an entire island nation by breathing. This feels a little at odds with your ability to play with little wires under high pressure.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow.

"I don't!"

"Don't get me wrong, I applaud the effort; anything that gets a good hustle from my team is something I'm going to approve of." Sheppard pushed off the door jamb with a small wince. "But it's sort of keeping me up."

In other words, if you're going to chicken out, please don't do it so that I can hear. Also? I might just have thought about jerking off to the memory of cleaning your head wound and that's sort of freaking me out.

Rodney grimaced, watching Sheppard limp slowly back into his room and sighed, getting ready to go.

"You coming in or what?" Sheppard was already putting on his coat and covering up.

Automatically Rodney stepped in far enough to let the door close behind him. "I uh...I thought maybe...." He held up the board, as if it hadn't been obvious before.

"Not afraid you're going to kill me?" Sheppard tossed over his shoulder, sounding angry. He was turned away, rummaging through his closet.

John is angry. Not that I blame him one bit. It's awfully hard to work around this sort of kink in a relationship.

"Deathly," Rodney answered truthfully. "Every second of every day." And wow that actually feel good to say. It had been eating at him slowly since he'd first figured out what was wrong.

And that's what it comes down to folks. He's afraid, he's terrified actually. And now that he's said it he's a relieved... and more afraid. Men.

"Rodney." Sheppard sighed, his shoulders rolling.

"I can't think about it really," Rodney went on, words tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably, like some sort of volatile experiment gone horribly wrong. "It's too scary and I have enough scary where I am, thank you very much, without thinking that I'd killed--" He choked. "That I'd killed--" He didn't have the words and that was enough to make him even more unsettled than he had already been feeling.

I like people not being able to say things, the idea of saying them therefore solidifying them, making them real. The act of saying some things is terrifying. The act of talking about Sheppard dieing makes that possibility too real.

"Rodney." Sheppard was there, right next to him, looking concerned and Rodney just couldn't take that. He was fucking Typhoid Mary in this situation and Sheppard should be far away, not coming to his room every night trying to make him feel better. What the hell was wrong with him?

"I couldn't live with it," Rodney said. "You have to stop coming closer." He took a step back as Sheppard took a step forward. "No really, you have to stop, because I couldn't live with it if you--if I--" Choked; he was choked and out of words.

So I talked about how I was the queen of hammer over your head subtext. Here's another example. Rodney's dialogue here is just a fun little glimpse into his own head. Since coming to Atlantis he has watched many people die and he hasn't really been all that close to most of them. Since Peter? He's probably alternated between not thinking about and thinking constantly about what it would be like if someone he was close with were to be ripped away.

"You know, you actually touch me...kind of a lot," Sheppard said, staying, thank God, where he was.

And bam he lays it out. Scariest sentence he's ever had to utter since he admitted to his dad, that yes, he was responsible for those skids marks.

Rodney had one horrified moment where he imagined Sheppard needing to be dragged to the infirmary numerous times because Rodney had been careless.

"I mean." Sheppard shrugged. "Before the whole thing."

Rodney glared, heart calming down slowly. "Past imperfect. Look it up."

My beta asked if this was a subtle dig at her. Yes. Yes it was.

"I bet you had classmates who plotted your death," Sheppard said, sitting gingerly on the bed.

Actually she asked me around here. *blinks* Is there something about me that screams long drawn out plots that will never be traced back to me and are insanely clever. *looks shifty*

"So?" Didn't everyone?

Head hanging limply, Sheppard sighed. "So I think I missed it. Which is pretty disconcerting."

And John is just trumping himself one after another. This is now the bravest sentence he's ever uttered. Did I have him sitting down for this? Well there was a reason.

Disconcerting. Yeah this is John Sheppard Master of the English language again. What he really means is that he may have attempted sex with someone tall and leggy and then possibly got some porn and then later had a small nervous breakdown that did not involve throwing up his dinner. Oh yeah, Ronon actually begged off from running with him during this time.

"Missed plotting my death?"

Sheppard looked up, eyes narrow. "Yes, actually, now that you mention it."

Mmm. Banter.

"Wait." Rodney shook his head. "What?"

"I," Sheppard said, drawing the vowel out, "missed," he went on, slowly pronouncing the word, "you."

Jeez. Rodney makes him say it. And don't think he won't pay for that later. Like later not in this fic. Where there's lots of sex and John, in the guise of straight!boy turned queer asks "Can I just... touch?" all innocent and doe eyed, his hair rakish and messy from hours of making out and Rodney's brain will short circuit because who would turn that down? An hour later as John is just making it to his dick, Rodney won't be able to figure out if he's just been tricked or he's the luckiest man in the galaxy. Two galaxies.*

"Oh."

"Oh." Sheppard nodded. "I thought that maybe you...."

And Sheppard is crushed a little because he worked up all this courage and all he gets is an "oh". Possibly a horrified "oh." That's like... the worst thing to happen to someone coming out.

"I?" Rodney needed to sit down, before he fell down. With the sudden release of tension he hadn't known he'd been carrying, his legs felt like day old Jell-o.

Rodney gets a clue and it all makes sense and yet he didn't see it coming at all. He's been so preoccupied with the being deadly thing, this snuck in under the radar.

"Yeah, sorry."

"No!" Rodney yelled and then he really did sit, the nearest chair hitting the backs of his thighs hard. "I--that is--miss--" He couldn't finish mostly because he wasn't sure what he'd missed at all. He didn't think you could miss something you'd never actually had.

Ever have that thing that you can't define? You don't know why you're grumpy until something makes you not grumpy? This is what he's feeling. He suddenly realized he missed something, only the poor dear isn't quite sure what.

They stared at each other and Rodney wasn't going to move, not only because he could still kill Sheppard with one wrong breath, but because he wasn’t really sure what was happening in the first place.

"So I figured," Sheppard finally spoke, "hey, chess. Only that made it worse."

"I want," Rodney whispered, idea only half formed, "I want to, well...I’m not sure."

God I have those days too. Do I want the vodka martini or the brownies?

More seriously, it's really hard to know what you want. To be able to articulate it or ask for it. Some days I walk around and am utterly restless because I have no idea what I want.

"Yeah. Me too," Sheppard said raising a glove covered hand and reaching out.

And he does it again. Sheppard is just spitting them out one after another. He doesn't know what he wants but he reaches out. He knows enough, he's just not sure.

Reaching out is frightening, it's actually the single scariest thing a person can do, because you're open and raw and admitting you need this person, that you need this moment where you reach.

Rodney let his hand stretch and then his arm until their fingertips grazed, heat and sensation blasting through their four layers of covering, wrenching a gasp out of both of them.

ELBOW SEX!

*koff* Sorry.

I uh... I'm a person who finds eroticism in the little things. They can't touch, they've spent weeks not touching and a little less thinking about the touching. And here it's a little forbidden so that adds to the whole thing.

Color high in Sheppard's cheeks, he lowered his eyes. "Okay so...this is probably the worst timing...ever."

I love the idea of Sheppard blushing. I just do.

"Maybe." Rodney's voice had suddenly gone rough and deep and his entire body felt tense. "Though I still say the incident with the playboy and my grandmother still beats this."

*looks guilty* Okay so, as I've been told, MANY people have variations on this story.

"You know, I don't think I really want to know." Sheppard smiled and it was like some circuit in Rodney's body had finally found on because it warmed him to the tips of his toes.

Rodney's got it finally. His brain as figured out that he likes Sheppard. Not only that, but that Sheppard makes him feel good and he likes making Sheppard feel good.

"I don't really want to know." Rodney's mouth curved up, delight dancing across his nerves. He shouldn't be happy; he should be frustrated and angry and scared.

"I want to touch you," Sheppard said so suddenly that it made Rodney's mouth dry, the words dripping from his lips like silk from skin.

Nnnnn. *author recovers* Seriously, that will never stop being hot. First because he wants sometime so simple and second because he says it.

And there was the frustration and anger and fear.

"Can I?" Sheppard asked, already standing.

"Do you want to die?" Rodney was scrambling out of his chair. "Because we already established that I don't want you to die so if--"

"Rodney," Sheppard said, voice low and frustrated, "gloves?" He waved his hand around. "We're good as long as we're careful. Just touching." He smiled nervously. "Not like I'd know what to do if--" He cut himself off.

*breathes* Okay, your read my fic, you notice some trends. One of them is straight!John. Sorry just-- *breathes* pretty.

It took Rodney a full five seconds to finish that sentence and another couple to recover from how hot that was. "You mean you haven't-- that is I'm the-- You haven't and I'm the first?"

"Maybe." Sheppard crossed his arms looking mulish.

After that I'm not sure I'd be so quick to admit to my virgin-ish status either.

Also I'm all about keeping them, you know, men. So they're not going to fall to their knees with tears in their eyes (unless someone knees them in the groin) and start talking like a 19th century suitor. They're going to continue to annoy the crap out of each other on occasion.

"Sorry!" Rodney quickly amended. "Sorry, sorry! I just...don't get hit on by hot, straight pilots everyday."

Sadly, most of us don't either. *sigh*

"Hot?" Sheppard perked up and then frowned. "Okay just so we're clear, I wouldn't be doing this just for the fun of an aborted one night stand."

John is such a romantic. Why do I say this? Because the first time we see him attempting to woo he's all "TRA LA LA! MOONLIGHT PICNIC!" It's so sweet. And while I think parts of him prefers one night stands for various reasons, when he wants to go for it, he goes for it.

He just looked so...something standing there, arms crossed, head down, shoulders tense and Rodney's heart leapt into his throat and something heavy churned in his gut. "Okay so...protracted courting. That might be fun."

"Courting?" Sheppard looked wary.

Rodney's got great word choice all the time, mostly it shows up in areas he's not as confident in. He likes knowing the technical terms, he's just not very good at integrating them into the vernacular.

Also, I like the idea of courting. It's pretty. It shows effort and thought. Can we tell I haven't been asked on a date for, oh, years.

"Get you used to the whole thing while I have a very good reason not to jump you and freak you out totally." He actually shocked himself with that one, because he hadn't really admitted to himself that was what he wanted to do yet, let alone being ready to admit it to Sheppard.

Sheppard's eyebrows sort of separated and then smooshed together in the middle of his face. "Okay...yeah. That sounds...good." Slowly he reached out until his arm was fully extended. They weren't quite close enough for only that movement to allow touch, but Sheppard wasn't doing anything else, just waiting.

Oh. He took a tentative step forward until he felt two hot spots appear on his chest and Sheppard's fingers slid around a pectoral muscle slowly. "Oh," he breathed out, shuddering slightly. When had that gotten to be a turn on?

I love this scene. I keep imaging the feel of body heat through a shirt, when it's someone you're hot for, it's just wonderful.

Slide up and around, the entire flat of Sheppard's hand just moving in lazy circles, maddeningly hot circles over Rodney's jacket, pushing in gently, tripping over a nipple. Sheppard made a small "oh" at Rodney's gasp and he did it again, another electric jolt of pleasure down Rodney's spine.

"Can I?" Rodney reached out, fingertips grazing Sheppard's stomach.

Sheppard's "yes" was low and breathy, and after that how could Rodney keep him waiting? He touched slowly, staying well away from any skin, tracing circles, outlining muscle, just like Sheppard was doing to him.

By the time the wonder of touching was starting to fade, and that was really only in comparison to when they first started, they were both breathing hard, sweat beading on their foreheads. Rodney's cock was also aching pleasantly.

Nnnn. *shakes self* Right. Foreplay and I are apparently really good friends.

"Okay," Rodney announced, "the real thing might kill me."

Sheppard swallowed and nodded, pressing forward, forcing Rodney's hand into firmer contact. "But what a way to go." He grinned and then his lips softened just slightly. "Rodney," he almost sighed, letting his hand slide to the side, resting gently on Rodney's waist.

"Colonel?" Rodney shook his head. "John?"

I hate this transition. The name transition that is. Meh.

"That's my name." Sheppard nodded, face going even softer. "I want...well I'm not sure how to get what I want...."

"You know what you want?" Rodney asked, not just to be frustrating but because he was having enough trouble figuring it out himself.

"Maybe a little." Sheppard bit his lip and the space between his eyebrows creased. "Wait...I know." He stepped back and went to his closet, pulling out a poncho.

Nope, not at all. If they could actually touch, John would spend a half hour figuring out that maybe a hug was a good place to start. Instead he's got a problem that needs a plan.

"What on earth are you doing with that there?"

"Leftover from the scavenger hunt." Sheppard--John, maybe--shrugged. "Put it on and don't forget to pull the drawstring tight around your face. Hide in it if you can."

I like to just leave little backstory hints like that laying about. I feel like I fills in the story a bit, gives it a bit of depth. Also I like to think about a bunch of scientists and military guys running around looking for the left food of a chicken or something.

The list included:
1. A knife from Ronon
2. A poncho (which were hidden for increased difficulty)
3. One of those really awesome roller pens that Rodney covets and will take off your hand if he catches you stealing.

Rodney had a pretty good idea of what Shepp--John had in mind. He slipped the light plastic over his head and snapped the sides for good measure. Gently and before Rodney could reach for it, Sheppard picked up the tip of the hood and lowered it over Rodney's head, fingers slowly pulling the drawstring tight.

*koff* Wedding imagery.

They both took shaky breaths before Rodney got the nerve to speak. "Now what?"

Reaching out, John put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him around until he was facing the window and then slowly heat coalesced at his back and he could feel John press gently against him.

Backwards hugs. Nnn. Shiny. Also I think it's very interesting that their first really intimate moment (or rather where there's more touching than just a hand, where you can they've sort of committed to the cause) is not face to face. It's sort of nicely metaphorical.

When arms wound their way around his waist and the sweet weight of John's chin on his shoulder settled, Rodney let out a quiet "oh."

I had a dream once. *glares* Shut up. I had a dream once where someone did this to me. The image and the feeling sort of stuck with me. The warm heavy weight of someone surrounding you, holding you against them. It speaks volumes to me.

"God," Sheppard said, and Rodney imagined feeling the hot moisture of exhalation on his cheek.

They stood there for long minutes, breathing and pressing and moving restlessly against each other, John's hands never still against Rodney's stomach and chest and hips. It was all muted and strange, and Rodney had to concentrate to feel it all, to get every last bit of actual sensation and his mind filled in the rest.

I really wanted to create the idea that Rodney had concentrate for his touches, that yes, they were indeed touching through many layers of fabric and that's totally different than touching skin or even through one layer of fabric.

John's head eventually moved--tilted, from what Rodney could feel--but he still gasped in surprise when he felt the careful movement of a kiss against his shoulder. Then another and another, slowly moving across his back, Rodney's fingers dug between John's lacing them together and then tugging him closer, hoping to get more sensation, more feeling, more--something.

*sigh* First kiss. So sweet. Its' desperate because it's not what they want. Not by half. There's also this small thread of John here, who's kind of nervous and this first kiss is so different than all the rest-- and yet it's not.

John's gasp shuddered against him and the sudden flurry of movements, uncontrolled and then gone, made Rodney groan and reach back with his free hand, guiding John's hips back against his, snug and sweet. He could feel the temperature difference, the extra firmness, and John's slowly cracking restraint.

John was not really prepared for that. On some level he was relieved they couldn't touch so that he didn't have to deal with it yet. He figured this way, by the time they got there, they'd either have driven each other insane and broken up or it wouldn't seem like such a big deal anymore.

But here he is, totally unprepared for being that turned on and he flails and he doesn't quite know what to do.

"Rodney," John panted into his neck, nuzzling carefully. The heat blazed through all the layers and into Rodney's over-sensitized skin.

"John." His voice was almost gone, caught in the back of his throat. He staggered a few feet to the left, taking John along with him until he could brace one arm against the wall. "Yes. Please." Permission, practically begging him to do what he wanted, what Rodney thought of bitterly as a mockery of what they really wanted.

Rodney asks. He'll do it for Rodney, he'll do anything for Rodney right here and Rodney asks him to go on, actually it's more like he's asking not to stop and for him, John doesn't.

Behind him, John melted against him, arms holding tight, shaking slightly until it morphed into a slowly moving sway. John's choked moans heavy in his ear, he could feel hips slowly swaying into his body, long hard drags against clothing that left them both shuddering with want.

Rodney rocked with him, his cock rubbing against a seam inside his pants, the sweet friction only ramping him up further, making him forget all the things he wasn't supposed to do.

He made a sound, a half choked moan, when John's thrusts got rougher, needier. Rodney wound his own hand down between himself and the wall and pressed and rubbed and panted in time.

Suddenly, John stopped and Rodney stood there twitching a little at the sudden change. "What?" he asked, only his voice was so deep he barely recognized it.

"Nothing," John said quietly. "I just--" He moved, the hand that been holding Rodney's hip steady made slow progress towards the front of his pants. "I just want you to--"

"Oh--please," Rodney gasped, feeling the slow crawl of heat towards his cock. "I mean, you don't have to." Because John was new to this--and oh, he shuddered remembering that--and he didn't want to freak him out. "I mean, you don't have to but I--oh. Yes." It was a sigh.

*glazed look* Huh? What? Oh right. Commentary. John is trying so hard here. I wanted to make sure that he showed as nervous and a little guilty that he was getting this great, wonderful place to rub off on and poor Rodney was stuck with his own hand.

Also, in order to get the courage to try it, he totally dared himself.

John stroked tentatively, palm running up and then down, feeling out the shape and weight. "This good?"

Rodney nodded frantically. "Just, here--" He adjusted the hand. "Just need a place to thrust."

Shuddering violently, John made a half choked noise. "God, okay yeah," he said and started moving again. Quick half thrusts that pushed Rodney into John's hand; perfect little thrusts that just tingled up his spine and melted his brain a little with each one.

Endless pleasure, because it was all dulled just a bit by the layers of fabric between them until it was one long, hazy, pleasurable ride. Hot panting just outside his ear, heat grinding between their bodies, John's cock burning through their clothing till Rodney could feel every ridge.

A quiet litany of babble reached Rodney's ears: John's voice, low and rough, repeating things over and over again, Rodney's name slowly becoming the predominant feature. John's movements got a little bit harsher, a little stronger, a little shorter until finally he froze for a long second and then clamped both arms around Rodney so tightly Rodney imagined he could feel John's orgasm.

Rodney wanted to come, he wanted to come so badly his eyes were crossing with the thought, but he let John's breathing come back without complaint.

"Hey," John rasped finally, "you?"

"No." He tried not to whine, but God, he really needed to come; he ached all over and his cock was so hard it almost hurt. "Please?"

"Yeah, come here," John's hand snaked back into position, only better; the heel of his hand was a perfect place for Rodney to nudge at with his cock, but now John added in some counter movement and it made Rodney slump against the wall it was so good. "I've got you," John said. "Come on, I've got you."

So. Hot. *glazes*

Rodney pushed harder and faster, and felt the tension crawl up his back and finally explode into white hot sparks behind his eyelids and then fade out slowly into a haze of un-fucking-believably good orgasm.

They both sank to the ground together, which was good because Rodney's legs weren't going to hold him up much longer.

Favorite. Sex. Scene. Ever. Seriously I think I have some really interesting kinks and this story just highlights them in pretty blue light.

"You okay there?" John's arms tightened around him briefly.

Rodney closed his eyes and breathed in John as much as he could, the air around them thick with sweat, and he fought the urge to turn and bury his face in John's shoulder. He felt--hollow. Empty. "We shouldn't do this again."

Behind him, John stiffened, any bit of relaxation instantly gone. "What?" He sounded angry. Dangerous.

"Not like this," Rodney clarified. "I can't do it like this again."

And by god I can totally understand that sentiment. Just- *flail* the mental owwies this probably brought up made me want to cuddle them both.

John relaxed. "Yeah, I see where you're coming from."

Rodney laughed, a loud bark unexpectedly burbling out from him. "God, you do don't you?"

"Yep," John snickered.

They didn't move until Rodney's knees and back genuinely complained louder than the good, bone-deep feeling of post-coital bliss could blot out. They separated slowly, Rodney peeling off the poncho and stuffing it into the clothes cleaner before realizing he was drenched with slowly drying sweat and his pants had a fun stain on the front. He tugged his shirt down and shrugged; it was good enough to get to his own room.

They stood, facing each other for long seconds.

"Take the chess set," John said, pointing at it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Rodney smiled slowly, snagging the board, possibly holding it a little bit further toward the front than normal.

In college, Rodney perfected the art of holding stuff in front of his groin. Poor lad was probably all of 16 when he got there and was probably in a constant state of OMG LOOK AT ALL THE BOOBS.

More staring at John's soft grin and his searching eyes. "No freaking out, okay?"

"Maybe later." John nodded. "But I'll let you know first."

He will. There's some scenes I chose to not write, one of which was the whole conversation about gayness and how weird and strange this was for him and sometimes he just freaked for no reason and he couldn't explain it.

"Good," Rodney said, swallowing heavily. "I'll just uh...." He stepped close enough for the door to open. "Tomorrow."

"Yep."

The door closed between them with a quiet snick.

Ooooh. Metaphor. Door. Between them. *shuts up*

******

"It's actually not a naturally occurring phenomenon," Carson told him the next day.

"Well, yes. Tell me you haven't spent all this time just to figure out something that obvious?" Rodney asked darkly.

"I mean your body isn't producing it anymore," Carson clarified, looking a little annoyed. "I'm not sure if it ever was; I think they hadn't gotten around to anything that complex. They were probably surprised when you weren't allergic to it yourself."

See author. See author close her eyes and make shit up. See author hope no one with an actual degree will point and laugh at her in public.

Rodney sat back in his chair, frowning. "Okay, not looking a gift horse in the mouth then. So how long?"

"Well it does have tenacity. Your levels are dropping, only very slowly."

"Can we speed it up?" Rodney asked. "I'd like to get back to normal please."

translation: I want to fuck.

"I'm looking into it Rodney. I've already significantly wounded it so to speak, it doesn't have near the potency it once did." Carson sipped his tea. "Other than your little accident yesterday there haven't been any incidents. You're doing fine."

No. No he wasn't. Rodney pinched the bridge of his nose. "Carson, I am not doing fine. I would like to be doing fine, but I can't. I want to--" He bit off his sentence with a frustrated cry. "I want this over with."

translation: I want to pin John to the bed before he freaks out and runs away,

Carson looked at him patiently, pouring a cup of tea into a spare mug and sliding it across the table. "Drink."

"I don't want to cont--"

"Drink."

Nothing can't be made better with a cuppa. If it's really bad, add vodka.

Rodney took a sip. "I'm drinking. Happy?" He took another sip.

"Ecstatic." Carson took a sip of his own. "Now, tell me what's going on."

Rodney stared at his cup. "Is there lemon in this?"

Deflect! Deflect!!

"Rodney."

"Nothing is going on," he said quietly, still looking down at his cup, knowing that Carson would sink his teeth in if he had to. "That's what we decided anyway."

A muted clink and a long sigh. "Ah, Rodney. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He didn't and he genuinely feels bad. FYI, I hate the types of teasing used in canon. Right here is where there would have been an insensitive remark that would have made my hair catch on fire. Rodney can't touch the person he wants to touch. There's nothing funny about that.

Rodney snickered. "Neither did we." He looked up, beseechingly. "So maybe you can work on speeding things up a bit? Huh?" Even to his own ears, he sounded desperate.

"I'm going as fast as I can, Rodney." Carson opened a nearby drawer and took out several boxes. "In the meantime, take these."

"What are they?" Rodney snagged them and read their names. "Antihistamines?"

"And a few other bits; the cocktail that I’d give to anyone exposed." Carson dug again and pulled out an extra EpiPen. "And this just in case, though you shouldn't need it."

Things Carson's dad taught him:
1. When all else fails, tea.
2. Always carry a rubber.
3. Snuggle. Learn it, love it, live it. Or possibly never get it again.

Rodney looked at Carson with wide eyes. "What--but I--"

"Now I’m not saying you should go and purposefully expose her, but I'm not so cruel as to think that a bit of snuggling now and then is too much to ask." Carson shoved it all in his direction. "Just let me know if you use any and send her in if the reaction doesn't calm down in a few minutes."

Rodney stood and took the items in front of him in a daze.

"Now lad, I'm going to have to ask who it is," Carson said gently.

Rodney dropped what was in his hands back onto the desk. "What?"

"I've got to know, for her safety." Carson nodded at the supplies. "Or I have to take all of that back."

Yes I had him auto assume a female. Because that's what we do unless there's lots of evidence to the contrary. I don't find it insulting, I don't find it demeaning, I find it a good way to play the odds.

Rodney sat heavily. "I can't, Carson. I can't tell you."

"I'm your doctor; it won't leave this room," Carson said carefully, a suspicious glint in his eye.

"We haven't talked about that yet!" Rodney back peddled. "I don't even know if he--" He clamped his mouth shut tightly. Damn it.

Carson blinked slowly and nodded. "If he's willing to come out at all?"

"Yes," Rodney bit out. Damn stupid conniving doctors.

"The name won't leave this room," Carson said gently, "and you'll tell him as soon as you see him. And if he doesn't understand, you don't want whatever it is you have to go much further. Trust me."

*koff*. Subtext. *looks innocent*

They stared at each other until finally Rodney slumped. Carson was right, after all. "John," he said, because using his first name was easier than his last for this. Also he was still getting used to its taste in his mouth.

"Sheppard or Stevenson?" Carson pressed.

Rodney tilted his head in exasperation.

This look. Tell me you can't imagine this look. The look that says "What, are you stupid?"

"Right." Carson nodded. "Sheppard."

******

"Carson knows!" Rodney blurted as soon as John stepped into the room.

Ah Rodney, so careful, so subtle, so much like a mac truck.

John blinked and nodded. "Carson knows a lot of things. Care to elaborate?"

"He cornered me," Rodney complained. "He plied me with tea and was nice and understanding and he got me to spill." He took a deep breath. "And then he taunted me with--" He cut himself off for a second, frowning, and deciding not to go with his original words. "With things, and then threatened to take them away if I didn't tell him who I'd share these things with." He slumped in a chair. "The man is a monster."

That MEAN MAN! Seriously! He was calm and rational and polite and everything. Poor Rodney was defenseless under the onslaught.

"Things?" John asked, looking only a little tense.

Rodney pointed at the bed. "Things in case we accidentally touch."

"And why did he give you these things?" John said, looking at each box carefully before opening one and snagging two pills.

"I accidentally let it slip that there was someone and well--" Rodney shrugged.

"That big romantic." John said, swallowing the pills. "He won't tell anyone and I'll resist looking him in the face for a little while."

John might be tense about someone else knowing, but he's also practical. He's also thinking 'ooo! Snuggles.' And then thinking 'When did that get to be so cool?'

Rodney frowned. "Are you ashamed of me?"

"No more than usual." He made a face. "God I hate the uncoated ones."

Words cannot express how much I love this line. No, really, I think about it often and how wonderfully perfect the exchange is.

…possibly I need to get out more.

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, eyeing John curiously.

"Preventative. Just in case." John shrugged, sitting down carefully. "So would it make you feel better if I said I was freaking out a little?"

Rodney nodded slowly. "God, you're an internal freaker outer, aren't you? I'm liable to get smacked in my sleep or something before you tell me what's wrong."

John shrugged. "I've mostly got other things on my mind." He smiled shyly.

"Oh." Rodney smiled back. "Okay."

"Here." John tossed him something fabric. "Put that on."

It was a hooded sweatshirt. "We can't--I can't."

"Not that," John assured him. "I agree. We can't. But I just swallowed some sucky-tasting pills. I'm gonna get me some reward."

Reward turned out to be a careful hug. Chest to chest this time, with John's collar raised high so Rodney's nose wouldn't accidentally graze him.

Hugging. *sigh* Just, desperate clinging touch.

They parted and Rodney swallowed roughly. "So...set the board up."

They played, and if John's hand snuck out to grasp Rodney's now and then, Rodney didn't say anything.

******

Part 3

DVD Commentary, Cleave (1/3)

2006-07-23T18:24:21Z

DVD Commentary for Cleave in three parts.

Title: Cleave

The title took forever to come up with. We spent the better part of two hours quoting things back and forth at each other and pulling our hair. I was about to give up and either take one of the ideas that almost worked or just post it untitled with a field for suggestions.

Then wham. The word 'cleave' comes to me and I'm all a flutter because instantly it describes this fic with it's diametrically opposed meanings.

Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17, ~15,000 words.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Warnings: None?

Author's notes: OMG z_rayne the evil bitch gave me a deadline. *collapses in fatigue* . Though I suppose since she was the beta, it's okay. Considering she mainlined this fic for SEVEN hours the night before she went to writercon? I'm okay with the deadline.

Also for those of you waiting one that live fic that I started posting here? This is it. Sorry for the delay, but as I started adding more I realized it would be done fairly quickly, so I just kept on chugging instead of posting directly.

The part where the author admits that she was Jossed: This was started before the premier, so just imagine them starting off from a similar precarious situation, only you know, ending on the Daedalus.

Okay, this is where I admit that I completely ~~stole~~ was influenced heavily by Dark Angel. I had just mainlined the entire two season over the course of maybe five days and while it did have its disappointments I was still buzzing over what they'd done right. There was a lot about that show I enjoyed and I practically shouted at my monitor when this particular plot twist showed up. To me it was a natural progression of the storylines SGA had already implemented. The Wraith have already shown themselves capable of the occasional nutty idea and able to learn from the human's ~~completely kamikaze attack on their own value system~~ strategy.

Summary: v. cleft (kl ft )
1. To split with or as if with a sharp instrument. See Synonyms at tear.
2. To adhere, cling, or stick fast.

Rodney bit his lip and shrugged. "Welcome to my world Colonel. Want your EpiPen engraved?"

So I was all alone when I had to pick my summary and it was a big deal because there was flailing and nail biting and me not wanting to really give away the plot too much, but at the same time I wanted to give potential readers enough of a bite to really sink into. So I figured, hey, let's do both, that's a hint of a plotline AND a little intrigue.

Rodney wasn't sure how they hadn't figured it out before. Maybe it was the jackets or the rush or that Ronon had somehow become his personal bodyguard, step-stool and all-around underfoot grunt as soon as Sheppard had released them from their cocoons. Could that man do stoic guilt or what?

After they'd made it off the hive ship there had been the whole running for their lives thing, which wasn't to be mistaken for the running for their lives thing from seconds earlier. This time there were two pissed-off colonels and two kick-ass spaceships helping them along.

Did you see that? That was me getting Jossed not 12 hours after I wrote these lines. But that's okay, because Rodney getting trapped on a Wraith hive ship doesn't strike me as unusual anymore. Hey, it could totally happen more than once.

Post-almost-dying routine, and good God there was an actual routine, was busy and hectic and just as terrifying as the actual not dying.

Rodney is really starting to worry here, because his first impulse after a harrowing adventure should not be to check his email. The impulse of life affirming sex, or in his case, masturbation has been subverted by the fact that he kind of misses that cocoon a little because napping while standing up is totally a time saver. And then he starts to worry that somewhere someone is embroidering his initials on a funny white coat with lots of buckles.

They were, all three of them, sitting in the mess in the belly of the Daedalus, eating with varying degrees of intensity. Rodney is partaking of a delightful meatloaf and fresh coffee.

"You took the last cup," Sheppard sat down next to him, looking at his own mug of water mournfully.

"I got wrapped in Wraith cocoon; bite me." Rodney took another deep sip, enjoying the rich flavor happily.

I really like the idea of Rodney saying "bite me". I don't know why. But you can see my kink coming through because this is not the last time he says it in this fic.

"I saved your life!"

Rodney made a face. "Do you know where the cocoon stuff comes from?" He shuddered visibly just thinking about it.

And now I'm going back to the Spiderman place everyone was in when Spiderman I came out and they were bringing up little biological inaccuracies in canon that had been wandering around since before they were born.

Sheppard tilted his head thoughtfully, smiling to himself. "Shall I just pick an orifice at random?"

John has so obviously read all of those rants over on the antartic bbs.

Choking on his mouthful of food, Rodney turned and glared, only to see an arm snaking past his tray with a nearly full cup of coffee in its hand. "Hey!"

"Saved your life." Sheppard almost singsonged as he took a sip.

Sharing food and drink is actually really intimate. When you think about it you're sharing a bodily fluid in a decent quantity when you do it. I like the idea of John and Rodney drinking from the same cup. It also gives me a lovely place to have Rodney contaminate John in such a passing manner that I hopefully got it right under the reader's radar.

Also, John really likes that face Rodney makes when he does it. Not that John knows why he likes it or why he keeps doing it or why he doesn't think too hard about how he's proud about the fact that Rodney complains, but still lets him get away with it.

"I'm seriously trying to decide if my life is worth coffee." Rodney muttered, snagging the mug back and moving it to the other side of the table before changing his mind and putting it between himself and the tray, huddling over it protectively.

On a regular day, Rodney would admit that he would miss coffee terribly and that something pretty cool would have to replace it to make his life worth living. But considering he just got covering in wraith jizz, he's feeling a little down.

"You know, with thanks I get I should really consider--"

I really like having them cut off each other's dialogue. I don't know why, maybe because I am a total inconsiderate buffoon and do this all the time or I feel this is how these characters do actually talk on screen.

"Oh please." Rodney waved him off, huddling even closer to his coffee. "This is the nectar of the gods we--" He stopped because Sheppard had suddenly gone ten shades of white and was slowly sliding off his chair. "Sheppard?"

"Rodney," he wheezed, chest rising and falling fast, eyes wide and frightened.

"What?" Rodney demanded, already sliding to the floor, letting Ronon take care of calling for a medical team. "What's wrong?"

"Can't...breathe...." Each word was separated by a long and painful sounding breath.

Rodney knew, he could see it in the reactions, the slight puffiness around the neck and lips, the sweating and shaking. He hadn't rekitted when he'd gotten on board. Damn it. The pulse under his fingertips felt fast and thready and the ship's doctor got there just as Sheppard slid out of consciousness, and Rodney stumbled backwards, landing awkwardly on his hands and ass while he watched them do their work.

I ah, was going for subtle. Mostly because I don't like to tell you things. I don't the internal monologues to sound like textbooks or information glut. Also I wanted Rodney to feel a little terrified because he recognizes it pretty instantly.

******

The hives were sticking around; Rodney could see them from across the room, swollen red dots all over Sheppard's neck and face. Dr. Gordon had said they'd even appeared inside his mouth and throat.

I once got hives because of stress. Or rather, we don't actually know why, but I was on a school trip on another continent with classmates up until then I had only mildly disliked but now hated with an active passion, I was pretty sure that was it. Plus they itched like a mother fucker and they were all over my face. So possibly this is some sort of internalized bubble wrap thing where I take pretty people and I put icky bumps on their faces. What? It's art we're supposed to invest in it or something, right?"

When he was a child, Rodney had gotten an especially bad case of chicken pox, the itchy patches extending inside his body in ways his ten-year-old brain had never imagined. It had been horrible and painful and pretty much the definition of misery for most of his life, only being replaced by one or two incidents involving a lemon.

The chicken pox thing? That's me too. Um. Yeah. Ow. Did you know they could show up anywhere outside or INSIDE the body. In like… orifices and stuff? Yeah. I tell you just so you know that there's like… realism in this.

Also possibly I imagined young!Rodney with the worst case of chicken pox ever all miserable and sad wrapped up in his blanket with his super soft mittens and thermos of chicken soup. And then I went to adult!Rodney in the same position, but with John making the soup.

So yeah… What was the point I was making again?

"Severe allergic reaction," Gordon had told him. "We'll monitor him, treat his symptoms and keep him comfortable. He should be fine in a day or two."

Meanwhile Rodney was alternating between watching Sheppard sleep and watching Dr. Gordon and his staff prepare a scratch test based on everything Sheppard had come in contact with in the thirty minutes before his reaction.

Watching Sheppard sleep. Heh. So yeah, he doesn't wax poetic or anything, but he totally loses time while doing it.

"Only thirty minutes?" Rodney pressed, eyes stuck on a particularly nasty hive just under Sheppard's eye.

"You wouldn't believe the number of items we need to test already, Dr. McKay," he assured calmly. "If we don't find anything, we'll go back further. All of your food has been packaged and sealed for testing too."

"Fine," Rodney muttered and went back to sitting in his uncomfortable chair and poking listlessly at his laptop.

And watching Sheppard sleep.

******

"Relax, Rodney," Sheppard slurred at him.

Slurring John is hot.

"Why are you talking?" Rodney didn't look up from his very important graph. "There are tiny little bumps inside your throat; some people might take that as a signal to not talk."

"Some people are just sheep," Sheppard whispered and then coughed dramatically.

"For God's sake," Rodney muttered and put down his laptop. "Here," he said and grabbed a plastic cup and poured some water from a nearby pitcher. "Try not to choke on your own saliva."

This is me being all subtle again. Rodney and John are doing something incredibly subtle and hopefully something innocuous a motion that was meant to convey concern so none of you quite caught on yet that it's Rodney doing the sick making.

"Thanks," Sheppard said gratefully, clumsily taking the cup from his hand, scraping against Rodney's fingers before finally closing securely around the plastic.

"This is what you get for stealing an innocent person's coffee," Rodney said, watching Sheppard sip his water, blissful face deepening with each drop.

In a small place deep inside his mind, he really does believe that.

"Sharing is caring Rodney." Sheppard took another sip.

John says that mostly because the only way I can imagine that phrase not grating so hard I start to bleed somewhere is if someone like him says it. And I concentrate on the pretty.

"You really are twelve."

"Maybe." He carefully put the cup down on the nearby table, eyes still closed. "Any idea what happened?"

John doesn't deny it because on weekends he likes to go the beach and builds sand castle. Maybe he'll bring Rodney later on and they'll build the Versailles of sand castles and then sit behind it and watch the sun set holding hands and somehow it will not make us all gag on the sap.

Rodney bit his lip and shrugged. "Welcome to my world Colonel. Want your EpiPen engraved?"

In some AU somewhere, this happened to Rodney, and it was diamond encrusted and resembled a tampon. He was scarred for life.

"Does it come in gold?" Sheppard coughed and frowned.

SEE! THE UNIVERSES ARE BLEEDING INTO EACH OTHER!

"More water?" Rodney reached for the cup.

Sheppard shook his head. "No, Rodney." He coughed again. "Get the doctor...." This time it ended in a wheeze. His color was changing the definition near his chin was starting to soften.

Oh shit, a secondary reaction.

"Gordon! He's having another reaction!"

They swarmed, like a group of white-coated freaky insects, gathered around Sheppard's bed, buzzing and clicking in a cacophony of sounds that meshed together before they even hit Rodney's ears. All he could do was watch and wait and stare pointlessly at the thin line on the heart monitor, as Sheppard's body fought to keep going.

This is how Rodney would have liked his parents to behave. Or his girl friend. Or someone, but I sense no one really did. I think possibly if he really is allergic ******and I'd like him to be a little) he's had a long time to deal with it and mostly on his own. It really would explain his initial really loud mutterings about it. Though having had several meals with someone who really does have a deathly food allergy, Rodney's antics in public are about right.

******

"He had a multiphasic reaction, that is--"

I actually looked that up. Or had someone else look it up. But still! There was effort!
"Yes, I know what that is," Rodney interrupted. "Are you sure that's what it was?"

"Dr. McKay," Caldwell said. He was now in on it too, since it was sort of his business to know what was going on with the incapacitation of the second-highest-ranking officer. "While the depth and breadth of your knowledge is astonishing and awe-inspiring, perhaps you could give the rest of us a little time to catch up?" He nodded to the doctor to continue speaking.

I think Caldwell and Rodney totally understand each other and maybe Caldwell is glad that he can actually say what he means to someone and know they won't take is anything other than what he's saying.

"Basically, his body wasn't done having an allergic reaction," Gordon finished, throwing Rodney a sour look.

Uh, just in case some of you didn't quite know what polyphasic was. Was that unsubtle?"

"You're assuming it was a reaction to the original cause." Rodney looked sour right back. "Which you can't know because you haven't figured out what caused it yet!" He waved a finger in triumph.

I love Rodney's brain. I do. I sincerely believe that he just thinks so much faster than everyone else that it's frustrating for him at times. Also once when he was younger he had a secondary reaction that was from a new source. So there.

Caldwell nodded slowly. "He does have a point."

Rodney crossed his arm and smiled grimly. Yes, he did have a point. He always had a point.

Even if it was to tell everyone how this soup was too salty and that he had very sensitive arteries.

"I can't very well test him in his condition," Gordon said, hugging his clipboard close to his chest. "We'll note everything that goes near him, but if Dr. McKay is right, other than clothing and soap and detergents the only thing that is truly consistent is water." He looked thoughtful. "Or possibly air, but I doubt that one based on the pattern of reactions."

Rodney snorted, yeah right, water. Then he froze in slowly dawning horror. Water. Was that possible? He checked his watch, three hours until they were in range of Atlantis and he could talk to a real voodoo practitioner and not just a charlatan like this Gordon guy.

Right here Rodney is afraid that John will never drink coffee again. He would be sad for him and in his honor drink John's share too. Of course this is before Rodney realized that he really wants to suck John's dick. So the plan of honor and sacrifice will have to be revised later.

******

"So I've been thinking about how cool it would be to live life in a bubble." Sheppard looked only slightly better than last time; that might have something to do with the super-clean room and the new rules being enforced. "I mean, I could probably get people to do stuff for me."

John watched that movie and cried. He broke his VHS copy and was frantically searching for a DVD version before he left the galaxy.

"Bring you food," Ronon offered from his corner.

This, ladies and gents is Ronon's paradise. Though occasionally he'd go out and hunt something, because there's nothing more relaxing than hunting your prey though miles of woods and stinky entrails.

Rodney tried not to look at him. He kept reminding him of a big, walking condom, which was not something he really needed to think about.

First, honestly? This is foreshadowing. See how super slick author like I am? No it really is. Of course to truly understand why this is foreshadowing, you'd have to know how the original notouch!sex scene was supposed to go. But still. I maintain its literary status as foreshadowing.

Also, Ronon sized condom. *snicker*

"Yeah!" Sheppard said brightly. "Though with my luck I'm probably allergic to salt."

Rodney made a face, "That would actually really suck, but I think it's highly unlikely." He shifted around in his seat again. The damn suits they had to wear were uncomfortable and creaky.

"Yeah, but it'd be better than water." Sheppard pouted, his lower lip jutting out slightly, shining in the overhead light.

"Probably not," Rodney muttered and the turned to Ronon. "I can't believe you slept through all of that."

He shrugged. "I was tired."

Uh this is where I admit I was really tired and mainlining tea, obviously not enough tea because I'd forgotten that Ronon was supposed to be there too and he'd totally be all growly and impatient in the back of the infirmary too. So I had him napping. What? He had a long day!

Of course he was.

The silence descended on them awkwardly and there was no possibility of a casual hello from someone in the background, not with the twenty-minute public shower and stripping that was needed to get into the room.

So the loud hissing sound of an airlock opening and closing came as a relief to Rodney, who was just about to go insane from staring the small patches of flaky skin all over Sheppard's face, a slowly fading remnant of the hives.

It was Dr. Gordon. "And how are you feeling?"

"Well enough for a laptop?" Sheppard looked hopeful.

A black rectangle appeared on Sheppard's lap. "Dusted and vacuumed to within an inch of its life." Gordon nodded. "You've pretty much been cleared for basic plastics and polymers, in a few hours we'll have the results of about 30 different substances to see if we can narrow it down further and possibly provide you with some food that you can eat with a fork."

Sheppard totally hoped to find a secret stash of porn. Instead all he found was Halo. He wasn't too disappointed.

******

"Carson! Thank God, I was starting to fear for my own life with this guy in charge of the medical care!" Rodney wanted to hug him he was so happy to see him.

Sheppard had been transported directly from his clean room on the ship to a newly prepped room on Atlantis; however, Carson had taken a detour to grab Sheppard's medical files personally.

I probably should have added that Carson made sure he was fine and not suddenly exposed to the mysterious allergen again and that he just wanted to talk to the doctor in person because there are just some things you don't get with the medical files. Oh well.

Oddly, the whole Carson is just a bad procedural doctor thing doesn't really throw anyone too far out of the story. Hmm.

"Now Rodney, I'm sure Dr. Gordon has done everything he can with the limited resources on the Daedalus," Carson said absently.

Ha! Proffessional jealousy! *koff*

Rodney's eyes narrowed and he clicked his heels together in frustration. "You people and your non-specific answers." He knew when he was being placated. He poked Carson in the chest. "I don't know what I was thinking when the idea that you might be able to help sprang to mind."

"Rodney." Carson's eyes narrowed. "Let's not insult the man who does your annual physicals."

I love the whole threatening with large needles and unlubed prostate exams, but its been done enough that I sort of just… alluded to it.

"I want a new doctor!" Rodney shot over his shoulder, already walking out of the room.

Walking down the corridors, Rodney could recognize that he was worried. Okay, possibly more than worried. Sheppard had perked back up just twenty-four hours after his last reaction, looking downright bored by the time they'd made it to Atlantis, but Rodney didn't like that they hadn't been able to find anything the man was allergic to. Not even fungus. Who wasn't allergic to fungus? The freak.

John is really one of those freakishly healthy people that annoys other people who have things like seasonal colds and hay fever. He's got no mold allergies which is secretly why his live in girlfriend dumped him in his late 20s, because she couldn't use the bathroom anymore.

In the distance he heard the thundering of footsteps; automatically Rodney moved to the side of the corridor, not really wanting to be run over. The Marines had a habit of resembling a Mack truck, all lumped together when they ran. They also had a habit of running right over you if you weren't paying attention.

Turning the corner, however, Rodney saw that it was not a group of marines getting their exercise on, but a medical team racing through the city, gurney in hand.

Rodney blinked. While medical emergencies weren't exactly unknown on Atlantis, it was still a little unusual.

"Where are you headed?" He shouted to the group, already feet past him.

"South Pier!"

Huh, where the Daedalus had landed for repairs. Maybe someone had gotten a crate dropped on them or something.

Then a horrible, horrible thought occurred to him.

Mmm. See Rodney's brain? See how it jumps? Yes, this is where it spits up this wacky, wacky conclusion that he totally does not believe only it's Atlantis and a few days earlier he was covered in Wraith jizz and before that he broke another law of physics while solving a math problem. So he's learned to embrace the wacky even when he wants to dismiss it outright.

He ran all the way back, making it just in time to see them strap the oxygen mask over Carson's face. He was conscious at least, and that was some comfort. Rodney leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. Okay, maybe he was being paranoid, overreacting, or possibly guessing past his own knowledge. It could happen. Possibly.

The only time Rodney will really consider that he doesn't know something is if it has to do with medicine or if he really wants to be wrong. Lucky him, this counts for both.

When Rodney made it to the infirmary, Carson was still conscious and fighting with Dr. Gordon. "Look, monitor my vitals if you want, but let me work. It's not nearly as bad as Colonel Sheppard's reaction."

"Yes." Gordon nodded, still holding Carson down with a single hand to his shoulder. "But that doesn't mean diddly when we don't know what caused it."

"I may have an answer to that," Rodney spoke up, wringing his hands. "I'm fully prepared to be wrong on this one."

That sentence right there should trigger alarms somewhere. Rodney McKay is prepared to be wrong. Seriously, there's a car alarm in Cleveland going off and it should really be that loud ass claxon in the gateroom.

Carson looked at Rodney, eyebrow raised. "Are you now? Okay then, what's your sound medical opinion?" He coughed a little and swallowed two pills that Gordon handed him before taking a few more deep breaths from the mask in front of him.

And Carson KNOWS it. Also, he knows that Rodney doesn't like to read the bio books because he breaks out in hives and Carson is not above rubbing in the idea that there are things he knows more than Rodney about from time to time.

"Uh...I think...that is...it might be...." Rodney grimaced. "Me."

"You?" Gordon went for disbelief.

Carson on the other hand, obviously more used to the really fucking unusual, just tilted his head curiously. "Hmm. Okay then, come here and shake my hand."

Everyone say it with me, 'Carson, did you fail ethics?'

Only he does sort of fall into the Dr. McCoy school of thought a little, because he totally would try something on himself before others if he needed it too.

"What?" Rodney backed away from Carson, because the man had obviously gone certifiable while he was gone. "No thank you, Doctor Insane Person."

Rodney has this terrific way of insulting people, that is giving them clunky, only smooth coming out of his mouth names. It's awesome.

Gordon renewed his effort to keep Carson on the gurney.

Carson pushed at the hand on his chest. "Look, if Rodney's right, then this was caused by very little contact, through clothing even. Let's repeat the conditions and see what happens. I can handle a little respiratory distress for a couple of hours."

In emo!world, this is Carson punishing himself for all the crap he's fucked up. *looks shifty*

"He's obviously lost it," Rodney said, still backing up.

Rodney does a lot of this. If I were mean, there'd be this scene where he trips over a box and falls on his ass.

Gordon shrugged, looking mildly defeated and still very close to just sedating Carson outright. "It'll be quicker than a blood test."

See, Gordon is new, but not that new. He knows insanity when he sees and has learned to just go with it and blame the insane people later. Possibly several days stuck caring for Sheppard and the company of his trusty sidekicks helped hone this instinct to a fine point.

Also I firmly believe Janet left behind a tack vest full of advice ala the sort the president's press secretary gets handed when they take the job.

"Oh that's it! You've all snapped!"

I have this thing. This thing where I like to take actual dialogue from the show and pretend I thought it up. But to my credit I use them differently. Mostly.

"Rodney! Just touch my bloody leg!"

Uh yeah, mostly I really wanted him to say that. *sniggers like a five year old*. It's also my heavy hand at subtext. I'll point it out again later.

"That is the worst come-on line I've ever heard," Rodney said, slowly inching forward. The closer he got, the surer he was that the Wraith had honed their sense of irony to a razor-sharp point. "Are you sure?"

Actually it's not. Back when he was playing the piano at crappy bars for extra cash and yes he totally did it and it totally made him cry into his pillow at night because it was like reliving that childhood trauma every single time, but also because he was stuck doing it in crappy clubs among the plebes who couldn't possibly get the subtly of the music. But he's not going to quit, do you know how much those types of piano players get paid? Anyway, back to the come on line, it was actually some drunk government lawyer in a bowtie who'd just gotten a drink thrown on him earlier in the evening and had spent the rest of the time slowly getting drunk until finally he asked Rodney if he'd ever lived out that scene in Pretty Woman. Needless to say, Rodney now has.

"Yes, Rodney." Carson rolled his eyes. "Grope me like fifteen-year-old on his first date."

"I'll have you know--"

Rodney was totally smooth when he as fifteen years old on his first date. Sadly it has jinxed him for life because every time he goes out on a date he thinks of Martha Jenkins and how awesome he was and his palms automatically start to sweat.

"Rodney!!"

"Fine! God, I know some find me irresistible but you could have just sent flowers!" He reached out to touch, just under Carson's knee. It was awkward; who touches another person's leg with ten other people watching? Twelve if you included those nurses in the far corner.

"Carson?" Thirteen. Elizabeth appeared, looking worried. "What happened."

This is Rodney's secret nightmare, it's pretty much like having your mom walking in on you masturbating, only instead it's his boss walking in on him groping his doctor's leg. Trust me, it's just as traumatizing.

"We're working on that right now. You can let go, Rodney."

He snatched his hand back and stuffed them both in his pockets, trying to become as small as possible. If he was correct, he didn't want to take any chances, so he backed up into a corner.

"We are?" Elizabeth raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes." Carson nodded, reaching for his mask again. "I think we just figured it out...." He wheezed horribly. "Might want to get some adrenaline." He whispered to Gordon.

"You're a very stupid doctor!" Rodney yelled from his corner.

See? This is Rodney flummoxed. Watch as his insults go down hill. Only somehow, calling a doctor stupid for experimenting on his own body seems to strike a chord, because he's right. It is stupid. We all know that Rodney's allergic to stupid.

******

Rodney finished taping the edges of his gloves down and sighed. He rolled his sleeves over the tape and flexed his fingers. This was going to suck, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about his hands so much.

Also, Carson was seriously the worst doctor ever. "Extra genes?"

If Carson were part of Rodney's department, he would so be stuck at the white board writing "I will follow all FDA procedures" one BILLION times. Probably followed by the Hippocratic oath.

"Yes. When creating the gene therapy, I had to choose very specific bits of information to copy. I was pressed for time, among other things, and I didn't have the time to fully explore every nook and cranny of ATA expression."

To be fair I can see Elizabeth pressuring Carson about this without really taking the time to fully think out the ramifications, or to ask Carson… or to care.

…so maybe I have some issues I need to work out. I haven't killed her in a story, have I?

"Great," Rodney said, "now what?"

"Now I explore." Carson was already back on his feet; John too, only he was staying on the other side of the room. "And you be careful. I don't know how long this will take."

"Great." Rodney sighed. "Call me if you need another gallon of blood." He left, head down and hands in his pockets.

Rodney hates this, hates that he has utterly and absolutely no control over this. Because he's the problem solver, we've seen it time and time again, he likes to solve his own problems, it makes him feel in control. This is another reason I think he probably dealt with a lot of health problems on his own.

******

First order of business was to reassign every member of the science lab who had a natural expression of the gene. There was another lab open down the corridor that would work out nicely.

Mmm. Slice of life/how they do shit. I live for this stuff. To this day this would be the reason I reread my Valdemar books.

The next step was to put a box of gloves and a several rolls of tape anywhere he spent any amount of time. It wasn't worth wearing them all the time, because he could still accidentally set someone off, but they would be good to have around.

Third was to find Colonel Sheppard. He took his time about that one, not really looking forward to the conversation.

"So, I guess I quit the team," Rodney blurted when he did find Sheppard leaning heavily on a railing on one of the balconies.

"Temporary displacement." Sheppard smiled. "Carson will figure it out."

Really, he knows better. He knows that it's temporary. He just wants to hear it.

"Sure." Rodney moved as far away from Sheppard as the small balcony would allow. "Of course he will."

That is shades of GUP for me. There's a whole intellect vs instinct thing going on. Isn't it hot? Seriously, can't you hear the little voice wobble?

It was awkward and it made Rodney's stomach unhappy. A tension was palpable in the air, and something strange was creeping just under Rodney's skin. "So I guess...I'll see you around...."

"Yeah," Sheppard breathed, "I'll see you."

Sheppard's clue starts here. Barely. But that's a promise, it's part of the whole 'you're not off the team permanently' and the seed of something more. Sheppard doesn't abandon people and he'd see not making an effort as abandoning Rodney.

Rodney left because he couldn't stay, even if he wasn't sure why.

Rodney spends an awful lot of time doing things and not knowing why and he spends the rest of the time absolutely hating it.

******

They didn't see each other, though, and it wasn't really unexpected. Senior staff meetings, of course, where Sheppard and Carson sat on the extreme other end of the table and waited for Rodney to leave first instead of attempting to walk past him. In the mess, where Rodney had become a sort of pariah, as too many of the tables had mixed groups; they'd gotten nearly two dozen natural carriers, and as much as Rodney wanted to complain, it was easier to relocate one man than twenty-four.

Lonely!Rodney. I'm sorry, maybe I’m projecting, but man I love this stuff because later he gets cuddles.

Finally, they saw each other in the corridors, where Sheppard would nod and Rodney would stuff his hands in his pockets and his chest would squeeze tightly.

Around day four, he admitted he was lonely.

See, not totally unaware. Notice how he admits he's lonely after he sees Sheppard?

Carson and Sheppard were out of the question and Zelenka had suddenly become very busy as the new go-between Rodney and the natural carriers in the city. Also as the new guy in Sheppard's team, and didn't that grate just a little bit.

Rodney wasn't one to sulk, but if he had been, he figured he'd never have a better reason.

Oh Rodney, you totally sulk. And then you decompile zork just for fun.

The surprise came later that night when Sheppard arrived with gloves, two masks, and a chess set.

Does anyone else think that Sheppard totally kicks ass in chess? Is anyone else noticing the Kirk/Spock strategy pattern in fanfic? Yeah. Thought so.

"Are you nuts?" Rodney asked, stepping back from the doorway hastily.

Rodney routinely thinks everyone is insane. It's like a stop valve. By questioning their sanity he avoids thinking about his own and that really large popsicle sculpture he keeps planning.

"Nah, just figured you might want some company. Here, catch." He threw the mask at Rodney. "Chess?"

"What is this?"

"It's a mask; it goes over your mouth." Sheppard mimed putting it on. "Come on, put it on."

"This is stupid," Rodney protested, putting it on and grabbing his own pair of gloves as well. They wouldn't help too much if he and Sheppard weren't careful, but they made Rodney feel better nonetheless.

Sheppard set the board up and then nabbed two pawns and hid them behind his back. "Left or right?" He looked ridiculous, all zipped up and hidden in his coat, mask covering his mouth, eyes blinking expectantly.

Actually I think he looks adorable, if I could there would have been parkas and scarves and small tufts of black hair peaking out. Ahem.

"No seriously, are you insane?" Rodney sat down.

Rodney has an entire city of popsicle sticks planned and there's a rec center and a bowling alley and a… *glazes*

Ah right.

Rather Rodney can't really believe that someone is risking their life because he might be bored. Then again, when my dad is bored he makes up Urban Legends and posts them to strategic usenet boards. Anyone hear about the one with the cat pee and the tire planters? Yep, that's my dad. Smart people should never, ever be bored.

God's honest truth.

"Fine, I'll be white," Sheppard said, starting to move his arms.

"Put those hands back!" Rodney narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Left."

"Cool," Sheppard smiled. He got to be white anyway.

Sheppard had a really short battle with his consceince about switching the pieces really fast, he was only into the pros list when Rodney chose the wrong hand. He'll always wonder what he would have done.

******

"Carson any closer to figuring out what happened?" Sheppard moved his knight.

"The Wraith," Rodney said, studying the board. "He thinks I'm patient zero, so to speak. A test case." He frowned. "Don't you read the memos? Or stay awake during the senior staff meetings?"

"Huh." Sheppard nodded. "Maybe and yes. I meant in more detail, Rodney."

"Who ever understands what that man is talking about?" Rodney shrugged and moved a pawn.

"Got a mission tomorrow," John said, not looking up from the board. The fake nonchalance was a little annoying.

"Yeah, good luck with that."

If I were crueler, this would have meant that Sheppard's day started with a splinter and just went on from there. Later he'd end up married to the chief's goat and there'd be accusing looks from the women when he tried to leave it behind. So they take the goat with them and Elizabeth tries to stay dignified but Sheppard totally hears her shriek of laughter after he leaves the briefing room. The goat would get shipped to the mainland and then one day he'd be over there for some lunch or something and have the best sandwich ever… but feel oddly sad.

"Yeah."

******

"So then the priestess offered us the equivalent of several hundred pounds of that potato-like thing in exchange for Zelenka." Sheppard laughed and moved a piece on the board.

I couldn't help it, he's just so small and tradeable. Like a grumpy Czech beanie baby. Collect them all!

"Why didn't you take it?" Rodney frowned. Damn it, Sheppard might be beating him. Again.

"I don't trade personnel for anything less than ancient tech or an entire ton of cargo," Sheppard said mildly.

"Hrmm, good priorities." Rodney smiled, reaching out carelessly, pulling back barely in time. "Sorry," he mumbled. The impulse beat restlessly under his skin.

Rodney would gladly trade some of his department for good food or pretty electronics. Especially if the anthropology department falls under his auspices.

Sheppard didn't say anything and Rodney, frantic, moved the first piece he could think of and then winced because it gave Sheppard check in twelve moves. Crap. Long, gloved fingers carefully moved a pawn. Rodney blinked. If hadn't know better, he could have sworn Sheppard had deliberately sabotaged his own game.

"Your move, Rodney," Sheppard said, leaning back in his chair.

This phrase becomes important later. It gets all deep and meaningful. And one again, I suck at the subtle.

Okay, then. Sure. He studied the board, narrowed his eyes and made a move that made him cringe. Sheppard smiled at him and bent forward with renewed enthusiasm.

It was the worst game of chess Rodney had ever played, and he wouldn't have traded it for anything in the universe.

I totally like the idea that they deliberately play the worst game of chess ever. It's the equivalent of flirting and declaring each other BFF.

Later there will be an argument.

Rodney: I totally sucked more than you did.
John: In your dreams.

******

It took a few days, but Rodney noticed that Teyla and Ronon had started hovering more than usual. At first it made a little bit of sense; Ronon took over firearms practice and Teyla made sure he got a little bit of exercise everyday.

Uh yeah. I totally didn't forget that there are other characters in this show until these lines. Not at all.

He got suspicious, though, when they both tried to make plans with him within hours of each other.

"I'm trying to figure out if you're an incredibly clever evil mastermind, or an incredibly bad one," Rodney said conversationally that evening during their chess game. The entire team had been off-world for two days, only getting in late the previous evening, so Rodney was practically starving for the company.

My vote is for bad. With a side of dork.

"What are you talking about, Rodney?" Sheppard bit his lip and carefully moved his queen.

Speaking of forgetting things… I kept blanking completely on the names of any of the chest pieces beyond pawn, knight, king and queen. No I could not have looked it up, it would have disturbed my groove. Yes really.

"Like you aren't in charge of the Rodney McKay Friends Network." Rodney frowned. Damn. He might lose.

Someone please tell me you got this really wrong imagine of John in a gold lame turban, heavy beaded knecklaces, fake nails and a… okaaay then. Maybe it was just me.

"Maybe." Sheppard shrugged.

"Maybe what?" Ah ha, there. He moved a piece.

