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fredbassettTitle : The Caterpillar Effect
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : SGA
Rating : 15
Characters : John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Disclaimer : Not mine no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count: 8,200 (approx.)
Spoilers : None
Summary : A visit to a strange planet doesn’t go quite according to plan
A/N : 1) This has been written for the lovely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wanted_a_pony who very kindly bid on me in an auction. I hope this is the sort of thing you were thinking of and that you enjoy this! 2) I owe a huge debt of gratitude to kerry_louise who has answered endless queries and been with me every step of the way, and to fififolle for her awesome beta skills.
Something thumped into the tree above John’s head.
“They’re using bows and arrows!” Rodney’s voice was redolent with outrage.
John wasn’t quite sure why bows and arrows were more deserving of outrage than any other projectile weapon but now was clearly not the time for a debate on the subject.
He grabbed Rodney’s arm and yanked him behind the tree.
“Ow!”
“Send me a memo later, McKay.” Another thump into the grey bark of the tree told its own story. “I thought Teyla said these guys were meant to be friendly?”
“She did. That’s why we’re here on our own, Colonel Trusting.”
“Run now, complain later.” John grabbed one of Rodney’s arms and hauled him into the undergrowth.
Their progress through the forest wasn’t exactly quiet, but they needed to find somewhere they could hide or circle back to the field where they’d left the puddle jumper. But the problem with that was that a bunch of people who wouldn’t have looked out of place in an old Errol Flynn film were currently between John, Rodney and their means of transport, so getting the hell out of there by whatever means possible seemed like the best option.
A black-fletched arrow embedded itself in the soft floor of the forest a few feet away and another one hit the bole of a small tree even closer to them. To his surprise, the business end of the arrow was flint, not metal, but it would kill just as easily, even though it did seem primitive.
“She did say there might be other people about…”
“Like I said, McKay, less griping, more running.”
“Are we carrying these guns just because the straps make our asses look good?”
“No, we’re carrying them so we can defend ourselves.”
“So why are we running from the crazy bow-wielding natives?”
“Submachine guns against bows and arrows? Wouldn’t go down well with Elizabeth. I distinctly heard her say ‘play nicely’, remember? And I don’t think she’ll think it’s playing nice to cut someone in half with a line of bullets when all they’ve got is bows.” John dived behind an outcrop of rock and dragged Rodney with him. He knew perfectly well that arrows could kill just as well as a bullet but he wasn’t ready to deploy their sort of firepower quite yet.
Rodney made it perfectly plain what he thought with nothing more than a snort, although John had to admit it was an exceedingly expressive snort. But by then, it was probably the only noise Rodney was capable of making.
At least getting his ass handed to him on a plate by Teyla on a regular basis in their combat sessions had the by-product of enabling John to hold a conversation whilst running for his life.
Rodney, however, wasn’t in quite the same shape, despite running like this on a relatively regular basis. His breath was coming in short pants, which at least stopped him from ripping John a new one for failing to bring this encounter to a satisfying conclusion by means of superior force.
While Rodney was groping for a suitably pithy put-down and enough breath to give vent to it, John slung his P90 off his shoulder and fired a short burst into the air over the heads of their attackers. Several more flint-tipped arrows were promptly loosed in their direction, but none came close enough to cause concern. A flurry of black birds rose up in the air, flapping away angrily from the sound of gunfire.
As friendly contacts went, this one was low on the list of textbook examples. All they’d been intending to do was follow up a rumour about a possible sighting of a ZPM but to do that they needed to meet someone with an ‘ask questions first, shoot later’ approach that the guys following them seemed to lack.
John still hadn’t managed to get much of a look at their attackers, so he didn’t know if everything else about them was as primitive as their weaponry and at the moment that really didn’t seem to matter much. Primitive or not, the bows had a decent range and unless John was prepared to kill, there wasn’t a lot they could do at the moment beyond make a tactical withdrawal.
“You up to running again?”
Rodney’s expression would have stopped a Wraith in its tracks. “If I must… Just remember that we don’t all torture ourselves running miles every day for no good reason. I get enough of that when I go off on a jaunt with you!”
From what John has seen on numerous occasions in the communal showers, Rodney kept himself in reasonable shape, despite his protestations to the contrary, but pinned down behind a rock outcrop being shot at by archers wasn’t exactly the right time to dwell on thoughts of Rodney’s naked body.
A brief glance around the side of the jagged grey rocks told John that the burst he’d fired had bought them some time. He nodded to Rodney and they started to run, zig-zagging between the trees, working their way back in the direction of the jumper. John was starting to wonder if they were simply being herded off the planet by people who had no real intention of doing them harm, but a moment later, that theory crashed and burnt in spectacular fashion when the back of Rodney’s leg suddenly sprouted a black-fletched arrow.
Rodney gave a small gasp and stumbled, his face frozen in an almost comical expression of shock. But there was nothing funny about their situation. John could see the puddle jumper now and there appeared to be nothing or no one blocking their progress towards it. Nothing apart from the black-fletched arrow embedded in the back of Rodney’s thigh.
John turned around, dropped to one knee and fired a burst of bullets into the ground in front of where he guessed their attackers were. With Rodney injured, the game had changed. If the other side were playing for keeps, he was happy to do the same. The next shots he fired wouldn’t be a warning.
“Can you still walk?” he demanded.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I have an arrow sticking out of my leg. And don’t make any smart-assed remarks about me making a habit of it... Of course I can’t walk!” Rodney gave the lie to his words by managing a fast hobble, pain written across his always-expressive face as large as the words DON’T TOUCH! that were usually emblazoned on the screen saver on his computer in the lab.
John followed, bringing him to a halt with a hand on his shoulder. “Hold on a minute, McKay, you’re gonna do more damage like that… Brace yourself…” John took hold of the shaft of the arrow and snapped it so that no more than a few inches were left protruding from Rodney’s BDUs. He couldn’t run the risk of nicking a blood vessel or ripping Rodney’s flesh by attempting to remove the flint point. That was going to be up to Carson when – if – they got back to Atlantis. He needed to wrap something around the leg to hold the arrow point in place, but he could hardly stop to administer battlefield first aid in the current circumstances. That would have to wait.
As he turned back to face their pursuers, an arrow cut neatly through the heavy material of John’s black jacket, slicing through the flesh of his left arm before continuing on its way and striking the ground several metres in front of him. The bows, whilst not as large as some John had seen, clearly packed a punch. Ignoring the sudden burst of pain in his arm, John swung his P90 up and snapped off a shot at the closest of their attackers. Play nice was a fast vanishing concept. What John was really doing at the moment was playing to survive, and if that meant getting nasty, then that’s what he’d have to do.
The man went down, clutching his leg. John had put a bullet though his thigh, or at least that’s what he’d been aiming to do. If he’d pulverised bone that was just tough.
“Keep moving, Rodney,” he ordered, not looking back.
“And leave you to…?”
“Quit arguing, McKay. Get to the jumper and give me some covering fire from there. That’s an order!”
Rodney muttered something under his breath that was drowned out by the next staccato burst of noise from John’s assault rifle. The P90 could lay down 900 rounds per minute if John had the ammunition available, but that definitely wouldn’t count as playing nice.
The man he’d hit was writhing on the ground, his voice raised in a keening wail. Two of his companions had slung their bows across their backs and run to his aid. Three more had bows drawn, ready to loose more arrows at John and Rodney. Holding his weapon tight to his body and sighting carefully, John put a bullet through one man’s shoulder. He screamed and dropped his bow. The small calibre, high velocity round would have punched straight through flesh and bone, doing considerable damage. Two of their assailants were out of action now, tying up more of their comrades in rendering assistance. Standard contact tactics. Wounded comrades were a greater drain on resources than a dead body.
He’d managed to create enough panic to cover their retreat. Or at least John hoped he had.
Rodney was making slow but steady progress through long, dry grass towards the jumper. John just hoped that the point wasn’t lodged too close to a major blood vessel. This was no place to start bleeding out. With his P90 held close to his chest, John started to run, glancing back over his shoulder, checking to ensure that their attackers were still otherwise occupied.
John slung Rodney’s arm around his shoulder and did his best to take his friend’s weight. Rodney’s face was pale and drawn, his mouth set in a hard line from which harsh breaths were escaping. With John’s help he was able to keep up a better pace but their progress could hardly be described as fast. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that some people simply didn’t know when to stay down.
“You’re on your own again, McKay, looks like a bit more discouragement is needed…”
A grunt was all the reply he got, but Rodney continued moving forward.
John could feel blood trickling down his left arm inside his jacket and the wound was starting to burn. He aimed a volley of shots across the ground in front of their pursuers, sending earth splattering up and shredding the tall grass. He’d started with a full 50 round magazine and had another nine stowed in the pockets of his equipment vest. Ammunition wasn’t one of his concerns.
John lifted the barrel of the P90 again and sent an aimed shot into another man’s leg. He had no idea if he was being merciful or simply dooming them to slow and painful death at the hand of inadequate medicine, but right now, he didn’t care. Rodney’s survival was all that mattered. John had allowed them to walk into trouble as a result of inadequate intelligence and it was his job to get the scientist back to Atlantis alive. Their attackers seemed to be running out of steam and another volley of shots placed as close to them as John could get without actually cutting the men to ribbons bought him the time he needed to turn around and run like hell for the jumper.
The crack of a bullet past his ear told John that Rodney had reached cover and was doing his best to make sure no one was in a position to send any more arrows in their direction.
John skidded to a halt next to him and moments later they were inside the craft. An arrow skittered harmless off the metal shell as the door closed behind them.
“We made it, McKay.”
A grunt was all the answer he got. Rodney had slumped down against the back of one of the seats, his face paler than John ever remembered seeing it. His mouth was open and his breath was now coming in laboured gasps.
