The Temple (1/2)
What better way to start the new year than with fic? *nods*
Title: The Temple (1/2)
Author: MF Luder
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard,
Keywords: drama, angst, non-con, aliens made them do it
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Very small mention referring to Miller's Crossing.
Disclaimer: They belong to SciFi Channel and various producers.
Archive: My LJ, Wraithbait, anywhere else, let me know.
Summary: At his feet were three men dressed in short togas but with wreaths on their heads, gazing up adoringly. One was prostrate across the Scholar's feet, one had his hand on the Scholar's toga by his feet, and the third was actually on his knees behind the standing man, hands possessively clutching at the Scholar's thighs. A very strange, yet erotic bit of art.
Warnings: Non-con involved.
Feedback: Mulder_Loves_Scully_Forever@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: I always thought I'd be the one to never write an Aliens Made Them Do It, because, does the fandom really need another one from little old me? Also, they all tend to seem the same after a while. But then this planet/civilization struck and just wouldn't go away. For those who know my work, I don't always like happy relationships. Or tidy endings.
Beta Thanks: Mucho gracias to kimberlyfdr for the beta.
It was called the Temple of the Scholars and everyone wandering by them, eying them curiously, were dressed in colorful pastel togas and wreaths covering their heads. It was like being at the Renaissance Festival, but Romanesque. It was the biggest fucking cliché possible.
“I swear, SG-1 never had to put up with this shit. One of these days, I'd like to meet a pompous Goa'uld just for some sense of normality,” Rodney muttered to Sheppard who merely glanced sideways at him from behind his sunglasses before returning to the conversation at hand.
“As you can see, Semenla strives to keep the archives together at all costs. Though over many generations we have been culled, we feel knowledge is the only true form of enlightenment, and have no need for technology beyond that which eases our slaves duties when tending to the fields and wells. Our books are all written in code known only to the Scholars and their assistants. This makes them worthless to the Wraith, who have subsequently left them alone.”
The speaker, Delas, was a man in his early forties with dark hair that curled into little ringlets, wearing a cream colored toga. Based on the lack of color in his robes and the expansive wreath of vines and berries adorning his head, he easily shone as one of the more well-to-do in the city.
Suffice it to say, they'd been very confused when they walked through the gate onto a world that had the temperature of Greece in June and the surrounding fauna to fit the image. On either side of the gate had stood a man dressed in such pale red togas so as to be almost pink, with leather sandals and bare heads. Both had held long javelin-type weapons, but once they registered the visitors, they had melted back into their stances, staring straight ahead.
They'd been greeted by a throng of people all smiling and wishing them a good day as they moved on past with baskets of fruit and grain on their heads, or skins of liquid. Several children had come right up to them, greeting them, asking their names, tugging on the group's hands (much to Rodney's dismay) to lead them towards the nearby village.
They had hardly gotten a word in edgewise, and Rodney couldn't help the flush to his face after giving up on trying to speak. Holding it in was hard, but at some point Sheppard had tossed him a crooked smile and he'd managed not to explode or throw things at the little darlings. Teyla had simply smiled and nodded with kind patience, making little noises of polite surprise when the children told her something they obviously deemed exciting and important.
Ronon just grunted and waded through the crowd.
It wasn't until they met the village's magistrate that they were able to string more than three words together. Once they introduced themselves as peaceful explorers Lt. Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, blah, blah, blah...the attitude suddenly changed and the children who had previously been playing around their feet backed off and bowed in some funny way before running off.
“I'm sorry,” the magistrate, whose name Rodney didn't bother to remember, said, “You came wearing color so they assumed you were working class, as they are.”
When they pressed, the magistrate kept mum and showed them to a room where they sat for approximately an hour before Delas had arrived and ushered them onto a real live chariot, drawn by the nearest thing Pegasus had to horses, apparently. The beasts were about the size of a Clydesdale, but lacked the grace of a horse, making up for it in speed, and obvious ability to drag greater weights. Rodney wasn't sure he'd ever seen so much gold plating in his life. Not to mention the embroidered canopy that threatened to suffocate them if it fell from the supporting rods.
