pyrotechnics by silverspar (Strange New Worlds & Alien Geography Challenge)
TITLE: Pyrotechnics
LENGTH/RATING: 1100+ words, R
PAIRING/WARNINGS: Ford/Sheppard
Sometimes the ache of solitude is so much like an attack that Aiden startles into motion with his blade in fist, ready to stab the shit out of the Wraith that’s clawing at his chest - only to find himself alone with a phantom squeezing around his heart that he can’t defend against. Worse than a Wraith. Worse than Atlantis. Worse than his emotionally-stunted grandparents, demanding but distant . . . somehow still transmitting their disapproval into his head from another galaxy entirely.
He loves his family. He loves Atlantis. And he hates them with an intensity that makes his breath stutter in his lungs, struggle for purchase and flutter like a butterfly. Aiden stood on the precipice of freedom, but memory dragged him back from the edge. Memory beat him down. Memory spoke deeply, like MLK's voice in his head on constant loop: an eloquent condemnation of his selfish decisions.
“It wouldn’t be selfish if it was Sheppard,” Aiden muttered into the light drizzle of damp pressing against his face like a kiss. Burning like a kiss. He tucked his knife back into its sheath.
“It really wouldn’t be.”
When Sheppard made rash, insane decisions he remained the hero and savior. It always miraculously worked out for him and Aiden couldn’t get his head around the whys. Was there a mistype somewhere in his grandma’s favorite book: was it actually meant to say that the geeks shall inherit the earth? Was it the magic gene thing - the same gene that Carson had denied him - the gene that McKay was so stupidly smug about?
Or did God just love white people more?
Aiden rubbed his hands over his face before clenching them into fists and punching them down into the mud. Anger curdled in his gut like poison. A galaxy of unexplored wonders and he couldn’t fully enjoy it, couldn’t shake the hierarchy in his mind - the hierarchy he’d submitted to just to escape.
His family hadn’t wanted him to join the Marines. They’d struggled so hard to make a good life for him, to shape him into some sort of poster child for aspiring African-Americans. It was like growing up with the damn Cosbys.
“But I don’t want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher,” Aiden quoted, repeating an old conversation he didn’t want to remember.
“I just want to serve my country.”
I just want to blow shit up.
And what was wrong with that? What was wrong with that?
“So maybe I don’t know what I want. I just know what I don’t want.”
The drizzle had ended and the clouds had cleared away, revealing the trinity of suns that baked Aiden’s skin like he was a giant rotisserie chicken. Ding. Time’s up. Next planet.
Aiden had seen a lot of crazy alien shit over the years (including the freakshow Wraith mating ritual, which was such a traumatic experience that Aiden hadn’t been able to masturbate until three months had passed) but this planet took the cake. Fireworks. Everywhere. In the sky. In the dirt. Exploding out of heads and hearts and coating the crumpled dead with sparks of violet and white. At first he had thought it was some sort of gang war, but then a big guy cried out gloriously: “The wraith arrive! Die like stars!”
Aiden knew it was wrong, but an ecstatic grin split his face wide open. “You guys are awesome!” He couldn’t stop his adrenaline-induced laughing, dodging rockets as they set fire to trees and grass huts. He ran through the village and forest beyond in a symphony of sound and deadly beauty, alive - alive and freer than ever before.
It all came crashing down when he found Sheppard: naked, unconscious, and curled up like a child on the ground.
“I could leave you here for the Wraith,” said Aiden coldly.
Of course he couldn’t.
When John woke up he was wrapped up in loose, scratchy clothes and the air around him hung heavy with the smell of smoke and nasty: the stink of some greasy sort of meat.
“Hungry?” asked the man by the fire, all shadow and dancing flame.
“Um. Yes?”
The man approached slowly, dropping a hunk of meat into John’s lap.
“It’s pretty disgusting, but it won’t kill you.”
John smirked good-naturedly. “Appreciated.”
The man seemed to pause, staring at John intensely. “You don’t recognize me?”
“Sorry. I’m pretty fuzzy on who I am at this point.”
The man’s eyes widened. “That must have been some party.”
“I guess so,” John mumbled around his meat. He then grinned up at Aiden, completely at ease. Completely trusting and open. Entirely alien in demeanor.
