What to Say to Rodney When He's Naked; Or, How Aliens MadeThem (Almost) Do It, by mousewitchy
Title: What to Say to Rodney When He’s Naked;
Or, How Aliens Made Them (Almost) Do It
Author: mousewitchy
Rated: Hard R/ Soft NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Disclaimer: Not mine. Fan-written fiction.
Summary: Wherein Teyla gets slave-boys, Rodney gets naked, and John’s hair sends secret signals.
A/N: I have loads of people to thank on this, namely: _evening_star_ who, when I told her the story at work, demanded I write it; friend K who, when I told her about it on the phone, demanded I finish it; Mamazoot, who went above and beyond the call of duty by holding my neurotic little hand through it; and brighidestone who was kind enough to give this story a much-needed kick in the pants in beta. Thank you!
Also, this story has been languishing half-written on my hard drive since the first Amnesty challenge, so I guess you could consider this Amnesty for the Season One Amnesty! *g* And in case you haven’t guessed yet, set in Season One.
The Istani were a matriarchal society. Extremely matriarchal, which shouldn’t have been surprising, given the Wraith and the obvious necessity of periodic repopulation. What should have been surprising, John thought, was that they hadn’t run into something like this sooner.
The Istani homeworld produced a kind of ore that could be refined into an alloy McKay believed the Ancients had used when they developed the ZPMs. That and the ambient energy readings on the planet had kept McKay in tiny little paroxysms of joy since they’d come through the Stargate. He'd had been alternately fiddling with the Ancient PDA-thing, lecturing John on just how important this alloy could be, and happily expounding on the potential uses and properties of the stuff. John was almost entirely lost, Ford and Teyla definitely were, but they let him talk because, well, it was kind of cute.
At least, John thought so.
Apparently the Istani high priestess didn’t feel the same; she’d refused to even acknowledge John, but when McKay spoke up to get her attention she looked down her nose at him and asked Teyla if she needed any help punishing her “boy”.
“No,” Teyla answered quickly. “Thank you, but I believe I have him well in hand.” Her eyes flicked to John’s warningly. John nodded minutely and stepped back, noticing as he did the way the shoulders of almost every man in the village seemed to be bowed in resignation, like they were hunching in on themselves. Here and there, angry red welts peeked out from under their tunics; on the men who were shirtless, John could see nasty-looking lash-marks, some fresh and some only half-healed.
He didn’t miss the look of satisfaction that crossed the high priestess’s face when she noticed John noticing what was probably her handiwork.
John thought he’d never seen Rodney shut up quite that fast, or look quite that intimidated. Even with Kolya, Rodney hadn’t lost his capacity for righteous indignation. But this woman with the cold, greedy eyes and authoritarian voice seemed to cut him down.
Of course, part of that could have been the wicked-looking whip she had coiled at the belt of those impressive robes. The priestess reached down to touch it as Teyla stepped forward, and smirked maliciously when she noticed Rodney’s eyes widen.
John’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted unobtrusively to grip his P-90 a little better. Glancing at Ford, he could see the lieutenant doing the same. John remembered Kolya and how he’d ordered Rodney’s arm sliced open like it was so much meat. He wondered if Ford was thinking of that, too.
Teyla had walked a short distance away to confer with the priestess, and she returned to the group looking serious; but, John saw with some relief, not we-just-fucked-this-up serious. More like we’re-gonna-have-to-work-for-this serious.
“She says they are willing to trade for the ore Dr. McKay described, Major.” Teyla said as she walked up.
John frowned. That should have been good news, but Teyla didn’t exactly look happy about it. “So, they’re willing to trade. What’s the catch?”
Teyla sighed. “In return, we are to perform a … ritual,” she said cautiously.
“What kind of ritual?” John asked slowly, suddenly uncomfortably sure he didn’t want to know the answer. He had a bad feeling about this, like that one time with the paraplegic penguin-thing and the bucket full of … well, whatever it had been full of--that, John was sure, he still didn’t want to know.
“Come a little further away with me,” said Teyla. “I will explain.”
Wearing near-identical expressions of doubt, they all followed; once they’d walked about twenty feet from the group of Istani, Teyla explained.
John’s first thought was, Oh, wow, that’s not half as bad as I expected. From the expression on Ford’s face, the lieutenant felt the same way. It’s just a little public sex. We can do this.
Rodney, however, only seemed more upset by Teyla’s explanation. “Teyla,” He grabbed the Athosian woman by the arm, looking flushed and more than a little bit desperate, “We, um, I need to talk to you. Like, now.” He tugged her a few feet away from the group, where he spoke in low, urgent tones, glancing nervously back in John’s direction
“I wonder what that’s all about,” John said idly, watching Rodney’s hands describe short, jerky figures in the air.
“I don’t know, sir.” Ford grinned, “Some of those Istani were pretty hot. Maybe he’s saving himself for marriage, or something.”
“McKay?” John looked at Rodney and smirked. Teyla was talking, calming the other man considerably. “Nah. He just doesn’t seem the prudish type, you know?”
Ford shrugged.
John frowned thoughtfully. “They say it’s always the quiet ones.”
“McKay’s not quiet.” Ford looked puzzled.
John laughed. “Exactly.”
“Major,” Teyla’s face was serious as she approached him. “I need to speak with you.” She pulled him aside.
“What’s wrong with Rodney?” John asked, and followed.
Teyla didn’t say anything until they’d walked about ten feet from where Rodney and Ford stood. Then she turned to him, arms crossed, “Dr. McKay has certain preferences he believes may be--disturbing--to the Istani. The priestess has told me something of their culture, and I believe he is correct.”
“Jesus!” Just when you thought you knew someone. “What kind of shit is he into?” John asked, and looked back to where the head of Atlantis’s science team was still standing near Ford, looking ruffled and uncomfortable and nothing like the closet pervert he apparently was.
Rodney noticed John looking and scowled at him.
John’s tone must have told Teyla exactly what he was thinking, because she frowned at him, too, and said, “Major, Dr. McKay’s preferences are anathema to the Istani because they worship a fertility goddess. I was not aware your culture had such a taboo against same-sex couplings.” Her voice was disapproving.
She also looked kind of like she wanted to kick his ass. For decidedly non-educational purposes.
“Same-sex couplings?” John repeated dumbly. “Oh!” he said, with dawning comprehension. “You mean he’s gay!” The last came out much more loudly than he’d intended, and John snapped his mouth shut.
He glanced back at Rodney and Ford. Ford looked kind of surprised, but Rodney’s face was a cross between we’re-all-going-to-die and you-are-so-stupid-you-deserve-to-die. John had a feeling that the second was for him.
“Sorry.” John sighed and mentally kicked himself. It figured he’d have to go and botch his chance just when he found out he had one. “Didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag. Hey, you don’t think they know what ‘gay’ means, do you?” At Teyla’s blank look, he explained, “It’s a colloquial term for same-sex … um, orientation.”
She fixed him with a reproachful look. “Then perhaps it is not a good idea to speak of this so loudly, Major.” That displeased-teacher expression really made her look like Weir, John noticed, almost frighteningly so.
“Yeah, probably not. So,” John said, changing the subject quickly. “What are we gonna do about McKay, anyway? Just how ‘disturbed’ will the Istani be if they find out about him?”
“The Istani goddess only recognizes procreative sex, and they consider it a matter of survival, Major, so I am not certain how they would react,” Teyla answered, and glanced back at Rodney. “Badly, I think.”
“Badly.” Shit. John looked down and scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, mindful not to look too much like he was the one in charge. “I know McKay says we need that ore, but I don’t like this,” he said finally. “Let’s get out of here and find another way to get it. Unless you have any ideas.”
Teyla cocked her head and thought for a moment. Then she smiled. “Actually, Major, I think I do.”
*
John had expected more in the way of argument from Rodney as they were roughly divested of their equipment, weapons, and clothing, but the scientist was uncharacteristically subdued, stepping out of his boots and stripping off his clothes without a single snide remark or word of protest. Then again, if the Istani high priestess had been watching John undress with that predatory gleam of avarice and lust, John would have been pretty quiet, too.
Watching Rodney’s pale, nervous face as he stood cupping both hands at his crotch and looking anywhere but at the priestess, John took a moment to pray that Teyla really did know what she was doing. Then he took a moment to check Rodney's ass out while Rodney was too focused on the priestess to catch him watching.
John fought the urge to whistle appreciatively. Rodney's ass looked even better without the BDUs. It looked so good, in fact, that it seemed more parts of John’s anatomy than his eyes were taking notice.
Margaret Thatcher naked, he told himself sternly, looking down at where he had his own hands covering himself. In the rain.
Yeah, that worked. John shuddered and made a mental note that appreciating his teammate’s finer assets, while enjoyable and entirely justified, was a really bad idea in front of the homophobic high priestess of the Istani homeworld. (If the Istani had named their planet, John hadn’t heard it yet. Already, in his head, he was calling it the Planet of the Sexually Oppressed Slave Boys. It seemed fitting, and it had a ring to it.)
Next to him, Ford stood stiff-backed and straight, and shifted uncomfortably when Rodney glanced sidewise at John.
“Relax, Lieutenant,” John said under his breath, drawling the words out in annoyance. “He’s not gonna check you out. He’s at a lot more risk than the rest of us and he’s nervous. Not looking at him, and flinching every time he looks at you is not going to help. Got it?”
“Yeah, uh. Yes, sir.” Ford said; and then, sheepishly, a moment later, “You’re right. Sorry, sir.”
“Good. So long as we’re clear.” John looked over at Rodney scowling to himself and seeming torn between simple embarrassment and abject humiliation. He looked frightened and vulnerable; resigned, as if he’d expected and accepted Ford’s reaction as something that would simply have to be endured.
At this point, he’d have preferred Rodney’s certain-doom song and dance. At least that would have meant Rodney trusted him enough to listen if John tried to calm him down. But this silence, it was … disquieting. John wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Rodney had expected from him; Rodney was typically so cynical of people that it was probably unhealthy.
Then again, John thought, he had his hair, which he was hoping had to give him some kind of advantage. He caught Rodney’s eye and gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod.
Yup, he thought when Rodney gave a nervous sort of almost-smile back, it definitely cut him some slack. Rodney couldn’t possibly think John woke up every morning with his hair done just so--no, there was effort there. If he were to put it in terms of legality, John would have to think of his hair as ‘premeditated’. Nobody got hair to look like his without time, effort, and precise amounts of meticulously applied hair-care products.
Nobody had hair like John’s in the armed forces unless they were secretly gay. It was like a rule.
*
It turned out the private room Teyla had managed to talk the Istani into turned out to be less “private”, or even “room”, and more like “paper-walled yurt at the edge of town”. Okay, so it did have a makeshift curtain thrown over the entrance, and the walls weren’t paper, exactly; but they were pretty damn thin, and about as soundproof as paper would have been.
The whole setup smelled suspiciously like goat. A whole lot of goat.
They’d anticipated the possibility that the natives might arrange things so the team could be “checked” on throughout the night. According to Teyla, The priestess had reacted to Teyla’s insistence that she absolutely required all three of her men for one night of pleasure with grudging respect, but also equal measures suspicion and anger.
“Major, I am aware that you may find this uncomfortable,” Teyla had told John. She’d just finished talking the Istani into their current semi-private accommodations. “But I must be heard to ‘take pleasure’, as their law states, in at least one of you.” When John opened his mouth, Teyla smiled. “Lieutenant Ford has no objection to sharing my bedroll tonight. It is nothing new to either of us. My concern, however, is that my claiming all three of you will undoubtedly displease this woman. I am afraid she will look for reasons to distrust or discredit us.”
