sgasesa_admin (sgasesa_admin) wrote in sga_santa,

Fic: What I Meant To Say (McKay/Sheppard, NC-17)

Title: What I Meant To Say
Author: almostnever
Recipient: admiralandrea
Pairing: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: No infringement intended. Transformative work for private entertainment.
Author's Notes: Thanks anatsuno for beta & cheerleading.
Summary: AMTDI, bondage, boots, bottom!John... what more do you need for the holidays? Warning, AMTDI noncon/dubcon issues apply.


It had been going so well. The walk from the jumper was almost pleasant for once. A cool and overcast day, minimal vegetation to forge through, significant energy readings up ahead: as tolerable as missions got, for Rodney.

And then, when they team arrived at the nearest town, they were greeted cordially by a people who were friendly, and almost as important: hygienic. (Their last mission involved a population who didn't believe in regular baths or toothbrushing. Rodney may have been scarred for life.)

The people of PXH-158 seemed to be at about Western culture's Enlightenment era, culturally, and their technology wasn't much further along than 18th century Britain-- though through some quirk of readily available silicon and an artistic tradition of drawing very fine lines with conductive metals, they had computers.

They even had a rudimentary internet, and since their very basic computers couldn't render graphics yet, they were actually using it to further their knowledge instead of wasting all their time and bandwidth on porn and cat pictures. (Not that Rodney had anything against porn or cat pictures-- he had quite a collection of both-- but Earth's internet proved there could be too much of even the best things.)

PXH-158 also had experimental steam-powered cars (the racket!), and a sky decorated with a number of dirigibles and hot air balloons, some of which looked to have potentially interesting propulsion systems, in a rudimentary, hobbyist sort of way.

And they had plumbing. Rodney was so glad to be on a planet with plumbing.

He was less glad when, after a welcome libation and snack and a lengthy tour of the capitol building, their guide, Logi or Loji or something, led John and Ronon to a washroom and came back without them, ordering the guards to seize Teyla and Rodney.

Rodney wasn't quite as terrified as usual over this development, because these people didn't have guns and their swords mostly looked decorative. The holding cell the team was ushered into wasn't the usual crude and filthy prison, either, just a plain room. There was even a rug.

On the other hand, John and Ronon had been bound up with their hands tied behind their backs, and after a short conference with a guy in a fancy uniform, Loji had Rodney tied up too. Not Teyla, though. They hadn't gotten around to gunpowder yet, but apparently they'd invented chivalry.

Then some other people in different but equally fancy uniforms arrived, and lined up in a way that seemed portentous.

"People of Athos," said Loji-- Teyla kicked Rodney when he opened his mouth to correct him, so Rodney snapped his mouth shut-- "we have welcomed you in friendship, and in return, you have deceived us and brought woe upon us."

"Woe, really?" Rodney couldn't help asking.

Loji gestured to the guards and they grabbed John and dragged him forward.

"Hey," said John, irritated, "that's not very neighborly."

Then a guard, grimacing, unbuttoned John's BDUs and opened up his fly.

"Okay, now that's a little too neighborly," said John.

Ronon tensed, clearly ready to start kicking people to death, and in this instance Rodney fully endorsed kneejerk violence as the best solution. But Teyla put her arm out to still Ronon and said, "Lozsi--" oh, oops, he'd remembered it wrong. Well, whatever-- "what is the meaning of this? We have come in peace. Perhaps your ways are different, but among our people, what you are doing is an offense as serious as a physical attack."

"The situation merits it. Please, visitor Emmagan, I ask you all to hold silent," said Lozsi grimly. He turned to the others, gesturing to John. "There, you see?"

Oh, for crying out loud. Rodney had to assume the fuss was over size. Sheppard was pretty well hung-- leave it to him to somehow offend the locals with his whopping virility.

Though it was a little odd they were singling him out. Ronon was just as impressive proportionally, and he was half a foot taller than Sheppard, so if they were strictly going by measurement--

Two of the uniformed people pulled bulging fabric masks over their noses and mouths. It almost looked like they were wearing feedbags. They stepped near Sheppard and just... stared at his crotch. For a while.

Rodney squirmed with vicarious embarrassment. It didn't matter how much reassurance a guy got, no amount of statistics, photographic evidence or praise from appreciative partners would ever remove a man's insecurity about his penis. Rodney had ample evidence that his own was well above average by the numbers, and he'd received unanimous testimonials to its appearance and efficacy, but just the idea of someone staring at it pitilessly like that had him ready to sink through the floor.

And sure enough, John's "What the hell is this all about?" sounded very strained.

One of the feedbag people said, "We must perform a more thorough examination."

It turned out the guard's swords weren't just decorative after all. In seconds, the blades sliced through John's clothes like they were made of crepe paper. Fortunately the guards seemed to know what they were doing. There wasn't a scratch on John... yet. But now none of the team could risk making a move, not with those razor edges hovering centimeters from John's bare skin.