John carefully manoeuvred Rodney onto his stomach and used his combat knife to slit the bloodstained black BDUs and underwear to reveal three inches of broken arrow protruding from Rodney’s flesh. The skin around the wound had turned a dark, mottled red, spreading up over Rodney’s left buttock. John had seen wounds from arrows before, but nothing quite like this.
As quickly as he could, he pulled out the backpack containing their field medicine kits and followed the training he’d been given. He needed to immobilise the arrow in Rodney’s flesh by wrapping a bandage gently around Rodney’s upper thigh to hold the remains of the arrow in place and prevent any movement.
It was easier said than done.
As he worked, John kept up a string of inanities, probably more for his benefit than Rodney’s. When he finished, he took off his own bloodstained jacket, wadded it up into a makeshift pillow and placed it under Rodney’s head. The wound on John’s arm was still oozing blood, but showed no sign of the livid mottling that now marred Rodney’s pale skin. He slapped a field dressing on his injury and then strapped himself into the pilot’s seat.
As soon as they were safely off the surface of the planet, John flicked a switch on the communications console in front of him. “Atlantis, this is Sheppard, Dr McKay is injured. I want a medical team in the jumper bay. I repeat, a medical team in the jumper bay.”
“Affirmative, Colonel Sheppard,” replied a calm voice.
* * * * *
As soon as the doors of the jumper slid open, medics poured in, checking Rodney’s vital signs before loading him face down on a stretcher, rushing him from the jumper onto a gurney and then heading for the medical bay at a run.
Relief crashed over John in a wave. He’d endured the flight back to Atlantis with the sound of Rodney’s laboured breathing in his ears. It didn’t take a medic to tell him that the likelihood was that the arrow had been poisoned and that the poison was working its way through Rodney’s system, doing God only knew what damage.
His own wound, however, didn’t seem to be reacting in the same way. His arm felt hot, but there was none of the same livid colour that had suffused Rodney’s wound surrounding it and nothing seemed too out of the ordinary for that sort of injury.
“Colonel Sheppard, sir?”
The medic’s voice dragged him back into the moment. “I’m fine,” he said, waving a hand at the open door. “Go on, I don’t need a stretcher.”
The young medic grinned. “I wasn’t suggesting you did, sir, but Dr Beckett’s going to want to look you over and get that dealt with.” The man gestured to the bloodied dressing on John’s arm.
As it turned out, Carson was too preoccupied with Rodney to pay much attention to John, but the other members of the medical team were just as thorough and meted out less sarcasm. Swabs were taken from the bloody crease along his upper arm and in very short order, John found himself pumped full of a cocktail of drugs of one sort and another and then forced to sit and wait for news of Rodney.
“How’s McKay doing?” he demanded, doing his best to keep his voice even.
“Dr Beckett’s with him now,” the medic said, ducking the issue in the smooth way that they all seemed to have in the face of anyone wanting real information.
“Was the arrow poisoned?”
“We’re running tests now. But it does sound like he’s having an adverse reaction to something.”
“I should have ripped the damn thing out!”
“Not if you’d wanted him to stay alive. The tip was barbed and far too close to an artery for comfort.”
As the words sunk in, John felt the chill of adrenaline fatigue start to take its toll and he could feel himself start to shake. He had toyed with the idea of pulling the arrow out and staunching the wound, and before he could stop himself his mind grabbed that scenario and ran with it…
“I’ll get you a hot drink, Colonel. Stay where you are, Dr Beckett told me to tell you he doesn’t want you running around for the moment anywhere where he can’t keep an eye on you.” The medic stepped out of the cubicle and pulled the curtain closed, giving John some privacy to let the reaction claim him in safe surroundings.
He’d given enough lectures to raw recruits about their likely reactions after a first violent contact to know that he needed to clear his mind and let the sensations flow harmlessly through him. The feeling of weakness would pass, and it would happen more quickly if he didn’t try to ignore it. After some fights he would end up with nothing more serious than a hard-on that could knock holes in wood, but there were others that left a different legacy and it looked like this was going to be one of them.
He took the mental image of Rodney’s life ebbing away in a gush of warm blood and held it for a moment, acknowledging that it could have happened, but then reminding himself that it hadn’t, that he had taken the right decision based on the training that he’d been given. He’d made the right call. John sucked in a deep lungful of air that tasted of antiseptic, held the breath for a moment and then let it out, equally slowly, expelling the blood-stained images at the same time. Kate Heightmeyer would be proud of him.
By the time the medic returned, John had the shakes under control. The drink was tea rather than coffee and contained too much sugar for his liking but he had more sense than to argue. The medical personnel on Atlantis were more than capable of putting him in his place and in any event, he valued their good will.
“He’s no worse, so drink that and get some rest. Dr Beckett says he’ll be along as soon as he can.”
John was about to protest that he was absolutely fine when another shiver ran through him and the mug fell to the floor, splattering tea over the pristine white tiles of the infirmary.
White tiles that were suddenly rushing up to meet him as he slumped forward, unable to break his fall.
The last thing he heard was the medic muttering, “Oh crap…”
* * * * *
John came awake in an instant. One moment running for his life down an ever-shifting maze of corridors, then next looking up at a grey-tiled ceiling wondering when something small and furry had died during hibernation in his mouth.
His head ached, his lips were dry and his throat felt parched. His last memory was of drinking something that really shouldn’t have been dignified with the name of tea and then pitching forward onto the floor. The embarrassment of flaking out like that brought with it a warm flush and an involuntary groan as John tried to move and discovered that he felt almost indescribably weak and ached throughout his entire body.
“Welcome back, John. I was beginning to wonder how long you were going to stay AWOL.”
John blinked eyes that felt like someone had tipped sand into them and stared up at Carson Beckett. “How long have I been out of it?” Even to John’s own ears, his voice sounded rough.
“Three days, give or take a few hours.”
John blinked again.
“Rodney wasn’t the only one who had a bad reaction to what had been smeared on the points of those arrows. Yours just took a while to manifest then it ran its course in a different direction.”
So his fit of the shakes hadn’t just been John behaving like a raw recruit. He turned the information over in his mind, trying to grope for his next question even as he felt himself starting to slip back into unconsciousness. “Rodney…?”
“In better shape than you and complaining bitterly about being confined to bed.”
A smile twitched at the corners of John’s mouth.
It was good to know that some things hadn’t changed.
* * * * *
“We’re entitled to time off for good behaviour!” Rodney declared.
“And what good behaviour might that be?” Carson enquired, staring at the pair of them with an amused glint in his eyes.
John had spent the last two days confined to a bed next to Rodney and, if asked, he would have to be honest about the lack of good behaviour. Rodney had complained about, in no particular order: the room being too hot, the room being too cold, his pillows being too lumpy, his pillows being too flat, the food being too tasteless, the lack of coffee, the fact that he had forced to pee into a cardboard bottle… and so the list had gone on.
The litany of complaints was clearly water off a duck’s back so far as the medical staff were concerned, and John was certain that bets were being placed on what the next objection would be. He could have sworn he’s seen two of them high-fiving each other when Rodney’s first complaint on waking that morning had been the state of his pillows followed by the fact that he wasn’t being allowed the use of his laptop.
They’d started having visitors the previous day. Elizabeth had been amused by John’s protestations that he’d played as nice as he could and Teyla had been apologetic about leading them to believe that the inhabitants of the planet were peaceful. As it turned out, the problem had been caused by an unexpected migration from the planet’s southern hemisphere where life was clearly harder and a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude had prevailed. They had seen John and Rodney and coveted their weapons, so they’d tried to take them.
The arrow-tips had been poisoned. To complicate matters, they had each been exposed to different toxins and, to make things worse, Rodney had experienced a bad allergic reaction on top of the effects of the poison. His conversations with Carson had reinforced the comment that John had done the wisest thing by leaving the arrow in situ as the anti-coagulant effect of the poison coupled with any tear to a major blood vessel would have been dramatic, to say the least.
John’s reaction had been slower to start, but with him it had been harder to isolate the cause of the problem. Eventually, Carson had determined that they had both been suffering the effects of toxins obtained from dipping the arrowheads in the bodies of crushed caterpillars.
The disgusted noise Rodney had made when he’d heard that had been up there with the best, as had his expression. The fact that a mix of caterpillars had probably been used had made Carson’s life very hard indeed. Both John and Rodney were weaker than they wanted to admit, and Rodney was in added discomfort from the wound in his upper thigh, but Carson was quick to assure them that only a masochistic idiot would try to confine them to the medical day even an hour longer than strictly necessary.
On the third day, they were allowed back to their own rooms, under strict orders to rest. Four hours and three chapters of War and Peace later, after he’d turned stir crazy and gone for a walk, John was escorted back by Teyla and Ronon, and Rodney was ejected from his lab by a wildly-gesticulating Zelenka.
“Not welcome, huh?” John was already exhausted by his foray into the outside world, and from the pale, pinched look on Rodney’s face, his friend had fared no better.
“They need me!” Rodney declaimed dramatically. “They just won’t admit it.”
“No, Rodney, Carson is right, you need rest,” Teyla said, clearly doing her best to sound soothing.
“You’re using The Voice. Why does everyone use The Voice the minute you stub your toe?”
“You nearly died, Rodney.”
“You’re using it again!”
John rolled his eyes in sympathy with Teyla and studiously avoided catching Ronon’s eye even though he privately knew exactly what Rodney meant. There was something about illness or injury that brought out that particular vocal trait. His mother had spoken like that, so had nearly every female of his acquaintance. It was not dissimilar to the tone of voice cultivated by medics who used the word ‘we’ a lot. Being asked have ‘we’ successfully used the toilet was one of the worst aspects of incarceration in the medical bay.