The whole way to the city, home to the Senatorium (the clichés just got worse and worse), was filled with Delas speaking of his people's culture. How color was of the working class. The pale red they'd seen was reserved for the guards (“Kind of girly, don't you think?” Ronon had whispered to the group and Rodney tried to keep his annoyance to himself). Slaves wore pale blacks and browns intended to indicate that, as all color was present, so were the many duties of the slaves. The aristocrats, on the other hand, wore little to no color depending on how high their status was, displaying that they were wedded to one concentration in their line of work. High aides, such as himself (Delas was quick to point out), wore cream. The Senators wore white with sashes of color. The Scholars and their assistants wore white down to the color of their sandals. Headpieces grew bigger depending on your station. Obviously, a slave couldn't wear anything on their head while working, neither could the warriors fight well with such a distraction.
It made a kind of perverse sense and Rodney even remarked on their ability to recognize the inherent right of smart people to rule. But the sight of slaves soured the deal. It wasn't that any of them were treated badly, and none in the group ever saw a bruise, but rather, a world where knowledge was revered, it seemed, should have moved beyond the need for slaves.
Delas, however, clearly proving his worth to his superiors, noted their discomfort, and ever since they had been ushered into a long rectangular room and been poured a kind of wine, no slave had appeared. It was then that Sheppard had asked just what the Scholars did, leading to the current enthusiastically given, if a bit dull, lecture on the history of Semenla.
Rodney couldn't help the feeling that he was back in undergrad where he was clearly smarter than the lecturer and only sitting there because the school insisted he had to take gen eds, even if he was going to get his BA in two years. Oddly enough, the other three members of the team seemed to be fascinated. Or maybe it was just because Delas was fairly attractive; for a dark-haired bureaucrat, anyway.
He tried to ignore the fact that the artistically designed hole (for what purpose-air circulation?) in the ceiling allowed light to dance over the man's body which had obviously been prepared with some kind of lotion or oil intended to make it shine.
Midway through his comments on the works of the famous Scholars, Delas was interrupted by Teyla's stomach grumbling. He stopped mid sentence, a surprised and amused look on his face.
“Please, do forgive me, Delas. It has simply been a time since I last ate. Recently, I am often hungry.” For the first time since Rodney had known her, she looked embarrassed. It was...endearing.
Delas tilted his head in acknowledgment and smiled. “Of course. Your journey has been long today. I will have the cooks prepare a feast for you. I do regret to tell you, though, that before you can step into our hall, you must dress accordingly. I do hope this will not be too much of an inconvenience.”
They all looked at Sheppard who eyed Delas' clothing with a critical eye before shrugging. “Sure. We can join in the costume party, eh, kids?”
Rodney rolled his eyes at Sheppard's affected drawl, but allowed himself to be lead into a room in another section of the building.
A woman, blonde hair arranged in curls reminiscent of the Hellenistic period (it wasn't his fault art history was one of those gen eds he had to take, or that he retained even the most useless of information), wearing a soft yellow gown approached him.
“Doctor McKay. I am Terrina and am here to dress you. First, you must put down your weapon. You will be allowed to continue carrying it at dinner, but I am afraid it will be difficult to dress you while you are holding onto it so tightly.
He stammered and blushed, unaware he'd been doing such and hastily put the P-90 down on the table in the center of the room. Terrina smiled and clapped her hands.
At her cue, several young girls rushed out (all in yellow), carrying bolts of cloth and various wreaths. Rodney blanched. It was like ten of his sister at the age of twelve wanting to play dress up.
“From what I am told, you are some form of scientist, yes? What do you do exactly?”
Grateful for the distraction from small hands cleverly running over his body taking measurements, he responded, “I'm the chief scientist where we're from. Basically, I'm the resident genius. I've got two Ph D's-those are awards for highest scholarly achievement-I figure out all our technology and end up saving everyone's ass at the end of the day.” He smirked to himself.
“Oh,” breathed Terrina, a little reverently, if he wasn't mistaken. She snapped her fingers. “Girls. The white!”
In a flurry, the gaggle of apprentices or whatever they were, fled from the room, only to return this time with a bolt of the brightest white fabric he'd ever seen in his life.
“You are not just a scholar, you are a Scholar,” the woman spoke.
Rodney stared. “How is that, so...pristine? I mean, your world isn't exactly dirt and dust free.”
Terrina's eyes twinkled. “It is one of the few 'technological' luxuries we have, and a secret of us seamstresses. Do not make us spill our secrets, now, Scholar. But, perhaps, if you suggest some in negotiations, I am sure the women of your world would appreciate it, yes?”
