Fic: Leavenworth, SGA, NC-17, McKay/Sheppard (2/2)

[amific]

Leavenworth Part 2. You can find the headers and part 1 here.

******

He wakes to the sound of John jumping out of bed and cursing.

"What?" Rodney asks puzzled and barely conscious, minorly worried this might be some delayed reaction freak-out.

"Overslept." John yells curtly from the bathroom.

Shit. Double shit. Rodney jumps out of bed and checks the time. Oh god, so late.

He's wrinkled and unshaven and *caffeineless*. Coffee. He needs coffee; everything else can wait or be explained away.

The morning turns into one long rushed blur, he never manages to get his caffeine to blood ratio about right and propriety and Radek beg that he at least slip away to change his clothes. 'We are not running a college lab here, Rodney'.

Somewhere along the way someone asks where the remote went and Rodney has a heart attack while scowling indignantly and proclaiming he doesn't trust anyone else with it, and why should anyone need it anyway, no one's touching it without turning in a twenty page report detailing just what they're going to do right down to what they're going to have for breakfast *the day before*.

That, thankfully, settles that. Rodney still feels harried though, despite something pleasant and fuzzy thrumming under his skin. He doesn't really connect it to anything until his late lunch in the mess where he runs into John.

Rodney takes the seat across from him because the room is mostly empty and it'd be easily noticed if he didn't. "Hey."

"Hey," John looks up through his lashes.

"Good day?" Rodney asks.

John blinks slowly, dirty smile running across his lips quickly before disappearing. "Oddly, yes."

"Me too."

******

Rodney lasts a whole five days before 'going to pick up the remote he accidentally left in John's room'.

This time the emergency happens out by pier four and it's Rodney stuck with several of the science team in a room fast filling with water and John's ragged face peeking out of a burnt hole in the ceiling, pulling them to safety.  Then there are more tense minutes of solving the problem before the next room floods and some seriously important systems malfunction.

Rodney saves the day, of course, and John stands behind him and manages to drawl and speak quickly all at once, offering lame jokes and actual suggestions. He is surprisingly helpful -- in his own way of course. Never mind the saving Rodney from certain death. There should be a fund somewhere that sends out a muffin basket every time someone ensures his brain is still around to solve the next crisis. Possibly something should be sent to his savior as well.

John comes up to him at the end of it all, looking tired and worn and a little uncertain. "You left that thing in my room," he says with as much nonchalance as a twelve year old looking for gifts.

"What thi-- oh that," Rodney's had a long day, he's allowed to be slow on the uptake when someone's not going to be specific like that. "Yes, the that, you want me to…" he searches for a phrase that doesn't sound dirty or is too obvious, "pick it up?" He obviously fails miserably.

"That's good, see you 'round eleven." He's off before Rodney can get out an answer.

******

There's no pretence when the door opens for him. The room is dark enough to make it all shadows and soft edges. John is barefoot in just his pants, looking utterly tense as he grants Rodney entrance.

He grabs Rodney's shirt when the door closes and tugs at it gently. Rodney lets him take it off. "Bed. " He says when it falls softly to the floor. "This floor is a lot harder than the one on Jenia."

John nods, but reaches out to cup his jaw, thumb rubbing lightly over bone. "Sure," he says before kissing him, slow and mellow and just a little desperate.

It seems a little odd when they lay down facing each, the deliberateness of it all lending to the unreality. John takes his hand and threads their fingers together. Rodney stares at their joined hands for a few seconds before squeezing back. "I'm not sure how…"

"Press the button?" John offers, completely unrepentant.

"I meant," Rodney frowns at him, thoroughly unamused, really. "How to do this without worrying about breaking the thing."

John contemplates that for a long moment, lips pressed together, brow furrowed unevenly before saying, "Here," and rolling onto his back.

It takes Rodney a few seconds to figure out what John wants. Until John tugs at their hands, pulling Rodney up a bit. Oh. On top. Right. Carefully he crawls up John's body and it's so strange because there's nothing pushing him other than the knowledge that they're about to not have sex together.

They settle and Rodney is very aware of John underneath him, firm but yielding, breathing shallowly. He puts the control on the nightstand and does a mental three count. Then flicks the switch.