“Why don’t you babysit each other?” Ronon asked making absolutely no attempt at disguising his amusement at Rodney’s griping.
“I don’t know, why don’t we babysit each other?” Rodney parroted. He glared at John, daring him to reply.
John held up both hands defensively. “Your choice, McKay. I’m easy.”
“Yes, Colonel, I’m well aware of that.” Rodney opened the door to his room and did his best to sweep inside with dignity. Unfortunately the limp and the slight wobble as he shook himself free of Teyla’s hand on his arm somewhat spoiled the effect. “Well, what are you waiting for? If I have to play nursemaid, you can at least have the good grace to look grateful!”
“Yes, Rodney, of course, Rodney, anything you say…”
Rodney raised his eyebrows imperiously. “Don’t make me use The Voice on you…”
* * * * *
“You’ve never watched Metropolis?” Rodney’s delivery didn’t quite match the one that had greeted Carson’s revelation about the caterpillar toxins, but it ran it a close second.
Nearly three hours later, John was almost asleep on the couch next to Rodney.
“Fritz Lang was a genius,” Rodney enthused.
“Takes one to know one, I guess,” John muttered.
“His use of the Schüfftan process was groundbreaking.”
“Smoke and mirrors.”
“You were watching.” Rodney’s tone was almost accusatory.
“McKay, with your elbow in my ribs every five minutes, I didn’t have a lot of choice.”
Rodney’s grin didn’t bode well for the next few hours. “Clockwork Orange!”
“Seen it.”
“Invasion of the Body Snatchers!”
“Give me strength! Everyone’s seen that.”
“Planet of the Apes…” and before John could draw breath, Rodney added, with a flourish, “The original.”
John relented. He’d seen it, but it had been worth it for Roddy McDowall in an ape suit. He remembered watching it at home, years ago when his mother, not what anyone could have described as a movie buff had walked in and declared, after no more than a minute, ‘It’s Roddy McDowall, you can tell by the eyes!’
“We need popcorn!”
By the time Charlton Heston was staring up at the Statue of Liberty, they’d consumed several bottles of beer and eaten almost their own bodyweight in popcorn. John stretched, suddenly aware of exactly how exhausted he felt. “Need to get some sleep,” he muttered, standing up and swaying slightly.
“You’re not in any fit state to go anywhere,” Rodney declared. “Me nursemaid, remember?”
John rolled his eyes, possibly the only part of his body that was capable of easy movement. “I’m fine.” He took two paces towards the door and realised that his legs felt like jelly.
The expression on Rodney’s face was triumphant. He waved a hand at the bed and announced, “Sleep on the left and don’t snore. There’s a fresh toothbrush in the bathroom.”
“Are you ordering me around?” John was incredulous. He’d fantasised on numerous occasions about ending up in Rodney’s bed, but he just hadn’t expected it to happen because he was too weak to walk back to his own room. It gave a new and very unwelcome slant on the idea of a knee trembler.
Rodney beamed at him, clearly enjoying having the upper hand.
* * * * *
It took precisely two hours twenty-three minutes for John to realise that sharing a bed with Rodney was a monumentally bad idea.
Against all expectations, Rodney McKay was a cuddler. The sort of cuddler who thought nothing of snuggling up to John’s back in sleep and draping a heavy arm around his waist. He wondered for a moment whether Rodney really was asleep, but then a small, pig-like grunt put paid to any doubts.
They were both wearing loose pants and baggy teeshirts, and John was glad of that as his cock twitched hopefully, but even with the object of a fair few fantasies snuffling into the back of his neck, it didn’t go further than that. John was bone weary, even if he’d done nothing more strenuous for the last six hours than fetch beer from the fridge and eat more popcorn. His slide into sleep was rapid and inexorable.
When he woke up the following morning, it was to an empty bed. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him that he’d slept for almost eight hours. He stretched luxuriously, almost revelling for once in the heaviness of his limbs. He hadn’t had a lie-in like this in a proper bed for longer than he cared to remember, and the narrow, infirmary beds certainly didn’t count.
He could hear the noise of running water in the bathroom and presumed that Rodney was testing the efficacy of Carson’s waterproof dressings in the shower. He needed to do the same himself, but would have to make his way back to his own room for that as he didn’t have a change of clothes with him.
Standing up, John was pleased to note that the extreme wobbles of the previous day had receded, although he did still ache all over. As he padded barefoot across the room, Rodney emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand as he rubbed at his hair.
“Ronon brought some of your things over,” Rodney gestured to a pile of clothes on one of the chairs. There was also a bag containing John’s own toothbrush and razor, although he had no intention of getting rid of the dark stubble that was already turning into a short beard. There had to be some perks to being on sick leave and giving up shaving was one of them and, judging by the stubble on Rodney’s face, his friend was thinking exactly the same way.
“So we’re still on mutual nursemaid duty?”
Rodney shrugged. “Looks that way.” He waved a hand at the bathroom. “It’s all yours, I’ve left you some fresh towels. Carson was right about the dressings. They are waterproof.”
“Nice to know.”
The shower was hot and John enjoyed ridding himself of the antiseptic smell that had clung to his skin after his time in the infirmary. The pine-scented shampoo was sharp in his nostrils and sent suds streaming down his body. John ran his fingers over his half-hard cock, but he drew the line at wanking in the shower with Rodney in the next room, so his erection would just have to subside naturally.
By the time John emerged wearing black sweatpants and a grey teeshirt, Rodney had got dressed as well, favouring the same style of clothing. The wound in Rodney’s leg had left him with a limp and made sitting awkward so he stayed on his feet as they ate the breakfast that had been delivered to the room while John had been in the shower. From the amusement on his friend’s face, John wondered what sort of mutual nursemaiding Rodney had in mind.
“Blade Runner!” Rodney declared, answering John’s unasked question.
“If you inflict the Director’s Cut on me it’ll be the end of a beautiful friendship.”
“What do you take me for?” Rodney demanded with a sneer.
“Someone who wanted to watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers last night.”
“It’s a classic!”
“It’s a turkey. Can we watch Alien later?”
“I’ll think about it. I suppose you want to watch Terminator as well?”
“Gotta be done,” John acknowledged. “Have we got any more popcorn?”
Despite almost eight hours sleep, John still felt tired, and the unremitting darkness of the film started to send him to sleep. By the time it came to the final confrontation between Roy and Deckard, John had slumped sideways and was leaning against Rodney’s shoulder, unresponsive to the digs in the ribs that had been dispensed throughout the rest of the film. By the time the credits were rolling, John was asleep.
* * * * *
John awoke to the sound of the pig-like snuffles he recognised from the previous night. He was sprawled out on the sofa, with his head on Rodney’s chest. The first thing he did was check for drool, but at least he appeared to have been spared that particular indignity. Rodney’s arm was resting on John’s shoulder and his injured leg was supported by a footstool. They were in an untidy jumble of arms and legs, although while he’d been asleep, John had been perfectly comfortable but now he had a numb arm and pins and needles in one foot.
Untangling himself from Rodney wasn’t easy and inevitably the snoring stuttered to a halt.
“Coffee?” John asked. “It’s too early for beer.”
“Coffee’s good.” Rodney struggled upright, wincing as he moved his injured leg. “Coffee and biscuits is better. Then we can watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
“We agreed on Terminator!”
As the week progressed, John lost count of the number of movies they watched, but gradually they were both able to stay awake for longer and even started to exercise again. But at night, by unspoken agreement, John stayed in Rodney’s quarters.
Rodney still cuddled in his sleep, John still got inappropriate erections and did nothing about them and in the morning they both did a good job of pretending nothing had happened.
After four days, they were able to walk to the infirmary for their check ups without needing to stop to rest on the way, and Carson finally agreed to Rodney’s entreaty to be allowed access to his laptop. By the same token, John was cleared to go to the gym and start to regain the fitness he’d lost.
Exactly two weeks after they had made a close acquaintanceship of arrows dipped in crushed caterpillars, they were both cleared to return to light duties.
John stared around his own quarters feeling like a stranger in a hotel room. He’d only been back there for clothes since his release from the infirmary and it was even weirder to be able to dress in uniform again, instead of slopping around in sweatpants and teeshirts. The best thing about his release from the sick list was the ability to get some proper exercise. In his first bout with Teyla, he found himself flat on his back on the practice mat in a matter of seconds, but despite that he enjoyed the familiar and much-missed rush of adrenaline that came from squaring up against friend or foe.
After only ten minutes, his legs felt like jelly and he was breathing hard. With his hands on his thighs, John sucked air into his lungs and tried to steady himself.
Teyla smiled and pulled him into an unaccustomed hug. “I am very happy you are back with us, John.”
“That’s not what Zelenka’s saying about Rodney,” Ronon announced from the doorway.
“They bicker like the old women of my village at a marriage feast,” Teyla said. “I suggest we wait one hour and then seek an excuse to separate them.”
As it turned out, they left it nearly three hours, but by then, it didn’t need Carson to announce that Rodney needed some rest. His face was pale and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. When John suggested he took a break for coffee and something to eat, Rodney agreed with surprising alacrity.
They lingered in the canteen, chatting to friends and colleagues they’d seen little of over the past two weeks. Afterwards, John caught up with a daunting stack of reports that were threatening to overflow off his desk and colonise the floor. Most just needed checking and signing off, but anything that required more than a cursory glance was put aside for another day.