"Maybe I worry," Sheppard said quietly.

Somewhere before now Sheppard has sat alone in his room and tried to figure out why he's doing all of this. He's sat alone in his bedroom ******NOT PAINTING HIS NAILS BLACK DAMNIT) and realized he was thinking an awful lot about Rodney and trying to understand why.

Also, John is totally a worrier from way back. His mom used to worry about him crossing the street… when he was TWENTY FIVE

Well, that truly shot his concentration. The bastard.

******

Oddly enough, Rodney hadn't figured on needing to be rescued while confined to Atlantis. Which was stupid, but he'd spent the last few weeks worried that Sheppard. Teyla, Ronon, and Zelenka would come through the gate in various states of bad health that it simply hadn't occurred to him that he might have the same problems, only without the off-world activity.

Also, whoever's project exploded was so fired.

Rodney is mentally composing a letter to someone's mother right here. "Dear ma'am, please keep your son/daughter away from anything that I might ever touch again for the urge to do something permanent like hack their bank accounts and make them a penniless idiot would suddenly surge and I'm sure you're a lovely woman and all the idiocy stems from the father's side and I wouldn't want you to suffer through something like that.

Because Rodney wants to be a mama's boy so bad.

Actually I think Hot Zone was just a small example of all the shit they can get into right there at home. Atlantis is far from safe. It's a 10,000 year old advanced city. Dude, NYC is like a gnat compared to that and I wouldn't want to come back to it TWENTY years post abandonment.

Something was pinning his leg down, but he could still move his toes so he was only mildly panicking. He pulled, dragging his body across the floor, his leg slowly coming free. Long sweaty minutes later, he lay panting on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

I wanted to do this whole thing with a fulcrum, but I wussed out, I wasn't sure I really needed four paragraphs of Rodney looked for the right lever.

"Rodney, this is Sheppard, do you read?"

The voice sounded far away, and that was when he realized the blast had knocked his radio out of his ear. He reached for it and put it back on. "Rodney here. What the hell happened?"

Oh Rodney has it almost all figured out, but he does recognize that other people might have access to more information than him. Especially when he's stuck in a room that just exploded.

"Are you okay? We're working our way in, but a lot of tunnels are blocked without power." Sheppard sounded out of breath.

Sheppard is running. Hard. Yes because he knows what Rodney doesn't, that there's something waiting to explode, but that's not the reason he's got that pain in his side from running so fast.

"Something landed on my leg, but I'm free." He touched his temple. "And oh wow, blood. That would explain the headache."

There's something so utterly tragic in giving Rodney head wounds. Just… precious resource being maimed!

"We'll be there in ten. If you can, clear any debris by the door. Sheppard out."

With that, the radio channel was closed. Rodney spent his time moving away from the door and trying not to throw up. When the door did open, it startled him enough to make him jump and his head spin. "God what took so--"

It was Sheppard standing there, gloved and masked.

Okay so Rodney was being a little slow there, come on, he's got a head wound!

"Are you insane?" Rodney backed away.

"Come on, Rodney. They're on their way, but Zelenka is fixing the power and there was only one viable route, and guess who was near the starting point."

Yeah, sure, for loose definitions of near.

"No, we can wait, really." Rodney curled up on his side and realized his ribs ached a little to.

"It might take a while and I'd really rather get you out of this room and into the hallway where there's less of a chance of things falling on you. Why were you working all the way over here anyway?"

Because it was easier than avoiding people. "Fine. But no touching."

This is me being all subtle again. I didn't want to actually hit you guys over the head with the concept that Rodney was lonely. He works on the side projects or the things that can be done alone and that wouldn't require him taking up valuable lab space because someone with the gene could be working there too. He hates waste. Especially wastes of time and energy and work space.

Rodney is the original anal retentive in this area and I bet there's a white board somewhere with all sorts of scheduling and room information because his department will NOT WASTE RESOURCES DAMNIT! Of everyone, Rodney is fully aware that they are indeed, finite on resources, including people.

Also, he hates being whispered about and people? Are not as subtle as they think they are, especially around people who can look at 2+4+x+y= 56.2 and know what x and y are based on who wrote the equation. That's what Rodney does, his brain gets that conclusion because he takes in all that information and processes it ridiculously fast. He's good at making suppositions based on possibilities. So yeah, he'd totally pick up on people talking about him. And he would hate it.

At least, if it wasn't about his latest nobel prize.

"Rodney, I've got some antihistamines and an EpiPen in my jacket. Take my hand and let's get you out of here."

Now later I let Sheppard imply that he's only been carrying it since they had the Rocky Horror like finger sex, but he's already been taking smaller precautions, especially after that weird dream where he woke up feeling funny and only remembered shaking hands with Rodney. I'm not saying he understood his own motivations yet, but he's the head military dude and Rodney is the head scientist dude and it's NOT unreasonable to think they might still have to interact fairly regularly. This is me going 'Sheppard can strategize with the best of them, really.'

Rodney eyed Sheppard's hand and took it warily only to be hauled up onto his feet unexpectedly. "Whoa, wait!" He listed to the left only to find Sheppard bracing him. "Come on."

They made it out of the room, only when Rodney tried to pull away, Sheppard just held on tight and kept moving. "What the--"

"Keep walking, Rodney," Sheppard said grimly.

This is sort of where Rodney should notice something is up, but come on head wound! He's totally making his will out in his head. John gets his snappy t-shirt collection.

There was an arm around his waist, supporting him when his leg couldn't, and Rodney was too dizzy to hold himself away from Sheppard's body for any length of time. "But--you--"

"Keep walking." Rodney couldn't decide if the slight rasp had always been there when talking through the masks, or if Sheppard was starting to have a reaction.

That's when the world exploded again and Rodney found himself on the ground, Sheppard piled on top of him. "What the hell just happened?"

Mm Touchies. Here is a list of things Rodney McKay has learned to appreciate since coming to Atlantis:

1. Guns. Like in a functional sense, not in a 'these are really cool mechanically' sense.
2. Toilet paper.
3. Concussive blasts that plaster you against another warm body.

I tried to sort of highlight actual touching, because it's not something you actually think about and even people who aren't touchers would have a hard time adjusting to not touching anyone at all.

"Secondary power coupling in the area was building up a charge," Sheppard told him, climbing off.

"And you couldn't tell me this before?" Rodney pushed off his stomach, happy to give his ribs a break.

No Rodney, because then you would have gone off on a tangent about imminent doom and you're pretty little brain would have been smooshed to bits right when you got to the really good part about car insurance.

"It seemed easier to tell you after." Sheppard leaned against his own wall and popped two pills under his mask, carefully not touching them with his gloved hands.

Worried, Rodney watched him swallow. "You okay?"

"Precaution only," Sheppard said before tapping his radio. "We're fine, just waiting for the cavalry."

"How are you fine?" Rodney asked. They'd been all over each other, more so than when he'd gotten Carson sick.

"Now who doesn't read the memos and pay attention?" Sheppard smiled. "Carson slipped you a little something this morning."

Rodney blinked and thought back. Oh, so that had been why he'd shown up in the room. "I'm a little put out that they didn't tell me."

"They did," Sheppard said, moving his legs until they were stretched out straight in front of him. "You were just ignoring them, which is a little strange for you."

Rodney has stopped listening to 95% of all medical information. Partially because he thinks they're often wrong, especially in regards to himself and partially because OMG THE THINGS THEY ARE DOING THERE IS AN ANCIENT GREEK SOMEWHERE ROLLING IN HIS GRAVE.

I have this personal theory that when Carson's wraith retrovirus thing was introduced he was appalled and went off on medical ethics and the possible consequences (because Rodney is Mr. Worst Case Scenario) only because it was Rodney they sort of let it fuzz over their heads. Either that or he was sleeping in that morning. I mean come on, who really thinks Rodney would have that all that was a good idea?

Rodney was not going to admit to a bout of melancholy that had taken up most of his thoughts during his morning visit. "Well, the bloodletting was getting routine; I stopped paying attention after they stuck me with the needle."

His morning medical exam, and wow thinking back I probably should have made that clearer anyhoo *shrug*, was probably the most touching he got all day and it was all clinical and careful and a very specific reminder of what was wrong with him. By day seven he started doing differential equations in his head to keep busy.

Sheppard let it go and just shrugged. "How's your head?"

"Bleeding." Rodney frowned. "I hope I didn't lose too much blood."

"You didn't lose too much blood." He rummaged through his vest, pulling out some bandages. "Hold on."

Sheppard scooted over to Rodney and broke open a sterile wipe. Rodney reached out to take it, but was surprised when Sheppard just moved to carefully dab at his temple.

*Shivers in delight.* No seriously. Guy cleaning other guys wounds. *drools*. Also this is Sheppard deliberately touching Rodney. It's his active decision here and also his own internal revelation of a sorts. This is Sheppard's step one, where he thinks that the strange feeling he had, that had been upped by the chess boards might be mitigated by helping the guy out. I mean he hasn't head bopped him for weeks at this point.

"Can't see it anyway," Sheppard answered his unspoken question. He dabbed some more, the cold feeling good on the over-warm skin by the injury. "Yeah, just a nasty cut; maybe some bruising," Sheppard said quietly.

"Oh...good," Rodney murmured, eyes closed. He could still feel the heat of Sheppard next to him.

"Yeah." Sheppard moved the wipe a bit more. "How're you feeling?"

Hadn't they covered this? "Dizzy," Rodney mumbled. "And my leg is throbbing."

"Carson will fix you right up."

The brush of a latex covered finger across his temple startled Rodney's eyes open. "No he won't." Sheppard was right there, next to him, hand still working gently at his temple.

And now Sheppard has just groped Rodney's brain. No really, this is the touch that is just about touching and he's sort of freaking out a little because he really wants to run his finger over it, there was possibly a moment where the urge to brush it gently with his lips crossed his mind. Sheppard is practically in Rodney's lap and thinking real hard about crawling right in.

"Right." Sheppard's eyes looked shadowed and away. "The whole...thing."

And as usually Rodney is the big pill. Actually think more like bucket of cold water.

"Maybe he's got it solved?" Rodney suggested, because somehow that small bit of hope warmed him in the pit of his stomach. Sheppard's eyes glowed, and small smile graced his lips. "That'd be nice."

Anything else they might've said was interrupted by the sound of feet running through the corridors.

The idea that the problem is fixed is where Sheppard starts thinking about what he'd do if it was and he sort of avoids Rodney for a few hours dissecting what he's feeling while going running with Ronon and then he thinks about skipping the chess game and his chest gets all tight and he gets this miserable feeling in the pit of his stomach.

******

Part 2

SGA: Cleave, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 2/2

2006-07-20T07:29:48Z

Cleave, Part 2, headers and etc can be found in Part 1.

"It's actually not a naturally occurring phenomenon," Carson told him the next day.

"Well, yes. Tell me you haven't spent all this time just to figure out something that obvious?" Rodney asked darkly.

"I mean your body isn't producing it anymore," Carson clarified, looking a little annoyed. "I'm not sure if it ever was; I think they hadn't gotten around to anything that complex. They were probably surprised when you weren't allergic to it yourself."

Rodney sat back in his chair, frowning. "Okay, not looking a gift horse in the mouth then. So how long?"

"Well it does have tenacity. Your levels are dropping, only very slowly."

"Can we speed it up?" Rodney asked. "I'd like to get back to normal please."

"I'm looking into it Rodney. I've already significantly wounded it so to speak, it doesn't have near the potency it once did." Carson sipped his tea. "Other than your little accident yesterday there haven't been any incidents. You're doing fine."

No. No he wasn't. Rodney pinched the bridge of his nose. "Carson, I am not doing fine. I would like to be doing fine, but I can't. I want to--" He bit off his sentence with a frustrated cry. "I want this over with."

Carson looked at him patiently, pouring a cup of tea into a spare mug and sliding it across the table. "Drink."

"I don't want to cont--"

"Drink."

Rodney took a sip. "I'm drinking. Happy?" He took another sip.

"Ecstatic." Carson took a sip of his own. "Now, tell me what's going on."

Rodney stared at his cup. "Is there lemon in this?"

"Rodney."

"Nothing is going on," he said quietly, still looking down at his cup, knowing that Carson would sink his teeth in if he had to. "That's what we decided anyway."

A muted clink and a long sigh. "Ah, Rodney. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Rodney snickered. "Neither did we." He looked up, beseechingly. "So maybe you can work on speeding things up a bit? Huh?" Even to his own ears, he sounded desperate.

"I'm going as fast as I can, Rodney." Carson opened a nearby drawer and took out several boxes. "In the meantime, take these."

"What are they?" Rodney snagged them and read their names. "Antihistamines?"

"And a few other bits; the cocktail that I’d give to anyone exposed." Carson dug again and pulled out an extra EpiPen. "And this just in case, though you shouldn't need it."

Rodney looked at Carson with wide eyes. "What--but I--"

"Now I’m not saying you should go and purposefully expose her, but I'm not so cruel as to think that a bit of snuggling now and then is too much to ask." Carson shoved it all in his direction. "Just let me know if you use any and send her in if the reaction doesn't calm down in a few minutes."

Rodney stood and took the items in front of him in a daze.

"Now lad, I'm going to have to ask who it is," Carson said gently.

Rodney dropped what was in his hands back onto the desk. "What?"

"I've got to know, for her safety." Carson nodded at the supplies. "Or I have to take all of that back."

Rodney sat heavily. "I can't, Carson. I can't tell you."

"I'm your doctor; it won't leave this room," Carson said carefully, a suspicious glint in his eye.

"We haven't talked about that yet!" Rodney back peddled. "I don't even know if he--" He clamped his mouth shut tightly. Damn it.

Carson blinked slowly and nodded. "If he's willing to come out at all?"

"Yes," Rodney bit out. Damn stupid conniving doctors.

"The name won't leave this room," Carson said gently, "and you'll tell him as soon as you see him. And if he doesn't understand, you don't want whatever it is you have to go much further. Trust me."

They stared at each other until finally Rodney slumped. Carson was right, after all. "John," he said, because using his first name was easier than his last for this. Also he was still getting used to its taste in his mouth.

"Sheppard or Stevenson?" Carson pressed.

Rodney tilted his head in exasperation.

"Right." Carson nodded. "Sheppard."

******

"Carson knows!" Rodney blurted as soon as John stepped into the room.

John blinked and nodded. "Carson knows a lot of things. Care to elaborate?"

"He cornered me," Rodney complained. "He plied me with tea and was nice and understanding and he got me to spill." He took a deep breath. "And then he taunted me with--" He cut himself off for a second, frowning, and deciding not to go with his original words. "With things, and then threatened to take them away if I didn't tell him who I'd share these things with." He slumped in a chair. "The man is a monster."

"Things?" John asked, looking only a little tense.

Rodney pointed at the bed. "Things in case we accidentally touch."

"And why did he give you these things?" John said, looking at each box carefully before opening one and snagging two pills.

"I accidentally let it slip that there was someone and well--" Rodney shrugged.

"That big romantic." John said, swallowing the pills. "He won't tell anyone and I'll resist looking him in the face for a little while."

Rodney frowned. "Are you ashamed of me?"

"No more than usual." He made a face. "God I hate the uncoated ones."

"What are you doing?" Rodney asked, eyeing John curiously.

"Preventative. Just in case." John shrugged, sitting down carefully. "So would it make you feel better if I said I was freaking out a little?"

Rodney nodded slowly. "God, you're an internal freaker outer, aren't you? I'm liable to get smacked in my sleep or something before you tell me what's wrong."

John shrugged. "I've mostly got other things on my mind." He smiled shyly.

"Oh." Rodney smiled back. "Okay."

"Here." John tossed him something fabric. "Put that on."

It was a hooded sweatshirt. "We can't--I can't."

"Not that," John assured him. "I agree. We can't. But I just swallowed some sucky-tasting pills. I'm gonna get me some reward."

Reward turned out to be a careful hug. Chest to chest this time, with John's collar raised high so Rodney's nose wouldn't accidentally graze him.

They parted and Rodney swallowed roughly. "So...set the board up."

They played, and if John's hand snuck out to grasp Rodney's now and then, Rodney didn't say anything.

******

They found other things to do. Paperwork became a haven, because they could be in the same room, sit across from each other and carefully press their calves together, and finish off some annoying report or memo.

Rodney worked out some very specific climate controls for their quarters so he could lower the temperature by several degrees and they could comfortably curl around each other in their many layers and not sweat off several pounds each time.

John liked to kiss the back of his neck through his sweatshirt. Not a lot, but more often than not Rodney would receive a hug from behind and a wisp of heat just under his hairline.

They started watching movies and television together when holding hands over a chess board became too prosaic. Because Rodney had a finely honed sense of irony, he picked up Dark Angel from Cadman (at a hefty fee) and let John read the little synopsis, smiling when he shrugged and nodded.

"Sci-fi based on Earth. It'd be a change for me."

John took to laying his head in Rodney's lap. It was a bit disconcerting at first, but it seemed the safest option. Besides, Rodney sort of enjoyed it.

They marathoned the latter half of the first season the day after John came back from another off-world mission walking carefully, though that time it was nothing more than an interesting initiation involving standing and sitting in strange ways. John had spent a very long three hours doing deep knee bends.

"You're kidding me," John said at the end of the season two opener. "A genetically engineered virus that will kill him if they touch." John hit Rodney with a pillow. "You so knew that was coming."

Rodney gently took the pillow and dropped it behind the couch so his dead skin cells could slowly decontaminate. Another lovely step that Carson had discovered, and it helped relieve the strain on the disinfectant soap.

"Maybe," Rodney hedged, "but we shouldn't let that stop us from enjoying the show."

"Does it last the whole season?" John asked, stopping the DVD and stretching, yawning hugely then wincing.

"Of course it does, but I always felt that stretched it a bit." Rodney closed the laptop and turned so that his back was braced against the arm of the couch. "I mean, holding on for that long?"

John shrugged. "Rogue and Gambit did it."

Rodney's jaw dropped.

"What?"

"You can't say things like that. It's not fair!"

John yawned again. "When I wake up I'm not going to be able to move." He winced, swinging off the couch. "Oh god, this is going to hurt."

Before he could move, Rodney stepped off the couch and offered him a hand, but somewhere in there John had stiffened up past fine motor control and he staggered forward and into Rodney who managed to turn his head away just in time.

"Mm. Comfy," John said into his shoulder.

Rodney reached for his hood, pulling it tight. "No sleeping standing up. Tried that once; bad for the--everything."

"It's ok," John said, sliding his arms comfortably around Rodney's midsection. "I'm starting to really like things that are bad for me."

Chest clenching tightly, Rodney hugged him back. "You really have to stop saying things like that, too."

"You should go," John said quietly.

Rodney could feel it, the slightly higher heat near his hip, John hard and ready, right near him.

He couldn't pretend he wasn't in a similar state. "Yes. I should."

They let go, fingers leaving slowly. "See you tomorrow."

******

Tube socks. Rodney was starting to relate tube socks to sexy thoughts and he really didn't need that at the moment.

And yet, there were John's feet, cotton clad, mixed up with his own, and John's face pressed to his chest as they somehow sat comfortably entwined on the couch.

Because damn it, tube socks weren't sexy.

John's toes chose that moment to wiggle. They mocked him. They whispered "yes they are; tube socks are the bomb." Of course John's toes would use "the bomb." That was so them.

Rodney blinked. Oh God. Hallucinations fueled by sexual frustration. Not good.

He briefly entertained the idea of combining tube socks and condoms, but nixed it because he could just see John's face going red from laughter. Or possibly pale in anger.

"You're hard," John's voice rumbled near his stomach.

"A little!" Rodney winced, the excuse sounding worse than the crime, but it was true, being in the same room as John would pretty much get his engine purring. Only nowadays he seemed to get all he needed out of a hug, or a quick press of fingers. It was strange.

John chuckled. "Just different, that's all. Also? I'm used to being taller, or broader, or something. Mostly." He made a pleased sound. "Except for that once, but she was flexible."

Rodney suppressed a shudder. They'd managed to not talk about sex so directly until then. Rodney had also managed to forget that John was sort of new to all of it. Until something got said or done that reminded him and it was so fierce it felt like slamming into a wall.

John shifted a little, curling tighter around him. "You okay?" His hand spread out on Rodney's stomach, just below his chest. "Your heart just went haywire."

"I bet you're bendy," Rodney blurted, and then blushed bright red. "Oh God. Just--sorry."

"Define bendy." John had gone from pliable to unbending next to Rodney.

Rodney sighed. "It probably means what you think it means."

"Rodney, I don't know if I--"

"And that's perfectly fine. There are lots of ways to be bendy." He flushed again momentarily at the word.

"Maybe, we can be bendy together?" John asked, slowly relaxing again, eyes going half-lidded. "In ways that don't include things that remind me of that one woman in Vegas?"

"Okay, seriously? Stop saying things like that." Rodney frowned. Then frowned harder as John laughed against him. Now all he could think about was John on his knees with some hot blond lubing up a dildo. And three, two, one. Yes, thank you, subconscious; now the blonde was Sam Carter. He shuddered. Surprisingly, not in arousal.

"Maybe one day," John whispered, reaching over to press play on the laptop to start another episode.

Rodney felt something warm and precious slide up his spine, and he ran a single finger down the outer shell of John's ear, feeling John make a small drowsy sound. Rodney closed his eyes and listened to him breathe.

******

They hit him in the face. Rodney watched in horror as John's head snapped back and then he slid to the ground.

"No speaking," Theilan said.

Rodney was going to write a memo. No one was ever allowed to visit Atlantis again. Unless they were originally from Earth. Or Teyla knew their mothers.

Some random thug dragged John out of the room, and the anger that washed over Rodney was blinding.

"Now." Theilan turned to him, robes swirling around him. "The access codes please?"

"Bite me." Rodney got slapped for that.

"You do not need to speak to give me the codes." Theilan produced a long blade. It looked dirty.

Why was it always knives? Rodney was seriously starting to get a complex.

"Think about it for a little longer," Theilan allowed and then nodded to another large, nameless and very ugly thug.

Rodney was dragged out, too. He found himself thrown into a room and he landed on something firm but with give. He rolled off abruptly when he recognized the harsh exhalation of breath. "Did I touch you?" Rodney demanded.

John struggled to sit up, obviously only just regaining consciousness. "I dunno. I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"Don't joke!"

"Not joking." John took a few deep breaths. "I feel fine. What'd he want?"

"What do you think he wanted?" Rodney pushed himself to the other side of the small room. "Access codes, only he has a funny way of saying please."

"How long do we have?" John shifted around, rolling his neck. "Man, you wouldn't think a skinny bastard like that would pack such a wallop."

"I don't know." Rodney banged his head against the wall. "I'm supposed to sit here and contemplate life without a tongue."

"What?" John's voice was sharp and angry, and when Rodney opened his eyes he could see the tense line of fury in his back. "Well then. I was going to be nice when I escaped. Now? Not so much."

"What? Going to spit in their celebratory cups of tea?" Rodney asked.

"Piss," John muttered, head leaning back, throat swallowing harshly. "In their cornflakes." He took a deep breath.

Rodney watched him, eyes narrowing. "I did touch you, didn't I?" There was a catch in his voice, he could feel it starting somewhere in his stomach That was it; John was going to die and Rodney would have killed him and it would be like every single nightmare he'd had since--

Wait a minute. That's right, the first nightmare he'd had after Carson had dumped all of those meds on him, he'd stashed some in his pockets and kept them there. He'd felt stupid that it hadn't occurred to him before then.

He got onto his knees and scrounged around, letting out a relieved gasp when his fingers closed over the spare blister packs wrapped in a latex glove in his pocket. God bless arrogant terrorists.

"What?" John asked, seeing him move around. "And I'm fine."

"You will be," Rodney said, carefully dumping the contents of the glove on the ground.

John smiled, a big soft smile that reached his eyes. "Thanks, Rodney, but I have my own in my right boot." He nodded to the ones on the floor. "You put those away. Also? I'm fine."

"Boot?" Rodney asked faintly, before picking up the meds with the tips of the inside of the glove and carefully sliding them back in. "Since when?"

"You really need to ask?"

"Oh."

They sat in silence for a little while.

"You'll tell them whatever they want to know, Rodney," John said eventually. "No arguments."

"With you or with them?" Rodney snapped.

"Rodney," John said carefully, voice low and desperate. "You will tell them what they want and you will not come back here missing body parts."

Rodney swallowed. "You think they'd do it?"

"Who knows?" John said, dropping his head and running a hand through his hair. "And I don't want to find out." He looked up again, eyes cold and hard. "There are a lot of things I don't want to find out." He breathed deeply, eyes closing and then opening, this time with a softer gaze; his lips twitched slightly, forming a half smile. "And a lot of things I do."

"Me too," Rodney said fervently.

John nodded. "Good thing we're clear then. So, did you see where they took Elizabeth and the others?"

"I saw some more guards nearby, maybe they're in the other rooms?" Rodney guessed.

******

Rodney got dragged out again a little while later, and the last thing he saw of John was a wink and nod before the door closed between them.

He did as he was told, mostly. Recently he and Radek had spent a few sleepless nights rewriting the security codes. Now everyone had two passkeys: the real one and the one that was off by a single character. That one hid and disguised information, letting the user think they were doing all sorts of dangerous things like locking people out, but in reality it was just accepting the commands and passing back the correct messages. Of course, the memo about it was still being written, as they had only really put the finishing touches on it recently.

Theilan dragged him away as soon as he'd hit the enter key and Rodney sat meekly off to the side and waited. As soon as the lights went out, he ducked under the table he'd scouted out, curled up tightly and waited. The shooting sort of echoed off the walls and Rodney pushed himself even further under the table.

Between the laptop monitors and the strange strobe affect of three energy weapons firing simultaneously, Rodney could just make out the action. John came in shooting, followed by Lorne and Ronon. The three thugs were easy, but surprisingly no one aimed for Theilan himself, though Ronon did knock his weapon out of his hands.

"How did you--" That was as far as Theilan got; he was interrupted by John's fist to his nose, which was followed up by a knee to the stomach. Theilan went down gasping.

Ronon came up next to John and nodded his head in approval.

Lorne stepped up and shot him anyway, the electric blue of the energy weapon glowing brightly.

"Rodney?" John called. "Can you get the lights back on and get me readings on where the rest of his guys are?"

Rodney crawled out and got to the nearest computer.

John, Ronon and Lorne all sat down heavily. "Also? Care to explain what the hell?"

Rodney finished his sequence and hit enter, making a gratified sound when the lights went up. "New thing Radek and I were trying; we programmed the doors to unlock and the lights to go out with the right--or rather, wrong--command code."

"Oh, cool," John said. "We should talk about that later. Maybe improve on it."

"Sure." Rodney nodded. "For now? There's about twenty other guys out there who might need taking care of."

"I've got a squad of Marines already going through the hallways. They should be back on radio by now," John said, reaching for one of the earpieces in the pile their captors had made. He threw one to Ronon and one to Lorne. "Stay on channel twelve for now." He turned to Rodney. "Get on those sensors and start sorting out personnel. I'll send some more people up here soon."

Rodney picked up his own radio and got down to work. It was a long hour, finding and marking each individual life sign.

"Colonel Sheppard," Rodney called, "I'm pretty sure that's the last one." By then he had a full team in the control room and they all nodded in agreement.

"That's good, Rodney," John said in his ear.

Rodney frowned. John sounded out of breath but Rodney had been monitoring and John hadn't had to give chase or been chased in nearly twenty minutes--oh. Oh God. "Colonel!"

"Yeah, Rodney?" Low and gravelly.

"Take those pills and get to the infirmary now!" God it had been an hour. An hour.

"What?" John sounded slurred.

"You must have touched me somehow."

"I did not." John argued. "I did not touch you."

"The console I was working on?" Rodney pressed; he knew that wheezing. "Please tell me you're going to the infirmary."

"I'm going, I'm going. And no I didn't touch that either."

Rodney shoved his laptop at the next person over. Radek, right. "I'm going down there, don't break anything."

"Don't go too far; I might need you to remind me how to breathe!" Radek called after him. "Do I inhale or exhale first?"

******

"What did you touch?" Rodney asked as soon as he was in the same room as John.

"Why, Rodney, I'll be fine. Your concern is touching," John said dryly.

"List everything. Now." He sat down on a nearby chair.

John rolled his eyes. "The floor, the wall, my boots, my shirt, probably my pants--"

"Colonel."

"Seriously, Rodney, nothing." He paused, eyebrow raising. "The guard maybe?"

"Maybe," Rodney grunted. "Go on."

"His gun. His arm. The wall in the transporter." John's eyes narrowed. "Theilan."

Rodney shook his head. "I didn't do a whole lot of touching of his nose and his stomach."

"That would have been odd, yes."

"Now what consoles did you touch?"

John shrugged. "None." He frowned, the wheezing coming back suddenly.

"Polyphasic?" Rodney asked frantically. What the hell could John have touched that would give him that large a dose? He thought back to their time in the control room. John finished kneeing Theilan in the stomach. Sat down. Asked some questions and then snagged a radio before heading out. Snagged a radio.

Snagged Rodney's radio.

"Take out his earpiece!"

A nurse with the good sense to realize that maybe Carson shouldn't touch it either, gloved or not, quickly removed it.

"Rodney, go sit down before you fall," Carson said to him. "He'll be fine now; you figured it out. He had a prolonged exposure--nearly an hour I'd say--and look at how long it took for anything to happen at all."

Rodney clenched his jaw and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've got work to do."

"Sit down," Carson told him while adding something to John's IV. "You've had a long day."

Rodney couldn't. He couldn't just sit. So he left.

******

Two weeks later, after Rodney's morning unhappy time where he had to stumble to the infirmary before coffee, Carson snapped off a glove, took Rodney's hand and shook it firmly.

Rodney wrenched it away and considered hiding it under his shirt. "Are you insane?"

"Congratulations, Rodney, you're no longer toxic." Carson smiled. "Well, you're back to pre-Wraith-manipulated levels."

"What?" Rodney blinked several times. "Wait, what?"

"I'll be expecting the remaining supply of pills and gloves back tomorrow." Carson patted him on the shoulder. "Maybe you should take the day? Celebrate?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Rodney recoiled in horror. "Oh my God. Never do that."

Carson's face loomed as he leaned in to whisper, "Don't forget to use condoms."

Rodney was about to consider actual physical force when he remembered, and how could forget he didn't know, touching. There could be real, honest-to-God touching.

"Ah lad, that's actually a good look on you." Carson nodded approvingly.

"What?" Rodney asked, peeling off his own gloves with relish, staring at the twin lines of hairlessness on his wrists from all the taping.

"Happiness."

Crap, his reputation was ruined.

******

The urge to just walk into John's office, lock the door and stick his tongue down John's throat held a certain appeal. The down side included the fact that the possibility of not being able to stop until neither of them could walk without traction, rest, and maybe some crutches was fairly high, and that Rodney had actually sort of, maybe thought about it a little bit. God, he was such a girl.

So instead he walked in easily, hands stuck in his pockets and stayed way the hell on the other side of the room.

"What's up?" John asked, pressing angrily at his space bar.

Rodney stared at his fingers: strong, calloused. Nice looking mostly. He blinked, realizing he'd lost time. "Oh. I visited Carson."

John nodded and made an 'and, this is new because?' gesture.

Rodney retrieved his hands from his pockets and waved them around. "I'm supposed to return all the supplies tomorrow."

John stared. "Excuse me, what?"

"No more. Done. Finito. I am no longer toxic."

John smirked.

Rodney dropped his hands. "Oh shut up."

"So...." John started, then averted his eyes and blushed. "Tonight?"

Blushed. He blushed. Rodney stuffed his hands back in his pockets so he could avoid doing something stupid right there. "Would it be really bad if we both took the day off tomorrow?"

John made a thinking sound before shrugging. "I ah...I can't seem to care all that much. That's probably bad, right?"

"Maybe." Rodney shrugged too. He didn't care either, at the moment. "But I think one day might be okay?"

"Maybe not a whole day," John murmured, eyes glazing a little. "Maybe."

"Okay I'm leaving now because...um...you know. Eight o'clock, my place?" Rodney was already leaving.

"Be there with bells."

"Forget bells, bring food," Rodney said and then darted out.

******

"Okay, I'd like to file a complaint," Rodney said into his radio, surveying the darkness around him.

"No seriously, Rodney," John's voice said into his ear, "how does one get stuck in a storage closet?" There was a small string of tension curling up under his usual good humor.

"Shut up. It's dark in here and the dimensions have got to be smaller than a port-a-potty."

"Radek is working as fast as he can," John said.

"Meanwhile, I've been stuck here for at least four hours. What the hell took so long? I mean I would have thought you--" Rodney stopped himself. Yes, John's voice hadn't appeared over the comms until after their date was supposed to have begun, but maybe he hadn't shown and that's why it had taken so long.

"It has not been four hours," John said dryly. "And I was busy dealing with the sudden rolling blackouts all over the city. Radek spent a half hour getting the radios back on."

Rodney knew that. He knew that because he'd spent long minutes calling for help. It still felt good to hear. He covered his eyes with his hand. He really needed to get a grip.

"Where are you?" Rodney asked, breathing; if he breathed he knew he had oxygen.

"Outside the door, leaning against the wall to the left because Radek is busy disassembling the one to the right."

Rodney reached out and placed his palm firmly against the wall, weeks of feeling through layers and stretching to feel muffled sensation had him convinced the wall was slightly warmer in that spot. "So I was thinking I should see if I can bribe the new Doctor Who from someone." He shuffled until he was sitting, propped against the wall, hand still pressed firmly against it, forehead resting gently.

"Yeah, I've heard good things," John said. "You know if this takes long enough we can always get the Daedalus to beam you out of there."

"They're not due for three days!" Rodney squawked, but smiled into the wall anyway.

"Well it's not a perfect solution...."

******

They got him out and, staring at his watch, Rodney knew it hadn't taken too long, despite it having felt like forever with nothing but a wall and John's smooth voice wrapping around him, talking the whole time.

John's eyebrows did a little dance. "The...thing still a go?"

Rodney flushed and swallowed. "Yeah, I need time to shower; that thing was hot. Also food, ah sustenance is important."

"I'll bring something." John smiled and ambled off.

Rodney glared at Radek on his way past, just on principle, and headed straight for his room.

He showered and shaved and maybe used a tiny splash of the good aftershave. The lotiony kind that felt really good going on.

Without thinking, he slipped into his sweats and was halfway into the hooded shirt when he stopped and smiled nervously, then slipped into one of his more usual t-shirts.

He stared at the tube socks lying innocently in his drawer.

Barefoot it was.

John arrived just as Rodney was about to go insane and maybe make his bed or something. He entered smoothly, tossing two MREs on the table, and marched right up to Rodney, taking his hand threading their fingers together tightly.

Rodney had just enough time to register 'hot' and 'smooth' and 'skin' before John leaned in and pressed a quick kiss against Rodney's lips. It was closed-mouthed and chaste and it still sent a pleasant shock down Rodney's nerves.

"Just thought I'd get that out of the way," John said sheepishly. "You know, break the ice."

Rodney made a noise, possibly a grunt or strangled sound of frustration and then tugged John close and slid a hand up his chest and to the back of his neck, feeling every single hair as it passed his fingers. He pressed in for a kiss, tilting his head and starting with lips parted so he could suck on John's bottom lip, taste him just a little.

John, after an initial bout of apparent surprise, melted against him, his lips parting enough for it to be a real kiss. Soft, sweet kisses, one falling into another, were more than Rodney had actually allowed himself to think about, and John so tentative and shy it was amazing.

"Okay," John said when they finally parted for longer than a fraction of a second, "this might really work." He rested their foreheads together.

"You doubted?" Rodney shifted so that he was nuzzling John's temple, breathing in as much as he could. "Did you forget about the smoking hot sex against the wall?"

Against him, John shuddered. "No, Rodney, I didn't. Doesn't mean I didn't worry."

"You make the oddest things really hot," he kissed the side of John's neck. "Please stop that."

"I want to touch you," John whispered, thumb stroking down Rodney's neck. "I want to feel you, your skin, every patch of it; I've imagined it all, from your chest, to your stomach, to your arms and legs. Even your--" He paused, taking a deep breath. "Dick. Even your dick."

"Nnn," Rodney said, licking his way into John's mouth. He felt John's hands scramble and then settle for a moment on his shoulders before moving up his neck and face, taking hold, and then John was licking and kissing him back.

They parted, panting.

"Shirt," Rodney said, already pulling at its hem.

"You too." John nodded, voice breathless and lips already swollen.

Rodney slipped off his Neil Bohr did it with Energy tee-shirt and looked up to see John peeling out of his own. He reached out, carefully skimming over the nicely defined muscles that had been revealed, taking in John's startled gasp with a small smile.

John did the same, reaching out, slowly tracing nonsense patterns on Rodney's chest before taking one step and sweeping him into a tight hug.

Miles of hot, firm skin surrounded Rodney, scorching where it had only warmed before. They shifted, skin rubbing gently against skin and Rodney arched into it, feeling so good.

More kisses, long wet kisses, with hands roaming carefully and John's shaking fingers feeling around tentatively.

"Bed," Rodney eventually said, hoarsely. "Before I fall down." He led the way, but stopped just shy of climbing in to turn and undo John's belt and pants and letting them fall to the floor. "Don't forget your shoes."

With and odd sort of grace, John managed to toe off his shoes without tripping or falling at all. Rodney, when not staring at the definite bump in the middle of John's briefs, was slowly lowering his own pants and scooting back into the bed.

When John climbed in after him, they found themselves lying on their sides facing each other. "So, at the risk of sounding like a fifteen-year-old, you can say stop whenever you want," Rodney offered.

"Cool," John said and smiled, reaching out with his left hand, running it down Rodney's right arm. He did it again, starting at the curve of Rodney's shoulder and ending at the tips of his fingers, leaving behind a lush trail of warmth.

Rodney cupped John's elbow, feeling the length of John's forearm press against his as he leaned in for another kiss. "Let me touch you," Rodney whispered against his lips.

John nodded frantically, relaxing back against the bed and Rodney followed him, leaning over him carefully and planting careful kisses down his neck and chest, licking the hollow between the muscles, nuzzling the occasional spot. Feeling John's minute tremors with each of his actions spurred him on. There was temptation to explore every inch, to learn it all, but John was making little noises and his hips were shifting cautiously, looking for some relief in the air above him.

Slowly, Rodney slid John's underwear off to reveal his dick, red and achy looking, fully erect and waiting. "Got any preferences?" Rodney asked.

John's eyes were wide, pupils blown and beginning to glaze over. He shook his head.

There was a really wrong Holy Grail moment before Rodney grasped it, but John's heartfelt gasp pretty much erased all that. It felt warm and heavy in his hand and he gave an experimental pull.

"Oh yeah," John murmured.

Rodney kissed the crease between thigh and hip and continued his slow careful pump, twisting slightly at the end.

"Nhh." John's hips shifted, pushing into his grip. "N-not long."

His own hips rubbing restlessly against the sheets, Rodney gave another few pulls and then let go.

John made a small whining sound that made Rodney's balls tingle.

"Touching," Rodney whispered, "trust me, touching." He crawled back up and then tugged John over until he was arranged on top of him. "Now, just move your leg like--yeah--that's--oh."

John had shifted so that their legs meshed together, dicks lining up gently. "Touching," John sighed, moving his hips experimentally.

"God, yes." Rodney nodded, pulling him down for a kiss that curled his toes.

It was one long, lush kiss after another, even as their bodies moved in tight little thrusts and Rodney's leg shifted to wrap around John's, twining them tightly, using his calf as leverage. Sweat-slicked friction was white hot and sizzling and John kept pushing and finding the perfect angle and then he'd move an arm or a leg and it'd be even better and Rodney was slowly losing his mind, drowning in pleasure-soaked kisses and the hot slick-slide of skin.

Suddenly, John arched, wrenching his mouth away, hand clenching at Rodney's ass, pulling him in tightly. He buried his face in Rodney's neck and thrust down hard and fast until he came to a shuddering halt, wetness spreading between them.

Rodney's dick ached between them, feeling the slickness, jumping a little as John's stomach brushed against it. The hand on his ass kneaded slightly, thumb drawing lazy circles "Come on Rodney," John whispered hotly in his ear.

That was it, because if 'John' and 'hand' and 'his ass' wasn't enough, that pleasure-soaked voice rumbling in his ear would have done it.

Rodney came with a gasp, hips moving instinctively, dragging his dick through the satiny mess on their stomachs until he was wrung out and limp.

John eventually flopped over to the side with a muttered, "Jesus."

"Be right back," Rodney mumbled, stumbling, jelly-legged, to the bathroom and returning with a wet cloth. He cleaned John off and found John's hand taking the cloth gently from him and returning the favor.

John touching his dick for the first time was enough to get a small stirring of interest, but he needed at least forty-five minutes--and maybe a nap--before it was something more than a vague, passing interest.

"Can I?" John asked, still gently cleaning him off.

Rodney nodded and watched as John carefully grasped and petted and felt.

"Mm. Nice." Rodney sighed.

John leaned in and gave the head a quick kiss and came up looking so utterly proud of himself that Rodney had to kiss him or risk returning the smile with equal fervor.

"Food or nap?" John asked when they parted. He settled down into the bed, drowsiness already apparent in his eyes, but it was nice that he asked anyway.

"Nap," Rodney said. They'd need their energy for the day he had planned anyway.

They wiggled and settled and finally ended up slightly spooned, Rodney's back pressed against John's front. It was easy to do this part, they'd been doing this part forever. John's arm snaked around, hauling Rodney close and just as Rodney felt his eyes sink shut, heat and warmth and moisture brushed against the back of his neck. Rodney nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized he knew that feeling--the ghost of warmth--only this time, he could feel John's smile pressed against his skin as he drifted off into sleep.

THE END

SGA: Cleave, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 1/2

2006-07-20T07:27:13Z

Title: Cleave
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17, ~15,000 words.
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Warnings: None?

Author's notes: OMG z_rayne the evil bitch gave me a deadline. *collapses in fatigue* . Though I suppose since she was the beta, it's okay. Considering she mainlined this fic for SEVEN hours the night before she went to writercon? I'm okay with the deadline.

Also for those of you waiting one that live fic that I started posting here? This is it. Sorry for the delay, but as I started adding more I realized it would be done fairly quickly, so I just kept on chugging instead of posting directly.

The part where the author admits that she was Jossed: This was started before the premier, so just imagine them starting off from a similar precarious situation, only you know, ending on the Daedalus.

Summary: v. cleave (klev)
1. To split with or as if with a sharp instrument. See Synonyms at tear.
2. To adhere, cling, or stick fast.

Rodney bit his lip and shrugged. "Welcome to my world Colonel. Want your EpiPen engraved?"

Rodney wasn't sure how they hadn't figured it out before. Maybe it was the jackets or the rush or that Ronon had somehow become his personal bodyguard, step-stool and all-around underfoot grunt as soon as Sheppard had released them from their cocoons. Could that man do stoic guilt or what?

After they'd made it off the hive ship there had been the whole running for their lives thing, which wasn't to be mistaken for the running for their lives thing from seconds earlier. This time there were two pissed-off colonels and two kick-ass spaceships helping them along.

Post-almost-dying routine, and good God there was an actual routine, was busy and hectic and just as terrifying as the actual not dying.

They were, all three of them, sitting in the mess in the belly of the Daedalus, eating with varying degrees of intensity. Rodney is partaking of a delightful meatloaf and fresh coffee.

"You took the last cup," Sheppard sat down next to him, looking at his own mug of water mournfully.

"I got wrapped in Wraith cocoon; bite me." Rodney took another deep sip, enjoying the rich flavor happily.

"I saved your life!"

Rodney made a face. "Do you know where the cocoon stuff comes from?" He shuddered visibly just thinking about it.

Sheppard tilted his head thoughtfully, smiling to himself. "Shall I just pick an orifice at random?"

Choking on his mouthful of food, Rodney turned and glared, only to see an arm snaking past his tray with a nearly full cup of coffee in its hand. "Hey!"

"Saved your life." Sheppard almost singsonged as he took a sip.

"I'm seriously trying to decide if my life is worth coffee." Rodney muttered, snagging the mug back and moving it to the other side of the table before changing his mind and putting it between himself and the tray, huddling over it protectively.

"You know, with thanks I get I should really consider--"

"Oh please." Rodney waved him off, huddling even closer to his coffee. "This is the nectar of the gods we--" He stopped because Sheppard had suddenly gone ten shades of white and was slowly sliding off his chair. "Sheppard?"

"Rodney," he wheezed, chest rising and falling fast, eyes wide and frightened.

"What?" Rodney demanded, already sliding to the floor, letting Ronon take care of calling for a medical team. "What's wrong?"

"Can't...breathe...." Each word was separated by a long and painful sounding breath.

Rodney knew, he could see it in the reactions, the slight puffiness around the neck and lips, the sweating and shaking. He hadn't rekitted when he'd gotten on board. Damn it. The pulse under his fingertips felt fast and thready and the ship's doctor got there just as Sheppard slid out of consciousness, and Rodney stumbled backwards, landing awkwardly on his hands and ass while he watched them do their work.

******

The hives were sticking around; Rodney could see them from across the room, swollen red dots all over Sheppard's neck and face. Dr. Gordon had said they'd even appeared inside his mouth and throat.

When he was a child, Rodney had gotten an especially bad case of chicken pox, the itchy patches extending inside his body in ways his ten-year-old brain had never imagined. It had been horrible and painful and pretty much the definition of misery for most of his life, only being replaced by one or two incidents involving a lemon.

"Severe allergic reaction," Gordon had told him. "We'll monitor him, treat his symptoms and keep him comfortable. He should be fine in a day or two."

Meanwhile Rodney was alternating between watching Sheppard sleep and watching Dr. Gordon and his staff prepare a scratch test based on everything Sheppard had come in contact with in the thirty minutes before his reaction.

"Only thirty minutes?" Rodney pressed, eyes stuck on a particularly nasty hive just under Sheppard's eye.

"You wouldn't believe the number of items we need to test already, Dr. McKay," he assured calmly. "If we don't find anything, we'll go back further. All of your food has been packaged and sealed for testing too."

"Fine," Rodney muttered and went back to sitting in his uncomfortable chair and poking listlessly at his laptop.

******

"Relax, Rodney," Sheppard slurred at him.

"Why are you talking?" Rodney didn't look up from his very important graph. "There are tiny little bumps inside your throat; some people might take that as a signal to not talk."

"Some people are just sheep," Sheppard whispered and then coughed dramatically.

"For God's sake," Rodney muttered and put down his laptop. "Here," he said and grabbed a plastic cup and poured some water from a nearby pitcher. "Try not to choke on your own saliva."

"Thanks," Sheppard said gratefully, clumsily taking the cup from his hand, scraping against Rodney's fingers before finally closing securely around the plastic.

"This is what you get for stealing an innocent person's coffee," Rodney said, watching Sheppard sip his water, blissful face deepening with each drop.

"Sharing is caring Rodney." Sheppard took another sip.

"You really are twelve."

"Maybe." He carefully put the cup down on the nearby table, eyes still closed. "Any idea what happened?"

Rodney bit his lip and shrugged. "Welcome to my world Colonel. Want your EpiPen engraved?"

"Does it come in gold?" Sheppard coughed and frowned.

"More water?" Rodney reached for the cup.

Sheppard shook his head. "No, Rodney." He coughed again. "Get the doctor...." This time it ended in a wheeze. His color was changing the definition near his chin was starting to soften.

Oh shit, a secondary reaction.

"Gordon! He's having another reaction!"

They swarmed, like a group of white-coated freaky insects, gathered around Sheppard's bed, buzzing and clicking in a cacophony of sounds that meshed together before they even hit Rodney's ears. All he could do was watch and wait and stare pointlessly at the thin line on the heart monitor, as Sheppard's body fought to keep going.

******

"He had a multiphasic reaction, that is--"

"Yes, I know what that is," Rodney interrupted. "Are you sure that's what it was?"

"Dr. McKay," Caldwell said. He was now in on it too, since it was sort of his business to know what was going on with the incapacitation of the second-highest-ranking officer. "While the depth and breadth of your knowledge is astonishing and awe-inspiring, perhaps you could give the rest of us a little time to catch up?" He nodded to the doctor to continue speaking.

"Basically, his body wasn't done having an allergic reaction," Gordon finished, throwing Rodney a sour look.

"You're assuming it was a reaction to the original cause." Rodney looked sour right back. "Which you can't know because you haven't figured out what caused it yet!" He waved a finger in triumph.

Caldwell nodded slowly. "He does have a point."

Rodney crossed his arm and smiled grimly. Yes, he did have a point. He always had a point.

"I can't very well test him in his condition," Gordon said, hugging his clipboard close to his chest. "We'll note everything that goes near him, but if Dr. McKay is right, other than clothing and soap and detergents the only thing that is truly consistent is water." He looked thoughtful. "Or possibly air, but I doubt that one based on the pattern of reactions."

Rodney snorted, yeah right, water. Then he froze in slowly dawning horror. Water. Was that possible? He checked his watch, three hours until they were in range of Atlantis and he could talk to a real voodoo practitioner and not just a charlatan like this Gordon guy.

******

"So I've been thinking about how cool it would be to live life in a bubble." Sheppard looked only slightly better than last time; that might have something to do with the super-clean room and the new rules being enforced. "I mean, I could probably get people to do stuff for me."

"Bring you food," Ronon offered from his corner.

Rodney tried not to look at him. He kept reminding him of a big, walking condom, which was not something he really needed to think about.

"Yeah!" Sheppard said brightly. "Though with my luck I'm probably allergic to salt."

Rodney made a face, "That would actually really suck, but I think it's highly unlikely." He shifted around in his seat again. The damn suits they had to wear were uncomfortable and creaky.

"Yeah, but it'd be better than water." Sheppard pouted, his lower lip jutting out slightly, shining in the overhead light.

"Probably not," Rodney muttered and the turned to Ronon. "I can't believe you slept through all of that."

He shrugged. "I was tired."

Of course he was.

The silence descended on them awkwardly and there was no possibility of a casual hello from someone in the background, not with the twenty-minute public shower and stripping that was needed to get into the room.

So the loud hissing sound of an airlock opening and closing came as a relief to Rodney, who was just about to go insane from staring the small patches of flaky skin all over Sheppard's face, a slowly fading remnant of the hives.

It was Dr. Gordon. "And how are you feeling?"

"Well enough for a laptop?" Sheppard looked hopeful.

A black rectangle appeared on Sheppard's lap. "Dusted and vacuumed to within an inch of its life." Gordon nodded. "You've pretty much been cleared for basic plastics and polymers, in a few hours we'll have the results of about 30 different substances to see if we can narrow it down further and possibly provide you with some food that you can eat with a fork."

******

"Carson! Thank God, I was starting to fear for my own life with this guy in charge of the medical care!" Rodney wanted to hug him he was so happy to see him.

Sheppard had been transported directly from his clean room on the ship to a newly prepped room on Atlantis; however, Carson had taken a detour to grab Sheppard's medical files personally.

"Now Rodney, I'm sure Dr. Gordon has done everything he can with the limited resources on the Daedalus," Carson said absently.

Rodney's eyes narrowed and he clicked his heels together in frustration. "You people and your non-specific answers." He knew when he was being placated. He poked Carson in the chest. "I don't know what I was thinking when the idea that you might be able to help sprang to mind."

"Rodney." Carson's eyes narrowed. "Let's not insult the man who does your annual physicals."

"I want a new doctor!" Rodney shot over his shoulder, already walking out of the room.

Walking down the corridors, Rodney could recognize that he was worried. Okay, possibly more than worried. Sheppard had perked back up just twenty-four hours after his last reaction, looking downright bored by the time they'd made it to Atlantis, but Rodney didn't like that they hadn't been able to find anything the man was allergic to. Not even fungus. Who wasn't allergic to fungus? The freak.

In the distance he heard the thundering of footsteps; automatically Rodney moved to the side of the corridor, not really wanting to be run over. The Marines had a habit of resembling a Mack truck, all lumped together when they ran. They also had a habit of running right over you if you weren't paying attention.

Turning the corner, however, Rodney saw that it was not a group of marines getting their exercise on, but a medical team racing through the city, gurney in hand.

Rodney blinked. While medical emergencies weren't exactly unknown on Atlantis, it was still a little unusual.

"Where are you headed?" He shouted to the group, already feet past him.

"South Pier!"

Huh, where the Daedalus had landed for repairs. Maybe someone had gotten a crate dropped on them or something.

Then a horrible, horrible thought occurred to him.

He ran all the way back, making it just in time to see them strap the oxygen mask over Carson's face. He was conscious at least, and that was some comfort. Rodney leaned against a wall and closed his eyes. Okay, maybe he was being paranoid, overreacting, or possibly guessing past his own knowledge. It could happen. Possibly.

When Rodney made it to the infirmary, Carson was still conscious and fighting with Dr. Gordon. "Look, monitor my vitals if you want, but let me work. It's not nearly as bad as Colonel Sheppard's reaction."

"Yes." Gordon nodded, still holding Carson down with a single hand to his shoulder. "But that doesn't mean diddly when we don't know what caused it."

"I may have an answer to that," Rodney spoke up, wringing his hands. "I'm fully prepared to be wrong on this one."

Carson looked at Rodney, eyebrow raised. "Are you now? Okay then, what's your sound medical opinion?" He coughed a little and swallowed two pills that Gordon handed him before taking a few more deep breaths from the mask in front of him.

"Uh...I think...that is...it might be...." Rodney grimaced. "Me."

"You?" Gordon went for disbelief.

Carson on the other hand, obviously more used to the really fucking unusual, just tilted his head curiously. "Hmm. Okay then, come here and shake my hand."

"What?" Rodney backed away from Carson, because the man had obviously gone certifiable while he was gone. "No thank you, Doctor Insane Person."

Gordon renewed his effort to keep Carson on the gurney.

Carson pushed at the hand on his chest. "Look, if Rodney's right, then this was caused by very little contact, through clothing even. Let's repeat the conditions and see what happens. I can handle a little respiratory distress for a couple of hours."

"He's obviously lost it," Rodney said, still backing up.

Gordon shrugged, looking mildly defeated and still very close to just sedating Carson outright. "It'll be quicker than a blood test."

"Oh that's it! You've all snapped!"

"Rodney! Just touch my bloody leg!"

"That is the worst come-on line I've ever heard," Rodney said, slowly inching forward. The closer he got, the surer he was that the Wraith had honed their sense of irony to a razor-sharp point. "Are you sure?"

"Yes, Rodney." Carson rolled his eyes. "Grope me like fifteen-year-old on his first date."

"I'll have you know--"

"Rodney!!"

"Fine! God, I know some find me irresistible but you could have just sent flowers!" He reached out to touch, just under Carson's knee. It was awkward; who touches another person's leg with ten other people watching? Twelve if you included those nurses in the far corner.

"Carson?" Thirteen. Elizabeth appeared, looking worried. "What happened."

"We're working on that right now. You can let go, Rodney."

He snatched his hand back and stuffed them both in his pockets, trying to become as small as possible. If he was correct, he didn't want to take any chances, so he backed up into a corner.

"We are?" Elizabeth raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Yes." Carson nodded, reaching for his mask again. "I think we just figured it out...." He wheezed horribly. "Might want to get some adrenaline." He whispered to Gordon.

"You're a very stupid doctor!" Rodney yelled from his corner.

******

Rodney finished taping the edges of his gloves down and sighed. He rolled his sleeves over the tape and flexed his fingers. This was going to suck, but at least he wouldn't have to worry about his hands so much.

Also, Carson was seriously the worst doctor ever. "Extra genes?"

"Yes. When creating the gene therapy, I had to choose very specific bits of information to copy. I was pressed for time, among other things, and I didn't have the time to fully explore every nook and cranny of ATA expression."

"Great," Rodney said, "now what?"

"Now I explore." Carson was already back on his feet; John too, only he was staying on the other side of the room. "And you be careful. I don't know how long this will take."

"Great." Rodney sighed. "Call me if you need another gallon of blood." He left, head down and hands in his pockets.

******

First order of business was to reassign every member of the science lab who had a natural expression of the gene. There was another lab open down the corridor that would work out nicely.

The next step was to put a box of gloves and a several rolls of tape anywhere he spent any amount of time. It wasn't worth wearing them all the time, because he could still accidentally set someone off, but they would be good to have around.

Third was to find Colonel Sheppard. He took his time about that one, not really looking forward to the conversation.

"So, I guess I quit the team," Rodney blurted when he did find Sheppard leaning heavily on a railing on one of the balconies.

"Temporary displacement." Sheppard smiled. "Carson will figure it out."

"Sure." Rodney moved as far away from Sheppard as the small balcony would allow. "Of course he will."

It was awkward and it made Rodney's stomach unhappy. A tension was palpable in the air, and something strange was creeping just under Rodney's skin. "So I guess...I'll see you around...."

"Yeah," Sheppard breathed, "I'll see you."

Rodney left because he couldn't stay, even if he wasn't sure why.

******

They didn't see each other, though, and it wasn't really unexpected. Senior staff meetings, of course, where Sheppard and Carson sat on the extreme other end of the table and waited for Rodney to leave first instead of attempting to walk past him. In the mess, where Rodney had become a sort of pariah, as too many of the tables had mixed groups; they'd gotten nearly two dozen natural carriers, and as much as Rodney wanted to complain, it was easier to relocate one man than twenty-four.

Finally, they saw each other in the corridors, where Sheppard would nod and Rodney would stuff his hands in his pockets and his chest would squeeze tightly.

Around day four, he admitted he was lonely.

Carson and Sheppard were out of the question and Zelenka had suddenly become very busy as the new go-between Rodney and the natural carriers in the city. Also as the new guy in Sheppard's team, and didn't that grate just a little bit.

Rodney wasn't one to sulk, but if he had been, he figured he'd never have a better reason.

The surprise came later that night when Sheppard arrived with gloves, two masks, and a chess set.

"Are you nuts?" Rodney asked, stepping back from the doorway hastily.

"Nah, just figured you might want some company. Here, catch." He threw the mask at Rodney. "Chess?"

"What is this?"

"It's a mask; it goes over your mouth." Sheppard mimed putting it on. "Come on, put it on."

"This is stupid," Rodney protested, putting it on and grabbing his own pair of gloves as well. They wouldn't help too much if he and Sheppard weren't careful, but they made Rodney feel better nonetheless.

Sheppard set the board up and then nabbed two pawns and hid them behind his back. "Left or right?" He looked ridiculous, all zipped up and hidden in his coat, mask covering his mouth, eyes blinking expectantly.

"No seriously, are you insane?" Rodney sat down.

"Fine, I'll be white," Sheppard said, starting to move his arms.

"Put those hands back!" Rodney narrowed his eyes. "Fine. Left."

"Cool," Sheppard smiled. He got to be white anyway.

******

"Carson any closer to figuring out what happened?" Sheppard moved his knight.

"The Wraith," Rodney said, studying the board. "He thinks I'm patient zero, so to speak. A test case." He frowned. "Don't you read the memos? Or stay awake during the senior staff meetings?"

"Huh." Sheppard nodded. "Maybe and yes. I meant in more detail, Rodney."

"Who ever understands what that man is talking about?" Rodney shrugged and moved a pawn.

"Got a mission tomorrow," John said, not looking up from the board. The fake nonchalance was a little annoying.

"Yeah, good luck with that."

"Yeah."

******

"So then the priestess offered us the equivalent of several hundred pounds of that potato-like thing in exchange for Zelenka." Sheppard laughed and moved a piece on the board.

"Why didn't you take it?" Rodney frowned. Damn it, Sheppard might be beating him. Again.

"I don't trade personnel for anything less than ancient tech or an entire ton of cargo," Sheppard said mildly.

"Hrmm, good priorities." Rodney smiled, reaching out carelessly, pulling back barely in time. "Sorry," he mumbled. The impulse beat restlessly under his skin.

Sheppard didn't say anything and Rodney, frantic, moved the first piece he could think of and then winced because it gave Sheppard check in twelve moves. Crap. Long, gloved fingers carefully moved a pawn. Rodney blinked. If hadn't know better, he could have sworn Sheppard had deliberately sabotaged his own game.

"Your move, Rodney," Sheppard said, leaning back in his chair.

Okay, then. Sure. He studied the board, narrowed his eyes and made a move that made him cringe. Sheppard smiled at him and bent forward with renewed enthusiasm.

It was the worst game of chess Rodney had ever played, and he wouldn't have traded it for anything in the universe.

******

It took a few days, but Rodney noticed that Teyla and Ronon had started hovering more than usual. At first it made a little bit of sense; Ronon took over firearms practice and Teyla made sure he got a little bit of exercise everyday.

He got suspicious, though, when they both tried to make plans with him within hours of each other.

"I'm trying to figure out if you're an incredibly clever evil mastermind, or an incredibly bad one," Rodney said conversationally that evening during their chess game. The entire team had been off-world for two days, only getting in late the previous evening, so Rodney was practically starving for the company.

"What are you talking about, Rodney?" Sheppard bit his lip and carefully moved his queen.

"Like you aren't in charge of the Rodney McKay Friends Network." Rodney frowned. Damn. He might lose.

"Maybe." Sheppard shrugged.

"Maybe what?" Ah ha, there. He moved a piece.

"Maybe I worry," Sheppard said quietly.

Well, that truly shot his concentration. The bastard.