The feedbag people pored over John's naked body. Ronon made a strangled noise, and John looked over his shoulder at him, shaking his head with a frown. He exchanged looks with Teyla, gave Rodney a brief glance and a nod, and faced forward again, studying the row of uniformed people, his body visibly, painfully tense.

At last the taller of the feedbag people said, "No other deformities or signs of sickness."

"Now wait a minute," John began, but a guard twitched the point of her sword to rest against John's adam's apple, and he shut up.

"We must quarantine them," Lozsi was saying. "This may be an inborn defect, but if it were contagious... we dare not take the risk!"

The women in the fancy dress contingent looked dubious, but the men were all nodding, faces set.

"Lozsi, please," Teyla said, "tell us what this is about. Before we travel to any world, our healers ensure we carry no communicable diseases."

"I have no trust for these healers of yours. They have done this man a great disservice. I ask you again to be silent unless you are asked a question, or we will remove you to another chamber," said Lozsi stiffly. He gestured to the guards. "Check the scientist."

As usual, when Rodney's life-- or in this case, his dignity-- was on the line, his brain rose to the occasion. Lozsi and his pals were freaked out by John's package. Rodney knew perfectly well from a number of sidelong looks in the ready room that there was nothing at all wrong with John there (and a lot of things that were right.) Whatever the problem was, Ronon didn't have it. So unless John had caught the fastest-showing case ever of space herpes, the only difference that would be so distressing to a bunch of ignorant steampunks would be--

"Oh my god, you people-- he's been circumcised! That's all!"

Rodney was sure he didn't imagine how a degree of tension eased in the (toned, sexy) muscles of John's shoulders and back.

"This was done to him on purpose?" Lozsi paled, aghast. "Is it a punishment? What was his crime?"

Crap, Teyla couldn't take over for the squishy diplomatic stuff here, there was no reason she'd know about circumcision. It was up to Rodney. "It's not a punishment," he said. "His people do that to boys when they're young--"

The fancy dress people gasped in horror. A couple of the men looked a little green.

Teyla and Ronon actually looked slightly alarmed now, too.

"We had no idea your people were capable of such barbarism," said Lozsi.

"Not all of us are," Rodney answered. "Obviously you saw that Ronon is, er, intact, and I am too. But Colonel Sheppard comes from a different group, and they believe that removing the foreskin helps with cleanliness and health. It's done painlessly, and it doesn't damage them... well, that is, obviously they're missing a bit, but everything else works fine."

Murmurs ran through the fancy dress group. Lozsi conferred with them and turned back to the team. "We must discuss this," he said, and with that, they all drained out of the room, leaving the team surrounded by guards, with John standing stark naked except for his boots, the ruins of his uniform wreathing the floor around him.

"Good thinking, McKay," said John. "You couldn't have come up with the answer before they cut my clothes off?"

"Excuse me, and where were you on this?" Rodney demanded. "It's your dick!"

"I never think about it! It's not like I wake up every morning and check-- oh yeah, still circumcised!"

Someone should; Rodney just stopped himself from saying that he would gladly volunteer.

John looked incredibly pissy, which only made sense. Rodney had worked with a lot of military personnel in his career, and John was more reserved than any ten of the rest of them.

And now here he was, totally exposed in front of them, the contours of his arms and shoulders thrumming as he worked against his bonds, the tight muscles of his back and his ass bunching and smoothing under the skin. It was sort of hypnotic.

Rodney snapped his eyes up to safer territory only to find himself looking directly into John's hazel gaze.

John blurted, "McKay, are you checking me out?" Half a second later, bright pink spread over his face like a wave; he clamped his jaw and bit his lower lip.

"What!" Rodney squawked. "What else is there to look at? You're all right there!"

But now John was watching him intently, with none of his normal indolence. That look, especially with his still-flushed face, was just way too intimate for an alien prison with a dozen sharply-armed guards standing around.

Rodney was preparing to point that out when Lozsi and the two feedbag people returned with more guards and about half the fancy dress contingent, mostly men. The shorter feedbag person came straight to Rodney and wasted no time in opening up his fly and shoving his boxers down. Rodney froze.

"As he said, this one is not disfigured," said the feedbag person; the voice was muffled by the mask but sounded feminine. The mask itself smelled like hay and spices, so strongly that Rodney was all at once certain that the mask was stuffed with them. He hoped the mask signified some kind of homeopathy and not superstition, because the latter could get a lot more dangerous.

The masked woman packed Rodney back into his boxers and zipped him up again. She and the other feedbag-masked person moved closer to John.

"Our healers require assurance of the truth of your words," Lozsi addressed Rodney.

"Okay," said Rodney. "Uh. Which words?"

"You say this is no disease or punishment, that he is unaffected," said Lozsi. "You must prove this is true," and he nodded to a guard, who untied Rodney.