“You mean she’s gonna spy on us.”
“I think she may check to make sure we are fulfilling the ceremony, yes,” Teyla answered, but grudgingly. She didn’t look any happier than she sounded. “This will be a profitable bargain for the Istani. Most of her people would be willing to allow us to simply go through the motions in return for such wealth, but this woman would jeopardize that. Out of spite, and without concern for what her people could gain from us. I do not understand such.... ” Teyla shook her head. “She does not serve her people well. I find it distasteful, as well as frustrating.”
Privately, John thought it was because she’d had had her eye on Rodney for the night, an idea that was, frankly, terrifying. Between eau de goat, the utter lack of privacy, and whip-wielding sadistic priestesses, John was feeling a lot of sympathy for the male population of this planet.
Sex had to be hell.
He looked over where Rodney sat near the wall of the hut, naked and cross-legged and facing pointedly away from Ford and Teyla in the middle. Rodney hadn’t yet broken that uncharacteristic silence, or lost that “certain doom” set to his shoulders. In fact, he hadn’t made one even remotely snide comment in hours.
One thing John knew, or at least guessed, from experience was that the light-speed verbal barrage Rodney usually let loose in times of stress had a purpose; complaining loudly and snidely about the situation at hand seemed to distract Rodney as much as it made him feel better.
Rodney looked like he needed an outlet. John frowned, then scooted closer as something occurred to him. Some of their standard-issue verbal poking might be just the distraction Rodney needed. Rodney seemed to enjoy it as much as John, and it’d give him a chance to let off some steam. If nothing else, he’d play prime-not-prime and it’d give John a chance to prove he didn’t give a damn about Rodney’s sexual orientation.
He did, of course, but only in the best possible way, and John figured this was neither the time nor the place to have that conversation.
“Hey,” he whispered, bumping shoulders companionably and ignoring Rodney’s startled glance. “Do you think Elizabeth would be able to do anything about this place?” At Rodney’s puzzled frown, he added, “You know, the Istani. It doesn’t feel right, dealing with slave-owners like this.”
“Gee, I’m sorry you’re not comfortable, but we need this ore, Major,” Rodney hissed. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m just a little more concerned about the part where we get beaten half to death by said slave-owners before we had a chance to deal with them, because they saw right through this pathetic excuse for a half-baked plan!”
Well, there it was. Rodney was sounding better already.
“Relax, we’re going for authenticity, here,” John whisper-drawled, and nodded back towards the middle of the hut. “Those two oughta throw them off, and Teyla seems to have it under control. If they get on our case, well …” They’d decided against a fire; the night was pretty decently warm, and that kind of illumination inside the dwelling would have made it too easy for the Istani to keep track of their movements. It was a full moon for the Istani tonight, and while the smoke hole in the ceiling didn’t admit much in the way of light, enough filtered in that they weren’t going to be bumping blindly into each other if they decided to get up and move around.
John looked at Rodney, at the way the moonlight reflected the fear in his eyes, and shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel at all. “We’ll figure something out,” he finished lamely. Through the ceiling, he could see stars that looked nothing like they should have, nothing like they would have at home--on Earth, or Atlantis. “We’ll figure something out,” he said again, and this time the words were more like a promise, because he absolutely refused to lose Rodney. Not on this planet, and not on any other.
But especially not on this one.
Rodney snorted, interrupting John’s train of thought. “Why do you care what these people do, anyway? I mean, except for the ritual suicide, you’ve always been pretty adamant that we leave everyone’s culture intact.”
“I don’t like the idea of making these people rich. It’s enabling the whole system,” John said defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, actually.” Rodney sounded surprised, and John scowled. “It’s just. Well, you’ve never struck me as a social activist, exactly.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to have a moral objection to keeping half of the population in what amounts to sexual slavery,” John said crossly. “Hello--US Air Force? As in United States of America, home of the Emancipation Proclamation? Civil War, Martin Luther King--ring a bell?”
“Guess I was wrong,” Rodney said quickly, changing the subject. “Well, Elizabeth’s the diplomat, not me.” John manfully suppressed laughter. Rodney glared at him. “But, you know, whatever bargain we strike with the Istani is bound to be profitable, so whichever one of them’s responsible for getting that’s going to be--influential, I think. We could probably use that somehow to, I don’t know, change things. Sweeten the deal, maybe.” Rodney shrugged. “If nothing else, we could ignite the male revolution and trust that they’d be willing to trade with us.”
“Right.” John smirked, drawing the word out. “Why don’t we wait on that one--I think we’ve still got our plates full between the Wraith and the Genii. We could use all the friends we could get.”
“Huh,” said Rodney. “Suit yourself.” He didn’t say anything more, but it wasn’t the same tense silence he’d maintained since their first encounter with the Istani priestess. This silence was different, expectant.
Rodney stared at the wall in front of him like he could see through it, and John took the opportunity to admire the smooth line of muscle across Rodney’s shoulders. Rodney had broad shoulders, and the skin there looked sweat-damp and lickable.
John’s shoulder burned where he’d bumped Rodney before, a warm pleasant tingle that made him want to do it again. He couldn’t stop looking at Rodney’s shoulders. Rodney had good shoulders, solid shoulders, the kind that would be good to hold on to while you were getting fucked.
John shivered.
Fuck, he thought. He really needed to stop thinking, and he needed to do it now.
He bumped shoulders with Rodney again, oh-so-casually. “So,” he drawled. “Um. Gay, huh?”
John had all of half a second to contemplate his utter lack of smoothness before Rodney turned and fixed him with possibly the most scathing expression he’d worn all day.
“No,” Rodney said irritably. “No, actually, I lied--I like having sex with women, especially strange ones on alien planets who are perfectly willing to ‘do the dirty’” This was something John imagined would have come with airquotes under normal circumstances, but Rodney was apparently unwilling to take both hands out of his lap even for the sake of sarcasm, so instead the words were punctuated with a vague one-handed gesture and an eye-roll. “With me for the sake of some ridiculous religious ceremony.” His voice was rising, growing faster and more emphatic as he went on. He looked disturbingly on edge. “See, I just thought that getting locked in a very small, unsanitary, and in all probability flea-infested hut stark naked with you while Ford and Teyla have gratuitously loud sex behind us sounded like a really great idea! What do you think, Major? Having fun yet?”
John winced. Oops. So much for conversation. “Rodney, that’s not what I --”
Rodney cut him off. “Speaking of which,” he said to the wall meaningfully. “Could they get any louder? There are other people in here, you know. People who would like to get some sleep and, you know, not listen to their teammates have sex for the rest of the night.”
Neither Teyla nor Ford seemed to notice. In fact, if anything, Teyla got louder. John had to agree with Rodney. He knew they had to maintain the illusion that they were all taking part in the ceremony, but this was just gratuitous.
Either that, or Ford was just really good--and, wow, that was something John did not want to be thinking of just now. Or, in fact, ever. There were some things that just didn’t need to be thought about one’s 2IC. This was one of them.
“Uh,” John said, just as Teyla got really vocal. He rubbed his forehead. “You know, you’re right. That is a little over-the-top.”
“Yes, exactly,” muttered Rodney. “Thank you.”
“You know,” John said a moment later. “I never figured you for men. Didn’t you have a thing for Colonel Carter?”
“Yes, well.” Rodney squirmed uncomfortably. “I did, but she was an exception. Every rule has one.”
He didn’t say much more after that, not that John could blame him. The night, as it went on, proved to be one of the most uncomfortable he’d ever spent with his team.
Not to mention one of the longest.
*
The next morning it became apparent that, no matter how convincing they thought they’d been, it hadn’t been convincing enough, because that damn high priestess obviously wasn’t buying it. Which was, John thought, the real kicker to the whole painfully uncomfortable, truly bizarre night.
It was pretty damn obvious she wasn’t buying it, too, because the first words out of her mouth as they stumbled, light-dazzled and still naked as the day they were born, out into the sunlight were, “I don’t believe you.”
Well, actually, what she’d said was, “I don’t believe you off-worlders! You really think you could lie to the Goddess?” But, in John’s opinion, that was close enough.
Teyla frowned, and looked sincerely angry for the first time since they’d set foot on the planet. “High Priestess Kaliya,” she said coolly, and did a short ceremonial bow. “I’m not sure I understand. What is it you think we are lying about?”
Kaliya raised her chin imperiously and pointed to at John and Rodney. “You did not take pleasure from those two, as our laws require.” And was it just John, or did the woman sound a little pleased? He risked a glance at Teyla, who apparently thought the same; her face had hardened, and she had the gleam in her eye he’d only ever seen her use on Bates.
The priestess raised her voice so the gathering crowd could hear, revving herself up for a nice, dramatic scene. “These newcomers have deceived us, broken our laws, and flouted our most sacred traditions. How is it we are to trade with a people who--”
“We have not broken your laws,” Teyla interjected, pitching her voice to be heard by the crowd as well. “I took pleasure in each of my men last night.” She was, John noticed, smiling like the cat that ate the cream.
The high priestess broke off her speech and turned to face Teyla, nostrils flaring. “Really? Then how is it that one,” she pointed to Ford. “Is the only one that bears your scent?”
Dozens of lower-ranked acolytes muttered amongst themselves and John inwardly cursed. He knew they’d been forgetting something. And now they were naked and weaponless and utterly at the mercy of an entire temple’s worth of whip-bearing priestesses accusing them of blasphemy. As if that wasn’t enough, it turned out they were apparently pretty whiffy, too.
Oh yeah. This was going so well.
Teyla, however, appeared entirely unruffled by the other woman’s statement. “He is the only one to bear my scent because he is the only one who knew my body last night. I allowed my other men to please each other.” More murmuring, and Teyla held up a hand to forestall any objections. “I was told that the ritual requires me only to take sexual pleasure in my men. It is well-known that these two prefer men, and it brings me no pleasure to force myself upon them.” Kaliya bristled when Teyla said this, and Teyla pointedly did not look at her. “It does, however, please me a great deal to watch them love one another.”
John held his breath. Beside him, Rodney had his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his lips were moving, possibly reciting some sort of prayer.
He wasn’t, John realized as he sidled closer to listen. Rodney’s eyes were closed and his mouth was moving in a litany of, “Oh my god, we are so screwed.” It would have been funny if John hadn’t been so sure he was right.
“You are lying.” Kaliya said tightly, eyes flashing. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. She looked at John and Rodney. “I do not believe these two have known each other. There is no proof.”
Teyla didn’t appear intimidated at all. She turned her best leader-of-the-people of the look on the woman and said, “They should not need to prove anything to you. I give my word.”
And there, thought John, was a gauntlet thrown, if ever there was one. She’d just challenged the high priestess’s authority in front of a village square full of acolytes, and there was no way, no way at all that could come to any good.
The decision was made in a split-second but, to John, it felt like it had been a long time coming. Carefully not moving his modesty hand, John lifted his free hand to the back of Rodney’s neck and kissed him.
Rodney tensed for one frozen moment, lips moving against John’s as he stuttered into his mouth, and John took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, hoping against hope Rodney wouldn’t resist and prove the priestess right.
Thankfully, Rodney settled right into it, all and stubble and warmth, and John rewarded him with a few soft, careful nips before licking his way into Rodney’s mouth. This was something John thought he’d wanted to do forever--and if it happened that he had to spring it on Rodney on some backwater, backwards planet to save both their skins, well, then that was how it happened. Now that it was happening, John didn’t think he’d be able to regret it. And forget it? There was no goddamn way.