It's good. It's really good. It sends him inside out and upside down and his brain just *shuts down* and he nearly stops breathing there for a minute.

When it's over he can barely move. John's fingers are twisting in his hair, petting and bunching together and shaking.

"Oh god," John's voice actually trembles. "This probably isn't a good idea."

Rodney suddenly realizes they're using completely new and *malfunctioning* technology without proper documentation or supervision. Oh god, what if it's addicting? John's slick stomach breathes in and out and he almost loses his train of thought. "We have to tell Carson."

"What?" John tries to sit up, but his arms won't hold him yet so they both fall back to the bed with a whoosh of air.

"We have to tell Carson," Rodney insists again.  "What if this is dangerous?"

"It is dangerous, Rodney." John says in a low, unamused voice.

Rodney winces. "Right. Right. Sorry, I didn't mean--" He stops and shakes his head, which is still somewhere near John's neck and that just sort of makes them both a bit dizzy. "Look, he's our doctor right? And he's gotta know how these things are affecting us. What if there's permanent damage or something?"

He can feel John take long, deep breaths, his heart beat hollow in Rodney's ears. "Tomorrow." John finally says tightly.

"Tomorrow," Rodney echoes.

They fall asleep tangled together, hands restless. John wakes him in the middle of the night, eyes bright and kisses him over and over again and then rolls him on top and reaches for the remote, stopping long enough to get a silent nod of permission from Rodney.

He shouldn't say yes, but god he wants to, he wants to roll John around him and cry out in pleasure and lose feelings in his toes and be sweaty and grunt and grind with him. He shouldn't say yes, but he does.

******

They don't oversleep this time, but they do wake slowly, still plastered together, bodies still sweat-slick where they're touching. They both look at the small, slim, rectangular device sitting on the nightstand and Rodney worries that they'll never fix this. That some alien device is going to be his only way to almost orgasm for the rest of his life and he doesn't want to share.

They go to Carson together but when it comes time to answer Carson's innocent stare. They can't.

Until Rodney can't take the silence anymore. He blurts it all out and he's not really sure what he said, but the word impotent was used at least once.

Carson blinks at them for long moments and then sighs and takes out a diagnostic tool. "Both of you then?"

They nod in tandem.

"And it took you nearly two weeks to come to me?" He asks, and Rodney is pretty sure it's just to humiliate them further.

"Look," John says, saving Rodney from another embarrassing explosion of words, "it's the kind of thing you hope is stress and cross your fingers that it will go away."

"I'm sorry," Carson relents, "I'd read the material myself nearly ten days ago, I was just wondering when you'd come to me." He taps some buttons and takes some more scans. "I really didn't expect you two to come in together."

Rodney's eyes go wide in shock and righteous indignation, "You *knew*?"

"Doc," John's voice joins his, sounding dangerous, "isn't that the sort of thing you discuss with your patients? Not let them discover it on their own."

"Well yes," Carson nods, "Normally I would and I suppose I should have, but I had hopes that the damage inflicted had affected that as well and knowing how this one," he waves a finger at Rodney, "reacts to a paper cut, I thought it'd be better to let it play out."

Rodney's eyes narrow and he crosses his arms in front of his chest. "Isn't there some oath you're breaking right this very minute?"

"I've no idea what you're referring to," Carson says innocently.

Rodney's eyes remain narrowed.

"Well gentlemen," Carson says when he's all done, "I don't know what I can do, they didn't exactly supply me with a plethora of erectile dysfunction--" they both flinch "-- drugs, but we can start with what I do have and I can order more for the next supply run."

John frowns deeply. "That's… isn't that better for… you know people who have hours of uninterrupted time and stuff?"

Carson nods. "Aye, and ideally with a partner close at hand."

Rodney continues to stare straight ahead, hoping John is doing something similarly non-suspicious next to him.

"Right," Rodney says into the silence, "so we were thinking, that is, it's sort of frustrating to go for weeks and not --" he waves his hands and belatedly realizes it was a slightly rude gesture. To make sure he doesn't do it again, his stuffs his hands under his thighs.

Putting on his best doctor face, Carson manages to erase the worst of his amusement and nod seriously. "Well then, do you want to try the drugs after all?"