He nodded, and although he'd never been keen on fabrics or negotiations over fashion, he figured people like Carter and Simpson would throttle him in his sleep if they found out he hadn't brought back magic white cloth. Who knew what they'd use it for, but there it was.
Half an hour later, he was dressed in a gleaming white toga that belted just above his hips and draped over his shoulder in a surprisingly flattering style. Also (thank God) the togas didn't require lack of underclothing. They (rather disturbingly) studied his boxers and whipped up a pair in the same white as his toga. They then placed a wreath that literally had grapes growing on it atop his head, and laced up to his knees white footwear.
Looking in a mirror, he felt utterly ridiculous. But when in Rome...
“You are ready, Doctor,” Terrina smiled approvingly at him.
“I look like a dink,” he muttered, but she caught him.
“A dink is a good thing on your world, yes?” She looked so earnest and really, it was good craftsmanship, if utterly ridiculous, that he couldn't tell her the truth and merely nodded in response.
She led him down a very long corridor and when they finally stepped out into the bright light of mid-afternoon, it was to an entirely different part of the city.
It rose up like the Roman Forum. The area was all columns and Pantheon-shaped buildings with a few Acropolis-structured buildings in between. And on top the hill was a gleaming temple held up by carved statues as tall as the temple itself.
“That is the Temple of Scholars,” Terrina whispered, as though he couldn't have guessed.
He adjusted his pack and gun, wishing he could pull out his energy reader. He'd bet anything that although it didn't look Ancient, there had to be something interesting up there.
But then he was distracted by another sight. From the building adjacent to his, Ronon, Teyla, and Sheppard exited together and his breath was taken away; not something he was often prone to.
Teyla had never looked more beautiful than right then, wearing a lilac colored toga that set off the golden brown of her skin. Her hair was piled high on her head, all in tight curls. Around it sat a thin wreath decorated with tiny purple buds. Her toga was bound beneath her breasts (which were looking exceptionally full) and fell to the ground from there.
Ronon was in the dreaded almost-pink shade, but on him it looked far from girly; especially considering the glare he was casting about, daring anyone to think such thoughts. It screamed 'real men wear pink' if anything ever had. His toga was tied to the side and kept shorter than everyone else's, presumably to allow for movement, but really, just giving Rodney a nice look at very muscular legs (which he kept at a very short look or Ronon would kill him). His dreads were tied half back and his shoes laced to his knees.
Sheppard, though, was the true masterpiece. His toga was cream with a pink sash crossing his chest. It fell to his knees where it met the straps of his sandals. Apparently, they hadn't known quite what to do with him, being both a 'warrior' and a leader. But his hair was surrounded by a wreath that had red berries and thin leaves decorating it. In any other setting, Rodney might have laughed (despite his own ensemble), but in spite of Sheppard's uncomfortable stance and tight grip on the P-90 he'd wrapped over his toga, he fit right in. It didn't help that some of whatever Delas had been wearing (and that Rodney had refused to have put on him, because, ew) was now glistening over developed biceps. And the chest hair...
Rodney felt a tug low in his gut that he refused to acknowledge despite the rather stunning image Sheppard portrayed and tried not to blush when the other man caught him looking. Because he wasn't looking. Just, professional curiosity. And fodder for black mail at some indeterminate future date.
Ronon grunted when he saw Rodney. “It suits you.” Rodney glared, but Ronon bared his teeth in response and he gave up.
“You look well,” Teyla said, laying a gentle hand on his arm.
This time he flushed. After all, he didn't get a compliment like that from just anyone normally. “You look very lovely, yourself,” he replied, and she smiled at him.
Sheppard muttered, “We look like idiots.”
“Actually, I'm wishing I'd brought a camera; that pink sash just really compliments your eyes,” joked Rodney, smirking.
Something must have shone through though, because Sheppard blinked at him slowly before a funny gleam settled in his eyes. “Sure thing, McKay,” he drawled, and if Rodney hadn't clearly been hallucinating, he'd have sworn the colonel cocked his hip out.
Terrina clapped and exclaimed over them. “Oh, you all look marvelous! Satina will lead you to the banquet hall. I assure you, Colonel Sheppard, you won't need your gun. We have no need for violence, here, save for the Wraith.”
He nodded, but his face was closed and his grip didn't relax.