******

Oddly enough, Rodney hadn't figured on needing to be rescued while confined to Atlantis. Which was stupid, but he'd spent the last few weeks worried that Sheppard. Teyla, Ronon, and Zelenka would come through the gate in various states of bad health that it simply hadn't occurred to him that he might have the same problems, only without the off-world activity.

Also, whoever's project exploded was so fired.

Something was pinning his leg down, but he could still move his toes so he was only mildly panicking. He pulled, dragging his body across the floor, his leg slowly coming free. Long sweaty minutes later, he lay panting on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

"Rodney, this is Sheppard, do you read?"

The voice sounded far away, and that was when he realized the blast had knocked his radio out of his ear. He reached for it and put it back on. "Rodney here. What the hell happened?"

"Are you okay? We're working our way in, but a lot of tunnels are blocked without power." Sheppard sounded out of breath.

"Something landed on my leg, but I'm free." He touched his temple. "And oh wow, blood. That would explain the headache."

"We'll be there in ten. If you can, clear any debris by the door. Sheppard out."

With that, the radio channel was closed. Rodney spent his time moving away from the door and trying not to throw up. When the door did open, it startled him enough to make him jump and his head spin. "God what took so--"

It was Sheppard standing there, gloved and masked.

"Are you insane?" Rodney backed away.

"Come on, Rodney. They're on their way, but Zelenka is fixing the power and there was only one viable route, and guess who was near the starting point."

"No, we can wait, really." Rodney curled up on his side and realized his ribs ached a little to.

"It might take a while and I'd really rather get you out of this room and into the hallway where there's less of a chance of things falling on you. Why were you working all the way over here anyway?"

Because it was easier than avoiding people. "Fine. But no touching."

"Rodney, I've got some antihistamines and an EpiPen in my jacket. Take my hand and let's get you out of here."

Rodney eyed Sheppard's hand and took it warily only to be hauled up onto his feet unexpectedly. "Whoa, wait!" He listed to the left only to find Sheppard bracing him. "Come on."

They made it out of the room, only when Rodney tried to pull away, Sheppard just held on tight and kept moving. "What the--"

"Keep walking, Rodney," Sheppard said grimly.

There was an arm around his waist, supporting him when his leg couldn't, and Rodney was too dizzy to hold himself away from Sheppard's body for any length of time. "But--you--"

"Keep walking." Rodney couldn't decide if the slight rasp had always been there when talking through the masks, or if Sheppard was starting to have a reaction.

That's when the world exploded again and Rodney found himself on the ground, Sheppard piled on top of him. "What the hell just happened?"

"Secondary power coupling in the area was building up a charge," Sheppard told him, climbing off.

"And you couldn't tell me this before?" Rodney pushed off his stomach, happy to give his ribs a break.

"It seemed easier to tell you after." Sheppard leaned against his own wall and popped two pills under his mask, carefully not touching them with his gloved hands.

Worried, Rodney watched him swallow. "You okay?"

"Precaution only," Sheppard said before tapping his radio. "We're fine, just waiting for the cavalry."

"How are you fine?" Rodney asked. They'd been all over each other, more so than when he'd gotten Carson sick.

"Now who doesn't read the memos and pay attention?" Sheppard smiled. "Carson slipped you a little something this morning."

Rodney blinked and thought back. Oh, so that had been why he'd shown up in the room. "I'm a little put out that they didn't tell me."

"They did," Sheppard said, moving his legs until they were stretched out straight in front of him. "You were just ignoring them, which is a little strange for you."

Rodney was not going to admit to a bout of melancholy that had taken up most of his thoughts during his morning visit. "Well, the bloodletting was getting routine; I stopped paying attention after they stuck me with the needle."

Sheppard let it go and just shrugged. "How's your head?"

"Bleeding." Rodney frowned. "I hope I didn't lose too much blood."

"You didn't lose too much blood." He rummaged through his vest, pulling out some bandages. "Hold on."

Sheppard scooted over to Rodney and broke open a sterile wipe. Rodney reached out to take it, but was surprised when Sheppard just moved to carefully dab at his temple.

"Can't see it anyway," Sheppard answered his unspoken question. He dabbed some more, the cold feeling good on the over-warm skin by the injury. "Yeah, just a nasty cut; maybe some bruising," Sheppard said quietly.

"Oh...good," Rodney murmured, eyes closed. He could still feel the heat of Sheppard next to him.

"Yeah." Sheppard moved the wipe a bit more. "How're you feeling?"

Hadn't they covered this? "Dizzy," Rodney mumbled. "And my leg is throbbing."

"Carson will fix you right up."

The brush of a latex covered finger across his temple startled Rodney's eyes open. "No he won't." Sheppard was right there, next to him, hand still working gently at his temple.

"Right." Sheppard's eyes looked shadowed and away. "The whole...thing."

"Maybe he's got it solved?" Rodney suggested, because somehow that small bit of hope warmed him in the pit of his stomach. Sheppard's eyes glowed, and small smile graced his lips. "That'd be nice."

Anything else they might've said was interrupted by the sound of feet running through the corridors.

******

They didn't have it solved, just sort of...worked around. The genetic equivalent of allergy shots, only they were for Rodney and not the people actually allergic to him. They all still needed gloves and to avoid skin to skin contact, or something like sharing a cup of coffee, but they didn't have to worry that Rodney might kill them by being in the same room.

It was a mixed blessing. Rodney still sat away from the ATAs when eating; didn't anyone realize how much spit left the mouth when simply speaking?

When Sheppard showed for their evening round of chess, Rodney breathed a deep sigh of relief. He hadn't been sure. Their conversation in the hallway had left Rodney feeling raw, bursting under his skin with something he couldn't quite define.

They skipped the masks; the small amount of exposure that would give Sheppard wasn't something they needed to worry about anymore.

"How's the head?" Sheppard made the first move.

"Good. Extremely intelligent," Rodney added for good measure.

Then came the awkward silence.

Only Rodney couldn't leave it at that. "So what would you have done if Carson hadn't had his little breakthrough that morning?"

Sheppard carefully moved a piece around. "Exactly the same thing. There wasn't anyone any closer."

"And die of anaphylaxis while you're at it?" Rodney pressed, not actually angry, but strangely flattered.

"I told you, I was prepared." Sheppard continued to study the board intently. "No one was going to die."

"It's not a pleasant experience," Rodney noted, almost absently, staring at the top of Sheppard's head so that when Sheppard did finally look up, their eyes met.

"You really think I'd let you die because I might spend a few minutes having a hard time breathing?"

Rodney grimaced, of course not. "I'm sorry.... I don't know what I thought."

They stared at each other for a long moment before Sheppard admitted, "I might've done it even without being prepared."

"Oh." Rodney swallowed roughly. His fingers twitched.

"Your move," Sheppard said, eyes still firmly on Rodney.

"I--" His fingers tapped restlessly on the table and his heart hammered madly. "I--concede." He tipped his king over gently. "I'm very tired and I think I should get some sleep." He stood abruptly and faked a yawn that wasn't anywhere near natural and waited patiently.

"Okay, Rodney." Sheppard stood quickly. "Get some sleep."

******

They didn't play chess the next night. Of course, Sheppard was off-world, but little details like that didn't seem to work their way through the uncomfortable feeling in Rodney's chest.

The team came back early the second day after having missed two check-ins and Rodney was just about ready to set something on fire with his eyes. All four of them looked dirty, bruised, and tired. Ronon had a patch of blood on his pants, Teyla had a long scratch down her arm, Zelenka's face had half a dozen really small ones, and Sheppard--Sheppard was limping slowly, holding his side and doing his best to resemble a walking bruise.

Rodney hurried down the stairs, "What the hell happened?"

"Native rock slide," Sheppard muttered.

"What?"

"They threw rocks at us," Ronon clarified.

Teyla rolled her neck. "It was very unexpected."

"It was insanity," Radek threw in.

Rodney gaped. "They stoned you?" He reached out, touching Sheppard's shoulder briefly. He wanted to ask 'What did you do?' only it never got out because Sheppard just looked so tired and hurt. "Are you bleeding internally?" He asked instead.

He never got an answer because Teyla grabbed an arm around Sheppard and dragged him away, looking wide-eyed and terrified. What? Sheppard was still looking at him, only his expression was slowly starting to melt into 'oh crap' also. His eyes darted down to Rodney's hands.

Fuck. He wasn't wearing gloves. Shoving them as far into his pockets as he could manage, Rodney stalked off too angry to spit.

******

"I’m so sorry."

Sheppard was pale and half asleep in the gurney. "Hey, no biggie."

"Carson, I think he has brain damage." Rodney shuffled away from both of them, using Ronon has a human gene shield.

"He's fine," Carson said, "and he's right; we've managed to reduce the reaction drastically. He had nearly half an hour before it became acute."

"You know, I'd expect more worry from a doctor about things like respiratory distress." Rodney frowned, clenching his now-latex-covered hands inside his pockets.

"I'm fine," Sheppard said again. "Really. I just want to sleep it off."

"Fine," Rodney huffed, leaving the room.

******

Rodney paced outside of Sheppard's door for a bit, not really sure why he was there. The chess board was tucked under his arm, digging softly into his ribs.

"Is this some sort of new exercise regimen?"

Rodney jumped, spun, and nearly lost the board to the ground. Sheppard was leaning casually against his open doorway. He also looked tired enough to drop into sleep right there on the spot. There was a bruise peeking out from under the collar of his shirt and another only half-hidden by his short sleeves.

"Because if it is," Sheppard went on, "I'm going to have to ask it happen somewhere I can't hear the loud clonking footsteps."

"I do not clonk!" Rodney said indignantly.

Sheppard raised an eyebrow.

"I don't!"

"Don't get me wrong, I applaud the effort; anything that gets a good hustle from my team is something I'm going to approve of." Sheppard pushed off the door jamb with a small wince. "But it's sort of keeping me up."

Rodney grimaced, watching Sheppard limp slowly back into his room and sighed, getting ready to go.

"You coming in or what?" Sheppard was already putting on his coat and covering up.

Automatically Rodney stepped in far enough to let the door close behind him. "I uh...I thought maybe...." He held up the board, as if it hadn't been obvious before.

"Not afraid you're going to kill me?" Sheppard tossed over his shoulder, sounding angry. He was turned away, rummaging through his closet.

"Deathly," Rodney answered truthfully. "Every second of every day." And wow that actually felt good to say. It had been eating at him slowly since he'd first figured out what was wrong.

"Rodney." Sheppard sighed, his shoulders rolling.

"I can't think about it really," Rodney went on, words tumbling out of his mouth uncontrollably, like some sort of volatile experiment gone horribly wrong. "It's too scary and I have enough scary where I am, thank you very much, without thinking that I'd killed--" He choked. "That I'd killed--" He didn't have the words and that was enough to make him even more unsettled than he had already been feeling.

"Rodney." Sheppard was there, right next to him, looking concerned and Rodney just couldn't take that. He was fucking Typhoid Mary in this situation and Sheppard should be far away, not coming to his room every night trying to make him feel better. What the hell was wrong with him?

"I couldn't live with it," Rodney said. "You have to stop coming closer." He took a step back as Sheppard took a step forward. "No really, you have to stop, because I couldn't live with it if you--if I--" Choked; he was choked and out of words.

"You know, you actually touch me...kind of a lot," Sheppard said, staying, thank God, where he was.

Rodney had one horrified moment where he imagined Sheppard needing to be dragged to the infirmary numerous times because Rodney had been careless.

"I mean." Sheppard shrugged. "Before the whole thing."

Rodney glared, heart calming down slowly. "Past imperfect. Look it up."

"I bet you had classmates who plotted your death," Sheppard said, sitting gingerly on the bed.

"So?" Didn't everyone?

Head hanging limply, Sheppard sighed. "So I think I missed it. Which is pretty disconcerting."

"Missed plotting my death?"

Sheppard looked up, eyes narrow. "Yes, actually, now that you mention it."

"Wait." Rodney shook his head. "What?"

"I," Sheppard said, drawing the vowel out, "missed," he went on, slowly pronouncing the word, "you."

"Oh."

"Oh." Sheppard nodded. "I thought that maybe you...."

"I?" Rodney needed to sit down, before he fell down. With the sudden release of tension he hadn't known he'd been carrying, his legs felt like day old Jell-o.

"Yeah, sorry."

"No!" Rodney yelled and then he really did sit, the nearest chair hitting the backs of his thighs hard. "I--that is--miss--" He couldn't finish mostly because he wasn't sure what he'd missed at all. He didn't think you could miss something you'd never actually had.

They stared at each other and Rodney wasn't going to move, not only because he could still kill Sheppard with one wrong breath, but because he wasn’t really sure what was happening in the first place.

"So I figured," Sheppard finally spoke, "hey, chess. Only that made it worse."

"I want," Rodney whispered, idea only half formed, "I want to, well...I’m not sure."

"Yeah. Me too," Sheppard said raising a glove covered hand and reaching out.

Rodney let his hand stretch and then his arm until their fingertips grazed, heat and sensation blasting through their four layers of covering, wrenching a gasp out of both of them.

Color high in Sheppard's cheeks, he lowered his eyes. "Okay so...this is probably the worst timing...ever."

"Maybe." Rodney's voice had suddenly gone rough and deep and his entire body felt tense. "Though I still say the incident with the playboy and my grandmother still beats this."

"You know, I don't think I really want to know." Sheppard smiled and it was like some circuit in Rodney's body had finally found on because it warmed him to the tips of his toes.

"I don't really want to know." Rodney's mouth curved up, delight dancing across his nerves. He shouldn't be happy; he should be frustrated and angry and scared.

"I want to touch you," Sheppard said so suddenly that it made Rodney's mouth dry, the words dripping from his lips like silk from skin.

And there was the frustration and anger and fear.

"Can I?" Sheppard asked, already standing.

"Do you want to die?" Rodney was scrambling out of his chair. "Because we already established that I don't want you to die so if--"

"Rodney," Sheppard said, voice low and frustrated, "gloves?" He waved his hand around. "We're good as long as we're careful. Just touching." He smiled nervously. "Not like I'd know what to do if--" He cut himself off.

It took Rodney a full five seconds to finish that sentence and another couple to recover from how hot that was. "You mean you haven't-- that is I'm the-- You haven't and I'm the first?"

"Maybe." Sheppard crossed his arms looking mulish.

"Sorry!" Rodney quickly amended. "Sorry, sorry! I just...don't get hit on by hot, straight pilots everyday."

"Hot?" Sheppard perked up and then frowned. "Okay just so we're clear, I wouldn't be doing this just for the fun of an aborted one night stand."

He just looked so...something standing there, arms crossed, head down, shoulders tense and Rodney's heart leapt into his throat and something heavy churned in his gut. "Okay so...protracted courting. That might be fun."

"Courting?" Sheppard looked wary.

"Get you used to the whole thing while I have a very good reason not to jump you and freak you out totally." He actually shocked himself with that one, because he hadn't really admitted to himself that was what he wanted to do yet, let alone being ready to admit it to Sheppard.

Sheppard's eyebrows sort of separated and then smooshed together in the middle of his face. "Okay...yeah. That sounds...good." Slowly he reached out until his arm was fully extended. They weren't quite close enough for only that movement to allow touch, but Sheppard wasn't doing anything else, just waiting.

Oh. He took a tentative step forward until he felt two hot spots appear on his chest and Sheppard's fingers slid around a pectoral muscle slowly. "Oh," he breathed out, shuddering slightly. When had that gotten to be a turn on?

Slide up and around, the entire flat of Sheppard's hand just moving in lazy circles, maddeningly hot circles over Rodney's jacket, pushing in gently, tripping over a nipple. Sheppard made a small "oh" at Rodney's gasp and he did it again, another electric jolt of pleasure down Rodney's spine.

"Can I?" Rodney reached out, fingertips grazing Sheppard's stomach.

Sheppard's "yes" was low and breathy, and after that how could Rodney keep him waiting? He touched slowly, staying well away from any skin, tracing circles, outlining muscle, just like Sheppard was doing to him.

By the time the wonder of touching was starting to fade, and that was really only in comparison to when they first started, they were both breathing hard, sweat beading on their foreheads. Rodney's cock was also aching pleasantly.

"Okay," Rodney announced, "the real thing might kill me."

Sheppard swallowed and nodded, pressing forward, forcing Rodney's hand into firmer contact. "But what a way to go." He grinned and then his lips softened just slightly. "Rodney," he almost sighed, letting his hand slide to the side, resting gently on Rodney's waist.

"Colonel?" Rodney shook his head. "John?"

"That's my name." Sheppard nodded, face going even softer. "I want...well I'm not sure how to get what I want...."

"You know what you want?" Rodney asked, not just to be frustrating but because he was having enough trouble figuring it out himself.

"Maybe a little." Sheppard bit his lip and the space between his eyebrows creased. "Wait...I know." He stepped back and went to his closet, pulling out a poncho.

"What on earth are you doing with that there?"

"Leftover from the scavenger hunt." Sheppard--John, maybe--shrugged. "Put it on and don't forget to pull the drawstring tight around your face. Hide in it if you can."

Rodney had a pretty good idea of what Shepp--John had in mind. He slipped the light plastic over his head and snapped the sides for good measure. Gently and before Rodney could reach for it, Sheppard picked up the tip of the hood and lowered it over Rodney's head, fingers slowly pulling the drawstring tight.

They both took shaky breaths before Rodney got the nerve to speak. "Now what?"

Reaching out, John put a hand on his shoulder and nudged him around until he was facing the window and then slowly heat coalesced at his back and he could feel John press gently against him.

When arms wound their way around his waist and the sweet weight of John's chin on his shoulder settled, Rodney let out a quiet "oh."

"God," Sheppard said, and Rodney imagined feeling the hot moisture of exhalation on his cheek.

They stood there for long minutes, breathing and pressing and moving restlessly against each other, John's hands never still against Rodney's stomach and chest and hips. It was all muted and strange, and Rodney had to concentrate to feel it all, to get every last bit of actual sensation and his mind filled in the rest.

John's head eventually moved--tilted, from what Rodney could feel--but he still gasped in surprise when he felt the careful movement of a kiss against his shoulder. Then another and another, slowly moving across his back, Rodney's fingers dug between John's lacing them together and then tugging him closer, hoping to get more sensation, more feeling, more--something.

John's gasp shuddered against him and the sudden flurry of movements, uncontrolled and then gone, made Rodney groan and reach back with his free hand, guiding John's hips back against his, snug and sweet. He could feel the temperature difference, the extra firmness, and John's slowly cracking restraint.

"Rodney," John panted into his neck, nuzzling carefully. The heat blazed through all the layers and into Rodney's over-sensitized skin.

"John." His voice was almost gone, caught in the back of his throat. He staggered a few feet to the left, taking John along with him until he could brace one arm against the wall. "Yes. Please." Permission, practically begging him to do what he wanted, what Rodney thought of bitterly as a mockery of what they really wanted.

Behind him, John melted against him, arms holding tight, shaking slightly until it morphed into a slowly moving sway. John's choked moans heavy in his ear, he could feel hips slowly swaying into his body, long hard drags against clothing that left them both shuddering with want.

Rodney rocked with him, his cock rubbing against a seam inside his pants, the sweet friction only ramping him up further, making him forget all the things he wasn't supposed to do.

He made a sound, a half choked moan, when John's thrusts got rougher, needier. Rodney wound his own hand down between himself and the wall and pressed and rubbed and panted in time.

Suddenly, John stopped and Rodney stood there twitching a little at the sudden change. "What?" he asked, only his voice was so deep he barely recognized it.

"Nothing," John said quietly. "I just--" He moved, the hand that been holding Rodney's hip steady made slow progress towards the front of his pants. "I just want you to--"

"Oh--please," Rodney gasped, feeling the slow crawl of heat towards his cock. "I mean, you don't have to." Because John was new to this--and oh, he shuddered remembering that--and he didn't want to freak him out. "I mean, you don't have to but I--oh. Yes." It was a sigh.

John stroked tentatively, palm running up and then down, feeling out the shape and weight. "This good?"

Rodney nodded frantically. "Just, here--" He adjusted the hand. "Just need a place to thrust."

Shuddering violently, John made a half choked noise. "God, okay yeah," he said and started moving again. Quick half thrusts that pushed Rodney into John's hand; perfect little thrusts that just tingled up his spine and melted his brain a little with each one.

Endless pleasure, because it was all dulled just a bit by the layers of fabric between them until it was one long, hazy, pleasurable ride. Hot panting just outside his ear, heat grinding between their bodies, John's cock burning through their clothing till Rodney could feel every ridge.

A quiet litany of babble reached Rodney's ears: John's voice, low and rough, repeating things over and over again, Rodney's name slowly becoming the predominant feature. John's movements got a little bit harsher, a little stronger, a little shorter until finally he froze for a long second and then clamped both arms around Rodney so tightly Rodney imagined he could feel John's orgasm.

Rodney wanted to come, he wanted to come so badly his eyes were crossing with the thought, but he let John's breathing come back without complaint.

"Hey," John rasped finally, "you?"

"No." He tried not to whine, but God, he really needed to come; he ached all over and his cock was so hard it almost hurt. "Please?"

"Yeah, come here," John's hand snaked back into position, only better; the heel of his hand was a perfect place for Rodney to nudge at with his cock, but now John added in some counter movement and it made Rodney slump against the wall it was so good. "I've got you," John said. "Come on, I've got you."

Rodney pushed harder and faster, and felt the tension crawl up his back and finally explode into white hot sparks behind his eyelids and then fade out slowly into a haze of un-fucking-believably good orgasm.

They both sank to the ground together, which was good because Rodney's legs weren't going to hold him up much longer.

"You okay there?" John's arms tightened around him briefly.

Rodney closed his eyes and breathed in John as much as he could, the air around them thick with sweat, and he fought the urge to turn and bury his face in John's shoulder. He felt--hollow. Empty. "We shouldn't do this again."

Behind him, John stiffened, any bit of relaxation instantly gone. "What?" He sounded angry. Dangerous.

"Not like this," Rodney clarified. "I can't do it like this again."

John relaxed. "Yeah, I see where you're coming from."

Rodney laughed, a loud bark unexpectedly burbling out from him. "God, you do don't you?"

"Yep," John snickered.

They didn't move until Rodney's knees and back genuinely complained louder than the good, bone-deep feeling of post-coital bliss could blot out. They separated slowly, Rodney peeling off the poncho and stuffing it into the clothes cleaner before realizing he was drenched with slowly drying sweat and his pants had a fun stain on the front. He tugged his shirt down and shrugged; it was good enough to get to his own room.

They stood, facing each other for long seconds.

"Take the chess set," John said, pointing at it. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Rodney smiled slowly, snagging the board, possibly holding it a little bit further toward the front than normal.

More staring at John's soft grin and his searching eyes. "No freaking out, okay?"

"Maybe later." John nodded. "But I'll let you know first."

"Good," Rodney said, swallowing heavily. "I'll just uh...." He stepped close enough for the door to open. "Tomorrow."

"Yep."

The door closed between them with a quiet snick.

******

Part 2

SGA: Everything Except Temptation, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 1/1

2006-07-06T08:10:10Z

Title: Everything Except Temptation
Author: amireal with large contributions from everagaby.
Rating: NC-17, ~4200 words
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
A/N: Dedicated to z_rayne who is doing nefarious things in exchange for porn. *koff* Also beta'd by z_rayne. Complete coincidence. I swear.

Summary: "Are you kicking me out of my own room?"

"Rodney," Sheppard gasps, "please." His head is down, he's looking slightly away and there's a slow flush crawling up to the tips of his ears.

"What?" Rodney asks, still unbuckling and unstrapping his field gear. He has to sleep in his clothes but he'll be damned if he's going to sleep in that god-awful stuff.

"Go," Sheppard's voice cracks, "for a little while. Commune with Teyla, be afraid of Ronon. Just--" He turns away completely, shoulders high and tense.

"Are you kicking me out of my own room?" Rodney asks, eyes wide and annoyed. "The first planet in the last five to offer us beds that aren't dirt floors or piles of weeds and you want me to go?"

"Damn it, McKay," Sheppard says, sounding tense enough to make Rodney to pause in his rant, "can't you just--"

"Just what, Colonel?" Rodney says, taking a step towards Sheppard. "What's wrong?"

"Just that I can't get any goddamned privacy!" Sheppard is visibly shaking.

Rodney stares at him curiously, the itching feeling in the back his brain telling him that something definitely isn't right. "Sheppard," he calls carefully stepping close enough to put a gentle hand onto his shoulder. He's not a touchy guy, he doesn't know how to do this, but Sheppard just looks…his back looks like a bowstring.

His hand makes contact and Sheppard makes a noise, cut off and sharp and it makes Rodney ache for some reason, but he's too preoccupied by the feeling of Sheppard pushing into his touch, almost desperately.

"Rodney," Sheppard says, voice as tense as the line of his back, "just, please."

Rodney tries unsuccessfully to turn Sheppard around. After a moment of push and pull he sighs, hand leaving Sheppard's back to gesture.

"I don't get it, you were fine at dinner when that space tramp--"

"Leela," Sheppard interrupts.

"Right, Leela. When she was practically feeding you dinner. I mean she even--" Rodney stops there, because the gears are turning, albeit slightly delayed. He remembers the way Leela slid up against Sheppard, remembers the too familiar slide of her hand across the back of his neck, as though it was her right to touch him that way, remembers the way she poured Sheppard's drink, not letting anyone else--

--wait.

Rodney takes Sheppard by the shoulders, forcibly turning him around until he can see the blown-out pupils, the shallow breathing, the slight lack of focus.

"What the hell did she give you?"

"The chambermaid implied a lot of things," Sheppard says, breathing raggedly. "God Rodney, please just--"

"Go?" Rodney interrupts. "What do you think will happen then? Curl up in your bed and jerk off till it's out of your system?" Sheppard makes a choked off noise that dries Rodney's throat. "She'll come here," Rodney continues, watching Sheppard's breathing increase, "she'll come here and you won't be able to say no."

Yeah. That does it. Sheppard twitches hard, shoulders going stiff with anger this time.

"Fuck you, McKay," Sheppard says, eyes glinting as he moves into Rodney's personal space before shoving Rodney back towards the wall. "If you really think I'm that much of a slut for it, then just fuck you."

Rodney puts his hands up, palms facing Sheppard even as he gauges the distance between himself and the wall, does the fast dirty math of how likely it is that he'll be able to get around Sheppard and to the exit. "John," he says, trying for calm, "I don't think--"

The rest of his sentence is cut off by Sheppard's snort. "Bullshit," he says, pressing further into Rodney's personal space. "You think it. You've always thought it. Chaya, Teer, Norina. You think I've fucked them, and those are just the ones you know about. What do you think I do, McKay? Keep a tally, make sure I fuck a woman on every planet? Or--" With that Sheppard pushes him into the wall, arms bracketing Rodney, leaning so far into Rodney's personal space that anything more than a shallow breath will bring the two of them into contact.

Sheppard smiles, the same smile he used on Steve while watching him slowly starve to death, the same smile he flashed Michael even as he held him down for Beckett to drug. It shouldn't be as hot as it is. "Or do you think it's more than just women?" It's breathed into Rodney's ear like some sort of dare. "Men, too, right? Hell, barn animals if that's all that's available. Is that what you think?" Sheppard's hand slides off the wall and down Rodney's chest before cupping him through his pants. "Does the thought of it get you off?"

No. Rodney swallows, his own heart racing, and he can feel the heat coming off Sheppard, sharp and tingling on his front. "Look at yourself." Rodney's eyes are so wide he can practically feel his pupils dilating. "Look. I didn't mean that," he says a little snappishly. He really didn't. "I didn't mean that and you know it."

The heat disappears rapidly as Sheppard pulls away, but Rodney can see it, and he knows that Sheppard was trying to get him to run, probably still is. "Another fifteen minutes, maybe a bit more and anyone offering would seem like manna from heaven."

"Then stand by the fucking door for all I care," John whispers harshly, all the way at the other wall, one hand braced against it as he leans heavily, the other flexing and clenching at his side.

Rodney gestures, knowing he probably looks like he's trying to swat away an annoying bug. "Just. Fine, just, just stay in here and I'll guard the door." Rodney starts to cross towards the door, saying, "Try not to touch anything."

He gets as far as putting his hand on the doorknob before the sound of John's laughter halts him.

Rodney turns to see John leaning into the wall, head resting on his forearms, body shaking from laughing. After a moment John gets it under control enough to turn around and say, between laughs, "God, Rodney, what do you think I'm going to do the second you step out that door?"

Oh, that's just. Oh.

Oh.

"God, can you please--"

Rodney jumps at the dull thud and spins to see Sheppard shaking his hand out.

"Why did you do that?" he asks, staring at the slightly bloody knuckles.

"Because you're so goddamned slow leaving and I don't like the idea of not being able to control myself enough to wait till--" Sheppard stops and closes his eyes. "Seriously, Rodney, leave before I--"

"What?" Rodney asks because he can't really believe that Sheppard would. Drugged or not, it just seems impossible.

"God, even your voice, Rodney," Sheppard grates out, finally turning.

Sheppard's profile is no less tense than his back, only now Rodney can see the fine sheen of sweat licking Sheppard's hairline, the high flush on his cheeks, and the hungry look in his eyes. Most eye-catching of all is the bulge in the front of his pants.

"I--"

"Go," Sheppard pleads and steps forward. "Go or I can't guarantee that I won't--" He stops moving and, with what looks like great effort, crosses his arms tightly over his chest and stands staring at Rodney.

Rodney stares back. He just can't move. Sheppard's hips are swaying in the air, like they can't bear to be still, seeking any sort of release they can get, and Sheppard's fingers are white where they clench his arm.

"I--"

Sheppard cuts off a moan.

Rodney can see it in the way John--and it has to be John, now--how his hips are moving and the way he's two seconds away from drawing blood, he's clawing at his own arm so hard; he can guess just how much this display is costing John. And Rodney wants leave, give him the privacy to get through this with at least a little dignity intact, the respect he would want if their positions were reversed.

However, a small part of Rodney, that dirty little voice whispering from one of the tucked-away regions of his brain, is already imagining John with his pants around his ankles, hand on his cock, jerking off while the line of sweat forming on his forehead slides down his cheek, past his mouth (he'd be biting his lip to keep from begging, begging for Rodney to, oh God), and down his neck to dampen the too-tight black shirt he's wearing.

Just as clearly, Rodney can see himself walking over, covering John's hand with his own, showing John how he likes it, how that little twist on the end of every other stroke is enough to send him over the edge. He can see John coming, hot stripes across his and Rodney's shirt, over both of their hands.

He wants to know what it would taste like.

That's why his voice is husky, lower, when he says, "John, I--"

He doesn't get the chance to finish his apology before John's crossing the room, taking Rodney's face in between his hands and kissing him like he's trying to crawl inside Rodney's skin.

Hot and sloppy and just--out of control, and all Rodney can do is open his mouth because God it's so good and John is holding on so tight. He tilts his head just so and they fall back against the wall, John pressing and gasping and moaning, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and a hooking a leg behind Rodney's and just kissing. Kissing deep and fast and rough.

With a suddenness that leaves Rodney breathless John tears away and buries his face in the crook of Rodney's neck. "Oh God," he breathes hot and humid into Rodney's skin, and then he shudders. He shakes so hard that Rodney tightens the arms that had somehow wound themselves around him in return.

John's shirt is sticking to his back; Rodney can feel the sweat and the muscle underneath it, still shaking. John is going limp against him, breathing hard.

"Sorry," he says in a rusty voice.

Rodney just nods, too turned on to speak for the moment. John is leaning heavily against him, hands running up and down Rodney's back.

"I don't think this is the end," John says, finally pushing back. "Not much use if it goes off that fast." He blushes just a little when he realizes what he said.

"I--" Rodney has no idea what to say. Really. Because, wow. And hot. And wow.

And hot.

"Ready to go yet?" John says, hands still moving restlessly and Rodney has a funny feeling that he's still holding back.

"Yeah," he says, voice sounding almost foreign, desperate and sad and something else he doesn't want to qualify.

He leans into John briefly--foreheads brushing, trying to prolong contact--before stepping out of John's hands and away from his body. It's harder, so much harder than it should be.

Rodney turns, trying to collect himself even as he walks towards the door. Hand on the doorknob, he turns back to John.

"I-- If," he starts. "John, you have to know that I would want to--"

John nods, once again wrapping his arms around himself, barely harnessed energy with all the dangerous potential of a grenade, pin already pulled and seconds from going off.

"What I mean is, when you're not, you know." Rodney gestures towards John, meaning 'fucked up on shit they don't sell in the Milky Way Galaxy.' "We could, I mean, if you wanted--"

"Rodney, please," John says, purposely slamming himself back against the wall in what looks like an effort to keep from launching at Rodney again.

"Right, yes, got it," Rodney finishes lamely before opening the door and stepping through it, leaning heavily against the solid wood and breathing a sigh of relief the second he hears the lock slide into place.

There's a chair in the hall and it even looks relatively comfortable and thank God his PDA is in his jacket, which he slips off and settles over his lap, because John is inside the room. Jerking off, desperate and alone and God Rodney can see it: how John aches to have someone there, but won't. He won't ask and Rodney gets it. He does.

But God he's fucking hard. So he sits with his jacket in his lap, playing some form of Bejeweled till he starts creating twenty-five move strategies.

The footsteps he hears somewhere in his fifth game are completely unsurprising. Light and airy with the brush of fabric.

"Go away," Rodney says to the shadow covering him, not looking up.

"I just want to--"

"I know exactly what you want to do," Rodney says, still without looking up, but making a face into his PDA at her low, whispery voice. Her innocence is so faked that it makes Rodney's stomach sour. "And the answer is no."

"Sure, just--"

"No." Rodney starts another game. "Go away before I explain to your father exactly how illegal what you did is on my world."

"But I--"

"Please," Rodney says, "you're ruining my concentration. Very important work here." Ha! High score! Also if he looks up, he might actually do something really bad. He likes the planet: good food, some nice looking materials for colder weather, some refined metals. He just hates the girl. And he's sort of afraid of what he can do now, now that he's done it before.

"I don't like your tone."

Now Rodney does look up. Her perfect hair and her glossy lips and that amazingly straight kohl outline around her eyes make Rodney's eyes narrow. Because he can see it, see the morning after, mussed and flushed, hair astray and face full of smears. Satisfied look on her face as she waves goodbye.

God, he hates her.

He really hates her, and the vehemence of his own reaction surprises him.

Something must show on his face, a newfound ability to intimidate without words and that's just new and strange.

He's never wanted to hit something more in his life. "Go. Away." He says it in the best impression of Ronon he can muster.

She turns pale, gets back a bit of backbone, humphs, and stomps off.

Rodney sits slowly back into his chair and starts a new game.

"Thank you," John's voice floats through the wooden panels. "Rodney, thank you."

He can hear the gasp at the end, and he knows that John hasn't stopped, he's just not in the bed. Maybe he's kneeling behind the door, one hand on the smooth wood, bent over and stroking madly, gasping--Rodney can actually hear the gasping and, if he strains, the almost wet slick of skin sliding against skin.

"…Rodney…" John says again, breath hitching, and then finally the noise recedes into the background.

God. Rodney closes his eyes and breathes. Okay, new game; the last one is trashed.

******

Something startles Rodney awake, and he nearly falls out of the chair before getting his balance back. God, his back, his shoulders, his neck. Ow.

"Rodney?" John sounds hoarse.

Rodney looks up and John looks worn out and hung-over. "Yes?" And delicious. God is he still hard?

"You can come in," John says, not quite looking at him. "I'm--"

Finished.

"You can come in," John says again, stepping back inside, but leaving the door open.

Rodney stands and listens to parts of him creak, and then slowly walks into the room. The window is open, letting in a cool breeze and letting out the slight scent of sweat and musk. John's bed is made, and he looks wrinkled but washed.

So there was clean up, that's okay. The less for Rodney to get hard over, the better. Because, God, looking at John, bottom lip swollen, deep circles under his eyes, and careful gait and he has to let his jacket drop a few inches to make sure he's covered.

"Thanks for waking me up," Rodney says, moving to his bed, because if he'd slept in that chair all night there would be no moving in the morning; Ronon would have to carry him to the gate, chair and all.

"Not a problem," John says, and suddenly he's right behind Rodney, hands lying carefully on his shoulders. "Least I could do considering…everything."

Rodney lets his head drop as the kneading starts. "Oh wow. Never stop."

A low chuckle and John leads them to a bed. His bed. "Sleep here?"

Rodney stops and wonders if the drug is really gone.

"Not high, or doped or whatever anymore," John says quietly. "But I'd appreciate if-- I'd really like if I didn't--"

Oh. He-- John feels-- God, Rodney doesn't know if he'd never want to be touched again…or if he would find the nearest warm body and cling after that. "Well, the bed is big enough."

Behind him Rodney can feel John relax, and their bodies press together back to front for a few seconds while John slides his hands down Rodney's arms and then hook around his waist, pulling him close. Rodney's hands move to sit on top of John's, the fingers beneath his opening to thread their hands together.

Rodney is shocked at how good just this simple touch feels.

John lets go with a whisper kiss against the back of his neck. They slip into bed without more than a few words. Mostly, "Ow, my back," and, "Watch your knee."

John goes boneless against Rodney, sleep finding him almost the instant his hand snakes back around Rodney's waist and his face mashes comfortably into Rodney's shoulder.

Rodney yawns and lets his eyes close; arousal aside, he slept in a chair for four hours. Seriously.

******

Rodney wakes up to an incessant beeping coming from somewhere near his waist. He cracks an eyelid open and gropes around until his hand settles on a watch and a wrist.

John. Right.

Rodney fumbles with the buttons until the wretched noise stops. He yawns and stretches and notices that John is complete dead weight behind him.

He must be exhausted.

"John," Rodney says, lifting the arm up like a toll gate, sliding out from under it and turning to face him. "Wake up before I pour cold water on you."

"Never change," John murmurs, opening his eyes. He manages to make it look like some Herculean effort.

Something goes all fuzzy and melty inside Rodney's brain, and he goes and gets John's canteen from their packs. "Drink this, you look like hell."

"Don't ask how I feel," John says, gratefully guzzling a few mouthfuls.

"I can't even imagine," Rodney says tightly, angry at the bitch all over again. He reaches out to trace the bruise forming under the pinkness of John's lip.

John puts the canteen down and mirrors Rodney's actions, rubbing a thumb across Rodney's lower lip. They slide into a kiss, soft, sweet and gentle.

"Come on," John says when they part. "Let's get the hell out of here."

******

Their host--and Leela's father--takes one look at John and goes white, beginning to stutter apologies. "Are you ill?" He sounds hopeful. Incredibly hopeful. Too hopeful.

"Something disagreed with me." John smiles. "That's all."

Rodney shoots Leela a dark look, and Dad catches it, eyes widening and then narrowing in what can only be fatherly disappointment. Leela misses the whole exchange, happily burbling with some other young women.

John waves off anything else he's going to say. "I hope we can still get some of that wonderful bean we were discussing."

A lot of vehement nodding and several sample sacks shoved at them. "Please, we are very interested in trade." More sacks.

Well at least someone has some moral integrity.

Ronon and Teyla look at John and Rodney funny, but John just shakes his head and Rodney practices his new grim look. There are looks exchanged, meaning there will be discussions later.

John is limping a little--actually probably more like chafing and a few sore muscles. Rodney remembers one blissful afternoon in early spring when he was 15. He set a record that day. And the next day his stomach muscles hurt like hell, but at least that was a good hurt.

The stargate is a leisurely walk outside the city walls. "Leela drugged me," John announces once they are alone in a field of tall yellow grass, deceptively peaceful all things considered.

Ronon looks like he's ready to turn around and go back and teach that little girl why that sort of thing is impolite. Teyla just looks pissed. "I trust all is well this morning?"

"I feel like crap, but she didn't--" John stops and sighs. "Rodney here sat in a chair right outside the door."

Teyla stops for the span of two foot steps, eyes wide and anger coating her every action. "She actually attempted--"

"Yes," Rodney hisses, "but I don't think she will again." He's still savoring the angry look her father had.

"We can go back and make sure." Ronon sounds incredibly eager.

"No." John sighs, weariness in every action. "Home."

"Home." Teyla nods.

Home.

******

John spends a lot of time behind privacy screens with Beckett, and Rodney begins to fidget and wonder if maybe he shouldn't be waiting. Elizabeth was happy enough with the sacks of stuff and a cursory briefing on the way to the infirmary that they have time until the full debrief. An entire day in fact.

So Rodney could conceivably be in the lab or enjoying a shower he trusts not to infect him with some sort of fungus.

John appears from behind the curtain looking even more tired, more embarrassed, and just a little bit weary. "Let's get some food."

"Sure you probably lost a lot of calories…ah…that is…I wonder what they're serving...." He trails off.

John smiles. "Seriously. Don't change."

God, that warms him in strange and scary ways.

They eat, John chugs a lot of water and they speak of inconsequential things.

It's nice.

Really, freaky-scary, nice.

They walk amiably around Atlantis when they're done, and Rodney isn't sure where they're headed but John seems to know, so he shrugs and continues his rant about the slightly dry air in the center of the city. He has very sensitive elbows.

It's a long time before they stop in front of a set of doors. John's doors. "Come in," John says casually and enters without waiting to see if Rodney will continue following.

Rodney does, without thought. "So--uh--" he starts because he can't do awkward silence.

"Rodney, I'm really not in the mood to have sex," John says, shrugging off his jacket.

Oh. Well then. Wait. "What?"

"Sorry." John turns and smiles shyly, coming up to Rodney, arms sliding around him, lips finding the skin just under his jaw. "Bad choice of words. Let's just say that the idea of friction anywhere near my dick right now is the least arousing thought. Ever."

Well Rodney can get that, but why-- "Okay," Rodney says, at a loss for anything else.

"Sit," John says, maneuvering him to the bed and gently pushing him down. "I need a nap, and you're pretty damn comfortable."

"Oh, okay. Let me just get my shoes," Rodney says nervously. He can do this; it's not a difficult request, and he liked John curling up behind him, warm and solid.

John goes to his knees.

Oh.

"Let me," John says softly, untying Rodney's shoes and then running his hands up Rodney's legs and down his thighs.

Oh yeah.

"I'm sorry, but I really want to--but I just can't--and you are so--"

"Yeah," Rodney nods. "Yeah, please, that's okay."

John nods and licks his lips, and one hand rides up the inside seam of Rodney's pants. Warmth and pressure gently encase his cock and Rodney sighs.

John strokes him through his pants for a few seconds before getting them open, peeling the sides apart and pushing his shirt up just enough so that he can lean forward, between Rodney's thighs, and kiss his stomach.

He gets a hand around Rodney's cock and pulls it out, stroking carefully, and yeah, Rodney's head just drops, eyes fluttering closed, because he's been waiting since last night. Then warm and wet closes over the head and he has to look up, has to see John's lips, bruised and chapped, stretched over his cock. The hollow of John's cheeks as he sucks makes Rodney's muscles clench and his eyes roll.

Rodney watches his cock slide in and out, feels it, anticipates it and needs it by the third slide down.

John's tongue flutters and licks, and Rodney can feel it start at the base of his spine, tingling and scorching. His legs lock and his eyes cross as he stares, and John goes down again, and it just builds until his entire body clenches and goes, white haze settling over his eyes.

He comes back to his own heavy breathing and John crawling onto the bed next to him, pulling him up all the way.

"Yep," John says, kissing Rodney's neck, "not even hard."

"Later," Rodney slurs, already dreaming of John, hot and hard against him, panting, out of control, and not because of some drug racing through his system.

Rodney curls around John, hands digging into his hair, carding through it softy, pulling him in gently to kiss, slow and deep. Then he settles down for a well-deserved nap.

The only thing that will make it better is if there's a sandwich the size of his foot waiting for him when he wakes up.

"Later," John's voice vibrates against his chest. "Definitely."

They both yawn.

"But first, maybe a sandwich."

God, it might be love.

THE END

Fic: Promotion, SGA/SG1, NC-17, Sheppard/Mitchell, 1/1

2006-06-29T23:22:24Z

Title: Promotion
Author: amireal
Rating: So NC-17 I had to write it in the dark. Under the covers. With my eyes closed. ~900 words.
Pairing: Sheppard/Mitchell Yes. That's right. Wanna make something of it?
Warnings: Um. Should there be?
A/N: Thanks to z_rayne who pretty much hit me over the head with a club so I'd send her the original to beta.

Dedication: To seperis and ltlj, you know why. *wink*

Summary: pro•mo•tion noun
1. Advancement in rank or responsibility.
2. Encouragement of the progress, growth, or acceptance of something; furtherance.

John Sheppard was drunk.

Rip roaring, totally sloppy drunk.

Not that Mitchell was that far from shit-faced. The other side of shit-faced, where you possibly think about finding the nearest trash can while you can still remember how to walk and hold things at the same time.

"I totally get where you're coming from," Mitchell slurred. "Later, I'll tell you what General Landry did to me."

"Oh yeah?" John slipped further into the couch. How he'd rated the VIP suite he had no idea. "Why later?"

"Because there's gonna be sex first, and I'd rather not start thinking about the general before sex." He made a face like his beer had been spiked with lemon.

Eew.

"Sex?" John raised an eyebrow. He was feeling pretty mellow. Promotion that had started out looking like a review board, Rodney all stuttery and handsy with that stilted pat on the back, Elizabeth holding an entire platoon of colonels and generals at bay with just a stare. "Drunken sex?" He over-pronounced, feeling the words around his teeth. God he was drunk.

Their ties were across the room, tangled on the floor at the foot of the bed, having landed there after a game of 'lasso throw' that Mitchell was scarily good at. Their jackets had somehow made it to hangers, but then again they'd been sober at the time. John eyed Mitchell's shirt: a few buttons popped, the light material not even wrinkled but still somehow messy. He was lazing about on the bed, one leg bent, a soft fold prominent in the crotch area of his pants. John licked his lips.

"Promotion day blowjob?" Mitchell smiled and nodded his head in a 'come hither' motion.

Who was John to object? He slid off the couch and crawled toward the bed. Not because the room was a little spinny, not at all. It was because of that subtle hip shifting Mitchell did. John licked his lips again, kneeling beside the bed and unbuttoning Mitchell's pants.

"Hey I meant I— Oh yeah, better than corn bread."

John sucked harder, Mitchell's cock heavy and wonderful in his mouth. God, he was dizzy with it, just— Yeah, he missed this. He used an unsteady hand to cup Mitchell's balls, rolling them lightly.

"Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard," Mitchell sighed and came.

Shuddering slightly at the new rank, John licked and suckled him through it, messy and still pretty drunk. His own cock twitched in his pants and John fumbled to release it, the aching sharp and perfect.

"There's hand cream in the bathroom," Mitchell slurred, rolling over and wiggling out of his pants.

John stumbled to the bathroom, pants falling to his ankles, he nearly fell to the floor when he tried to toe out of his shoes, but eventually he managed and was soon in only his dress shirt and one sock. He stumbled back to the bed holding the hand cream like it was the answer to everything important. Mitchell hadn't gotten any further than his pants at his ankles, but John didn't care. He already had a glop of lotion warming in his hand when he fell to the bed and hooked a leg over the back of Mitchell's knee, pulling at it so his legs were spread nicely.

"Yeah baby, go ahead." Mitchell wiggled again.

"Call me Lieutenant Colonel," John rasped into the fabric at Mitchell's shoulder, one greased finger circling around soft, crinkled skin.

"Yes sir," Mitchell said, laughing lightly and then gasping as John's finger pressed inside. "Fuck."

John bit down gently, trying to concentrate on the faintly bitter-tasting fabric and the slow motion of his fingers and not the soft, warm, and perfect hip his cock was pressed against.

"More." Mitchell pushed back onto his finger and John went ahead and pulled out and then twisted two fingers back in. "Yeah, that's it."

In, out, scissor, twist. Mitchell was pretty relaxed and John didn't think it would last all that long anyway. God, why had he drunk that much?

He climbed over Mitchell, pushing his knees further apart and settling into the diamond his legs made because his ankles were still held together by his pants. John's cock was quickly gripped by heat and pressure so perfect—just what he needed—and he sank in so easy that he made a surprised sound. It was followed quickly by another light laugh from Mitchell and a playful hip pull. John had to stop there, had to let their legs press together and feel the heat between them through two layers of shirts, had to let the uncomfortable press of buttons take some of the edge off.

He kissed the back of Mitchell's neck. A thank you, maybe. He wasn't sure.

He moved, one slow, shuddering movement in and out and it was over, his hips slammed back on slide number two and his hand shifted, holding Mitchell down at his hip and shoulder, just fucking, lost and mindless as all of his muscles tightened into one unbearable ball of pleasure and he couldn't breathe anymore.

His eyes rolled up and everything whited out into bliss.

Later, Rodney would look at John and roll his eyes at the fourth time he reminded someone about his promotion, and John would smile and damn the regulations and slide his hands into his pockets to help smooth out the slight roll in the front of his pants. "A guy's allowed to be happy."

Fic: Blowjob Clause, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 1/1

2006-06-21T21:13:47Z

Title: Blowjob Clause
Author: Amireal
Rating: NC-17, ~500 words
A/N: Really, seriously, I don't write PWPs. I don't. But since z_rayne has managed to blame two stories on me in under 24 hours, I have decided to blame this on her. Since she beta'd, I feel fully okay with this. This is sort of a warm up, getting back in the game. Moving isn't done, but by god I need inspiration.

Summary: John thinks he missed something important.

John thinks he missed something important. He thinks it over. A wave at that person, a nod to this person, knocking on Rodney's door and--blowjob.

Yep. He missed something.

But wow. Blowjob.

"Rodnnggg...." Oh, tongue. Good tongue. Hot tongue, Jesus fucking amazing tongue.

Now there is a finger, actually a hand just under his-- holycrapthatwasn'tsupposedtofeelthatgood. Suction, really good and hot suction and a hand and Rodney making--dear God--sounds.

John reaches out, thumb tracing Rodney's cheek, catching his attention, and he looks up just a fraction and--God does that change the suction. John's eyes cross for a second before he remembers something really important.

He and Rodney don't really have a blowjob clause in their friendship.

"Rodne--" The fucker twists his hand and sends sparks shooting up John's spine. He swallows and tries again. "Rodney."

Rodney obligingly starts to slide off, letting his lips trail and hold on to John for as long as the vacuum he's created lasts, until he finally lets go of John's dick with a loud and dirty pop. John fights to keep his knees locked. "Can't talk. Busy," Rodney says and then goes back at it with enough enthusiasm that John just about blacks out for a second there.

Hey, it's been ten months, what's a guy to do? Apparently come like a freight train embarrassingly fast.

Rodney nurses him through it, petting his hip and stomach, sucking gently. Somewhere in there John's knees do give out and Rodney helps him slide bonelessly to the floor.

"Nguh--" John makes pointy motions at Rodney.

"Yes," Rodney pants, reaching for his own fly, "yes, that would be--oh"

Hah! Got you, fucker. John manages to get his hand to wrap around Rodney's dick and pump up and down with fantastic speed considering he's pretty close to not remembering his own name.

"Just--oh, yes a litt--" John pushes his thumb just under the head of Rodney's dick, and then flops forward just enough to fit the tip into his mouth while his hand, miraculously, goes even faster.

Rodney comes with a really hot "oh, oh, oh," like he's just discovered how to recharge a ZPM. Then they both flop for long enough to remember how to breathe and move at the same time.

"What--?" John asks. Not that he's really complaining, because come on. Blowjob. Again, however, he doesn't remember mind-blowing orgasms as part of the 'put up with Rodney McKay and don't let on that you kind of find him a little endearing' deal, which thinking about it, is kind of stupid.

"What?" Rodney pushes up onto his elbows, looking flushed and glassy-eyed and really fucking delicious. "Like you didn't see this coming."

THE END

Feedback and why this author sucks.

2006-04-05T02:19:33Z

Just a general announcement that I'm aware I'm so very behind on the feedback responses and real life doesn't look like it's going to get that much easier. I'm moving soon and I'm sure most of you know what that's like.

So I'll try. I promise I'll try.

But in general:

Thank you all so much for the generous feedback, the wonderful words, the enormous love you've sent me in one form or another. I appreciate it so much, you can't possibly understand. Okay, maybe you can. But still. I do appreciate it all! Even if I suck at the replying to feedback.

But it's not just you guys! You should see my reply track record in my other LJ. So it's sort of... equal opportunity suckitude.

Fic: Scenes from a Lesser War, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard 3/3

2006-02-06T06:53:21Z

Scenes from a Lesser War Part 3, headers etc can be found in Part 1.

Things settled down, the tension returned to a slow simmer, and John managed to walk around without looking like the entire galaxy had just proved him wrong, leaving him sourly disappointed.

Life, for all intents and purposes, returned to normal, the current Wraith super queen (as John liked to call her) made a move on the chessboard that needed to be responded to with great urgency. It was the sort of lingering threat that meant long hours, desperate measures, and last minute count downs. Through the years, the only thing that had changed were the size of the guns they pointed at each other.

John's team, which had taken some time off, for the duration of the 'social change' assembled once more in front of the Stargate and prepared to take the plunge, so to speak.

Later, carrying Rodney back through the event horizon, John wondered how they'd been lucky enough not to see anaphylaxis shock before now. Still breathing hard, his face puffy, Rodney's eyes looked horribly panicked, even once Carson got his hands on him.

John followed them all the way back to the infirmary, and all John could think was that at least this solved his worry about the sleeping arrangements. Rodney was treated to oxygen and a few other things that didn't seem all that threatening, monitors were hooked up, and by the time Carson said the word stable Elizabeth had joined him.

"It was the tea," John told her. "It had to have been. I brought back samples."

Elizabeth nodded. "Is everyone else alright?"

"Well, none of us fell to the floor gasping thirty seconds after taking our first sips," John snapped angrily before stopping and taking a deep breath. "Not that I can tell. Doc hasn't had a chance to poke and prod us yet."

She stared at him, lips pursed. "Keep me informed. I'm sending Major Lorne's team back out to finish the mission," she said, "with extra rations, just in case."

"Come on, Colonel," Carson said to him, patting the next bed over, "Upsie daisy."

The exam was the usual post mission tap dance with a few extra bodily fluids thrown into the mix. Carson smiled and patted him, and John could have sworn he took extra care with the needles. It was unnerving. "You're just happy I remembered the sample," John said.

"Aye," Carson nodded, "that's it." He patted John on the shoulder. "He'll be fine."

Oh god, he was the wife in the waiting room, and that was utterly disturbing and really kind of scary. He was shown to Rodney's bed and shoved in a chair. "What happened to my own discretion?"

"When you find it, let me know." Carson waved and moved on.

John frowned and turned to Rodney, whose eyes looked like they'd been taped open. "Hey Rodney." His voice did that soft wobbily thing he hated.

"My heart is beating so fast I think I can see it through my chest," Rodney greeted him. "I love this part, I really do."

The urge to say 'fuck it' and crawl into bed with the man, to weigh him down with his own body and soothe the nonexistent vibrations, was alarming in its intensity. Somehow, John managed to resist. "You been gaining weight?" John asked instead. "Because I swear that walk to the gate seemed awfully long."

"You're just middle aged," Rodney snapped, frowning, poking his stomach gently. "Am I... doughy?"

John poked gently, laughing when Rodney's jittering hand took a swipe. "More gingerbread than Pillsbury."

"So," Rodney blinked, "flat but with give?"

"Sure," John agreed, anything to get them off the subject.

"Because I really do have a moderately sedentary lifestyle despite random intervals of mind-bending fear running for my life." Rodney was talking really, really fast. "And it's tough to tone up. Also, extra exercise tends to hurt my back."

John nearly said 'unless there's an orgasm at the end' because oh no, he'd rather have the slightly gay 'am I fat?' conversation than the completely inappropriate public talk about their sex lives.

"What?" Rodney asked. "You're staring."

"Just," John stopped and then sighed. "Just happy you're alive, okay?"

"Well I'm happy I'm alive, too," Rodney said. "Though your happiness does add to my happiness."

John grimaced. "Good to know."

Rodney was kept company for several hours, but as he as doing generally fine, John didn't really have a good reason to stick around and not get things done. He slipped in to visit at the end of the day, but Rodney was finally fast asleep. John took only a few minutes for himself and then slipped back out.

Wednesday was the worst night's sleep he'd had in a long time.

******

The blood covering their uniforms wasn't theirs. It wasn't anyone's on Atlantis. That didn't make it any better.

Ronon and Teyla had been sent back at knife point. Rodney and John as usual were stuck in a hut tied up tightly.

The knives hadn't come out until later, and by then, the choice had been taken out of their hands. It was pure luck that the head butt had taken and the knife had fallen somewhere near him. Pure luck he'd loosened enough ropes for him to roll and Rodney to scramble out of the way.

The rest was only going to be thought about for his mission report and filed away under 'do not touch'.

The gateroom had gone quiet, muted gasps all around. Rodney just walked out, stone silent. John answered a few perfunctory questions and then said the word "Shower," with such conviction that Elizabeth stopped the next question from coming out of her mouth and nodded.

Rodney was already standing under the spray, steam wafting up from his skin in strange pink curls. He opened his eyes when John opened the door, lashes clumped together in uneven bundles and the whites of his eyes red lined. John stepped in, pushed under the water, and Rodney's skin, slick and artificially red from the heat, was warm against his. They shared, letting it wash over both of them, clean away the dirt and grime, and John pulled Rodney to him, arms folding around him, savoring the feeling.

A mouth, hot and wet and careful, kissed John's shoulder, sucking at his skin. Rodney trailed a path to his chin, small nips that made John's skin thrum with more than the heat of the water. The last one, just at his pulse point, pulled a small, broken sound from his throat. Rodney kissed the spot again, echoing the noise, arms pulling tight, hands reaching for his ass and thumbs stroking in great circles.

This time, it was John who moved in, tilted his head just so until they were kissing, hot wet suction on his lips and tongue, deep and openmouthed and wonderful. One kiss, he was allowed after that. After watching Rodney stick an eight inch knife into someone's gut, face pale and eyes wide with fear and horror. They got one kiss, deserved one amazing kiss to go on, to savor and whimper into and steal their breaths away.

It was Rodney who turned away first, and John hated him just a little for it, but miraculously, there was a tube in his hands, and John wondered if Rodney had known or if it always lived in the shower. It was intense, sliding into Rodney, tight heat surrounding him. Rodney's back arched so that his head rested on John's shoulder, eyes closed tightly.

He couldn't do slow, not like Rodney, couldn't draw it out into long pleasure-filled strokes, making time stop. Instead, he pressed Rodney forward, putting his hands on the wall and thrusting hard and fast, Rodney's low gasps only fueling him further.

******

Rodney was fine, John knew that, knew it would be that way, but he couldn't help the small release of breath when Rodney stumbled out of the infirmary yelling strange and incomprehensible things back through the doors. It was more than comforting, actually, and John got in one smart remark just for extra credit.

"Hey Rodney, staging a jail break?" John swung a friendly arm over his shoulder, doing a full body squeeze.

"Hey!" Rodney pushed him off, but not before leaning in for a second.

John considered it a win. His side tingled pleasantly from where Rodney had fit against it, and it helped ease some of the ache of a bad night's sleep.

"I have been assaulted enough for one twenty four hour period," Rodney sniffed, straightening his jacket. The corners of his mouth were tilted up, making his cheeks puff out.

Score two. John smiled back, lips spreading wide, teeth out in the open air. It was a ridiculous smile, it was a teenage smile too full of hormones and not enough brains and it seemed to create a feedback loop with Rodney, who actually shook his head before ducking it shyly.

"I have work to do," Rodney told him, attempting to straighten up. "And you have to go somewhere and slouch. God, how did you get out of basic or beginners torture or whatever they call it?"

John didn't press, because any longer, and they'd be doing incredible impressions of sixteen year olds. "You're supposed to be resting, so don't spend too much time down there. One insult apiece and then go."

The tension on Atlantis had segued nicely in to a nice bland everything is going to suck a lot real soon tension. John actually found it comforting in a sick and twisted way and resolved not to tell Rodney because that would probably result in a series of questions about his mental health, that while on a normal day might be fun, wasn't something he was really looking for at the moment.

Major Lorne's team returned halfway through the morning, a few interesting trinkets in hand, stuff that should keep Rodney busy for at least an hour, and few interesting prospects for food and trade. It seemed that watching Rodney collapse and turn red then blue had made their hosts feel bad enough to throw in some good will for free.

"They offered us a place to stay, sir," Lorne informed him. "They feel it's the least they could do for us not coming back and flattening their cute little city for nearly killing one of our people."

"Good will, huh?" John asked. "That's a new one." Even after all these years.

"What about that planet with the that ceremony that--"

"Ah!" John interrupted. "We don't speak of that planet."

"But--"

"Ever."

"Yes sir."

John nodded decisively. "Dismissed."

The day was looking up, the prospect of a decent night's sleep looming on the horizon, and a serious plan was starting to form, one that might not leave himself or someone else in serious peril during its execution.

Sometime around lunch, the hairs on the back of John's neck startled to prickle. There had been no personnel moves after the first tussle, John had spoken with them all, drink and some frayed tempers had been blamed. No one wanted to be taken away from their assignment on Atlantis; it was an amazing opportunity and important work. You had to want to come in the first place.

So John had let them be.

'Sheppard, this is McKay, get down to the east pier now!'

Running wasn't the right word for the sort of movement he employed. On the way he called security and Beckett, but he told them to hold back and wait for the all clear.