"Well," John hedges, "we were actually wondering if using the remote was a possibility for now." He's sitting ramrod straight, eyes forward. The best imitation of a soldier Rodney has ever seen him do.

"Okay then," Carson sighs, "how many times have you already tried it?"

Rodney makes all sort of indignant sounds and next to him John lifts three fingers. "Betrayer," Rodney frowns. John just shrugs.

"Well," Carson nods, "according to your scans so far there's no-- wait a minute," his eyes narrow and Rodney gets that lead feeling in his stomach, "didn't we tune you two to the same frequency?"

Their silence is just as damning as Carson's startled, "oh."

Whose brilliant idea had it been to put them on same frequency anyway? Probably Zelenka, the evil little troll. Carson fights an obvious blush through the rest of their visit and Rodney resents him immensely for it.

In the end they get permission to use the devices at their discretion, though they're admonished not to overdo it. In the middle of the conversation Rodney remembers that there's a diagnostic cycle on the damned things and promises to add that to his daily routine.

Carson tentatively reminds them that they can work off separate frequencies.

Rodney resolves that they really need a better answer than silence and staring at the ceiling for that sort of question.

"Alone," John grates out, "is not… comforting."

"Okay then," Carson eyes them both warily. "Call me if there are any problems."

Rodney freezes. "Like?"

"I have no idea," Carson shakes his head, "but I hear it's the thing they say on those popular medical dramas."

Wonderful. Someone is going to have to be punished later.

******

With permission comes reluctance.

Even though they're still grounded there's still a multitude of things to take care of, at least for Rodney. John's presence is scarce, they pass in the hallway and the mess and at briefings they're both supposed to be at. Status quo is suddenly hollow and flat, but Rodney can't bring himself to change it.

John's not distant, not by any means, he still smiles and nods and sends jabs in Rodney's direction that he happily volleys, but something still holds them back.

In the meantime, another emergency comes up and Rodney is surprised it's taken as long as it has. Somewhere in the galaxy several members of the Atlantis expedition are being held hostage by a rag tag group of Genii soldiers demanding medical and munitions supplies.

Rodney is left behind.

There's no reason for him to go, he knows that. He shouldn't want to go. There's nothing for him to do on that sort of mission but be in the way and waste bullets. So he paces in small little circles in his lab and then later in his room.

The alarm, when it finally comes, startles him badly and he nearly spills coffee all over himself.

He cleans up the mess on the table and the floor and washes his hands thoroughly.

He does not, however, go the control room.

Waiting is the worst thing ever. Every loud sound has Rodney's head snapping up waiting to hear his name being called over the intercom. Or worse, hear the call for Carson. He's deep into reorganizing his notes for his secondary idea for the Grand Unifying Theory, and two pages into a memo that talks about power redistribution when his door opens.

John, encased in shadows, stands in his doorway, long fingers with white knuckles clutched tightly around something small and rectangular. His face is open and questioning, giving Rodney a look that makes him flush from his ears to his toes. He's waiting for Rodney to give him a sign. So he does. He closes his laptop with a final click.

Long arms are around him in a flash, lifting and pulling and holding him close. Hot kisses on his mouth and neck and chin make him dizzy. Rodney's hands bury themselves in John's hair, pulling him back up for another kiss, long and deep and messy. They both reach for the control at once flicking the switch and falling to their knees.

It's Rodney's last coherent thought to make sure that the remote makes it safely to the ground. Then it's all John's skin and scent and voice as the rippling pleasure pools inside them. A leg wraps around Rodney's hip, scorching hot and pliant, he uses it to pull John closer and then rolls so John's weight pushes into him from above. It's fantastic, one long kiss after another and skin rubbing against cloth rubbing against cloth rubbing against skin. But as the last, large wave comes cresting over the ridge they both stop moving, stop breathing, eyes dark and pupils wide meeting until it finally explodes and everything grays.

Tense to limp in under a second leaves him shuddery and vulnerable. John is wilted on top of him, fingers twitching, breathing hard.

"Nguh," is about the extent that Rodney can express.

John's lips kiss his neck in an uncoordinated manner. "Jnuh."

******

They sleep on the floor -- the thought of actually moving is laughable -- and Rodney wakes in a fair amount of pain, muscles aching in strange ways, his stomach tight and sore. Rodney flexes his fingers as he watches John sit up and roll his neck.