Rubbing his chafed wrists, Rodney answered, "Well... I mean... you can see it's true, can't you? He's not sick, he's perfectly healthy. And I already explained it's not a punishment."

"Then you will have no trouble proving it."

Rodney honestly, truly didn't get it until the guard behind him took his arm and guided him over to John.

Teyla and Ronon started forward, both speaking at once, but the room was lousy with guards now and they hemmed Teyla in, and directed a blade toward Ronon's throat.

"Silence," said Lozsi, "or you will be treated as prisoners rather than patients. If Dr. McKay's words are true, you will be released with our apologies, but until then you are under suspicion of bringing pestilence to our world." He looked expectantly at Rodney. "Well, doctor? It is a simple matter of demonstration."

"Are you serious?" Rodney spluttered. "No! We don't do that to people without permission, and usually also a lot of alcohol!"

"You have permission," frowned Lozsi, "in fact, you have an order from our leader's own personal healer."

"Not anyone else's permission! His permission!" Rodney swept his arm to indicate Sheppard.

"Then secure his permission," Lozsi shrugged.

"He can't give consent while he's tied up and being threatened with pointy things!"

"If you can't prove the truth of your claims, we must quarantine you," said Lozsi. "Truly, Dr. McKay, if he is ill, it will only benefit you all to confess it. Would you risk contracting this scourge yourself? Our quarantine is comfortable and safe, miles underground, and some of our best healers oversee the treatments. If you carry sickness, our healers can surely bleed it out of you, or wash it from you with our purifying selep baths and colonics."

"What? No!" Rodney recoiled. Selep was a plant found on worlds throughout Pegasus, waxy like a succulent, with all sorts of adaptive features that the botanists went nuts over. Its fleshy leaves and lumpy fruit were popular trade items, and it was similar enough to grapefruit that just the smell nauseated Rodney.

"Selep could kill me," he said. "Literally kill me, I have a deadly allergy, do you people know what allergies are?"

"We have treatments for allergies as well," said Lozsi. "Controlled exposure to increasing amounts of the irritant--"

"Would lead to my death!"

"Nonsense, Dr. McKay, our methods have been proven effective many times over. Now make your choice," said Lozsi. "We cannot simply release those who bring disease among us. If our own people grow ill, we must have the original patient if we are to have a hope of finding a cure."

"Why me?" Rodney groaned, and then wished he hadn't. They'd probably seen the little looks he stole at John and assumed the infatuation was mutual-- ha! Before anyone could answer him, Rodney said, "No, no, I get it. Not Teyla, because of chivalry, and only an idiot would untie Sheppard or Ronon's hands at this point."

"Sheppard. We can take 'em." Ronon leaned forward, into the point of the sword at his neck, fearlessly letting it pierce his skin-- even Rodney found it incredibly intimidating, and he knew Ronon was mostly on his side. "Teyla's hands are free," Ronon reminded them. "Two minutes, and we're out of here."

"Yeah, with some ribbons cut out of you," said John, "unarmed, in a building full of more guards. We can't risk it."

"Lozsi, please reconsider," said Teyla. "This will be counted as an act of aggression by Colonel Sheppard's people."

"Visitor Emmagan, please understand that we regret all of this unpleasantness, but we have no choice," said Lozsi. "And I must have you both removed now; you were warned not to speak." To John he added, "They will be in the next room, and we will escort all four of you unharmed to the Ring, if your doctor proves quarantine is unnecessary."

"We'll be okay," John's voice carried as the guards jostled Teyla and Ronon from the room. "Keep it cool."

The door shut solidly between the rooms, and Lozsi turned to Rodney. "Well, Doctor?"

This proved it, Rodney decided: the universe hated him. On one hand, cutting and citrus; on the other, touching John, something he wanted desperately to do... but under circumstances destined to make it awful and guarantee it would never ever happen again.

He turned to John, now having no trouble focusing only on the colonel's face, and muttered, "What should we do?"

John's mouth was the flattest of lines, pale with stress. "I don't like our chances if we're put in quarantine," he said. "Can you do this?"

"Am I capable? Of course. But--"

John cut him off with a brusque shake of his head. "Do it."

"We must've missed our check-in by now. Maybe we could stall... at this level of technology it's not like they could move us anywhere in a hurry..."

"And meanwhile they could start treatment with leeches and selep juice any time," said John. "It's my call and I'm calling it. Buck up, it's not that different from giving yourself a hand in the shower."

"Are you giving me a sex pep talk?" Rodney tried to make his hand go there, just jump into it, but it felt so wrong. "I don't-- are you--"

"Jesus, McKay, I'm sure, now just-- start." He settled his legs apart a little, bracing himself, and stared at the wall over Rodney's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Rodney said, meaning it in every possible way. "Sorry," and he wrapped his hand around John's flaccid penis. He squeezed lightly; nothing. Of course. "Just, close your eyes and think about whatever you need to think about," he said. "Getting a blowjob from a hot blonde while you're flying the jumper, think about Chaya if you have to, whatever. I'm not going to talk, I'm not going to look down, I'm just going to keep doing this," he set up a slow, squeezing stroke up and down the limp shaft, "unless you tell me to do something else."