Rodney made a soft noise that could have been surprise or pleasure, and his shoulders twitched in a way that could have meant resistance or surrender; John realized with a small, inward smile that he’d pretty much forgotten to let Rodney in on the program.
Smiling into Rodney’s mouth, he moved his hand up where he could thread his fingers into surprisingly soft brown hair and stroked his thumb across the smooth skin under Rodney’s ear, something he knew the priestess and their audience couldn’t see--something he knew Rodney knew they couldn’t see.
Rodney’s breath quickened and he made another noise John was sure this time was pleasure. Rodney leaned forward into John, so close that John felt their knuckles brush down low, illicit and electric and forbidden; and, wow, if this was how it felt to be on the receiving end of all that focus, John kind of envied all that Ancient technology. He barely stifled a groan when he felt Rodney’s free hand work its way up his back to his neck and he shuddered when their hands brushed again.
He’d been wrong, John thought disjointedly. It was a damn shame they were doing this in front of an audience, because they were so fucking close and there were very few things in the world that could keep him from touching Rodney’s cock right fucking now, and unfortunately his repressed junior officer in the company of repressed and possibly homicidal priestesses happened to fall in that category.
John pulled away, absolutely devoid of composure and licking his lips regretfully; he found himself wondering how likely it was that they’d have noticed if he’d moved one of his fingers just so.
Sighing, he put his best effort to thinking of anything except "Rodney" and "naked". His dick had no sense of propriety. It’s a terrible idea, he told it, It’ll all end in tears and litigation.
When he opened his eyes, he was glad he’d made the effort, because Rodney was still naked, flushed, and panting in front of him. Two high spots of color on his cheeks made the blue of Rodney’s eyes even more striking. John wondered idly if Rodney knew how downright pretty he looked like this.
That line of thinking was getting him nowhere, he decided, and determinedly squelched it by considering the possible strategic arrangements of a number of goat-scented yurts in a village this size.
Rodney licked his lips and swallowed, never taking his eyes from John. Off to the side, Kaliya ended a muffled conversation with Teyla and stalked away in the direction of the temple. Upon reflection, John thought it was something he probably ought to have been paying attention to, seeing as they were conversing on whether or not they were royally screwed for not screwing Teyla and ostensibly screwing each other instead.
Huh, John thought as he mentally reviewed the town’s layout. He couldn’t have planned a worse town to defend if he’d tried. Not to mention the effect the smell probably had on morale.
No wonder the poor bastards had to be religiously motivated into sex. The whole damn place was positively rank, and god only knew what long-term exposure did to the libido. And, fuck, did it really all come down to sex? Thinking with his dick wasn’t the most tactically brilliant idea at this point, John reminded himself, not to mention that he ought to have learned years ago that his dick had never led him into any good outside the bedroom.
The way Rodney flushed again when he realized he’d been staring at John didn’t help. Nor did the almost distressingly arousing way he nearly forgot himself and gestured with both hands before fixing his eyes resolutely on the ground in front of him.
John was sure Rodney’s eyelashes had never been that long and dark before. He would have noticed.
Once John had gotten as composed as was possible, considering he was still naked as the day he’d been born and now a great deal more uncomfortable, he risked a sideways glance at Teyla. To his relief, she and Ford had covered their shock nicely. Teyla even looked smug, if a little flushed, which John figured was a good thing.
Next to them, one of the more minor priestesses caught John looking at her and flushed, though she didn’t look away. “Teyla,” she asked, turning her gaze to study Rodney. “May I …?”
“No,” Teyla fairly growled. “They are mine,” she elaborated, “and are only permitted to perform for me.” The priestess blanched and made apologetic motions.
John smirked. He’d always known Teyla had a closet dominatrix hidden somewhere inside.
Eventually, they were all allowed clothes again and the junior priestess (the one who’d asked to sample the product, John noticed with some apprehension--apparently, some of these folks thought John and Rodney were what Teyla had brought to trade, since she wasn’t actually taking advantage of their masculine wiles) took over the trade negotiations.
And since Teyla was the one ostensibly in charge of the entire operation, all that was left for John to do was kick back with one eye cocked for angry natives, one arm slung around Rodney’s shoulders--for verisimilitude, of course--and put his very favorite shit-eating cocky-flyboy grin on under his very favorite pair of aviator sunglasses.
It was the same grin he’d used to worry countless superior officers with in the past; it was amazing, really, how nervous a smirking fighter pilot made some folks. The sunglasses, he knew, only made it worse, obscuring his eyes and most of the rest of his expression. Judging by the curious, unsettled glances the man shot in his direction every time John played the doting boyfriend, Rodney was no exception.
The Istani appeared entirely immune, though John guessed that’d change once they figured out what exactly a fighter pilot was. It took a special kind of person to take a multi-billion dollar, multi-ton piece of machinery thousands of feet in the air and do tricks with it; a certain quality most people referred to as arrogance, and that John privately thought of as confidence.
After all, it was only arrogance if you couldn’t do it.
*
There was an edge to the glances Rodney kept throwing his way; uncharacteristically confused and just the tiniest bit soulful with a taste of something darker, an edgier kind of frustration that made John squirm uncomfortably as his nether parts took notice.
The more John thought about it, the more he started second-guessing the whole damn thing. Yeah, the kiss had saved them a whole lot of argument and diplomatic hoo-rah--but he hadn’t exactly asked Rodney, just assumed the other man would be on board with it.
John’s smile faltered. When Rodney didn’t try to fight him, he’d taken it for granted that he’d been right. Then again, John thought, what did he really know at this point? Rodney had been flustered, yes, but that could have been shock--his supposedly straight team leader had just slipped him some rather enthusiastic tongue. (Which, again, John still thought the whole hair thing should have given him away, what with Rodney being a genius; and hello--the wristband? Like a neon sign. Seriously.)
And, said a small voice in the back of his head, it could have been anger. John hadn’t given Rodney any warning before he thrust himself right into the other man’s more personal spaces in front of most of the village. While they were both still really naked. If there wasn’t anger there, John thought uneasily, there was probably embarrassment, at the very least.
His mistake, John realized, was that he’d taken Rodney’s admission that he liked men as some sort of gift, when he should have known damn well that that didn’t necessarily mean Rodney liked him.
No, John thought as he reviewed the events of the last day-and-a-half, Rodney’s reactions and the ways they’d interacted since they got to Atlantis. There was chemistry there.
He looked sidelong at the scientist next to him, moved his thumb slow and deliberate over the soft skin at the nape of Rodney’s neck, relished the shiver it sent through the other man’s body. Definite chemistry. That wasn’t the problem.
Then what was?
John moved his thumb again absently, tracing the muscles in Rodney’s neck, and thought he got his answer in the wary, furtive glance that earned him. Rodney was looking at John like he was looking for something; suspicion was painted all over his face, writ clear in the tilt of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the small downward curl at the corners of his mouth. It was a realization that, no matter how John turned it, settled heavy like lead in the pit of his stomach.
Rodney thought John was fucking with him.
Suddenly John fervently regretted the sunglasses. He’d put them on because he knew they would conceal his most incriminating expressions; and, bright as the day was, he could wear them without seeming as if he was hiding behind them. He was hiding, but only from Ford, and it hadn’t occurred to him until now how they hid him from Rodney, too. Rodney, who--like Ford--most likely thought his most incriminating expressions were exactly opposite of what they actually were; disgusted and probably pained faces that would give the game away.
Fuck. John blew out a heavy breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose, vowing inwardly to prove Rodney wrong at the earliest opportunity.
“Something wrong, sir?” Ford must have heard him, because he looked back over his shoulder, all concern and military sympathy when he saw John still leaning closely into Rodney’s bulk. Ford was sitting up front as Teyla’s “most-honored” bondsman, and must have caught Teyla’s attention, because she looked back as well, frowning thoughtfully.
“No, it’s nothing.” John produced his best faux-rueful smile, and turned up the charm when the priestess gave him a look of concern. “Just a headache.”
There was nodding, and sympathetic noises made, so that seemed to satisfy them. Rodney, on the other hand, seemed to hunker in on himself even more, crossing his arms defensively and pointedly not looking at John.
Fuck, John thought again. Earliest opportunity.
*
The trouble with his “earliest opportunity” plan was that, between wrapping up the trade negotiations and possibly instigating some serious socio-political reform, Teyla took up most of their morning.
“I’m sorry,” said the priestess, after Teyla deferred to Rodney’s loosely calculated estimate of the ore they’d need. As usual, it had involved a great deal of jargon and gesticulating while he theorized on this and that possible application of the stuff. “I mean no offense, but I do not understand. Why have you allowed him such learning? Such a thing is … not in our customs.”
While this priestess seemed honestly curious, John could just have imagined Kaliya’s reaction. Rodney could too, if the way he blanched and fell silent was any indication.
Teyla smiled warmly, as if it had been a simple question of etiquette instead of one weighted with thorny and possibly dangerous religious and societal connotations. “You have not offended me. This one has a thirst for knowledge,” She said, and smiled fondly back at Rodney, placing a proprietary hand on his arm and squeezing reassuringly before turning back to the priestess. “It brings him immeasurable pleasure to learn these things, and I find no harm in indulging him, and much benefit.” At the woman’s blank look, she continued. “When he is happy to serve me, his service is more pleasing.”
“Oh!” The expression on the priestess’s face when she caught the meaning implicit in Teyla’s voice was almost comical. It just figured she’d find the argument that’d stand to reason with these people, and that it wouldn’t be anything but enlightened self-interest. “I think I understand. Is this the reason you allow them to …” The tilt of her head made it obvious which “them” she was referring to.
Teyla smiled broadly in response and proceeded (with some impressively vague language that managed to imply a whole lot without doing more than just stretching the truth) to explain how the population was substantial enough where they came from that anyone who--like John and Rodney--found relations with the opposite sex …uncomfortable, or who simply preferred their own gender were not required to participate in the ritualized sex acts that were the norm for the Istani. Technically, John thought, all of that was mostly true, considering they didn’t have ritualistic sex acts on Atlantis (and if anybody did, odds were it was along the lines of the private, consensual doings between a man and his hand in the morning shower, in which case John really didn’t want to know about other people’s rituals. Except Rodney’s, but c’mon. That didn’t count.), and considering their population wasn’t all that “considerable”. But John didn’t think he cared how Teyla explained it, as long as it didn’t get them all whipped or flogged or whatever it was they did to recalcitrant slave boys on this planet.
He did catch the priestess looking thoughtfully at her own men, though. Hey, he figured, maybe they’ll get that social revolution after all. He was definitely going to have to talk to Elizabeth about sweetening that trade deal; a little extra prosperity just might help push things along.
What was left of the afternoon was pretty much eaten up by the debriefing with Elizabeth, who (understandably, John reminded himself) needed a little more explanation than usual, having choked and spluttered and exclaimed her way through the first one.
“You had to claim them as slave-boys?” she’d sputtered, looking utterly floored.
“Yes,” said Teyla, still smiling gently, and if it hadn’t been Elizabeth they were talking to, John could have sworn she found it amusing right up until she found out about the slave-men’s slave-duties.
Then she wanted to know everything of consequence they may have noticed about the Istani, to get a better idea of who they were dealing with and what, if anything, could be done with what leverage they could get; when it came right down to it, they weren’t the Starship Enterprise operating under some Trekkian Prime Directive , and Elizabeth knew it.
It wasn’t until after the debriefing that John saw, and almost missed, his earliest opportunity; the moment Elizabeth adjourned the meeting, Rodney was up and scrambling to get his stuff and get the hell out of there.
“Um,” John said, as Elizabeth approached him--no doubt to offer some vague words of wisdom or sympathy he really didn’t need to hear just then. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go, you know, apologize.” He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Rodney’s rapidly retreating backside, and patted Elizabeth’s arm absently. “Or something.”