Try as he might to concentrate, John’s thoughts kept sliding away in the direction of the most puzzling aspect of the last two weeks. He and Rodney had been colleagues for a long time and friends for almost as long. There were times when John had wondered if there might be something more between them than friendship, but he’d never dared follow that thought too far. They worked together on a daily basis, and although his sexual orientation would no longer jeopardise his career, old habits died hard. John had spent so long studiously avoiding any contact that could compromise him that he had almost forgotten how to make a connection on that level, and the idea of clinical, one-night stands in his infrequent down-time away from Atlantis had long since ceased to hold any appeal.
“John, you have been here too long.” Teyla’s voice broke into his thoughts.
He looked up from a report that he had been staring at without reading for at least the last half hour and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He mustered a smile. “Are you going to put me flat on my back on the mat again tomorrow morning?”
“Only if you show some good sense now. Radek has finally managed to evict Rodney from the lab, so are you going to follow his example and go quietly?”
John held up both hands. “Sure, Sheriff, anything you say.” The truth was he was too tired to argue and Teyla knew it but she was too good a friend to point that out.
Her only comment, as they parted at the door to his rooms was, “Your strength will return, John. Just do not push yourself too hard, too fast.”
“I’ll remind you of that tomorrow morning when you’ve just slammed me into the mat again.”
* * * * *
John sprawled on his bed and dimmed the lights, but sleep eluded him. He missed the warmth of Rodney’s presence, the companionship that came from falling asleep listening to the rhythmic sound of someone else’s breathing.
He missed Rodney.
It was as simple as that.
They’d worked together, fought together and saved each other’s lives more times than John could remember. During the last week, John had fallen asleep with his head on Rodney’s shoulder, Rodney had done the same with him, hell they’d even spent the better part of two weeks sleeping in the same bed. Memories danced in John’s mind like butterflies: the times they’d shared beer from the same glass because one of them was too lazy to reach even as far as the table for their own drink, the warmth of Rodney’s thigh against his as they sprawled together on the sofa in front of yet another classic sci fi movie. The casual touches that suddenly started to take on a whole new meaning as John took recent events and reassembled them into a slightly different picture.
OK, Rodney’s arm around his waist in bed ought to have been a bit of a giveaway, but John was unused to taking risks where his private life was concerned, a fact that would no doubt have surprised anyone who had experience of his actions in the field.
The noise of pennies dropping in John’s head was probably so loud that half of Atlantis could hear the rattle. He rolled off the bed, pulled on his boots and headed out of his room.
At the last minute, he was half-tempted to just shy away, even as his hand was raised to knock on Rodney’s door, and every instinct was telling him to get the hell out of there.
John drew in a deep breath, shook off his doubts and knocked.
The door was snatched open almost immediately. Rodney’s hair was standing up in damp spikes and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Sorry, I forgot the popcorn,” John drawled. “Would it make up for it if I say we can watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”
“Finally ready to admit it’s a classic?” Rodney challenged.
“Is that the price of sanctuary?”
Rodney’s eyes narrowed slightly and he stared at John, his nose twitching ever so slightly in a way that reminded John of a pet rabbit he’d kept as a boy. John felt that Rodney’s eyes were stripping away the layers of pretence he’d built around him and seeing straight through the armour that had protected him for years.
“You’ve worked it out, haven’t you?” Rodney’s voice was low, suddenly devoid of the gentle but still sharp mockery that he’d wielded to such good effect for so long.
John opened his mouth, about to turn away Rodney’s words with an easy quip, but he stopped himself short. He’d done too much of that sort of deflection over the years.
“Yeah, I reckon I might have done,” John admitted. “Can we by any chance take this discussion inside?”
The fact that Rodney was standing in an open doorway wearing nothing but a towel and a puzzled expression seemed to finally come home to him and he waved John inside, closing the door behind them and leaning against it. John had spent most of his adult life believing that actions spoke louder than words. He closed the distance between them and kissed Rodney. This was a moment he’d fantasised about for years but when it finally happened, John was painfully aware that he was demonstrating all the finesse of a 14-year-old boy.
While John was desperately trying to solve the anatomical problem of how best not to bump their noses together, Rodney’s hand stroked over the back of his neck and then suddenly John remembered that he really did know how to kiss someone, despite how long it had been since he’d actually done anything like that. Rodney’s lips were soft under his and his tongue teased gently into John’s mouth.
When they finally broke apart, John shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot. He could feel a burgeoning erection inside his black BDUs and as the towel around Rodney’s waist left very little to the imagination, John knew he wasn’t the only one in that condition.
“Should we… I mean would you rather…” John stopped, dragging his scattered wits together. He tried again. “Would you prefer to take things…”
“Slowly?” Are you really going to suggest we take things slowly?” Rodney’s voice took on the familiar increased pitch that always accompanied statements of outrage. It had last taken on that pitch when he’d squeaked the word ‘Caterpillars!’ in response to Carson’s news about the cause of their stay in the infirmary. “No, Colonel Clueless, I do not want to take things slowly! We’ve been taking things slowly for the last four years! Or hadn’t you noticed? No, you hadn’t, had you?” Rodney smacked the heel of his hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes in a way that would have drawn a round of applause if they’d had any onlookers.
“You knew?”
“I’m a genius, of course I knew!” Rodney stared at John in a way that reminded him of the looks his grandma used to give him when he’d just done something very stupid that involved home-made explosives and an awful lot of mess. “I don’t think there’s a person on Atlantis who didn’t know apart from you. Why do you think they’ve all been giving us so much space this past week?”
“I… I just thought they were staying away because we were grouchy.” To be fair, John hadn’t really thought about it very much at all, but he felt he needed to say something in the face of Rodney’s expression of withering scorn.
Rodney reached out, hooked his fingers in the waistband of John’s pants and gave a sharp tug. “It’s lucky for you I’ve just had a shower or we might have been another four years just getting to the naked bit.”
Rodney tugged again and gestured to the bed. “At least I’ve got you properly trained in that respect.”
“Yes, Rodney, I know, sleep on the left and don’t snore. Was the arm around my waist a hint?”
“Yes, and it was too subtle for you, wasn’t it?”
“Sure looks that way,” John acknowledged. He knew perfectly well that it would be a long time before he heard the end of his cluelessness, but right then he didn’t really care.
In bed for the first time without any clothes to form a barrier between them, John finally got to feel the warmth of Rodney’s skin under his hands, hands that were now able to roam where they wanted and explore all the places that John had long since given up any hope of mapping.
The back of Rodney’s left leg was still sporting a dressing, as was John’s upper arm, so some caution was required, but hands and mouths were easily able to busy themselves everywhere else. Rodney’s cock was hot and hard under John’s fingers, and the feel of Rodney’s hand on his own dick was very nearly enough to bring the whole encounter to a rapid and messy conclusion.
“Not gonna last long,” John muttered as he furthered his acquaintanceship with Rodney’s neck and jaw.
A long drag on his cock with clever fingers was all the answer John got before Rodney’s lips tracked up and over the stubble on his jaw, then his mouth pressed against John’s, and rational thought hitched a ride to the stars.
John gasped into Rodney’s mouth as his orgasm hit him even faster and very definitely harder than he’d expected. A moment later, Rodney made a small noise in the back of his throat and John felt a tremor run though his body. It didn’t take a genius to work out what had just happened. They held each other until the small aftershocks had abated, John’s head resting comfortably on Rodney’s shoulder.
A few moments later, he felt a nudge in the ribs and Rodney said sleepily, “Tissues, top drawer of the nightstand.”
With a small amount of shuffling and untangling, John was able to grab a handful of tissues and mop up the mess. He felt surprisingly unselfconscious, but then he and Rodney had known each other long enough not to worry about mess. And that was the nub of it all, really. Rodney was right. They’d danced around each other for four years, having everything in a relationship except the sex. On the way to Rodney’s room once the light had started to dawn, John had imagined all sorts of scenarios, all involving some sort of perfect sex, but when push came to shove, it had been rapid and messy, not exactly anyone’s idea of perfect, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had both finally stepped over an invisible line. And although it looked John had been the last person in the known universe to wise up to what had been happening – or rather not happening – he had always prided himself on being a fast learner.
“Does this mean I get to cuddle you back?” he asked, draping his arm over Rodney’s stomach.
“Hah, I always knew you were a closet cuddler!”
“You started it!”
“And you just kept trying to hide your goddam hard-on. Did you think I wasn’t going to notice?”
John grinned. “Well, it’s not as if it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. There’s not exactly much privacy in the communal showers. You could have just tried talking to me about it.”
“We’re men, we don’t talk about our feelings, remember?”
John trailed his fingertips down Rodney’s stomach and stroked the wiry hair around the base of his friend’s cock.
“Do I need to introduce you to the concept of refractory periods?” Rodney demanded. “And with the after-effects of caterpillar toxin, I have no idea how long…”
John gave up that game for a moment and pulled Rodney’s face down to his for another kiss. It seemed as good a way as any of shutting him up. It was just going to be a shame it wasn’t going to be available to him as a method of dealing with Rodney in public places.
But there was no reason whatsoever why he shouldn’t employ those tactics in private.
And at least now John could find something to occupy himself with during the inevitable screening of The Invasion of the Body Snatchers that he would be subjected to before the night was out. He had a lot of catching up to do.
Author : fredbassett
Fandom : SGA
Rating : 15
Characters : John Sheppard/Rodney McKay
Disclaimer : Not mine no money made, don’t sue.
Word Count: 8,200 (approx.)
Spoilers : None
Summary : A visit to a strange planet doesn’t go quite according to plan
A/N : 1) This has been written for the lovely
wanted_a_pony who very kindly bid on me in an auction. I hope this is the sort of thing you were thinking of and that you enjoy this! 2) I owe a huge debt of gratitude to kerry_louise who has answered endless queries and been with me every step of the way, and to fififolle for her awesome beta skills.Something thumped into the tree above John’s head.