Aiden slumped down next to John, stunned. He’d seen a lot of freaky alien shit, but never this look in Sheppard’s eyes. This was them without regulations, without society, without memory and history books and bullshit expectations.
“Jesus,” Aiden whispered.
“Is that my name?” John asked, entirely sincere.
Aiden laughed so hard he thought he was going to die.
They wandered, hunted, camped and John’s memory didn’t return. Aiden rewrote history. Johnny Cash could stay; the United States Air Force could blow. The Stargate system was okay; Atlantis was a hell no.
And if John nudged closer to him when it was cool at night . . . and if that maybe escalated into something that set them both on fire - who would judge? They were free, weren’t they? Aiden’s entire being pulsed tender, lazy rhythms to the tune of “I want you” and “stay with me” but he never spoke the words out loud. Something whispered to him from across the universe that those ideas were still dangerous, still forbidden. Still damning.
“Why won’t you let me take the enzyme?” John breathed into his neck one morning.
“You don’t want to be an addict like me.”
John frowned. “I’d be stronger - better backup to you. I’d-”
“Forget it,” Aiden growled, pulling away.
“Would you just think for a minute-” John started, frustrated.
“No. With all due respect, sir - I’m not paid to think,” Aiden snapped. His heart then dropped into his stomach as the spark of recognition lit up in Sheppard’s eyes.
“Sir?” Sheppard’s eyebrows raised and Aiden felt like he was going to vomit, like someone was hacking off a limb.
“You remember the address for Atlantis?” Aiden asked, quiet - holding himself stationary with great effort. He always had the jitters in the morning.
“Ford,” Sheppard hissed.
“Go home, sir.”
“Not without you,” Sheppard stated stubbornly, as if he had any say.
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
Sheppard’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and there was a tremor in his voice, as if he actually cared. “Why not?”
Aiden pressed forward and crushed his lips against the ones that had so easily surrendered before and went to work, went to war against a history of dominance. Sheppard kissed back without too much hesitation, but did not give an inch. They struggled for control until Aiden pushed and pulled away.
“You understand.”
Sheppard didn’t ask again.
LENGTH/RATING: 1100+ words, R
PAIRING/WARNINGS: Ford/Sheppard
Sometimes the ache of solitude is so much like an attack that Aiden startles into motion with his blade in fist, ready to stab the shit out of the Wraith that’s clawing at his chest - only to find himself alone with a phantom squeezing around his heart that he can’t defend against. Worse than a Wraith. Worse than Atlantis. Worse than his emotionally-stunted grandparents, demanding but distant . . . somehow still transmitting their disapproval into his head from another galaxy entirely.
He loves his family. He loves Atlantis. And he hates them with an intensity that makes his breath stutter in his lungs, struggle for purchase and flutter like a butterfly. Aiden stood on the precipice of freedom, but memory dragged him back from the edge. Memory beat him down. Memory spoke deeply, like MLK's voice in his head on constant loop: an eloquent condemnation of his selfish decisions.
“It wouldn’t be selfish if it was Sheppard,” Aiden muttered into the light drizzle of damp pressing against his face like a kiss. Burning like a kiss. He tucked his knife back into its sheath.
“It really wouldn’t be.”
When Sheppard made rash, insane decisions he remained the hero and savior. It always miraculously worked out for him and Aiden couldn’t get his head around the whys. Was there a mistype somewhere in his grandma’s favorite book: was it actually meant to say that the geeks shall inherit the earth? Was it the magic gene thing - the same gene that Carson had denied him - the gene that McKay was so stupidly smug about?
Or did God just love white people more?
Aiden rubbed his hands over his face before clenching them into fists and punching them down into the mud. Anger curdled in his gut like poison. A galaxy of unexplored wonders and he couldn’t fully enjoy it, couldn’t shake the hierarchy in his mind - the hierarchy he’d submitted to just to escape.
His family hadn’t wanted him to join the Marines. They’d struggled so hard to make a good life for him, to shape him into some sort of poster child for aspiring African-Americans. It was like growing up with the damn Cosbys.
“But I don’t want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher,” Aiden quoted, repeating an old conversation he didn’t want to remember.
“I just want to serve my country.”