He was dimly aware of Elizabeth’s smiling dismissal before he gave chase.
And then he was off, also dimly aware that he still smelled strongly of goat and desperately hoping he could get away with the “or something”. Apologies had never exactly been his strong suit.
*
“McKay!” John was jogging, nearly running to catch up with him and damn could Rodney move when he wanted to. Sure, he thought, it’d come in awful handy running from the Wraith, but damn if wasn’t also annoying as hell to have Rodney’s newfound powers of super-speed turned against him. And, shit, that was Rodney’s door, wasn’t it?
“Rodney! Rod-ney--” Rodney was the most frustrating person in the whole goddamn world, John thought spitefully. He caught up with the other man just before the door to Rodney's quarters closed and elbowed past him none-too-gently ‘cause, yeah, suddenly John was feeling that petty.
It wasn’t fair, he thought, that when he finally got his chance with Rodney, it had to be an embarrassingly public, last-ditch effort to save their skins; it wasn’t fair that John had to pretend it wasn’t anything more than that, and it really wasn’t fair that Rodney with his damned skeptical, cynical, brilliant brain believed him.
“Major,” Rodney said in just that tone of voice, and John stopped scowling long enough to realize that Rodney wasn’t panting, Rodney wasn’t winded; Rodney was standing arms crossed, straight-backed, and perfectly in control of the situation.
For a moment, it was like salt in the wound, and then John took a minute to realize what a really bad sign it was. It wasn’t defensive posturing anymore, Rodney was all offense now; and John recognized that shift as something that, for Rodney, was like an outright declaration of war.
Shit, John thought as Rodney opened his mouth. He raised both hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
“Wait,” he said, a little desperately. “I just wanna talk, okay? Just … let me talk. Just--” He waved a hand in what he hoped was a placating gesture when Rodney opened his mouth to speak again. “Just let me explain, okay? Please?” He raised his eyebrows in his most conciliatory manner and waited, stomach lurching when Rodney scowled, opening his mouth and closing it again before subsiding.
“Fine,” Rodney said finally. The word came out oddly clipped, like it was an effort for Rodney not to say more than that.
John let go the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and dropped his hands. “Thank you,” he said, for once entirely serious. If anything in his voice hinted at amusement or sarcasm or any of the dozen other things it usually hinted at, John was screwed. And while their friendship would survive it, he doubted he’d get a second chance like the one he had now.
No, patronizing Rodney at this point would probably qualify as possibly the worst idea John had ever had. Including that time when he was five and thought that jumping off the roof with a pair of cardboard wings sounded like the coolest thing ever.
If he’d asked Heightmeyer (and he hadn’t, but she’d told him anyway), John charmed and mocked and antagonized in order to deflect others’ attention from the things he didn’t want them to know.
Just now, however, those same things had become exactly what he wanted Rodney to know. And now that he’d gotten Rodney to where he might listen, John had no idea what to say.
They stood there for a long moment, silent and staring at each other, until Rodney coughed and tapped his foot impatiently and said, “Major?” in a terse tone of voice that clearly implied, Get the hell on with it before I decide all that hair has finally smothered what little brainpower you had to start with.
After a few false starts, John managed an uncharacteristically inarticulate, “Uh,” and then thought that he’d better get his ass in gear because his chance was slipping away, this kind of tongue-tied was nowhere near normal for him and Rodney was looking at him like John’s sudden incoherence was far more worrisome than whatever it was between them he was trying to fix.
“Listen,” John started. He was grasping at straws, but he had to say something before the moment just passed them by and left them with nothing but awkward, stammered apologies and a bruised-but-entirely-platonic friendship.
John stepped forward, right into Rodney’s personal space, and was gratified to see the other man flush and stumble a little as he took an answering step back, uncrossing and crossing his arms. He raised his hands, palm side out, and stepped forward again until Rodney was backed up against the wall and he was so close he could almost feel the warmth of the other man’s body. He could see the rise and fall of Rodney’s chest; and as he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, he thought he could hear the soft sigh of Rodney’s exhalations, the too-rapid beat of his heart in time with John’s, and it was perfect, so perfect, as everything seemed to fall into place with an audible click and John knew with utter clarity what he had to do.
“Rodney,” he said, only it was more of a whisper or a benediction; everything he had wanted to say but couldn’t quite put into words crept into his voice and made it low, husky with deliberation. John smiled; only it was catlike, more like a slow, sensuous curving of lips. “Back on that planet, if the priestess had needed more proof, what would you have done?”
Rodney’s breath caught, and John looked up to eyes wide with something--not anger and not quite suspicion, but something unreadable, something John couldn’t make out quite yet.
He licked his lips before he spoke again and watched as Rodney’s eyes darted down to follow the movement. “Do you want to know what I would have done?” he asked.
Because he was in the military, and all the regulations involved, John never hit on men until he was absolutely sure his interest was returned. He’d never been as sure of his chances as he was with Rodney, hadn’t had chemistry this undeniable in years and still his heart was working overtime: pulse pounding, palms clammy, breath coming short and making his chest ache because he knew, he knew that this was never a sure thing.
But he was standing so close to Rodney they were practically touching and it occurred to John that he’d already gone too far. He was way past the point of plausible deniability, and so he swallowed down visions of court-martials and paperwork, stargates dialed and ready for a one-way trip back to Earth and a life devoid of the wonder and risk that was Atlantis and puddlejumpers and strange new planets with strange new cultures.
Slowly, like he was dreaming, John brought his hands to his sides to make sweaty fists against the panic rising in his chest and the crazy, overwhelming urge to touch every inch of Rodney’s skin. He was ready, he thought, to do this, but he couldn’t bear to look straight at Rodney while he did, so he picked a spot on the wall just to the side of Rodney’s neck and studied it like it was the most interesting thing in the world as Rodney choked and stammered and finally breathed, “What?”
“I--” The wall wasn’t enough; John found his eyes inexorably drawn to the bottom left corner of Rodney’s mouth, where his lips curved down ever so slightly. John wanted to taste it, had been distracted by Rodney’s mouth all damn day. He licked his lips and tried unsuccessfully not to wonder what Rodney would taste like. He’d forgotten what it was he was going to say. “I would have blown you,” he said instead. It came out rougher than he would have liked, and since he’d already put himself out this far he figured to hell with it, he’d go all the way. Leaning forward until their noses touched, until their lips almost brushed, until he was practically breathing Rodney in, John said, “I would have gotten down on my knees and sucked you off. I wanted to.”
John’s breath caught. Rodney’s sped up; John could feel it huff out against his own lips and it was intoxicating, the way they stood there panting into each other’s mouths and not even touching even though they were close, so damn close John didn’t think he could lick his own lips without touching Rodney’s. It was possibly the most erotic experience in John’s life; he closed his eyes against it and suddenly the words he’d worked so hard to find came spilling out, broken and stumbling over each other in their haste like a confession.
“I would have taken your cock in my mouth and made you come. I wanted to kneel down right there in front of everyone and make you gasp, and I wanted them to hear you say my name while I sucked you.” One of Rodney’s hands was on his hip, squeezing, while the other slid up his shoulder to his neck, and John tilted his head, leaned into the touch. His hands reached out of their own volition to clutch at Rodney’s waist, twisting themselves into the fabric of Rodney's clothes. “I want to know what you taste like when you come,” he breathed. “I want to know what you’d feel like in my mouth. I want to know what you sound like, how you’d move, what you’d say. I want--”
John shuddered, voice cracking, and Rodney’s hand twisted roughly in his hair. “Shut up,” he growled, and John was all too happy to comply because Rodney was kissing him and it was incredible, it was electric, every nerve-end sizzling, he felt like he was being burned up from the inside out; and John thought disjointedly that if there really was such a thing as spontaneous combustion, it was probably going to happen to him right fucking now.
Which was a goddamn shame, seeing as he was in the middle of the best kiss of his life--the kind that, if he was a poetic man, he’d have to call incendiary--and John would really hate to go and explode before it was over.
Rodney must have known his mind was wandering because he bit down sharply on John’s bottom lip, soothing the sting out of it with a broad swipe of his tongue and bringing John’s mind back to the task at hand with a nearly audible snap. “F-Fuck,” Rodney stuttered when John slipped a hand past the waistband of his pants, and the whine in his voice as he said it very nearly killed all cognitive thought processes John had left. “Fuck. John. Don’t stop, oh God.”
John smiled almost savagely against Rodney’s neck, snuck his free hand up to pinch one of Rodney’s nipples, and the sound Rodney made as his head thunked back against the wall was enough to effectively fry what little was left of John’s brain.
Which was fine by him, John thought, really, and then he made what was possibly the most undignified squeak anyone had ever made in the history of the universe when Rodney palmed him through his pants, fingers brushing his balls as he thrust up into the touch. John groaned into his mouth and crushed the lengths of their bodies together when Rodney’s hands slipped down and around to grab his ass.
And then there wasn’t anything except the way their hands fumbled desperately at flies, elbows bumping awkwardly until they finally, finally got them and John braced himself on the wall and ground down just as Rodney ground up, gasping and clutching and shuddering into each other as the world dissolved into hot and wet and perfect; it left John weak-kneed and shaking, raining clumsy kisses onto Rodney’s face and neck as they held each other up.
“Oh, wow,” Rodney said into the curve of John's shoulder where he’d dropped his face down into John’s neck. He sniffed experimentally. “Oh wow, Major, you reek!” But he didn’t make any effort to shift his head. “Smell like goat,” he grumbled, though it sounded more like commentary than active complaint. John chuckled and threaded his fingers through Rodney’s hair absently.
“You can call me John, you know,” he said, yawning. His whole body was hard-wired to fall asleep directly after mind-blowing sex. “We just came all over each other--I think that warrants a first-name basis. Besides, you don’t exactly smell like roses yourself.” He poked Rodney’s shoulder demonstratively. “I think a shower may be in order.”
Rodney rubbed his face sleepily on John’s shirt and laughed quietly. “Shower sounds good. I’ve been dying for one since, oh, yesterday? You know, when they took all of our clothes and left us naked and defenseless in a filthy, flea-infested hovel that smelled like it had been a stable or possibly a sewage plant in a previous incarnation.” He gave a bone-cracking yawn of his own as John stepped back and pulled him towards the bathroom.
“Maj--John,” Rodney said once they’d stripped down in the steam from the shower. John glanced back over his shoulder as he was peeling his last sock off.
“Yeah?” Rodney was frowning thoughtfully, clutching one of his extra towels in both hands. Something in John’s chest twisted painfully. “What’s up?” Rodney over-thought everything, John knew that, and he knew there were a million ways for Rodney to think this thing between them could go hideously wrong.
“Nothing.” Rodney looked at him strangely. “Just, I never thought--I mean, I thought you were straight.”
Oh, so that was it. God, Rodney may have been the smartest person John knew, but he was also one of the most oblivious. John smirked. “Really.”
“Well, yeah, I mean,” Rodney’s hands flailed vaguely. John assumed it was meant to be emphatic. “Chaya.”
“Oh, that,” John stifled a grin and turned to open the shower door. “Well, Chaya was different.” Pause. John could almost hear the scowl forming. “She’s the exception that proves the rule. Besides, none of the abbots were cute.”
He’d even managed to say it with a straight face, and then Rodney had to go and ruin it all by chucking the towel viciously at his head and elbowing past him into the shower.
And then the cranky bastard wouldn’t even let him in until he stopped laughing.