And then he shut up to let Sheppard call up whatever fantasy he needed to get through this. He kept his hand going: squeeze the base, slide up, release, again and again with little response.

Rodney began to feel a little panicky; okay, a lot panicky. If John didn't show some sign of life they were going to end up quarantined after all. "Look," he whispered, "what do you need?"

John did his version of a flinch, which only showed in the way his eyes narrowed involuntarily for a second, but he answered, "Keep talking."

"Really?" Rodney asked, but John shot him such a venomous look that he added, "No, fine, of course, silence just adds to the pressure, you need the distraction, I get it... uh, I'm going to wet my hand if that's okay."

"Do it," John said flatly again, and Rodney sucked inside his mouth to call up as much saliva as possible and spit it into his hand as discreetly as he could.

"It's no big deal, I mean, we've bled on each other, what's another body fluid exchange after that? It's nothing," he lied as he slid his spit-slick palm up and down John's dick, which was finally filling a little.

"Not a thing," John agreed.

"It would just figure that your dick would literally get us into trouble someday."

John gave a quiet, harsh husk of a laugh. "Fuck you, McKay."

Rodney couldn't help glancing down. He supposed he could almost see why these backwards lackwits were so distressed. If he'd never seen a cut guy before, he might be a little unnerved. John's penis looked bald and vulnerable without the foreskin to protect the glans. Though once he was fully hard, the difference would be negligible.

Meanwhile Rodney felt a worrying rush of blood southward-- he couldn't help responding a little, cradling a dick in his hand inspired a Pavlovian reaction. The horrible situation was keeping it from developing into anything too humiliating.

"You know, when he first started in about your, uh," Rodney gave John a demonstrative squeeze, and then couldn't believe he'd done it, but then again normal had kind of gone out the window as soon as he put his hand on Sheppard's cock. "I, uh, I thought it was a size thing. Like they were offended, or more likely, jealous."

"You're trying to help by complimenting my dick size?" John asked incredulously.

"You said talk! I'm talking!" John might complain, but it was working at least partly; his cock was half-mast now, hot in Rodney's hand.

"Right, fine, talk," said John, and clenched his jaw shut tight. Rodney could almost hear his teeth grinding. His arms were hard and taut as he compulsively tugged at his bound wrists.

"Uh... Radek and I were working up some ideas for increasing the compliment of drones aboard the jumpers. It's not a high priority, but more firepower is always good, right? And optimizing drone storage could come in handy for other applications."

"Like?" John's breathing was getting a little more ragged now.

"Well... anywhere we have drones, we could have more drones... okay," Rodney admitted, "we're not so firm on other applications yet." His wrist was starting to feel fatigued. He was probably going to get RSI from this. "But hey, more and bigger bangs. Did I mention part of this idea also involves increasing the payload of the drones themselves?"

"Sounds good," John bit out, and clammed up again, exhaling hard through his nose.

Rodney looked at him. A red flush was crawling up John's neck, his ears and the points of his cheekbones pink. The tendons in his neck stood out starkly. He was somehow even more tense than before, every muscle knotted. He still stared doggedly at the opposite wall.

To his mortification, despite the awful circumstances, Rodney felt his own cock swell in his boxers, which suddenly seemed confining and abrasive against his sensitized skin. He couldn't help it: this was something he'd fantasized about, John with a sexual flush lighting his face, John's body pulling tight with anticipation and pleasure.

He could feel his own face heating with shame. Because even though his body was responding, John visibly hated every second of this. He had a thousand-yard stare going, and he looked furious. Rodney shut his eyes and just kept pumping away, trying to talk down his own erection.

"McKay," John grated.



"Wh-- oh, oh right. Um, increased drone payload... in simulation we're seeing gains of up to 30%..." Rodney tightened his fingers around John's cock, skimming over the head, but there wasn't any precome there yet. Maybe John just didn't ever get very wet, but Rodney couldn't help fretting that even though he'd managed to stroke John to an erection, this wasn't going to get him off.

"Look," he offered quietly, "I could, uh, I could go down if that would work better..."

John throbbed in his hand, but his face just locked up tighter. "These people are freaked out by circumcision, you think they're going to be okay with a guy-on-guy blowjob?"

"They're already making me jerk you off, it's not that much of a leap," Rodney hissed.

"No," John said, but there was a hint of slick at the tip of his cock now.

"That's helping?" Rodney asked dumbly. "I guess...?" Well, that stood to reason; most guys liked to think about blowjobs, right? So maybe that was a tactic he should go with.