“They’re using bows and arrows!” Rodney’s voice was redolent with outrage.
John wasn’t quite sure why bows and arrows were more deserving of outrage than any other projectile weapon but now was clearly not the time for a debate on the subject.
He grabbed Rodney’s arm and yanked him behind the tree.
“Ow!”
“Send me a memo later, McKay.” Another thump into the grey bark of the tree told its own story. “I thought Teyla said these guys were meant to be friendly?”
“She did. That’s why we’re here on our own, Colonel Trusting.”
“Run now, complain later.” John grabbed one of Rodney’s arms and hauled him into the undergrowth.
Their progress through the forest wasn’t exactly quiet, but they needed to find somewhere they could hide or circle back to the field where they’d left the puddle jumper. But the problem with that was that a bunch of people who wouldn’t have looked out of place in an old Errol Flynn film were currently between John, Rodney and their means of transport, so getting the hell out of there by whatever means possible seemed like the best option.
A black-fletched arrow embedded itself in the soft floor of the forest a few feet away and another one hit the bole of a small tree even closer to them. To his surprise, the business end of the arrow was flint, not metal, but it would kill just as easily, even though it did seem primitive.
“She did say there might be other people about…”
“Like I said, McKay, less griping, more running.”
“Are we carrying these guns just because the straps make our asses look good?”
“No, we’re carrying them so we can defend ourselves.”
“So why are we running from the crazy bow-wielding natives?”
“Submachine guns against bows and arrows? Wouldn’t go down well with Elizabeth. I distinctly heard her say ‘play nicely’, remember? And I don’t think she’ll think it’s playing nice to cut someone in half with a line of bullets when all they’ve got is bows.” John dived behind an outcrop of rock and dragged Rodney with him. He knew perfectly well that arrows could kill just as well as a bullet but he wasn’t ready to deploy their sort of firepower quite yet.
Rodney made it perfectly plain what he thought with nothing more than a snort, although John had to admit it was an exceedingly expressive snort. But by then, it was probably the only noise Rodney was capable of making.
At least getting his ass handed to him on a plate by Teyla on a regular basis in their combat sessions had the by-product of enabling John to hold a conversation whilst running for his life.
Rodney, however, wasn’t in quite the same shape, despite running like this on a relatively regular basis. His breath was coming in short pants, which at least stopped him from ripping John a new one for failing to bring this encounter to a satisfying conclusion by means of superior force.
While Rodney was groping for a suitably pithy put-down and enough breath to give vent to it, John slung his P90 off his shoulder and fired a short burst into the air over the heads of their attackers. Several more flint-tipped arrows were promptly loosed in their direction, but none came close enough to cause concern. A flurry of black birds rose up in the air, flapping away angrily from the sound of gunfire.
As friendly contacts went, this one was low on the list of textbook examples. All they’d been intending to do was follow up a rumour about a possible sighting of a ZPM but to do that they needed to meet someone with an ‘ask questions first, shoot later’ approach that the guys following them seemed to lack.
John still hadn’t managed to get much of a look at their attackers, so he didn’t know if everything else about them was as primitive as their weaponry and at the moment that really didn’t seem to matter much. Primitive or not, the bows had a decent range and unless John was prepared to kill, there wasn’t a lot they could do at the moment beyond make a tactical withdrawal.
“You up to running again?”
Rodney’s expression would have stopped a Wraith in its tracks. “If I must… Just remember that we don’t all torture ourselves running miles every day for no good reason. I get enough of that when I go off on a jaunt with you!”
From what John has seen on numerous occasions in the communal showers, Rodney kept himself in reasonable shape, despite his protestations to the contrary, but pinned down behind a rock outcrop being shot at by archers wasn’t exactly the right time to dwell on thoughts of Rodney’s naked body.
A brief glance around the side of the jagged grey rocks told John that the burst he’d fired had bought them some time. He nodded to Rodney and they started to run, zig-zagging between the trees, working their way back in the direction of the jumper. John was starting to wonder if they were simply being herded off the planet by people who had no real intention of doing them harm, but a moment later, that theory crashed and burnt in spectacular fashion when the back of Rodney’s leg suddenly sprouted a black-fletched arrow.
Rodney gave a small gasp and stumbled, his face frozen in an almost comical expression of shock. But there was nothing funny about their situation. John could see the puddle jumper now and there appeared to be nothing or no one blocking their progress towards it. Nothing apart from the black-fletched arrow embedded in the back of Rodney’s thigh.
John turned around, dropped to one knee and fired a burst of bullets into the ground in front of where he guessed their attackers were. With Rodney injured, the game had changed. If the other side were playing for keeps, he was happy to do the same. The next shots he fired wouldn’t be a warning.
“Can you still walk?” he demanded.
“In case you haven’t noticed, I have an arrow sticking out of my leg. And don’t make any smart-assed remarks about me making a habit of it... Of course I can’t walk!” Rodney gave the lie to his words by managing a fast hobble, pain written across his always-expressive face as large as the words DON’T TOUCH! that were usually emblazoned on the screen saver on his computer in the lab.
John followed, bringing him to a halt with a hand on his shoulder. “Hold on a minute, McKay, you’re gonna do more damage like that… Brace yourself…” John took hold of the shaft of the arrow and snapped it so that no more than a few inches were left protruding from Rodney’s BDUs. He couldn’t run the risk of nicking a blood vessel or ripping Rodney’s flesh by attempting to remove the flint point. That was going to be up to Carson when – if – they got back to Atlantis. He needed to wrap something around the leg to hold the arrow point in place, but he could hardly stop to administer battlefield first aid in the current circumstances. That would have to wait.
As he turned back to face their pursuers, an arrow cut neatly through the heavy material of John’s black jacket, slicing through the flesh of his left arm before continuing on its way and striking the ground several metres in front of him. The bows, whilst not as large as some John had seen, clearly packed a punch. Ignoring the sudden burst of pain in his arm, John swung his P90 up and snapped off a shot at the closest of their attackers. Play nice was a fast vanishing concept. What John was really doing at the moment was playing to survive, and if that meant getting nasty, then that’s what he’d have to do.
The man went down, clutching his leg. John had put a bullet though his thigh, or at least that’s what he’d been aiming to do. If he’d pulverised bone that was just tough.
“Keep moving, Rodney,” he ordered, not looking back.
“And leave you to…?”
“Quit arguing, McKay. Get to the jumper and give me some covering fire from there. That’s an order!”
Rodney muttered something under his breath that was drowned out by the next staccato burst of noise from John’s assault rifle. The P90 could lay down 900 rounds per minute if John had the ammunition available, but that definitely wouldn’t count as playing nice.
The man he’d hit was writhing on the ground, his voice raised in a keening wail. Two of his companions had slung their bows across their backs and run to his aid. Three more had bows drawn, ready to loose more arrows at John and Rodney. Holding his weapon tight to his body and sighting carefully, John put a bullet through one man’s shoulder. He screamed and dropped his bow. The small calibre, high velocity round would have punched straight through flesh and bone, doing considerable damage. Two of their assailants were out of action now, tying up more of their comrades in rendering assistance. Standard contact tactics. Wounded comrades were a greater drain on resources than a dead body.
He’d managed to create enough panic to cover their retreat. Or at least John hoped he had.
Rodney was making slow but steady progress through long, dry grass towards the jumper. John just hoped that the point wasn’t lodged too close to a major blood vessel. This was no place to start bleeding out. With his P90 held close to his chest, John started to run, glancing back over his shoulder, checking to ensure that their attackers were still otherwise occupied.
John slung Rodney’s arm around his shoulder and did his best to take his friend’s weight. Rodney’s face was pale and drawn, his mouth set in a hard line from which harsh breaths were escaping. With John’s help he was able to keep up a better pace but their progress could hardly be described as fast. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that some people simply didn’t know when to stay down.
“You’re on your own again, McKay, looks like a bit more discouragement is needed…”
A grunt was all the reply he got, but Rodney continued moving forward.
John could feel blood trickling down his left arm inside his jacket and the wound was starting to burn. He aimed a volley of shots across the ground in front of their pursuers, sending earth splattering up and shredding the tall grass. He’d started with a full 50 round magazine and had another nine stowed in the pockets of his equipment vest. Ammunition wasn’t one of his concerns.
John lifted the barrel of the P90 again and sent an aimed shot into another man’s leg. He had no idea if he was being merciful or simply dooming them to slow and painful death at the hand of inadequate medicine, but right now, he didn’t care. Rodney’s survival was all that mattered. John had allowed them to walk into trouble as a result of inadequate intelligence and it was his job to get the scientist back to Atlantis alive. Their attackers seemed to be running out of steam and another volley of shots placed as close to them as John could get without actually cutting the men to ribbons bought him the time he needed to turn around and run like hell for the jumper.
The crack of a bullet past his ear told John that Rodney had reached cover and was doing his best to make sure no one was in a position to send any more arrows in their direction.
John skidded to a halt next to him and moments later they were inside the craft. An arrow skittered harmless off the metal shell as the door closed behind them.
“We made it, McKay.”
A grunt was all the answer he got. Rodney had slumped down against the back of one of the seats, his face paler than John ever remembered seeing it. His mouth was open and his breath was now coming in laboured gasps.
John carefully manoeuvred Rodney onto his stomach and used his combat knife to slit the bloodstained black BDUs and underwear to reveal three inches of broken arrow protruding from Rodney’s flesh. The skin around the wound had turned a dark, mottled red, spreading up over Rodney’s left buttock. John had seen wounds from arrows before, but nothing quite like this.
As quickly as he could, he pulled out the backpack containing their field medicine kits and followed the training he’d been given. He needed to immobilise the arrow in Rodney’s flesh by wrapping a bandage gently around Rodney’s upper thigh to hold the remains of the arrow in place and prevent any movement.