Or, How Aliens Made Them (Almost) Do It
Author: mousewitchy
Rated: Hard R/ Soft NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Disclaimer: Not mine. Fan-written fiction.
Summary: Wherein Teyla gets slave-boys, Rodney gets naked, and John’s hair sends secret signals.
A/N: I have loads of people to thank on this, namely: _evening_star_ who, when I told her the story at work, demanded I write it; friend K who, when I told her about it on the phone, demanded I finish it; Mamazoot, who went above and beyond the call of duty by holding my neurotic little hand through it; and brighidestone who was kind enough to give this story a much-needed kick in the pants in beta. Thank you!
Also, this story has been languishing half-written on my hard drive since the first Amnesty challenge, so I guess you could consider this Amnesty for the Season One Amnesty! *g* And in case you haven’t guessed yet, set in Season One.
The Istani were a matriarchal society. Extremely matriarchal, which shouldn’t have been surprising, given the Wraith and the obvious necessity of periodic repopulation. What should have been surprising, John thought, was that they hadn’t run into something like this sooner.
The Istani homeworld produced a kind of ore that could be refined into an alloy McKay believed the Ancients had used when they developed the ZPMs. That and the ambient energy readings on the planet had kept McKay in tiny little paroxysms of joy since they’d come through the Stargate. He'd had been alternately fiddling with the Ancient PDA-thing, lecturing John on just how important this alloy could be, and happily expounding on the potential uses and properties of the stuff. John was almost entirely lost, Ford and Teyla definitely were, but they let him talk because, well, it was kind of cute.
At least, John thought so.
Apparently the Istani high priestess didn’t feel the same; she’d refused to even acknowledge John, but when McKay spoke up to get her attention she looked down her nose at him and asked Teyla if she needed any help punishing her “boy”.
“No,” Teyla answered quickly. “Thank you, but I believe I have him well in hand.” Her eyes flicked to John’s warningly. John nodded minutely and stepped back, noticing as he did the way the shoulders of almost every man in the village seemed to be bowed in resignation, like they were hunching in on themselves. Here and there, angry red welts peeked out from under their tunics; on the men who were shirtless, John could see nasty-looking lash-marks, some fresh and some only half-healed.
He didn’t miss the look of satisfaction that crossed the high priestess’s face when she noticed John noticing what was probably her handiwork.
John thought he’d never seen Rodney shut up quite that fast, or look quite that intimidated. Even with Kolya, Rodney hadn’t lost his capacity for righteous indignation. But this woman with the cold, greedy eyes and authoritarian voice seemed to cut him down.
Of course, part of that could have been the wicked-looking whip she had coiled at the belt of those impressive robes. The priestess reached down to touch it as Teyla stepped forward, and smirked maliciously when she noticed Rodney’s eyes widen.
John’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted unobtrusively to grip his P-90 a little better. Glancing at Ford, he could see the lieutenant doing the same. John remembered Kolya and how he’d ordered Rodney’s arm sliced open like it was so much meat. He wondered if Ford was thinking of that, too.
Teyla had walked a short distance away to confer with the priestess, and she returned to the group looking serious; but, John saw with some relief, not we-just-fucked-this-up serious. More like we’re-gonna-have-to-work-for-this serious.
“She says they are willing to trade for the ore Dr. McKay described, Major.” Teyla said as she walked up.
John frowned. That should have been good news, but Teyla didn’t exactly look happy about it. “So, they’re willing to trade. What’s the catch?”
Teyla sighed. “In return, we are to perform a … ritual,” she said cautiously.
“What kind of ritual?” John asked slowly, suddenly uncomfortably sure he didn’t want to know the answer. He had a bad feeling about this, like that one time with the paraplegic penguin-thing and the bucket full of … well, whatever it had been full of--that, John was sure, he still didn’t want to know.
“Come a little further away with me,” said Teyla. “I will explain.”
Wearing near-identical expressions of doubt, they all followed; once they’d walked about twenty feet from the group of Istani, Teyla explained.
John’s first thought was, Oh, wow, that’s not half as bad as I expected. From the expression on Ford’s face, the lieutenant felt the same way. It’s just a little public sex. We can do this.
Rodney, however, only seemed more upset by Teyla’s explanation. “Teyla,” He grabbed the Athosian woman by the arm, looking flushed and more than a little bit desperate, “We, um, I need to talk to you. Like, now.” He tugged her a few feet away from the group, where he spoke in low, urgent tones, glancing nervously back in John’s direction
“I wonder what that’s all about,” John said idly, watching Rodney’s hands describe short, jerky figures in the air.
“I don’t know, sir.” Ford grinned, “Some of those Istani were pretty hot. Maybe he’s saving himself for marriage, or something.”
“McKay?” John looked at Rodney and smirked. Teyla was talking, calming the other man considerably. “Nah. He just doesn’t seem the prudish type, you know?”
Ford shrugged.
John frowned thoughtfully. “They say it’s always the quiet ones.”
“McKay’s not quiet.” Ford looked puzzled.
John laughed. “Exactly.”
“Major,” Teyla’s face was serious as she approached him. “I need to speak with you.” She pulled him aside.
“What’s wrong with Rodney?” John asked, and followed.
Teyla didn’t say anything until they’d walked about ten feet from where Rodney and Ford stood. Then she turned to him, arms crossed, “Dr. McKay has certain preferences he believes may be--disturbing--to the Istani. The priestess has told me something of their culture, and I believe he is correct.”
“Jesus!” Just when you thought you knew someone. “What kind of shit is he into?” John asked, and looked back to where the head of Atlantis’s science team was still standing near Ford, looking ruffled and uncomfortable and nothing like the closet pervert he apparently was.
Rodney noticed John looking and scowled at him.
John’s tone must have told Teyla exactly what he was thinking, because she frowned at him, too, and said, “Major, Dr. McKay’s preferences are anathema to the Istani because they worship a fertility goddess. I was not aware your culture had such a taboo against same-sex couplings.” Her voice was disapproving.
She also looked kind of like she wanted to kick his ass. For decidedly non-educational purposes.
“Same-sex couplings?” John repeated dumbly. “Oh!” he said, with dawning comprehension. “You mean he’s gay!” The last came out much more loudly than he’d intended, and John snapped his mouth shut.
He glanced back at Rodney and Ford. Ford looked kind of surprised, but Rodney’s face was a cross between we’re-all-going-to-die and you-are-so-stupid-you-deserve-to-die. John had a feeling that the second was for him.
“Sorry.” John sighed and mentally kicked himself. It figured he’d have to go and botch his chance just when he found out he had one. “Didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag. Hey, you don’t think they know what ‘gay’ means, do you?” At Teyla’s blank look, he explained, “It’s a colloquial term for same-sex … um, orientation.”
She fixed him with a reproachful look. “Then perhaps it is not a good idea to speak of this so loudly, Major.” That displeased-teacher expression really made her look like Weir, John noticed, almost frighteningly so.
“Yeah, probably not. So,” John said, changing the subject quickly. “What are we gonna do about McKay, anyway? Just how ‘disturbed’ will the Istani be if they find out about him?”
“The Istani goddess only recognizes procreative sex, and they consider it a matter of survival, Major, so I am not certain how they would react,” Teyla answered, and glanced back at Rodney. “Badly, I think.”
“Badly.” Shit. John looked down and scratched the back of his head thoughtfully, mindful not to look too much like he was the one in charge. “I know McKay says we need that ore, but I don’t like this,” he said finally. “Let’s get out of here and find another way to get it. Unless you have any ideas.”
Teyla cocked her head and thought for a moment. Then she smiled. “Actually, Major, I think I do.”
*
John had expected more in the way of argument from Rodney as they were roughly divested of their equipment, weapons, and clothing, but the scientist was uncharacteristically subdued, stepping out of his boots and stripping off his clothes without a single snide remark or word of protest. Then again, if the Istani high priestess had been watching John undress with that predatory gleam of avarice and lust, John would have been pretty quiet, too.
Watching Rodney’s pale, nervous face as he stood cupping both hands at his crotch and looking anywhere but at the priestess, John took a moment to pray that Teyla really did know what she was doing. Then he took a moment to check Rodney's ass out while Rodney was too focused on the priestess to catch him watching.
John fought the urge to whistle appreciatively. Rodney's ass looked even better without the BDUs. It looked so good, in fact, that it seemed more parts of John’s anatomy than his eyes were taking notice.
Margaret Thatcher naked, he told himself sternly, looking down at where he had his own hands covering himself. In the rain.
Yeah, that worked. John shuddered and made a mental note that appreciating his teammate’s finer assets, while enjoyable and entirely justified, was a really bad idea in front of the homophobic high priestess of the Istani homeworld. (If the Istani had named their planet, John hadn’t heard it yet. Already, in his head, he was calling it the Planet of the Sexually Oppressed Slave Boys. It seemed fitting, and it had a ring to it.)
Next to him, Ford stood stiff-backed and straight, and shifted uncomfortably when Rodney glanced sidewise at John.
“Relax, Lieutenant,” John said under his breath, drawling the words out in annoyance. “He’s not gonna check you out. He’s at a lot more risk than the rest of us and he’s nervous. Not looking at him, and flinching every time he looks at you is not going to help. Got it?”
“Yeah, uh. Yes, sir.” Ford said; and then, sheepishly, a moment later, “You’re right. Sorry, sir.”
“Good. So long as we’re clear.” John looked over at Rodney scowling to himself and seeming torn between simple embarrassment and abject humiliation. He looked frightened and vulnerable; resigned, as if he’d expected and accepted Ford’s reaction as something that would simply have to be endured.
At this point, he’d have preferred Rodney’s certain-doom song and dance. At least that would have meant Rodney trusted him enough to listen if John tried to calm him down. But this silence, it was … disquieting. John wasn’t sure he wanted to know what Rodney had expected from him; Rodney was typically so cynical of people that it was probably unhealthy.
Then again, John thought, he had his hair, which he was hoping had to give him some kind of advantage. He caught Rodney’s eye and gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod.
Yup, he thought when Rodney gave a nervous sort of almost-smile back, it definitely cut him some slack. Rodney couldn’t possibly think John woke up every morning with his hair done just so--no, there was effort there. If he were to put it in terms of legality, John would have to think of his hair as ‘premeditated’. Nobody got hair to look like his without time, effort, and precise amounts of meticulously applied hair-care products.
Nobody had hair like John’s in the armed forces unless they were secretly gay. It was like a rule.
*
It turned out the private room Teyla had managed to talk the Istani into turned out to be less “private”, or even “room”, and more like “paper-walled yurt at the edge of town”. Okay, so it did have a makeshift curtain thrown over the entrance, and the walls weren’t paper, exactly; but they were pretty damn thin, and about as soundproof as paper would have been.
The whole setup smelled suspiciously like goat. A whole lot of goat.
They’d anticipated the possibility that the natives might arrange things so the team could be “checked” on throughout the night. According to Teyla, The priestess had reacted to Teyla’s insistence that she absolutely required all three of her men for one night of pleasure with grudging respect, but also equal measures suspicion and anger.
“Major, I am aware that you may find this uncomfortable,” Teyla had told John. She’d just finished talking the Istani into their current semi-private accommodations. “But I must be heard to ‘take pleasure’, as their law states, in at least one of you.” When John opened his mouth, Teyla smiled. “Lieutenant Ford has no objection to sharing my bedroll tonight. It is nothing new to either of us. My concern, however, is that my claiming all three of you will undoubtedly displease this woman. I am afraid she will look for reasons to distrust or discredit us.”
“You mean she’s gonna spy on us.”