"I…" Rodney starts, but has no idea what he was going to say, so he changes tracks, "You okay?"

John's movements stop with his head bowed and his arms braced on his knees. "Not a good time to ask that question, Rodney."

"Right," Rodney's throat dries and the word cracks as it's coming out.

The silence is loud and echoing, it's edge sharp and biting, rending virtual flesh with tiny little cuts and Rodney is compelled to speak. "I think I broke something," he moans, rubbing his back. "Definitely too old to sleep on the floor," he sends a mock glare to John, "I blame you."

"You could have moved," John says amicably.

Rodney throws him a look that could melt plastic. "I would have tried but someone was dead weight."

"What can I say?" John smiles, finally looking up, "I'm that good."

He looks tired. Dark circles under his eyes, hair extra messy. And tense, weirdly tense around the crinkles of his eyes and the edges of his mouth. Rodney swallows, their gazes catching. "No Colonel, I'm that good, as you were dead weight." It's a stupid thing to say, but he can't seem to get out of their pitch and volley routine.

"Sure," John says stretching, "why not? But just remember who took longer to speak in complete sentences."

John's shirt rides up a bit, exposing a pale strip of hairy skin that Rodney can't seem to tear his eyes away from. The impulse to touch feels strange and foreign in his mind. John moves toward him, eyes suspiciously innocent, an arm brushes across Rodney's chest for the briefest of moments and then it returns to his eyeline and he sees John is holding the remote.

"Oh god," Rodney's head flops to the floor, "not again. I'm still not sure I can walk straight."

"Just making sure no one steps on it." John smirks. He moves the remote to a nearby table but that leaves him unnervingly close to Rodney, arm and part of his body hovering close, breath warm little puffs on Rodney's face. The impulse rockets through Rodney, strong and breathtaking and completely irrational.

He wraps a hand around John's wrist and pulls gently until John is chest to chest with him, almost draped over his lap. Eyes wide and surprised meet Rodney's and he has no idea what he's doing, even as he tugs once more and their lips touch.

It's less a kiss and more breathing one another's air, a slow glide back and forth and a low buzz of arousal that just won't budge. They sink to the floor in one long sweeping dramatic kiss that feels utterly outside of them. John makes a small choked off noise that Rodney echoes and for brief seconds the kiss is violent in intensity, tongues licking and swirling, hands pulling, chests heaving before it gentles again. Then ends with a soft pop and one quick sweep forward for an extra brush of lips.

"I think," Rodney licks his lips, "we need to do that when the --" he makes a vague gesture to their necks "-- you know, things, are finally removed."

John licks his lips and nods mutely. "If we do, we might not able to string together complete sentences for hours."

Sitting up, painfully, Rodney nods. "Yes well, that's a risk I'm willing to take."

"You're a martyr to the cause." John mocks affectionately.

Rodney back now literally *hurts* and his left leg is asleep. "Yes well, there are certain causes I'm willing to lay it all out on the line for."

******

He limps all day and is very upset about that. Even if he feels pretty good about the morning. That is, until Rodney realizes that he proposed actual sex. Which is a far cry from mutual electronic orgasms necessitated by their circumstances.

He panics through most of his morning staff meeting.

Rodney also panics through lunch and most of his afternoon research. Zelenka leaves an offering of the good coffee near his desk and Rodney makes a concerted effort to panic more internally than externally.

He ends up with a stomach cramp and woefully behind on his work.

Somehow, Rodney will find a way to blame it on John, because he's sure it's all his fault.

******

A few days later Carson submits a proposal to return to the Jenian home world, which actually pleases all of them for a number of reasons. Though of course, the one they actually voice is concern that the flagship team has been grounded for nearly a month.

Carson gives Rodney an eyebrow at the line, but merely points out their own bodies are helping the implants degeneration along. That as well as some of the extra use generated by Rodney's 'research' -- and he can just *hear* the quotes when Carson says it -- has changed some of the initial conditions. Coupled with the rest of the science and medical team's research, removal is now feasible.