It was easier said than done.
As he worked, John kept up a string of inanities, probably more for his benefit than Rodney’s. When he finished, he took off his own bloodstained jacket, wadded it up into a makeshift pillow and placed it under Rodney’s head. The wound on John’s arm was still oozing blood, but showed no sign of the livid mottling that now marred Rodney’s pale skin. He slapped a field dressing on his injury and then strapped himself into the pilot’s seat.
As soon as they were safely off the surface of the planet, John flicked a switch on the communications console in front of him. “Atlantis, this is Sheppard, Dr McKay is injured. I want a medical team in the jumper bay. I repeat, a medical team in the jumper bay.”
“Affirmative, Colonel Sheppard,” replied a calm voice.
* * * * *
As soon as the doors of the jumper slid open, medics poured in, checking Rodney’s vital signs before loading him face down on a stretcher, rushing him from the jumper onto a gurney and then heading for the medical bay at a run.
Relief crashed over John in a wave. He’d endured the flight back to Atlantis with the sound of Rodney’s laboured breathing in his ears. It didn’t take a medic to tell him that the likelihood was that the arrow had been poisoned and that the poison was working its way through Rodney’s system, doing God only knew what damage.
His own wound, however, didn’t seem to be reacting in the same way. His arm felt hot, but there was none of the same livid colour that had suffused Rodney’s wound surrounding it and nothing seemed too out of the ordinary for that sort of injury.
“Colonel Sheppard, sir?”
The medic’s voice dragged him back into the moment. “I’m fine,” he said, waving a hand at the open door. “Go on, I don’t need a stretcher.”
The young medic grinned. “I wasn’t suggesting you did, sir, but Dr Beckett’s going to want to look you over and get that dealt with.” The man gestured to the bloodied dressing on John’s arm.
As it turned out, Carson was too preoccupied with Rodney to pay much attention to John, but the other members of the medical team were just as thorough and meted out less sarcasm. Swabs were taken from the bloody crease along his upper arm and in very short order, John found himself pumped full of a cocktail of drugs of one sort and another and then forced to sit and wait for news of Rodney.
“How’s McKay doing?” he demanded, doing his best to keep his voice even.
“Dr Beckett’s with him now,” the medic said, ducking the issue in the smooth way that they all seemed to have in the face of anyone wanting real information.
“Was the arrow poisoned?”
“We’re running tests now. But it does sound like he’s having an adverse reaction to something.”
“I should have ripped the damn thing out!”
“Not if you’d wanted him to stay alive. The tip was barbed and far too close to an artery for comfort.”
As the words sunk in, John felt the chill of adrenaline fatigue start to take its toll and he could feel himself start to shake. He had toyed with the idea of pulling the arrow out and staunching the wound, and before he could stop himself his mind grabbed that scenario and ran with it…
“I’ll get you a hot drink, Colonel. Stay where you are, Dr Beckett told me to tell you he doesn’t want you running around for the moment anywhere where he can’t keep an eye on you.” The medic stepped out of the cubicle and pulled the curtain closed, giving John some privacy to let the reaction claim him in safe surroundings.
He’d given enough lectures to raw recruits about their likely reactions after a first violent contact to know that he needed to clear his mind and let the sensations flow harmlessly through him. The feeling of weakness would pass, and it would happen more quickly if he didn’t try to ignore it. After some fights he would end up with nothing more serious than a hard-on that could knock holes in wood, but there were others that left a different legacy and it looked like this was going to be one of them.
He took the mental image of Rodney’s life ebbing away in a gush of warm blood and held it for a moment, acknowledging that it could have happened, but then reminding himself that it hadn’t, that he had taken the right decision based on the training that he’d been given. He’d made the right call. John sucked in a deep lungful of air that tasted of antiseptic, held the breath for a moment and then let it out, equally slowly, expelling the blood-stained images at the same time. Kate Heightmeyer would be proud of him.
By the time the medic returned, John had the shakes under control. The drink was tea rather than coffee and contained too much sugar for his liking but he had more sense than to argue. The medical personnel on Atlantis were more than capable of putting him in his place and in any event, he valued their good will.
“He’s no worse, so drink that and get some rest. Dr Beckett says he’ll be along as soon as he can.”
John was about to protest that he was absolutely fine when another shiver ran through him and the mug fell to the floor, splattering tea over the pristine white tiles of the infirmary.
White tiles that were suddenly rushing up to meet him as he slumped forward, unable to break his fall.
The last thing he heard was the medic muttering, “Oh crap…”
* * * * *
John came awake in an instant. One moment running for his life down an ever-shifting maze of corridors, then next looking up at a grey-tiled ceiling wondering when something small and furry had died during hibernation in his mouth.
His head ached, his lips were dry and his throat felt parched. His last memory was of drinking something that really shouldn’t have been dignified with the name of tea and then pitching forward onto the floor. The embarrassment of flaking out like that brought with it a warm flush and an involuntary groan as John tried to move and discovered that he felt almost indescribably weak and ached throughout his entire body.
“Welcome back, John. I was beginning to wonder how long you were going to stay AWOL.”
John blinked eyes that felt like someone had tipped sand into them and stared up at Carson Beckett. “How long have I been out of it?” Even to John’s own ears, his voice sounded rough.
“Three days, give or take a few hours.”
John blinked again.
“Rodney wasn’t the only one who had a bad reaction to what had been smeared on the points of those arrows. Yours just took a while to manifest then it ran its course in a different direction.”
So his fit of the shakes hadn’t just been John behaving like a raw recruit. He turned the information over in his mind, trying to grope for his next question even as he felt himself starting to slip back into unconsciousness. “Rodney…?”
“In better shape than you and complaining bitterly about being confined to bed.”
A smile twitched at the corners of John’s mouth.
It was good to know that some things hadn’t changed.
* * * * *
“We’re entitled to time off for good behaviour!” Rodney declared.
“And what good behaviour might that be?” Carson enquired, staring at the pair of them with an amused glint in his eyes.
John had spent the last two days confined to a bed next to Rodney and, if asked, he would have to be honest about the lack of good behaviour. Rodney had complained about, in no particular order: the room being too hot, the room being too cold, his pillows being too lumpy, his pillows being too flat, the food being too tasteless, the lack of coffee, the fact that he had forced to pee into a cardboard bottle… and so the list had gone on.
The litany of complaints was clearly water off a duck’s back so far as the medical staff were concerned, and John was certain that bets were being placed on what the next objection would be. He could have sworn he’s seen two of them high-fiving each other when Rodney’s first complaint on waking that morning had been the state of his pillows followed by the fact that he wasn’t being allowed the use of his laptop.
They’d started having visitors the previous day. Elizabeth had been amused by John’s protestations that he’d played as nice as he could and Teyla had been apologetic about leading them to believe that the inhabitants of the planet were peaceful. As it turned out, the problem had been caused by an unexpected migration from the planet’s southern hemisphere where life was clearly harder and a ‘take no prisoners’ attitude had prevailed. They had seen John and Rodney and coveted their weapons, so they’d tried to take them.
The arrow-tips had been poisoned. To complicate matters, they had each been exposed to different toxins and, to make things worse, Rodney had experienced a bad allergic reaction on top of the effects of the poison. His conversations with Carson had reinforced the comment that John had done the wisest thing by leaving the arrow in situ as the anti-coagulant effect of the poison coupled with any tear to a major blood vessel would have been dramatic, to say the least.
John’s reaction had been slower to start, but with him it had been harder to isolate the cause of the problem. Eventually, Carson had determined that they had both been suffering the effects of toxins obtained from dipping the arrowheads in the bodies of crushed caterpillars.
The disgusted noise Rodney had made when he’d heard that had been up there with the best, as had his expression. The fact that a mix of caterpillars had probably been used had made Carson’s life very hard indeed. Both John and Rodney were weaker than they wanted to admit, and Rodney was in added discomfort from the wound in his upper thigh, but Carson was quick to assure them that only a masochistic idiot would try to confine them to the medical day even an hour longer than strictly necessary.
On the third day, they were allowed back to their own rooms, under strict orders to rest. Four hours and three chapters of War and Peace later, after he’d turned stir crazy and gone for a walk, John was escorted back by Teyla and Ronon, and Rodney was ejected from his lab by a wildly-gesticulating Zelenka.
“Not welcome, huh?” John was already exhausted by his foray into the outside world, and from the pale, pinched look on Rodney’s face, his friend had fared no better.
“They need me!” Rodney declaimed dramatically. “They just won’t admit it.”
“No, Rodney, Carson is right, you need rest,” Teyla said, clearly doing her best to sound soothing.
“You’re using The Voice. Why does everyone use The Voice the minute you stub your toe?”
“You nearly died, Rodney.”
“You’re using it again!”
John rolled his eyes in sympathy with Teyla and studiously avoided catching Ronon’s eye even though he privately knew exactly what Rodney meant. There was something about illness or injury that brought out that particular vocal trait. His mother had spoken like that, so had nearly every female of his acquaintance. It was not dissimilar to the tone of voice cultivated by medics who used the word ‘we’ a lot. Being asked have ‘we’ successfully used the toilet was one of the worst aspects of incarceration in the medical bay.
“Why don’t you babysit each other?” Ronon asked making absolutely no attempt at disguising his amusement at Rodney’s griping.
“I don’t know, why don’t we babysit each other?” Rodney parroted. He glared at John, daring him to reply.
John held up both hands defensively. “Your choice, McKay. I’m easy.”