John just focused even more on the wall-- Rodney was surprised the stone wasn't smoking from the intensity of that stare.

"Okay, the, ah, the best blowjob I ever got," Rodney said, "was-- I'd just won a major grant, the department threw a party, and half a magnum of champagne later I wound up in the coatroom, I barely knew who I was with, but I was leaning against someone's fake fur coat and it felt really good... it felt amazing to be sort of disoriented in the dark with this soft fur around me and the feeling of this hot slippery mouth just-- pulling and pulling at me, like there was no hurry, like it could feel like that forever. You should close your eyes."

John didn't, though, of course, ornery as usual. He looked at Rodney, a piercing narrow look, and said, "Who were you with?"

"Another physics student," Rodney tried to evade, but John's gaze was relentless and Rodney couldn't hold back the anxious truth: "Scott. Scott Hamon, he never got into the Stargate program, never even published much, he actually cared more about teaching, if you can believe that, but I still-- when he does publish, I still, uh--"

"Shut up," John said roughly, and he started tilting his hips forward, shoving himself into Rodney's grip now, over and over. Rodney just tried to keep up, but he worried that John was going to unbalance himself; he grabbed John's shoulder. The bare skin under his palm shocked him, and even more shocking, the contact made John exhale what sounded like an unvoiced moan.

Of course, John was close, close enough not to care who was touching him at this point. Rodney realized with a fresh pang that the fancy uniform people were going to want to see John come. Awkwardly he moved to the side to afford them a view, still stroking John, his other arm slipping around John's shoulders.

"Behind me," John muttered under his breath.


"Keep going, stand behind me-- just do it."

Rodney obeyed. Possibly John was having a hard time achieving orgasm since he refused to close his eyes, and so couldn't really avoid seeing it was Rodney working him over. Rodney tried to keep his lower body away from John's bound hands, but he had to reach entirely around John's body to continue jerking him off, and he couldn't keep it up with any speed from this angle and keep his distance. He had to plaster himself against John's back to get his grip right. John couldn't possibly miss that Rodney was hard.

Not that it mattered much, he'd already outed himself.

John was doing all the work now, hips rocking, and his hands were moving too-- for a vertigious moment Rodney thought John was groping him, that maybe John directed him to stand here because somehow he'd gotten into it, because this was how he liked it, but a split second later he realized John was loosening his bonds under the cover of Rodney's body, and he felt a little rankled with himself for that weird moment of hope.

Then John arched back against him, the whole lean length of him stretched out as he came-- spectacularly, semen hitting the floor so far away that Rodney's (still rather sizable) juvenile side wished he had a tape measure.

There are some things you just shouldn't know about someone you weren't sleeping with, Rodney reflected a little glumly, and the stuttering rhythm of John's hips, the flush coloring the back of his neck, and the way the big muscles of his ass and thighs spasmed as he came-- those things were all definitely in that category. Rodney knew he'd be haunted by the feeling of John pulsing through his orgasm in Rodney's hand.

Belatedly, Rodney released his grip on Sheppard and snatched his hand back.

The fancy dress people stirred and murmured; the guards backed off a little.

"Happy now?" Sheppard ground out. His hands were free, balled into fists, no doubt ready to spring into action if the locals still wanted to keep them. Rodney looked around for cover to drop behind if there was a fight. Nothing. Maybe he could hide under the rug.

Lozsi turned to one of the smartly uniformed people and exchanged a few muttered words before nodding to the guards. "We apologize, Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay. If you knew of our history with scourges and plagues... well, I hope you would not judge us harshly for our vigilance."

Probably better if the guards didn't know Sheppard already worked himself free. Rodney pretended to unfasten Sheppard's bonds and pushed the complicated interwoved leather thongs at the nearest soldier, while another guard offered Sheppard a long olive green robe. Sheppard wasted no time wrapping himself into it and buttoning it swiftly up.

The side door opened and Teyla and Ronon hurried back into the room, relaxing visibly to see Sheppard unharmed.

"We're done here," said Sheppard.

The full complement of guards escorted the team back to the gate, surrounding them in close formation, swords bared. Considering the look on his teammates' faces, Rodney really couldn't blame them for their caution.

They let Teyla run ahead to dial Atlantis and transmit her IDC, and the guard with the biggest plumes on her helmet ordered two others to slide the team's packs and weapons through before the soldiers fell back, releasing them. Again, Rodney had to give them credit for the prudence.

It was a real shame these people were assholes, because they weren't entirely stupid, and Rodney would've liked to take a look at those dirigibles.

Rodney followed the others through, half a step behind.

Everyone in the gateroom looked nonplussed at their odd arrival. Rodney blinked through a surreal moment, because here he was back in the familiarity of Atlantis, and the skin of his right palm felt tight with dried saliva and Sheppard's bodily fluids.

"Colonel Sheppard?" asked Woolsey with concern.