Elizabeth approves the proposal even as John and Rodney start to argue their case. They get a head tilt and a look and then get assigned to Major Lorne's team. When they argue, it's pointed out that keeping Ronon in an enclosed space with nothing to do but wait has never turned out as well as they hope.

Rodney would be outraged if he wasn't so happy about the thought of getting his erection back. He makes the mistake of thinking that while looking at John and starts panicking all over again. He's been doing that on and off all week. He even thought about hunting down a paper bag just in case it *did* come to hyperventilating.

On Jenia they're examined using the specialized devices built for dealing with the implants. Microsurgery is what Carson called it when he spoke about it. The implants literally interrupts the nerves and the usual procedure for removal needed to be retooled to work around the damage the implants received as well as both Rodney and John's slightly different physiology.

"Surgery?" Rodney balks, "*here?*"

John makes a noise of agreement.

"I'm sorry gentlemen," Carson says, "but they have the specialized tools, developed over years of dealing with the implants and I'd rather get those things out of you sooner rather than later. I'm sure that's your preference as well." He pauses giving them an annoyed stare. "It was all in the briefing memos."

Goddamnit, Rodney really needs a lackey to summarize things for him.

He doesn't argue however, because all that erectile dysfunction research is driving Rodney insane. Despite the literature, he's sure there's a build up of fluid somewhere that's very unhealthy. Who trusts an alien instruction manual written for slightly different physiology than his own anyway? He has however, stopped shy of actually measuring his balls, but mostly because he couldn't come up with a decent excuse to purloin some string from Miko.

The surgery, according to Carson, will take a few hours apiece, but recovery could take up to several weeks as their bodies heal and get used to working without the implant interpreting all of it's signals.

John and Rodney face each other from different exam beds, the air between them is serious and charged, but they don’t speak because there are other people in the room and god knows what Rodney will say if they start. So they sit and stare and Rodney's last memory is of John's heated look brushing over his skin.

******

A thin slip of a shadow is hovering over him, old and crusty, it cries cold tears over his body. Rodney can't move as it reaches for him, long shadowy fingers pointing ominously. The room is full of shadows and he can't make out enough details to understand what's going on.

"No!"

The shadow disappears and Rodney struggles up to consciousness. There's a noise to his right and his eyes clear to see John clumsily holding someone to the floor.

His fingers won't work the way he wants them to and when he slides off the bed his knees sink to the ground. John is slowly losing the fight and Rodney reaches out to help.

The best he can do is be dead weight, so he slumps over the person's legs crawling slowly up to his torso. John moves accordingly, doing something up by his head that Rodney doesn't think very hard about. But the struggling ceases and they both sink, graceless to the floor, draped over the now still figure. Rodney will not think that he's probably half asleep on top of a dead body.

"Rodney?" John's voice croaks, slow and thick.

He has to blink heavily to get his eyes to focus. He recognizes this feeling; heavy anesthetic is still working its way through his system. "Yeah?"

"The guards are either unconscious or dead." John's voice is moving closer, "we have to move."

"Carson?" Rodney asks, crawling off the body.

"Don't know," John says after a long silence.

His strange alien IV is already slipping out and Rodney's arm, thin trickles of blood leaking down it. It distracts him for indeterminate seconds as the harsh red bleeds in and out of focus.

"Rodney!"

"Right," he jerks up, taking the rest of the wires off his body. "Where are we going?"

"Somewhere," John comes up behind him and hands him a jacket that he's managed to scrounge up somewhere, "that's not here."

"Good answer," Rodney says as he swings a steadying arm around John's waist, feeling the tremors wrack through his thin body, Rodney knows John needs it just as much as he does. It's comforting, however, when John's arm latches around his shoulders.

******

They weave down darkened hallways, stopping to raid some supplies along the way, shoes, bandages, a portable looking computer terminal. Everyone they come across is unconscious, passed out in the middle of whatever they were doing. John picks up a few of the local weapons along the way. Rodney looks at their shaking hands and wonders if the phrase 'broad side of a barn' has occurred to John.

John somehow manages to find a defensible position in some small room somewhere. There's no way they can deal with the outside world in their current condition, so Rodney just nods eagerly and slides down the wall. "Oh thank god," he says, swallowing repeatedly and closing his eyes tightly. "I'm not sure how much longer I could have done that for."