I just want to blow shit up.
And what was wrong with that? What was wrong with that?
“So maybe I don’t know what I want. I just know what I don’t want.”
The drizzle had ended and the clouds had cleared away, revealing the trinity of suns that baked Aiden’s skin like he was a giant rotisserie chicken. Ding. Time’s up. Next planet.
Aiden had seen a lot of crazy alien shit over the years (including the freakshow Wraith mating ritual, which was such a traumatic experience that Aiden hadn’t been able to masturbate until three months had passed) but this planet took the cake. Fireworks. Everywhere. In the sky. In the dirt. Exploding out of heads and hearts and coating the crumpled dead with sparks of violet and white. At first he had thought it was some sort of gang war, but then a big guy cried out gloriously: “The wraith arrive! Die like stars!”
Aiden knew it was wrong, but an ecstatic grin split his face wide open. “You guys are awesome!” He couldn’t stop his adrenaline-induced laughing, dodging rockets as they set fire to trees and grass huts. He ran through the village and forest beyond in a symphony of sound and deadly beauty, alive - alive and freer than ever before.
It all came crashing down when he found Sheppard: naked, unconscious, and curled up like a child on the ground.
“I could leave you here for the Wraith,” said Aiden coldly.
Of course he couldn’t.
When John woke up he was wrapped up in loose, scratchy clothes and the air around him hung heavy with the smell of smoke and nasty: the stink of some greasy sort of meat.
“Hungry?” asked the man by the fire, all shadow and dancing flame.
“Um. Yes?”
The man approached slowly, dropping a hunk of meat into John’s lap.
“It’s pretty disgusting, but it won’t kill you.”
John smirked good-naturedly. “Appreciated.”
The man seemed to pause, staring at John intensely. “You don’t recognize me?”
“Sorry. I’m pretty fuzzy on who I am at this point.”
The man’s eyes widened. “That must have been some party.”
“I guess so,” John mumbled around his meat. He then grinned up at Aiden, completely at ease. Completely trusting and open. Entirely alien in demeanor.
Aiden slumped down next to John, stunned. He’d seen a lot of freaky alien shit, but never this look in Sheppard’s eyes. This was them without regulations, without society, without memory and history books and bullshit expectations.
“Jesus,” Aiden whispered.
“Is that my name?” John asked, entirely sincere.
Aiden laughed so hard he thought he was going to die.
They wandered, hunted, camped and John’s memory didn’t return. Aiden rewrote history. Johnny Cash could stay; the United States Air Force could blow. The Stargate system was okay; Atlantis was a hell no.
And if John nudged closer to him when it was cool at night . . . and if that maybe escalated into something that set them both on fire - who would judge? They were free, weren’t they? Aiden’s entire being pulsed tender, lazy rhythms to the tune of “I want you” and “stay with me” but he never spoke the words out loud. Something whispered to him from across the universe that those ideas were still dangerous, still forbidden. Still damning.
“Why won’t you let me take the enzyme?” John breathed into his neck one morning.
“You don’t want to be an addict like me.”
John frowned. “I’d be stronger - better backup to you. I’d-”
“Forget it,” Aiden growled, pulling away.
“Would you just think for a minute-” John started, frustrated.
“No. With all due respect, sir - I’m not paid to think,” Aiden snapped. His heart then dropped into his stomach as the spark of recognition lit up in Sheppard’s eyes.
“Sir?” Sheppard’s eyebrows raised and Aiden felt like he was going to vomit, like someone was hacking off a limb.
“You remember the address for Atlantis?” Aiden asked, quiet - holding himself stationary with great effort. He always had the jitters in the morning.
“Ford,” Sheppard hissed.
“Go home, sir.”
“Not without you,” Sheppard stated stubbornly, as if he had any say.
“You know that’s not going to happen.”
Sheppard’s hand clamped down on his shoulder and there was a tremor in his voice, as if he actually cared. “Why not?”
Aiden pressed forward and crushed his lips against the ones that had so easily surrendered before and went to work, went to war against a history of dominance. Sheppard kissed back without too much hesitation, but did not give an inch. They struggled for control until Aiden pushed and pulled away.
“You understand.”
Sheppard didn’t ask again.