Satina, a slip of a girl, so small it looked like the light breeze would knock her over, quickly led them into another building across the square. Before making it all the way over, Sheppard stopped to admire the statue in the center. Rodney let Teyla and Ronon keep going while he dropped back.
Sheppard's gaze went hooded as soon as he saw Rodney approach, so he stopped on the other side and examined the statue himself.
Made out of some kind of white rock, it featured a man wearing his toga styled as Rodney's was, holding a book and wearing, of all things, glasses. At his feet were three men dressed in short togas but with wreaths on their heads, gazing up adoringly. One was prostrate across the Scholar's feet, one had his hand on the Scholar's toga by his feet, and the third was actually on his knees behind the standing man, hands possessively clutching at the Scholar's thighs. A very strange, yet erotic bit of art.
“Don't let it go to your head, McKay,” Sheppard said, practically into his ear and pitched low, causing Rodney to jump. “You aren't going to have adoring fans falling at your feet.”
“Yes, yes, thank you, Colonel, for that wonderful revelation. And if you're done admiring the scenery, perhaps we could go eat now? Teyla's stomach isn't the only one grumbling at this point,” he snapped, trying to recover his composure.
Sheppard tilted his head and smiled Mona Lisa-like, walking backwards away from him, before turning around to jog and catch up with the other team members.
Shaking his head, Rodney followed, trying to disregard the sudden sense that something deeper was going on with his team leader, and with this place.
Dinner truly was a feast; plates of cheeses, fruits, light meats, and various hot and cold pastries covered the table as well as silver goblets filled with more of the wine they had been drinking earlier. Rodney made Sheppard taste anything that looked suspicious for citrus and fortunately only had to pass on three of the many fruits and found, to his delight, something that tasted exactly like a ground cherry, causing him to stifle a moan the flavor incurred. At one point, he caught Delas looking at him and Sheppard's interaction closely and he turned red for about the fifth time that day, but it wasn't his fault if someone read something into it. He had someone do this for him at every backwater planet's feasts. Sheppard was simply closest to him this time.
They were seated with a few Senators and high end aides like Delas. There was an assistant of a Scholar seated with them, identifiable because of the short white toga and leafy wreath, who sat quietly the whole time taking everything in, and especially scrutinizing the team's interaction. When Rodney nudged Sheppard, he'd merely shrugged and said, “We'd do it, too, McKay.” And he had a point. They were introduced as 'Ronon the Warrior,' 'Teyla the Diplomat' (which explained the purple, Rodney guessed), Lt. Colonel Sheppard, the Warrior Leader,' and finally, 'Dr. McKay the Scholar'. Although their clothes obviously distinguished them for their roles according to this society, the assistant had turned to Rodney with a scathing stare up and down his body, which finally settled about crotch level and his eyes lit up.
Sheppard, of course, noticed and growled in the back of his throat. Rodney didn't know whether to take it as a stay-away-from-my-scientist thing or something else that had been nagging him in the back of his mind all day. Either way, he milked it for all it was worth by smirking and whispering to the colonel, “Guess I might get those fans after all,” to which Sheppard had bitten something back about not being wanted for his brains. Which, in Rodney's case, it didn't really matter. Sometimes, it was nice to be wanted for something beyond his genius. Even if it was by some scribe almost twenty years younger than him.
At dinner's end, Delas stood up. “Kind friends and peaceful travelers. Tomorrow, we begin negotiations for a new trade agreement. I have faith that both sides will have something of value to offer the other. And so we wish to bid you goodnight early, so that you may relax and enjoy yourselves in our humble city. We begin each morning with a bath that I hope you will join us for. Satina shall see to your personal needs while you are here and will now show you to your rooms. She will also knock in the morning to wake you. Have a good evening.”
With a clap of his hands, not unlike Terrina's, people began chatting in small groups and leaving the room. Rodney watched as the assistant shot a smoldering stare back at Rodney before slipping out a side door. He was probably barely legal back on Earth, and Rodney didn't usually like young guys, but there was just something in his stare and adoration that hit a spot inside him.
They followed Satina back to yet another building, this one opened with gleaming light brown doors into a corridor that split in several places into rooms.
“I am afraid you will have to sleep two to a room. I hope this causes no problems. It is merely how our rooms are set up. Separate beds, I assure you.”
“That will be fine, Satina,” Teyla responded.