Walls too bright for his eyes, even in the dark, make his head throb. Next to Rodney, John slides down as well, slumping against his side, warm and inviting. "What the hell happened?" Rodney asks, moving his arm just enough for John to slide under it.

"N-no i-idea,' John's teeth are rattling hard.

The world spins and shakes and possibly turns strange colors. They try to take turns staying awake, but their bodies both laugh at them and make them sick. A long period of time passes before Rodney feels closer to human. They've barely moved since they sat down and Rodney's skin has that sweaty grimy feeling of a fever that's been burned off. John is limp against him, mouth open slightly, eyes shut tight. Their hands are tangled together, fingers cramped and twisted.

It's a surprising sight that makes Rodney's heart hammer a little harder and spark a low heat in his belly. He gasps, head jerking up. God that's a sensation he's *missed*. Not that it's an incredibly convenient time for it. Then again, his body tends to enjoy the incredibly *in*convenient times the most.

"Rodney?" John mutters into his chest, already trying to sit upright. His free hand moves to rubs his eyes. "How long?"

Rodney checks the little computer they stole. "If I'm reading this right? Five hours?"

John nods, pushing himself completely upright. "Feel better?"

"I slept half sitting up with a full grown man practically in my lap," Rodney says by way of answering.

John kisses him softly. "Sorry?"

All his righteous indignation fizzles out of him like air from a leaky tire. "Later, when I have eaten and have guzzled a gallon of coffee and do not have god knows how many alien drugs running through my system, it will not be that easy to gain my forgiveness."

Another kiss, just as soft and, oh god, really sweet and weirdly defenseless.

"Okay, maybe I'm a little easy." Rodney concedes.

John's face is unsettlingly vulnerable, hovering over his, uncertain as it peers down at him. Rodney reaches out with a still shaking hand and uses one finger to trace an absurdly high cheekbone. "Maybe a lot easy," he says, leaning in for another kiss.

If kissing before was pleasant, this is exhilarating, despite the fact that they're practically limp on the floor, still exhausted and shaking. Rodney honestly thinks that if John were to ask, he'd be ready to give it a shot right here on the floor.

The spirit, however willing, loses when the flesh is weak. Oh so weak is the flesh. John ends the kiss with a low chuckle that burns inside of Rodney's skin, but even that's not enough to give him the energy to have sex *and* run for his life. As much as he likes sex, he *loves* his life. Continued life means possibilities for more sex later. Later, Rodney will make himself pie charts and graphs.

"Okay," John says, slumping beside him, "first order of business, figuring out what the hell happened."

"Here's a thought," Rodney mutters, "someone is trying to kill us. A lot."

"Hrmm?" John asks while attempting to remove a stray hair from his line of sight by *blowing* at it.

"Come on!" Rodney presses, patently ignoring the pursed wet lips, "like this is all a coincidence!"

"I don't believe in coincidences," John reaches for their bag of loot off to his left.

"Well thank you, Han Solo."

John freezes and then tosses him a dirty smile, "You're welcome, your worship."

Rodney simply doesn't have the words.

******

It takes them far too long to stand up without bumping into a wall or each other. Which is great, but Rodney's still pretty sure if he has to shoot, he's more likely to hit himself than a wall.

The hospital staff are still out cold on the floor. "God, what did they give them?" Rodney wonders.

"Better question," John murmurs, looking around a corner, "why didn't it affect us?"

"I bet Carson could answer that question." Rodney says.

"Yeah Rodney, I wish he was here too." John leans heavily on the wall. "Just so he could tell me I'm not actually dying."

He looks like shit, Rodney observes, now that they're in the hallway and the natural light is seeping in through the blinds on the windows. John is pale and shaky and Rodney shouldn't be able to count the visible veins. Rodney really doesn’t want to look in a mirror any time soon.

The room spins momentarily and Rodney flushes hot then cold. Jesus, he really wants Carson back. "Are parts of you going numb at random intervals?"

"Yeah," John grunts, motioning for him to follow, "and it's not making me happy."

They walk around in no discernable pattern that Rodney can figure out, but they're fast approaching the point where he's going to need to sit down again.

John abruptly stops in front of a large, stylish door. "Here."

"Here?" Rodney asks, "what's here?"