“I think she may check to make sure we are fulfilling the ceremony, yes,” Teyla answered, but grudgingly. She didn’t look any happier than she sounded. “This will be a profitable bargain for the Istani. Most of her people would be willing to allow us to simply go through the motions in return for such wealth, but this woman would jeopardize that. Out of spite, and without concern for what her people could gain from us. I do not understand such.... ” Teyla shook her head. “She does not serve her people well. I find it distasteful, as well as frustrating.”
Privately, John thought it was because she’d had had her eye on Rodney for the night, an idea that was, frankly, terrifying. Between eau de goat, the utter lack of privacy, and whip-wielding sadistic priestesses, John was feeling a lot of sympathy for the male population of this planet.
Sex had to be hell.
He looked over where Rodney sat near the wall of the hut, naked and cross-legged and facing pointedly away from Ford and Teyla in the middle. Rodney hadn’t yet broken that uncharacteristic silence, or lost that “certain doom” set to his shoulders. In fact, he hadn’t made one even remotely snide comment in hours.
One thing John knew, or at least guessed, from experience was that the light-speed verbal barrage Rodney usually let loose in times of stress had a purpose; complaining loudly and snidely about the situation at hand seemed to distract Rodney as much as it made him feel better.
Rodney looked like he needed an outlet. John frowned, then scooted closer as something occurred to him. Some of their standard-issue verbal poking might be just the distraction Rodney needed. Rodney seemed to enjoy it as much as John, and it’d give him a chance to let off some steam. If nothing else, he’d play prime-not-prime and it’d give John a chance to prove he didn’t give a damn about Rodney’s sexual orientation.
He did, of course, but only in the best possible way, and John figured this was neither the time nor the place to have that conversation.
“Hey,” he whispered, bumping shoulders companionably and ignoring Rodney’s startled glance. “Do you think Elizabeth would be able to do anything about this place?” At Rodney’s puzzled frown, he added, “You know, the Istani. It doesn’t feel right, dealing with slave-owners like this.”
“Gee, I’m sorry you’re not comfortable, but we need this ore, Major,” Rodney hissed. “And, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m just a little more concerned about the part where we get beaten half to death by said slave-owners before we had a chance to deal with them, because they saw right through this pathetic excuse for a half-baked plan!”
Well, there it was. Rodney was sounding better already.
“Relax, we’re going for authenticity, here,” John whisper-drawled, and nodded back towards the middle of the hut. “Those two oughta throw them off, and Teyla seems to have it under control. If they get on our case, well …” They’d decided against a fire; the night was pretty decently warm, and that kind of illumination inside the dwelling would have made it too easy for the Istani to keep track of their movements. It was a full moon for the Istani tonight, and while the smoke hole in the ceiling didn’t admit much in the way of light, enough filtered in that they weren’t going to be bumping blindly into each other if they decided to get up and move around.
John looked at Rodney, at the way the moonlight reflected the fear in his eyes, and shrugged, feigning a nonchalance he didn’t feel at all. “We’ll figure something out,” he finished lamely. Through the ceiling, he could see stars that looked nothing like they should have, nothing like they would have at home--on Earth, or Atlantis. “We’ll figure something out,” he said again, and this time the words were more like a promise, because he absolutely refused to lose Rodney. Not on this planet, and not on any other.
But especially not on this one.
Rodney snorted, interrupting John’s train of thought. “Why do you care what these people do, anyway? I mean, except for the ritual suicide, you’ve always been pretty adamant that we leave everyone’s culture intact.”
“I don’t like the idea of making these people rich. It’s enabling the whole system,” John said defensively. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, actually.” Rodney sounded surprised, and John scowled. “It’s just. Well, you’ve never struck me as a social activist, exactly.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to have a moral objection to keeping half of the population in what amounts to sexual slavery,” John said crossly. “Hello--US Air Force? As in United States of America, home of the Emancipation Proclamation? Civil War, Martin Luther King--ring a bell?”
“Guess I was wrong,” Rodney said quickly, changing the subject. “Well, Elizabeth’s the diplomat, not me.” John manfully suppressed laughter. Rodney glared at him. “But, you know, whatever bargain we strike with the Istani is bound to be profitable, so whichever one of them’s responsible for getting that’s going to be--influential, I think. We could probably use that somehow to, I don’t know, change things. Sweeten the deal, maybe.” Rodney shrugged. “If nothing else, we could ignite the male revolution and trust that they’d be willing to trade with us.”
“Right.” John smirked, drawing the word out. “Why don’t we wait on that one--I think we’ve still got our plates full between the Wraith and the Genii. We could use all the friends we could get.”
“Huh,” said Rodney. “Suit yourself.” He didn’t say anything more, but it wasn’t the same tense silence he’d maintained since their first encounter with the Istani priestess. This silence was different, expectant.
Rodney stared at the wall in front of him like he could see through it, and John took the opportunity to admire the smooth line of muscle across Rodney’s shoulders. Rodney had broad shoulders, and the skin there looked sweat-damp and lickable.
John’s shoulder burned where he’d bumped Rodney before, a warm pleasant tingle that made him want to do it again. He couldn’t stop looking at Rodney’s shoulders. Rodney had good shoulders, solid shoulders, the kind that would be good to hold on to while you were getting fucked.
John shivered.
Fuck, he thought. He really needed to stop thinking, and he needed to do it now.
He bumped shoulders with Rodney again, oh-so-casually. “So,” he drawled. “Um. Gay, huh?”
John had all of half a second to contemplate his utter lack of smoothness before Rodney turned and fixed him with possibly the most scathing expression he’d worn all day.
“No,” Rodney said irritably. “No, actually, I lied--I like having sex with women, especially strange ones on alien planets who are perfectly willing to ‘do the dirty’” This was something John imagined would have come with airquotes under normal circumstances, but Rodney was apparently unwilling to take both hands out of his lap even for the sake of sarcasm, so instead the words were punctuated with a vague one-handed gesture and an eye-roll. “With me for the sake of some ridiculous religious ceremony.” His voice was rising, growing faster and more emphatic as he went on. He looked disturbingly on edge. “See, I just thought that getting locked in a very small, unsanitary, and in all probability flea-infested hut stark naked with you while Ford and Teyla have gratuitously loud sex behind us sounded like a really great idea! What do you think, Major? Having fun yet?”
John winced. Oops. So much for conversation. “Rodney, that’s not what I --”
Rodney cut him off. “Speaking of which,” he said to the wall meaningfully. “Could they get any louder? There are other people in here, you know. People who would like to get some sleep and, you know, not listen to their teammates have sex for the rest of the night.”
Neither Teyla nor Ford seemed to notice. In fact, if anything, Teyla got louder. John had to agree with Rodney. He knew they had to maintain the illusion that they were all taking part in the ceremony, but this was just gratuitous.
Either that, or Ford was just really good--and, wow, that was something John did not want to be thinking of just now. Or, in fact, ever. There were some things that just didn’t need to be thought about one’s 2IC. This was one of them.
“Uh,” John said, just as Teyla got really vocal. He rubbed his forehead. “You know, you’re right. That is a little over-the-top.”
“Yes, exactly,” muttered Rodney. “Thank you.”
“You know,” John said a moment later. “I never figured you for men. Didn’t you have a thing for Colonel Carter?”
“Yes, well.” Rodney squirmed uncomfortably. “I did, but she was an exception. Every rule has one.”
He didn’t say much more after that, not that John could blame him. The night, as it went on, proved to be one of the most uncomfortable he’d ever spent with his team.
Not to mention one of the longest.
*
The next morning it became apparent that, no matter how convincing they thought they’d been, it hadn’t been convincing enough, because that damn high priestess obviously wasn’t buying it. Which was, John thought, the real kicker to the whole painfully uncomfortable, truly bizarre night.
It was pretty damn obvious she wasn’t buying it, too, because the first words out of her mouth as they stumbled, light-dazzled and still naked as the day they were born, out into the sunlight were, “I don’t believe you.”
Well, actually, what she’d said was, “I don’t believe you off-worlders! You really think you could lie to the Goddess?” But, in John’s opinion, that was close enough.
Teyla frowned, and looked sincerely angry for the first time since they’d set foot on the planet. “High Priestess Kaliya,” she said coolly, and did a short ceremonial bow. “I’m not sure I understand. What is it you think we are lying about?”
Kaliya raised her chin imperiously and pointed to at John and Rodney. “You did not take pleasure from those two, as our laws require.” And was it just John, or did the woman sound a little pleased? He risked a glance at Teyla, who apparently thought the same; her face had hardened, and she had the gleam in her eye he’d only ever seen her use on Bates.
The priestess raised her voice so the gathering crowd could hear, revving herself up for a nice, dramatic scene. “These newcomers have deceived us, broken our laws, and flouted our most sacred traditions. How is it we are to trade with a people who--”
“We have not broken your laws,” Teyla interjected, pitching her voice to be heard by the crowd as well. “I took pleasure in each of my men last night.” She was, John noticed, smiling like the cat that ate the cream.
The high priestess broke off her speech and turned to face Teyla, nostrils flaring. “Really? Then how is it that one,” she pointed to Ford. “Is the only one that bears your scent?”
Dozens of lower-ranked acolytes muttered amongst themselves and John inwardly cursed. He knew they’d been forgetting something. And now they were naked and weaponless and utterly at the mercy of an entire temple’s worth of whip-bearing priestesses accusing them of blasphemy. As if that wasn’t enough, it turned out they were apparently pretty whiffy, too.
Oh yeah. This was going so well.
Teyla, however, appeared entirely unruffled by the other woman’s statement. “He is the only one to bear my scent because he is the only one who knew my body last night. I allowed my other men to please each other.” More murmuring, and Teyla held up a hand to forestall any objections. “I was told that the ritual requires me only to take sexual pleasure in my men. It is well-known that these two prefer men, and it brings me no pleasure to force myself upon them.” Kaliya bristled when Teyla said this, and Teyla pointedly did not look at her. “It does, however, please me a great deal to watch them love one another.”
John held his breath. Beside him, Rodney had his eyes squeezed tightly shut and his lips were moving, possibly reciting some sort of prayer.
He wasn’t, John realized as he sidled closer to listen. Rodney’s eyes were closed and his mouth was moving in a litany of, “Oh my god, we are so screwed.” It would have been funny if John hadn’t been so sure he was right.
“You are lying.” Kaliya said tightly, eyes flashing. Her hands were clenched so tightly that her knuckles were white. She looked at John and Rodney. “I do not believe these two have known each other. There is no proof.”
Teyla didn’t appear intimidated at all. She turned her best leader-of-the-people of the look on the woman and said, “They should not need to prove anything to you. I give my word.”
And there, thought John, was a gauntlet thrown, if ever there was one. She’d just challenged the high priestess’s authority in front of a village square full of acolytes, and there was no way, no way at all that could come to any good.
The decision was made in a split-second but, to John, it felt like it had been a long time coming. Carefully not moving his modesty hand, John lifted his free hand to the back of Rodney’s neck and kissed him.
Rodney tensed for one frozen moment, lips moving against John’s as he stuttered into his mouth, and John took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, hoping against hope Rodney wouldn’t resist and prove the priestess right.
Thankfully, Rodney settled right into it, all and stubble and warmth, and John rewarded him with a few soft, careful nips before licking his way into Rodney’s mouth. This was something John thought he’d wanted to do forever--and if it happened that he had to spring it on Rodney on some backwater, backwards planet to save both their skins, well, then that was how it happened. Now that it was happening, John didn’t think he’d be able to regret it. And forget it? There was no goddamn way.
Rodney made a soft noise that could have been surprise or pleasure, and his shoulders twitched in a way that could have meant resistance or surrender; John realized with a small, inward smile that he’d pretty much forgotten to let Rodney in on the program.