Skidding around a corner, John found Rodney, another blue clad scientist, and four solid looking Marines who looked mighty pissed.

"What's going on here?" His voice nearly cracked, he bellowed so loud.

"Nothing sir," one of them said, not even turning around.

"These morons," Rodney spoke over anything else that was going to be said, "decided it'd be fun to harass the members of my staff who happen to be in relationships with other people who happen to be of the grunting and scratching persuasion."

Oh Jesus, how could he have been so stupid not to have expected the subtle approach. He'd braced for a full frontal attack, but this? This had to have been going on for weeks. Not to mention Rodney standing there looking pale and tired and just out of the infirmary.

"And right this very moment you decided to hold an intervention?" John asked, unhappy that the soldiers hadn't moved.

"Right this very moment," Rodney said, looking terrified but pissed, "I decided to make sure someone remotely valuable to my department and you know, a decent human being, didn't get hurt."

"Why Rodney, you've grown."

"I have, haven't I?"

"That," jarhead number one said, "pipsqueak turned off our hot water."

"And stole our shoelaces," number two piped up.

"And glued our lockers shut!" There was number three.

John nodded. "Innovative, and I'm sure you deserved it." That, at least, stunned them. "Anything else?" When they shook their heads, John saw the man in blue straighten a bit, a smile briefly flittering over his scared face. So there was more. Nice. "Okay gentlemen, and really, I'm usually not one for formality, but in this instance I'm going to have to insist that you all look at me."

They turned, but didn't come to attention. John let it go because he hadn't specifically asked. He could always hold it against them later. "You know what? I'm going to let the guards behind me take you four someplace where we can separate you and question you while McKay makes sure someone short sheets your beds."

They sputtered and actually fought off the first press of hands wrangling them in, but they went without too much comment. John turned to the scientist, trying to look kind instead of pissed that none of the harassment had been reported. "So, you want to give me the quick explanation--" he looked at Rodney silently asking for a name.

Rodney shrugged.

"Call me Johann, Colonel." The man said, his accent very faint.

"Johann, okay. Now what happened?"

"They took it upon themselves to be offended on behalf of your armed forces that I was seeing Lieutenant Peterson." Johann said simply. "They were subtle, for Marines."

John frowned, first because you had to earn the right to mock Marines, and second, because no one had told him. There hadn't been a hint of--well, anything. Other than the generalized anxiety. "So you handled it on your own?"

Johann at least looked a little ashamed. "I have not been here long, neither has Greg. There are many good stories about, about how you're a really nice guy, but then again, I was being taunted by men under your command."

"Why didn't you go to Rodney?" John pressed and then shook his head. "Never mind."

"Hey!"

Ignoring Rodney's cry, John looked serious. "You can tell me, tell them all you can tell me." The words spilled off his tongue, and he could have just stopped there, he probably should have, and his heart hammered through it, making him jittery. "I--" he started but couldn't, so he just changed sentences. "You can tell me," he said again.

"You can tell me too," Rodney said, his eyes on John, waiting for his subtle nod. John gave it. "Not like I'm going to be prejudiced against something I've been known to dabble in now and again myself."

That was it. The small crack in the wall from which all his secrets were going to be spilled.

Johann looked between them, and then looked again and then stopped, like the roadrunner had just gone through the painting of a tunnel on the rock wall. "Oh."

Yeah. Oh. John thought he might just sit down carefully and have an aneurism. Rodney sent Johann off--they'd call him when they needed him--and told him to send Beckett's team off too if they were still waiting. Then, when they were alone, Rodney pulled him close and kissed him like they were running out of oxygen.

"What was that for?" John asked, when he was allowed to breathe again. They shouldn't have this conversation here, on duty, out in the open, a nearly critical incident not five minutes behind them. In fact Rodney shouldn't really be doing anything other than resting some more.

"You look hot running down the hallway like that, being aggressive." Rodney said.

"Right." John looked at him. "No really, why?" Because it just seemed so normal and strange, like everyone else. Though really, they needed to set some ground rules if they were going to do stuff like this on a regular basis. The fear came back at the edges of the thought, fast and sharp, nearly physical in sensation.

Rodney's face went from pale and a little smug to pale and a lot worried. "What? You just went really gray. It'd be cool if it wasn't so," he waved his hands around, "unnatural and disconcerting."

"Nothing, just," John shrugged, "I guess I'm just really used to doing things a certain way."

"Well the military is nothing if efficient in hammering in limited thinking based on a known structure."

"They are at that."

******

It hurt, like a thousand stabbing knives just under his shoulder blade. "Pull," John whispered, voice rough, "now rotate," he instructed, voice getting lower. Providing counter traction on his own really sucked.

A pop felt through his entire body, and muscles everywhere relaxed in the euphoria of lack of pain. It lasted a wonderful thirty seconds before the throbbing started. Dislocated shoulders just got worse on you for hours after they were fixed. John bet that pretty soon the entire arm would be useless. Probably just when he'd really need it, too.

Next to him, Rodney looked about as green as he felt. He reached for the bucket of water their captors had so kindly left them. A few drops of relatively cool liquid actually calmed his stomach enough to think about sitting up. John pushed with his left arm, keeping his right as close to his chest and as unmoving as possibly. Rodney lent a helping hand, all the while babbling about permanent injury and possible future dexterity problems and how he wasn't certified in any of what they just did, so was John sure that all his fingers still worked?

John showed him that at least one was working quite well, thank you very much.

"Next time you can slam it against a wall like they do in the movies," Rodney snapped.

"Duly noted," John eased back against the wall, shivering.

Rodney's hand was tentative against his uninjured arm, asking permission, John stared at it for a long time before nodding. Rodney carefully scooted up next to him, pressing his side into John's injured one. Supporting the arm at the elbow, letting John find the optimal position and then moving closer, Rodney took most of John's weight. Heat suffused the injury, warming the worst of the ache and making the muscles surrounding it relax minutely. Rodney's body was warm, hot even, throwing off unimaginable heat, making John's eyes heavy.

John passed out to the soft *thump thump* of Rodney's heart beat in his ear.

******

They had enough shit to deal with in the Pegasus galaxy without unnecessarily terrorizing the people who helped save their asses just about every other week in a dull month. The offenders were labeled to be shipped out; let some commanding officer on some post without the life sucking aliens worry about their attitude adjustment.

News on other fronts remained well away from John's ears, and he wasn't sure if he was relieved or brewing stroke. Then the really good coffee started showing up in his office.

At first he thought it was Rodney, but the jealous and hungry look he favored the coffee maker with pretty much negated that idea. It also made John wonder if it was worth being jealous of an inanimate object. He shrugged it off though; at worst, he'd figure out a way to ship coffee ice cream to the Pegasus galaxy and cover himself with it if things got too out of hand.

Somehow, he got pushed up in the DVD pool so he got his hands on newest Star Wars movie months before he'd expected to. Rodney smugly told him that he'd never believed Lucas when he'd assured everyone the prequels were going to be the last.

"Money is a powerful motivator," Rodney said to him, stealing the popcorn.

Mostly it was the little things: his favorite food never running out, not matter how late he ended up in the mess, there was always one last portion. Warm too. Beer, good beer, found its way into his possession, but it was the really awesome down blanket that truly made him paranoid.

"What's going on here?" John asked Rodney.

Rodney regarded him with an amused look. "I think someone, or someones, are welcoming you to the family."

"If I get a toaster, I quit." John said. "Also, I'm not changing my name to Vinnie."

"You're more a Tony anyway, Also, you don't get a toaster, I do. You make my quota."

Either way, it was beginning to make John nervous. It was one of the reasons he didn't like being in charge. It was harder to keep a hand in the pie if you were where the buck stopped. He was forced to rely on other people to keep an eye out and inform him of anything he needed to know. The problem was, other people's opinions didn't always match his own.

His investigation was derailed only a day in when Rodney hauled two of his own into Elizabeth's office so angry he was almost purple. He actually couldn't complete whole sentences and resorted to typing it all into a computer, fingers flying so fast they almost blurred.

Apparently, they'd decided it was a fine idea to harass the military back; the twist was that it was still somehow aimed at the gay officers. John lost the train of logic when Rodney threw the computer across the room. He was fairly sure it wasn't actually logical anyway.

It was subtle, so subtle in fact, that the persons in question hadn't even known until just before Rodney had. All together it could have been chalked up to string of bad luck on the private and seargent's parts, but they'd gotten suspicious and investigated. Apparently part of Rodney's anger stemmed from the incredibly poor job the morons had done in covering their tracks.

"You only get to be arrogant if you're actually that smart." Rodney had muttered.

John was upset because the two instigators hadn't been on his list, but he let it go. They were being shipped back and someone had found that the Planet of the Poisonous Tea had held a mostly charged ZPM deep in its cave systems.

Within minutes of the confirmation of a charge, party announcements were made, subtly of course, rumors and word of mouth mostly. Except botany, who had a banner. John made a note to inspect the new plants again, just in case.

Life wasn't secure, it never really was, but they'd learned to pick their moments. It was rumored Rodney had a probability chart hidden somewhere, with all the possible reasons to celebrate, from extra chocolate in the mess, to all the wraith spontaneously bursting into flame.

It was disturbing that Rodney might be the end authority on party night, but since Rodney was never one to pass up an opportunity, John was at least assured that it was likely they weren't going to be attacked or blow up in the time it took to celebrate and recover. At least, that was, if the rumors were true.

Dinner had *cake*, which somehow balanced out the universe within the confines of chocolate and icing. There wasn't the frenetic energy The Prom had riled up; it was a more subdued joy. Warm and fuzzy all through the corridors of Atlantis, a mellow high that hugged you for hours on end.

Rumor had it that the geologists were holding a bad science movie marathon, and he'd snagged Rodney from the jello shot competition to take a peek. It would be enough to fuel him for weeks of really great rants that John could shut up in various creative ways.

"Colonel Sheppard? Dr. McKay?" Johann found them on the way. "I wanted to invite you over to the light lab."

"With the lasers?" John asked, interested.

"They're not lasers," Rodney corrected, frowning.

"They're beam-like and they make really cool holes in sturdy materials." John smiled sweetly. "Lasers."

"Why do I bother?" Rodney threw up his hands.

"Because sometimes, that's half the fun," Johann smiled. "You don't have to come now, we just wanted to invite you."

"We?" John blinked.

Johann bowed his head. "I believe the American colloquialism is the local LGBTA chapter has issued you and Dr. McKay an open invitation."

Well that was, um, interesting. "There isn't a toaster involved in this somewhere, is there?" John asked dumbly and didn't even complain when Rodney elbowed him in the side.

"Well," Johann said seriously, "we thought it was time you learned the secret handshake." He looked up and somehow became more serious, loosing any thread of mirth he'd had before. "If you want to."

"That's very nice of you," John said carefully, keeping his eyes firmly ahead. "We'll think about that, thanks."

Rodney's hand skimmed his arm on its way up to speaking position. "Is there food?"

"Rodney!" John snapped out of whatever haze he'd fallen into, only the lingering echo of a fast heartbeat remaining.

"What?" Rodney looked at him, eyes as wide and as guileless as Rodney could get. "It doesn't hurt to ask."

Johann looked between the two of them and raised a curious eyebrow. "I'll leave you to your evening, gentlemen. Join us if you have time."

He left, and John's jaw was hanging open.

"Stepping out on me already?" Rodney asked, walking again.

John took a few quick steps to catch up, shaking his head. "Remember that sleeping on the couch thing we talked about a few weeks ago?" He smiled when Rodney narrowed his eyes.

"Then what is it?"

"Nothing," John shook his head. "It's just--" It's just that he was given an out. Johann had thrown it in so easily, so *understanding*. A lifeline so casually and freely given was almost hurtful in its consideration. "The invitation," he finally said with a shrug.

"We don't have to go," Rodney said reasonably. "There's plenty of places we can lose track of time."

There were and they could. It would be easy, and they'd never know if it had just happened or if John had been a big chicken. Jesus, why were the Wraith less scary? That certainly put a whole new spin on the term Wraith Queen.

They were about half a corridor away from Geology when John reached out, grabbing Rodney's wrist -- possibly it was the alcohol already fortifying him from rational decisions -- and pulled him in the other direction. When he felt Rodney stop fighting, he let go, walking silently but determinedly towards the light lab, comforted that Rodney didn't press for reasons.

John didn't know what was expecting; lots of colorful decorations, gaudy music and clothes, or maybe the complete opposite, extra class everywhere, some snuck-in bottles of champagne and hor d'ouvres, but not for it to look like just about every other party thrown by the civilians. Playstation tournament in one corner, drinks in another, maybe a few more wine coolers than in the military shindigs, but that happened with most of the scientists, either they were hardcore drinkers or cheap dates, a bunch of scrounged together couch like things and tables in another corner. All in all, a nice party.

Other than everyone in the room turning to look at them when they walked in.

John waved weakly and it was like the room sped back up to normal speed, Rodney snagged some food and John took one of the premade shot glasses and wandered over to the Playstation. He got into a pretty good position in the rankings; pod racer was a lot like flying a jumper under less than ideal conditions and with shittier stick control.

"…no I think we *all* deserve to know!"

The argument didn't filter into his concentration right away, since he was too busy trying not to fall into a nearby lava pit.

"I think," Rodney's voice rose up above the crowd, "that in the middle of this I think 'we all'," and John could hear the sneer in the repetition of the phrase and possibly Rodney doing over exaggerated quote marks with his fingers, "have forgotten about things like privacy and 'none of our business'."

"What is *he* doing here?" John finally paused the game and looked up to find one accusing finger pointed at him, attached to an unhappy looking scientist. Tall and skinny and angry looking. "Who invited him?" John could tell from the extra lean in his stance and the slight wobble in the finger that the alcohol had been running freely for a long time. Not good.

"I did," Johann stepped up, "on behalf of all of us. Someone has to make a peace offering; we cannot segregate and hold our heads under the sand."

John blinked. It wasn't common knowledge? But then how-- He must have only told a select number of people the entire truth. "He's right," John said, working hard to remember the angry man's name, "and this is a kicking party, so whaddya say Donald, let's all relax and have some fun."

"You expect me to believe," Donald said, "that we're supposed to be okay with you just walking in here like it wasn't your men who harassed some of us?"

"We're not so amazing ourselves," Rodney spit out. "Or did you think Erikson and Gianelli transferred out of here of their own free will?"

"And," Radek Zelenka's voice called out clearly from one part of the crowd as it parted to let him through, "if you are going to be simple minded as to limit your social interactions, I believe I will be leaving now. Because I do not like prejudice, but in your case I am willing to make an exception." John and Rodney both looked at him in shock. Radek just shrugged. "They throw a good party."

"Repressed!" someone from the crowd called, and Radek rolled his eyes.

"Apologies," Johann whispered to him. "It was not my place to tell, especially when you turned such a lovely shade of green about it all"

Ah, that explained it. But what about, "--the gifts?"

"Expressions of gratitude towards a fair and impartial police captain only," Johann smiled.

John tipped his head.

"He's military!" Donald yelled.

"And you're just as moronic as those idiots who were harassing Johann!"

A really stupid idea was forming in John's head, softened by the fact that he'd already spent weeks thinking this moment had come and gone. "Hey, I think I know a way we can solve this," he stepped fully into the circle that had cleared around Donald. "Rodney?" He asked, eyebrow raised, a hint of a smile curving his mouth, heart pounding so fast that his hands were shaking.

"John?" Rodney asked, surprised, lips parting in shock.

He could feel their audience change as some of them were already getting it, possibly that surprised nonsurprise Elizabeth had talked about. "Rodney?" He asked again, adrenaline and alcohol making him giddy. One step, two steps, three and he was inside Rodney's personal space, sliding his hand up his neck, pulling him in gently. Rodney smiled against his lips and then melted into the embrace. Kissing like old lovers, slow and easy and inside each other's skin.

Someone wolf whistled in the background.

Really, other than their hands falling into place with practiced ease, the entire thing was pretty chaste. They pulled apart, and John was immediately a bit dizzy, the alcohol making him flushed and queasy. "We all cool now?"

Donald had a very satisfyingly shocked look on his face.

"We are definitely cool," Radek announced. "Now, Colonel, if I may lead you to your doom at the Playstation?"

"Delighted." John reached for a bottle of water and followed.

Rodney followed too, claiming a spot next to John and looking pretty damn smug and just a little bit proud.

******

Bent over his computer, arm strapped firmly to his body, John pecked at the keys listlessly, gritting his teeth.

"How's the arm?"

John's head snapped up, and he winced as it pulled on the tendons. "Didn't hear you knock."

"That's because I didn't," Rodney said, unapologetic. "How's the arm?"

"The arm," John said tiredly, "really fucking hurts."

Rodney came around to his back, hand pressing against the injured shoulder firmly.

"Rodney, what--" Thumbs, steady and sure, dug into the cramped muscles, massaging away the stiffness with slow and careful intent. John grunted into it, his entire body flushing with pleasure.

"I bet you're not taking the good stuff Carson prescribed," Rodney continued, working the muscle, edging around the shoulder blade, finding the knot in the center, painful and sharp, suddenly surrounded with the warmth radiating from his hands.

It felt incredibly good, tingles all the way down his arm as repressed blood flow slowly swelled back to its usual nourishing amounts, awaking nerves that John hadn't known were half asleep. John let his head slump forward and to the left, giving Rodney plenty of room to work.

Eventually Rodney worked all the way around the shoulder blade, rolling the tight muscles back and forth. Then he pressed carefully where neck met shoulder, pushing up with the pads of his thumb, small rolls of muscle, little pebbles under the skin making noises inside John's head as each one was rubbed under the skin. It was when Rodney started working down his arm, pushing at his bicep, warming it further, relaxing the whole arm into one drooping noodle that he started thinking again. "What are we doing?"

"I don't know." When Rodney answered, he pressed closer, the back of John's head pillowed in Rodney's stomach when he looked up. The screen of his laptop had gone black, making an inky reflective surface.

John looked straight into it, catching Rodney's eyes. "We should stop."

"And I can't wait to hear the wonderful argument you have for that statement." Rodney's hands moved to John's shoulders and rested there comfortably. "No really, because I can't decide if you're abysmally wrong or," he breathed deeply, voice lowering, "or horribly right."

"I--" but he didn't continue, because he had nothing. "Rodney, this is," he reached up with his left hand, crossing over to his right shoulder, touching the top of Rodney's hand lightly, "*this* is so dangerous."

"I eat danger for breakfast," Rodney said dryly. "That's not a very well reasoned excuse."

"But it is." It slipped out before he had a chance to stop it.

Rodney's fingers moved, pushing up and towards John's hand, weaving between John's fingers easily. "Maybe, and I get to say that because in this room, I think I'm the expert on fear based responses."

Their hands fitted together seamlessly, sitting comfortably on his shoulder. Rodney's thumb stroked aimlessly on his skin. It was all so far past what John had allowed himself in his head. There was a place and a space and they'd never talked about it, but John needed it. He'd just started really caring about his career again in the last few years, he had something to hang onto, and now he was just getting greedy.

"We have to stop," John said again, moving his head, turning away from Rodney's knowing gaze in his computer.

"Not really," Rodney said, "but maybe we should stop."

"Semantics," John said, tugging Rodney closer, feeling his arms fold around John's chest, the right one settling just under the sling.

"Not really," Rodney whispered in his ear.

******

John felt like an idiot. First, because, oh god, drunken public displays of affection, and Rodney looking hungover and not really giving a shit about his own run to the porcelain god. Second, because people's reactions now that John knew with absolute certainty that they knew, were very distinct. The women kept congregating in corners and giggling madly, and then when they noticed him they'd make moon eyes and sigh deeply. Even the soldiers were starting to creep him out.

"Rumor has it," Rodney told him at lunch, "we've been pining away for each other since that big storm we had the first year we were here, and that when the military finally saw fit to remove that 'horrible and offensive and oppressive law'," and John could tell he was actually quoting, "we could finally consummate our undying true love'."

John was speechless.

"Little do they know, huh?" Rodney elbowed him gently. "Also my rep has gone through the roof."

Chewing and swallowing carefully, John regarded Rodney warily. "Your rep?"

"Oh please," Rodney rolled his eyes. "You really need me to explain why the geek getting the football jock gets me cool points?"

That was-- disturbing, on a number of levels. "You made a chart, didn't you?"

"Histogram," Rodney corrected, putting his hands behind his head and leaning back. "I can't wait for my reunion. I might actually want to go. You can be my trophy wife."

"I'm honored," John said. He was so honored, in fact, that he gave Rodney a friendly head smack. "What if I want you to be my trophy wife?" He had more to say, but the room went deathly silent.

"Oh my God," Rodney said loudly, "have you people missed the fact that this is how we communicate?" He glared at the room in general. "Also?" He flicked John's ear soundly. "Ow."

The noise ramped back up with startling suddenness.

"That was weird," John said, rubbing his ear.

"That was probably the tip of the iceberg."

"I'm laughing at you if they try and stage an intervention."

Rodney laughed. "Same here."

Elizabeth gave him a look when they finally crossed paths that day, a look mixed with amusement and tired resignation. Odd, but not too creepy. Lorne was amazingly normal, discussing status reports, crew redistribution, and supply requests. John tensed up for a few seconds when he moved onto the after effects of last night's party, but he just went on, going over the usual items.

Of course just as Lorne was about to leave his office he turned on his heel and asked when the honeymoon was.

John threw a pen at him.

That night, Rodney showed up at John 's quarters with a really good bottle of cognac and two glasses. "Apparently," he said dryly, "wedding gifts are all the rage."

"They do know we're not actually married, right?" John asked, taking the bottle and nodding in appreciation. "Good stuff."

"I tried to explain," Rodney said, "it just made most of them smile wider. Or cry."

They opened the bottle and took enough to sip, lounging lazily on bed, boots having been kicked off to get comfortable. "This is nice." John said quietly, still surprised he could enjoy Rodney just laying next to him this much.

"Yeah," Rodney's breath was hot on his neck, lips moving softly. It was like electricity across his skin. John put his glass down and took Rodney's and did the same before rolling onto his side and kissing Rodney soundly. Licking his way into Rodney's mouth, his hand found the small of Rodney's back, digging under his shirt.

Rodney hummed happily, flinging a leg over John and burrowing closer, something warm and hard rubbing into his hip. Suddenly, John's body remembered he hadn't gotten any in *months*. It was like a switch had been flipped, and his hips jutted forward, thrusting sharply against Rodney's warmth.

"Oh!" Rodney's mouth ripped away, panting slightly. "Now? Really?" His eyes were bright, pupils wide and dark. "Because that would be," his hips pushed back against John's, who shuddered into the move, "*wonderful*." Said with such breathlessness it was almost catching.

"Now," John said, also out of breath, pushing forward, hips stuttering uncontrollably. It felt so good to remember what this felt like. To feel it again. John shuddered uncontrollably as they kissed again, filled to the brim with pleasure and almost overloading already.

"Really?" Rodney said when they broke apart to frantically tug their shirts off. "Because I'd understand if you didn't want to, I'm okay with--"

John kissed him quiet. "I'm good, really." Then he kissed him again, glad that the babble had slid past asking him if he was okay like John was some sixteen year old virgin. John licked and nibbled his way across Rodney's jaw, tasting, sucking at skin, enjoying Rodney's hitched breathes and addicting little noises. Down his neck and chest to one perfect nipple, already erect. It was so different, this with the time and the foreplay, touching and kissing and stroking. The lube wasn't even out yet, and it just made John hornier, dick pressing heavily at the seam of his pants and into Rodney's heat.

At the first tentative lick of nipple, Rodney gasped, back arching, hands clenching at John's shoulders hard enough to leave bruises. He licked once more and then closed his lips around it, sucking gently, tongue running over the nub inside his mouth.

"Oh! Oh god!": Rodney was trembling around him, leg coming up and curling over his waist. A few more seconds, and his whole body followed, wrapping around John, rocking urgently against his thigh. "Oh, John that's, I--" he gasped loudly, hands threading through John's hair, holding him in place. '"I'm-- can't!"

Rodney froze and then thrust against him in three rough jerks before freezing again and melting into the mattress. Did he just? John let go of the nipple with a wet pop, looking up at Rodney's wrecked face in wonder. Wow, he couldn't decide if that was really pathetic of them, or just really, really hot. Inside John's pants, his dick throbbed helplessly. Hot then.

"Oh my god," Rodney breathed. "I cannot believe I just--" he stopped and swallowed roughly. "Did you?"

John shook his head frantically, rubbing his hips pleadingly.

"Right, okay then," Rodney pushed up and rolled them over onto their sides, propping himself up on his elbow, "let me just--" he moved his leg just enough to work a hand in between them, undoing John's fly and stuffing it inside. John was already wet and waiting, thrusting into Rodney's hand before he could get a proper grip. It was too late anyway, the head of his cock pushed against Rodney's palm one, two, three times before he came hard enough to sprain something.

"Oh, okay," Rodney said, still breathless, lowering them to the bed, "that was really hot."

John nodded in agreement, hands petting any available patch of skin on Rodney he could find. "I think I lost feeling in my toes," he murmured into Rodney's neck.

"I think I lost feeling in my *brain*."

Eventually they got up and stumbled into the shower, neither really wanting to fall asleep and let their clothes glue to their skin. Clean and relaxed, they stumbled back into bed wearing just boxers, Rodney using a pair of John's after making a face that told him exactly how unsanitary Rodney found the whole idea.

"You know," Rodney said once the lights were out, "we didn't actually have sex."

"I think we're going to have to save that for when neither of us is going to need to use our brains any time soon." John kissed Rodney's shoulder, yawning quietly. "Now shut up and go to sleep."

They woke up a few hours later, wrapped around each other, already hard and aching. It was easy to shove their boxers down just far enough for access. The lube was pressed into his hand; Rodney must have snagged it while John was fighting with their clothes. Rodney was still relaxed from sleep, warm and lethargic, and John's fingers popped inside him with ease. Slow preparation, an apology for all the times they didn't slow down, fingers easing in and out until finally Rodney reached back and stopped him.

With an almost steady hand, John coated his cock and guided it to Rodney's entrance, pressing in. They both gasped when he made it past the ring of muscle so easily, and then John braced a lube slick hand on Rodney's hip and pushed, slow and steady until they were flush.

They breathed together, hands moving until they were threaded together. Slow, John went ungodly slow, in and out, nose buried in Rodney's shoulder, kissing and mouth the skin.

Pleasure weaved around them, hot and tight around John's cock, the slick push pull driving him slowly insane. Rodney rippled and held, each push releasing a small stuttering breath. They rocked together, their hands closing over Rodney's cock, letting their shifting hips push it into and out of their welcome grip.

John could feel it, could feel Rodney get close, in the way he breathed and moved and shuddered and closed his fist tighter.

Rodney came with an "Oh, oh, oh!" Long and hard, rippling over John unbearably good. When Rodney had nothing left to give, John pulled out, letting Rodney flop onto his back.

"Rodney," he said roughly, "I need--"

"Yes," he said, already spreading his legs, his boxers having worked their way off sometime earlier, "yes, go."

John moved between them, hooking Rodney's calves over his shoulders and leaning forward, one hand guiding himself, the other braced on the mattress. He was back inside the hot, tight place, he was home and whole, and perfection surrounded until the last threads of his control flew away.

It was wild and insane and God help him, so unbelievably good, thrusting hard into Rodney, looking into his eyes. Pleasure flushed from head to toe, orgasm started at the base of his spine and exploded outwards, intense waves taking over his movements until he was spent.

John fell to the side, dazed. "Happy now?"

"We can never get married, this sex is too good," Rodney said, wiping himself off and then moving to John. "It'd be like, depriving the universe."

"You better not be doing this with anyone in the universe but me," John curled around Rodney, lax and already half asleep.

"Now that's not fair, you up my cool points and now I can't use it?"

"Life's a bitch," John said, yawning again, "now shut up and go to sleep."

"I want a divorce."

******

"So," Rodney asked, "are we stopping?"

John sighed, leaning back one last time, taking a moment to enjoy the heat of another body. "I think so."

Rodney peeled away, standing slowly. "All right," he said carefully. "Just stop almost dying."

"Goodbye, Rodney," John said, not looking up.

"Goodbye."

John didn't turn until he heard the whisper of the door closing. "Goodbye," he said again. It was the right decision, he knew that. He turned back to his computer, opening the file back up. He was hopelessly behind, and the next databurst was due soon and the Daedelus visit was only a week away, meaning he had to be more on the ball than usual. John sighed as he started the hunt and peck again; maybe the Daedelus would bring good news when they arrived.

THE END

Fic: Scenes from a Lesser War, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard 2/3

2006-02-06T06:47:46Z

Scenes from a Lesser War Part 2, headers etc can be found in part 1.

The woman, Reena, was Athosian. John's age, maybe a little younger. She was strong, musculature evident even as she walked across the village. Broad shoulders, tall, gorgeous by all definitions of the word.

She knew what she wanted.

John had her against a tree, rough bark digging into his fingers. Hips moving fast and hard against hers, face turned away, buried in the back of her neck, biting hard and muffling his own noises.

With just enough presence of mind to make sure he wasn't a complete asshole, he managed to hold off just long enough to feel her fluttering around him, strong muscles holding him tightly. Duty done, he pushed her more solidly into the trunk and rammed home a dozen times, orgasm ripping through him harshly.

She thanked him and wandered off, knowing look in her eyes, but no venom to be found.

She *thanked him*.

Nausea rolled through his stomach as someone called him back to the jumper.

After two long weeks, Rodney had finally woken up.

******

After the incident in the mess, Kate Heightmeyer stepped forward with some of her plans to help 'integrate the new social situation into the norms of their working environment'.

John left it to the people with the obviously skewed world view but tried to look incredibly earnest when he warned them that not everyone wants to be 'helped' and they were stepping into a very structured 'closed society'. He was mildly upset at how flustered she got when he shot the buzz words right back at her.

The storage closet incident had taken on epic proportions in his mind, a memory with warm and fuzzy edges around it that made him feel alternately light-headed and scared out of his fucking mind. If Rodney's ever-changing emotional state was any indication, he was in a similar boat.

Fredericks and Henderson seemed to be the crack in the dam. After them, two more couples and two or three individuals stood up proud and tall. Kate's readjustment of her schedule, new *more* open door policy and anonymous signups for counseling seemed to help things along; it was better than taking out a flyer at the very least. John made a point of interacting with every person under his command that ended up on his other list. The list of people to be watched out for, instead of just watched.

Late at night, with Rodney's arm tight around his side, softly snoring into John's chest, he would smile and hook his leg behind Rodney's knee. He gave it another week before they had to find a different solution; their muscles were being completely reshaped by the way they slept now. Even with the moderately larger beds that had been found and then distributed a few years back.

Usually, if someone needed something official changed in their files and they were part of the military, it came down to John or Lorne to take care of it. Being the highest ranking officers on base, it was their signatures that landed on paperwork before it was forwarded on. Rodney and anyone civilian went to Elizabeth for the types of paperwork they were talking about.

Because it was John and because Rodney didn't even resemble an officer on a good day , they both had to go to Elizabeth. That wasn't really something he'd considered when he'd proposed -- oh God, he needed to find another word for that -- the idea. Not that he remembered actively thinking about it very hard before making the suggestion. His thoughts kept circling the drain whenever he thought that far ahead.

One week until P-Day (The Prom), Rodney was arguing with a knot in his laces, and John was staring at the long list of personal papers that could possibly be altered.

"What's that?" Rodney asked.

John looked up, startled; when had *Rodney* learned to move that quietly? "My will."

"Are you dying?" Rodney asked immediately. "Is that why you proposed-- oh god, bad word, bad, bad word." He paled and then straightened, pointing a finger at John. "That doesn't change the fact that you're going to make me a war widow."

"Widower," John corrected without thinking. "I'm not dying." he said immediately, as Rodney overdramatically sat down hard on the bed. "Really, this is part of the whole," he hand waved helplessly, "paperwork thing."

"Oh," Rodney wilted. "Oh! That makes sense, why didn't I think of that?"

Good question. John had no idea. So he shrugged. "I was just thinking that I haven't changed this thing in... ten years. I thought maybe it was time."

Rodney nodded. "Maybe I'll do the same."

They both stared at each other. Because it was huge, really, monumental, despite the fact that their lives had revolved around each other for a very long time. Dotting the I's, crossing the T's, saying it out in concrete terms was-- serious.

Really, really, serious.

"I'm Canadian!" Rodney suddenly announced, going pale again.

"Yes," John said slowly.

"I mean," Rodney snapped, "that we're about one piece of paper away from actual marriage."

They both sucked in a deep breath.

"Yeah," Rodney nodded, "okay, no. Bad idea."

John nodded frantically.

There was a pause for kissing, because kissing made a lot of things focus and come into perspective. Long slow kisses that took away his breath, and the feel of Rodney pressed tightly to him, warming him from the inside out. Hitching breaths and speaking in soft whispers.

Clarity.

Yeah, he wanted this man to speak for him.

They went to Elizabeth in the morning. Actually, they made an appointment with her, asking her to block out some time for when they wouldn't be interrupted. John supposed the unusual nature of the request got them a quick turn around time; usually they just sort of barged in. It also meant that as soon as they entered the room, they were subjected to her intensely curious stare, complete with mouth twitch.

It was like detention in 5th grade.

Awkward shuffling of feet and arranging of hands and uncomfortable silence from both he and Rodney had her raising an expectant eyebrow. "Gentlemen, you look as though you're about to confess to the exploding toilet incident."

John coughed through Rodney's distinctly nervous laugh. "No Elizabeth, not confessing to that." He winced; bad choice of words.

She folded her hands together and leaned in. "Then what are you confessing to?"

Rodney laughed again, a short snicker, and John kicked him in the shin.

"Ow!" Rodney rubbed his leg. "If that bruises..."

John rolled his eyes.

"Gentlemen?" Elizabeth prompted. "You called this meeting."

"Right," John said, running a hand through his hair, "we need to talk to you about something important."

"Yes, important." Rodney echoed.

"Important?" Elizabeth asked, leaning on her clasped hands. There must have been something on their faces, because she straightened up almost immediately. "You're starting to scare me, John? Rodney? What's going on?"

It was easier to just hand over the little USB file transfer thingy. So he did, sitting back next to Rodney nervously while she loaded the file. Rodney meanwhile, was trying his hardest not the hyperventilate, and John in his very first public display, despite that it was in a private office with the walls opaque and hidden between their bodies, gently squeezed Rodney's leg. Rodney's hand, sweaty and warm briefly closed over his, and they shared a quick, nervous smile.

Elizabeth eyes though, had not left her computer screen. They just got wider and wider. Oh boy, was that John's heart trying to beat its way through his chest? Yes, it was.

"Well," she said eventually, voice maybe a little higher pitched than normal, "I *think* I'm surprised."

"What?" John asked.

"Nothing, never mind. Okay." She breathed slowly. "So I guess we need to do some signature swapping."

In the end, the actual act, signing a bunch of electronic signatures, pen passing around, each time getting warmer and sweatier until finally John had to take a moment and wipe it on his shirt, seemed anticlimactic.

Other than the weird echoing door slamming sound John heard in his own head when Elizabeth signed her last signature and saved the whole thing and added it to the 'to be compressed for transfer' queue.

Awkward silence really sucked, and yet John couldn't make himself speak.

Elizabeth cleared her throat and smiled. "So, I take it this is still hush-hush?"

Nodding, more frantic nodding, and he and Rodney had to be making a horrible impression. Rodney stuck his hand out clumsily, "Thank you, Elizabeth."

They shook firmly and she turned to John, offering her hand. John took it and looked at her carefully. She was smiling, but it was hollow and forced. Wonderful.

"Congratulations, gentlemen. If you want time for a honeymoon--" both John and Rodney jumped, "--right, I guess not. Well the offer stands."

John and Rodney left as quickly as humanly possible after that.

******

"So I hear you slept with some woman on the mainland." Rodney was finally up and around and prying into places he had no right to go.

John could practically hear the 'that slut' looming around the sentence, doing little cartwheels around Rodney's head. "I really think that's none of your business."

They were alone in John's room, lighting dark and oppressive. John made half a move to go around Rodney, but he was caught around the arm with surprising strength, shoving him into a wall and holding John there with his entire body. "Was she hot?" Rodney asked, breath hot in ear.

John arched back, feeling Rodney's cock pressing into his ass, hot and hungry. "Yes," he hissed, cheek pressed into the cool wall. "And she fucked like a champion."

Rodney's hips ground into John's. "I bet she was horrible," he shifted again, thrusting hard. "I bet it was all you could do to make yourself come."

His dick pressed painfully into the wall, so hard, harder than he'd been in a long time. "I wish I could do her again right now," John whispered, inching his hips back, needing to feel more of Rodney, *all* of Rodney."

"No you don't," Rodney bit his shoulder through John's t-shirt, reaching around to undo his belt buckle, hands reaching down, leaving hot streaks on his skin. Giving his dick two or three vicious pulls before leaving him cold and aching. The ominous snap-click of a bottle echoed over their labored breathing, and then something slick traced down his ass. "Ever done this before, Colonel?" Rodney whispered, gently but steadily pushing one finger in.

John gasped; it burned and hurt and scratched an itch he didn't even know he had. "No," he ground out, pushing back.

"Good," Rodney said, twisting his fingers, moving and hooking and--

"*Oh*," John shuddered hard, legs liquefying.

Rodney pressed closer. "Stay standing," he ordered. A second finger went in, more twisting and turning.

More hot pleasure pooling, his legs locked, and John buried his face into the crevice of an elbow, his sharp gasps scaring himself.

"It wasn't this good," Rodney twisted, his own cock hard on John's ass, thrusting lazily. "It wasn't this, was it?"

Fuck, Jesus it was good. Rodney was talking in that low, insane voice that John was too out of it to understand anymore. He was inside John, moving in and out, filling and taking and-- "Oh!" He came. Devastatingly and without warning, and Rodney just pressed into him hard, one firm hand on his naked hip holding him tightly.

Then he moved, and his fingers left, and John bit back a harsh whimper. Rodney, however, didn't move far, and soon the scorching hot head of his cock pressed in, burning and hurting and ohgodsogood. Slowly but steadily Rodney went, easing in without reprieve until finally their hips bumped and Rodney whimpered quietly.

Jack hammering thrusts, short and staccato and rough rocked John with pleasure so intense he felt like he was blacking out and coming again. "Yeah, that's right Colonel, this is fucking, this is what you want." Then Rodney bit his shoulder one last time, his entire body stiffening, and heat flooded John's insides.

They both slid to the floor, wrecked.

******

The Prom was-- festive.

Someone had found a way to make rainbow shoelaces, and the jewelry, which had been subtle up until that point, had moved onto, well, spectacular just seemed like the *wrong* word.

John made a special note to get the name of whoever designed the decorations and to never ask them for any similar help. Ever. Blown up rubber gloves, which John bet Carson didn't volunteer too readily, painted with faces and figures and shaped into fairly lewd renditions. Though the he had to admit that the creativity some of them showed was rather remarkable. Someone also figured out how to rig a disco ball in the center of the room. All in all, chintz was in.

The food was also rainbow in color, but sadly, that was not so different than usual, though it had obviously been arranged more... artfully.

Zelenka waved at him from a corner, a strange glittering brush in his hands. As soon as he started walking toward John, he tried to wave him off; when he appeared undeterred, John was tempted to take out his sidearm. However, in the end he decided that being attacked by a mad scientist with body glitter as a reason for shooting someone wasn't going to look good on a report.

So he got glittered. His arms, his face, his *hair*. John Sheppard now *sparkled*.

And thanks to the many makeshift mirrors now gracing the walls of the mess, he could see each and every sparkle. Rodney appeared behind him, suppressing a wide smile. John narrowed his eyes. It just made Rodney's lips press together harder.

That's why he didn't warn Rodney when he saw Radek come up behind him, evil gleam in his eye.

Looking around the room, tapping the beat of the music out with the toe of his boot, Rodney muttering next to him about allergies and sensitive skin, rubbing at the glitter, only succeeding in spreading it further, John saw the great divide.

Military and science, confirmed gay and assumed straight. With a sigh, John elbowed Rodney. "Time to be good little leaders."

"Fine," Rodney's eyes narrowed as he began to stalk off, "but if Radek steps on my feet, someone is paying."

John went to Lorne first, because at least he knew, sort of, the reception he'd get. "Major?" He bowed, on leg forward, arm in front.

He laughed and did an over exaggerated bow, "Delighted, sir."

John would never be able to listen to ABBA with quite the same mindset ever again. But his toes remained unstepped on, and he was pretty sure the gawking and pointing was more about style than anything else.

Elizabeth joined them, as did Rodney and a few others, and soon the dance floor had a respectable number of people wiggling around and sweating. So far so good.

Gay dancing was apparently hard work; either that or the glitter had clogged up a lot of important pores, because he was drenched and half tempted to take off his shirt, like a few others had. He'd caught an episode of Queer as Folk every so often, he knew it might lend to the 'festive' air, but decided against it. All that jewelry and all his chest hair. Bad combination.

The first slow dance sort of cleared the floor a bit so he snagged Rodney's arm, sweating and vital under his fingers and hooked him into a dance. He settled on the more traditional form, instead of the more intimate arms around the waist and neck. Magnanimous, he even let Rodney lead.

It was hard to hold back actually. John's arms were too long for them to keep the usual stiff distance comfortably and his fingers wanted to stroke at the skin near the bottom of Rodney's neck and he could feel the urge to lean closer. For the last few weeks, touching meant *touching*, as much as they wanted. Their hands automatically threaded together at first, before they shifted to something less intimate, and Rodney's warm, slightly shallow breathing was driving him crazy.

"This is... weird," Rodney whispered, "and I think everyone is looking at us."

"No, they're looking at me," John said, "and probably think you're a horrible dancer, the way you keep--*ow*--stepping on my feet."

"Well," Rodney said, "you keep moving the wrong way. I'm," he tugged hard at John's waist, moving him to the right, "leading."

"Well, sorry, I'm used to doing this the opposite way," John said, looking down, watching their feet narrowly avoid missing each other.

"Oh for the love of," Rodney dropped his hands and put two sweaty palms on John's waist. "this way I can just push you in the right direction." Rodney looked over his shoulder. "What are you looking at? This is in the name of toe protection. I think he's already broken at least one."

Slowly, John moved his arms so they rested light on Rodney's shoulders, forearms brushing the base of his neck. They moved, yeah, much better like this, Rodney directing him with a firm push and pull. The song ended and they separated, John could see the high flush on Rodney's cheeks and the slight glaze in his eyes. God, he probably looked twice as bad.

A hand tugged gently at his shoulder. Elizabeth was standing next to him looking worried. "Elizabeth?"

"Someone spiked the punch," she said, hands held tightly in front of her. Even the glitter on her face somehow less festive. "A lot."

"I thought there was a 'two drink limit'" Rodney said, inserting himself neatly into the conversation.

"It was more of a," she tilted her head thoughtfully, "okay, fine, yes, two drink limit."

John nodded. "Right. I'll alert a few people to keep an eye out. I've got a list of people who know they're on tonight. there are already patrols scheduled."

They dispersed, moving back to their chaperone roles, making sure no one looked too uncomfortable. There were a few noticeable wall flowers, people standing off to the side with strange, occasionally pained looks on their faces, but otherwise not causing trouble, so John left it.

Then Ronon asked him to dance. With his 'brave little toaster' face firmly in place, John accepted.

He'd never been swung like that before, and he could have sworn the 40's stuff *hadn't* been on before they'd entered the dance floor. He couldn't believe Ronon had actually gone to the dance lessons. Then he was thrown over Ronon's hip, then the other, and there was too much to worry about, he'd plot revenge later.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rodney had Teyla's legs wrapped around his waist, having apparently gone for a lighter partner to swing around. He could forgive. Especially once Radek cut in, taking Rodney's hands artfully.

Dancing with Ronon was an aerobic exercise, one John was glad to be done with, his skin sweat soaked and slick. He took a seat by the side lines, and not too long after, Rodney joined him, looking smug.

"Did you see that toss I did to Radek?" Rodney asked, flushed and excited.

"Yeah," John murmured. "I did," doing a subtle, but slow lick lip.

Rodney sputtered, flushed red, and glared. "Don't *do* that."

John barely had his innocent face on before Carson dragged Rodney out to the dance floor for something vaguely Celtic and rhythmic. He was smiling far too innocently as he danced circles around Rodney.

The official Prom had a four hour time limit so that people who had duties to perform had a set time they could appear, and so that anyone who wished to have smaller parties in more private locales could do so. John eyed a few of the slightly drunker fellows, leaning heavily on each other, and pressed his lips together in worry.

******

John watched Rodney flail verbally with tall, blonde and verbose. She leaned into Rodney, hand unobtrusively brushing Rodney's arm. Turning on his heel, John found his way to one of the other large bonfires nearby.

******

It was silly, John knew that, but it didn't stop him from digging through his laptop to find something with a nice slow beat.

Rodney frowned. "What are you doing--"

John pulled him close, hands on Rodney's hips, holding him steady. "I wanted a chance to lead."

"Oh, uh okay." Rodney stuttered, head awkwardly coming to a rest next to John's, foreheads just touching.

They shifted in each other's arms, eventually ending up in a standing version of their usual sleep pose, minus the tangled legs. Rodney's ear was tantalizingly close to John's lips, so it was easy just to lean in a little and suck gently.

"Oh," Rodney gasped, moving to give John better access. "That's nice."

John let his teeth scrape against soft skin before letting it go with one last suck. "Mmhm." He moved onto the skin just under it, tasting slowly. Rodney twined his fingers into John's hair, thumbs stroking just at the hairline.

The glitter had a minor taste, smoky and sweet, and it just enhanced the taste of Rodney's skin, crisp and salty. The rasp of stubble rubbing against his cheek and Rodney's small hitching breathes sank into John's skin, leaving him buzzed with heady sensation. There were things he didn't want to think about, thing beyond the walls of his room, beyond Rodney's hands pushing under his shirt, leaving hot, happy trails, beyond the data burst scheduled to go out in the morning with all those papers and signatures.

Rodney pulled at his head, thumbs pushing gently under John's chin, lips skipping over John's face; his chin, his cheek, his nose, his lips. After a few long kisses, John gently untangled them. "There's going to be trouble tonight," he said carefully."

Rodney heaved a huge sigh and thunked his head down onto John's shoulder. "I thought I was the doomsayer in this relati-- erk. Between the two of us."

"We must be rubbing off on each other," John smirked, reaching out to turn the music off.

"Not yet," Rodney groaned.

"Soon," John promised, rubbing an apologetic hand over Rodney's shoulder, passing by him and toeing his shoes off. The removal of his side arm was a nod to Rodney and the fact that they *still* managed to wind their way around each other like weeds. But he left most of his uniform on.

Rodney was in the middle of unbuttoning his pants when he saw John push back into the bed. "You're that sure?"

John made a face, lips twisting. It was hard to separate his own fears with the fears of a commanding officer, there was still a thin trickle of fear running down his spine and keeping his pants on made him feel better. It had all gone too well, too easily. The flare-ups had been small sparks compared to what he'd been expecting.

"Right," Rodney redid his fly.

"Hey, you don't have to." One of them should be comfortable.

"Shut up," Rodney said, moving the blankets out of the way. "This is me being supportive. I'm new at this."

There was a precarious moment when Rodney forgot to empty his pockets and something sharp stabbed John in the thigh. Which led to some frantic flailing, Rodney scrambling around on the bed and a kick in the shin.

"Jesus, Rodney," John said through clenched teeth, rubbing the sore spot on his leg, "If I didn't love you so much I--" Oh. Oh wow. That was enough to stop them both like a brick wall. Also, John really hadn't meant to say that.

"I, oh." Rodney's jaw worked up and down, no sound coming out for a second. "Um. Ditto? I think?"

John laughed nervously, shaking his head. He reached for Rodney, who was kneeling at the foot of the bed. "Eloquent as ever."

Finally they settled, nervous energy crackling between them. John could feel Rodney's fingers tapping out what was probably some complex pattern on his chest.

"I uh, don't really mind you know," Rodney said tentatively into the quiet darkness, "about the sex."

John took the tapping finger in hand, threading their fingers together. "Oh yes you do."

"Okay fine," Rodney said, "the case of blue balls I have would make Guinness. I still don't *mind*."

Maybe it was love after all.

The strange feeling in his chest kept him awake even as Rodney became lax against his side, breathing deeply. He was getting too old to stay up nights mooning. Against him, Rodney muttered something in his sleep, snuffling quietly. The moonlight cut strange diamond paths across the room, the edges soft and feathering into the darkness. One small corner highlighted their entwined hands, not enough light to tell whose fingers were whose.

******

John had been told that the large number on the screen was the ancient equivalent of three.

The sneaky bastard had lied to him, told him he had ten whole minutes when he'd sent John off to take care of the last of the evacuees.

Rodney had sent him off with barely two minutes and only a slim hope of a prayer. and John was going to give him a piece of his mind. The doors opened. and Rodney was curled around his pillow, dirty, sweaty uniform still on his body. Something about the way he was clutching the dirty pillow case made him look bruised and fragile.

Anger short circuited, it was like a sudden drop, the strange surge of electricity under his skin that made him antsy.

Rodney twitched heavily in his sleep, and the door closed quietly behind John as he walked out.

******

The call, when it came, woke John out of a surprisingly sound sleep.

"Wha?? What?" Rodney sat up straight, twitched and then fell off the side of the bed. "Ow," he commented pathetically.

"Sheppard here," John answered his radio, easing away from Rodney's increasingly loud litany of complaints, limping to the other side of the room while a single muscle in his lower back regained blood flow.

"John," Elizabeth said tensely, "you should come to the infirmary."

Shit. Double shit. "Be there in five."

The straps to his holster kept slipping through his fingers, the little clip thingy popping out at odd angles and pinching the pad of his thumb. In the background he could hear Rodney taking a similar call on his own radio. Great, civilians in the mix this was going be a huge mess and-- "Ow! Damnit!"

Rodney appeared in front of him and silently smacked his hands out of the way, sinking to his knees with surprising grace. "Rodney we don't have time to--"

Two quiet snicks shut him up.

"Oh please," Rodney rolled his eyes, standing back up with a few grunts, "and you thought *I* had blue balls." Rodney smiled at him, crooked and a little bit shy. "It wouldn't do for the very together military commander of this base to show up without his gun."

That was just so, he didn't want to say sweet, because, well-- no. John wrapped his hand around the back of Rodney's neck and kissed him, tongue peeking out to taste. Pulling back, Rodney looked dazed. John ruffled his hair.

"Hey!" Rodney called, surprised enough that John nearly made it out of the room before he started catching up.

Outside the infirmary, a small crowd had gathered, and John wasn't comforted by the few scrapes and bruises he could already see. Conversations hushed as they walked past, the lack of sound louder than the original quiet murmurs.

Elizabeth was pacing in tight little circles just on the other side of the door. "John," she acknowledged, "Rodney. Carson will be out in a moment."

"What happened?" John asked quietly, voice low.

"There was... a brawl."

"A what?" Rodney asked. "A brawl? What are they, infants?"

"It was broken up quickly." Elizabeth said quickly. "Your men were on high alert."

"They damn well better have been." John snapped. "Who got hurt?"

"Yes," Rodney nodded, "since you called me, which of my people am I going to have to talk out of some civil action?"

Elizabeth looked at them both so earnestly John nearly went looking for a chair to sit down in. "Radek has two broken ribs," she said carefully.

"What?" Rodney's face went pale, eyes dark with anger. "What the hell happened?"

"According to the reports, one side says there was unwanted propositioning, the other side says they were just being friendly, there were threats volleyed back and forth."

"Radek," Rodney said, disbelief evident in his voice, "gave someone unwanted attention? That's practically," his hands waved around in the air, "well, that's pretty inconceivable."

Elizabeth shook her head. "'No, you're right, he wasn't even there when it started. He tried to talk to them down."

"Moron." Rodney pinched the bridge of his nose and went to find a place to sit down.

John's eyes tracked him as he went, mentally tracing the stiff tilt of his shoulders and still pale skin.

"It must be hard," Elizabeth said softly, putting one hand on John's arm, leading him to another chair, "not to do the things that must want to come naturally."

"What?" John blinked slowly.

She sat next to him, legs slinging over the side of another armless chair. "I saw you following him as clearly as if you actually had," She ducked her head. "I think the part that weirds me out the most is how unsurprised I actually was."

John's head snapped up. "You weren't surprised?"

"Well no," She smiled awkwardly, "I was. Really. But at the same time?" Elizabeth's brow furrowed just a little, and she tilted her head in the same way she usually did when John and Rodney tried to outflank her. "No."

Oh great, wonderful, that was-- okay, no longer *officially* career ending, but it was still-- it made his heart beat really fast.

"John, don't make me get a paper bag," Elizabeth joked, patting his shoulder. "It's fine, I have no idea when or where or how, so whatever you've been doing is working."

"Right," John ran a hand through his hair, hoping the heat on his cheeks wasn't actually visible. "Yeah, thanks."

"No problem," Elizabeth's smile changed so abruptly that John was worried until he turned his head and saw that Carson had finally made his way into the main ward.

The four of them gathered off in a corner. Carson looked serious but not grave. "He'll be fine, just nothing too active for a few weeks. The rest are all minor scrapes and bruises."

"I want a list of everyone treated here tonight," John said tightly. "I want to know exactly what happened."

"Aye, me too." Carson nodded. "But I've seen worse, so it's a horrible thing to say, but we were lucky."

Elizabeth nodded in agreement. "This might be enough to shock the worst of them and weed out the ones we want to transfer."

"I hope so," Carson nodded. "Oh Colonel," he turned to John, "Captain Henderson will be staying with Stephen in the same ward, he doesn't really need observation, but I thought it would be a good idea anyway."

"Stephen?" John asked.

"Dr. Fredericks." Rodney informed him, lips tight and eyes flashing. "I should visit him, threaten his livelihood and blame him for our decreased productivity or something."

John raised an eyebrow. "It's good to show your people you care."

Rodney smiled and bounced on the balls of his feet. "I know."

Elizabeth took a deep breath. "Okay, we should deal with the rest of this in the morning."

"I'll talk to Lorne," John said, "find out who needs guards on their doors tonight."

All that was missing from their nod and scatter was a some sort of group high five. John did his own thing, meeting with the security detail, giving out orders, taking names. Mostly though, it was on autopilot until Carson pulled him over to the side.

"Colonel? Can I speak to you for a moment in private?"

"Sure," John nodded and he found himself following Carson into his private office.

"You know that any change in status regarding patient care comes to my inbox right?" Carson began tentatively.

John nodded; it made sense, Carson needed to know things like DNR's and-- oh. He sat hard.

"Hey now, no reason to worry. I just wanted to let you know the paperwork has all come through fine. Everything's filed in its proper place." Carson leaned casually on his desk. "Now I'm going to assume that it's pretty serious based on those papers," he leaned in, lowering his voice, "but if you hurt the lad, you'll be finding yourself in a heap of trouble." He leaned back. "That being said, I'll be telling Rodney the same thing. Isn't that always the trouble when two friends start dating?"

John wanted to sink into the ground. "Um, sure?"

Carson smiled at him in a supportive way, and John just had visions of supportive smiles for years to come, dancing around his head like demented butterflies.

John returned to his room alone; Rodney was off somewhere doing Rodney things, and John just didn't have the energy to be casual about checking up on him, he didn't have the energy to take his pants off even though this time he was pretty sure he wouldn't be interrupted before morning. The only reason his sidearm made it off was because it would have dug into his thigh.

Sometime later someone was carefully rolling him to the side. John blinked several times, trying to focus. "Rodney?"

"Move over, I'm tired from just watching Radek breathe." Rodney slipped under the covers, warm and comfortable next to John.

"How is he?" John asked, letting Rodney settle them down.

"He has two broken ribs," Rodney said, "and Carson threatened me with a goat or something if I leave you a broken woman."

"Me too," John moved Rodney's arm so it wasn't hard to breath. It was like hearing about people with lice; your scalp automatically started itching. Beside him, Rodney's body remained tense, his breath rough and uneven against John's neck. "How're you doing over there?"

"Wishing my biggest problem was still blue balls."

******

Rodney came back from the dead talking so fast it took a good thirty seconds to realize impending doom was imminent, despite the wild hand waving and loud yelling.

There were hours of frantic working and preparing and negotiating and ten long. tense seconds where Rodney's hands kept missing keystrokes they were shaking so badly. Afterwards, when the all clear sounded and everyone broke into spontaneous cheering, Rodney stood, walked three feet and fell over in a dead faint.

John caught him, his temple inches from a dangerous corner on a nearby panel.

Later, when Rodney was comfortably ensconced in his own room, had nearly a day to recover and eat and sleep, and rumor had it that he had to be woken to eat just about each time, John went to him.

Asleep in his bed, Rodney still looked exhausted. John sat down in the small hollow Rodney's hips made when his legs bent forward.

Rodney twitched, his fingers brushing against John's thigh, the disturbance apparently enough to prompt Rodney to crack his eyes open. "Sheppard?"

"Hey," John said, not sure why he was even there. "How're you feeling?"

"Like I slept for an entire day," Rodney said, voice dry and croaking. He rubbed his eyes, digging the heal of his palm in roughly. "What day *is* it anyway?" He pushed himself up, working his way into a sitting position.

"It's still Wednesday, relatively speaking," John said, attempting to avoid the usual semantic argument about time and space and the meaninglessness of imposing a 24x7x365 calendar to a planet that had a drastically different period and revolution.

Rodney nodded, still rubbing his eyes, squinting every so often. "So, what's wrong?" He was already sliding out of bed.

"Nothing," John reached out, fingertips catching on Rodney's shoulder. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm, um, glad you're alive and stuff."

Rodney regarded him with a closed look, lips pressed crookedly together. "Yeah, me too."

"I uh--" John fidgeted, unable to remove his fingers from Rodney's shoulder, palm moving in and pressing down, feeling the sleep warmed skin through his shirt. "I was pretty worried there for a minute."

"Me too," Rodney shifted under John's hand, the side of John's palm skimming over the skin at Rodney's neckline. "Sheppard," he stopped suddenly, mouth closing with a sharp clack. "Jo--"

Hand over lips, faster than lightening, covering quickly. John's palm felt the warm and humid breath seep into it. Rodney sucked on the closest patch of skin, cracked lips giving way to a wet tongue, licking gently. John's hand went slack, the hot limber lick surprising him with how good it felt.

Rodney lunged, hands clamping onto John's shoulders and John's arms automatically locked, holding him back even as his hands cupped Rodney's face. He couldn't make himself let go, and he let his arms go slack and let Rodney finally connect.

They made little grunting noises, a near comical rendition of sex sounds until finally Rodney's struggles slowed and then stopped. Which was worse, because now John was stuck staring into Rodney's eyes, dark and getting darker, his lips at the quick flick of a tongue that peeked out to wet them, and that made it worse.

Rodney reached out, pulled a bottle from some hidden recess of a drawer and handed it to John, giving him the choice. John gave it back.

It happened too slowly for John's liking, the slide of skin, the glow of the light coming from the window, Rodney's lips at the back of his neck. The unhurried burn as Rodney pushed in, the heat of hands on his hips, holding tight, the deep pleasure from each movement. Rodney pressed close, going painfully slow, and it hurt so good and John couldn't do anything but gasp into the pillow and push back.

And that hurt most of all.

******

Continued in Part 3.

Fic: Scenes from a Lesser War, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard 1/3

2006-02-06T06:32:53Z

Title: Scenes from a Lesser War
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17
Length: 20,500
Notes: Thanks to seperis for betaing. Not that I had to ask since she practically slipped me a mickey and stole the file from my computer. Thanks to fairestcat and everagaby for general cheerleading and the like. You rock even when you mock. Finally this story is something that I've wanted to write for a while. It embodies several of my personal kinks and crusades and has some issues that are very near and dear to my heart. It was written with knowledge of almost all of season two but there are no specific references to episodes later than The Hive.

Summary: This. This was something that needed taking care of. In a non-traditional sense.

The news had come in a memo. An official looking memo, with large words and watermark electronic seals, fancy writing and the president's signature. John just stared at it for long minutes, eyes glazing over, losing focus.

He honestly didn't know how he felt about it.

Elizabeth appeared in his office minutes later; they both tended to browse their data bursts as soon as they arrived, to make sure there wasn't anything they needed to take care of right away.

This. This was something that needed taking care of. In a non-traditional sense.

"I see from your stunned look that you've already read it." Elizabeth took his cue and half sat on his desk, one leg dangling artfully.

John nodded. "Yeah." His own rough voiced surprised him into clearing his throat. "Yes," he tried again; it was only marginally better. "I read it."

She folded her hands carefully on her lap, examining one fingernail with extreme focus. "We should probably make an announcement; the rumors are going to start pretty quickly. The memo is nearly a month old - the crew of the Daedelus undoubtedly knows."

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make the dark words swimming on his screen come back into focus so he could read them again. "Probably. I'm just not sure of anything, actually." He shrugged.

Elizabeth frowned and then just as quickly stopped. The expression had vanished, transmuted into something closer to diplomatic concern. "John, you don't have a problem with this, do you?"

His head shook automatically. "No, I'm just--" he stopped, looking at her. "Did you know?"

"Rumors," Elizabeth admitted. "The usual rumors, it's cyclical. You know how it works."