Teyla smoothly explained, "The Rutrari were offended by Colonel Sheppard's rolled-up shirtsleeves. They took it as a gesture of disrespect and confiscated his uniform."

Rodney rarely found any intelligence not devoted to math or science or saving his life to be particularly impressive, but Teyla was a frequent exception, and he now found himself amazed that she'd come up with such a plausible explanation. The colonel's habit of rolling up his sleeves could have distinguished Sheppard from the rest of them at a glance and caused him to be singled out.

"We could not resist without risking injury to ourselves or innocent civilians," she continued. "As far as we know, they took nothing else."

Woolsey looked as though he could understand perfectly why rolled-up shirtsleeves would inspire such a drastic reaction. "Do you think they'd respond more favorably to AR-2?"

"I believe they are intimidated by the expedition's uniforms and armaments, and used the excuse of the disrespectful gesture to rebuff us," said Teyla. "I doubt another team would be welcomed any more warmly. Perhaps an envoy of Athosians might be able to establish good relations, and act as a proxy for Atlantis."

"It's worked before," Ronon threw in.

"Point taken. Thank you. I'll review the mission reports with that recommendation in mind," said Woolsey, and dismissed them.

Sheppard, of course, beelined to the ready room, no doubt to change into a spare uniform. Teyla and Ronon headed out with careful normalcy. Rodney pretended to be very worried about checking that nothing was missing from his pack until he was composed enough to raise his head and leave.

He found the nearest washroom and scrubbed his hands.

Hours later, Rodney was thoroughly drained of any goodwill he'd ever tendered toward the rest of the expedition. Fully half a dozen people had asked him to tell the hilarious story of Colonel Sheppard getting stripped naked because of his offensive shirtsleeves, and he heard a dozen more joking and gossiping about it when he tried having dinner in the mess.

"Wish I'd been there to see it," said Porter, to a chorus of agreement and giggling from the other women at her table.

Rodney remembered the flash of the swords much too close to Sheppard's bared flesh, the hard angry set of Sheppard's face. He wished she'd been there too, instead of him. Seeing a side of Sheppard he'd only fantasized about was no trade for being compelled to do something that the colonel hated.

He bolted a few more bites of food, but he'd lost his appetite, and he abruptly felt sure that he'd snarl openly if he heard one more person making light of the mission. He stood and abandoned his tray on the table, opening a powerbar and stuffing it into his mouth instead as he stalked down the hall to his quarters.

"McKay," said Lorne as he left the transporter that Rodney was entering. "Hey, hang on a minute," and he popped back in alongside Rodney.

"What," Rodney pushed the map to take him to his room.

"I wanted to ask you about the mission today--"

"Well, you're just going to have to satisfy your prurient curiosity by reading the mission reports," Rodney snapped as Lorne followed him out of the transporter, "because I have no intention of recounting what was actually a very fraught and terrifying experience for the amusement of any of the apparently underemployed denizens of this base--"

"Knock it off," Lorne retorted just as sharply, "that's not what this is about. Colonel Sheppard filed his report and I read it. I know the guy likes his privacy, but that doesn't account for how he's been dragging around since he got back like someone shot his dog. It didn't read like that close a call; they didn't even have guns, just a bunch of yokels with swords, right?"

"They were very sharp swords!" Rodney yelled, and then regretted it. This sort of thing was probably why people seemed to find Rodney ridiculous a lot of the time.

Forcing a lower tone, he said, "A sword can kill you just as dead as a dozen guns, Major, I shouldn't have to remind you."

"You don't," said Lorne. "But Sheppard faces down worse than that before breakfast and never misses a step. So I can't help wondering if there's more to it than that."

Rodney went cold. If Lorne noticed something off, he probably wouldn't be the only one, and Rodney couldn't count on the question just going away, not with the way people were obsessing about it.

"Okay, ah, did his report happen to mention how the locals got the drop on us?" Rodney asked carefully.

"No. I've got to admit, I wondered about that too."

"Well, then," Rodney said in his most aggressively supercilious manner, "maybe you should've put two and two together. They seemed friendly at first, and they let the colonel and Ronon use the, ah, facilities, and ambushed them there."

"Oh," said Lorne. "Got it. Yeah, no wonder. I'd be kicking myself too. But what're you gonna do, huh? When you've gotta go..."

"Yes, well, charming as that is to contemplate, I have my own report to write, in addition to my countless other regular duties. Good night, Major," Rodney hurried into his quarters and straight into the shower.

Tipping his head back under the spray, Rodney soaped himself up and considered. The frustrated arousal earlier left him with a low congested ache. But he couldn't stop thinking about John actually emoting enough for Lorne to notice. John must have really been messed up about it... and while he'd been suffering through it, Rodney had been excited.

He felt too guilty to take himself in hand for a little relief, and frustrated, Rodney rushed through the rest of his routine and stepped out. He'd barely tied on his bathrobe when the door chime sounded.