Smiling into Rodney’s mouth, he moved his hand up where he could thread his fingers into surprisingly soft brown hair and stroked his thumb across the smooth skin under Rodney’s ear, something he knew the priestess and their audience couldn’t see--something he knew Rodney knew they couldn’t see.
Rodney’s breath quickened and he made another noise John was sure this time was pleasure. Rodney leaned forward into John, so close that John felt their knuckles brush down low, illicit and electric and forbidden; and, wow, if this was how it felt to be on the receiving end of all that focus, John kind of envied all that Ancient technology. He barely stifled a groan when he felt Rodney’s free hand work its way up his back to his neck and he shuddered when their hands brushed again.
He’d been wrong, John thought disjointedly. It was a damn shame they were doing this in front of an audience, because they were so fucking close and there were very few things in the world that could keep him from touching Rodney’s cock right fucking now, and unfortunately his repressed junior officer in the company of repressed and possibly homicidal priestesses happened to fall in that category.
John pulled away, absolutely devoid of composure and licking his lips regretfully; he found himself wondering how likely it was that they’d have noticed if he’d moved one of his fingers just so.
Sighing, he put his best effort to thinking of anything except "Rodney" and "naked". His dick had no sense of propriety. It’s a terrible idea, he told it, It’ll all end in tears and litigation.
When he opened his eyes, he was glad he’d made the effort, because Rodney was still naked, flushed, and panting in front of him. Two high spots of color on his cheeks made the blue of Rodney’s eyes even more striking. John wondered idly if Rodney knew how downright pretty he looked like this.
That line of thinking was getting him nowhere, he decided, and determinedly squelched it by considering the possible strategic arrangements of a number of goat-scented yurts in a village this size.
Rodney licked his lips and swallowed, never taking his eyes from John. Off to the side, Kaliya ended a muffled conversation with Teyla and stalked away in the direction of the temple. Upon reflection, John thought it was something he probably ought to have been paying attention to, seeing as they were conversing on whether or not they were royally screwed for not screwing Teyla and ostensibly screwing each other instead.
Huh, John thought as he mentally reviewed the town’s layout. He couldn’t have planned a worse town to defend if he’d tried. Not to mention the effect the smell probably had on morale.
No wonder the poor bastards had to be religiously motivated into sex. The whole damn place was positively rank, and god only knew what long-term exposure did to the libido. And, fuck, did it really all come down to sex? Thinking with his dick wasn’t the most tactically brilliant idea at this point, John reminded himself, not to mention that he ought to have learned years ago that his dick had never led him into any good outside the bedroom.
The way Rodney flushed again when he realized he’d been staring at John didn’t help. Nor did the almost distressingly arousing way he nearly forgot himself and gestured with both hands before fixing his eyes resolutely on the ground in front of him.
John was sure Rodney’s eyelashes had never been that long and dark before. He would have noticed.
Once John had gotten as composed as was possible, considering he was still naked as the day he’d been born and now a great deal more uncomfortable, he risked a sideways glance at Teyla. To his relief, she and Ford had covered their shock nicely. Teyla even looked smug, if a little flushed, which John figured was a good thing.
Next to them, one of the more minor priestesses caught John looking at her and flushed, though she didn’t look away. “Teyla,” she asked, turning her gaze to study Rodney. “May I …?”
“No,” Teyla fairly growled. “They are mine,” she elaborated, “and are only permitted to perform for me.” The priestess blanched and made apologetic motions.
John smirked. He’d always known Teyla had a closet dominatrix hidden somewhere inside.
Eventually, they were all allowed clothes again and the junior priestess (the one who’d asked to sample the product, John noticed with some apprehension--apparently, some of these folks thought John and Rodney were what Teyla had brought to trade, since she wasn’t actually taking advantage of their masculine wiles) took over the trade negotiations.
And since Teyla was the one ostensibly in charge of the entire operation, all that was left for John to do was kick back with one eye cocked for angry natives, one arm slung around Rodney’s shoulders--for verisimilitude, of course--and put his very favorite shit-eating cocky-flyboy grin on under his very favorite pair of aviator sunglasses.
It was the same grin he’d used to worry countless superior officers with in the past; it was amazing, really, how nervous a smirking fighter pilot made some folks. The sunglasses, he knew, only made it worse, obscuring his eyes and most of the rest of his expression. Judging by the curious, unsettled glances the man shot in his direction every time John played the doting boyfriend, Rodney was no exception.
The Istani appeared entirely immune, though John guessed that’d change once they figured out what exactly a fighter pilot was. It took a special kind of person to take a multi-billion dollar, multi-ton piece of machinery thousands of feet in the air and do tricks with it; a certain quality most people referred to as arrogance, and that John privately thought of as confidence.
After all, it was only arrogance if you couldn’t do it.
*
There was an edge to the glances Rodney kept throwing his way; uncharacteristically confused and just the tiniest bit soulful with a taste of something darker, an edgier kind of frustration that made John squirm uncomfortably as his nether parts took notice.
The more John thought about it, the more he started second-guessing the whole damn thing. Yeah, the kiss had saved them a whole lot of argument and diplomatic hoo-rah--but he hadn’t exactly asked Rodney, just assumed the other man would be on board with it.
John’s smile faltered. When Rodney didn’t try to fight him, he’d taken it for granted that he’d been right. Then again, John thought, what did he really know at this point? Rodney had been flustered, yes, but that could have been shock--his supposedly straight team leader had just slipped him some rather enthusiastic tongue. (Which, again, John still thought the whole hair thing should have given him away, what with Rodney being a genius; and hello--the wristband? Like a neon sign. Seriously.)
And, said a small voice in the back of his head, it could have been anger. John hadn’t given Rodney any warning before he thrust himself right into the other man’s more personal spaces in front of most of the village. While they were both still really naked. If there wasn’t anger there, John thought uneasily, there was probably embarrassment, at the very least.
His mistake, John realized, was that he’d taken Rodney’s admission that he liked men as some sort of gift, when he should have known damn well that that didn’t necessarily mean Rodney liked him.
No, John thought as he reviewed the events of the last day-and-a-half, Rodney’s reactions and the ways they’d interacted since they got to Atlantis. There was chemistry there.
He looked sidelong at the scientist next to him, moved his thumb slow and deliberate over the soft skin at the nape of Rodney’s neck, relished the shiver it sent through the other man’s body. Definite chemistry. That wasn’t the problem.
Then what was?
John moved his thumb again absently, tracing the muscles in Rodney’s neck, and thought he got his answer in the wary, furtive glance that earned him. Rodney was looking at John like he was looking for something; suspicion was painted all over his face, writ clear in the tilt of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the small downward curl at the corners of his mouth. It was a realization that, no matter how John turned it, settled heavy like lead in the pit of his stomach.
Rodney thought John was fucking with him.
Suddenly John fervently regretted the sunglasses. He’d put them on because he knew they would conceal his most incriminating expressions; and, bright as the day was, he could wear them without seeming as if he was hiding behind them. He was hiding, but only from Ford, and it hadn’t occurred to him until now how they hid him from Rodney, too. Rodney, who--like Ford--most likely thought his most incriminating expressions were exactly opposite of what they actually were; disgusted and probably pained faces that would give the game away.
Fuck. John blew out a heavy breath and rubbed the bridge of his nose, vowing inwardly to prove Rodney wrong at the earliest opportunity.
“Something wrong, sir?” Ford must have heard him, because he looked back over his shoulder, all concern and military sympathy when he saw John still leaning closely into Rodney’s bulk. Ford was sitting up front as Teyla’s “most-honored” bondsman, and must have caught Teyla’s attention, because she looked back as well, frowning thoughtfully.
“No, it’s nothing.” John produced his best faux-rueful smile, and turned up the charm when the priestess gave him a look of concern. “Just a headache.”
There was nodding, and sympathetic noises made, so that seemed to satisfy them. Rodney, on the other hand, seemed to hunker in on himself even more, crossing his arms defensively and pointedly not looking at John.
Fuck, John thought again. Earliest opportunity.
*
The trouble with his “earliest opportunity” plan was that, between wrapping up the trade negotiations and possibly instigating some serious socio-political reform, Teyla took up most of their morning.
“I’m sorry,” said the priestess, after Teyla deferred to Rodney’s loosely calculated estimate of the ore they’d need. As usual, it had involved a great deal of jargon and gesticulating while he theorized on this and that possible application of the stuff. “I mean no offense, but I do not understand. Why have you allowed him such learning? Such a thing is … not in our customs.”
While this priestess seemed honestly curious, John could just have imagined Kaliya’s reaction. Rodney could too, if the way he blanched and fell silent was any indication.
Teyla smiled warmly, as if it had been a simple question of etiquette instead of one weighted with thorny and possibly dangerous religious and societal connotations. “You have not offended me. This one has a thirst for knowledge,” She said, and smiled fondly back at Rodney, placing a proprietary hand on his arm and squeezing reassuringly before turning back to the priestess. “It brings him immeasurable pleasure to learn these things, and I find no harm in indulging him, and much benefit.” At the woman’s blank look, she continued. “When he is happy to serve me, his service is more pleasing.”
“Oh!” The expression on the priestess’s face when she caught the meaning implicit in Teyla’s voice was almost comical. It just figured she’d find the argument that’d stand to reason with these people, and that it wouldn’t be anything but enlightened self-interest. “I think I understand. Is this the reason you allow them to …” The tilt of her head made it obvious which “them” she was referring to.
Teyla smiled broadly in response and proceeded (with some impressively vague language that managed to imply a whole lot without doing more than just stretching the truth) to explain how the population was substantial enough where they came from that anyone who--like John and Rodney--found relations with the opposite sex …uncomfortable, or who simply preferred their own gender were not required to participate in the ritualized sex acts that were the norm for the Istani. Technically, John thought, all of that was mostly true, considering they didn’t have ritualistic sex acts on Atlantis (and if anybody did, odds were it was along the lines of the private, consensual doings between a man and his hand in the morning shower, in which case John really didn’t want to know about other people’s rituals. Except Rodney’s, but c’mon. That didn’t count.), and considering their population wasn’t all that “considerable”. But John didn’t think he cared how Teyla explained it, as long as it didn’t get them all whipped or flogged or whatever it was they did to recalcitrant slave boys on this planet.
He did catch the priestess looking thoughtfully at her own men, though. Hey, he figured, maybe they’ll get that social revolution after all. He was definitely going to have to talk to Elizabeth about sweetening that trade deal; a little extra prosperity just might help push things along.
What was left of the afternoon was pretty much eaten up by the debriefing with Elizabeth, who (understandably, John reminded himself) needed a little more explanation than usual, having choked and spluttered and exclaimed her way through the first one.
“You had to claim them as slave-boys?” she’d sputtered, looking utterly floored.
“Yes,” said Teyla, still smiling gently, and if it hadn’t been Elizabeth they were talking to, John could have sworn she found it amusing right up until she found out about the slave-men’s slave-duties.
Then she wanted to know everything of consequence they may have noticed about the Istani, to get a better idea of who they were dealing with and what, if anything, could be done with what leverage they could get; when it came right down to it, they weren’t the Starship Enterprise operating under some Trekkian Prime Directive , and Elizabeth knew it.
It wasn’t until after the debriefing that John saw, and almost missed, his earliest opportunity; the moment Elizabeth adjourned the meeting, Rodney was up and scrambling to get his stuff and get the hell out of there.