John nodded, He did, everyone did. The uniform code underwent cosmetic changes every so often; at least the review board met and discussed it. But every time, someone whispered something a little insane. A little over the edge. John secretly thought it was one side or another's ploy to get something else they really wanted. "Yeah, but you know rumors..."

"That I do." She shared a conspiratorial wink with him, making a passing reference to an incident a year earlier where both she and John had ended up part of a wild rumor mill. "I've already forwarded it to Rodney." John's chest cramped momentarily until she continued speaking. "And Carson. As department heads, they should be apprised in case of... incidents."

"Good idea," John said, auto pilot finally taking over. "Grand announcement or subtle rumor?"

Elizabeth tilted her head. "How about a dance?"

"Dance?" That made John sit up. "What do you mean, dance?"

"A party," she went on, "where I will dance with Captain Cadman and Lieutenant Palmer and you can take Lorne out for that spin I know you've always wanted."

John wished he was drinking coffee so he could hide the face he was undoubtedly making. "I'm not organizing it," he choked out.

She smiled brightly. "I hadn't planned on asking you to, don't worry."

Oh God, a dance, and he had it on good authority that Lorne, as well as good number of Marines, had two left feet, and very heavy shoes. "Right, okay, but give it a little time to sink in before we start with the visual aids, okay?" Because John had a heavy feeling that *all* department heads were going to have to set an example, and he was going to need time to deal with the thought of dancing with Rodney.

"I figure about a month after the initial announcement," </span>Elizabeth assured him.

"So we're going the announcement route?" John asked, voice cracking. He'd done a lot of announcing in his day. Announcements about hygiene and STDs and smelly socks and used condoms on the floor of one particular storage closet. One humiliating day he’d even explained sock darning about nine months into their first year on the expedition. This, however, was something completely different. This was something you just didn't talk about. Until now.

This might be the thing to finally give him an ulcer.

"I think that's best, John," Elizabeth was saying. "I've cleared tomorrow's morning meeting so that we can discuss the nuts and bolts of the next few weeks and months." She peered at him closely. "Do you need some help figuring out what you're going to say?" She leaned forward, looking concerned. "You're looking a bit gray there."

Oh God, there were so many things he had to figure out how to say. "I'm good. This is sort of a fraternity thing, we speak our own language." He offered a weary smile and hoped he didn't look as nauseated as he felt.

Elizabeth took a long hard look at him and then nodded. "Good. Can you have something ready by tonight? I was thinking that the soo-

"Tomorrow," he said tightly.

She wavered. "I'm not sure that's wise--"

"Tomorrow," he said again, more forcefully.

She stared at him, but something must have shown in his eyes, because she just nodded again and said "Call me if you need me." She slid off the desk and nodded goodbye.

Scotch. He needed Scotch.

He took a few more minutes to collect himself so that when he walked through the hallways he didn't look like a complete zombie. All things considered, someone might try to issue a quarantine and then he'd have to explain. Deep breathing and pinching his nose worked wonders, and when he was pretty sure he could walk straight, he closed the laptop and put up his well-abused 'out of the office' sign. He didn't officially sign off for the day; his radio stayed in his ear, his sidearm well-attached. He just couldn't sit there like it was a normal day.

So he didn't.

He took two MREs and a canteen and he walked. By now most of the city had at least been mapped and certified safe or unsafe. But there were still large chunks that were mostly deserted, their expedition still small in comparison to a city the size of Manhattan.

******

After the Daedelus hyperdrived to the rescue and after Rodney had successfully cloaked the city and the wraiths were gone and the city, for all its wounded and rubble, was oddly silent -- Rodney came to John's room looking ragged and worn.

He hugged unprompted, his shaking arms closing around John like a vise. "Don't do that again," Rodney glared and then promptly fainted.

******

The days were short that time of year, and John got to catch the sunset without effort, even after walking around for a couple of hours. He answered a few questions over the radio, but nothing called him back to the main section of the city.

Sitting on the small balcony's floor, back pressed hard against the wall, legs bent casually, the laughter finally broke through. It started with a small twist of lips, smile niggling and wiggling its way to the surface, twitching as he tried to suppress it. But it was a lost cause, and soon he was holding his sides through a couple of loud guffaws, trickling off into stupid little giggles that he was ashamed were coming out of his mouth.

It ended with one startling sob that hurt his chest and left him aching.

******

After Ronon and Teyla were comfortably settled into Beckett's care, the end of their withdrawal nearly finished, John found Rodney alone in his lab. He was hunched over a computer typing frenetically, looking two seconds away from flopping over on the keyboard.

He muscled Rodney back to his room, the protests scarily few and far between. However, once back in his room, Rodney's eyes sharpened and narrowed. "You did it again."

"You're not gonna faint, are you?" John joked, but it fell flat.

Rodney glared, stalking forward, one finger out and pointing. "No I'm not going to faint. You however," he poked, "are going to be the death of me." He was loud, louder than normal for Rodney. Sharp and biting with an edge.

"What?" John asked as Rodney advanced further. He let him, figuring the guy had possibly had a very bad week, at least according to Beckett. He got unnerved though, when his back hit the wall and Rodney kept pushing.

"What?" Rodney asked back, not really asking at all. "WHAT?"

They were pressed against each other. Rodney’s body was searing hot against his chest.John swallowed convulsively, looking into Rodney's flushed face and dilated eyes and suddenly he was just as angry. "What?" he asked again, "what did you want me to do?"

"I--" Rodney stopped, face pinched.

John smiled triumphantly. "Come on Rodney," he taunted. "Give me a better option."

"I don't know!" Rodney spat. "Okay, I don't know, but I can't--" He stopped again,and a small choked sound came from his throat. "I can't," he said again, shaking his head. "Can't, can't, can't."

Rodney kissed him once, hard and wet, his tongue running along the seam of John's lips before burying his face in John's neck, panting quietly.

John moved, hand finding Rodney's pants, pushing at the material, feeling the hard outline clearly. The heel of his hand rubbed harshly, the panting in his ear changing cadence with every stroke, the body in his arms stiffening and relaxing and tightening in anticipation.

His hand made it into Rodney's boxers by sheer force of will, and Rodney's hard cock practically leapt into his hand, damp and wanting. John formed a tight fist, pulling quickly, roughly; he couldn't make himself slow, especially when Rodney's hand closed around his own needy erection.

It was over quickly, scarily quickly, and they were on their knees, breathing hard, still coming , dicks waving in the wind. Rodney's hand was tight on his shoulder, nearly painfully so, and John gripped Rodney's hips, thumbs making lazy circles, a strange counterpoint to his own tension.

Rodney eventually stood, got a washcloth and cleaned up. Tucked away gently by Rodney's own hands, John couldn't look. Then it was time to leave.

"This wasn't positive reinforcement," Rodney snapped before the door closed in his face.

******

John didn't actually get that Scotch he was looking for, but on his way back to the more used corridors of Atlantis, he ran into Caldwell, who slipped him a bottle of Grey Goose.

"I thought you might need it. This'll be interesting enough without being responsible for an entire base cut off from gossip." Caldwell informed him.

John nodded, surprisingly touched by the gesture. "Thanks."

Caldwell nodded and walked off and John found himself doing the same, one hand stroking the bottle thoughtfully. He wandered, aimlessly, unsurprised to find himself in front of a familiar door.

Rodney looked thoroughly bored with his presence and only then did John think he might not have bothered with his 'interoffice' inbox since early that morning. He remembered Rodney's voice talking loud and fast about some new discovery he was dying to try.

"What?" Rodney asked.

John blinked hard and shook his head, pushing past him and into the room, going right for Rodney's laptop and his email program.

"If you break that, I'm taking yours."

John just smirked and swiveled the screen in Rodney's direction. "Read," he said simply, moving off to find the two tumblers he knew Rodney had amongst his personal possessions. John had a good feeling he wasn't going to be drinking alone tonight.

******

Rodney came to him, tired and ragged, and John could still see flecks of mud around the edges. John had only spent a fraction of the time in the same mud and guck and it had taken *him* two very thorough showers to get rid of all of it. Rodney looked liked he'd tried that but his energy had given up in the middle.

"What's up Rodney?" John asked, eyes first catching the blooming bruise on Rodney's arm before automatically flickering to the butterfly bandages on Rodney's neck, where the knife had dug in repeatedly.

"Can't sleep," Rodney shrugged, stepping inside.

"So you decided I shouldn't sleep either?" John wasn't going to admit that he'd spent the last hour staring up into the dark ceiling.

"Oddly, I couldn’t care less." Rodney dropped to his bed, slumping immediately, weariness sort of radiating from him in the same loud way frenetic energy usually did. "That thing you did? Where you stepped in front of the beam? That was monumentally stupid."

John remembered it clearly: the hostages, Rodney pale and bleeding slowly, the strange attachments to the usual crisp flowing lines of Ancient technology. No one sure what Raline would do at any given second, a scientist gone mad, certain he was right and everyone else was wrong.

The beam of light that hurt worse than anything he'd ever felt, and Rodney's face, even paler, struggling away from his captors, screaming and yelling. "We've had this conversation before," and the words were thick in his mouth. He knew what he was saying, offering the only thing he could.

Rodney's head shot up, the whites of eyes large and glowing, even as his irises bled out into his eyes. "Yes," he rasped, "we have."

They reached at the same time, but John sank to his knees before Rodney's hands, hot and hard on his arms, could pull him any closer. Rodney's stomach quivered under his touch, jumping as his fingers slid down and hooked under the edges of his shirt. John skimmed his way around the large bruise on Rodney's right side, stopping himself from anything less perfunctory.

Rodney's cock was already half hard by the time he got to it. and it was probably the worst blow job in the history of recorded time, but Rodney didn't complain. He just gasped and jerked and twitched and came flatteringly fast.

******

Rodney was quiet, unnaturally quiet, as he moved to sit next to John on the bed. His hand wrapped around the proffered glass tightly, and he tossed back the alcohol in one swig. John did the same.

It burned nicely, leaving a warm fuzzy feeling in his chest, easing the knot that had taken up residence. Rodney's glass appeared in his vision, shaking minutely and clinking solidly against the bottle. John obliged them both.

They drank in unison and John nearly choked on the symbolism.

"So," Rodney's voice was gravely and high pitched all at once, "I'm assuming you-- I mean that is--" he sighed dramatically. "Now what?"

John poured them each a third drink and shrugged. "I have no idea."

The third they sipped quietly, staring off into space. Rodney broke first, hand reaching out and across John to put his glass down. He then gently took John's own glass from his hands and placed it beside his own on the bedside table.

Rodney's face was open and flushed, his eyes wide and his head titled up, in Deep Thought position. Without thinking, John reached out, index and middle finger tracing a soft line down the curve of Rodney's neck.

The noise Rodney made was small and choked. He grabbed John's hand in his own and stared down at them, John's hand lax in his own. John twisted his wrist until his palm was upright and flat, open and waiting. Rodney's hand shifted slowly until they were pressed together, in a mirror image. Their fingers fell in sequence, shifting slowly until they twined together, holding tightly.

They'd never done this, the slow touching, the careful movement. Always fast and rough, always running away before the rest of it caught up. Now, though, now they had time. John's other hand reached out, cupping Rodney's cheek, thumb brushing the flushed skin carefully.

Their lips brushed softly,then again. And again. This was freedom. Soft, careful kisses they could take their time with, enjoy and savor. Closed mouthed little flutters that filled John with heat, suffused him happily.

Rodney's hand once again came up to mirror John's, changing the angle, holding tightly, fiercely, a strange counterpoint to the unbelievably gentle kisses, each one intense and dizzying. John couldn't stop. Didn't want to stop.

Eventually they pushed their shoes off and lay back on the bed. They had to stop kissing for long seconds to do it, but their hands didn't leave each other, they just held more desperately.

Rodney settled next to him, long and firm, pushing gently. Their legs bent and settled, and their lips found each other once again. Something expanded in John's chest, blooming hot and painful, but each brush of Rodney's lips softened it just a little.

Lips raw and puffy eventually stopped kissing; when each one hurt more than it helped they slowed, lips just grazing skin, noses nuzzling quietly.

John's skin buzzed, his head was foggy, and Rodney licked salty tears off his cheeks. Eventually, they fell into a drowsy daze, wrapped firmly around each other. And for the first time ever, they slept together.

******

He slammed Rodney against the wall hard enough to force Rodney's head back with a muted thunk.

"What the hell was that for?" Rodney demanded.

John put a hand over Rodney's mouth; he couldn't go through the entire conversation this time, the need, the fear that thrummed under his skin, heady and arousing. His hand worked into Rodney's pants, fast and efficient, as if he hadn't only done it a handful of times before.

Rodney understood and gave permission in one single back arch and relaxed. Jamming a knee between Rodney's legs, John groaned when they clamped around his thigh, heat searing through his uniform pants. He released Rodney's mouth, hand sliding behind Rodney's head to rest on the back of his neck, holding their temples close, and then braced it on the wall.

He waited for Rodney's shaking hand to reach for him, to fumble a caress over cloth, through the sparks of pleasure that caused, making John gasp. Then it was all pleasure pulled from inside of him, Rodney's hot breath on his cheek, and perfunctory release that didn't make him feel any better at all.

******

John woke up missing an arm, three fingers and part of his leg, lost somewhere in the tangle of himself and Rodney. He wiggled a bit and hissed softly at the sharp pins and needles.

Rodney's breathing hitched and he muttered something incoherent into John's shoulder. Enough blood returned for movement more refined than an uncontrolled jerk, so John shifted a bit more and carded carefully through Rodney's hair, using the pleasant sensation to attempt to overpower the not so pleasant sensation starting up in his leg.

A wobbly smile threatened to break over his face as he looked down at Rodney, mouth half open, line of dried spittle ending in a small moist patch on John's shirt, sleep flush highlighting his cheeks. Endearing was the word that appeared in his mind, and it almost made him frown, because Rodney McKay was a whole host of things, but endearing might be pushing the envelope.

He snorted once and inched closer to John, nose pressing against his chest briefly before a reposition and gentle nuzzle, which might or might not have been a nose being scratched. Okay, endearing might work, on a trial basis.

John stretched, as much as the other body pressed against him would allow. He felt Rodney's chest and stomach breathe in and out and his thigh slide back and forth over John's and his fingers brush tantalizingly down John's spine. It was a nice feeling.

"Mnguhmorning?" Rodney's sleep rough voice asked. His eyes were still closed and his face soft and relaxed.

"Just about," John answered, relaxing his muscles and curling back around Rodney. Their lips did a strange orbit around each other, circling slowly until they finally touched. It was still chaste and sweet and gentle and really, utterly perfect. Sadly, John didn't think he had the energy in him for much more. Still, he went back for another, pulling on Rodney's upper lip, sucking gently.

Rodney hummed quietly, did something quick with his tongue in return and then pulled away to rest on John's shoulder. "I think parts of my back are asleep."

"My leg may never recover," John assured him, letting his chin rest on Rodney's head.

"Yeah well if you limp all day, you can blame it on your own inability to recognize your own limits," Rodney's hand stroked up his torso, "'I hurt it while running' is a sentence that can naturally fall from your lips."

"Tell people you fell asleep in front of your--" John stopped. It was like learning how walk all over again.

"What?" Rodney shifted, his face turning up to look him in the eye. When John didn't answer, Rodney moved more, hand coming up to trace his cheek. "Seriously, what?"

"I just," John frowned, "I just realized that if we wanted to--" he swallowed. Even talking about the possibility felt weird. "If we wanted to, we don't have to make anything up at all."

Rodney pushed up even further, leg now comfortably slung over John's hip. His hands braced themselves on either side of John's head, and Rodney looked down. "Do we?"

Their bodies were twisted firmly around each other, and John's first impulse was to hold on tight and just sink into Rodney's comfortable heat. Reality, cold and inescapable, started creeping inside his chest, a hard knot forming firmly in the center.

"Do we want to?" Rodney asked again, pressing a careful kiss to his lips. "Is that really an option?" There was no hopeful tremor in his voice, just the solid tones of a skeptic. Apparently Rodney had thought further ahead than John was capable of.

"I don't know," John said truthfully. He reached for Rodney's hand and pulled it into his own. Without both arms to support him, Rodney settled back down on his side, still wrapped around John. "Cat's outta the bag either way," John said with a little laugh, letting their fingers braid together.

For once, Rodney didn't question, and John could feel him nod against his chest. Maybe he felt it too, the inescapable fact that once they'd kissed, hell probably even once John had walked into the room, that this choice would be the one they'd have to face. Not the harder, more painful choice that they'd lived with for years; all versus none was no longer an option.

The world of some versus more didn't seem all that comfortable either.

******

John came back from the dead. He'd heard that sort of thing was to be expected if you took the sort of field position he had. It took the better part of a week to work his way back to Atlantis and another day to try and remember the coordinates of the alpha site, because his transmitter had gone the way of the dodo in the original blast.

Later, hours later, in his room, with the lights low and every single muscle exhausted and aching, Rodney kissed him. Fast and solid and sloppy, tongue fucking him hard and deep.

There was a tube pushed into his hand and Rodney's incredibly serious face staring straight at him, hands unbuckling his own pants. "Bed or desk?" he asked, zipper coming down.

"Desk," John rasped when he was finally able to speak. Desk, because the bed would have hurt too much.

Rodney nodded sharply; he seemed to understand.

******

Atlantis seemed to have come to a stunned silence--a loud stunned silence. People talked. There wasn't a discussion that didn't include the latest news in it in some manner or another. John, for the most part, encouraged positive attitudes and discouraged negative attitudes and generally played queer when a joke was needed to defuse an otherwise tense situation. His left wrist was getting sore from all the flopping.

Elizabeth's dance was greeted with laughter and then horrified stares from all parties, who then would turn to John, pleading.

"Sorry guys, this one's outta my hands," he'd say and then walk away jauntily--or pirouette, depending on the audience.

Rumor had it that Rodney had just laughed really hard at anyone who came to him and then told them to leave; he had more important things to worry about than some stupid mixer that would undoubtedly end in lots of food and booze. Why were people complaining?

John and Rodney spent a lot of time locked tightly around each other, kissing heavily. Dragging lips and tongue across each other, taking their time, making small sounds. They even watched movies with Rodney's legs tangled in John’s, arms wound tight. They drew the line at feeding each other, though possibly only because it came too close to sex.

A few nights after the amazing revelation that had everyone stunned, they were lying in his bed, drowsy from a long day and dazed from kissing. Rodney's fingers drew lewd equations on his chest, pairing up the oddest symbols. "You're fighting that part of you that wants to set an example, aren't you?" Rodney asked suddenly.

"What?" John asked, taking one lazy finger and adding his own expression to his chest.

"With the whole," he waved his hand expressively, gesturing at the two of them, "thing. With us."

It was a thought John had had repeatedly. No one wanted to be the first, evidenced enough by how everything had remained status quo so far. No alarming declarations in the mess, or in the control room, or in any other public space. Not even the civilians had really come forward to offer support. John had visions of it turning ugly if something didn't break the slowly rising tension. He'd never before asked his men to do something he wasn't willing to do himself.

A change in regulation was one thing; a change in attitude was entirely another. He'd screwed his career before, but now was different. He was a few years shy of full birds and there were so many things-- people to worry about. Rodney to worry about.

"I don't know," he answered honestly. "There's a lot to consider."

"I'll let you look at the charts I made on my computer," Rodney offered just before kissing him again. They twisted, John climbing on top, leg pushing between Rodney's. When had charts and graphs become hot?

John peppered small kisses down Rodney's neck, sucking at a random patch of skin here and there. Tasting soap and sweat and <b>Rodney</b> way down deep, licking and nibbling.

"Oh!" Rodney gasped. "Speaking of-- oh do that again-- things that are ungodly good, is there a point in time I can schedule on my calendar for when we're going to have sex again?"

John froze, Rodney's skin between his teeth. Slowly he let go and looked up. Rodney looked at him with his head tilted and chin jutted out. John could just hear his mental foot tapping. Beneath him, Rodney stayed relaxed and his hands continued to trace stray patterns. John licked is lips carefully. "In a hurry?"

"I'd just like to know," Rodney said amiably, "I'm not opposed to what we've been doing, it's very reassuring."

"Reassuring?" John raised an eyebrow.

Rodney flushed. "It's everything we never got to do," Rodney said almost shyly and shrugged with his whole body, rolling it against John. "And it's overwhelming in some ways, I'll grant you that. But I've never been good with anticipation. It's a good thing I never had to actually wait through school admissions processes. I hear those are killers."

He smiled, but he had no answer; how could he talk to Rodney about things he wasn't sure of himself? "Is there a rush?"

Rodney's fingers touched his face carefully. "Not at all," he whispered.

******

Rodney's cast was unnaturally white, even against his pale skin. Sunken, haunted eyes greeted him when he entered the room.

"Don't ever do that again," John bit out angrily, oh God, so angry. It bubbled under his skin, raw and chafing. "What on earth made you think that was the smart thing to do?"

"Humor the insane man?" Rodney's eyes narrowed. "Gee, where would I have learned that trick?"

John's jaw clenched so hard that his teeth made a grinding noise. "McKay," he growled, stepping forward, taking the man's healthy and whole arm in his hand, squeezing tight. "you told him to break your arm."

"Yes," Rodney nodded tightly, "and I really thought he was going to do it?" His voice cracked. "What did you want to happen, Colonel? Did *you* want to volunteer?" Rodney tilted his head inquisitively. "And then who would have shot him, huh? Remember what my aim is like during tense situations?"

Except it would have been dead on; as long as Rodney's not firing a projectile weapon, he hit the mark when he really wanted to. Every time. John felt the anger simmer and sputter and translate into hot rage down his spine, ending in an ache in the pit of his belly.

Rodney lunged, teeth clamping around the skin on his neck, wet and hot and sharp, running straight down to his balls. John's other hand went to Rodney's other arm, squeezing, two tight clamps on moving energy.

They both grunted as John hit the wall, and Rodney reflexively bit down harder. John's hands slid down and around, cupping Rodney's ass, kneading roughly. With one last suck, Rodney pulled away and pushed a chair towards the wall.

"Sit," Rodney spat, unbuckling his pants one handed. "I'm afraid the desk is out of the question this time around."

The lube was thrown at him and John found his dick and slicked up roughly, strong violent pulls on his own flesh that made him moan harshly. Then Rodney was there, pushing his hands out of the way, peeling the corners of his pants down as far they'd go, then he spun and sat, easing onto John slowly.

******

Two weeks before The Prom, as it had been nicknamed, flyers went up on the BBS advertising dance lessons. John was pretty positive about the whole idea, it was at the very least a step towards acceptance that The Prom was actually happening and wasn't a mass auditory and visual hallucination like the engineers kept saying.

Then large sections of the science division started wearing sparkly little rainbow jewelry. Some of the women even had little pink triangle earrings. As a show of solidarity, it was pretty subtle for the entire group, but on the other hand, that was probably why John approved.

Rodney couldn't stop fiddling with his necklace; it was long enough to tuck into his shirt if he needed to, with a set of small metallic circles holding the chain taut when Rodney would let go of it long enough for gravity to do its work. For the most part, though, they shifted through his fingers, making dull clacking noises.

Someone rudely questioned the safety of such an object being worn by someone working on the sorts of projects Rodney worked on.

"Nonconductive," Rodney snapped. "The science team made them. It's nice to know you think we're all morons."

John made a mental note of the Sergeant who'd asked the question. He'd been making a careful list for two weeks. So far it was relatively small and he hoped it remained that way.

The first official coming out happened very soon after that.

A team came in hot, and a good portion of them landed a stay in the infirmary. Barely a half hour later, the most calm looking frantic person John had ever seen was pacing outside the curtained off area where Beckett was treating Dr. Fredericks.

When Captain Henderson spotted John, he came to attention so fast that *John* felt something sprain in his own body. "At ease, Captain."

The man's stance relaxed, but he most certainly didn't. When Beckett called him in, John caught a glimpse of one hand holding another and made a note to keep an ear out for anything worrisome.

He ignored the strange feeling in his stomach as he watched the shadow of Captain Henderson hunch closer to the prone Dr. Fredericks. He ran into Rodney outside of the infirmary. "He's going to be fine," John told him and the small frisson of worry he could see in Rodney's eyes eased.

"Good." He sniffed dramatically. "he's working on something that would take weeks to finish if I had to hand it to someone else."

"You big softy." John mock punched Rodney on the arm, only smiling wider when Rodney frowned and covered the spot with his hand, complaining about delicate skin.

They ambled on to lunch together, and John took the time to enjoy being able to just *be*. To listen to Rodney go on and then ignore him. It was comforting to just sit there and egg Rodney on.

"--what does it matter?"

And then reality intruded.

The shorter one stood up, chair skidding backward. "It matters because I didn't know!"

"And was it any of your business?" The one with the weasel face stood up, too. "Is it really anyone's business?"

"Public. Showers," Shorty Stupidpants bit out.

The first public argument was between two of Rodney's people, so John hung back, eyeing the crowd and surreptitiously calling a couple of guards to hug the wall. Rodney meanwhile stomped over loudly and angrily.

"We could be eaten by a living cliché, and you let *this* get in the way of saving our asses?" Rodney yelled. "Just go and defect while you're at it, it's quicker and more effective."

They two instigators were remarkably silent.

"Your rooms," Rodney pointed. "Now. We'll talk later, after you've had some private time to reflect."

The two men left slowly, and John imagined their heads were bowed; he still nodded for them to be followed. The room was unnaturally quiet and still. Next to him, he could feel the rage radiating off of Rodney.

"I cannot believe you people," Rodney yelled at the wall, shoulders held tense. "Who you fuck does not affect how well you can do math, or program a computer or even," his teeth clenched further, and John was already taking him by the arm and leading him away, "how well you shoot a gun!"

Rodney was fighting him, pulling to go back. "You want to hate someone, hate the Wraith!"

John pulled harder, Rodney practically vibrating under his hand, but finally Rodney followed, his silence abysmally loud. John decided just to get someplace private, and a small store room between one lab and another was the closest. Inside, Rodney finally slumped, energy leaving en masse.

"I possibly overreacted," Rodney said, sliding down the wall.

"No one'll notice." John shook his head, sliding down next to him.

They hooked hands and arms, leaning into each other easily, breathing together in long pulls of air. "Better?" John asked into the silence.

"No," Rodney answered petulantly. "Today officially sucks worse than the defense of my second thesis."

"Look, it's gonna be really weird, and these incidents are gonna happen," John started carefully, "more and more frequently for a few weeks."

"I know." Rodney said. "I know, and this just drives home the point you haven't been making."

"I want to sign papers," John said suddenly, looking at their entwined fingers.

"What?" Rodney shifted next to him, pulling at his arm so they could face each other. "Papers?"

John shrugged, looking off to the left. "Next of kin, 401k, that stuff." The silence ate away at him, but Henderson's pale face faded over Rodney's.

"What?" Rodney's voice was higher than normal. "You- you what?" He swallowed loudly.

"Sorry," John said immediately. "I just," he flailed, literally, his free hand just sort of waved in the air. "That kid this morning?"

"Fredericks is 30," Rodney interrupted absently.

"Kid," John said firmly. "I just-- it was-- we can walk through that gate and --" he waved his hand around, still flailing.

"You did not just ask me to marry you while sitting on a dirty floor in a storage closet," Rodney said, pulling John to him, broad hand stroking up his arm, fingertip tracing an invisible line on his neck. "Because that would be-- so you."

"Marriage?" John gulped. No no. Not marriage. Except--maybe just a little. Because he wanted that security, of knowing he could speak for Rodney. Of knowing *Rodney* could speak for him.

"Okay, not marriage," Rodney agreed, "because that's so-- scary." He brushed their lips together and it was-- better. So much better and that was impossible because kissing Rodney was already scarily good. "Papers, huh?"

"Yeah." John nodded. "Papers."

"Uh." Rodney was suspiciously glassy-eyed. "Okay then. Yes."

"Yes." John agreed, still nodding manically, smile threatening to break out over his face. "Yes, great, that's--" deep breath, the room was a little spinny, "that's great."

"Yeah," Rodney agreed, moving in again, foreheads touching, noses bumping gently, almost nuzzling. "Great. Really," they kissed. "Great."

"Keep this up," John smiled into another kiss, "and we're gonna need to get you a thesaurus."

Rodney pinched his arm and then rubbed it affectionately. "Keep that up," they kissed again, lips pressing warmly, opening for a quick taste, "and you get to sleep on the couch."

******

Continued in Part 2.

Fic: Leavenworth, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard (2/2)

2006-01-20T01:13:59Z

Leavenworth Part 2. You can find the headers and part 1 here.

******

He wakes to the sound of John jumping out of bed and cursing.

"What?" Rodney asks puzzled and barely conscious, minorly worried this might be some delayed reaction freak-out.

"Overslept." John yells curtly from the bathroom.

Shit. Double shit. Rodney jumps out of bed and checks the time. Oh god, so late.

He's wrinkled and unshaven and *caffeineless*. Coffee. He needs coffee; everything else can wait or be explained away.

The morning turns into one long rushed blur, he never manages to get his caffeine to blood ratio about right and propriety and Radek beg that he at least slip away to change his clothes. 'We are not running a college lab here, Rodney'.

Somewhere along the way someone asks where the remote went and Rodney has a heart attack while scowling indignantly and proclaiming he doesn't trust anyone else with it, and why should anyone need it anyway, no one's touching it without turning in a twenty page report detailing just what they're going to do right down to what they're going to have for breakfast *the day before*.

That, thankfully, settles that. Rodney still feels harried though, despite something pleasant and fuzzy thrumming under his skin. He doesn't really connect it to anything until his late lunch in the mess where he runs into John.

Rodney takes the seat across from him because the room is mostly empty and it'd be easily noticed if he didn't. "Hey."

"Hey," John looks up through his lashes.

"Good day?" Rodney asks.

John blinks slowly, dirty smile running across his lips quickly before disappearing. "Oddly, yes."

"Me too."

******

Rodney lasts a whole five days before 'going to pick up the remote he accidentally left in John's room'.

This time the emergency happens out by pier four and it's Rodney stuck with several of the science team in a room fast filling with water and John's ragged face peeking out of a burnt hole in the ceiling, pulling them to safety. Then there are more tense minutes of solving the problem before the next room floods and some seriously important systems malfunction.

Rodney saves the day, of course, and John stands behind him and manages to drawl and speak quickly all at once, offering lame jokes and actual suggestions. He is surprisingly helpful -- in his own way of course. Never mind the saving Rodney from certain death. There should be a fund somewhere that sends out a muffin basket every time someone ensures his brain is still around to solve the next crisis. Possibly something should be sent to his savior as well.

John comes up to him at the end of it all, looking tired and worn and a little uncertain. "You left that thing in my room," he says with as much nonchalance as a twelve year old looking for gifts.

"What thi-- oh that," Rodney's had a long day, he's allowed to be slow on the uptake when someone's not going to be specific like that. "Yes, the that, you want me to…" he searches for a phrase that doesn't sound dirty or is too obvious, "pick it up?" He obviously fails miserably.

"That's good, see you 'round eleven." He's off before Rodney can get out an answer.

******

There's no pretence when the door opens for him. The room is dark enough to make it all shadows and soft edges. John is barefoot in just his pants, looking utterly tense as he grants Rodney entrance.

He grabs Rodney's shirt when the door closes and tugs at it gently. Rodney lets him take it off. "Bed. " He says when it falls softly to the floor. "This floor is a lot harder than the one on Jenia."

John nods, but reaches out to cup his jaw, thumb rubbing lightly over bone. "Sure," he says before kissing him, slow and mellow and just a little desperate.

It seems a little odd when they lay down facing each, the deliberateness of it all lending to the unreality. John takes his hand and threads their fingers together. Rodney stares at their joined hands for a few seconds before squeezing back. "I'm not sure how…"

"Press the button?" John offers, completely unrepentant.

"I meant," Rodney frowns at him, thoroughly unamused, really. "How to do this without worrying about breaking the thing."

John contemplates that for a long moment, lips pressed together, brow furrowed unevenly before saying, "Here," and rolling onto his back.

It takes Rodney a few seconds to figure out what John wants. Until John tugs at their hands, pulling Rodney up a bit. Oh. On top. Right. Carefully he crawls up John's body and it's so strange because there's nothing pushing him other than the knowledge that they're about to not have sex together.

They settle and Rodney is very aware of John underneath him, firm but yielding, breathing shallowly. He puts the control on the nightstand and does a mental three count. Then flicks the switch.

It's good. It's really good. It sends him inside out and upside down and his brain just *shuts down* and he nearly stops breathing there for a minute.

When it's over he can barely move. John's fingers are twisting in his hair, petting and bunching together and shaking.

"Oh god," John's voice actually trembles. "This probably isn't a good idea."

Rodney suddenly realizes they're using completely new and *malfunctioning* technology without proper documentation or supervision. Oh god, what if it's addicting? John's slick stomach breathes in and out and he almost loses his train of thought. "We have to tell Carson."

"What?" John tries to sit up, but his arms won't hold him yet so they both fall back to the bed with a whoosh of air.

"We have to tell Carson," Rodney insists again. "What if this is dangerous?"

"It is dangerous, Rodney." John says in a low, unamused voice.

Rodney winces. "Right. Right. Sorry, I didn't mean--" He stops and shakes his head, which is still somewhere near John's neck and that just sort of makes them both a bit dizzy. "Look, he's our doctor right? And he's gotta know how these things are affecting us. What if there's permanent damage or something?"

He can feel John take long, deep breaths, his heart beat hollow in Rodney's ears. "Tomorrow." John finally says tightly.

"Tomorrow," Rodney echoes.

They fall asleep tangled together, hands restless. John wakes him in the middle of the night, eyes bright and kisses him over and over again and then rolls him on top and reaches for the remote, stopping long enough to get a silent nod of permission from Rodney.

He shouldn't say yes, but god he wants to, he wants to roll John around him and cry out in pleasure and lose feelings in his toes and be sweaty and grunt and grind with him. He shouldn't say yes, but he does.

******

They don't oversleep this time, but they do wake slowly, still plastered together, bodies still sweat-slick where they're touching. They both look at the small, slim, rectangular device sitting on the nightstand and Rodney worries that they'll never fix this. That some alien device is going to be his only way to almost orgasm for the rest of his life and he doesn't want to share.

They go to Carson together but when it comes time to answer Carson's innocent stare. They can't.

Until Rodney can't take the silence anymore. He blurts it all out and he's not really sure what he said, but the word impotent was used at least once.

Carson blinks at them for long moments and then sighs and takes out a diagnostic tool. "Both of you then?"

They nod in tandem.

"And it took you nearly two weeks to come to me?" He asks, and Rodney is pretty sure it's just to humiliate them further.

"Look," John says, saving Rodney from another embarrassing explosion of words, "it's the kind of thing you hope is stress and cross your fingers that it will go away."

"I'm sorry," Carson relents, "I'd read the material myself nearly ten days ago, I was just wondering when you'd come to me." He taps some buttons and takes some more scans. "I really didn't expect you two to come in together."

Rodney's eyes go wide in shock and righteous indignation, "You *knew*?"

"Doc," John's voice joins his, sounding dangerous, "isn't that the sort of thing you discuss with your patients? Not let them discover it on their own."

"Well yes," Carson nods, "Normally I would and I suppose I should have, but I had hopes that the damage inflicted had affected that as well and knowing how this one," he waves a finger at Rodney, "reacts to a paper cut, I thought it'd be better to let it play out."

Rodney's eyes narrow and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Isn't there some oath you're breaking right this very minute?"

"I've no idea what you're referring to," Carson says innocently.

Rodney's eyes remain narrowed.

"Well gentlemen," Carson says when he's all done, "I don't know what I can do, they didn't exactly supply me with a plethora of erectile dysfunction--" they both flinch "-- drugs, but we can start with what I do have and I can order more for the next supply run."

John frowns deeply. "That's… isn't that better for… you know people who have hours of uninterrupted time and stuff?"

Carson nods. "Aye, and ideally with a partner close at hand."

Rodney continues to stare straight ahead, hoping John is doing something similarly non-suspicious next to him.

"Right," Rodney says into the silence, "so we were thinking, that is, it's sort of frustrating to go for weeks and not --" he waves his hands and belatedly realizes it was a slightly rude gesture. To make sure he doesn't do it again, his stuffs his hands under his thighs.

Putting on his best doctor face, Carson manages to erase the worst of his amusement and nod seriously. "Well then, do you want to try the drugs after all?"

"Well," John hedges, "we were actually wondering if using the remote was a possibility for now." He's sitting ramrod straight, eyes forward. The best imitation of a soldier Rodney has ever seen him do.

"Okay then," Carson sighs, "how many times have you already tried it?"

Rodney makes all sort of indignant sounds and next to him John lifts three fingers. "Betrayer," Rodney frowns. John just shrugs.

"Well," Carson nods, "according to your scans so far there's no-- wait a minute," his eyes narrow and Rodney gets that lead feeling in his stomach, "didn't we tune you two to the same frequency?"

Their silence is just as damning as Carson's startled, "oh."

Whose brilliant idea had it been to put them on same frequency anyway? Probably Zelenka, the evil little troll. Carson fights an obvious blush through the rest of their visit and Rodney resents him immensely for it.

In the end they get permission to use the devices at their discretion, though they're admonished not to overdo it. In the middle of the conversation Rodney remembers that there's a diagnostic cycle on the damned things and promises to add that to his daily routine.

Carson tentatively reminds them that they can work off separate frequencies.

Rodney resolves that they really need a better answer than silence and staring at the ceiling for that sort of question.

"Alone," John grates out, "is not… comforting."

"Okay then," Carson eyes them both warily. "Call me if there are any problems."

Rodney freezes. "Like?"

"I have no idea," Carson shakes his head, "but I hear it's the thing they say on those popular medical dramas."

Wonderful. Someone is going to have to be punished later.

******

With permission comes reluctance.

Even though they're still grounded there's still a multitude of things to take care of, at least for Rodney. John's presence is scarce, they pass in the hallway and the mess and at briefings they're both supposed to be at. Status quo is suddenly hollow and flat, but Rodney can't bring himself to change it.

John's not distant, not by any means, he still smiles and nods and sends jabs in Rodney's direction that he happily volleys, but something still holds them back.

In the meantime, another emergency comes up and Rodney is surprised it's taken as long as it has. Somewhere in the galaxy several members of the Atlantis expedition are being held hostage by a rag tag group of Genii soldiers demanding medical and munitions supplies.

Rodney is left behind.

There's no reason for him to go, he knows that. He shouldn't want to go. There's nothing for him to do on that sort of mission but be in the way and waste bullets. So he paces in small little circles in his lab and then later in his room.

The alarm, when it finally comes, startles him badly and he nearly spills coffee all over himself.

He cleans up the mess on the table and the floor and washes his hands thoroughly.

He does not, however, go the control room.

Waiting is the worst thing ever. Every loud sound has Rodney's head snapping up waiting to hear his name being called over the intercom. Or worse, hear the call for Carson. He's deep into reorganizing his notes for his secondary idea for the Grand Unifying Theory, and two pages into a memo that talks about power redistribution when his door opens.

John, encased in shadows, stands in his doorway, long fingers with white knuckles clutched tightly around something small and rectangular. His face is open and questioning, giving Rodney a look that makes him flush from his ears to his toes. He's waiting for Rodney to give him a sign. So he does. He closes his laptop with a final click.

Long arms are around him in a flash, lifting and pulling and holding him close. Hot kisses on his mouth and neck and chin make him dizzy. Rodney's hands bury themselves in John's hair, pulling him back up for another kiss, long and deep and messy. They both reach for the control at once flicking the switch and falling to their knees.

It's Rodney's last coherent thought to make sure that the remote makes it safely to the ground. Then it's all John's skin and scent and voice as the rippling pleasure pools inside them. A leg wraps around Rodney's hip, scorching hot and pliant, he uses it to pull John closer and then rolls so John's weight pushes into him from above. It's fantastic, one long kiss after another and skin rubbing against cloth rubbing against cloth rubbing against skin. But as the last, large wave comes cresting over the ridge they both stop moving, stop breathing, eyes dark and pupils wide meeting until it finally explodes and everything grays.

Tense to limp in under a second leaves him shuddery and vulnerable. John is wilted on top of him, fingers twitching, breathing hard.

"Nguh," is about the extent that Rodney can express.

John's lips kiss his neck in an uncoordinated manner. "Jnuh."

******

They sleep on the floor -- the thought of actually moving is laughable -- and Rodney wakes in a fair amount of pain, muscles aching in strange ways, his stomach tight and sore. Rodney flexes his fingers as he watches John sit up and roll his neck.

"I…" Rodney starts, but has no idea what he was going to say, so he changes tracks, "You okay?"

John's movements stop with his head bowed and his arms braced on his knees. "Not a good time to ask that question, Rodney."

"Right," Rodney's throat dries and the word cracks as it's coming out.

The silence is loud and echoing, it's edge sharp and biting, rending virtual flesh with tiny little cuts and Rodney is compelled to speak. "I think I broke something," he moans, rubbing his back. "Definitely too old to sleep on the floor," he sends a mock glare to John, "I blame you."

"You could have moved," John says amicably.

Rodney throws him a look that could melt plastic. "I would have tried but someone was dead weight."

"What can I say?" John smiles, finally looking up, "I'm that good."

He looks tired. Dark circles under his eyes, hair extra messy. And tense, weirdly tense around the crinkles of his eyes and the edges of his mouth. Rodney swallows, their gazes catching. "No Colonel, I'm that good, as you were dead weight." It's a stupid thing to say, but he can't seem to get out of their pitch and volley routine.

"Sure," John says stretching, "why not? But just remember who took longer to speak in complete sentences."

John's shirt rides up a bit, exposing a pale strip of hairy skin that Rodney can't seem to tear his eyes away from. The impulse to touch feels strange and foreign in his mind. John moves toward him, eyes suspiciously innocent, an arm brushes across Rodney's chest for the briefest of moments and then it returns to his eyeline and he sees John is holding the remote.

"Oh god," Rodney's head flops to the floor, "not again. I'm still not sure I can walk straight."

"Just making sure no one steps on it." John smirks. He moves the remote to a nearby table but that leaves him unnervingly close to Rodney, arm and part of his body hovering close, breath warm little puffs on Rodney's face. The impulse rockets through Rodney, strong and breathtaking and completely irrational.

He wraps a hand around John's wrist and pulls gently until John is chest to chest with him, almost draped over his lap. Eyes wide and surprised meet Rodney's and he has no idea what he's doing, even as he tugs once more and their lips touch.

It's less a kiss and more breathing one another's air, a slow glide back and forth and a low buzz of arousal that just won't budge. They sink to the floor in one long sweeping dramatic kiss that feels utterly outside of them. John makes a small choked off noise that Rodney echoes and for brief seconds the kiss is violent in intensity, tongues licking and swirling, hands pulling, chests heaving before it gentles again. Then ends with a soft pop and one quick sweep forward for an extra brush of lips.

"I think," Rodney licks his lips, "we need to do that when the --" he makes a vague gesture to their necks "-- you know, things, are finally removed."

John licks his lips and nods mutely. "If we do, we might not able to string together complete sentences for hours."

Sitting up, painfully, Rodney nods. "Yes well, that's a risk I'm willing to take."

"You're a martyr to the cause." John mocks affectionately.

Rodney back now literally *hurts* and his left leg is asleep. "Yes well, there are certain causes I'm willing to lay it all out on the line for."

******

He limps all day and is very upset about that. Even if he feels pretty good about the morning. That is, until Rodney realizes that he proposed actual sex. Which is a far cry from mutual electronic orgasms necessitated by their circumstances.

He panics through most of his morning staff meeting.

Rodney also panics through lunch and most of his afternoon research. Zelenka leaves an offering of the good coffee near his desk and Rodney makes a concerted effort to panic more internally than externally.

He ends up with a stomach cramp and woefully behind on his work.

Somehow, Rodney will find a way to blame it on John, because he's sure it's all his fault.

******

A few days later Carson submits a proposal to return to the Jenian home world, which actually pleases all of them for a number of reasons. Though of course, the one they actually voice is concern that the flagship team has been grounded for nearly a month.

Carson gives Rodney an eyebrow at the line, but merely points out their own bodies are helping the implants degeneration along. That as well as some of the extra use generated by Rodney's 'research' -- and he can just *hear* the quotes when Carson says it -- has changed some of the initial conditions. Coupled with the rest of the science and medical team's research, removal is now feasible.

Elizabeth approves the proposal even as John and Rodney start to argue their case. They get a head tilt and a look and then get assigned to Major Lorne's team. When they argue, it's pointed out that keeping Ronon in an enclosed space with nothing to do but wait has never turned out as well as they hope.

Rodney would be outraged if he wasn't so happy about the thought of getting his erection back. He makes the mistake of thinking that while looking at John and starts panicking all over again. He's been doing that on and off all week. He even thought about hunting down a paper bag just in case it *did* come to hyperventilating.

On Jenia they're examined using the specialized devices built for dealing with the implants. Microsurgery is what Carson called it when he spoke about it. The implants literally interrupts the nerves and the usual procedure for removal needed to be retooled to work around the damage the implants received as well as both Rodney and John's slightly different physiology.

"Surgery?" Rodney balks, "*here?*"

John makes a noise of agreement.

"I'm sorry gentlemen," Carson says, "but they have the specialized tools, developed over years of dealing with the implants and I'd rather get those things out of you sooner rather than later. I'm sure that's your preference as well." He pauses giving them an annoyed stare. "It was all in the briefing memos."

Goddamnit, Rodney really needs a lackey to summarize things for him.

He doesn't argue however, because all that erectile dysfunction research is driving Rodney insane. Despite the literature, he's sure there's a build up of fluid somewhere that's very unhealthy. Who trusts an alien instruction manual written for slightly different physiology than his own anyway? He has however, stopped shy of actually measuring his balls, but mostly because he couldn't come up with a decent excuse to purloin some string from Miko.

The surgery, according to Carson, will take a few hours apiece, but recovery could take up to several weeks as their bodies heal and get used to working without the implant interpreting all of it's signals.

John and Rodney face each other from different exam beds, the air between them is serious and charged, but they don’t speak because there are other people in the room and god knows what Rodney will say if they start. So they sit and stare and Rodney's last memory is of John's heated look brushing over his skin.

******

A thin slip of a shadow is hovering over him, old and crusty, it cries cold tears over his body. Rodney can't move as it reaches for him, long shadowy fingers pointing ominously. The room is full of shadows and he can't make out enough details to understand what's going on.

"No!"

The shadow disappears and Rodney struggles up to consciousness. There's a noise to his right and his eyes clear to see John clumsily holding someone to the floor.

His fingers won't work the way he wants them to and when he slides off the bed his knees sink to the ground. John is slowly losing the fight and Rodney reaches out to help.

The best he can do is be dead weight, so he slumps over the person's legs crawling slowly up to his torso. John moves accordingly, doing something up by his head that Rodney doesn't think very hard about. But the struggling ceases and they both sink, graceless to the floor, draped over the now still figure. Rodney will not think that he's probably half asleep on top of a dead body.

"Rodney?" John's voice croaks, slow and thick.

He has to blink heavily to get his eyes to focus. He recognizes this feeling; heavy anesthetic is still working its way through his system. "Yeah?"

"The guards are either unconscious or dead." John's voice is moving closer, "we have to move."

"Carson?" Rodney asks, crawling off the body.

"Don't know," John says after a long silence.

His strange alien IV is already slipping out and Rodney's arm, thin trickles of blood leaking down it. It distracts him for indeterminate seconds as the harsh red bleeds in and out of focus.

"Rodney!"

"Right," he jerks up, taking the rest of the wires off his body. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere," John comes up behind him and hands him a jacket that he's managed to scrounge up somewhere, "that's not here."

"Good answer," Rodney says as he swings a steadying arm around John's waist, feeling the tremors wrack through his thin body, Rodney knows John needs it just as much as he does. It's comforting, however, when John's arm latches around his shoulders.

******

They weave down darkened hallways, stopping to raid some supplies along the way, shoes, bandages, a portable looking computer terminal. Everyone they come across is unconscious, passed out in the middle of whatever they were doing. John picks up a few of the local weapons along the way. Rodney looks at their shaking hands and wonders if the phrase 'broad side of a barn' has occurred to John.

John somehow manages to find a defensible position in some small room somewhere. There's no way they can deal with the outside world in their current condition, so Rodney just nods eagerly and slides down the wall. "Oh thank god," he says, swallowing repeatedly and closing his eyes tightly. "I'm not sure how much longer I could have done that for."

Walls too bright for his eyes, even in the dark, make his head throb. Next to Rodney, John slides down as well, slumping against his side, warm and inviting. "What the hell happened?" Rodney asks, moving his arm just enough for John to slide under it.

"N-no i-idea,' John's teeth are rattling hard.

The world spins and shakes and possibly turns strange colors. They try to take turns staying awake, but their bodies both laugh at them and make them sick. A long period of time passes before Rodney feels closer to human. They've barely moved since they sat down and Rodney's skin has that sweaty grimy feeling of a fever that's been burned off. John is limp against him, mouth open slightly, eyes shut tight. Their hands are tangled together, fingers cramped and twisted.

It's a surprising sight that makes Rodney's heart hammer a little harder and spark a low heat in his belly. He gasps, head jerking up. God that's a sensation he's *missed*. Not that it's an incredibly convenient time for it. Then again, his body tends to enjoy the incredibly *in*convenient times the most.

"Rodney?" John mutters into his chest, already trying to sit upright. His free hand moves to rubs his eyes. "How long?"

Rodney checks the little computer they stole. "If I'm reading this right? Five hours?"

John nods, pushing himself completely upright. "Feel better?"

"I slept half sitting up with a full grown man practically in my lap," Rodney says by way of answering.

John kisses him softly. "Sorry?"

All his righteous indignation fizzles out of him like air from a leaky tire. "Later, when I have eaten and have guzzled a gallon of coffee and do not have god knows how many alien drugs running through my system, it will not be that easy to gain my forgiveness."

Another kiss, just as soft and, oh god, really sweet and weirdly defenseless.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little easy." Rodney concedes.

John's face is unsettlingly vulnerable, hovering over his, uncertain as it peers down at him. Rodney reaches out with a still shaking hand and uses one finger to trace an absurdly high cheekbone. "Maybe a lot easy," he says, leaning in for another kiss.

If kissing before was pleasant, this is exhilarating, despite the fact that they're practically limp on the floor, still exhausted and shaking. Rodney honestly thinks that if John were to ask, he'd be ready to give it a shot right here on the floor.

The spirit, however willing, loses when the flesh is weak. Oh so weak is the flesh. John ends the kiss with a low chuckle that burns inside of Rodney's skin, but even that's not enough to give him the energy to have sex *and* run for his life. As much as he likes sex, he *loves* his life. Continued life means possibilities for more sex later. Later, Rodney will make himself pie charts and graphs.

"Okay," John says, slumping beside him, "first order of business, figuring out what the hell happened."

"Here's a thought," Rodney mutters, "someone is trying to kill us. A lot."

"Hrmm?" John asks while attempting to remove a stray hair from his line of sight by *blowing* at it.

"Come on!" Rodney presses, patently ignoring the pursed wet lips, "like this is all a coincidence!"

"I don't believe in coincidences," John reaches for their bag of loot off to his left.

"Well thank you, Han Solo."

John freezes and then tosses him a dirty smile, "You're welcome, your worship."

Rodney simply doesn't have the words.

******

It takes them far too long to stand up without bumping into a wall or each other. Which is great, but Rodney's still pretty sure if he has to shoot, he's more likely to hit himself than a wall.

The hospital staff are still out cold on the floor. "God, what did they give them?" Rodney wonders.

"Better question," John murmurs, looking around a corner, "why didn't it affect us?"

"I bet Carson could answer that question." Rodney says.

"Yeah Rodney, I wish he was here too." John leans heavily on the wall. "Just so he could tell me I'm not actually dying."

He looks like shit, Rodney observes, now that they're in the hallway and the natural light is seeping in through the blinds on the windows. John is pale and shaky and Rodney shouldn't be able to count the visible veins. Rodney really doesn’t want to look in a mirror any time soon.

The room spins momentarily and Rodney flushes hot then cold. Jesus, he really wants Carson back. "Are parts of you going numb at random intervals?"

"Yeah," John grunts, motioning for him to follow, "and it's not making me happy."

They walk around in no discernable pattern that Rodney can figure out, but they're fast approaching the point where he's going to need to sit down again.

John abruptly stops in front of a large, stylish door. "Here."

"Here?" Rodney asks, "what's here?"

"Surgical Lounge," John says smugly.

Rodney's arms drop to his sides. "How on earth can you know that?"

John winks, absurdly comical and overdone. "Just trust me sweetheart."

"You're not really Han Solo, you know that right?"

John smirks and salutes him with his gun. Rodney rolls his eyes.

Inside they find Carson slumped over a comfortable looking chair, groaning. Rodney has never seen a more pleasant sight in his life. Then John bends over to check Carson's pulse. Oh god, it's really been a good day.

******

It doesn't take much to get Carson the rest of the way awake and it's decided that they could really give a crap about what happened, at least until they get back to Atlantis. Carson directs them to where Lorne and the rest of the escort had been escorted prior to the surgery.

They're groggy but, thankfully, still well armed.

Rodney nearly pledges his undying devotion to the flash grenade hanging off Lorne's vest.

John looks like he's eyeing the P90 with suspiciously wet eyes.

The hospital is connected to all of the major portions of the city through what Rodney thinks of as a glorified elevated train. Of course, he's still angry they wouldn't share exactly how the things manage to glide along so smoothly and silently.

The group of them stumble around drunkenly like an outtake from Shaun of the Dead, trying to make it to the train entrance on the third floor without losing anyone.

John and Rodney are the worst of the group, because at least as Carson, Lorne and the rest move around, their movements become more coordinated, whereas John and Rodney just get slower and clumsier. Eventually they each have a strapping marine to hold onto to stay upright.

Carson mumbles worriedly about the fact that they're up and moving around at all and Rodney fights visions of being permanently paralyzed forever. He wonders if the civil liability and litigation laws reach this far off the planet.

The concussion grenade type thing nearly gives Rodney a heart attack. First because he's thrown to the floor, second because someone heavy lands on top of him and third because, ow, loud.

There's machine gun fire going on over Rodney's head, and then hands tugging at him, helping pull him over to the side. John and Carson help prop him up and John promptly loses all balance and falls flat on his face. In Rodney's lap. And he'd really like to be able to enjoy that more.

Once they get John sitting up again, he takes a position just dangerous enough to be able to see the action and still have to flinch away every so often.

"Who's attacking us?" Rodney whispers loudly.

"I don't know," John frowns, "but whoever they are, they're organized."

"They're government troops. Secret squads."

They whirl. Well Carson whirls, John and Rodney sort of spin slowly.

Frawan is on the floor behind them, looking as far from neat and tailored as possible. "There was a deal made," he frowns, "your lives for this planet."

Rodney frowns, "Who the hell would want--"

"The wraith," John interrupts. "They made a deal with the wraith."

"Oh god, again?" Rodney is really getting tired of the same script, different week game.

Frawan raises an eyebrow. "I don't know what your prior experiences are, but our government was approached in secret and were promised that if we somehow took the two of you out of the equation, our planet would be spared from culling."

John snorts. "They believed them?"

"Some did," Frawan nods, "others felt our souls were not worth that price no matter the level of veracity of the claim." He nods to the fading sounds, "Your men are almost finished, but more agents will be here any minute. Gather them and I'll lead you to the StarCircle."

With someone who actually knows where they are going, the rest of the trip seems like a breeze. Rodney blames his still incredibly drugged state on the fact that he didn't see the obvious path on the hospital map before.

The tram leaves them mere feet from their destination and they hurry to dial as they are quickly garnering attention.

The odd silver glow of the gate only makes John look worse. Before they step through, John stops and turns. "I had your job once," he says to Frawan, "don't ever let them tell you it wasn't worth it." They share a strange stare of the governmentally abused before John turns back and tells Rodney to go through with a quick nod of his head.

Rodney, however, doesn't move until he sees John's stumbling footsteps start towards the gate as well.

******

Epilogue:

Rodney has always appreciated the concept of masturbation. As a teen it was salvation from a dreadful family life. As an undergrad it allowed him to flex his brain as the traditional 'oh god breasts', pull pull pull method's glowing response began to wane. Creativity was the key; math too, as calculating trajectory was used as a method to prolong release. As a postdoctoral candidate, it was how he managed to finish his thesis despite a lack of coffee and sleep.

Now. Oh now, he's fourteen again and a stiff breeze can make him come and while it's annoying, he's really not complaining.

Carson, the smart, smart man, lets them recover away from the relative non-privacy of the infirmary. Rodney is admonished to stay in bed, unless otherwise necessary. He stares at his washcloth and lotion bottle and finds he's unusually okay with bed rest.

Rodney is reminded of that time classes had been cancelled for a freak snowstorm and in a fit of utter laziness he had closed his books and stayed in bed. All day. It had been a good day.

A week later, the dizziness, the random numbness and the uncontrollable napping are all but gone and Rodney is cleared for light duty. That's when he learns there are a whole host of things he needs to get used to again. The implants controlled and damped far more than he had realized.

Smells and tastes are the most immediately apparent. That's easy to handle, he eats more and with gusto for a little while and it eventually normalizes. The hard part is when he's leaning over Radek's shoulder, pointing at something important and doing something completely normal and he's suddenly assaulted by his senses; feeling the heat of the body near him or smelling Radek's shampoo and even, for god's sake, getting little shivers when he curses in Czech.

That is just freakish enough that he really does stick to a light workload and to small projects that don't require other people in close quarters.

There are things about his colleagues he never ever needed to consider. Ever.

Oh god, this afternoon with Miko demonstrates he still shouldn't be allowed in public.

Of course, his incredibly manly and thoroughly strategic retreat is halted when he runs into John. Not that they haven't seen each other across a crowded mess or in a hallway, but this time he actually *runs* into him. When they step apart, his chest still burns where John and he touched.

They stare and start to speak at the same time and stop and stare some more. Finally, John throws his hands up and Rodney pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Sex?" John whispers.

Rodney's head snaps up. "Here?"

"No, in the mess so we can put out a hat to collect money," John snaps.

"Sorry!" Rodney waves his hands in front of him. "You surprised me."

They make their way to John's room in what Rodney feels is an incredibly suspicious manner. Though he's wondering when he agreed to actual sex. Actual sex, while a nice thought, is possibly a very stupid idea.

The door closes behind them and John turns to face him, shoulders tense. They stare some more. John's shoulders eventually slump. "This was so much easier when we just had to press a button."

Rodney lunges, he can't take the pressure. Their lips meet clumsily and John's body is tense under his hands, but his lips are soft and pliant. Instantly, Rodney can feel the difference. Before it was a warm buzz, now it's a flashpoint, heat burning through him. A few moments in and they both make pathetic, broken sounds and jump into action.

Shirts and pants disappear in an awkward whirlwind of hands. Rodney nearly falls on his face because he forgets to take his shoes off first.

Laying down makes it all better though. Miles of skin pressing into Rodney, firm and elastic and John's hands trailing everywhere, his neck, his chest, his ass, squeezing nicely.

"Oh god," Rodney groans, startled when they manage to line their cocks up by complete accident.

"Oh-- yeah that's," John buries his face in Rodney's neck, licking and kissing. "Oh god, yeah."

Oddly reminiscent of their first time using the implant on Atlantis, it's all tight fast movements that tumble off Rodney's nerves, drowning him in pleasure. Except now the underside of his cock is snug against John's hip, rubbing perfectly, friction building hotly.

Rodney presses his feet to the mattress, grinding up, orgasm suddenly clawing at his belly, hot and intense and breathtaking. Freezing momentarily, breath caught in his throat, Rodney shudders hard, twisting frantically, rubbing against any surface he can find and comes his brains out.

Above him, John stops moving, kissing him through it with lots of messy tongue and wet sounds. When Rodney finally quiets, John's hips start moving again, slow at first, but quickly the pace becomes a race. Rodney can feel it in John's stomach before he actually breaks rhythm with four final frantic thrusts.

They collapse -- well Rodney goes boneless and John falls to his side breathing heavily.

"Oh god I missed sex." Rodney mutters.

"You weren't having any before the implant," John accuses, his face still planted in Rodney's sternum.

"Yes, hence why I miss it." Rodney frowns, hand absently petting John's hair. "Are we still not talking about this?"

John looks up, face flushed, pupils dilated and looking so completely post coital and warm it just isn't fair. "I would love to never talk about this, ever."

"So, same time tomorrow?"

"Of course."

THE END

Fic: Leavenworth, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard (1/2)

2006-01-20T01:09:57Z

Title: Leavenworth
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17
Length: Approx 13,000 words.
Author's notes: Beta thanks to fairestcat and lierdumoa (whom I apologize to for posting this without hearing from you on that last thing, but OMG I HAVE NO NAILS LEFT), eternal gratitude because oh god, I wrote this while SO SICK and the keystrokes I missed were abominable. Also thanks for general cheering go to seperis.

The sheer amount of B.S. that had to be seeded into this fic to make the plot work boggles the mind. No really it does and it frightens me and I should never be allowed to write a paper ever again.

As always, if something was missed I first wouldn't be surprised and second would be happy to correct it.

Summary: "On the plus side, we're apparently in the Ritz of prison cells."