He knew it would be Sheppard; Murphy's Law, if nothing else.

The second the door opened, Sheppard charged in, furious. Great, he'd probably been stewing over the mess on the planet and now he was going to revoke their friendship or give Rodney a manly thrashing or bring him up on charges or lob a lemon at him.

"McKay!" Sheppard glared. "I just talked to Lorne. He told me that he knew about what happened on the planet and not to worry, he'd make sure no one bothered me about it. What the hell were you thinking?"

"He doesn't really know!" said Rodney. "He was asking why you seemed off, and I thought that a little misleading gossip would keep everyone from pestering us about it, so I told him the part about how you and Ronon got jumped in the washroom. That's it, that's all!"

John parked his hands on his hips. "Do I really have to tell you that I don't want rumors spread about me? Especially about this?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but you came back from a mission without your clothes. You have to understand that's a fond fantasy of half the population of Atlantis. They weren't going to just forget about it," Rodney said. "People have been asking me about it all day."

"Dammit." John scuffed a hand through his hair, jumbling up the cowlicks even worse than usual.

"I'm sorry," Rodney told him sincerely, and only a little grudgingly. "I suppose possibly I shouldn't have said anything without asking how you wanted to handle it. I'm sorry about... you know. All of it."

"I know," John said, looking tired, the anger fading.

Rodney meant to leave well enough alone, but he couldn't help himself. "Even if I wouldn't keep quiet out of human decency I'd do it out of self-interest. I'm the one who'd be outed."

"Yeah, and then you'd be at risk of a dishonorable discharge, maybe even a court-martial-- no, wait, that's me."

"You know the SGC gives exemptions to that section of the uniform code for anything that happens in the line of duty on offworld missions."

"I know," said John. He wasn't quite meeting Rodney's eyes.

"...Oh," said Rodney.

John grimaced. "Yeah, oh."

"Well, don't worry," Rodney said, "I won't get the wrong idea. I know you didn't want that, any of it. I mean, obviously. It was assault. I can't help that I reacted, but I won't-- I never said anything before and I won't ever bring it up again."

"Of course not," John said with heavy sarcasm that Rodney just didn't get at all. "Why would you ever say anything."

"Excuse me? If I don't want to be out, that's my business-- you aren't either!"

"I can't be!" John threw up his hands. "Jesus, Rodney! You spend years staring at my ass and talking about how much you want to fuck blondes with great tits, I thought you were in denial-- hell of a way to find out you'd already been there! Or was it just that one time, that one guy? Because you weren't in any hurry to try again--"

"What?" Rodney sputtered. "Wait, are you mad that I didn't molest you faster when they were telling me to assault you?"

"Stop saying assault," John said. "That's what they did. What you did, I consented to."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"I know, it's fucked up, I don't care," John said. "You wanted it, and I wanted it, and I told you to do it. They screwed up my first time with you but I'm not letting anything screw up the second."

Rodney gaped. "Oh god. Now?"

John glared disbelief at him.

"Okay, now. Okay," Rodney repeated nervously. "Um. Are you sure we should--" John looked more impatient by the millisecond. "Let me guess," Rodney recovered himself a little. "It's your call, and you're calling it?"

"Damn right," John said, stalking up to him and bringing his mouth to Rodney's.

Rodney tried to keep it light and go slow, to make this kiss everything the forced handjob hadn't been. But John pushed into it, crowded him, his tongue sinuous and delicious and everywhere.

"Okay. Okay," Rodney groped him, thrilled at how John responded greedily to his hands. "What do you want? Whatever you want?"


"Then let me blow you," Rodney begged.

"Yes, god, do it," said John, leaning back and offering himself up.

Rodney dropped, clawing John's pants down with him, desperate. John was impressively stiff already, considering he'd already gotten off earlier, and Rodney was so eager to suck him that he nearly gagged himself on that rigid length, but it was worth it. He'd last given a blowjob in Antarctica, before he became a leader in a closed society and decided he had to give up casual sex, and he'd missed this.

And to have not only this again, a hard blood-hot cock in his mouth, but John, John's skinny hips and muscled runner's legs, the perfect weight of his balls in Rodney's hand.

"Don't make me come," John said, somewhere up above. Rodney had to fight off the haze to focus as John told him urgently, "I want you to fuck me. You have to fuck me, I want to wait, I want to feel you when I get off."

Groaning, Rodney sucked him hard for a few last pumps and pawed at him, "Turn, turn," til John faced the wall, hands spread flat, and Rodney spread him open and swirled his tongue right there into the center of him, tonguing the knot of his hole til the muscles began to relax and John was gasping and crying out.

"Rodney, now, now--"

"Oh god yes," Rodney yanked at the belt of his robe til it opened and bolted to his feet fast enough to give himself a head rush, "or, wait, just..."