“Um,” John said, as Elizabeth approached him--no doubt to offer some vague words of wisdom or sympathy he really didn’t need to hear just then. “I’m sorry. I’ve got to go, you know, apologize.” He craned his neck to catch a glimpse of Rodney’s rapidly retreating backside, and patted Elizabeth’s arm absently. “Or something.”
He was dimly aware of Elizabeth’s smiling dismissal before he gave chase.
And then he was off, also dimly aware that he still smelled strongly of goat and desperately hoping he could get away with the “or something”. Apologies had never exactly been his strong suit.
*
“McKay!” John was jogging, nearly running to catch up with him and damn could Rodney move when he wanted to. Sure, he thought, it’d come in awful handy running from the Wraith, but damn if wasn’t also annoying as hell to have Rodney’s newfound powers of super-speed turned against him. And, shit, that was Rodney’s door, wasn’t it?
“Rodney! Rod-ney--” Rodney was the most frustrating person in the whole goddamn world, John thought spitefully. He caught up with the other man just before the door to Rodney's quarters closed and elbowed past him none-too-gently ‘cause, yeah, suddenly John was feeling that petty.
It wasn’t fair, he thought, that when he finally got his chance with Rodney, it had to be an embarrassingly public, last-ditch effort to save their skins; it wasn’t fair that John had to pretend it wasn’t anything more than that, and it really wasn’t fair that Rodney with his damned skeptical, cynical, brilliant brain believed him.
“Major,” Rodney said in just that tone of voice, and John stopped scowling long enough to realize that Rodney wasn’t panting, Rodney wasn’t winded; Rodney was standing arms crossed, straight-backed, and perfectly in control of the situation.
For a moment, it was like salt in the wound, and then John took a minute to realize what a really bad sign it was. It wasn’t defensive posturing anymore, Rodney was all offense now; and John recognized that shift as something that, for Rodney, was like an outright declaration of war.
Shit, John thought as Rodney opened his mouth. He raised both hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
“Wait,” he said, a little desperately. “I just wanna talk, okay? Just … let me talk. Just--” He waved a hand in what he hoped was a placating gesture when Rodney opened his mouth to speak again. “Just let me explain, okay? Please?” He raised his eyebrows in his most conciliatory manner and waited, stomach lurching when Rodney scowled, opening his mouth and closing it again before subsiding.
“Fine,” Rodney said finally. The word came out oddly clipped, like it was an effort for Rodney not to say more than that.
John let go the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and dropped his hands. “Thank you,” he said, for once entirely serious. If anything in his voice hinted at amusement or sarcasm or any of the dozen other things it usually hinted at, John was screwed. And while their friendship would survive it, he doubted he’d get a second chance like the one he had now.
No, patronizing Rodney at this point would probably qualify as possibly the worst idea John had ever had. Including that time when he was five and thought that jumping off the roof with a pair of cardboard wings sounded like the coolest thing ever.
If he’d asked Heightmeyer (and he hadn’t, but she’d told him anyway), John charmed and mocked and antagonized in order to deflect others’ attention from the things he didn’t want them to know.
Just now, however, those same things had become exactly what he wanted Rodney to know. And now that he’d gotten Rodney to where he might listen, John had no idea what to say.
They stood there for a long moment, silent and staring at each other, until Rodney coughed and tapped his foot impatiently and said, “Major?” in a terse tone of voice that clearly implied, Get the hell on with it before I decide all that hair has finally smothered what little brainpower you had to start with.
After a few false starts, John managed an uncharacteristically inarticulate, “Uh,” and then thought that he’d better get his ass in gear because his chance was slipping away, this kind of tongue-tied was nowhere near normal for him and Rodney was looking at him like John’s sudden incoherence was far more worrisome than whatever it was between them he was trying to fix.
“Listen,” John started. He was grasping at straws, but he had to say something before the moment just passed them by and left them with nothing but awkward, stammered apologies and a bruised-but-entirely-platonic friendship.
John stepped forward, right into Rodney’s personal space, and was gratified to see the other man flush and stumble a little as he took an answering step back, uncrossing and crossing his arms. He raised his hands, palm side out, and stepped forward again until Rodney was backed up against the wall and he was so close he could almost feel the warmth of the other man’s body. He could see the rise and fall of Rodney’s chest; and as he sucked in a breath and closed his eyes, he thought he could hear the soft sigh of Rodney’s exhalations, the too-rapid beat of his heart in time with John’s, and it was perfect, so perfect, as everything seemed to fall into place with an audible click and John knew with utter clarity what he had to do.
“Rodney,” he said, only it was more of a whisper or a benediction; everything he had wanted to say but couldn’t quite put into words crept into his voice and made it low, husky with deliberation. John smiled; only it was catlike, more like a slow, sensuous curving of lips. “Back on that planet, if the priestess had needed more proof, what would you have done?”
Rodney’s breath caught, and John looked up to eyes wide with something--not anger and not quite suspicion, but something unreadable, something John couldn’t make out quite yet.
He licked his lips before he spoke again and watched as Rodney’s eyes darted down to follow the movement. “Do you want to know what I would have done?” he asked.
Because he was in the military, and all the regulations involved, John never hit on men until he was absolutely sure his interest was returned. He’d never been as sure of his chances as he was with Rodney, hadn’t had chemistry this undeniable in years and still his heart was working overtime: pulse pounding, palms clammy, breath coming short and making his chest ache because he knew, he knew that this was never a sure thing.
But he was standing so close to Rodney they were practically touching and it occurred to John that he’d already gone too far. He was way past the point of plausible deniability, and so he swallowed down visions of court-martials and paperwork, stargates dialed and ready for a one-way trip back to Earth and a life devoid of the wonder and risk that was Atlantis and puddlejumpers and strange new planets with strange new cultures.
Slowly, like he was dreaming, John brought his hands to his sides to make sweaty fists against the panic rising in his chest and the crazy, overwhelming urge to touch every inch of Rodney’s skin. He was ready, he thought, to do this, but he couldn’t bear to look straight at Rodney while he did, so he picked a spot on the wall just to the side of Rodney’s neck and studied it like it was the most interesting thing in the world as Rodney choked and stammered and finally breathed, “What?”
“I--” The wall wasn’t enough; John found his eyes inexorably drawn to the bottom left corner of Rodney’s mouth, where his lips curved down ever so slightly. John wanted to taste it, had been distracted by Rodney’s mouth all damn day. He licked his lips and tried unsuccessfully not to wonder what Rodney would taste like. He’d forgotten what it was he was going to say. “I would have blown you,” he said instead. It came out rougher than he would have liked, and since he’d already put himself out this far he figured to hell with it, he’d go all the way. Leaning forward until their noses touched, until their lips almost brushed, until he was practically breathing Rodney in, John said, “I would have gotten down on my knees and sucked you off. I wanted to.”
John’s breath caught. Rodney’s sped up; John could feel it huff out against his own lips and it was intoxicating, the way they stood there panting into each other’s mouths and not even touching even though they were close, so damn close John didn’t think he could lick his own lips without touching Rodney’s. It was possibly the most erotic experience in John’s life; he closed his eyes against it and suddenly the words he’d worked so hard to find came spilling out, broken and stumbling over each other in their haste like a confession.
“I would have taken your cock in my mouth and made you come. I wanted to kneel down right there in front of everyone and make you gasp, and I wanted them to hear you say my name while I sucked you.” One of Rodney’s hands was on his hip, squeezing, while the other slid up his shoulder to his neck, and John tilted his head, leaned into the touch. His hands reached out of their own volition to clutch at Rodney’s waist, twisting themselves into the fabric of Rodney's clothes. “I want to know what you taste like when you come,” he breathed. “I want to know what you’d feel like in my mouth. I want to know what you sound like, how you’d move, what you’d say. I want--”
John shuddered, voice cracking, and Rodney’s hand twisted roughly in his hair. “Shut up,” he growled, and John was all too happy to comply because Rodney was kissing him and it was incredible, it was electric, every nerve-end sizzling, he felt like he was being burned up from the inside out; and John thought disjointedly that if there really was such a thing as spontaneous combustion, it was probably going to happen to him right fucking now.
Which was a goddamn shame, seeing as he was in the middle of the best kiss of his life--the kind that, if he was a poetic man, he’d have to call incendiary--and John would really hate to go and explode before it was over.
Rodney must have known his mind was wandering because he bit down sharply on John’s bottom lip, soothing the sting out of it with a broad swipe of his tongue and bringing John’s mind back to the task at hand with a nearly audible snap. “F-Fuck,” Rodney stuttered when John slipped a hand past the waistband of his pants, and the whine in his voice as he said it very nearly killed all cognitive thought processes John had left. “Fuck. John. Don’t stop, oh God.”
John smiled almost savagely against Rodney’s neck, snuck his free hand up to pinch one of Rodney’s nipples, and the sound Rodney made as his head thunked back against the wall was enough to effectively fry what little was left of John’s brain.
Which was fine by him, John thought, really, and then he made what was possibly the most undignified squeak anyone had ever made in the history of the universe when Rodney palmed him through his pants, fingers brushing his balls as he thrust up into the touch. John groaned into his mouth and crushed the lengths of their bodies together when Rodney’s hands slipped down and around to grab his ass.
And then there wasn’t anything except the way their hands fumbled desperately at flies, elbows bumping awkwardly until they finally, finally got them and John braced himself on the wall and ground down just as Rodney ground up, gasping and clutching and shuddering into each other as the world dissolved into hot and wet and perfect; it left John weak-kneed and shaking, raining clumsy kisses onto Rodney’s face and neck as they held each other up.
“Oh, wow,” Rodney said into the curve of John's shoulder where he’d dropped his face down into John’s neck. He sniffed experimentally. “Oh wow, Major, you reek!” But he didn’t make any effort to shift his head. “Smell like goat,” he grumbled, though it sounded more like commentary than active complaint. John chuckled and threaded his fingers through Rodney’s hair absently.
“You can call me John, you know,” he said, yawning. His whole body was hard-wired to fall asleep directly after mind-blowing sex. “We just came all over each other--I think that warrants a first-name basis. Besides, you don’t exactly smell like roses yourself.” He poked Rodney’s shoulder demonstratively. “I think a shower may be in order.”
Rodney rubbed his face sleepily on John’s shirt and laughed quietly. “Shower sounds good. I’ve been dying for one since, oh, yesterday? You know, when they took all of our clothes and left us naked and defenseless in a filthy, flea-infested hovel that smelled like it had been a stable or possibly a sewage plant in a previous incarnation.” He gave a bone-cracking yawn of his own as John stepped back and pulled him towards the bathroom.
“Maj--John,” Rodney said once they’d stripped down in the steam from the shower. John glanced back over his shoulder as he was peeling his last sock off.
“Yeah?” Rodney was frowning thoughtfully, clutching one of his extra towels in both hands. Something in John’s chest twisted painfully. “What’s up?” Rodney over-thought everything, John knew that, and he knew there were a million ways for Rodney to think this thing between them could go hideously wrong.
“Nothing.” Rodney looked at him strangely. “Just, I never thought--I mean, I thought you were straight.”
Oh, so that was it. God, Rodney may have been the smartest person John knew, but he was also one of the most oblivious. John smirked. “Really.”
“Well, yeah, I mean,” Rodney’s hands flailed vaguely. John assumed it was meant to be emphatic. “Chaya.”
“Oh, that,” John stifled a grin and turned to open the shower door. “Well, Chaya was different.” Pause. John could almost hear the scowl forming. “She’s the exception that proves the rule. Besides, none of the abbots were cute.”
He’d even managed to say it with a straight face, and then Rodney had to go and ruin it all by chucking the towel viciously at his head and elbowing past him into the shower.
And then the cranky bastard wouldn’t even let him in until he stopped laughing.