Rodney wakes to pleasure, gentle waves that roll over him, making him tingle and gasp. It's baseless and decentralized at first, dry and shuddering from one end of his body to another. Slowly, something coalesces in his groin, sharp and aching but still oddly tender. His muscles tighten, whipcord tight until finally his fingers and toes curl and one last mind bogglingly pleasurable wave washes over him and he gasps loudly, only peripherally aware of another voice, a groan of surprise joining his.

When it's over, he trembles violently, unable to catch his breath. The sound of another raspy pant reaches his ears and Rodney closes his eyes tightly, unable to face whoever just watched him-- he shifts around, surprised to feel the absence of, well, anything. No wetness, no stickiness, just sweat and sore muscles and the lack of motivation to stand. Possibly it relates to the still uncontrollable trembling wracking his frame.

Taking stock, Rodney wiggles around some more, happy to find himself once again in control of his body. He pushes up against the soft floor, noting its vague give against his hands. He squeezes into a corner; glad the same material that coats the floors is also on the wall. His back is already starting to pull in uncomfortable ways.

His eyes are still tightly shut as he works to control his breathing further, so the tentative, "Rodney?" nearly gives him a heart attack.

His eyes snap open even as he gasps in shock, hand automatically going to his chest, palm pressing flatly against his sternum as if to calm the stuttering of its rhythm with external force. He sees Colonel Sheppard slumped forward, arms in a loose circle around his bent knees.

Sheppard looks as shaken as Rodney feels, hands clenched tightly in front of him, hair sweaty and matted, skin unusually flushed. Rodney's breath catches slightly, the picture oddly intimate -- something one should be invited to see, not stumble upon, half drunk with remembered pleasure.

"So," Rodney sighs, head falling back against the soft wall, "let's never speak of this again?"

Sheppard actually smiles a crooked smile and nods. "Anyone asks, there was horrible torture to endure."

"Possibly even a 90210 marathon level of pain."

The conversation ends and Rodney isn't too inclined to help it start again. He's tired and aching and he feels like he's been awake for thirty six hours straight and there's no coffee in his near future.

They spend an hour or so in cooperative quiet. Rodney attempting to create a mental wall between them, he wants to be alone and imagines the molecules thickening before his eyes.

Food arrives through a slot in the door. The trays are made of something similar to the covering on the walls and floor. They're firm and don't buckle under the weight of the food, but any hope of using one of them as blunt instruments dies a quick death. Even with Sheppard's most expert swing, it probably wouldn't do more than stun and not for very long.

The food itself is fairly appetizing; white meat of some sort, a vegetable like stew and some fruit. He watches Sheppard take a sample from each and then nod in his direction before he digs in. It's mostly a hollow gesture, because there's every possibility that Sheppard won't be able to taste the citrus he is looking for, but the gesture is not lost on Rodney. The act of eating -- after long drawn out seconds where Rodney waits for his throat to close -- and drinking clear cool liquid takes up time in a blissful sort of way. When he's done, Rodney finds he cares enough to look around.

The room is uniform gray and squinting at the far corner makes him a little dizzy. Curiously he wanders over to find a semi partition hiding a toilet and sink and shower. There are various dispensers that give out various multi colored substances. From their locations and smells and textures, Rodney deduces which are soaps, shampoos, hand creams and the like.

The towels and wash clothes pop out of the wall like some super large tissue dispenser. Through trial and error, he discovers they are only allowed two of each, and in order to get a fresh one he has to stuff the old one into what looks like a garbage can. Except that it makes a loud *whooshing* noise when the cover closes.

Rodney leans against the wall, a few feet from Sheppard. "On the plus side, we're apparently in the Ritz of prison cells."

From the floor, Sheppard nods in a reasonable sort of way, which annoys Rodney to no end.

Feeling fidgety, Rodney paces, because pacing is what he does when he needs to think and there are no computers around to play with. He doesn't know when it starts, just suddenly his knees buckle as he's taken by surprise when a rolling wave of something passes through him and makes jelly of his spine. He lands on his knees and slumps forward onto his hands.

"Rodney?" Sheppard gasps from his spot on the floor.

It takes two tries to focus on him, because the first time the sensation doubles back so astonishingly quickly Rodney gasps loudly. When he finally focuses, he sees Sheppard on his side, legs curled up towards his chest. He's hitting at the floor with an open palm, hips shifting suggestively.

Rodney closes his eyes tightly, because he really doesn't want to invade Sheppard's privacy and because he can't concentrate on anything but the building sensations inside his own body, but most of all because Sheppard with his head thrown back, mouth wide open and gasping, is not an image he needs at this very moment.

It's a dry pleasure that heaves through him; it's missing something he can't define. He figures out what unexpectedly. The waves come quicker and quicker and soon his arms can't support him anymore and he's stuck writhing on the floor, breathless and incoherent. There's a brief moment of clarity when he realizes he isn't hard, then the pleasure runs over again and the thought is gone. His muscles shake and shudder and all of it finally -- *finally* -- bubbles over and he nearly whimpers as the white hot screaming orgasm -- which he now recognizes is what happened earlier as well -- shatters over him.

When it's all over but the quivering, Rodney takes the time to feel violated. He's pretty sure you're supposed to agree in some manner or another before you experience something that devastating.

Sheppard actually crawls over to him, placing a sweaty, shaking hand on his shoulder. "You ok?" Even his voice sounds unsettled.

"No." Rodney feels the word in his mouth, over enunciating and possibly putting about eight million different thoughts and feelings into it.

"Right."

Rodney can feel Sheppard collapse beside him, breathing heavily. Their backs touch after an especially deep breath and Rodney jumps, still feeling over sensitized in ways he can't describe. "You?" He asks out of some left over sense of obligation ground into him when he was a child and possibly a bit of understanding, as he is the only other person who can possibly understand.

"I feel like a commercial for date rape," Sheppard's rough voice says and Rodney can hear the attempt to sound okay with it.

Rodney figures they can be manly men about it later, after he stops feeling quite so -- something.

Eventually they pick themselves up off the floor and take turns splashing water on their faces and using the toilet. Rodney takes a moment to reflect on the fact that he no longer looks upon figuring out an alien toilet as anything stranger than a European one.

Sheppard attempts to institute some layers of normalcy, prodding Rodney to investigate their surroundings more thoroughly. They look for seams in the wall, the floor, the drains. Anything they can use to their advantage.

In the end, they have nothing.

"So, do you think they're going to uh… you know…" Sheppard studiously does not look at Rodney as he speaks.

Rodney really desperately doesn't want to have this conversation. "Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me?"

Sheppard laughs nervously. "So basically we're screwed?"

"Probably."

It happens once more before the lights lower for what Rodney assumes is their rest period. They shake and whine and muffle themselves in their arms until Rodney is sure he's going to have bruises in the morning. Like the previous times it all ends in a bone meltingly, spine chillingly dry orgasm.

He shivers into the darkness, feeling listless.

"Rodney?" Sheppard calls through the darkness. "You ok?"

"No," Rodney calls back. "You?"

"No."

******

While he sleeps, he remembers. The planet was Rodney's type of place, all long glossy lines running at right angles to each other. Order placed firmly within a beauty that spoke directly to him.

Teyla and Ronon looked tense and bored and Rodney had done a little dance, a part of him glad to have switched places with them. Missions rarely call for him to run the show these days; it had been nice to flex the muscles.

He flashes to later, when there was screaming and arguing and one small scientist crouching on the floor, unmoving. Rodney doesn't know if she's dead yet.

Suddenly, treason and betrayal and intellectual privacy were bandied about above their heads along with words like assault and prison.

He tosses and turns, a burning pain working its way into his back, dead center. It gets sharper and clearer until his entire body feels like flames are licking at his skin. He screams into wakefulness, hoarse and panting.

Falling back to the floor, he decides he just might like waking up the other way better.

Looking across the room, he sees Sheppard as a dark shadow moving silently to him, Rodney waves him off before he's halfway there, but Sheppard persists anyway. Rodney struggles into a sitting position, his thigh is stiff and his back *hurts*.

Reaching behind to scratch at it, he freezes just as Sheppard sits next to him. "I think I…" Rodney starts before twisting around and pulling the back of his shirt up. "Is there something there?"

"Hold on," Sheppard says sounding like he just woke up. "I'm still adjusting to the darkness."

Rodney can feel agile hands settled on his sides, pushing the material of his shirt up and then resting lightly. Two points of heat on his sweat cooling skin. He can feel the goose bumps start to rise even before Sheppard takes one hand and slowly traces down Rodney's spine, gently feeling each bump. Rodney shivers when the hand stops about three inches below his shoulder blades and rest there.

"There's a bump just under the skin." Sheppard says. "It's hard to tell, but I think I feel a scar, I'm going to have to look once they turn the lights back up to be sure."

Swallowing harshly Rodney nods. "Great, I knew it would come to this. I'm now officially part of the experiment instead of running it."

Rodney lets go of his shirt and it slides back down his body and stretches unevenly -- Sheppard hasn't moved his hands. He's about to say something scathing and deeply cutting when he realizes why. Clawing up from the base of his spine is a sensation he remembers quite clearly.

Behind him Sheppard gasps, fingers tightening on Rodney's skin, but Rodney is too caught up in his own rolling wave of pleasure to care. He arches back, head colliding with Sheppard's shoulder, they both fall back further, until Sheppard hits the wall, leaving them with approximately a forty five degree incline.

Sheppard's legs curl upward, cradling Rodney's body in heat. This time the steadily building feelings are less overwhelming. The feeling of disconnect, like a live wire jumping around, flailing in the air is missing. Together they moan, heads thrown back, moving restlessly, hips shifting suggestively.

Rodney loses any train of thought he might have with the next cresting wave of sensation rattling through his bones and making every muscle clench. Around him, Sheppard holds firmly, fingers digging into his arms, breath hot in his ear.

Tension spirals inside his body, hot and tight and he can feel himself clench tightly, breath stopping in his chest. He's dizzy and flushed and his skin feels tight and tingly and his thighs twitch spasmodically as it all finally tumbles over again. He gasps for air, sucking in great lungfulls as his body relaxes for the first time in what feels like hours.

Rodney can feel Sheppard's chest behind him heaving even as Rodney sinks into the softening muscles.

"Rodney?" Sheppard croaks.

Rodney can feel Sheppard's muscles getting ready to say more, the chest expanding behind him, taking in breath to speak. Before more words can be uttered, he just shakes his head. "No. Not ok," he shifts enough to give Sheppard an innocent look, "but comfortable."

He gets a shove for his trouble, which is pretty much what he was looking for. Rodney rolls to his side, shaking too hard to sit up, he curls into himself slightly and looks up at Sheppard who looks like that shove took the last energy out of him.

Breakfast is served soon after. It's similar to their last meal and Rodney takes comfort in knowing he won't have to spend another tense five minutes waiting.

They eat in silence and then wash up in silence. Rodney emerges from their semi private bathroom and sits down next to Sheppard. "I should look at your back."

Sheppard looks up startled before something registers in his eyes. "Yeah, sure."

Instead of waiting for Rodney to slide the shirt up, Sheppard just slips it over his head, leaving it still wrapped around his arms and sitting in his lap.

Rodney sees it instantly in the light. A small reddened bump between the third and fourth vertebrae. He traces it with his fingers ignoring the tense muscles surrounding it.

"Okay then," Rodney says withdrawing. "I think I've figured out the cause of the--" he stops, because really, who wants to verbalize the phrase 'strange, spine tingling, utterly unprompted orgasms'?

Sheppard slips his shirt back on and slides back to the wall. "Gee Rodney, you really live up to that genius nametag sometimes."

"No one appreciates my intellect." Rodney mumbles. "So," he says into the silence he can't stand anymore, "any ideas why?"

It takes Sheppard long seconds to answer and when he does it's slow and contemplative. "Lots of reasons. With our luck? It wasn't supposed to-- you know--" he makes an expressive and slightly lewd gesture, "Darwinism and all that, 10,000 years of separation might have changed us enough."

"Parallel evolution?" Rodney asks, intrigued.

Sheppard shrugs. "Then again, it could be the gene."

Because that thing just does nothing but cause trouble.

They play chess to pass the time, the fact that the board has to be visualized in their heads makes it that much better a distraction.

The longer they go, the tenser Rodney feels. He can see it in Sheppard as well, tight lines around his eyes and lips, his usual sprawl a tighter coil. Rodney can feel his spine tighten and fuse together.

They're waiting and they both know it.

A visitor shows up in the middle of their second game. He stands in the closed doorway with a blinking device, aims it at both of them for several seconds and then leaves.

Possibly," Sheppard suggests when he's gone, "there is someone in the Pegasus Galaxy that believes in the Geneva convention. That looked an awful lot like the exams Beckett started giving after he got his hands on the ancient scanning devices."

Rodney nods. "Complete with voodoo gleam."

With the excitement over, the foreboding is back and it only intensifies with their next meal. They eat slowly and carefully, not looking each other in the eye.

When they finally finish, Sheppard pushes his tray with his foot lazily. "Maybe if we don't return them?"

"Maybe these things have a reverse polarity?"

Sheppard winces. "Okay, point taken."

They return the trays, Sheppard going so far as to put some force into it, but the receptacle just takes it gently, absorbing the extra energy effortlessly.

The chess game continues.

"Knight to B-- oh!" Rodney gasps.

Sheppard makes a sharp choking sound and Rodney can see him curling in on himself.

Formless pleasure once again invades every nerve ending leaving Rodney choked for air and flailing. It's invasive and pervasive and he wants to recoil from it even as his back arches into the undefined sensation.

Bracing himself on the floor with one hand, Rodney closes his eyes tightly, hoping that focusing will just get it over faster.

It doesn't. All it does is make him feel dizzy and more out of control. Blindly he reaches out and finds his hand on top of Sheppard's sweaty one. Their fingers tangle urgently, holding tightly and desperately.

Then Rodney finds his face buried in Sheppard's shoulder, deep wheezing gasps breathing in the remnants of the man's aftershave and the alien soap.

They wrap around each other just as it all doubles into a white hazed rush of shuddering and sweet vague release.

When Rodney can finally think again, he's on the floor with a limp Sheppard draped over him and he feels absolutely wrecked. His fingers are resting lightly on Rodney's waist, moving restlessly.

"So," Rodney says nervously.

"You know what?" Sheppard speaks up. "New rule, moratorium on... everything for now, okay?"

That is actually-- very undescriptive. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know." John admits. Slowly he rolls off of Rodney and lands heavily next to him. "How about 'Whatever gets us through this?'"

"Right. Okay. So I wasn't the only who noticed--"

"Yes Rodney," John interrupts firmly. "And now we commence a brand of denial perfected over centuries by several religions."

"I can do that."

They recover slowly and Rodney discovers numerous strained muscles. Too much convulsing he thinks sourly. This is not what he meant when he asked for that fantasy vacation.

By now they've guessed the pattern and Sheppard is surprisingly good at time keeping so they're at least sitting once again when it hits the next time. There's no hesitation this time. Their hands and arms wrap around each other and they slide the rest of the way to the floor holding tightly.

Rodney concentrates on Sheppard's chest, it heaves under him, pressing against him in uneven waves.

Then it changes. One moment it's everywhere, the next it's focused where Sheppard presses firmly against him, where his hands clamp down tightly, where his breath puffs heavily onto Rodney's damp skin.

It's instinct to move then, no thought involved when his head tilts and his lips seek warm skin.

They kiss, deeply, tongues meeting and stroking, lips pressing messily against each other. Finally, they break apart; mouths open wide in simultaneous gasps of climax.

"Oh-" Sheppard lets out a breathy sound.

It ends gently, with them staring at each other with wide eyes. Then Sheppard darts forward, kissing him again, urgently, hands cupping his face gently.

Oh.

They separate with a wet pop and Sheppard once again looks down at him with surprise all over his face. "Well, I didn't expect the plan to be shot to hell that quickly."

"No," Rodney says quietly, "I'm really happy with not talking about this at all while we're here."

There's clearly more to say, or rather, to not say, but John just looks down at him, rearranges their limbs and settles them in just in time for the lights to lower. Surprisingly, Rodney falls asleep pretty quickly.

He wakes a few times in the night, not used to long limbs impeding his own movement. The last time his eyes open, John is behind him, their legs tangled and a hand thrown over Rodney's waist.

There's also a familiar shock of pleasure as John strokes absently at the skin under his shirt. Hot lips kiss the back of his neck and Rodney surrenders under the rising tide, turning and pinning a surprisingly pliant John to the floor.

They kiss through most of it, deep sucking kisses that are dirty and arousing and strangely perfect and grounding. John bucks up underneath him, gasping into his mouth and curling a leg over Rodney's hip.

It's all instinctual as he grinds down, because there is no hard erection to press against, no hot, hard flesh to grind in time with. It still feels good and this time when the pleasure explodes through them, it's a little easier to recover from.

That’s not to say they don't rest against each other for long minutes regaining the feeling in their toes.

"So, how about that weather," Rodney breathes into the silence, he was never very good at heavy silences.

John snorts into his shoulder. "Well at least you didn't try for sports."

The door opens and they both scramble to their feet. This isn't part of the pattern, right about now food should be sliding through the small space that opens at the bottom of the door. Instead, there's a tall and intimidating figure in a red, streamlined suit standing in the doorway with nothing more than what looks like a glorified remote control.

"There are two guards outside," the man says, "you will follow them or I will use this," he gestures to the device, "by now you have no doubt become aware of the power the implants hold over you."

Next to him, Rodney sees John nod cautiously.

"Yeah." John says, "We've got a pretty good idea."

"My name," the man says, bowing slightly, "is Frawan. My apologies for not appearing sooner. Your arrests have caused much paperwork."

"Yeah," John nods warily, "that paperwork's a real bitch."

Frawan tips his head in acknowledgment. Apparently they've been doing this first contact thing all wrong and Star Trek really did get it right. Bureaucracy really *is* the only constant in the universe. Also, arrest?

A flash of memory, the extremely pretty and fairly brilliant young woman whom Rodney had been introduced to -- still and lifeless and surrounded by a pool of blood, they couldn't possibly think, could they?

Rodney frowns. "Do we get to know why we were arrested? Or does that sort of thing not matter in your society?" Considering the cushiness of their cell, Rodney sort of doubts it. He suspects they're about to be treated with the utmost respect and tolerance. His stomach is already cramping at the thought.

"That is why I am here," Frawan answers, "a delay of this long between processing and pronouncement is inexcusable. You may be potential criminals, but that does not afford you the lack of simple respect."

"And if we’re guilty?" John presses.

Frawan smiles a bland sort of smile. "You will have the rights to food and shelter, just as any other."

Oh, that doesn't bode well.

"If you would follow the guards?" Frawan gestures to the open doorway.

John takes Rodney by the wrist and does as he's asked, pulling Rodney along with him. The corridors are well lit and buzzing with some sort of electrical current that Rodney can't identify. For all he knows it could be the lights or the air circulation, but he can't be sure.

They're led to a large room with comfortable couches and tables and large imposing padding chairs. Up front is an older woman, long gray hair bound loosely around her head and immaculate white suit with gold trim managing to look years old and freshly new at the same time. She looks up as they enter and the air of the over-worked civil service hits Rodney square over the head. Wonderful. They are so screwed.

John and Rodney are seated on one of the couches off to the left and he feels a strange itch in his back, sharp and sudden as it makes contact with the back of the sofa. It makes his fingers twitch wanting to take the thing apart. He sees John flinch as he settles in and it confirms that the sensation was not just in his head.

The proceedings happen just out of earshot for the most part. Someone Rodney assumes to be their lawyer spends a lot of time at the judge's table arguing with another woman, both dressed in varying shades of gray.

A loud bell rings and John tenses, one hand shooting out to clamp down on Rodney's thigh, aborting his impulse to jump out of the chair.

"The accused may present themselves," the judge pronounces and Rodney can't help but notice that suddenly everyone's words are as clear as bells. He frowns, *really* wanting to start taking things apart.

John looks at Rodney and Rodney looks back. They both shrug and stand slowly.

"This good enough?" John calls out and Rodney flinches automatically awaiting the sting of reprisal. It's pretty much become habit.

She nods, not even looking up. "The evidence presented is lacking, as well as the procedure sloppy, you are to be sent back to processing for removal of the implant. Your personal belongings will be returned to you and you will be allowed to dial any address at the circle you wish."

Rodney's frowns in confusion. It's never that simple. To his right John looks relieved but cautious as well.

"Stay calm Rodney," John mutters. "Just stay--"

"NO! HOW CAN YOU LET THEM GO?!" There's a loud noise and the sound of lots of feet running.

John pulls him to the floor and they find cover behind the large couch.

The commotion gets louder and Rodney gets tenser.

"No, get her away--"

"They have to be punished!"

More clattering and then muted explosions. So they do have weapons. Interesting. Then another sharp noise, a body hitting the floor. Another. And then--

White hot pain and John's scream echoing his own. It claws from the center of his back outward, hot pinpricks stabbing him, closing his chest in a tight painful vise. Each breath-- each movement is torture, John's screams hurt his ears, his own screams hurt his mouth and throat and lungs and it just keeps going. He can't pass out. He knows somewhere inside his pain he shouldn't be conscious anymore, but he is.

He's so very conscious.

Tears burn down his skin and each breath is like fire into his lungs. Oh god, make it stop. Make it stop. Makeitstop. Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstopst--

Nothingness. Then mercifully, darkness.

******

Rodney wakes to familiar voices, though he's never heard Carson yell that loudly before. Oh god his head hurts. He feels tired and wrung out and every muscle aches in a way that threatens to hurt a lot more if he tries to move. So he settles for blinking the film out of his eyes. The colors come into focus and he's faintly puzzled to realize he's not on Atlantis.

Carson must have some sort of doctorial sixth sense because he's next to Rodney by the fifth blink, checking monitors and touching Rodney in various places. He flinches away from the first few, his skin extra sensitive but soon he falls into the rhythm; pulse, pupils, palpitation. It's oddly comforting.

"How're you feeling Rodney?" Carson asks when he's done.

"Like someone plugged my nervous system into an electrical socket?" He rasps, grumpily.

Carson nods, frowning. "Well, that's a fairly good description of what happened."

Wonderful. Rodney doesn't voice his response; he's still recovering from the first sentence. Also, he needs to ask, "Sheppard?" which just about takes the rest of it out of him.

Carson nods to his right. "Behind the curtain over there, he's already been awake once or twice."

Rodney nods. Good enough. It's time for more sleep, before he passes out.

******

When he wakes for the second time he feels a lot better. For one, his clothing no longer makes his skin twitch and his head feels a lot clearer. For another, John is sitting up in a nearby chair, frowning into a computer screen.

"What time z'it?" He asks, because there's a big black hole in his memory and searching it sort of hurts.

"Tomorrow," John answers putting his computer down. "Early afternoonish."

Rodney can't imagine what makes John give him such a vague answer when the time is probably right in front of him, but the usual upraised twist of lips just makes him narrow his eyes. That man will one day make an important part of his brain scream in agony and then die. He's sure of it. "I bet you're the guy who says 'Thataway' when giving directions to the driver of a car."

John smiles, wide and lopsided like he's *proud* of that fact. Freak.

Carson appears right then, his super amazing doctor sense obviously pinging. He fusses in an entirely annoying manner and Rodney is too caught up in realizing they're actually *not* on Atlantis to really make that big a deal out of it.

When he's done, Carson sits down and faces the two of them, face oddly blank and grim.

"Why are you making that face? We've got weeks to live don't we?" John's looking at Rodney like he's insane, but *someone's* got to say it.

"You're not dying," Carson says, giving Rodney the eye.

"But?" Rodney presses, because damnit, he *knows* that look.

"But," Carson admits, "we can't take the implants out quite yet."

John's frown deepens and his right eyebrow bounces up and down. "Okay then, I thought this week couldn't get any worse."

"Other than that," Carson moved on obviously ignoring John, his face lightening, "you're fine, recovering nicely, free to go even as soon as you feel up to it."

"Wait," Rodney's eyes narrow "why can't they come out?"

"Oh um," Carson waffles, making strange faces, "well they appear to have… fused to--"

"FUSED?" Rodney interrupts. "Fused is *never* a good word in relation to any part of my body!"

"Aye," Carson nods, "I know that, but really, they're not endangering your health in anyway and the Jenians have handed us your remote controls and shown us the schematics and directions on how to change the frequencies. Really, you'll have nothing to fear."

"I have." Rodney seethes, "A remote. Control."

"I'm afraid doc," John adds, not looking all that pleased, "I'm gonna have to go with Rodney on this one."

Oh great. It *is* the end of the world.

Before they leave, Frawan makes a final appearance, brushing off invisible lint and looking completely put out.

"My apologies once again," He half bows, "our security has never been so lax."

"Really?" John asks, eyebrow raised. "I feel special."

"I feel criminally assaulted," Rodney snaps wearily. "What the hell happened anyway?"

Frawan folds his hands together in front of his chest. "The sister of the deceased was not satisfied with the ruling."

"So," John's eyebrows twitch, "she rigged the control for self destruct?"

Frawan nods. "I suppose you could phrase it in such a way, she was a lead researcher in our hospital and thus knew enough about the implants to do much damage in little time."

After that, Rodney and John both want out as soon as possible. They leave with a computer full of schematics and directions. Thankfully, the perimeter controls weren't damaged in any way so it's just a matter of a moving a dial and flipping a switch before they gate out. Frawan also hands them a large book about the social and physiological implications of the implant, including a brief history of its use. The soft sciences are going to have a field day, and Rodney is going to have a wonderful time imagining people staring at him.

It occurs to Rodney after the really long and painful briefing that he and John maybe should talk. Or grunt at each other. Or stare in awkward silence or something.

But his bed looks so comfortable and he's been sleeping on the floor and hospital beds for nearly a week so he decides it can wait for a while. At least long enough for him to get some sleep.

And possibly until Lorne's 'Your Remote and You' comment fades to a dull ache in the back of his head.

******

Rodney slides back into the rhythm of things fairly easily. First order of business is to distribute the information from the Jenians. It has wider implications than just his own predicament and Rodney needs to assign someone to work jointly with medical. Someone who understands their language and will be able to write concise reports without use of words like 'biology' or 'cellular'.

In the end he sends the project to one of the newer people and tells Zelenka to supervise. Not that he won't be taking a stab at it himself, but there needs to be someone working on it who has more than his own self interest in mind. Carson has assured both of them over and over again that the chips are dormant and that even a blast from an energy weapon won't affect them -- as long as they aren't drawing power, but that's not very comforting when faced with the prospect of living with that thing attached to his nervous system for the rest of his life..

They're both grounded for the time being, to make sure there are no long term surprises waiting for them. John even volunteers to be stunned by one of their cache of wraith weaponry just to be sure of what will happen in the field, if it should come to that.

When Rodney finds out, he's furious, because seriously who *does* that sort of thing. "You're insane," he tells John. "Absolutely insane!" He turns to glare at Carson but finds he's already looking pretty pissed. "Without medical supervision? Are you sure this thing didn't mess with your head?"

John manages to look like a great big twelve year old and completely apologetic all at once. "But it worked, right? Or rather, it didn't."

Upon copious hours of examining test and scan results Rodney and Carson both have to agree, grudgingly, that if it becomes necessary they both can return to the field in case of emergency.

Rodney is still pissed.

Mostly because they haven't found a way to safely remove his dog collar yet.

A few days later -- surprise, surprise -- an emergency comes up. John, Rodney, Teyla and Ronon suit up and ship out and get shot at and almost find amazing things and get shot at some more and get scraped and bruised and come back dirty and tired but successful.

By successful, Rodney means they're alive and so are the people they rescued.

He showers and changes and lays in bed restless and tense. His hand skims past his stomach, fingers drawing nonsense patterns, pulling up goose bumps. When he reaches under the waistband of his boxers, he's unsurprised to find himself completely soft. It's been a long day and he's tired. But he won't sleep without a little help so he grabs the lotion and makes himself comfortable. Long sweeping strokes feel wonderfully good, working the lotion into the skin, pulling little shivers out.

Nothing happens.

He gets frustrated and even tenser and eventually throws the lotion across the room instead of getting more for a *fourth* time.

A small niggling sense of something forms in the back of his brain. Oh no. Oh god no. He jumps out of bed and reaches for his own copy of the materials that were sent through from Jenia.

"The implant is only successful if it controls all of these impulses. If the prisoner can relieve his own suffering, it is of no use, or at the very least not at its most effective."

"To prevent damage in case of long term use, the device also stops sperm production so that the organ in question is not damaged."

It takes a lot of effort not to throw the computer across the room to follow the lotion.

He dresses, makes a quick stop by the lab, and finds himself standing in front of John's door. Right. Well, he meant to talk about this at some point anyway.

John's door opens quickly after he announces his presence. His eyes are wild and his hair more mussed than usual. He takes in Rodney and the remote in his hands and then Rodney once more before stepping aside to allow him entrance.

The door closes and they're kissing without preamble. Rodney finds his back pressed against the wall as John plasters himself along his front.

"Oh thank god," John whispers into his lips. "Can we do this first?" He asks reaching for the remote.

"Yes," Rodney gasps when John's teeth find his neck. "Yes, yes, *oh*," his finger flicks the button on the remote. "Yes." He says again when that first wave of pleasure rolls through him-- them.

Their knees buckle as one and they slide to the floor in a pile of hands and legs and arms. Clinging tightly through it. They gasp into each other mouths, kissing solidly. Rodney runs a hand through John's hair, then along his neck and eventually under his shirt, pressing them together.

Heat, skin and near silent sounds mix into the building sensation and it winds so tightly and so high that it ends with them clamped so forcefully together they're barely moving. Rocking in tight, hard little shoves that are perfect despite the generalized sensation until they both freeze and stop completely.

Then Rodney's shuddering so hard his eyes roll back and his extremities numb. He's sweaty and out of breath and John's hands shake as they clench at his waist.

Rodney's head droops as the last of the waves subside, making a dull thud on the floor. John follows, collapsing on his side, head pillowed on Rodney's shoulder.

"Do you have to turn that thing off?" John rasps.

"No," Rodney swallows convulsively, trying to wet his dry throat. "It's cyclical. One flick, one cycle."

"Cool." John's breath chills the sweat on Rodney's neck.

"Yeah."

Eventually they stand unsteadily and make it to the bed. Rodney's hip throbs from where they landed, but every other part of him is so relaxed and loose he can't begin to care.

"So," Rodney can't resist asking as they settle down. "How long have you known?"

"Second night back I suspected," John answers, peeling off his pants. "You know, there's something to be said for not having to clean up the mess."

"I choose to ignore that metaphor," Rodney yawns, but keeps one wary eye on John who freezes momentarily.

"Yeah," he says eventually, flopping down bonelessly next to Rodney. "Ignorance is bliss."

******

Continued in part 2, here.

Fractured Fairy Tales, SGA, R, McKay/Sheppard, DVD Commentary

2006-01-10T23:42:35Z

More commentary, this time seperis harassed me till I wrote it. so once again, it's all Jenn's fault. Suck it up baby.

Fractured Fairy Tales DVD Commentary .

Title: Fractured Fairy Tales

This title? I stole. Horribly and blatantly. But with good reason. All of you. Go forth and watch The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show. No, not the movies, put those away before you hurt someone. The TV show, old cartoon with famous voice actors and the wrongest sense of humor ever. Yes that's it. Go watch that. It will explain all.

Author: Amireal
Rating: R
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: THE HIVE!! This is Pre and Post Ep fic!

Mostly I was pissed that Rodney got through it all without a hangover. Or even a hangnail. He actually comes through detox looking more put together than normal. Showered I can buy. Less wrinkly and more shave? I don't know. Also Part of my muse felt slighted that Rodney did all that for nothing. And I thought maybe he'd feel it a bit too.

On a separate note. This episode really was a turning point of sorts in terms of Rodney's actions. Or rather, possibly part two of what happened in The Defiant One. He risks his life with no external prodding, just an internal feeling he needs to help his team. Of course The Hive took it one further and had Rodney actively taking on John's usual role. That of the freaking insane planner and doer.

Beta: chopchica Weee! Thank you! Despite the fact that you secretly wished for me to write this fic even as I refused. And by secretly wished I mean was all "WRITE ME POST-EP FIC NOW, BITCH!!" Curse you. And to seperis who bitchslapped my commas into submission without even being asked to. You rock!

EDIT: I have added about 3 paragraphs near the end.

Length: 4,300ish words.

******

Once upon a time, you could sit in a tall tower, stare at the sky, sigh deeply, and wait for the Prince to call your name.

This is actually the first line that came to me. The structure for the fic followed moments after, but this line came first. It stems again from my own perceived roll reversal. Rodney's never the guy who takes that risk, at least not without a hot poker from our Hero.

******

Rodney First word after the interlude. Subtle hint as to who the princess is. paces and paces and paces. He's dizzy and scared and shaky and he can't stop thinking about Sheppard's face all wrinkled and pasty, mouth open wide in a scream long dead.

I wanted to give some specific reasoning behind Rodney's panic "must get to my teammates now" feeling. Not that it's so far stretch to simply understand that he's already at the worst case scenario. But for fic purposes this needed a springboard for the readers. It's a state of mind thing.

The guards just smirk at him and continue to play their overly simplistic board game and really, if tweedle dee would just move his stupid white rock three spaces up he'd finally win one.

I just really got a tweedle Dee/Dumb vibe from those guys.

Rodney paces some more.

******

It's easier to let him come to you, to sleep in a glass box, silent and peaceful.

Hrmm. Sleeping Beauty reference. Rodney. What was I thinking? I rather liked the Rapunzel one from earlier. Why did I mix my metaphors? Oh right, universality. Oh god I hated that word when used in the classroom.

******

"Something is definitely wrong!" Rodney yells, his voice cracking. Wrongwrongwrongwrong. His palms itch and it's so hard to think even with the small dose they have him on.

Drug addiction manuals skitter across his brain. He can see the face of a hopeless undergrad too overtaken with the pressure or maybe just really stupid, pale and still as he disappears under a white sheet and is rolled away on a university gurney.

More of Rodney going "worst case scenario". It should be noted that I do things like this too, so it's incredibly easy for me, in Rodney POV, to just riff on it randomly. It tracks in *my* brain damnit.

Tweedle dumb just reiterates what his stupid cohort says, and Rodney has to pull back a growl of frustration. He was never very good at waiting.

******

Modern fantasy changes the face of the story, feminism and the penchant for Hollywood to avoid anything too original reconstitutes the formula. Now the Princess is no longer content to wait peacefully and must struggle between what she knows she's supposed to do and what she knows will actually happen.

It was asked a lot if I actually wrote the meta or swiped it from someplace else. While very flattering on one level, I totally would have credited if I'd done something like that. No, I wrote all this on my own.

It's actually a lot of my own opinions in a way. Especially the above lines. Once again it's the authorial hand of DOOM coming down from the clouds and making a poorly disguised swipe at the Hollywood Machine.

Oh yeah, also, the decision to make Rodney the princess? Well. Come on. Prescription mattress?

Actually it's a toss back to Rodney's change in action taking. He's not the guy with the plan. He's the guy deriding the plan and finding holes and complaining and mocking and subtly supporting the plan with his super genius brain.

Yes we've seen him take the initiative before. Take some risk. The big black cloud thingy being a big example. But I find this particular instance to be very different. For one, he's alone. For another he doesn't know if his teammates are alive or dead. He actively worries and speculates. It's actually a big clue that Rodney prefers that as long as his life is going to be in danger *anyway* he might as well be right in the thick of it. It's possibly this is part of the Big Transition wherein he realizes that Other People Matter To Him.

******

The large cabinet mocks Rodney in some silent and undefined way. Like if it could, it would stick its rough wooden tongue out and spit splinters at his face, possibly even develop strange elongated cartoon arms and large, oversized white gloved cartoon hands that will wave at him in an infantile manner at the same time.

Oh god. Mental image time. Really. I see this happening in my head.

His reflection looks a bit deranged, as if he's spent three days awake and high. Possibly because he has, and it's starting to make him just a little bit jumpy. It's an insane plan worthy of Colonel Sheppard, because it has little brains, no finesse, and a whole lot of danger to his life.

Oh god, Colonel Sheppard isn't back yet and the plan is going to hell and Rodney really, really wants to be back on Atlantis asleep in his bed, finally, finally still. His hands shake hard enough to brush annoyingly against his thighs as a painful reminder. He hasn't been still in days, and there's ants crawling under his skin because of it.

I introduced the concept of "still" here because Rodney is actually *more* active than his usual hand wavey self in this episode. There's an unsettledness to him that's completely different than his other twitches and ticks and shrinking in fear and ducks for cover. And as someone who works with his hands a lot, be it to type things on his computer, do equations or work on nuclear bombs, this new and uncontrolled motion is probably bothering the fuck out of him. I also see it as an extension of his own state of mind. He's obviously past that calm place where he was when he was working on the dart. Inside and outside. Rodney's always worn his heart on his sleeve.

He looks at the cabinet again, swallowing roughly. Well, he supposes Colonel Sheppard is a role model to someone somewhere, why not to Rodney right now? The small vials of pink amber solution sit all in a row, a pretend gesture to the rigors of science.

It was important to me that Rodney thinks about Sheppard a lot during this escapade. To establish early on that it's less about his safety and more about John's without actually outright saying it.

Also every time I read that last sentence I keep flashing to the Little Indian Song. Sue me.

Rodney stops a small, pathetic little laugh from escaping as his hand moves, drawn to the larger bottle like a magnet, his fingers feeling stiff and ungainly as they wrap around it. He can't decide if that's because of the drug already in his system or the adrenaline thrumming through his veins because he's about to do something monumentally stupid, with needles.

'With needles' is one of a number of references I make to exactly how he's going to accomplish his escape. Rodney the hypochondriac is a very real individual. Now whether he's actually got all of these issues he talks about or if he's only got a fraction of them, it's something he obviously thinks about all the time. And needles man? Those are scary when wielded by *professionals*.

He's not a superhero, he's said as much before, and still he gets stuck in these stupid unmanageable situations where in order to win he has to risk life, limb and useable vein.

'useable vein' again, see it? Also, it's funny.

All the medical training he's ever had flashes too quickly behind his eyes. Mostly it's a couple of first aid courses and the field training he was forced to endure. Still, nothing prepares him for the spark of fear as he pierces his own skin with the barely clean needle and oh god, didn't these kids ever hear of infections? Rodney resists taking it out and pouring the dark bottle of alcohol over his skin. Instead he presses the plunger unsteadily, knowing that's far too dangerous in its own right, and the enzyme burns its way in, spreading an ever widening path of fire through him.

I like giving Rodney a bit of medical background. His brain is this big sponge in a lot of ways. Most intelligent people's brains are. So I'm sure he's got a lot of stuff stored up there *he* deems as just common knowledge. Also GUP proved that he's got some of the more specific details down as well. It mostly goes back to his hypochondria.

Almost immediately, his heart goes from stuttering fast to jack hammering inside his chest, quick enough for pain to sink in. It only makes him more afraid and the list of the things that can go wrong grows longer and longer in his head. The plunger finally stops moving and Rodney can't do anything more than pull faintly and let it roll out of his unresponsive hand.

That's me paying attention to the episode. Hypotension, heart beat, fast. Etc. Owwies. Trust me.

Milliseconds or hours later, Rodney can't really tell anymore, he's too caught up in feeling strong and capable in a way he's never felt before. For once, Rodney McKay knows he can win the physical race. Show him to that arm wrestling championship in the dorms he used to avoid; he's ready and willing now. Pumped and sweating and capable of breaking his old slide rule in half, he's ready to save the day.

This paragraph was very important to me. Rodney's a thinker. He's a builder and a designer and mather. (Shut up, it is *too* a word) It's the military's job to do the brute force thing. Probably why he still has so much trouble with a gun. This was Rodney walking on the other side. I wanted a feeling of… years of sublimated envy and yearning followed by the flush of satisfaction of finally knowing what being *that* guy feels like. It's important because Rodney needs the enzyme to escape. Ronon or Teyla or even John might have managed just on their current doses. (John not so much, as he wasn't taking any, but he still had a better chance.) Rodney wouldn't have.

******

The Princess is stuck in the untenable position, where she can save herself and act and change and move on from what she is, forever reshaping the landscape of her archetype. Or she can sit safely in her ivory tower, and let the decisions be made for her.

Look, I used big words! It's actually a pretty deep comment up there. Take notes everyone.

Of course, the decision is obvious, when the Prince can barely comb his own hair, a girl's gotta get a little dirty if she wants to be swept off her feet.

This is what I call the OHR. (Obligatory Hair Reference) I personalized it here just to make sure the readers didn't disconnect. Also, humor rocks. And I wanted to be absolutely clear who the princess was. I mean with John Sheppard running around, it could get a bit confusing.

******

Rodney wants to be Xena, all calm and collected, every move judicious and logical, the minimalist approach, every Karate chop in its place and he wants to look hot doing it. Of course, he ends up being Joxer on steroids and he's really not all that surprised.

It should be noted that I watched this scene and immediately thought Xena. It just had that quality to the editing in terms of goofy fighting scenes.

He gets his own knocks on the head, the back, the shoulders, it all sort of washes off in a cartoon mallet sort of manner; it's the surprise at the force that hits him more than the pain that gives the tweedles their momentary edge.

Lots of BAMS! And POWS! I also saw a lot of the 60's Batman tv show in this scene. I may have just watched too much TV as a kid. God bless cable. And large comic book style words appear in ghostly form superimposed over the running movie in his eyes when parts of Rodney's body smash against parts of theirs. Small fractions of his brain still working in a logical progression make a resolution to at least think about approaching Teyla for some advice. Maybe even ask one of the marines, one who doesn't look like he's about to shoot Rodney when he's in his general vicinity, for some dirty tricks.

He thinks about all this after he's done kicking ass and the high from the incredibly insane and stupid plan actually working buzzes out of his system. He continues to think about it as searches through Ford's desk like a strung out computer junky looking for some new circuitry to devour. He gathers the weird animal skin holder in his shaking hand, the crystals clinking delicately, an odd counterpoint the violence of his new world. Rodney's newly acquired Tourettes isn't helping banish the sound, and he has to live with it tapping at his ear drums all the way to the DHD.

The control crystals dance before his eyes after it takes longer than it ever should have for an intelligent twelve year old to open the panel on the DHD, let alone Rodney. He keeps getting distracted by momentary pride over his physical triumph. The big stupid guards never saw it coming.

I start using Rodney's dialogue inside his head. We're very close to the big finish for him and I was pretty sure that inside and outside of his head were sort of creeping closer to each other. That scene in the gateroom is very much Rodney's brain no longer functioning on a rational level.

Oh wow, he's really feeling it now; if he'd waited maybe ten minutes he thinks the big stupid guards wouldn't have even gotten back up for long enough to land the few that they had on Rodney. He can't make the DHD focus enough to look at the whole picture. He has to lean forward and squint a section at a time and it takes two tries per crystal to make them settle into place. Finally, finally he can dial, but he's cold and hot and his hands don't always land where they're supposed to and the first time through he misses the point of origin completely and he has to wait for the whole thing to reset itself. And he keeps hearing footsteps behind him and seeing the two big dumb clichés sneaking up out of the corner of his eye.

Please work. Pleasework. Pleaseworkpleaseworkpleasework. Rodney listens to the sounds of the gate working the way he used to listen to his dialup modem connecting. He can tell a million things from how long it takes one click and buzz to lead into another. Finally, it all sounds like music, one of those perfect, perfect songs that used to play on the radio but he never let himself like because it was so mainstream and commercialized it made his head ache.

Dial up modem. I just... it's totally something that if you've been there, you understand. Those things *speak* to you. And I just felt that Rodney's really got this great handle on the Ancient tech and that every subtle nuance and sexy flashing light tells him something.

The gate shimmers to life, and Rodney for once doesn't think of that inherent Freudian symbolism in being so grateful to fall through a rippling wet circle. Instead, he's already moving onto what happens next; after all, if he can save himself, then everyone else is cake.

Pet theory of mine about how the Gate is so anti phallic. I just wanted it in a fic somewhere and you know if *anyone* was going to sexualize the whole thing, it was going to be Rodney.

******

Of course, the changing of the infrastructure of the story means that the painful feats once reserved for the Prince, are now delegated to the new hero. A by product of the shifting of traditional gender roles leaves the rest of the characters confused and even unbelieving that these fantastical acts can be accomplished at all if the Prince isn't there.

Gender roles, hero archetypes and the switching thereof just make me hot.

Life in a realistic fairy kingdom is a real bitch.

More humor. I feel all drama, no matter how serious, should make us laugh. Or at least occasionally take a quick break. Life isn't just that hardcore, sorry. Or at least, life that we watch/read/listen to for entertainment.

******

Rodney has about three full seconds to enjoy his stillness before he has to move again. Even so, everything about the way he moves feels different, and he's pretty sure it isn't the perpetual hangover rumbling through him that's doing it. Oddly, this time feels nothing like coming off so many uppers he was afraid to ask Carson the actual end dosage. That Rodney remembers having a more familiar feel to it.

This is the author stepping in a making a meta comment disguised as story telling. SGA consistently fucks with body chemistry and then just ignores it at random intervals. Also, the description of stillness is a follow through of the earlier remark and a comment on how the scene was played out physically. Despite the script being lacking in logic about the post detox affects, DH or the Director at least made a token effort. (Shut up, I choose to believe the hoarse voice was intentional.)

He basks in the ability to walk smoothly, to move his arms, or even keep them lightly by his sides, something he's never really done before. His gait slides him across Atlantis, and he feels a slow grace in his movements, or maybe it's just that he's still, so tired, and his entire body chemistry is still a little out of whack.

*coughs* More comments from the author who insists on having *some* sort of after affect, even if it's all internal.

The whole trip on the Daedelus just feels so familiar, in a gut tightening sort of way, the helplessness and then the utter certainty of failure amidst what can't possibly be called anything other than a success. The twin explosions of the Wraith ship have a certain beauty about them. It goes beyond aesthetics and well into that sharp and satisfied feeling that they're somehow snubbing their noses at the Wraith every time one of those large, technological wonders that could easily take out all of earth not ten years earlier goes up in a large fiery cloud of 'nya nya nya nya'.

Well it did feel familiar. They do this a lot, run around on their big war ship trying to be bigger than the bullies and nearly failing in the process. But there's this feeling when you beat the bullies that should never be ignored.

The news of Sheppard and Ronon and Teyla's successful return reaches the Daedelus seconds after they send their own version of events back to Atlantis. Immediately Rodney pulls together the two or three most likely scenarios and makes a small side bet with himself; if Sheppard's solution involved someone in a dress with long hair and a lack of penis, he gets to have anything he can pilfer from the bowels of the Daedelus after the next supply run.

This is where I solve another hole that annoyed me. Yes I'm fine with making logical assumptions about how people get out of deep darks holes with no obvious means of escape or how information is passed along. I'd just, for the sake of my brain, like it if they handed us a single sentence about it. It's called continuity people. Look it up. Also, Rodney hasn't thought about Sheppard in a little while, musn't have that. Also, we've now used the word penis, which may seem a bit heavy handed (Who me? Never.) But it's mocking Sheppard's native!Female magnetic thing. Which is always of the good. And also gives a small thread of jealousy.

Rodney is suddenly very tired. He checks his watch and finds himself thoroughly unsurprised that it's overdue for his next set of pills. Carson had shoved the bottle in his hand with enough force to make his currently weaker than average arm shake slightly. Now he understands why, because his entire body feels like it's just gone on a second bender but skipped the fun parts.

Two horse pills that make him pee neon yellow, a few more that do nice things like stop the aching of his muscles, and one last to stop the shaking and the spinning in his head. Finally Rodney is down for the count. Daedelus can take care of its own repairs; he's pretty sure when he gets back to Atlantis there's going to be lots of large and ugly messes to take care. He was gone for weeks, and while he doesn't actually blame the rest of the galaxy for the fact that they just can't think on Rodney's level, it's too painful to watch. Other people do things so clumsily and slowly, it's even worse to look back and be able to read the mistakes as clearly as a children's book.

MORE continuity. Also, I had a specific med in mind for each of those pills thankyouverymuch.

That bit at the end? Yeah, that was me speaking through Rodney. It's also a touch of my own personal feelings about the why's and wherefore's of Rodney. A lot of really smart people say "I can't stand stupid people" or some version therof like a credo.

******

The Prince, often times, when he re-enters the story, will not believe all that has transpired himself. In modern retellings, he doesn't ask what happened before until it affects what happens now.

The Prince, as an archetype character, isn't meant for having his role taken away; it leaves him without a foundation for his actions, and thus doesn't think about the parts of his job that he no longer has to fulfill. They are, at most, inconsequential to his own success.

What me bitter?

The Princess is, of course, bitter about her own lack of recognition, or possibly just feeling really, really stupid.

Sometimes I think Rodney really does feel utterly stupid amidst all these people who are so good at their jobs. Jobs he's just not wired for.

******

Rodney doesn't expect Sheppard to come barging into his room in the middle of the night, possibly in the middle of his best chunk of sleep in over a year. Everything feels better now that he's had the jittery drugged up half sleep for comparison.

First good sleep after crappy sleep? Manna from heaven.

"Are you *insane*?"

He blinks into the lights that suddenly come up around them; Sheppard is overriding the systems with his brain again and it's really agitating.

I honestly think that John can minimally work around the jury rigged programming Rodney et al have established. I'd also bet that if he put his mind to it he could override other people's atlantean programming. It's a personal theory, ignore it if you will.

"Possibly." Rodney grumbles, running a hand over his face. "Are you?"

I really believe that Rodney regularly questions his own sanity. Super smart creative types tend to do that a lot. Also, dude, John interrupted the good sleep.

Despite Sheppard's attempt at his usual on base attire, long sleeve shirt fashionably accessorized with his sidearm, he still looks more unslept than normal, looking oddly vulnerable without his jacket or vest.

I wanted him stripped of his usual accoutrements just the bare bones. This scene takes place at night with a barely awake person who desperately needs sleep. Also, he's so pretty like this. But I digress, they've both been through a pretty hairy ordeal and I wanted a sense of the end of the day.

"Well, I apparently have this thing about clowns, which I choose to blame on the Wraith. That doesn't answer my question." He stalks towards Rodney with singular intention. "Do you know how much of that stuff you actually took?"

Because John is totally a babbler from way back and finds himself far too funny. Also, I couldn't leave the clown line alone, could you? Actually I just wanted as many references to the episode as possible, to keep this thing tied to it despite it's odd format.

Oh, so someone spilled. Rodney supposes that's not too surprising, he saw the footage from the gateroom security feeds and is fairly sure bootlegged copies were probably a hot commodity before he even made it to the infirmary. A small bit of Rodney hopes that Sheppard actually *asked* how he managed to get back from the planet of the steroid clichés instead of needing to be told. "I was high, not stupid. Visually estimating mass and volume are the sorts of things I picked up as an undergrad."

Rodney snarkage with big sciency words. There's never enough of this. There are very vague ideas given here about how John may or may not have found out about the whole drug overdose thing. I'm of a mind that there really are certain things the reader can decide for themselves.

"So then, insane it is." Sheppard stops shy of the foot of his bed, arms crossed, staring down at him heavily.

"Yes, insane." Rodney waves him away. "Can I finish sleeping and letting my body float back down to something resembling normal?" He's still really tired, but Carson had warned him that the amount of stress he'd put his body through had been enormous and that was on top of the week or so before his trip into purposeful junkie land. He punctuates everything with an uncontrolled yawn.

Sheppard doesn't move, he just stands there frowning, tapping his foot on the ground.

Rodney twitches violently, throwing himself backwards onto the bed. "Oh my god, what do you want from me?"

Here Rodney is the reader I think, because John is just so loomy and there and kinda grumpy but has yet to make a real statement about his late night visit.

"I'm sorry," Sheppard grinds out.

Peeking up from under the arm flung over his face, Rodney squints. "Excuse me?"

"There's a good chance," Sheppard runs a restless hand through his hair, "that I may not have remembered that according to my intell you should have still been stuck on that planet."

Upon later examination of the episode it becomes clear that John did indeed have a good *idea* of where Rodney was during the bit where the wraith ships exploded. But I think his line still holds. It's a reasonable assumption, but he doesn't know for sure, especially since that means Rodney would have had to of escaped. Which is another thing that should be puzzling him.

"Excuse me?" Rodney asks again, because there's a whole lot of data coming from Sheppard and his brain feels too strained to really put it all together. "You're apologizing to me for what?"

Sheppard fiddles with the edges of his sleeve, eyes downcast. "It didn't occur to me to ask how you got back, or even when and then when Beckett seemed overly familiar with the specific sequence of events involved in Teyla and Ronon's detox, I asked a few questions."

"I'm so proud, you've moved onto interrogative statements," Rodney sighs. "You want a cookie?"

He snarks because he loves. Really. Or possibly he just wants sleep.

"I want to apologize!" Sheppard snaps. "You're part of my team, I should have thought about it sooner. I should have asked as soon as I stepped through the gate."

Something shivery and pleasant starts at Rodney's chest when Sheppard utters the words 'My Team', capital letters of importantness booming inside of his ears. "Well, it's the thought that counts." Rodney says trying to be comforting.

This is actually a call back to the bit waaay in the beginning about Rodney finally getting the whole physically strong thing. Except here it's expanded to belonging which I think Rodney has probably had very little experience with.

"Yeah well, the thought died a quick death when I found out you purposefully took enough to take down an elephant." Sheppard's arms go back to being crossed in front of his chest and Rodney thinks really hard about going to sleep with his eyes open. "So I ask once again, what are you, insane?"

Ladies and gentlebeings. John Sheppard, Hypocrite.

"Once again I answer, possibly." Rodney gives up and pushes up onto his elbows, hoping the pretense of paying attention will actually jump start him into *actually* paying attention enough to follow Sheppard's usual brand of arm chair logic. "Anything else, or do you just want to be creepy and stand there and watch me sleep?"

Sheppard's angry posture immediately disappears in one long whoosh of air. "Asside from the completely lunatic way of going about it, you did good McKay."

Rodney thinks this is perhaps Sheppard's version of positive reinforcement. "Well, now you know how it feels. At least you weren't dragged along kicking and screaming." He stands because leaning on his elbows hurts more than it used to. Will he never outlive the consequences of being a drug addict?"

"Nice to know that in a crunch you can take care of yourself." Sheppard reaches out and squeezes Rodney's shoulder once, hard and fast, each digit burning into the thin shirt like a brand.

And now the payoff for all the thinking about Sheppard in the early parts. Because on the surface, yes it would be all about Rodney saving his own ass. Except he never actually talks about that. The whole thing starts off with him being worried that His Team isn't back yet. Then again, that's also an extension of his own well being. He possibly attached a whole lot of safety to being around Sheppard and Teyla and Ronon.

The room's lights are still too harsh on his eyes, which feel red rimmed and dry, and he blinks quickly, five or six times in succession, attempting to taunt some moisture back into them. He also takes time to get his breath back; Sheppard's hand has an unerring knack to steal of stealing it away with the most innocuous gestures. "Yes, as long as there's a nice large dose of methamphetamines or Wraith enzyme, I'm a self sufficient super genius."

Sheppard gives him a genuine smile and wraps his fingers around Rodney's arm this time, squeezing again. "Nah, I think you could save your own ass while sober, too."

Slip slide to the left. John is expressing his confidence in Rodney's big brain. This is the first step towards the smut. I needed to change the tone and nothing does that like a back handed compliment.

Rodney swallows, because instantly it clarifies in his own head. The motivation that fed his need to escape wasn't fueled by his own urge to save himself. That alone is enough to tilt reality on its axis. It was all about Sheppard; every useless life endangering move was borne out of fear for another man's life. "Right," Rodney whispers, "all about me."

Aaaand Rodney gets it. He knew, but now he *knows*. And in true Rodney fashion, he doesn't keep his mouth shut about it.

Weariness pervades every cell of his body, and Rodney just wants to lay back down again. "Now that we've established that I'll do anything to save my own life, a quality that I personally find attractive in another human being," he looks pointedly at Sheppard, "can I go back to sleep now and wallow in my own selfishness?"

Sheppard doesn't answer, he just stares at Rodney for long enough for it to move from intimate to creepy. That's when Rodney realizes that they've floated into each other's personal space, and the front of him feels the heat radiating from Sheppard while his back shivers with the loss of the covers from his bed.

This is John's 'Putting it all together' moment. He's got all the facts, all the causes and effects, now he's just gotta clean his information.

"You were on the Daedelus." Sheppard announces like its news to Rodney as well. "You were on the Daedelus when she came to find us."

"Yes," Rodney nods, "I was there, it's not an unusual occurrence. I've even got a usual bunk assignment." He wants to shuffle backwards, away from John Sheppard genius magnet, but he can't, he's stuck, his bare feet warming the floor beneath him, his arm brushing against Sheppard's arm.

The conversation pauses meaningfully, and Rodney watches a half dozen emotions crawl across Sheppard's face. "Thank you," he says, fear settling somewhere between his lips and his nose, a hard press of lips that thins them out completely, pushing the blood away from the surface, leaving lines of white behind them. Sheppard's head tilts forward, bending further into Rodney's aura, an intrusion of heat caressing over his skin.

Thank you and I'm sorry. Those are two things I think Rodney appreciates more than anything else and I've given him both all in one scene. Of COURSE there will be sex soon. They're also two things that are hard coming out of John's mouth. So double skippy!

"I..." Rodney trails off, eyes locking on Sheppard's, swallowing hard. "You..." He sighs deeply and shrugs, fighting the gravitational pull that Sheppard seems to exude.

My kink. I like the inability to communicate using you know, complete sentences and straight forward words.

Something in Sheppard seems to crumble and he opens his mouth to speak, but he only manages to flap his jaw a bit and force out a single word. "I..." his voice breaks, cracking at the end of the short pronoun into oddly dissonant qualities that make Rodney stop and really look at Sheppard's face. His hand blindly reaches out to Rodney, tracing a slow path from his cheekbone, down his neck and shoulder and ending with their clammy hands touching, Sheppard's clamped solidly over the back of Rodney's.

In its wake, small little sparks of heat and pleasure leave Rodney breathless. "Yeah, well," he rasps, "ditto." Sheppard has reduced Rodney stupid surfer talk and right at that moment, Rodney doesn't actually care. Okay he cares a little, but the 'oh wow, touching me' is taking up most of his active thought processes.

I just see these two being all hesitant about it. With half words and slow touchings. Also. Hot.

"Can we," Sheppard leans in, his entire side finally pressing completely into Rodney, "skip the rest of the conversation about how we pull incredibly stupid stunts for each other," he stops, dragging his eyes across Rodney, as if reassuring himself he's really there, standing on his own, "and be kissing already?" He presses their hands closer together, fingers pushing hard against Rodney's.

Thank you Joss Whedon! I'm sorry it's just Tara totally had the right idea. Kiss first, talky later when you have that hormonal haze making everything softer. Also, this means these guys don't have to communicate, which for them has to be practically orgasmic even in it's own right.

Rodney makes a surprised noise, eyes closing automatically, spreading his fingers wide and threading their hands together. "Oh god, yes."

Also I did it like this because the Author Says: "OMGHOT!"

They press together carefully, movements slow and deliberate. Rodney already aches to be closer, his lips tingle with anticipation and Sheppard's warm breath ghosts across his face making him shudder. The first touch is a compression of sensitive skin, slightly chapped lips come together, and it's perfect and breathless and possibly enough to make up for Rodney's probable three day hangover.

I think I was going for that fairy tale kiss just a little bit. All soft and vasaline camera angles. A try, a redirect and then a score. Perfect but chaste.

******

The post modern fairy tale hardly ever ends with a happy ending; instead the audience finds themselves introduced to the 'Happy Enough' ending. The Princess must live with her new-found freedom and all the consequences that come with it, and the Prince must find a new place that allows for a functional existence within the context of the world they inhabit.

I'm in love with the Happy Enough ending. Because as we've seen before, there's this realism kink in me that loves satisfaction by way of messy life stuff. As for the princess, I think that Rodney's character arc is really a series of choices he wouldn't normally make and then him sort of digesting the consequences.

The concept of something more, that the story never ends, just the chapter that the audience is aware of, leaves the story with a far more complex weaving than the original conception of the genre allowed for.

TV ain't Grimm's Tales. *grin*

******

Soft fluttering kisses down Rodney's neck, down that tendon Rodney knows sticks out because he's seen in the mirror each morning. Lips perfect and soft and just a hint of wetness trace past his collar bone and into the shallow hollow in the center.

"Oh." Rodney gasps, John licks him quickly, one rapid and deadly swipe that leaves him breathless and shaking, and Rodney imagines John's tongue just sweeping through his body, touching everywhere.

"Rodney," John says into his skin, slow and dirty. His hands run up and down Rodney's arms, almost fondling.

This is some special, strange place Rodney's never been before. It's all slow and silk and smooth and quiet and Rodney's not quiet. He's loud and constant and scared and excited and everything all rolled into one. But John makes him quiet and muted even as everything inside him wants to burst.

He clings to John tightly, desperation in his movements, each kiss a silent plea to stay alive, to stop running and jumping and flying straight into danger no normal human should be able escape from.

They push and pull, Rodney pressing heavily into John, feeling every scrape of skin as they wind together tightly. They're a Gordian knot, tangled and weaved so tightly together Rodney looses track of where he ends and John begins. Legs shift and Rodney's aching cock finds itself a home in the sweat crease of John's leg and hip. John's cock is hot beside his, hips pushing upward to a desperate beat.