“Yes, Colonel, I’m well aware of that.” Rodney opened the door to his room and did his best to sweep inside with dignity. Unfortunately the limp and the slight wobble as he shook himself free of Teyla’s hand on his arm somewhat spoiled the effect. “Well, what are you waiting for? If I have to play nursemaid, you can at least have the good grace to look grateful!”
“Yes, Rodney, of course, Rodney, anything you say…”
Rodney raised his eyebrows imperiously. “Don’t make me use The Voice on you…”
* * * * *
“You’ve never watched Metropolis?” Rodney’s delivery didn’t quite match the one that had greeted Carson’s revelation about the caterpillar toxins, but it ran it a close second.
Nearly three hours later, John was almost asleep on the couch next to Rodney.
“Fritz Lang was a genius,” Rodney enthused.
“Takes one to know one, I guess,” John muttered.
“His use of the Schüfftan process was groundbreaking.”
“Smoke and mirrors.”
“You were watching.” Rodney’s tone was almost accusatory.
“McKay, with your elbow in my ribs every five minutes, I didn’t have a lot of choice.”
Rodney’s grin didn’t bode well for the next few hours. “Clockwork Orange!”
“Seen it.”
“Invasion of the Body Snatchers!”
“Give me strength! Everyone’s seen that.”
“Planet of the Apes…” and before John could draw breath, Rodney added, with a flourish, “The original.”
John relented. He’d seen it, but it had been worth it for Roddy McDowall in an ape suit. He remembered watching it at home, years ago when his mother, not what anyone could have described as a movie buff had walked in and declared, after no more than a minute, ‘It’s Roddy McDowall, you can tell by the eyes!’
“We need popcorn!”
By the time Charlton Heston was staring up at the Statue of Liberty, they’d consumed several bottles of beer and eaten almost their own bodyweight in popcorn. John stretched, suddenly aware of exactly how exhausted he felt. “Need to get some sleep,” he muttered, standing up and swaying slightly.
“You’re not in any fit state to go anywhere,” Rodney declared. “Me nursemaid, remember?”
John rolled his eyes, possibly the only part of his body that was capable of easy movement. “I’m fine.” He took two paces towards the door and realised that his legs felt like jelly.
The expression on Rodney’s face was triumphant. He waved a hand at the bed and announced, “Sleep on the left and don’t snore. There’s a fresh toothbrush in the bathroom.”
“Are you ordering me around?” John was incredulous. He’d fantasised on numerous occasions about ending up in Rodney’s bed, but he just hadn’t expected it to happen because he was too weak to walk back to his own room. It gave a new and very unwelcome slant on the idea of a knee trembler.
Rodney beamed at him, clearly enjoying having the upper hand.
* * * * *
It took precisely two hours twenty-three minutes for John to realise that sharing a bed with Rodney was a monumentally bad idea.
Against all expectations, Rodney McKay was a cuddler. The sort of cuddler who thought nothing of snuggling up to John’s back in sleep and draping a heavy arm around his waist. He wondered for a moment whether Rodney really was asleep, but then a small, pig-like grunt put paid to any doubts.
They were both wearing loose pants and baggy teeshirts, and John was glad of that as his cock twitched hopefully, but even with the object of a fair few fantasies snuffling into the back of his neck, it didn’t go further than that. John was bone weary, even if he’d done nothing more strenuous for the last six hours than fetch beer from the fridge and eat more popcorn. His slide into sleep was rapid and inexorable.
When he woke up the following morning, it was to an empty bed. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him that he’d slept for almost eight hours. He stretched luxuriously, almost revelling for once in the heaviness of his limbs. He hadn’t had a lie-in like this in a proper bed for longer than he cared to remember, and the narrow, infirmary beds certainly didn’t count.
He could hear the noise of running water in the bathroom and presumed that Rodney was testing the efficacy of Carson’s waterproof dressings in the shower. He needed to do the same himself, but would have to make his way back to his own room for that as he didn’t have a change of clothes with him.
Standing up, John was pleased to note that the extreme wobbles of the previous day had receded, although he did still ache all over. As he padded barefoot across the room, Rodney emerged from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and another in his hand as he rubbed at his hair.
“Ronon brought some of your things over,” Rodney gestured to a pile of clothes on one of the chairs. There was also a bag containing John’s own toothbrush and razor, although he had no intention of getting rid of the dark stubble that was already turning into a short beard. There had to be some perks to being on sick leave and giving up shaving was one of them and, judging by the stubble on Rodney’s face, his friend was thinking exactly the same way.
“So we’re still on mutual nursemaid duty?”
Rodney shrugged. “Looks that way.” He waved a hand at the bathroom. “It’s all yours, I’ve left you some fresh towels. Carson was right about the dressings. They are waterproof.”
“Nice to know.”
The shower was hot and John enjoyed ridding himself of the antiseptic smell that had clung to his skin after his time in the infirmary. The pine-scented shampoo was sharp in his nostrils and sent suds streaming down his body. John ran his fingers over his half-hard cock, but he drew the line at wanking in the shower with Rodney in the next room, so his erection would just have to subside naturally.
By the time John emerged wearing black sweatpants and a grey teeshirt, Rodney had got dressed as well, favouring the same style of clothing. The wound in Rodney’s leg had left him with a limp and made sitting awkward so he stayed on his feet as they ate the breakfast that had been delivered to the room while John had been in the shower. From the amusement on his friend’s face, John wondered what sort of mutual nursemaiding Rodney had in mind.
“Blade Runner!” Rodney declared, answering John’s unasked question.
“If you inflict the Director’s Cut on me it’ll be the end of a beautiful friendship.”
“What do you take me for?” Rodney demanded with a sneer.
“Someone who wanted to watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers last night.”
“It’s a classic!”
“It’s a turkey. Can we watch Alien later?”
“I’ll think about it. I suppose you want to watch Terminator as well?”
“Gotta be done,” John acknowledged. “Have we got any more popcorn?”
Despite almost eight hours sleep, John still felt tired, and the unremitting darkness of the film started to send him to sleep. By the time it came to the final confrontation between Roy and Deckard, John had slumped sideways and was leaning against Rodney’s shoulder, unresponsive to the digs in the ribs that had been dispensed throughout the rest of the film. By the time the credits were rolling, John was asleep.
* * * * *
John awoke to the sound of the pig-like snuffles he recognised from the previous night. He was sprawled out on the sofa, with his head on Rodney’s chest. The first thing he did was check for drool, but at least he appeared to have been spared that particular indignity. Rodney’s arm was resting on John’s shoulder and his injured leg was supported by a footstool. They were in an untidy jumble of arms and legs, although while he’d been asleep, John had been perfectly comfortable but now he had a numb arm and pins and needles in one foot.
Untangling himself from Rodney wasn’t easy and inevitably the snoring stuttered to a halt.
“Coffee?” John asked. “It’s too early for beer.”
“Coffee’s good.” Rodney struggled upright, wincing as he moved his injured leg. “Coffee and biscuits is better. Then we can watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers.”
“We agreed on Terminator!”
As the week progressed, John lost count of the number of movies they watched, but gradually they were both able to stay awake for longer and even started to exercise again. But at night, by unspoken agreement, John stayed in Rodney’s quarters.
Rodney still cuddled in his sleep, John still got inappropriate erections and did nothing about them and in the morning they both did a good job of pretending nothing had happened.
After four days, they were able to walk to the infirmary for their check ups without needing to stop to rest on the way, and Carson finally agreed to Rodney’s entreaty to be allowed access to his laptop. By the same token, John was cleared to go to the gym and start to regain the fitness he’d lost.
Exactly two weeks after they had made a close acquaintanceship of arrows dipped in crushed caterpillars, they were both cleared to return to light duties.
John stared around his own quarters feeling like a stranger in a hotel room. He’d only been back there for clothes since his release from the infirmary and it was even weirder to be able to dress in uniform again, instead of slopping around in sweatpants and teeshirts. The best thing about his release from the sick list was the ability to get some proper exercise. In his first bout with Teyla, he found himself flat on his back on the practice mat in a matter of seconds, but despite that he enjoyed the familiar and much-missed rush of adrenaline that came from squaring up against friend or foe.
After only ten minutes, his legs felt like jelly and he was breathing hard. With his hands on his thighs, John sucked air into his lungs and tried to steady himself.
Teyla smiled and pulled him into an unaccustomed hug. “I am very happy you are back with us, John.”
“That’s not what Zelenka’s saying about Rodney,” Ronon announced from the doorway.
“They bicker like the old women of my village at a marriage feast,” Teyla said. “I suggest we wait one hour and then seek an excuse to separate them.”
As it turned out, they left it nearly three hours, but by then, it didn’t need Carson to announce that Rodney needed some rest. His face was pale and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his forehead. When John suggested he took a break for coffee and something to eat, Rodney agreed with surprising alacrity.
They lingered in the canteen, chatting to friends and colleagues they’d seen little of over the past two weeks. Afterwards, John caught up with a daunting stack of reports that were threatening to overflow off his desk and colonise the floor. Most just needed checking and signing off, but anything that required more than a cursory glance was put aside for another day.
Try as he might to concentrate, John’s thoughts kept sliding away in the direction of the most puzzling aspect of the last two weeks. He and Rodney had been colleagues for a long time and friends for almost as long. There were times when John had wondered if there might be something more between them than friendship, but he’d never dared follow that thought too far. They worked together on a daily basis, and although his sexual orientation would no longer jeopardise his career, old habits died hard. John had spent so long studiously avoiding any contact that could compromise him that he had almost forgotten how to make a connection on that level, and the idea of clinical, one-night stands in his infrequent down-time away from Atlantis had long since ceased to hold any appeal.
“John, you have been here too long.” Teyla’s voice broke into his thoughts.
