Amireal's Library

facepalms

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 02:29:53 GMT

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

Mon, 15 Jan 2007 04:04:04 GMT

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)

Tue, 31 Oct 2006 23:43:52 GMT

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)

Wed, 06 Sep 2006 19:12:04 GMT

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

Sat, 26 Aug 2006 23:25:17 GMT

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

Fri, 25 Aug 2006 22:36:34 GMT

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)

Sun, 23 Jul 2006 18:33:44 GMT

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)

Sun, 23 Jul 2006 18:27:13 GMT

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)

Sun, 23 Jul 2006 18:24:21 GMT

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

Thu, 20 Jul 2006 07:29:48 GMT

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

Thu, 20 Jul 2006 07:27:13 GMT

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

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 08:10:10 GMT

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

Thu, 29 Jun 2006 23:22:24 GMT

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

Wed, 21 Jun 2006 21:13:47 GMT

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.

Wed, 05 Apr 2006 02:19:33 GMT

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

Mon, 06 Feb 2006 06:53:21 GMT

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

Amireal's Library

*facepalms*

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

Fic: And Be One Traveler (Link to full)

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

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

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

DVD Commentary, Cleave (3/3)

DVD Commentary, Cleave (2/3)

DVD Commentary, Cleave (1/3)

SGA: Cleave, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 2/2

SGA: Cleave, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 1/2

SGA: Everything Except Temptation, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 1/1

Fic: Promotion, SGA/SG1, NC-17, Sheppard/Mitchell, 1/1

Fic: Blowjob Clause, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard, 1/1

Feedback and why this author sucks.

Fic: Scenes from a Lesser War, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard 3/3

facepalms