Long, pleasure-filled minutes later, Rodney comes so hard his fingers tingle all the way through John's sharp intake of breath and shuddery cling around Rodney's shoulders. In the quiet darkness of the room, Rodney learns about fear in a whole new way. The possibility of loss flicks at the edges of his brain, laughing, mocking him, and his new found post-coital relaxation. He didn't think he could ever have more to lose than his life.

I cheated. Sue me. This smut was originally written in comments for sdraeven. But it had the right mood and I actually didn't have to change anything other than the last lines of the above paragraph. So I'll just claim a non linear writing week. Yeah you other authors do it. I know you do. Neener.

As for Rodney's fear. It's sort of a cap on the whole "risking his life to save John" thing. It's the final line to his own motivations.

Sheppard-- John, he reminds himself, holds him tightly, lips mouthing nonsense against Rodney's skin. He runs a hand down John's sweat soaked skin.

"Don't do that again." John whispers, voice strained.

"Make you come like a freight train?" Rodney asks, flustered that he actually doesn't understand what John is talking about.

"Almost die trying to save me." John whispers again, eyes looking up, still wide and dilated with endorphins running through him.

"You first," Rodney whispers back, suddenly less alone than he was three seconds earlier.

Seige II reference as well as this episode. Sue me. Considering his reaction shots, those things really hit him in the gut.

******

The Prince and Princess learn to live, that is the new moral to the story. Evil comes and goes, but it's really not about that. The shifting landscape, changes the characters, and once removed from their archetypal roles, they no longer stay round and smooth and resilient, but instead form a more imperfect union that holds their worlds together.

The End is really The Beginning of the rest of the story, because the lack of perfection implies a continued struggle.

Do you people really need comments on this? Life changes people. I know, big revelation. The End is Really the beginning is just… I wanted a fairy tale ending to mirror the beginning. Because the metaphor had to run its course. But it's sort of a home truth for a lot of fiction. It's also the culmination of all the changes. The story traces the path, which is a story in and of itself, but there's still more, now that we have these new variables, the story goes on.

******

"Rodney! Do you ever shut up?"

"Not when I'm right!"

Normalcy! Life going on, same as always.

******

THE BEGINNING

Well if I'm going to write about it, I should totally use it, right?

Fic: Close Encounters, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, DVD COMMENTARY

2006-01-08T05:53:43Z

Title: Close Encounters

The title is almost *always* the last thing I come up with. It's just not how my writing brain works. I get an idea or an image or a scene first. The title just sort of hangs over my head while I write the damned thing. Imagine that albatross when your fic is turning out to be a 25,000 word epic that just won't end? Usually the title game starts when the fic gets sent off to beta.

Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17
Length: Approx 4500 words.
Notes: Well this was... wish fulfillment for me, it's crack like, but not fully crack. Thanks to seperis for the beta and the bitchslaps. Also thanks to fairestcat who went over it and found the four apparently *glaring* errors that were hoarding other people's enjoyment for themselves.
Archive: My LJ, my site, Area52 and wraithbait

Summary: "It's just a goddamned crush!"

I've started taking lines directly from the story for summaries. Not sure why, but at least this way I can concretely say that it's related to the fic. I try to give the readers something that really does give you a sense of what the story is about. Unfortunately you might not realize that until AFTER you've read the whole thing.

Why this fic is in present tense. I was trying to trick seperis into writing this with me because I was feeling creatively lazy and plotting a story out by myself is a lot more work than bouncing off someone. But that's the subject of a longer more belly button lint examining post later.

Apparently Seperis is not allowed to write in the past tense. Bad Things Happen. Things involving blood and terror and world ending. I know, I ask myself if that's a bad thing too. But as I wanted a relatively happy ending, I went with present tense.

Sadly, she did not fall for my cunning ways.

But I kept it present tense because converting to another tense is a bitch and it helps add to the immediacy of the whole situation. And I thought that was actually a better tone for the whole thing anyway. Also, I write smut better in present tense, and for a while there I thought this might be a smut mobile

Rodney's gasp of air is loud in his ear, deep and sharp as his chest hitches roughly against John's. They're pressed together from shoulder to hip between two pieces of architecture. The cobblestone wall is digging into John's back, and Rodney won't stop squirming, pushing one jagged edge further between his shoulder blades.

Again, this was an image that came to me first. It wasn't the impetus for the story itself, but it was very clear in my mind. It was important to show intimacy but not really. They're running for their lives and in a semi public place, but they're still very much in each other's personal space. And since neither of them strikes me as regular NYC subway riders, it's going to be doubly awkward even without my Plot Device which shows up in just a couple of lines.

"Rodney," John whispers harshly, pushing his hands down onto Rodney's shoulders, his elbows and forearms digging into the other man's chest. "Stop fidgeting." He forces his knee into Rodney's thigh in an effort to pin him. Except Rodney's legs spread to adjust his stance and John finds himself pressed more intimately against Rodney than he'd ever quite considered. It reminds him of Tina Groober from 12th grade; even in his fantasies, he'd never quite made it to home plate with her, so when he was in the backseat of his father's car nervously rolling on a condom, the entire thing seemed surreal. Except that Tina -- unless the rumors were incredibly wrong and a vast conspiracy, the likes of which even the Nixon White House had never seen, had been organized in his own high school -- didn't have a dick. Considering the poorly kept secret affair between the Algebra and History teachers, John highly doubts it.

Oh my god. The Paragraph That Wouldn't Die. Really this one was reworked a number of times. It took a while for what I wanted to say to actually be reflected in the words. And it still needed editing after that. It was supposed to reflect the feelings one gets when they go past the terminal point they have in their mind for a given situation. I.E. You imagine getting to Disney World from the moment you book your plane tickets, but in your head you've never gotten past the gate. So when you actually do, the fantasy abruptly ends and you're left with… well I don't know what, but it's an interesting feeling. Sort of offputting.

Rodney meanwhile, continues to breath harshly, head turned away into the dark recesses of their poorly hidden cover.

The moment, the tableau feels oddly familiar, like he's seen this play out a million times, he's just never been on this side of things before. "I think they're almost gone." John whispers, going for the 'erection, what erection?' strategy. One he often wishes women would use on him.

Right here is where I make a subtle and entirely unneeded meta comment about the utter mundanity of formulaic romantic comedy. Everyone stare in awe at my intellectual might.

Rodney nods his head jerkily, still looking off into the dirty corner to their right. "That's--" his voice is deep and rough and cracks just a bit right at the end of the word. He swallows harshly. "Good. That's good." The words come out a little clearer but husky all the same.

Once I went to a dance with some boy I was too young to realize I was crushing on. And we slow danced and at the time I thought his belt buckle was digging into me. Now I think what an innocent fool I was. What does that have to do with the previous paragraph? Very little other than me vague knowledge that being pressed together with someone you're attracted to can make you pop a boner.

They wait in oppressive silence, and John has never wanted to talk about the weather more in his life. However, being stuck weaponless in what amounts to Victorian England with the Gestapo on their asses, means he's got to concentrate on other things, and not focus on the utterly strange feeling of McKay pressed into his inner thigh, hot and hard and foreign.

Begin John repression. Not that he wasn't repressing before, but his instinct to completely change the subject is the first nail in the coffin for him. Also, the use of the words Victorian England and Gestapo are not a coincidence. Mostly it's my once again, unsubtle authorial hand bringing to mind more images of repressive societies and rules and structure.

So he's trapped for the moment, breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through him. John's eyes finally adjust to the darkness and when he looks at McKay, he can see a low flush high on his cheeks. "Can you run?" he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Rodney's head snaps back, eyes dilated , to stare at John in shock. "What?"

"Well," John makes the mistake of trying to gesture, succeeding in only wedging them together further. Rodney sucks in a sharp breath, eyes closing abruptly. John watches his throat swallow rapidly before continuing. "I think it's sort of self explanatory now."

"It's just a goddamned crush," Rodney whispers, more to himself than to John. "It's stupid and expected and really I should know better, two more weeks and this wouldn't have been a problem."

Right here and right now, in this very scene, Rodney sincerely believes it's a crush. Originally there were more Rodney lines about it. About how John keeps saving his life and doing amazing things requiring skill and talent and mathematical ability of COURSE he has a crush on John.

"A crush?" John asks, a little confused; it seems so utterly mundane considering that they're wedged like sardines inside a small wall crevice and that he's seriously contemplating if the brick to the right of Rodney's head is loose enough to be pried away just so he'd have *some* sort of weapon.

Rodney opens his eyes again, this time looking just a bit annoyed over his layer of humiliation. "Don't let it get to your head Colonel. It's basic chemistry. Our relationship is full of adrenaline and trust and all that other crap that makes the body stand up and take notice."

I wanted Rodney pissed at himself. I wanted to show that he's far more put out by this than John is. Or at least, he believes. Rodney of all the characters on SGA would have come up with this scenario as soon as he realized he had a crush. He is the doomsayer and nothing is doomier than personal humiliation.

He can't help the eye drift down then up. Though John feels really bad about the look that it puts on Rodney's face. "So, that running thing we were talking about earlier?"

"One gunshot," Rodney mutters, "there won't be a problem."

John nods. Okay then, the plan, which is running like hell as soon as it's clear has not been prematurely shot down. Back to contemplating the hard-on pushing into his thigh; he can feel Rodney's legs tense around his, holding himself unnaturally still. John has one completely insane moment where he wants to tell Rodney to just go for it, because he feels a little bad about it, always has when someone he's never had a single romantic thought about falls at his feet. There's also something warm and twisting in his stomach, the fluttering making him a little nauseated; then again, he's never really been in this position, not with as close a friend as Rodney.

And now we have the repression starting to crack. I didn't want the cracks to be huge, it's still the first scene and the information is still like a 2x4 to the head for John. But John is *such* a helper and a nice guy that I imagine some rather insane impulses go through his head sometimes. Also I start to pull in some canon characterization. The hints that John just doesn't get that people will fall for him even if he's just rolled out of bed, has morning breath and weird pillow creases in his face. In fact, that's sort of appealing, but I digress. Later there's a throw away line that points back to this. No, not the one everyone quoted in feedback. But the one that no one quoted and of course I was especially proud of.

Rodney's looking grim, the line of his mouth flat and thin.

"Hey," John says, keeping his voice soft. "It's cool. Really." He shrugs shallowly, keeping himself as still as possible. "I just never see this coming."

This would be the one everyone quotes. And it's a fabulous line and sadly I cannot take credit for it. But here I used it as sort of apology from John. He doesn't usually say what he means most of the time. He's a crap communicator like that so I hardly ever write his dialogue without some weird double meaning thing going on. Also, again, John's a pretty cool guy, once he gets past his own weird factor I really do believe he'd attempt to make everyone else cool too.

"Seriously?" Rodney looks at him like he's just rewritten some obscure law of physics, half in awe and half in disbelief. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

John feels a hot blush crawl across his face. "Ah, thank you?"

Okay I lied, two throw away lines. This being one where John is just totally thrown by such a blatant positive comment about his looks even though he's pretty aware, at least on an abstract level, that an unusual number of people find him attractive. Doesn't mean he actually *gets* it though.

"Oh god." Rodney's head drops to John's shoulder. "Yes, I'm utterly shallow, I think by now we've established this."

More canon! Really. I don't think anything more needs to be said.

Heat blazes off Rodney's neck as it brushes against John's, making the little hairs on the back stand on end. "So, a crush?"

This paragraph gives one of many examples I have of John being extra conscious of Rodney's body and it's movements. It's really nothing spectacular, right now it's not unusual, mostly it's there for foundation.

Rodney's head snaps up. "We're not talking about this. Ever."

That's fine with John, it's just about time to run anyway.

Rodney's reactions here where meant to show someone just really embarrassed and more than happy to pretend it never happened. I know, obvious right? Right now he doesn't know any more than the readers. Later the word 'stoic' could possibly apply. I noticed it was used a lot in the feedback and to a point I agree though I don't know if that's what I intended when I was originally writing this story.

******

About a month later, it's a low lying bench in the back of a barn like structure, thankfully unused. The smell of manure has always turned John's stomach.

The time jumps. Possibly I picked this story telling device because damnit I was not writing another 25,000 word story. Actually, it just made the compare and contrast that much more stark And the shifts in emotion are kinda subtle, at least, they were supposed to be, so I thought anything extraneous between the incidents would have been distracting enough to take away from the important scenes themselves.

Rodney squirms in first, laying on his side, back pressing tightly against the far wall. John scuttles in after him, and they have a scant few seconds to get hidden before they have to freeze. They're plastered tightly against each other, front to front, John bracing a hand on the floor near Rodney's shoulder and the underside of the bench in an effort to keep himself as concealed as possible, muscles holding tight.

OMG, Body position. They killed me. I just kept reading the prose and I had no idea where I was unclear. I had to have my poor decrepit headachy beta point it out to me. And risk my wrath because I suck at arguing over my own stories.

Breathing as silently as possible, he listens as the footsteps get louder, the harsh voices echoing around them. John can feel the tremors in his frame the longer he holds and soon he'll have no choice but to move. As the sharp pain runs along his shoulders for the second time, he carefully rests some of his weight on Rodney. Eventually, the voices fade away, and John relaxes his hold, slumping further into Rodney without intending to.

The sharp gasp of breath reaches his ears just as Rodney's tense frame registers under his. Heat coalesces hotly at his hip, and John can feel the blush spread across his own face in record time.

I really like the idea of him blushing. It just… it's such an involuntary physical reaction and therefore probably one of the truest bits of body language not trained out of us by society at large. I had John blush because he, as a private person himself, is embarrassed FOR Rodney.

Rodney's hips do an involuntary stuttering movement, hard heat pressing into John before retreating as completely as possible. Reflexively John rolls away as well until he realizes his arm is now out in the open, he returns to his previous position, careful to leave some space between them.

I wanted to up the ante here. Start the slow move towards John thinking of Rodney in a sexual manner, I also needed the freakout to start at the same time. Because as John starts to see Rodney as a sexual being, he starts to *see* Rodney as sexual being and is therefore stepping out of his usual boundries and into no man's land. A place he's never been to and hadn't intended on going. In fact, up till now no man's land was like Cleveland. He's heard about it, but it wasn't on his list of vacations spots. Ever.

They stare at each other in the dim light until Rodney closes his eyes. Turning his head is not an option, but he scrunches up into himself as much as possible.

"Crush hanging on there?" John asks to lighten the mood, trying to be sympathetic; he remembers just wanting to get over something and his brain not cooperating.

"I thought we weren't talking about this," Rodney says tightly.

"Sorry," John says, mostly contrite, "but you said two weeks and a guy can't help but feel a bit flattered."

More like puzzled. Very. Very. Puzzled. This is John's subconscious asking for more data.

"This is hardly a precise science," Rodney snaps, but the usual bite is gone; he just looks weary. "Don't worry, the pitchforks alone will give me incentive to run."

This is Rodney going "Oh god stop talking you idiot!" By now, Rodney's figured out a few more things and knows what a crap liar he is. So he really just wants to avoid the whole thing.

John watches Rodney's eyes slit open, pupils wide and dark and warm looking; he can feel the line of tension under where his hand lies on Rodney's arm, an entire body holding itself back, curling in on itself, holding up in possibly the most awkward position possible. "Relax," John says quietly, "really, flattering."

More John noting Rodney's body. And more John's subconscious buzzing around for information. Also, still being the nice guy putting Rodney's comfort before his own.

"There's flattering," Rodney mutters, "and then there's humping your best friend's leg when he's trying to help you not die."

Again, the urge to just push in a few inches, roll forward and jut his leg out a bit; it wouldn't take much to give Rodney what he needs. He's done that group porn thing once or twice, and living on a military base meant that even if you weren't into it, you usually found it once or twice. How different could this be? But Rodney is looking intensely uncomfortable, and they'll have difficulty looking each other in the eye after this incident as it is, and John knows he's been called a tease behind his back ever since the braces were taken out and the acne cleared up. Following his completely unfounded impulse would only strengthen the argument.

Here's the line no one commented on. The one about the braces and the acne. It's my own personal pet theory as to why someone as unnaturally hot as John keeps getting surprised by the people throwing themselves at his feet. Because things trained into you in early adolescence have an eerie way of sticking around for YEARS AND YEARS down the road.

"Is there anything I can..." John trails off, not really sure what he's asking.

Now the subconscious starts to give way to the conscious. He actively considers the action and rationalizes it. Next step John? Recognizing that higher power baby.

"That not talking about it thing was really working well for me," Rodney sighs. "Not to ruin my already established habits and life preserving tendencies, but is it time to run yet?"

More of Rodney going "deflect! Deflect! No talky about my super sekrit ~~luv~~ crush on you ever!" This is around where we start in on Rodney's stoic-fu. He's just starting to suffer in silence and get the idea that this thing, whatever it is, is not going away so easily.

John listens carefully and shakes his head. "Not yet, it's almost dark, better cover."

"Right," Rodney says tightly, "not too long a wait then."

"Relax," John squeezes the arm tucked under his fingers. Rodney looks at him like he's insane, but some part of him gives and his stomach starts to feel itchy as Rodney's erection slides a few inches to the left when he bends his leg to rest comfortably on John's. "Right," he swallows, "like that."

"You don't look very flattered." Rodney snaps.

"Yeah, well, I've never been this close and personal to another man's--"

"Oh god," Rodney says in horror. "You're kidding me, oh this just completes the abject humiliation!"

Confirmation for the readers of what I'm sure most of them already suspect. It actually seems sort of odd to put that in there, right where it is. It almost seems like Rodney assumes John isn't all that straight. But I kept it because it's not Rodney's pov and I don't need to share with you what was going through his head. And I needed that firm confirmation before the story went much further. Here in the commentary I can say that it didn't fit earlier, too many other reveals and Rodney? Rodney is actually caught up in the 'never' part of the sentence. As in 'never ever' Because even Hopelessly Straight Boys ™ can have had a once. Why did I make it like that? Because OMGSOHOT. That's why.

Automatically John raises a hand to cover Rodney's mouth, attempting to remind him that they need to *not* be found for a little while. Rodney freezes, mouth open, tongue just touching the center of John's palm. A small choked noise is muffled into John's hand, and Rodney wrenches away nearly knocking violently into the one of the bench's legs. John's hand tingles from the quick flick of tongue and he finds himself cradling the back of Rodney's head, saving him from a concussion and John from listening to the lingering worries about one over the next several hours.

Now I was stuck with making it more intimate. Because it was time and this story is all about steps in small tiny progressions. Of course they key word is still 'unintentionally'. How do you 'unintentionally' get more intimate than someone's boner jammed into your thigh? Easy, get the mouth involved. And now they both have physical reactions. Actually I'd been giving John small reactions from the start, mostly in the stomach area. Come on, butterflies and arousal can SO be nausea!

Rodney feels pliant and inviting and warm, and suddenly, he's breathing hard and thinks it would be very easy to brush their lips together. He shifts slightly, the urge to release Rodney's head suddenly overwhelming, the unexpected and unusual nature of the thought startling him badly.

Instincts kicking in before the brain has fully processed. Ain't that always the thing? I needed John's brain to take the next step as well. So instead of just noticing Rodney's body in relation to his own, he now notices Rodney's body in terms of sensations and feelings and urges. At least, more than he was.

The movement pushes their legs together.

"Stop," Rodney says, head dropping down, "just stop."

"Go ahead," John says, staring at Rodney's neck, the flush that darkened before his eyes. He's not sure why he offers, it's not pity, other than the most basic of pity for a man stuck with an ill timed hormonal surge. He remembers that small surge of electricity and he feels reckless.

Rodney stiffens against to him. "Excuse me?"

"Well," John reasons, "we're stuck here for a little while, which can't possibly be comfortable for you." He swallows hard, not really thinking about what he's saying, because if he does, he might just scream and run or something. "And maybe," he waffles, "maybe it'll help with the," he shrugs helplessly, "you know, thing."

Rodney's mouth opens and closes a few times, blue eyes blinking rapidly up at John in utter disbelief. "And you thought this would make me *less* uncomfortable?"

The man does have a point.

He goes so far to actually offer this time. Still rationalizing. In crack fic, this is possibly where the hothot completely irrational, really tactically stupid sex would have happened. I didn't want that. I have this realism kink, in case you haven't noticed. I like seeing all of this playing out to what I feel is a conclusion that could happen in real life. Other than the 37 year old straight man suddenly wanting to jump his best friend. I freely admit that is total and pure fantasy.

John lets it go for a few minutes, hyperaware of the other body pressing into him. Warm, soft heat flush against the front of his body and despite the *one* really obvious difference, it's unnervingly the same in all the ways it counts. The beginnings of an evening breeze brush his back, making the temperature difference that much more apparent.

The urge to snuggle hits him full force in the back of the head, and he bites back a gasp.

"Sorry," Rodney mutters, not looking at him.

John taps his fingers a few times, hopefully indicating it wasn't a big deal, but he's too caught up in being freaked out to really formulate sentences that won't dig them both into deeper holes.

Jesus, snuggling, he hates doing that with *women*. It's got deeply symbolic meanings and stuff that get translated into relationship conversations John never ever wants to have.

This is me interpreting what I feel is John's commitment issues. I just wanted the juxtaposition of him never wanting something before and suddenly wanting it so bad he can taste it. Heavy handed metaphor anyone?

Next to him Rodney breathes deeply, pushing further into him for a brief second. It's good in ways John is afraid to think about, fear, stark and violent, trickles down his spine.

Fuck it, it's dark enough.

And he runs. He runs even though it might not be safe. Oooh more heavy handed metaphor. You guys sure you don't have concussions? Seriously it's about the fear here, how something so diametrically opposed to what has always felt physically good, is suddenly better than the original.

******

Five weeks later, they're stuck in a small, dark, very cold room. They rest, lying on the cold hard floor because there's nothing else *to* do, and sitting against the wall just makes his ass numb. Also John has no idea when their chance will come, and he'd like to not be hallucinating from exhaustion when it happens. From three feet away, John can hear Rodney's teeth chattering in the darkness. Neither of them will do anything but waste energy like this.

This setting I chose very carefully. I needed their situations to be a bit more reliant on their own decisions. They had to (or at least John has to) make a conscious choice about it. Consider it the next step if you will.

"Rodney," he says, already moving over, "it's too cold too--"

"I'd already figured that out," Rodney snaps.

Rodney *knows*. Of anyone he's already thinking about hypothermia and gangrene. Oh boy does he *know* what's coming. Also, by now he's pretty much resigned to it not being a crush, so he's sort of pissed at the universe.

"Right, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" John throws back, too cold to really put his heart into the argument.

They shuffle together, and John finds his arms wrapping snugly around Rodney's torso and pulling tight, already feeling the small shivers before they even touch. Rodney is slow in turning, but eventually hands like icicles slide up John's back 'and warm puffs of wet air drift near John's cheek, telling him that Rodney is making himself comfortable. "This way," John indicates, inching Rodney into a wall, hoping to create a warm pocket for themselves. Their jackets zip together snugly, helping conserve even more warmth. Their arms rest easily around each other, moving distractedly, hoping to incite circulation. John is suddenly struck by such a huge sense of the familiar that it distracts from realizing that Rodney is tense next to him and utterly silent.

"What?" John asks, shifting his hands between them, moving so that his elbow isn't pressed against the floor. He shifts his legs so that the parts of them not benefiting from the innovative warmth of their -- oh. "Oh." This is starting to be a habit, the universe is run by a cruel, cruel being.

Now John is starting to feel paranoid too.

Rodney doesn't say a word, just managing to find the extra few millimeters of space in their cocoon of warm, moist air to separate them.

"Um," John says blinking rapidly, his stomach queasy. Rodney is the best source of warmth in the room and the biting chill is already seeping into his bones. One of them is going to have to say something before extremities start to frost over. Slowly, John pulls one of his arms back, not that it has far to go, and presses his open palm to Rodney's chest. He can feel a rapid heartbeat under his hand and a sharp breath near his ear. "This is some crush," John says tentatively.

Oh John. Gotta watch that subconscious. Again he's polling for data. But now he's physically searching as well, his movement was specifically written like that on purpose. Open hand over the heart. Yeah I know, go to writing school already why don't I? Also, John's question is the beginnings of his own process. Slow on the uptake that he is, he won't get that it's no longer a crush for another couple of scenes.

"Don't think I don't know that," Rodney says between clenched teeth, "and what the hell are you doing?"

"We need to be warm and we need sleep." John answers in what he hopes is a reasonable voice. He moves his hand in a slow circle, "You're my friend and friends help out in times of need."

"Stop." Rodney's voice is stony. "The problem's gone now."

"It's not--"

The last 4 paragraphs are probably the most dense in the entire story in terms of things not being said. John is still rationalizing, a lot. Almost irrationally so. Poor confused John. Feel for him. This is tough. Take my word for it.

When Rodney says stop, the problem's gone. It really does mean that John's offer has completely killed any and all arousal just about instantly. It's not the offer itself that does it but that reasoning he offers. To Rodney it's akin to pity because it's no longer a crush but something pretty deep and pretty scary on his side as well. And it's just been minimalized and trivialized and ouch.

On rereads John's line seems to imply that the erection is not gone, and I sort of left it that way. Really the whole sentence was "It's not what you think--" John is far more caught up in his own issues than Rodney's at the moment.

"We're not talking about this." Rodney says again before pushing John flat to the ground, appropriating John's shoulder and going still.

Sleep it is.

I just really liked the idea of using sleep to end a conversation. It's such a married person moment. Also Rodney goes ahead and violated John's personal space just a bit in retaliation for what he feels is a slight.

******

Three weeks later John jumps in front of a bullet aimed at Rodney's chest.

And the pattern breaks. Totally and completely on purpose do I shatter the preconceived notions the reader should have about the way this story unfolds.

I did it on purpose. I wanted the bullet thing to come as a complete and utter shock so that you can identify a bit with Rodney. Also because I just love really good plot twists.

******

He wakes in the infirmary. It's dark and his head is cottony. The whole world feels like it's been glossed in Vaseline, with the lights extra fuzzy and the cup on the nearby table looking like something out of an impressionist painting.

It takes time for him to be interested in his surroundings, with the current concoction of drugs in his system. Watching his toes move under the blankets is pretty darned entertaining.

I must have written this man waking up in the infirmary like a hundred times by now. One day I will run out of creative ways to talk about being drugged up. Let's hope that day is FAR away.

Eventually though, his neck wants a stretch, and he slowly moves it from side to side. To the left is a long row of empty beds and the duty nurse bent low over a desk doing paperwork.

To his right...

To his right is Rodney, curled up in a chair, back painfully bent forward, arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed deeply, even in sleep.

"Rodney," John rasps, reaching a hand out, "go lay down."

Rodney jumps, nearly toppling his chair over, his arms and legs do a good bit of flailing as well before he settles back down and glares at John. "There are enough of this team in the infirmary already, don't you think?"

"Looked painful," John says, making a lazy gesture at the chair with his finger.

Rubbing his back, Rodney arches, long enough for a loud popping sound to emerge. "Looks aren't deceiving in this case," he grimaces.

"Why're you here?" John asks, blinking slowly.

Rodney's face transforms from minorly annoyed and half awake to completely angry and very pained. "To tell you never to do that again."

John blinks some more. "Why?"

"Because--" Rodney slumps suddenly and dramatically, "Because," he says before abruptly standing up and walking out.

"Huh," John says before closing his eyes and letting sleep pull him back in.

The point of this scene? To hit John with a clue by four. Mostly that's about it. Also to give us the image of Rodney glued to John's hospital bed. Forgoing his *prescription* mattress for twu wuv. Seriously, what more proof is needed. Also, I made Rodney uncharacteristically laconic here. Mostly because if it was really important, he wouldn't talk about it anyway, rather suffer in silence like my Jewish grandmother.

******

Later, when John's more awake and Beckett is changing his bandages, it occurs to John that 'crush' is probably the wrong word for it. Probably has been for weeks, possibly months, maybe even since just after the first incident.

Ding ding ding! Congratulations John!

Rodney visits him a few more times -- once while he's still in Beckett's illustrious bed and breakfast and two or three more while he's confined to quarters unable to really contemplate more than going to and from the bathroom -- each time bearing gifts and long blustery diatribes about the comings and goings of Atlantis and the level of stupidity each one rated.

Each time John thinks really hard about bringing it up, but Rodney does something so normal and Rodney-like that the thought slips away into the air.

I really wanted to drive home the point that by now (and possibly always) whatever the thing between them was, it was so a part of normal life as to almost be dismissed. Normalcy doesn't mean you have to know about it. In fact, a whole lot of normalcy is buried in things you *don't* think about. Habits really.

He falls asleep in the middle of Troy. They're watching it because Rodney said sometimes science fiction loses it's shine when your everyday life trumps most of the plots. It's a good movie, but John is still tiring easily and he possibly walked more than Beckett had suggested that afternoon.

Point of clarification. I'm not writing from my pov. Therefore any likes, dislikes or preferences expressed are not mine. I truly think John would appreciate Troy on a number of levels. Personally though? I think it wasn't HORRIBLE. And it was at least mostly engrossing considering it's length.

John wakes to quiet music, the volume on the laptop obviously turned down at some point. Rodney is asleep on the chair next to him, head tilting back, mouth half open. He looks tired even in sleep, and John suddenly wonders how much sleep Rodney has actually been getting.

His head begins to slowly slide forward, and John can see it quickly approaching the point where it'll snap down and wake Rodney abruptly. He reaches out, fingers creeping over the damp skin on Rodney's neck, thumb accidentally brushing along the stubble line on his jaw. "Rodney," he calls softly.

"Wha?" His eyelids flutters softly, and he leans into John's touch for a brief moment before the fog clears and he shakes his head roughly, dislodging John's hand.

It's an instantaneous understanding, that Rodney is Rodney and that whatever this is he has for John is part of him, and he's bound and determined not to let it change them. So John lets go and settles back into bed. "Looks like we were both tired."

Normalcy! *Points the big neon signs around this paragraph* Also John respecting the other person's boundries. A lot because John is really okay with not dealing with it himself yet.

"Yeah," Rodney stretches, back arching and popping loudly, neck titling left and right before he absently closes the laptop. When he's done, he stands up, looking anywhere but at John. "I've got things to do, so you can go back to being the convalescent and I'll go back to being useful."

Speaking of normalcy, there hasn't been a good insult in this story in *pages* It really needed it.

When he's alone, John buries himself under the covers and thinks very hard.

I just like this line. I like the imagery and the feeling it leaves me with. I wanted John to be thinky. Very thinky. But in an angsty alone sort of way.

******

Five weeks later Rodney pushes John into a wall, knocking his chin into a jagged edge, the sharp edge of pain blurring his vision.

When it finally clears, Rodney is pinned to the ground. A long, thin stalactite is sticking up from his torso, a slowly expanding pool of blood coming from underneath him.

We're back to formula. Even more so than before. A time jump and a radical injury incurred while saving their woobie. We're just about in cliché land now. But I couldn't see John getting over that last hurdle without some large and scary to make him jump.

*****

John kneels in the blood, presses his hands to Rodney's chest and neck, counting heart beats, feeling his lungs move air. He yells for a stretcher, hands framing Rodney's face.

"Colonel?" Rodney coughs, but not wetly, no blood or foam coming from his lips. John is horribly relieved.

"I'm here Rodney," John says, "and when you're better, I'm going to kill you."

"...you're welcome?" Rodney says, hands feeling for the wound.

Because I cannot see them get into a tense situation without humor. Because… well have you watched the show? Really?

John grabs them in his own, holding them tightly. "Don't touch that, it's the only thing keeping the blood in."

Look Ma! All that time watching ER paid off!

"Not doing a very good job."

He looks at his knees and his hands and Rodney's shirt and jacket and agrees. "No, no it's not." Where's the damn stretcher? Rodney clutches at John, fingers spasmodically opening and closing; obligingly, John shifts them so that their fingers twine. He frees one hand, his left going back to Rodney's neck to monitor his pulse. "You idiot," he chokes.

Aside from a few moments that can be dismissed as nothing more than touching to get attention, mostly, this is the first initiative John takes. Notice the catalyst? Yes I think we all do. If you read my other fics you'll notice I have a hand holding fetish. Not just that, but a twining fingers thing. It's just so symbolic and makes me all gooshy.

"You insult me while I'm bleeding to death? It's time I reexamine this relationship." Rodney mutters.

"Yeah," John agrees. "Maybe." Of course, he has no idea what he's saying, he just knows that Rodney is bleeding all over him and John has this hard knot in his chest and strange impulses to lean in and-- "Get better," John demands, brushing his lips over Rodney's forehead, "because this freak-out I feel coming? Will work better with two people."

Houston we have acknowledgement. Sort of. Mostly we have confirmation that yes, John knows what's going on. In crack fic, smut would have followed as soon as Rodney wasn't bleeding internally anymore. Here we have John giving fair warning that this thing is making him freak but possibly he can work through it. Maybe. With some really good blow jobs. Notice how it's lips to forehead here? Another sign of impending freakoutingness.

******

Freak-out is really a very descriptive word for hiding in his room, throwing up once, and then running around Atlantis until his legs feel like rubber.

I honestly get tripped up in every story that starts out with hopelesslystraight!Character and then doesn't have him do something .like the above paragraph. I just never see the decision as being easy once it's done and I want to see that wavering back and forth in the decision making. It makes the final product/sex scene that much sweeter.

Ronon runs with him. Teyla takes one look at him and drags him to the mess, watching him eat half a meal before letting him go.

Wait, you mean there are other characters in SGA? Right ahem. This is what I'm worst at. Remembering that there's this whole huge ensemble to play off of. Though in this case it worked to my advantage because it was so deeply about them and their interpersonal issues. Of course once it leaks out all over the place, people are gonna step up and help.

He showers again and wonders if he can check in on Rodney without his stomach tying up in knots and his hands shaking. He tries, he really does, but he can't do it, he can't sit there and stare at Rodney's unconscious form and wait and wonder and think and visualize and imagine and torture himself.

So he doesn't.

Once again, John's wavering. Alone and without impetus it seems almost insurmountable. He tries because by now he's not fooling himself nearly as much. Just the regular amount of guy blindness is at work. This is more of the stuff I love, not that he's being an ass about being obtuse, but that he is genuinely trying and failing.

******

Two weeks later. Two weeks of sleepless nights and vague dreams and very public visits, Rodney limps slowly into John's room.

This is as much trying as John can do. He doesn't realize it yet but he's got to be met halfway. I wanted it to be less time, but my brain wouldn't let Rodney recover any faster.

"Should you be up?" John asks, already bringing a chair over for Rodney to sit in.

Rodney waves it away. "You know, I've never broken up with someone I'm not seeing before, but with you, I'm willing to make an exception."

Humor masking pain. No, I don't channel that man at all. *cough*McKay-Sue*cough*. Rodney's done with the not talking about it thing, as it apparently doesn't work very well when not everyone gets with the program.

"I--" John starts, but finds himself being poked in the chest before he can continue.

"That was cruel," Rodney says, "what you did, that was cruel and I thought better of you."

I like this line because it's an incredibly cutting thing to say to someone like John. At least in combination. John jokes and teases and mocks but he's not cruel for cruel's sake. And then telling him that you think better of him is like twisting the knife on a guy who always tries to do the honorable thing.

I had Rodney say it because as most people with what they feel is a hopelessly one sided unrequited thing it doesn't occur to him that it's possibly not so unrequited. His instinct is to protect and with Rodney's that translates to attack. With words.

It's really Rodney's worst fear come to life here. His own personal feelings used against him.

"I wasn’t--"

"No, you weren't," Rodney interrupts again, "and I'd kindly appreciate it if you don’t ever do that again."

"Rodney!" John snaps, gratified when the other man finally looks like he's stopping. "I wasn't," he doesn't have the words, he barely has the thought, but he knows that this is the moment he needs to express something, so he reaches out, fingertips against skin on Rodney's neck. "No cruelty intended."

John's not there yet, but he wants Rodney to know he's not in that other place, where he was just using Rodney's feelings against him.

Rodney makes a choked off sound in the back of his throat. "Oh god, I'm going to have to *train* you, assuming you don't just breakdown halfway through and--"

Possibly my most favorite line in the story. Because Rodney would totally skip over everything else and move onto his own possibly pain. Really. Also, it's funny.

John's fingers find their way to Rodney's lips, halting their litany, mostly because he can't really listen to any more of it without it feeling all too real. He lets them rest there long enough for Rodney to get the hint before letting them slide around, the tingle of stubble rough against his palm, and then finally soft hair and the nape of a neck. One step forward has them touching, pressing against each other carefully. Mindful of Rodney's still healing injury, John carefully puts his lips to Rodney's.

Another deep noise, harsh and sharp from Rodney. John swallows it, tasting Rodney, slowly kissing him, lips gliding and catching and moving gently. It's devastatingly soft and sweet and Rodney's lips cling to his perfectly. It's the best kiss John has ever had.

The first kiss. I was… unsure how to write this. Because well. I was damnit. I wanted it to be a jumble of unfamiliar sensations surrounding something that was familiar. Emotions and feelings versus stubble and muscle.

Rodney's hands are like steel on John's arms, holding tightly, halfway between pushing him away and drawing him closer. They end the kiss softly. Rodney looks tired and flushed and weary and just a little bit elated.

Here's where we start to get an inkling of Rodney's internal process. I wanted to show his own reservations and fears.

It's the most natural thing in the world to gather Rodney up into his arms, to let his hands slide around his waist slowly, feeling deliberately what he had been ignoring before. Rodney rests his forehead on John's, shaking his head mutely.

"Not cruel," John says again, because it's the closest he can get to what he means.

Here is where I've turned 'Not Cruel' into 'Might love you' or something similar. It was on purpose. These guys will never just out and out say it. It's not how they operate. They're crap communicators (why are they on a first contact team again?) and more often than not they do or say one thing to show and express another. It's less scary to call someone an idiot than to tell them you appreciate them.

"Yeah," Rodney says, "I'm getting that." He punctuates it with a yawn.

John leads Rodney to his bed, swallows heavily as Rodney settles in but he's so happy that Rodney is there, alive and breathing and crumpling his covers that the panic recedes almost instantly. They sleep, propped together on John's bed, Rodney on his back and John draped carefully over his healthy side.

In crack fic world there would have been a handjob or something. In Trying Not to Freak Out World, just getting used to someone sleeping next to you can be a trial. Also I wanted to show a bit of clinging. Something along the lines of "oh thank god you're not dead" and give John another baby step to take.

Originally this is where the fic stopped when it was sent off to beta. It knew this wasn't going to be the *actual* ending. But it was the end of the structured story as I had it planned. Also, it needed some tough poking in some places (mostly with body placement and stuff) and I wanted to make sure that was well on its way while I thought. I'm good a multitasking I tell you, really I am.

******

The surprise comes when John realizes that nothing changes. They don't stare at each other across their pudding, well they do, but the googoo eyes have apparently always been there because no one's commenting or looking at them strangely. That alone is just a little disturbing.

Again the reference back to normalcy. Here's I guess where I sum it up and frame it with a neon sign. Also, the last line of that paragraph was very important. It reads like a throwaway but it wasn’t' supposed to. It's just another moment of John getting hit over the head with the fact that this was going on before he ever had any clue.

They hang out and complain about each other, to each other, with each other. They watch movies and get into trouble and harass Elizabeth for permission to do stupid things like trying to fly a jumper under water.

Only now Rodney follows John into his room or vice versa and John gets to fly without leaving the ground. Rodney's hands make him instantly hard with a touch to his chest or waist, his lips are perfect and soft and make the best noises. They lie in bed pressing against each other, all soft sounds and gentle motions, and John gets the distinct feeling that Rodney is teaching him all sorts of things he won't appreciate until later. Later, when he finally gets over the shivery feeling of another man's cock pressed into his thigh, or his hands running over a flat chest. Or the distinctly masculine moans that Rodney makes when John finds that wonderfully sensitive spot on the side of his neck.

He still freaks out; just about every day there's a moment where he asks himself what he's doing; a moment when the thought of wrapping his hand around another guy's cock just makes him want to scream out loud and lock himself in his room.

Again with the decision wavering. I wanted it this late in the game. I wanted to remind the readers that it's not all hunky dorey for John now. It's still fucked up and scary and every day he's reminded of why and how etc.

Rodney takes it all in stride, rolling his eyes, pushing him around and then sinking to his knees in front of John. John finds Rodney's mouth was made for his cock, warm and wet and sweet, sweet suction that makes him lose brain cells. Then he sees it; Rodney looks up, uncertainty in his eyes as his cheeks puff and hollow, checking and looking for John's enjoyment.

There needed to be some gay smut. I felt John had to be shown to have gotten at least this far. Otherwise the story would have felt incomplete. Despite the fact that him receiving a blow job from Rodney might seem passive it's a much larger step than any of the other's he's taken. Because he's watching and he's aware and it turns him on and makes him a little bit crazy.

They're both afraid and that's probably the most reassuring thing yet.

The ending line almost seemed too pat to me. Too much like a moral to the story. But I think it worked because it sort of… outlined the whole issue. It's almost like a minimap for a relationship. It's nice and openended and let's the reader know that all the scary shit is far from over. And I like that in an ending.

THE END

I didn't directly deal with Don't Ask Don't Tell because I thought that John's fear pretty much encompassed all that. I'm a DADT junky and usually I'd have mentioned it in some manner. But it tends to take over a story and while I don't say it, I figured it could be assumed that it's all part and parcel of the bigger picture.

Fic: Close Encounters, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard

2006-01-06T05:29:41Z

Title: Close Encounters
Author: amireal
Rating: NC-17
Length: Approx 4500 words.
Notes: Well this was... wish fulfillment for me, it's crack like, but not fully crack. Thanks to seperis for the beta and the bitchslaps. Also thanks to fairestcat who went over it and found the four apparently *glaring* errors that were hoarding other people's enjoyment for themselves.
Archive: My LJ, my site, Area52 and wraithbait

Summary: "It's just a goddamned crush!"

Rodney's gasp of air is loud in his ear, deep and sharp as his chest hitches roughly against John's. They're pressed together from shoulder to hip between two pieces of architecture. The cobblestone wall is digging into John's back, and Rodney won't stop squirming, pushing one jagged edge further between his shoulder blades.

"Rodney," John whispers harshly, pushing his hands down onto Rodney's shoulders, his elbows and forearms digging into the other man's chest. "Stop fidgeting." He forces his knee into Rodney's thigh in an effort to pin him. Except Rodney's legs spread to adjust his stance and John finds himself pressed more intimately against Rodney than he'd ever quite considered. It reminds him of Tina Groober from 12th grade; even in his fantasies, he'd never quite made it to home plate with her, so when he was in the backseat of his father's car nervously rolling on a condom, the entire thing seemed surreal. Except that Tina -- unless the rumors were incredibly wrong and a vast conspiracy, the likes of which even the Nixon White House had never seen, had been organized in his own high school -- didn't have a dick. Considering the poorly kept secret affair between the Algebra and History teachers, John highly doubts it.

Rodney meanwhile, continues to breath harshly, head turned away into the dark recesses of their poorly hidden cover.

The moment, the tableau feels oddly familiar, like he's seen this play out a million times, he's just never been on this side of things before. "I think they're almost gone." John whispers, going for the 'erection, what erection?' strategy. One he often wishes women would use on him.

Rodney nods his head jerkily, still looking off into the dirty corner to their right. "That's--" his voice is deep and rough and cracks just a bit right at the end of the word. He swallows harshly. "Good. That's good." The words come out a little clearer but husky all the same.

They wait in oppressive silence, and John has never wanted to talk about the weather more in his life. However, being stuck weaponless in what amounts to Victorian England with the Gestapo on their asses, means he's got to concentrate on other things, and not focus on the utterly strange feeling of McKay pressed into his inner thigh, hot and hard and foreign.

So he's trapped for the moment, breathing hard, adrenaline pumping through him. John's eyes finally adjust to the darkness and when he looks at McKay, he can see a low flush high on his cheeks. "Can you run?" he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Rodney's head snaps back, eyes dilated , to stare at John in shock. "What?"

"Well," John makes the mistake of trying to gesture, succeeding in only wedging them together further. Rodney sucks in a sharp breath, eyes closing abruptly. John watches his throat swallow rapidly before continuing. "I think it's sort of self explanatory now."

"It's just a goddamned crush," Rodney whispers, more to himself than to John. "It's stupid and expected and really I should know better, two more weeks and this wouldn't have been a problem."

"A crush?" John asks, a little confused; it seems so utterly mundane considering that they're wedged like sardines inside a small wall crevice and that he's seriously contemplating if the brick to the right of Rodney's head is loose enough to be pried away just so he'd have *some* sort of weapon.

Rodney opens his eyes again, this time looking just a bit annoyed over his layer of humiliation. "Don't let it get to your head Colonel. It's basic chemistry. Our relationship is full of adrenaline and trust and all that other crap that makes the body stand up and take notice."

He can't help the eye drift down then up. Though John feels really bad about the look that it puts on Rodney's face. "So, that running thing we were talking about earlier?"

"One gunshot," Rodney mutters, "there won't be a problem."

John nods. Okay then, the plan, which is running like hell as soon as it's clear has not been prematurely shot down. Back to contemplating the hard-on pushing into his thigh; he can feel Rodney's legs tense around his, holding himself unnaturally still. John has one completely insane moment where he wants to tell Rodney to just go for it, because he feels a little bad about it, always has when someone he's never had a single romantic thought about falls at his feet. There's also something warm and twisting in his stomach, the fluttering making him a little nauseated; then again, he's never really been in this position, not with as close a friend as Rodney.

Rodney's looking grim, the line of his mouth flat and thin.

"Hey," John says, keeping his voice soft. "It's cool. Really." He shrugs shallowly, keeping himself as still as possible. "I just never see this coming."

"Seriously?" Rodney looks at him like he's just rewritten some obscure law of physics, half in awe and half in disbelief. "Have you looked in a mirror lately?"

John feels a hot blush crawl across his face. "Ah, thank you?"

"Oh god." Rodney's head drops to John's shoulder. "Yes, I'm utterly shallow, I think by now we've established this."

Heat blazes off Rodney's neck as it brushes against John's, making the little hairs on the back stand on end. "So, a crush?"

Rodney's head snaps up. "We're not talking about this. Ever."

That's fine with John, it's just about time to run anyway.

******

About a month later, it's a low lying bench in the back of a barn like structure, thankfully unused. The smell of manure has always turned John's stomach.

Rodney squirms in first, laying on his side, back pressing tightly against the far wall. John scuttles in after him, and they have a scant few seconds to get hidden before they have to freeze. They're plastered tightly against each other, front to front, John bracing a hand on the floor near Rodney's shoulder and the underside of the bench in an effort to keep himself as concealed as possible, muscles holding tight.

Breathing as silently as possible, he listens as the footsteps get louder, the harsh voices echoing around them. John can feel the tremors in his frame the longer he holds and soon he'll have no choice but to move. As the sharp pain runs along his shoulders for the second time, he carefully rests some of his weight on Rodney. Eventually, the voices fade away, and John relaxes his hold, slumping further into Rodney without intending to.

The sharp gasp of breath reaches his ears just as Rodney's tense frame registers under his. Heat coalesces hotly at his hip, and John can feel the blush spread across his own face in record time.

Rodney's hips do an involuntary stuttering movement, hard heat pressing into John before retreating as completely as possible. Reflexively John rolls away as well until he realizes his arm is now out in the open, he returns to his previous position, careful to leave some space between them.

They stare at each other in the dim light until Rodney closes his eyes. Turning his head is not an option, but he scrunches up into himself as much as possible.

"Crush hanging on there?" John asks to lighten the mood, trying to be sympathetic; he remembers just wanting to get over something and his brain not cooperating.

"I thought we weren't talking about this," Rodney says tightly.

"Sorry," John says, mostly contrite, "but you said two weeks and a guy can't help but feel a bit flattered."

"This is hardly a precise science," Rodney snaps, but the usual bite is gone; he just looks weary. "Don't worry, the pitchforks alone will give me incentive to run."

John watches Rodney's eyes slit open, pupils wide and dark and warm looking; he can feel the line of tension under where his hand lies on Rodney's arm, an entire body holding itself back, curling in on itself, holding up in possibly the most awkward position possible. "Relax," John says quietly, "really, flattering."

"There's flattering," Rodney mutters, "and then there's humping your best friend's leg when he's trying to help you not die."

Again, the urge to just push in a few inches, roll forward and jut his leg out a bit; it wouldn't take much to give Rodney what he needs. He's done that group porn thing once or twice, and living on a military base meant that even if you weren't into it, you usually found it once or twice. How different could this be? But Rodney is looking intensely uncomfortable, and they'll have difficulty looking each other in the eye after this incident as it is, and John knows he's been called a tease behind his back ever since the braces were taken out and the acne cleared up. Following his completely unfounded impulse would only strengthen the argument.

"Is there anything I can..." John trails off, not really sure what he's asking.

"That not talking about it thing was really working well for me," Rodney sighs. "Not to ruin my already established habits and life preserving tendencies, but is it time to run yet?"

John listens carefully and shakes his head. "Not yet, it's almost dark, better cover."

"Right," Rodney says tightly, "not too long a wait then."

"Relax," John squeezes the arm tucked under his fingers. Rodney looks at him like he's insane, but some part of him gives and his stomach starts to feel itchy as Rodney's erection slides a few inches to the left when he bends his leg to rest comfortably on John's. "Right," he swallows, "like that."

"You don't look very flattered." Rodney snaps.

"Yeah, well, I've never been this close and personal to another man's--"

"Oh god," Rodney says in horror. "You're kidding me, oh this just completes the abject humiliation!"

Automatically John raises a hand to cover Rodney's mouth, attempting to remind him that they need to *not* be found for a little while. Rodney freezes, mouth open, tongue just touching the center of John's palm. A small choked noise is muffled into John's hand, and Rodney wrenches away nearly knocking violently into the one of the bench's legs. John's hand tingles from the quick flick of tongue and he finds himself cradling the back of Rodney's head, saving him from a concussion and John from listening to the lingering worries about one over the next several hours.

Rodney feels pliant and inviting and warm, and suddenly, he's breathing hard and thinks it would be very easy to brush their lips together. He shifts slightly, the urge to release Rodney's head suddenly overwhelming, the unexpected and unusual nature of the thought startling him badly.

The movement pushes their legs together.

"Stop," Rodney says, head dropping down, "just stop."

"Go ahead," John says, staring at Rodney's neck, the flush that darkened before his eyes. He's not sure why he offers, it's not pity, other than the most basic of pity for a man stuck with an ill timed hormonal surge. He remembers that small surge of electricity and he feels reckless.

Rodney stiffens against to him. "Excuse me?"

"Well," John reasons, "we're stuck here for a little while, which can't possibly be comfortable for you." He swallows hard, not really thinking about what he's saying, because if he does, he might just scream and run or something. "And maybe," he waffles, "maybe it'll help with the," he shrugs helplessly, "you know, thing."

Rodney's mouth opens and closes a few times, blue eyes blinking rapidly up at John in utter disbelief. "And you thought this would make me *less* uncomfortable?"

The man does have a point.

John lets it go for a few minutes, hyperaware of the other body pressing into him. Warm, soft heat flush against the front of his body and despite the *one* really obvious difference, it's unnervingly the same in all the ways it counts. The beginnings of an evening breeze brush his back, making the temperature difference that much more apparent.

The urge to snuggle hits him full force in the back of the head, and he bites back a gasp.

"Sorry," Rodney mutters, not looking at him.

John taps his fingers a few times, hopefully indicating it wasn't a big deal, but he's too caught up in being freaked out to really formulate sentences that won't dig them both into deeper holes.

Jesus, snuggling, he hates doing that with *women*. It's got deeply symbolic meanings and stuff that get translated into relationship conversations John never ever wants to have.

Next to him Rodney breathes deeply, pushing further into him for a brief second. It's good in ways John is afraid to think about, fear, stark and violent, trickles down his spine.

Fuck it, it's dark enough.

******

Five weeks later, they're stuck in a small, dark, very cold room. They rest, lying on the cold hard floor because there's nothing else *to* do, and sitting against the wall just makes his ass numb. Also John has no idea when their chance will come, and he'd like to not be hallucinating from exhaustion when it happens. From three feet away, John can hear Rodney's teeth chattering in the darkness. Neither of them will do anything but waste energy like this.

"Rodney," he says, already moving over, "it's too cold too--"

"I'd already figured that out," Rodney snaps.

"Right, what are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" John throws back, too cold to really put his heart into the argument.

They shuffle together, and John finds his arms wrapping snugly around Rodney's torso and pulling tight, already feeling the small shivers before they even touch. Rodney is slow in turning, but eventually hands like icicles slide up John's back 'and warm puffs of wet air drift near John's cheek, telling him that Rodney is making himself comfortable. "This way," John indicates, inching Rodney into a wall, hoping to create a warm pocket for themselves. Their jackets zip together snugly, helping conserve even more warmth. Their arms rest easily around each other, moving distractedly, hoping to incite circulation. John is suddenly struck by such a huge sense of the familiar that it distracts from realizing that Rodney is tense next to him and utterly silent.

"What?" John asks, shifting his hands between them, moving so that his elbow isn't pressed against the floor. He shifts his legs so that the parts of them not benefiting from the innovative warmth of their -- oh. "Oh." This is starting to be a habit, the universe is run by a cruel, cruel being.

Rodney doesn't say a word, just managing to find the extra few millimeters of space in their cocoon of warm, moist air to separate them.

"Um," John says blinking rapidly, his stomach queasy. Rodney is the best source of warmth in the room and the biting chill is already seeping into his bones. One of them is going to have to say something before extremities start to frost over. Slowly, John pulls one of his arms back, not that it has far to go, and presses his open palm to Rodney's chest. He can feel a rapid heartbeat under his hand and a sharp breath near his ear. "This is some crush," John says tentatively.

"Don't think I don't know that," Rodney says between clenched teeth, "and what the hell are you doing?"

"We need to be warm and we need sleep." John answers in what he hopes is a reasonable voice. He moves his hand in a slow circle, "You're my friend and friends help out in times of need."

"Stop." Rodney's voice is stony. "The problem's gone now."

"It's not--"

"We're not talking about this." Rodney says again before pushing John flat to the ground, appropriating John's shoulder and going still.

Sleep it is.

******

Three weeks later John jumps in front of a bullet aimed at Rodney's chest.

******

He wakes in the infirmary. It's dark and his head is cottony. The whole world feels like it's been glossed in Vaseline, with the lights extra fuzzy and the cup on the nearby table looking like something out of an impressionist painting.

It takes time for him to be interested in his surroundings, with the current concoction of drugs in his system. Watching his toes move under the blankets is pretty darned entertaining.

Eventually though, his neck wants a stretch, and he slowly moves it from side to side. To the left is a long row of empty beds and the duty nurse bent low over a desk doing paperwork.

To his right...

To his right is Rodney, curled up in a chair, back painfully bent forward, arms crossed over his chest and brow furrowed deeply, even in sleep.

"Rodney," John rasps, reaching a hand out, "go lay down."

Rodney jumps, nearly toppling his chair over, his arms and legs do a good bit of flailing as well before he settles back down and glares at John. "There are enough of this team in the infirmary already, don't you think?"

"Looked painful," John says, making a lazy gesture at the chair with his finger.

Rubbing his back, Rodney arches, long enough for a loud popping sound to emerge. "Looks aren't deceiving in this case," he grimaces.

"Why're you here?" John asks, blinking slowly.

Rodney's face transforms from minorly annoyed and half awake to completely angry and very pained. "To tell you never to do that again."

John blinks some more. "Why?"

"Because--" Rodney slumps suddenly and dramatically, "Because," he says before abruptly standing up and walking out.

"Huh," John says before closing his eyes and letting sleep pull him back in.

******

Later, when John's more awake and Beckett is changing his bandages, it occurs to John that 'crush' is probably the wrong word for it. Probably has been for weeks, possibly months, maybe even since just after the first incident.

Rodney visits him a few more times -- once while he's still in Beckett's illustrious bed and breakfast and two or three more while he's confined to quarters unable to really contemplate more than going to and from the bathroom -- each time bearing gifts and long blustery diatribes about the comings and goings of Atlantis and the level of stupidity each one rated.

Each time John thinks really hard about bringing it up, but Rodney does something so normal and Rodney-like that the thought slips away into the air.

He falls asleep in the middle of Troy. They're watching it because Rodney said sometimes science fiction loses it's shine when your everyday life trumps most of the plots. It's a good movie, but John is still tiring easily and he possibly walked more than Beckett had suggested that afternoon.

John wakes to quiet music, the volume on the laptop obviously turned down at some point. Rodney is asleep on the chair next to him, head tilting back, mouth half open. He looks tired even in sleep, and John suddenly wonders how much sleep Rodney has actually been getting.

His head begins to slowly slide forward, and John can see it quickly approaching the point where it'll snap down and wake Rodney abruptly. He reaches out, fingers creeping over the damp skin on Rodney's neck, thumb accidentally brushing along the stubble line on his jaw. "Rodney," he calls softly.

"Wha?" His eyelids flutters softly, and he leans into John's touch for a brief moment before the fog clears and he shakes his head roughly, dislodging John's hand.

It's an instantaneous understanding, that Rodney is Rodney and that whatever this is he has for John is part of him, and he's bound and determined not to let it change them. So John lets go and settles back into bed. "Looks like we were both tired."

"Yeah," Rodney stretches, back arching and popping loudly, neck titling left and right before he absently closes the laptop. When he's done, he stands up, looking anywhere but at John. "I've got things to do, so you can go back to being the convalescent and I'll go back to being useful."

When he's alone, John buries himself under the covers and thinks very hard.

******

Five weeks later Rodney pushes John into a wall, knocking his chin into a jagged edge, the sharp edge of pain blurring his vision.

When it finally clears, Rodney is pinned to the ground. A long, thin stalactite is sticking up from his torso, a slowly expanding pool of blood coming from underneath him.

*****

John kneels in the blood, presses his hands to Rodney's chest and neck, counting heart beats, feeling his lungs move air. He yells for a stretcher, hands framing Rodney's face.

"Colonel?" Rodney coughs, but not wetly, no blood or foam coming from his lips. John is horribly relieved.

"I'm here Rodney," John says, "and when you're better, I'm going to kill you."

"...you're welcome?" Rodney says, hands feeling for the wound.

John grabs them in his own, holding them tightly. "Don't touch that, it's the only thing keeping the blood in."

"Not doing a very good job."

He looks at his knees and his hands and Rodney's shirt and jacket and agrees. "No, no it's not." Where's the damn stretcher? Rodney clutches at John, fingers spasmodically opening and closing; obligingly, John shifts them so that their fingers twine. He frees one hand, his left going back to Rodney's neck to monitor his pulse. "You idiot," he chokes.

"You insult me while I'm bleeding to death? It's time I reexamine this relationship." Rodney mutters.

"Yeah," John agrees. "Maybe." Of course, he has no idea what he's saying, he just knows that Rodney is bleeding all over him and John has this hard knot in his chest and strange impulses to lean in and-- "Get better," John demands, brushing his lips over Rodney's forehead, "because this freak-out I feel coming? Will work better with two people."

******

Freak-out is really a very descriptive word for hiding in his room, throwing up once, and then running around Atlantis until his legs feel like rubber.

Ronon runs with him. Teyla takes one look at him and drags him to the mess, watching him eat half a meal before letting him go.

He showers again and wonders if he can check in on Rodney without his stomach tying up in knots and his hands shaking. He tries, he really does, but he can't do it, he can't sit there and stare at Rodney's unconscious form and wait and wonder and think and visualize and imagine and torture himself.

So he doesn't.

******

Two weeks later. Two weeks of sleepless nights and vague dreams and very public visits, Rodney limps slowly into John's room.

"Should you be up?" John asks, already bringing a chair over for Rodney to sit in.

Rodney waves it away. "You know, I've never broken up with someone I'm not seeing before, but with you, I'm willing to make an exception."

"I--" John starts, but finds himself being poked in the chest before he can continue.

"That was cruel," Rodney says, "what you did, that was cruel and I thought better of you."

"I wasn’t--"

"No, you weren't," Rodney interrupts again, "and I'd kindly appreciate it if you don’t ever do that again."

"Rodney!" John snaps, gratified when the other man finally looks like he's stopping. "I wasn't," he doesn't have the words, he barely has the thought, but he knows that this is the moment he needs to express something, so he reaches out, fingertips against skin on Rodney's neck. "No cruelty intended."

Rodney makes a choked off sound in the back of his throat. "Oh god, I'm going to have to *train* you, assuming you don't just breakdown halfway through and--"

John's fingers find their way to Rodney's lips, halting their litany, mostly because he can't really listen to any more of it without it feeling all too real. He lets them rest there long enough for Rodney to get the hint before letting them slide around, the tingle of stubble rough against his palm, and then finally soft hair and the nape of a neck. One step forward has them touching, pressing against each other carefully. Mindful of Rodney's still healing injury, John carefully puts his lips to Rodney's.

Another deep noise, harsh and sharp from Rodney. John swallows it, tasting Rodney, slowly kissing him, lips gliding and catching and moving gently. It's devastatingly soft and sweet and Rodney's lips cling to his perfectly. It's the best kiss John has ever had.

Rodney's hands are like steel on John's arms, holding tightly, halfway between pushing him away and drawing him closer. They end the kiss softly. Rodney looks tired and flushed and weary and just a little bit elated.

It's the most natural thing in the world to gather Rodney up into his arms, to let his hands slide around his waist slowly, feeling deliberately what he had been ignoring before. Rodney rests his forehead on John's, shaking his head mutely.