"Surgical Lounge," John says smugly.

Rodney's arms drop to his sides. "How on earth can you know that?"

John winks, absurdly comical and overdone. "Just trust me sweetheart."

"You're not really Han Solo, you know that right?"

John smirks and salutes him with his gun. Rodney rolls his eyes.

Inside they find Carson slumped over a comfortable looking chair, groaning.  Rodney has never seen a more pleasant sight in his life. Then John bends over to check Carson's pulse. Oh god, it's really been a good day.

******

It doesn't take much to get Carson the rest of the way awake and it's decided that they could really give a crap about what happened, at least until they get back to Atlantis. Carson directs them to where Lorne and the rest of the escort had been escorted prior to the surgery.

They're groggy but, thankfully, still well armed.

Rodney nearly pledges his undying devotion to the flash grenade hanging off Lorne's vest.

John looks like he's eyeing the P90 with suspiciously wet eyes.

The hospital is connected to all of the major portions of the city through what Rodney thinks of as a glorified elevated train. Of course, he's still angry they wouldn't share exactly how the things manage to glide along so smoothly and silently.

The group of them stumble around drunkenly like an outtake from Shaun of the Dead, trying to make it to the train entrance on the third floor without losing anyone.

John and Rodney are the worst of the group, because at least as Carson, Lorne and the rest move around, their movements become more coordinated, whereas John and Rodney just get slower and clumsier. Eventually they each have a strapping marine to hold onto to stay upright.

Carson mumbles worriedly about the fact that they're up and moving around at all and Rodney fights visions of being permanently paralyzed forever. He wonders if the civil liability and litigation laws reach this far off the planet.

The concussion grenade type thing nearly gives Rodney a heart attack. First because he's thrown to the floor, second because someone heavy lands on top of him and third because, ow, loud.

There's machine gun fire going on over Rodney's head, and then hands tugging at him, helping pull him over to the side. John and Carson help prop him up and John promptly loses all balance and falls flat on his face. In Rodney's lap. And he'd really like to be able to enjoy that more.

Once they get John sitting up again, he takes a position just dangerous enough to be able to see the action and still have to flinch away every so often.

"Who's attacking us?" Rodney whispers loudly.

"I don't know," John frowns, "but whoever they are, they're organized."

"They're government troops. Secret squads."

They whirl. Well Carson whirls, John and Rodney sort of spin slowly.

Frawan is on the floor behind them, looking as far from neat and tailored as possible. "There was a deal made," he frowns, "your lives for this planet."

Rodney frowns, "Who the hell would want--"

"The wraith," John interrupts. "They made a deal with the wraith."

"Oh god, again?" Rodney is really getting tired of the same script, different week game.

Frawan raises an eyebrow. "I don't know what your prior experiences are, but our government was approached in secret and were promised that if we somehow took the two of you out of the equation, our planet would be spared from culling."

John snorts. "They believed them?"

"Some did," Frawan nods, "others felt our souls were not worth that price no matter the level of veracity of the claim." He nods to the fading sounds, "Your men are almost finished, but more agents will be here any minute. Gather them and I'll lead you to the StarCircle."

With someone who actually knows where they are going, the rest of the trip seems like a breeze. Rodney blames his still incredibly drugged state on the fact that he didn't see the obvious path on the hospital map before.

The tram leaves them mere feet from their destination and they hurry to dial as they are quickly garnering attention.

The odd silver glow of the gate only makes John look worse.  Before they step through, John stops and turns. "I had your job once," he says to Frawan, "don't ever let them tell you it wasn't worth it." They share a strange stare of the governmentally abused before John turns back and tells Rodney to go through with a quick nod of his head.

Rodney, however, doesn't move until he sees John's stumbling footsteps start towards the gate as well.

******

Epilogue:

Rodney has always appreciated the concept of masturbation. As a teen it was salvation from a dreadful family life.  As an undergrad it allowed him to flex his brain as the traditional 'oh god breasts', pull pull pull method's glowing response began to wane. Creativity was the key; math too, as calculating trajectory was used as a method to prolong release. As a postdoctoral candidate, it was how he managed to finish his thesis despite a lack of coffee and sleep.