He looked up from a report that he had been staring at without reading for at least the last half hour and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He mustered a smile. “Are you going to put me flat on my back on the mat again tomorrow morning?”
“Only if you show some good sense now. Radek has finally managed to evict Rodney from the lab, so are you going to follow his example and go quietly?”
John held up both hands. “Sure, Sheriff, anything you say.” The truth was he was too tired to argue and Teyla knew it but she was too good a friend to point that out.
Her only comment, as they parted at the door to his rooms was, “Your strength will return, John. Just do not push yourself too hard, too fast.”
“I’ll remind you of that tomorrow morning when you’ve just slammed me into the mat again.”
* * * * *
John sprawled on his bed and dimmed the lights, but sleep eluded him. He missed the warmth of Rodney’s presence, the companionship that came from falling asleep listening to the rhythmic sound of someone else’s breathing.
He missed Rodney.
It was as simple as that.
They’d worked together, fought together and saved each other’s lives more times than John could remember. During the last week, John had fallen asleep with his head on Rodney’s shoulder, Rodney had done the same with him, hell they’d even spent the better part of two weeks sleeping in the same bed. Memories danced in John’s mind like butterflies: the times they’d shared beer from the same glass because one of them was too lazy to reach even as far as the table for their own drink, the warmth of Rodney’s thigh against his as they sprawled together on the sofa in front of yet another classic sci fi movie. The casual touches that suddenly started to take on a whole new meaning as John took recent events and reassembled them into a slightly different picture.
OK, Rodney’s arm around his waist in bed ought to have been a bit of a giveaway, but John was unused to taking risks where his private life was concerned, a fact that would no doubt have surprised anyone who had experience of his actions in the field.
The noise of pennies dropping in John’s head was probably so loud that half of Atlantis could hear the rattle. He rolled off the bed, pulled on his boots and headed out of his room.
At the last minute, he was half-tempted to just shy away, even as his hand was raised to knock on Rodney’s door, and every instinct was telling him to get the hell out of there.
John drew in a deep breath, shook off his doubts and knocked.
The door was snatched open almost immediately. Rodney’s hair was standing up in damp spikes and he had a towel wrapped around his waist.
“Sorry, I forgot the popcorn,” John drawled. “Would it make up for it if I say we can watch Invasion of the Body Snatchers?”
“Finally ready to admit it’s a classic?” Rodney challenged.
“Is that the price of sanctuary?”
Rodney’s eyes narrowed slightly and he stared at John, his nose twitching ever so slightly in a way that reminded John of a pet rabbit he’d kept as a boy. John felt that Rodney’s eyes were stripping away the layers of pretence he’d built around him and seeing straight through the armour that had protected him for years.
“You’ve worked it out, haven’t you?” Rodney’s voice was low, suddenly devoid of the gentle but still sharp mockery that he’d wielded to such good effect for so long.
John opened his mouth, about to turn away Rodney’s words with an easy quip, but he stopped himself short. He’d done too much of that sort of deflection over the years.
“Yeah, I reckon I might have done,” John admitted. “Can we by any chance take this discussion inside?”
The fact that Rodney was standing in an open doorway wearing nothing but a towel and a puzzled expression seemed to finally come home to him and he waved John inside, closing the door behind them and leaning against it. John had spent most of his adult life believing that actions spoke louder than words. He closed the distance between them and kissed Rodney. This was a moment he’d fantasised about for years but when it finally happened, John was painfully aware that he was demonstrating all the finesse of a 14-year-old boy.
While John was desperately trying to solve the anatomical problem of how best not to bump their noses together, Rodney’s hand stroked over the back of his neck and then suddenly John remembered that he really did know how to kiss someone, despite how long it had been since he’d actually done anything like that. Rodney’s lips were soft under his and his tongue teased gently into John’s mouth.
When they finally broke apart, John shifted his weight uneasily from foot to foot. He could feel a burgeoning erection inside his black BDUs and as the towel around Rodney’s waist left very little to the imagination, John knew he wasn’t the only one in that condition.
“Should we… I mean would you rather…” John stopped, dragging his scattered wits together. He tried again. “Would you prefer to take things…”
“Slowly?” Are you really going to suggest we take things slowly?” Rodney’s voice took on the familiar increased pitch that always accompanied statements of outrage. It had last taken on that pitch when he’d squeaked the word ‘Caterpillars!’ in response to Carson’s news about the cause of their stay in the infirmary. “No, Colonel Clueless, I do not want to take things slowly! We’ve been taking things slowly for the last four years! Or hadn’t you noticed? No, you hadn’t, had you?” Rodney smacked the heel of his hand to his forehead and rolled his eyes in a way that would have drawn a round of applause if they’d had any onlookers.
“You knew?”
“I’m a genius, of course I knew!” Rodney stared at John in a way that reminded him of the looks his grandma used to give him when he’d just done something very stupid that involved home-made explosives and an awful lot of mess. “I don’t think there’s a person on Atlantis who didn’t know apart from you. Why do you think they’ve all been giving us so much space this past week?”
“I… I just thought they were staying away because we were grouchy.” To be fair, John hadn’t really thought about it very much at all, but he felt he needed to say something in the face of Rodney’s expression of withering scorn.
Rodney reached out, hooked his fingers in the waistband of John’s pants and gave a sharp tug. “It’s lucky for you I’ve just had a shower or we might have been another four years just getting to the naked bit.”
Rodney tugged again and gestured to the bed. “At least I’ve got you properly trained in that respect.”
“Yes, Rodney, I know, sleep on the left and don’t snore. Was the arm around my waist a hint?”
“Yes, and it was too subtle for you, wasn’t it?”
“Sure looks that way,” John acknowledged. He knew perfectly well that it would be a long time before he heard the end of his cluelessness, but right then he didn’t really care.
In bed for the first time without any clothes to form a barrier between them, John finally got to feel the warmth of Rodney’s skin under his hands, hands that were now able to roam where they wanted and explore all the places that John had long since given up any hope of mapping.
The back of Rodney’s left leg was still sporting a dressing, as was John’s upper arm, so some caution was required, but hands and mouths were easily able to busy themselves everywhere else. Rodney’s cock was hot and hard under John’s fingers, and the feel of Rodney’s hand on his own dick was very nearly enough to bring the whole encounter to a rapid and messy conclusion.
“Not gonna last long,” John muttered as he furthered his acquaintanceship with Rodney’s neck and jaw.
A long drag on his cock with clever fingers was all the answer John got before Rodney’s lips tracked up and over the stubble on his jaw, then his mouth pressed against John’s, and rational thought hitched a ride to the stars.
John gasped into Rodney’s mouth as his orgasm hit him even faster and very definitely harder than he’d expected. A moment later, Rodney made a small noise in the back of his throat and John felt a tremor run though his body. It didn’t take a genius to work out what had just happened. They held each other until the small aftershocks had abated, John’s head resting comfortably on Rodney’s shoulder.
A few moments later, he felt a nudge in the ribs and Rodney said sleepily, “Tissues, top drawer of the nightstand.”
With a small amount of shuffling and untangling, John was able to grab a handful of tissues and mop up the mess. He felt surprisingly unselfconscious, but then he and Rodney had known each other long enough not to worry about mess. And that was the nub of it all, really. Rodney was right. They’d danced around each other for four years, having everything in a relationship except the sex. On the way to Rodney’s room once the light had started to dawn, John had imagined all sorts of scenarios, all involving some sort of perfect sex, but when push came to shove, it had been rapid and messy, not exactly anyone’s idea of perfect, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had both finally stepped over an invisible line. And although it looked John had been the last person in the known universe to wise up to what had been happening – or rather not happening – he had always prided himself on being a fast learner.
“Does this mean I get to cuddle you back?” he asked, draping his arm over Rodney’s stomach.
“Hah, I always knew you were a closet cuddler!”
“You started it!”
“And you just kept trying to hide your goddam hard-on. Did you think I wasn’t going to notice?”
John grinned. “Well, it’s not as if it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen before. There’s not exactly much privacy in the communal showers. You could have just tried talking to me about it.”
“We’re men, we don’t talk about our feelings, remember?”
John trailed his fingertips down Rodney’s stomach and stroked the wiry hair around the base of his friend’s cock.
“Do I need to introduce you to the concept of refractory periods?” Rodney demanded. “And with the after-effects of caterpillar toxin, I have no idea how long…”
John gave up that game for a moment and pulled Rodney’s face down to his for another kiss. It seemed as good a way as any of shutting him up. It was just going to be a shame it wasn’t going to be available to him as a method of dealing with Rodney in public places.
But there was no reason whatsoever why he shouldn’t employ those tactics in private.
And at least now John could find something to occupy himself with during the inevitable screening of The Invasion of the Body Snatchers that he would be subjected to before the night was out. He had a lot of catching up to do.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2012-11-21 01:50 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2012-11-22 10:14 am (UTC)Well, Rodney *is* a genius!
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Date: 2012-11-21 08:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-22 10:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-21 08:57 pm (UTC)Sorry, that's as coherent as you get. ^^''
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Date: 2012-11-22 10:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-22 03:32 am (UTC)Well done!
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Date: 2012-11-23 05:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-23 08:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-11-24 05:33 pm (UTC)Poor clueless John! *snickers*
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Date: 2012-11-25 11:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-01 04:18 am (UTC)Like:
“Ow!” “Send me a memo later, McKay.”
“Run now, complain later.”
“Are we carrying these guns just because the straps make our asses look good?”
The last thing he heard was the medic muttering, “Oh crap…”
and so on.
Well done :)
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Date: 2012-12-01 01:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-08 12:28 pm (UTC)Thanks for sharing!
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Date: 2012-12-08 12:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-12-31 05:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-02 10:07 pm (UTC)