"Not cruel," John says again, because it's the closest he can get to what he means.

"Yeah," Rodney says, "I'm getting that." He punctuates it with a yawn.

John leads Rodney to his bed, swallows heavily as Rodney settles in but he's so happy that Rodney is there, alive and breathing and crumpling his covers that the panic recedes almost instantly. They sleep, propped together on John's bed, Rodney on his back and John draped carefully over his healthy side.

******

The surprise comes when John realizes that nothing changes. They don't stare at each other across their pudding, well they do, but the googoo eyes have apparently always been there because no one's commenting or looking at them strangely. That alone is just a little disturbing.

They hang out and complain about each other, to each other, with each other. They watch movies and get into trouble and harass Elizabeth for permission to do stupid things like trying to fly a jumper under water.

Only now Rodney follows John into his room or vice versa and John gets to fly without leaving the ground. Rodney's hands make him instantly hard with a touch to his chest or waist, his lips are perfect and soft and make the best noises. They lie in bed pressing against each other, all soft sounds and gentle motions, and John gets the distinct feeling that Rodney is teaching him all sorts of things he won't appreciate until later. Later, when he finally gets over the shivery feeling of another man's cock pressed into his thigh, or his hands running over a flat chest. Or the distinctly masculine moans that Rodney makes when John finds that wonderfully sensitive spot on the side of his neck.

He still freaks out; just about every day there's a moment where he asks himself what he's doing; a moment when the thought of wrapping his hand around another guy's cock just makes him want to scream out loud and lock himself in his room.

Rodney takes it all in stride, rolling his eyes, pushing him around and then sinking to his knees in front of John. John finds Rodney's mouth was made for his cock, warm and wet and sweet, sweet suction that makes him lose brain cells. Then he sees it; Rodney looks up, uncertainty in his eyes as his cheeks puff and hollow, checking and looking for John's enjoyment.

They're both afraid and that's probably the most reassuring thing yet.

THE END

Fic: A McKay Carol, SGA, PG, GEN

2005-12-24T15:10:38Z

Title: A McKay Carol
Author: amireal
Rating: PG, Gen. I know. What the hell?
Notes: So I don't imagine this is actually what would happen... or maybe it is, since I've seen it. But consider about 80% of this reactionary. Thanks to cedara for a very quick run through. Less beta'd than normal, so beware.
Length: Approx 1700 words.

Summary: John swallows hard, thinking something is definitely wrong, because Rodney doesn't have a third pudding cup to fall back on.

Rodney sighs, loudly and obnoxiously. "Fine, whatever, I'll see if there's a way to rig it up, okay?" He goes back to poking listlessly at his computer.

Elizabeth and John share a look -- possibly the rest of the room too.

"Rodney," Elizabeth says, leaning forward and looking genuinely concerned. "Aren't you even a little excited?"

"Frankly?" Rodney snorts. "No."

John watches Rodney's eyes dart up and take an exasperated look around the room. "Well Scrooge, you better not ruin it for the rest of us."

Rodney inexplicably snorts again at the name, but he just shrugs. "Sure, fine. Anything else? Should I get Zelenka started on stringing together some useless Ancient technology together to make makeshift Christmas lights?"

Elizabeth's eyes widen but she nods slightly. "Something like that would be greatly appreciated."

"I'm sure he'll be delighted." Rodney says, poking in more concentrated bursts at his computer.

The meeting continues and Rodney nods in all the right places and remains utterly unenthusiastic with each passing suggestion.

"Okay gentlemen," Elizabeth says to the room at large, "you've all got your assignments, I think we all deserve a little celebration, don't you?"

The room agrees with a quiet murmur and Rodney rolls his eyes.

******

At lunch John spies Rodney sharing a meal with Miko, they're talking quietly, which is unusual in and of itself, but then Rodney frowns, sighs, his shoulders slumping deeply and pushes his pudding cup over to her.

Her eyes open, large and brown and he mouth flaps a bit until Rodney snaps something mulishly, but too quiet for John to pick up. Miko apparently heard it because she sort of smiles and pulls the pudding cup closer.

Another scientist sits down with them, olive skinned and sleek, he too leans in and starts speaking in frantic whispers. Rodney just nods and pushes his *other* pudding cup over.

John swallows hard, thinking something is definitely wrong, because Rodney doesn't have a third pudding cup to fall back on.

******

Later, John wanders into the labs where it takes Rodney his usual several minutes to notice his presence. Several of the other scientists are stringing bits of odd looking tinsel in unobtrusive places. There's a directive on the community white board that reads 'I will not weep if your holiday cheer gets you killed.' It's a fair warning, John supposes they do a lot of research involving dangerous things that would get their grants taken away back on earth.

Someone whom John does not immediately recognize offers Rodney a small portion. Rodney gives it a critical eye and bland "You're new here aren't you?" and then goes back to what he's doing.

"Bah humbug to you too," John says as he moves to stand next to Rodney.

"Oh yes, I'm just the king of scrooges aren't I?" Rodney answers. "I'm letting them clutter the lab up with that stuff aren't I?"

"Yes Rodney, you're so magnanimous." John snags a few bits from the small pile nearby and attaches some artfully to the edges of Rodney's current working environment.

Rodney looks up only with his eyes, spying John's handiwork. "I really am." He nods to someone behind John. It's Miko, who politely pushes her way in and starts taking away each and every bit of fake tinsel.

"I cannot believe you're using her as your own personal holiday vacuum cleaner." John says in awe and some bit of annoyance as the last bit of his work is whisked away by small but quick working fingers.

"Dr. McKay."

The three of them look up to see Teyla walking in carry a medium sized jug.

"Teyla," Rodney smiles. Actually smiles like he hasn't just eaten something sour but for once isn't trying to insult his host. "You got it?"

John swipes the clay jar, looking at it curiously, it's got a wide base and a thin neck. Something cork and wax like seals the top and it's heavy with some sloshing liquid. "A little Christmas gift to yourself?" He needles.

Rodney frowns, grabs the bottle swiftly and shoves it into a nearby drawer that he immediately locks in some complex manner or another. "Yes, I plan on getting stone cold drunk on Christmas Eve. Who says all the traditions are bad ones?"

"Halling" Teyla says eyeing them both, "says he greatly appreciates the new kiln and this was the least he could offer, the bottle is from the first batch."

"Ha!" John bounces on his feet. "Not so much the grinch after all!"

Rodney rolls his eyes.

******

The search for the perfect tree is actually easier than John expects. Right there on the mainland is something perfect, not too big, not too small, with sturdy branches. He takes three marines out and cut it down and halls I back.

It gets a prominent place in the mess hall. The decoration party is scheduled for later that evening and John's seem some impressively creative things all around Atlantis. It should be a lot of fun.

******

Rodney of course, doesn't show.

John, being the good hearted guy that he is takes a run down to the lab. There are several people milling about. Rodney, Miko, that olive skinned one from days earlier -- Spiegel --John had looked up, Cooperman and someone with a Daedelus patch whose name John can't place.

"You guys coming or what?" John asks casually, it shouldn't be an order.

"In a few minutes Colonel," Rodney says distractedly, "tree trimming is at least something I can get behind."

"Finally getting into the spirit of things?" John grins.

"Not really no." Rodney says nodding to the rest of the group and then dismissing them. "Tree trimming is just fun and I don't get to do it that often."

John gives him an unbelieving look. "Let me guess, your parents didn't think it was safe or something equally silly."

"Yeah, that's right, silly." Rodney says quietly.

"Hey," John stops him and pulls their stride over to the side. "Are you hiding some long ago Christmas Trauma? Because that's okay I can get that."

Rodney rolls his eyes hard enough that John's impressed that don't roll out. "You are a very sad man who has watched one too many holiday specials."

******

Christmas eve dawns with a clear sky and surprisingly crisp air, apparently this rotation Atlantis's seasons are remotely similar to Earth's. It adds a charming feel to the whole event.

John catches Spiegel sneaking a frying pan out of the kitchen and is beyond curious at the series of handoffs it takes, from Miko to that Daedelus crew member who stayed through the next visit -- Franks John had looked up -- and finally to Rodney.

He lets it slide though, maybe Rodney just has his own way of spreading the cheer. It's obvious they've been working together for some time now and hey, if that doesn't in some way help epitomize the season, he doesn't know what.

Dinner is lush with treats from earth. Turkey, stuffing, potatoes, side dishes that John hasn't seen or eaten in years in some cases. The desserts are mouth watering and he reminds himself that dessert is always a good reason to skip that second helping of turkey.

Somewhere around his second slice of pie, he realizes that Rodney isn't there.

******

John finds Rodney sitting in his lab, the remnants of some food off to the side. "You're really taking this to an extreme, don't you think?"

"Not really, no." Rodney says, closing his laptop. "I'm just... not in the mood."

"How can you not be in the mood?" John asks. "This time of year doesn't spark *something * in you?"

Rodney sighs, letting his head hang down. "My mom was Jewish and my dad... was not."

"Oh." John ducks his head, playing with a spare bit of tinsel nearby.

"You have our records," Rodney says.

"Our?"

Rodney makes an encompassing gesture. "All of ours."

"You couldn't say something?" John asks carefully.

"And watch the latkes be put out next to the Christmas ham?" Rodney points to the half eaten golden brown circle on his plate. "The cognitive dissonance would have been heart stopping."

"Turkey," John corrects absently.

Rodney eyes him, turning to face him, face earnest. "All of my cultural relevance does not come from this." He says. "I don't know the carols by heart, I have a passing understanding of the story behind it all, the smells and sights of the traditional holiday fair do not inspire nostalgia in my apparently grinch like heart." He flails a bit, hands moving in broad stroke, trying to shape something out of the air.

"I find the vast commercialization of ALL the holidays to be crass." Rodney assures him and then gestures to some holiday decoration nearby. "This does not symbolize home and hearth to me. It symbolizes misunderstanding, loneliness in the middle of happy people. It makes me feel like an outsider because I'm just *expected* no matter my beliefs to be uplifted by the season."

John frowns. "You still could have said something."

Rodney just shakes his head.

******

The smell of something frying tickles John's nose as he walks down the hallway. It's only vaguely familiar, but John can't put his finger on it.

"...watch out for the oil..." He can hear Rodney's voice warn.

A loud pop and sizzling sound is heard next and the quiet murmur of voices. John rounds a corner to see a half dozen or so Atlantis personnel gathered around the pilfered frying pan, round golden brown things cooking gently in it.

There's a few plates and forks, and a couple of small bowls full of what John can only guess to be condiments.

"Where did you learn to make latkes Dr. McKay?" Spiegel asks.

"My grandmother." Rodney says. "I usually spent the holidays with her and she always said that if a man couldn't cook at least one dish, he wasn't worth the ground he walked on."

"Sounds like my mother," Spiegel nods. "Though she insisted my dish be soup."

******

"You were right,' John says a few days later.

"If you apologize," Rodney warns, "I am never speaking to you again."

John nods, fair enough. "You were still right."

"That actually doesn't make me feel better." Rodney sighs. "So, want to learn how to make latkes?"

John turns to see the small smile inching over Rodney's dour face. He smiles back. "Fried food, what's not to love?"

THE END

Fic: Synchronicity, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard

2005-12-20T07:15:42Z

Title: Synchronicity
Author: amireal and seperis
Rating: NC-17
Length: Approx 10,000 words. Of Porn.

Author Notes: So apparently, Jenn and I are the antichrist. Or the coming of the apocalypse or something equally cool. And Jenn has nothing to add, as shock commenced soon after completion. Thanks to cjandre for betaing. We know it was a terrible burden, what with the 10,000 words of porn and all.

Summary: "How long have we been walking?"

Rodney sighs dramatically. "Bored."

"White washed?" John says, not a trace of pity evident in his voice.

"Sooo boooored," Rodney sighs again. "Seriously, I think my brain cells are committing suicide here."

For the first time in his life, Rodney starts to long for shooting and running. Kicking at the perfectly smooth carpet of green grass that stretches in disturbingly perfect waves toward a far off expanse of bright, perfectly shaped trees, Rodney considers the idea that John's time on The (Other) Most Boring Planet Ever had been spent in a form of low-grade insanity. John's been eyeing perfect stalks of wheat blowing around their feet with acquisitive eyes.

He watches John reach again and finally loses it, because if something on this planet doesn't *happen* Rodney may be the first person ever to have a stroke from *boredom*. "For gods sake," Rodney says, "Just pick one already! I'm sure they're all longing for an end to their horribly exciting life of blowing in the wind!"

John looks at him like he's simultaneously had the best idea ever and has tied his jacket to his head and proclaimed himself King of the Fibers That Don't Appear in Nature.

"Thanks Rodney," he drawls, "I think I might." And he does, long fingers brushing across their tops, dragging them in the opposite direction of the barely there wind before he focuses on one in particular for reasons Rodney can't begin to deduce. Maybe the fuzzy top resembles some long lost household pet.

Of course, once acquired, John carefully places the stem in his mouth and chews thoughtfully, discovering all the ways of moving it around, taking it out at random intervals to draw circles in the air and gesturing like an hyperactive conductor. Rodney thinks that maybe he shouldn't have spoken up at all. Because first off all: John's *mouth*, from the ground to his *mouth*. Did sanitary mean *nothing* to this man? And also... John's mouth. Rodney swallows past his suddenly dry throat and turns his head away, determined to find something interesting on the patch of ground four feet to the right.

"How long have we been walking?" Rodney asks as John finds and discards his third wheat--thing. Too short, too long, too gold, too *something*, every time, and Rodney's not saying anything only because this is pretty much his only source of entertainment right now.

"Two hours," John says, looking at a newly discovered stalk like a jeweler with a suspicious gem. It's just *weird*.

"And those trees," Rodney points; John takes time from his busy schedule to glance up. "Those look closer to you?" Because two hours, one endless valley, and Rodney's beginning to think (hope) this whole thing is an evil alien plot. Please God, let this be an evil alien plot.

John tilts his head in that way that usually signals shoot and run. Then, slowly, God, so slowly, he nods. "Yes, I think they do."

Rodney squints at John and then back at the mountains and then back at John. Something funny is going on here. Because their radios have been oddly silent and John is looking ready to keep ambling on without a care in the world and weren't they supposed to check in at some point? Or someone check in on them? Rodney is suddenly very sure they were waiting for something, or someone.

He looks at his watch and is immediately assured that it hasn't really been that long, but three steps later he can't remember the numbers, no matter how hard he thinks. "Wait." Rodney says carefully. "You're really not bored?" Because John Sheppard gets bored the way a five year old gets bored sometimes.

John shrugs, again, very slowly. "Easy hike, good company, what's there to be bored about?"

"Hiking is hardly the height of scintillating--- wait," Rodney looks at John harder. "Good company, really?"

John smiles again, slow as warm honey, which is so not what he needs to be thinking about right now. Damn all lit professors and required poetry courses anyway.

"Colonel," he says, and oh God, he's doing it too, drawled out vowels and low consonants, like something out of a Tennessee Williams play by way of the midwest. "Sheppard. Something is wrong."

John gives him an almost-curious look. "Wrong?"

"In no universe, in no timeline, and in fact, no *hallucination* has anyone, ever, anywhere, considered me good company." Forcing himself to a stop, Rodney waits as Sheppard comes to a slow, slow halt.

Did John's hips always move like that?

Wrong thought. Wrong wrong wrong.

"Rodney?"

"Something," and now Rodney finds it hard to even express the idea, "isn't." he has to clench his fists tightly, making his nonexistent nails dig into his palm. "Right."

John takes a swaying step towards him, loose limbed and easy. "Really?"

All he can think about for a long second and a half is how flexible John has to be to walk like that without dislocating something. "I am not good company," Rodney argues again; it's easier when he doesn't try to deal with whatever it is outright. "I don't even get along with myself." Wrong, he thinks in his head. The serenity of the world around him, the birds chirping and light breeze that brings hauntingly wonderful smells with it, including a whiff of John that he'd never really noticed before and now can't get out of his head.

"Apparently," John shifts his weight to one hip, "I am not just 'anyone'."

And that, in a nutshell, is the problem with this scenario. Above and beyond John suddenly smelling so good, the perfect bowl of the valley, and the scenic trees and purple mountains, hazy in the distance. "Question--why are we here?"

John pauses then, if a slow and thoughtful stop a few inches away can even be *called* a pause, before cocking his head. "Looking." The dark eyebrows draw together, giving John the familiar look of a man who sees something that needs shooting. Rodney almost cries with happiness. "We're looking for something."

"Right," Rodney says, but John's expression melts into calm acceptance and God help them, bending over, *right there in front of Rodney*, to pick up one of an endless number of stalks of straw. "Wait. Sheppard. We're looking for something?"

Kind of?

John straightens, nodding lazily. "Yes. We're looking for something."

"What?" Rodney asks, trying desperately to cling to what he knows. The scientific method, the diagram from when he was ten years old dances in his head. All colors and signs and far too simple to really hold true.

"What, what?" John asks, slowly sucking on his new prize, lips pursing gently.

Rodney pinches his thigh; the pain helps him focus on something other than wet, pink lips. "What are we looking for?" The words want to stick in his throat.

"I dunno, Rodney," John says and this time, the slowness isn't that weird replay action slow, but John's own brand of sarcasm. "You didn't tell me, you just," he leans forward, well into Rodney's space, "looked at your scanner thing and jumped up and down excitedly."

Something--the scanner, spikes, the slow, crawling haze of pale white air ghosting past their faces, heat crawling up his spine, John saying to Teyla and Ronon, okay, but we're only waiting an hour, and Rodney saying, fine, whatever, but I need that equipment, so hurry

"This isn't a valley," Rodney says, fighting the words out between teeth that try to crack every one before he can say it. "It was hot." With frightening chances of UV exposure and slow death by skin cancer.

A cool breeze wafts past him, smelling of spring flowers and fresh trees, and Rodney realizes that he hasn't sneezed even *once*.

"Rodney?"

Rodney turns his head, dark hair brushing against his cheek, John bent just enough to peer into his face and kiss, maybe--kiss, definitely, because Rodney's allergic to everything and hence, has never participated in any kind of outdoor sex. He wonders if John ever has.

Kiss, yes. Touch, yes. Stop, God no, God, no, no...

"Wait," and peeling himself off John Sheppard is the hardest thing he's ever done--even his skin hates him, only giving him room to breathe, not room to think, fingers clinging. "We--it's hot. It's supposed to be *hot*. There was--we--"

Belatedly, Rodney realizes his fingers, twisted in John's hair, have tightened, pulling him in again, and he can taste John's pleased smile.

It's the best kiss ever, John's lips fit his perfectly, and there's a feeling of rightness that settles over Rodney; even the press of his flack vest disappears into it all and joins to become part of the wrong--no, no this is wrong.

"Stop," Rodney muffles into the kiss. "No." He wrenches away, but he's uncoordinated and slow and he can't seem to get all of himself to work at once, so his hands are still twisting in John's hair and his body can't seem to pull far enough away before John just moves to a new target. Hot breath on his neck, Rodney's eyes begin to flutter shut, because it's like that spot under his jaw is wired. Wired and electrified and made for John's tongue.

"Why?" John asks, stopping long enough to breath into Rodney's skin. "We can finish looking later."

Later, yes. Later sounds good.

The grass, it turns out, is very, very soft.

In the honey-warm patch of sunlight and soft air, Rodney watches John peel off his vest, like something out of a movie that should never, ever make theatres due to the rating. And because no one else, no one, should ever be allowed to see John like this, possibly including Rodney.

Stretching out, Rodney watches through half-closed eyes as John tucks the vest under Rodney's head, then leans down again, one hand braced above his shoulder, the other cupping his jaw. John kisses slow and easy, tongue warm and soft, tracing his lips with the tip before lazily circling inside, all patient languor and gentle carelessness. When John's mouth settles on his throat, Rodney sighs, stroking his fingers through the dark hair.

"We are so going to die."

John sighs against his skin, wrapping around him so gently it makes Rodney's head spin.

"Orgasm," John murmurs, like a casual walk through 16th century literature isn't completely incongruous with him slowly slipping his hands under Rodney's shirt. "Little death."

It's a losing battle; one of Rodney's hands finds itself pressing tightly against warm skin, and it's so intoxicating that he can't stop moving his fingers in slow circles. He actually feels the loss when John pulls away enough to slide off his jacket and then moves to take care of Rodney's vest and jacket.

They sink together easily after that, wrapping around each other like vines, soft and firm and perfect and Rodney can feel each individual blade of grass press against his cheek, the lazy ruffle of his hair from the breeze.

Rodney has no idea how long they make out like that, all soft mouths and careful kisses, slow hands never moving past waists, weirdly chaste and indecently innocent, in a way that Rodney hasn't been since puberty.

Whatever this is, however it's doing it, even them *knowing*, doesn't change the fact that Rodney's hands are up the back of John's shirt, smoothing strangely soft skin with his palms, learning every scar by touch with the tips of his fingers. He's never felt so--light. Free. Empty. *Clean*.

Lazily, he slides his fingers down John's back, putting on just enough pressure for John to feel it.

John murmurs something against his throat that sounds encouraging, so Rodney does it again, eyes opening on golden air and the perfect robin's egg blue sky.

"No insects," he hears himself murmur, nuzzling John's hair before stealing another lazy kiss. "There are--no insects."

"I know," John says, mouthing Rodney's skin, a gentle trail of warm, wet touches that reach for Rodney's mouth again. Slow and deep for long moments until John pulls away, a hand reaching for Rodney's face, thumb leisurely tracing over his cheekbone. "It's perfect."

Something stutters alarmingly in Rodney's chest, because John's wide eyes are staring at his softly, and it's a look that just flays him open. "No," Rodney says, even as his own hand reaches up to cup John's face, his own thumb mirroring John's mesmerizing caress. "Nothing is perfect."

They kiss, hands sliding away and down and back and Rodney has no idea where he ends and John begins.

He thinks maybe he's wrong, because this is perfection, the press of John perfect next to him, warm and breathing deeply, making small sounds that just distract him from his own happy sighs. Perfection is John's hands sliding up his sides; it's his fingers pressing gently into muscle; it's pleasure at his touch, and Rodney can't handle any more perfection.

Sliding John onto his back, Rodney presses slow, open mouthed kisses to his collar, pulling the edge of his shirt out of the way, and why bother with shirts, anyway? He has no idea.

"Yeah," John murmurs when Rodney coaxes him up, stripping the black cotton away, hands sliding up Rodney's sides to do the same, the crumpled material joining the pile growing beside him. Then John lies back down, and Rodney just looks for a minute, because in this galaxy, you don't get moments like this, time crawling like molasses and nothing to do but watch.

John's hands reach for him, closing gently over his hips, slide up and around and pull them together. Soft skin and hair presses against Rodney's stomach. Muscle that should be hard is instead lush and giving, and it's like John's entire body just greets him and wraps around him as Rodney settles back into place.

Skin against skin, rubbing against him, just adds to the scenery. Gliding fluidly, they shift against each other, legs sliding into place effortlessly, John's wrapping a calf around him, pulling him close, and it's all just inevitable and perfect.

Perfect.

Rodney's hands stutter on John's back and something scrapes at the edges of his mind, but John's lips move to his ear, sucking at the same time as his leg tightens just a bit more. Sharp, intense pleasure rocks through Rodney, and the thought is gone as quickly as it came.

"Looking," Rodney murmurs when John's teeth press against the curve of his ear, worrying the soft flesh just enough to make him shiver. "We were looking."

"For something," John agrees. Warm sunlight drenches Rodney's back, hazing John in a golden glow, soft grass under his knees--this couldn't be more perfect if he'd created it himself. "Oh." Rodney buries his mouth in the offered throat, warm soft skin, the smell, the *taste*, thought lost.

One of John's hands rests on his waist, fingers pressing below the belt, and Rodney's breath stutters in his throat. "John," he whispers, reaching down, tangling the metal tags through his fingers, enough to bring him John's mouth again. "Power source," he manage to breathe, then wonders why the hell he even *cares*. "We were looking--"

"Readings," John murmurs against his lips. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Rodney whispers back before indulging in another languid kiss. "Readings." His hand slides down past the small of John's back, his fingertips brushing under the waistband of John's pants.

Slow and sweet, they rock together, gentle waves of pleasure sliding up Rodney's spine. John pulls him closer, his fingers pushing further, kneading into tense muscle, each press releasing tingles of warmth that pool in the pit of his stomach. "We should--" John leans in and sucks gently on one of Rodney's nipples, stealing Rodney's train of thought.

"We should," John agrees even though Rodney muzzily thinks that he knows very well that's not what Rodney was going to say. "Definitely." John says again.

Rolling on his side, Rodney reaches for John's belt, thigh holster pressing against his cock, hard and jarring, releasing him into a second of clear thought.

Thought. His hand is already down John's boxers, stroking over his stomach, and in no universe does John Sheppard think he's good company and want to-- "John. Where is--" he has to stop, John's so close, licking slowly up his throat with studied, broad strokes of his tongue. "The jumper."

John smiles lazily up at him, pushing his cloth covered cock into Rodney's hand. And there goes thought.

Rodney unstraps the thigh holster, getting John's pants down enough to see what he's touching. Cock, already red and leaking, and Rodney runs a thumb over the head makes John makes a sound like a cat, pushing into Rodney's fingers, free hand reaching down for the top of Rodney's pants. "Over--there," John murmurs, licking up Rodney's chin and they're kissing again, God, they could do this forever, they *have* been doing this forever. When John's hand slides down his cock, Rodney can't imagine there could ever be a time they weren't doing this.

Before is just a hazy memory, boring and pleasureless compared to this, right now, hand on his cock, solid and perfect, lazily stroking with a shivering twist at the end. Rodney's own hand curled easily around John, making John gasp, a fluid arch of his back, eyes fluttering closed.

"John," Rodney says even as he leans in for another kiss. "We should--" another kiss, "go to--" a flick of John's thumb along the head of Rodney's cock, "the jumper." He melts into yet another in a stream of never ending kisses, John's wonderful mouth, hot and sweet against his.

"Later," John says, rolling them over until Rodney's back is pressed into the grass, his head still cushioned perfectly against John's vest. "I promise." Their bodies press together as John lays on top of him, arranging them easily so that their hands are free to roam and stroke and pet. Rodney's cock finds the perfect groove against John's hipbone, supple and velvety against him. They rock against each other and it all doubles again, white and fuzzy under Rodney's eyes, and he can't imagine anything ever feeling better than this.

This--this is perfect.

"John," he murmurs, mouth catching John's in another slow kiss, tasting him, wanting to come just like this--tongue in John's mouth, rubbing off on John's perfect body, everything in the universe held in suspension around them, nothing else *existing*--

"Fumes," Rodney whispers, pressing his lips to John's pulse point, beating against his lips faster every second. "We--were supposed to--fumes."

"Mmm," John murmurs, but whether to the words or the touch, Rodney has no idea. Rodney takes the skin gently between his teeth, bearing down just enough to feel John shiver against him. So *good*. "Rodney, please--"

"Yeah," he says, tightening his leg around John's thigh, closing his eyes and relaxing back on the grass, John's hand cupping his cheek while his lips moving lazily over his shoulder. "Yes. There."

Their rocking deepens, and Rodney shudders at the feeling of John against him. John's hands move, one of them pinning his hip down carefully, changing the angle just enough to make Rodney's eyes flutter closed because it's *that* good. He feels a hand stroke at his cheek and Rodney forces his eyes open again. John's looking down at him, flushed and open and so goddamned tender, and it sends another shock of pleasure through Rodney.

"Rodney," John's says, voice cracking slightly. "Rodney…" he nuzzles Rodney's neck softly. "Perfect," he says even more brokenly before swooping down for another kiss, mouth open, tongue deep inside, stroking in time with his thrusts.

Perfect, amazing bits of movement that make Rodney gasp louder with each one, cling tighter, push harder. They're holding each other so tightly Rodney's fingers are tingling and he knows it should hurt somewhere, but it doesn't, it just feels so good.

With a softly indrawn breath, Rodney feels John come, wet and warm between them, hazel eyes wide and dark and surprised, staring down at Rodney like he's seeing God, or a new puddlejumper with hyperdrive. Pulling him down, Rodney kisses him, pooled warmth flaring into heat, sliding down his spine like hot wax, burying himself in John's mouth when he comes.

It goes on forever, golden waves of uncomplicated pleasure consuming body and mind, kissing through it with languid heat, and slowly, so slowly, it slips away, leaving soft afterglow bathing them both.

John pulls his mouth away with a wet sound that can still make Rodney twitch. "Jumper," he whispers, and Rodney nods, yes.

They roll to their sides and start to peel away from each other; Rodney has to resist the urge to drag John back against him. John's hands skim over him as they separate and fall to their backs, breathing hard. Rodney aches with the loss and it take him several deep breaths to remember what he has to do next.

With unsteady hands he works his boxers and pants back up, making a face at the mess on his stomach, resisting the urge to run his fingers through it in awe. He wants to roll back over, pull John to him, and start all over, because now he's cold, and he knows John is warm. Wonderfully warm.

He sits up and gets to his knees next to John, who's in front of the small pile of their discarded clothing, fabric tangled tightly. Their hands meet as they both reach at the same time and they both sport twin gasps of muted pleasure when they do, and at least now he's not so cold and empty and hollow.

"You know," John says, careful and slow, like each word has to be checked for quality before use, "for a planet bent on our deaths? Not too bad."

Rodney nods, twitching when John's index finger makes an unscheduled slide up his wrist, clamping down on the need to touch back. "Could be worse. Just once," he says, forcing out the words through the promise of warm, sweet delight that John's body offers, so close they should be touching. John shifts away to pull on his vest and Rodney finds himself leaning toward him like a flower.

"Once?"

Right, he was talking. "Couldn't it be bent on something else?"

John pauses, like he has to think about it, before shrugging, reaching for the thigh holster and sliding on his belt with tiny shimmies of his hips that do nothing for Rodney's hand-eye coordination. A few long seconds later, they're both once again important expedition members with a mission.

"Okay, so," John says, looking around. "How do we get out of a hallucination anyway?"

Well, damn.

"I've got nothing," Rodney says slowly. Thinking through the haze of heat and molasses is so hard, and John is right there and he's soft in comparison. Easy and simple and Rodney's never wanted to do the easy and simple thing more in his life than at this very moment. "The jumper?" He guesses.

John shrugs slowly and nods. "Okay, yeah, at least we'll be doing something other than…" He trails off, his eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

Rodney has to fight the impulse to touch one perfectly pink cheek. He nods, yes movement, concentrate on something other than John and his body and slowly growing disconnect he feels the longer they sit there thinking about not touching, a grind starting in his stomach that's discomfort.

Rodney has to think about it, and halfway through, he notices his hand creeping toward John's thigh. Jerking back, he stumbles to his feet, a wave of nausea cutting through the sweetness.

Okay, that? Helps.

"Looks like it's trying something else now," John says, and Rodney looks up to see a decidedly greenish tinge to the pale skin. It really, really shouldn't be attractive.

Turning in a slow circle, Rodney looks around. Green, green, green. "John, you have the remote for the jumper?"

John fumbles at his pocket before pulling it out, looking at Rodney expectantly, like he has an actual plan here. "Got it."

Right, right. "Can you activate the emergency beacon from here?"

John blinks slowly, then glances off into the distance.

"Yeah," John says thickly, not looking any less ethereal and sick all at once, "think so."

Rodney nods and watches John's hand fumble around with it, his long fingers moving clumsily, and still Rodney finds that looking really appealing. "Well?"

"Trying." John says, "trying." He closes his eyes, going pale as porcelain, tongue peeking out from his mouth.

Fingers reaching out, Rodney presses two carefully against John's exposed wrist, smooth skin for a moment overtaking every thought and he has to hold on tightly to remember not to just sink all the way back into it. "Activate the beacon." Rodney whispers hoarsely.

John's fingers are suddenly coordinated, working the control like it's Rodney, finding the right combination of buttons without any effort at all and then he's wrapping his free hand around Rodney's palms pressing close, fingers entwined.

"Now we just have to find the jumper."

Rodney forces his attention from callused fingers to look up.

"Ask yourself, how do we get into these situations?" John looks better though, less green, more natural, weirdly big-eyed and soft--post-coital, Rodney realizes abruptly, and suddenly hates this world so much, because this is something he'd want to see, enjoy, touch and taste: John at his most relaxed, most defenseless. But he *can't*.

"Because we whine at Elizabeth," John says, making no effort to pull away. "Because--"

They sulk. Rodney does it loudly; John does it silently and with passive aggressive malice aforethought, punctuated by big, sad eyes and drooping hair. It's weirdly effective, in that Rodney's been talked into doing insane things when John looks like that, so no *wonder* Elizabeth falls for it. Every. Time.

"If we get close enough, we should be able to--" Rodney waves his free hand, "activate it. If we can get the back down--"

"Do the words 'needle in a haystack' mean anything to you?" John says, but he looks interested.

"More like a needle in one of twelve possible haystacks," Rodney corrects looking around and feeling John's fingers moving against his more than he should.

"Let's go that way," John murmurs already swaying gently towards Rodney before jerking and shaking his head. "Away from where we were going."

Away from the perfect skyline of trees, okay, that might be a good idea. "Right, so," they almost lean in again when Rodney shakes out of it first. "Walk, right?"

"Right." John nods tightly and takes a tentative step, pulling Rodney with him, not making any effort to release his hand.

They walk slowly, practically weaving as they gravitate towards and away from each other, and Rodney finds he has to concentrate on the warm pressure John's hand makes on his, the careful swirl of fingers they allow themselves every couple of seconds. Rodney feels so very strange, outside of himself and wrong, but John's hand is a small island of right he can cling to tightly.

Above them, the sky begins to darken. As a message, it's not subtle, and Rodney watches John tilt his head back, revealing a smooth expanse of throat. When he looks at Rodney again, he grins. "Think it's getting grumpy?"

Rodney runs his thumb along John's palm in answer--a mistake, because John's eyes darken, pupil dilated, black and hungry. Rodney catches himself before he closes the inches between them. "Jumper," he hears himself say distractedly, thinking of the bench inside, the way he could make John pilot them while he kneels between his feet, suck him off, see if--

Rodney fumbles his radio off, staring at it. "Jumper. We should be able to hear the emergency klaxon."

"Hallucination?" John says, but he looks interested. Rodney drops John's hand, and almost instantly, the valley seems colder.

"Oh God, stop that," he says, going down on his knees. God, he hates this planet. "And you. Get down here and touch me."

He looks up just in time to see John's smirk and wonders when that, too, became sexy, not annoying. "And give me your knife. We don't have to hear it. The radio just needs to be able to triangulate it and lead us there."

John pulls out his knife, unsheathing it slowly and Rodney is very disturbed by how hot the action is. He hands it over and their fingers touch briefly and Rodney flashes hot then cold. "God, I can't think like this."

Next to him, John settles on his knees, a hand coming to Rodney's shoulder, kneading carefully. "This is better?" John asks slowly, eyes glazing over again.

Heat sears through Rodney's shirt, touch so sweet Rodney moans even as he works the cover off the transmitter. "Not really no." He whispers, biting his lips hard even as John's fingers trace small circles on his shoulder. "Yes."

Wires. He needs to cross some wires, nothing too hard. Except he can feel the wall of heat that John's body represents and each swirl of fingers has him fighting to keep his eyes open, and all Rodney wants to do is lean in and find John's soft, lush lips again.

It's such a good thing he's fucking *brilliant*, or he'd never be able to pull this off. A few adjustments, the tip of John's knife stripping tiny cables, and Rodney sits back, staring at the mess of wires in his hand that they have no way to test, since they can't hear a fucking *thing*.

"Okay," Rodney says breathlessly, taking John's hand and turning it over, "between two genes, we should be able to--" He stops, catching his breath at the gentle slope of John's shoulder, fingers shaking as he places the radio in John's palm. "You should be able to--sense it."

"Sense it?" John gives him a blank look.

Even that's hot, hot enough that Rodney can't stop himself leaning close, John's lips warm and welcoming and promising more playtime on the soft grass. No no no. Pilot's seat. That. Yes. Sex in the seat. Somehow. "It's Ancient tech. It has a--you have to have felt it. This--"

"Hum. Yeah. Hmm." John stares at the transmitter, then closes his eyes. After a second, they come open, wide and startled. "Left. It feels--left."

They head left, the transmitter tight between their hands, the casing digging into his palm even as John's fingers remind of the pleasing things they could be doing with small shivers down his spine.

After a little ways they stop, John's hand tightening momentarily and robbing them both of breath. "What?" Rodney asks, impatient. Sex in the jumper is the only thing he can focus on that lets him keep going and stopping keeps him from it.

John's eyes are closed, his head tilting upwards, the long line of his neck open to the air, cool and pale and imperfect. Small marks are starting to show where Rodney remembers licking and nipping and sucking. John gasps as Rodney's fingers trace the perfect teeth marks where shoulder meets neck.

"This way," John pulls them, still to the left, but angle adjusted slightly.

It's painfully slow, almost imperceptible progress, stopping every so often for John to course correct, bringing their bodies too close, and Rodney catches himself panting on the third stop, so turned on he can hardly think of anything but John's untucked shirt and the expanse of tanned skin revealed whenever he bends over.

So not what he needs to be thinking about.

The subliminal call of the jumper holds John though, and it figures, Rodney thinks sourly, that flying is the one thing that could distract John from sex. Unfortunately, Rodney doesn't have a ZPM to play with to keep him occupied. So he's staring at John.

"Are we any closer?" Rodney says, tearing his attention from John's throat to look at their hands, still clasped around the radio. John frowns, eyes distant, and then begins to nod warily.

"Really close. Almost--" With his other hand, he takes out the remote and pushes down.

Something bumps Rodney's foot.

John smiles down at the totally ordinary grass in uncomplicated delight. "Right there."

Rodney reaches out, and in the air he can feel the unique shape and texture of the jumper. Next to him John is still smiling, and Rodney wants to lick at it until John's lips open in pleasure.

John moves, passes behind him, practically rubs up on him as he goes past, pulling their entwined hands. Suddenly Rodney is walking on air, his steps bring him further away from the perfectly proportioned grass and he realizes they're walking up the ramp.

The world melts around them slowly, like watercolors dissolving in water it bleeds away in low drips. Outlines come into focus and Rodney sees the long bench in the rear compartment and feels John pressed tightly against his back. A muted clunk tells Rodney that John remembered to close the door. Rodney turns and they take two steps back, leaning onto the not quite upright back walls, pressing against each other. "Jumper," Rodney says, burying his nose in John's neck, licking along one of the darkening lines there.

"Jumper," John croaks, "Yes."

"We need to leave," Rodney mumbles, fitting his teeth over the earlier bite and pressing down, feeling John's shiver. It's reckless and scary and oh God, they need to *leave* but maybe later, maybe--

"Yeah," John murmurs, hands sliding over his ass, and that's not the way to *stop*, not the way at all. "Let me--"

Rodney jerks back, forcing his hands off John's hips, but their fingers still make contact, not quite willing for full withdrawal yet. "Atlantis. We can--there are *beds*--" And locking doors, and lube, and chocolate, and all of these things go together in amazing ways. So many, many amazing ways.

John pushes off the back, eyes slowly clearing, making his way to the pilot's seat, Rodney barely a step behind, running his fingernails up and down John's forearm. When John sits down, Rodney stares at those long legs and remembers what he'd been thinking earlier.

And if he crouches just a little...

Eyes closed, John pants harshly. "Rodney," he says, voice practically garbled. His hands grip the controls tightly, and the ship lights up around them, almost too brightly.

Rodney plasters himself against the back of the chair; he can't even imagine making it to the one on the other side of the console. "Can you fly?" he asks, because Rodney's having a tough time thinking about walking.

"Don't know," John forces out, his hand reaching back and dragging one of Rodney's to him, lacing them together. "I need both hands to fly, so this isn't going to work."

About three seconds from humping his way through the chair Rodney lets out a moan of frustration. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea." He thinks about crawling in with John, settling into the extra space in front of the console and he shudders just a bit.

Pulling his hand free--and never has anything in history been as hard as doing that--Rodney reaches for the skin on the back of John's neck. "You know-" he says slowly, trying to sound less like he's slowly dying of oxygen deprivation and more casual, "when I read the SGC reports about aliens making the teams--"

"The sex thing, yeah." John's voice sounds marginally more controlled. Which isn't saying much.

"Did you believe it or did you think they were lying to get out of trouble for random outdoor group sex on alien planets?"

John snorts, turning the jumper toward the gate. "Lying through their teeth."

Reaching over, Rodney dials the gate address with his free hand, tracing his nails over the soft skin just below John's hairline on the back of his neck. "Apparently, not so much." They can't see the gate, but John trusts the jumper, and Rodney trusts John, so he assumes, by their forward momentum, that they won't be crashing into the sides or anything. "I'm not looking forward to writing this report," Rodney says, running his now free hand through John's hair.

John leans into the touch, and when Rodney looks down, he sees a smile.

He gives in, finally, *finally* touching those lips again, John twists under him, spinning the chair enough so that Rodney isn't leaning over the side, twisting so that he doesn't sit on the DHD. Wet and hot greets him, welcoming in ways he's never felt before and Rodney has to stop himself from climbing in, pushing his legs into the seat of the chair, has to stop from wrapping them up completely again.

"Send the code," John murmurs into his ear before nibbling softly. He gasps as Rodney runs a hand down John's chest, under his vest, which is now mysteriously unzipped, Rodney's fingers unerringly homing in on one already peaked nipple.

"What?" Rodney asks slowly, not following.

"Or we go squish," John says taking Rodney's hand moving it towards the transmitter.

Right, the shield. He turns enough so that John's neck and lips and face aren't in his line of sight. With John's hands still running up and down his sides, he manages to send his code, hearing the gatetech on the other side tinny in his ear. He doesn't bother to respond, because he's already collapsing into John's lap.

Marines, he thinks distantly when John's hands slide down the back of his mysteriously unfastened pants. Elizabeth, he thinks, sucking on John's tongue and jerking his shirt up. Autopilot, he says. Wait.

"What?" John says, mouth red and swollen, licking like he's looking for Rodney's taste.

"Hangar," he says, and John pulls a hand from his pants, reaching around to touch something on the panel before pressing into the center of Rodney's back, head tilted up to mouth Rodney's collar. "And lock the jumper."

"Elizabeth will worry," John says into his throat, then reaches to key his radio. "Elizabeth, we're back, give us five minutes, tell--God--tell Carson to meet us in the hangar bay. Alone. Possible--contamination."

Rodney wants so badly, John's hands are so warm, and everything they do is perfect again. He reaches under John's falling shirt, feeling the scrape of hair and skin against his palm. "We need to stop," he says even as he leans in, his thighs stretching across John's.

"Yeah," John's eyes have gone beyond glassy, and they blink slowly at Rodney. He nods, his hands drawing down Rodney's sides before leaving the confines of his shirt.

"The bench," Rodney says, another delicious shudder running through him as he slides off, followed by a hollow ache. John reaches out to fasten his pants, fingers running along the edge, leaving hot trails along his abdomen. When John is done, he leans in to kiss a trail across his stomach. Oh god does that not help. Rodney threads his fingers through John's hair, carding carefully. "Bench," he says, gently pulling until John's on his feet, "we have time, five minutes, we can--"

"Yeah." And like that, he's sitting on the bench, John kneeling between his legs, unfastening his pants with quick, agile fingers, and Rodney has just enough time to twist his fingers in the dark hair before John's got him out, swallowing him down.

"Oh God," and the only thing that would be better is if he could do this to John at the same time, palming the back of his neck, his shoulder, fingering the bruises blooming on John's throat, trying to breathe through the feel of John's amazing mouth, and God, Rodney'd known, known John would be good at this, he's good at everything he does.

"John," he murmurs, "God, yes, yes, please--" They have less than two minutes left, and he can feel it starting in the base of his spine. Rodney forces his eyes open, staring down at John, wanting to see every second of this; John's pretty mouth stretched wide around his cock, eyes closed, taking it like he can't imagine anything better in the world.

When the dark eyes open, sex-glazed, Rodney comes so hard he sees actual stars.

Still reeling, Rodney slides to his knees, trembling and dizzy, and John falls back in a boneless sprawl. Rodney's got John's cock out and in his mouth and is sucking it, all messy and wet, while John's gasping at the ceiling. Rodney's dick tries to come again when John gasps one last time and pours down his throat.

He can't hold himself up anymore so he collapses on top of John, momentarily lightheaded with the feel of John's entire body against his before rolling off.

They're both still struggling with their clothes when Carson's voice comes over the radio.

"Rodney? Colonel? I was told you requested my presence?"

Tapping his headset, Rodney stifles a laugh. "Hey, Carson, you alone?"

John gets up first, offering a hand to Rodney, who takes it and is hauled up with surprising strength. John pulls him to his side and sits them both down on the bench, sides pressed together, hands clasped tight and fingers intertwined.

"I can be if it's really necessary," Carson's voice finally comes back over the speakers.

"It really is," Rodney answers, watching as John raises his eyebrows, smirk in place, then nods briskly and reaches to his left, hitting the release. Slumping into the long padded bench, Rodney takes a deep breath as John slouches back beside him, thigh brushing Rodney's thigh, loose and calm and looking so much like sex that Rodney's not sure he can stop himself from touching for another second.

Carson comes in warily, eyes bright, biohazard suit in place. "Something wrong?"

John's mouth twitches, arms crossed over his chest. "We've been--affected. By something. On that planet."

"The fumes?"

Fumes. Oh God, the fumes. Rodney's eyes widen as John nods happily, then quickly shakes his head. "Besides those."

Carson starts unpacking his kit. "I hope this isn't your version of quarantine procedures," he says looking at them seriously.

Rodney shakes his head and so does John.

"No," John says, "I don't think we're--contagious." He's already listing to the side, towards Rodney, their shoulders brushing intermittently.

"At least," Rodney says, trying to keep himself from pressing back with enough force to bring their sides into full contact, "not the kind you're thinking of."

Carson is already scanning them with a critical eye. "Your vitals are all over the place."

"That makes sense," John nods slowly. "All things considered," he drawls, falling back into molasses time.

"Yes," Rodney agrees, his eyes drawn like magnets to John's neck, the one darkening mark perfectly balanced on the tendon.

Carson says nothing for long moments, frowning at the scanner in front of him before eventually putting it down and doing a visual inspection. Rodney knows exactly when those competent doctor's eyes spot the mottled skin on their necks and peeking out from the collars of their shirts.

"Did some creature get a hold of you?"

John snickers softly, and Rodney can't help reaching for him, looping his fingers in John's belt, suddenly concentrated on finding skin, stroking his thumb carefully over the sharp jutting bone of his hip.

Carson blinks, then flushes, snapping the scanner closed. "I--see."

"I think this could be a problem," John says, perfectly normal except for the fact he's leaning into Rodney's touch. "So infirmary? In a way not likely to have an audience?"

Carson blinks slowly. "Right, Colonel. Let's do that."

*****

The medical exam somehow manages to be even less pleasant than usual. John's a miserable ball of Lieutenant Colonel a few feet away. He's stripped down to scrubs, every mark on his skin as good as a shout of complicity in activities that are not sanctioned by the US military in any way, shape, or form.

Carson flits between them like an amused vulture, clucking his tongue and having way too much fun with blood samples and scanners, and in general not paying the least bit of attention to the fact that Rodney's two seconds from going straight through him to get to John.

Maybe less, because as soon as Carson wanders off with their blood and assorted tissue, Rodney's off the bed, climbing into John's lap, needing contact so badly he almost gasps when he gets it; John's arms going around his waist with sliding up the back of his shirt. Pushing John back against the pillows, Rodney goes for the smooth skin of his throat, nausea creeping backward with a relief so sharp it makes him lightheaded.

"Beckett," John says halfheartedly, working a hand inside the scrub bottoms, which win for best clothing choice *ever*, giving Rodney all the access he needs with a simple push. "He's going to come back--"

"And there are--yes, right there--these wonderful patient confidentiality laws," Rodney answers distractedly as he licks John's mouth open.

"I was thinking--" John's breath hitches, rubbing his cock up into Rodney's stomach with the kind of impatience more suited to privacy than an isolation chamber-- "he might not want to see--"

"Then he'll go away and come back later." Much later, Rodney thinks, feverishly pushing up the scrub top and licking a stripe down the middle of John's chest.

"Yeah," John murmurs, pushing down the scrubs and lining them up. "Later."

"Later," Rodney agrees before finding John's mouth again, already rocking into the pleasure he knows is there, hands running over John's straining muscles. "Later," he repeats, mostly because he can't think of anything more appropriate. John feels too good to bother with *thinking*.

It's over slower than Rodney expects and a lot faster than he wants. Except that he's pretty sure as John's mouth wrenches away from his, gasping sharply, and his own muted grunt is bitten into the skin on John's neck, that it's only been a handful of moments since he climbed on top of John in the first place. He feels wrecked, breathing heavily, hands still moving restlessly over John, anywhere within reach.

"Oh god," John almost wheezes. "Rodney this is-- we--"

"Well gentlemen it'll be--- oh good *lord*."

Jerking up both their scrubs, Rodney sits up, keeping a steadying hand on John's bare stomach and completely ignoring the wetness beneath his hand. "You could *knock*."

Carson stares at him like he's speaking a variation of English unknown to civilized man. "You did *not*--in my *infirmary*--"

Rodney waves his free hand while subtly working John's scrub top down. Just a little. "Never mind. If you could leave--"

"Rodney," John says, but not like he's disagreeing. Head turning, he smiles at Carson. "Find anything?"

Carson closes his eyes briefly, like maybe when he opens them, the scene will be different. Rodney takes the opportunity to adjust his own clothes and spot check John's decency. Not that scrubs cover all that much in the way of evidence. "Some heightened brain activity. From what you've told me of the--effects--" he stops, pointedly not looking at John's fingers wrapping around Rodney's wrist. "I can alleviate the worst of it, but I'm afraid that you'll just have to wait for the rest to fade from your system. Twenty-four hours at most. I'll recommend to Dr. Weir that you be put on leave until an examination in the morning." Staring at the wall above their heads, Carson nods blindly. "And you may leave. As soon as possible."

Rodney looks down to see John's mischievous grin, involuntarily sliding his hand up John's stomach, slick and slow.

"Dr. Weir will be expecting you for a post-mission briefing," Carson says, with deliberate malice. "Within a few minutes. Best you get dressed, gentleman, while I get your dose ready."

Rodney has a suspicious feeling that Carson really doesn't quite understand the depth and scope of these side affects he spoke so blithely about. He's mildly upset at the niggling feeling that maybe Carson thinks what he walked in on wasn't something completely out of their control.

Mostly.

"See anything to clean up with?" John asks, enfolding Rodney's stray hand in his own. "Our uniforms can only take so much abuse."

Carson reappeared at that very moment with a basin and a couple of washcloths, leaving his gift on the table and eyeing them, like he was making sure they didn't go at it again in the *four* seconds he was gone.

"Thanks," John says languidly, his post coital glow still shimmering.

Rodney nods his head as well, but Carson is already out the door again.

Turning to John, Rodney sees he's already got a damp cloth gliding over his stomach and Rodney has to help. He *has* to close his free hand over John's and move with it. John's skin takes to being cleaned, it glows under each careful swipe, and Rodney finds himself leaning in, kissing the fresh skin firmly.

"Rodney," John's voice holds a quiet hitch. "Getting dressed."

Reluctantly, they both dress, a slow, painful process involving the addition, rather than the removal, of clothing , and interspersed with quick, furtive touches. Sitting back on John's bed, both of them fully dressed, he wraps his fingers in John's t-shirt and gives Carson a glared dare to say a damn thing when he comes in with the needles.

"Now," Carson says, still eyeing them as if he expects orgies if he so much as blinks, taking out the needles with far too much enthusiasm. "Let's get you fixed up."

*****

It's not nearly as bad as before, there's no nausea, and Rodney only feels the faintest feeling of disconnect, but it's very irritating, like the edge of a toothache, grating on the edge of Rodney's mind. Every time one of them shifts enough, it's still a conscious decision not to gravitate towards one another.

Elizabeth looks like she's trying very hard not to blush, or possibly giggle.

"So the planet was trying to--eat you?"

"Something was," John says, sounding so standard post-mission briefing that Rodney just wants to kick him. "We didn't exactly stick around to figure it out once we realized what was happening." Give or take an orgasm.

"And Carson--" she says, head tilting. Rodney realizes he's reaching for John's thigh again and stops himself.

"Dr. Beckett found a way to deal with the most-- distracting parts of the effects," John answers, sprawled casually in his chair, legs spread loosely.

Rodney still remembers those legs and that space and all the things he still really wants to do while there.

"And the planet?" Elizabeth says, mouth very straight, like they're discussing almost-broccoli production on the mainland.

"I wouldn't recommend a repeat visit," John says lazily, one foot nudging at Rodney's, head tilted, and Rodney notes that Elizabeth's eyes widen, flushing slightly. "Not without hazmat suits, anyway."

Elizabeth nods, jerking her gaze away from John, which is more than Rodney can manage. It's indecent. "Very well, gentleman," she says, and Rodney's eyes narrow when her gaze dips toward John's beltline. "You have the next twenty-four hours off. I'll expect your report tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," John says easily, getting up. Rodney watches the long stretch of his muscles and tries to breathe. "Rodney?"

Right. Climbing to his feet, Rodney bobbles a nodded agreement, trying not to look like he's completely unable to understand a single word Elizabeth is saying.

They're walking, and Rodney trusts that John has some idea of where they're going because keeping one foot in front of the other is tough enough. Carson managed a lot, and Rodney is grateful, but they're stuck waiting the rest out, and there's a time and distance factor working against them at that very moment.

In the transport tube, John strokes down his arm briefly when the doors close. Rodney's eyes try to cross but now he can breathe through it. Sort of.

Rodney finds himself following John into his room, not all that surprised because it's not like they can really separate and do anything but sit in miserable little balls. That is an experiment he doesn't want to repeat. So they might as well be-- comfortable.

The doors close and they're in each other's arms, and Rodney is holding tightly, and sighing deeply as something sweet and slow releases in his body. "John," he says nuzzling at John's neck, tracing the outlines of the various hickies with his nose.

"Yeah," John mutters, pulling back slightly to catch Rodney's eyes. "We need to talk."

Those words have never, ever meant anything good. Rodney runs his nails down John's back through his shirt, covering John's mouth with his at his hiss and biting his lip. He's going to pay for this, but later, just one more time, feel John's hands on him like he can't get enough, pushing off his shirt with impatient hands, running up his spine and over his shoulders, gentle and hard at once, moaning when Rodney works his pants open and palms his cock.

The bed is only a few steps away, and Rodney gets John down on it, stretched out golden and perfect, stripping both their clothes with frantic hands, kissing away every word John tries to say, lining up cock against cock, shivering at the feel of all that perfect, naked skin.

"Rodney," John says, and Rodney bites down on a pink nipple, John's hands tightening in his hair. "Rodney, listen--"

"Later," he whispers into the smooth skin of John's stomach--he's so hard he aches, like he hasn't come three times already, like he hasn't come in years. The long thighs open for him easily, and Rodney ducks his head, biting into the silky skin of John's inner thigh.

"Right," John says, tilting his head back, eyes closing. "It's just--"

"I want you," Rodney says, and this is everything he couldn't do on the planet: luxuriate in John, skin and smell and taste, licking to the crease of his thigh; hearing John's stuttering breath when Rodney mouths his balls, pushes his legs farther apart and licking a finger, makes slow circles on the soft skin just behind, moving back. John makes an unclassifiable noise that barely sounds human. "I want you, shut up, shut up, let me--"

"It's just--Christ Rodney. I--haven't--" John arches when Rodney works a finger in, tight and hot around him, going down on John's cock at the same time and feeling the muscles in his ass jump. "Oh. Fuck. I haven't done--done this. God. Before."

Rodney wants to stop and look up, and he does, but it takes him long seconds to get his body under control enough to do so. "What?" he asks, out of breath.

"I haven't," John says just as out of breath, "done this before." His eyes are wide and dilated he licks his lips like he's searching for taste. "In fact I haven't actually done most of this," he waves his hand vaguely between the two of them.

His finger twitches involuntarily, and John convulses around him, moaning. "What?" He asks again. "That porn star blow job was beginner's luck?" Rodney is already mouthing at the skin near John's cock, but he does wiggle his finger out just in case. "Oh god," he says looking back up into John's terrified eyes. "I really want you."

John sits up, his hand reaching out to touch Rodney's face, pull it closer, and kiss him slowly. "I've never wanted this before."

Oh God, that's so hot. Rodney closes his eyes tightly, kissing John again, shuddering into it. "Right," he says, wondering if he should say something else, but John doesn't seem to expect conversation, and thank God for that, because Rodney's vocabulary's just dropped substantially.

It's easy to rub against sweat slicked skin, suck John's tongue into his mouth, feel him arch up and quiver, finding that perfect rhythm that shouldn't be so familiar already, legs tangled, and then John pulls away, panting, eyes wide and as green as new leaves. Rodney cups his face and watches him come, wet and pulsing against Rodney's stomach, kissing him when his spine tightens, whispering John's name into his mouth.

*****

Later, hours later, Rodney wakes to light peeking through the multicolored glass on the wall. Next to the bed are the remnants of the food and water Carson had so thoughtfully brought to them.

He'd knocked very loudly and announced his presence and then had the gall to look thoroughly unsurprised when it took them five minutes to answer the door looking like their clothes hadn't been on their backs for more than thirty seconds.

Rodney feels hungover as he turns to stare at John, still breathing deeply; he's draped over him like a limp rag and he's got to piss so badly he's afraid what might happen if John wakes up and does something that'll start it all over again.

He crawls out of bed, shivering at the loss of body heat, but too intent on getting to the bathroom to be distracted by it. He's come more in twelve hours than he had in the entire month leading up to his second doctorate.

When he comes back out, leaning into the doorway to watch John, boneless and pliant in bed, he realizes that he's not nauseous. Taking a step, Rodney stops, testing, but--no.. Want, yes, God, want yes, who wouldn't want to touch John? Need? No.

The sense of loss is almost staggering, and Rodney can't quite make himself move. He's not even sure he can breathe.

John shifts, rolling onto his stomach, sheet pulling down to reveal the curve of his ass, sighing a little before resettling--and when he wakes, he'll feel it too, no more of the overwhelming need.

And that is something that Rodney's not sure he'll be able to stand seeing.

Reaching for his boxers, he fumbles them on, he searches desperately for his pants, God, shirt, where? Boots, fuck them for hiding under the bed.

"Rodney?"

Rodney freezes, looking up from his under bed groping, feeling like a deer in headlights, trapped by the barely open slits of John's eyes.

Closing his eyes again, John fumbles out a hand, brushing his shoulder. "Sleep," he murmurs, reaching down with his other hand to pull distractedly at the sheets. "We don't have to be up yet."

Rodney closes his eyes as John's fingers brush his jaw. "Colonel--"

"Rodney," John murmurs sluggishly, fingers dragging slowly down Rodney's neck. "What's up?"

He can't speak, only lean into the touch, discovering it again, without the uncontrollable need thrumming through his veins. Only, he can still feel it, the need and want, but he knows it's not the same; so he can only shrug, throat tight. Rodney can hear the bed shifting as John moves, sense the heat as John's legs swing over the side.

"Open your eyes Rodney."

Helplessly, Rodney opens his eyes, and sitting in front of him is a visual inventory of the damage they did to each other, red-black, purpling blue. John's tired eyes are still only half open and his hair is, if at all possible, standing up even more.

"What's up?" John asks again.

"Nothing," Rodney finally says. "I think we broke it." He tries not to sound as bitterly resentful as he feels. Because being under alien influence for mindblowing sex is bad, he thinks. Or so he's been told.

John laughs, ducking his down, hand still tracing some unknown pattern on Rodney's neck. "S'different now."

Rodney nods, dread coiling inside him. "Yeah, so I'll just be--"

"Can I--" John cuts him off, "Can I try this--" His hand strokes again, up Rodney's neck, down his jaw. Light and tentative. Soft. Trembling. "Once? Without the alien influence?"

Sitting up on his knees, Rodney pulls John into a kiss--maybe the last one, maybe the only real one, but it's the one he wants John to remember, slow and purposeful and not careful, not careful at all. John makes a small sound into his mouth and Rodney grabs for the edge of the bed with his free hand, dizzy with shock, the rush of feeling that has nothing to do with alien planets and their extremely unique way of trapping prey, and everything to do with John, who kisses back like they're still affected when they're anything but.

Oh.

"Oh," Rodney whispers against the wet lips, staring at John, who smirks back, lopsided and amused and--relieved? "Right. So--"

"Come back to bed," John says, and Rodney lets himself be coaxed up onto the mattress, curling around John, soft cock slipping naturally into the curve of his ass, breathing in the scent of sex and sweat on the back of his neck.

"Okay," he whispers, closing his eyes.

Later, Rodney wakes for a second time, warm and relaxed, John is slowly stroking a nearby patch of skin. Rodney breathes deep and stretches, but not enough to dislodge the hand. John looks up at him, face naked and raw with something. Affection maybe? Awe, wonder, amusement-- it's all there and John keeps drawing lazy circles. Rodney reaches out for a kiss and they melt together, easily, slowly and it's perfect and sweet and warm and Rodney is fairly sure, this time it's all them.

Amireal's Library

*facepalms*

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Feedback and why this author sucks.

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facepalms