Now. Oh now, he's fourteen again and a stiff breeze can make him come and while it's annoying, he's really not complaining.

Carson, the smart, smart man, lets them recover away from the relative non-privacy of the infirmary. Rodney is admonished to stay in bed, unless otherwise necessary. He stares at his washcloth and lotion bottle and finds he's unusually okay with bed rest.

Rodney is reminded of that time classes had been cancelled for a freak snowstorm and in a fit of utter laziness he had closed his books and stayed in bed. All day. It had been a good day.

A week later, the dizziness, the random numbness and the uncontrollable napping are all but gone and Rodney is cleared for light duty. That's when he learns there are a whole host of things he needs to get used to again. The implants controlled and damped far more than he had realized.

Smells and tastes are the most immediately apparent. That's easy to handle, he eats more and with gusto for a little while and it eventually normalizes. The hard part is when he's leaning over Radek's shoulder, pointing at something important and doing something completely normal and he's suddenly assaulted by his senses; feeling the heat of the body near him or smelling Radek's shampoo and even, for god's sake, getting little shivers when he curses in Czech.

That is just freakish enough that he really does stick to a light workload and to small projects that don't require other people in close quarters.

There are things about his colleagues he never ever needed to consider. Ever.

Oh god, this afternoon with Miko demonstrates he still shouldn't be allowed in public.

Of course, his incredibly manly and thoroughly strategic retreat is halted when he runs into John. Not that they haven't seen each other across a crowded mess or in a hallway, but this time he actually *runs* into him. When they step apart, his chest still burns where John and he touched.

They stare and start to speak at the same time and stop and stare some more. Finally, John throws his hands up and Rodney pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Sex?" John whispers.

Rodney's head snaps up. "Here?"

"No, in the mess so we can put out a hat to collect money," John snaps.

"Sorry!" Rodney waves his hands in front of him. "You surprised me."

They make their way to John's room in what Rodney feels is an incredibly suspicious manner. Though he's wondering when he agreed to actual sex. Actual sex, while a nice thought, is possibly a very stupid idea.

The door closes behind them and John turns to face him, shoulders tense. They stare some more. John's shoulders eventually slump. "This was so much easier when we just had to press a button."

Rodney lunges, he can't take the pressure. Their lips meet clumsily and John's body is tense under his hands, but his lips are soft and pliant. Instantly, Rodney can feel the difference.  Before it was a warm buzz, now it's a flashpoint, heat burning through him. A few moments in and they both make pathetic, broken sounds and jump into action.

Shirts and pants disappear in an awkward whirlwind of hands. Rodney nearly falls on his face because he forgets to take his shoes off first.

Laying down makes it all better though. Miles of skin pressing into Rodney, firm and elastic and John's hands trailing everywhere, his neck, his chest, his ass, squeezing nicely.

"Oh god," Rodney groans, startled when they manage to line their cocks up by complete accident.

"Oh-- yeah that's," John buries his face in Rodney's neck, licking and kissing. "Oh god, yeah."

Oddly reminiscent of their first time using the implant on Atlantis, it's all tight fast movements that tumble off Rodney's nerves, drowning him in pleasure. Except now the underside of his cock is snug against John's hip, rubbing perfectly, friction building hotly.

Rodney presses his feet to the mattress, grinding up, orgasm suddenly clawing at his belly, hot and intense and breathtaking. Freezing momentarily, breath caught in his throat, Rodney shudders hard, twisting frantically, rubbing against any surface he can find and comes his brains out.

Above him, John stops moving, kissing him through it with lots of messy tongue and wet sounds. When Rodney finally quiets, John's hips start moving again, slow at first, but quickly the pace becomes a race. Rodney can feel it in John's stomach before he actually breaks rhythm with four final frantic thrusts.

They collapse -- well Rodney goes boneless and John falls to his side breathing heavily.

"Oh god I missed sex." Rodney mutters.

"You weren't having any before the implant," John accuses, his face still planted in Rodney's sternum.

"Yes, hence why I miss it." Rodney frowns, hand absently petting John's hair. "Are we still not talking about this?"

John looks up, face flushed, pupils dilated and looking so completely post coital and warm it just isn't fair. "I would love to never talk about this, ever."

"So, same time tomorrow?"

"Of course."

THE END