He stumbled to the nightstand and yanked open the top drawer looking for lubricant, found a tube labeled Vaseline and hurried back clutching it. He popped off the cap and found the tube had a stupidly, maddeningly tiny opening, he had to squish with all his might to get even a dollop out, but it was thickly slick enough that it stayed right where he put it when he rubbed it around John's hole and up inside him. John shoved back against his fingers, making incredible throaty noises.

"If you keep that up I'm going to lose it," Rodney warned him, "some of us didn't already come today," and then he bit his tongue, his hand stilling.

"Don't you dare fucking stop," John panted.

"--Right," Rodney crushed the tube and got enough Vaseline to fist onto his cock, gripped himself firmly and guided himself to John's cleft, rubbing against his hole insistently til he could dip inside, withdraw and push in a little further, over and over. John was clearly trying not to make as much noise but when Rodney pulled out once more, he made a fist and pounded the wall, growling frustration.

"God, I have to," Rodney started, but John was already wriggling back onto him insistently and saying Yesyesyes.

John braced himself and Rodney just took him, shoving in and bottoming out all in one strong perfect motion, and again, and again. He'd never had this kind of control before, but this was John. Rodney was familiar with John's body in a hundred ways already; he'd never wanted anyone as much or known anyone as well.

It was almost miraculous, watching as the muscles in John's neck and shoulders relaxed slightly, as John hung his head and let himself sway drunkenly with Rodney's thrusts. John's arms stayed locked against the wall, but the rest of his body yielded so perfectly that Rodney thought he might die if he couldn't do this forever.

He slowed his pace and dragged his hands over John's skin, exploring the planes of John's hips and chest, teasing at his nipples. He touched John's lips and John took his fingers in, tongue burning wet against Rodney's fingertips.

Rodney lavished bites and sucking kisses that left marks on John's shoulders, gnawing at every spot that made John toss his head and gasp. He couldn't stop marveling that John was letting him run this, that John was just groaning and growling and pushing back, taking everything Rodney gave him.

"Rodney," John rasped, demanding, pleading. It went straight to Rodney's dick, he had to stop, and John made a thwarted, needy, hungry noise like nothing Rodney ever thought he'd hear from anyone, let alone John Sheppard.

"Five seconds," Rodney said, and when John tried to shove back again, Rodney slapped his ass without even thinking about it, and the heartfelt "Oh" from John forced Rodney to grab himself at the base of his cock to keep from losing it.

Inspired, he held himself in check with his left hand and slid the other around John's body.

"Is this what you were thinking about when you had me stand behind you?" he asked, easing himself deeper and deeper til he had to let go to sink in completely.

A few seconds passed, so slowly while Rodney fought off the need to thrust just once, just a little friction, anything...

"Yes," John admitted, and Rodney rewarded them both, closing his hand around John and pulling up and down his whole length til he felt John's body galvanized under him, right on the edge; Rodney twisted his fist around the head of John's cock, fingers rippling just under the lip, and John shouted when he came.

Rodney could feel every twitch and wildly thumping heartbeat almost as if it were happening to him, and then he was moving again and it was happening to him, one wringing shock after another.

He sort of blurred out, aware they were staggering back to the bed but barely cognizant. The room reconstituted itself around him, sheets warming over him, his arm around John's shoulders.

John snuggled up to him with an ease Rodney never would have believed if he weren't witnessing it up close and very, very personal. Experimentally, he petted the nape of John's neck. John hummed in pleasure.

"Oh god, tell me this is going to be a regular thing," Rodney blurted, all possible cool deserting him. He scowled at himself-- he'd been so on top of things, not even five minutes ago! So in control! What happened?

But John didn't seem to notice or maybe he just didn't care; he didn't even open his eyes, just gave a little smile and said, "Oh yeah. Better believe it."

"If anyone ever finds out how this happened, we are in for so much couple's therapy."

John snorted a laugh and pinched Rodney's ass, ignoring Rodney's indignant Hey!

"But really," Rodney said fretfully.

John lifted his head and leveled a drowsy, irked look at him. "Rodney. It's not how I would've picked to get here, but..." he foundered and shrugged. "What happened sucked but I'm not letting it get in my way. If I'd had the choice I would've wanted those things."

"Things, plural?" Rodney hopes he's not talking about sex in front of a crowd. Or the swords.

John shifted and bit at his lip, apparently running to the end of his supply of communicative words for the day.

Rodney thought of John's habitual wristband and asked hopefully, "The handcuffs?"

John snuck a look at him and tipped his head in acknowledgement.

"Huh. That's... yeah." Rodney absorbed that with an increasingly warm feeling that he thought might just possibly be happiness. "You're staying, right?" He pulled John in a little more tightly.

"You bet." John smiled, sleepy and tender. "Just accept it. You're stuck with me."
Tags: genre: slash, pairing: mckay/sheppard

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