“Teyla, Doctor McKay, if you will just go down this corridor, you will find--”
“Ah, no,” interjected Sheppard. “I'm afraid, McKay will be staying with me. We'll take the first room. Ronon and Teyla can share the other.”
The girl nodded, but it was obvious her eyes were considering Sheppard. It was becoming almost creepy how much they kept staring at him.
Once they got into the room, Rodney dropped his stuff onto one of the beds which was gratefully bigger than Atlantis' and almost looked comfortable. “What's got your manly underwear in a knot, Colonel?”
Sheppard didn't answer him right away, sitting down on the other bed in a huff and scrambling to undo the leather straps. “Oh, for the love of--” he cut off, clearly agitated.
“Hello? McKay calling Sheppard! What are you so damn pissy about? You've been like this ever since we got to the city. I'd thought you'd be happy. The idealistic Roman society down to the food, good weather and scantily clad girls. I'd have thought this would have been your paradise. Just needs an Ascended woman for you to Kirk over. Or do you have a problem because for once someone is more interested in what I have to offer than your stupid guns and machoism?” He'd worked himself up now and started pacing the room, annoyed.
“What I have a problem with, Rodney, is the way they keep looking at you! It's like they haven't eaten in weeks and they're going to chow down on your ample assets.”
“Ample assets?” Rodney asked, mockingly. “I don't know whether to punch you for calling me fat or mock you mercilessly for sounding like a 19th century English poet.”
Sheppard shook his head roughly. “I don't like it. It's not...normal! It's creepy and it's getting on my nerves.”
“Well, I am so sorry if some male staring at me offends your homophobic militaristic mindset or whatever the hell your deal is. But it doesn't bother me and you can just take your issues and shove them up your ass, Colonel,” he ended with as much disdain as possible, before sitting down hard on the bed and quickly shucking his shoes before climbing under the light sheet and turning his back to Sheppard.
A minute later he heard a quiet, resigned, “McKay...” but he refused to acknowledge it and eventually he heard the other man shuffle around and finally climb under the bed cover.
He didn't think either of them slept much that night.
In fact, by the time there was a sharp knock at the door, he was pretty sure he'd only gotten a few hours, despite the actual comfort of the bed. His mind had been spinning with possibilities. Why was Sheppard acting so damn weird? Would he sleep with the assistant if given the chance? What would it take to get into the Temple?
But he dutifully got up with the knock and Satina walked in carrying two robes and some kind of other garment, laying them down on a nightstand.
“I will be back momentarily to bring you to the baths.” Then she left.
“Baths,” Rodney muttered. “It's like we're fucking stuck in an episode of Rome.”
Sheppard snorted at that from across the room and Rodney looked over cautiously. Apparently he'd gotten over whatever it was because he didn't flinch when Rodney looked at him.
“Just as long as you don't invite any duels to the death, I suppose it's not too bad.”
“Aw, McKay, you care.”
Rolling his eyes, Rodney snatched the robe and other thing from the table and snapped, “Turn around.”
After he'd grabbed his own robe and complied, Rodney turned his back and figured out the other thing was actually some weird loin cloth-cum-swim trunks. Pulling them and the robe on in record time, he turned just in time to catch a flash of slightly less tanned flesh as Sheppard pulled the shorts on after shucking his other clothing and putting the robe on.
Turning back to the wall, Rodney closed his eyes and focused on breathing. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd learned to control it. He had to. Sheppard was definitely straight and even if he wasn't, he'd made it clear that though they were friends, Sheppard didn't think too much of Rodney beyond his ability to save their collective asses. He was in his late thirties and by no means did that allow him the midlife crisis of having a crush on a straight guy. He knew how well that turned out. Besides, he had Katie back on Atlantis. As his sister had so kindly pointed out, he was no John Sheppard and he wouldn't find someone much better than Katie (well, besides Carter, but he'd given up on that).
It was all so stupid and in that moment, the only thing he wanted to do was get as far away from Semenla as possible. Like, back to Earth would be nice. Maybe he should take some leave time once he got back. Not that he was sure Jeannie would appreciate him coming back so soon. Or that he'd want to go back, still feeling the guilt after her kidnapping. Yup. He was just screwed all around.
“McKay,” came Sheppard's drawl and Rodney had to turn around lest Sheppard made a snide comment, or worse, come over to see what was wrong.
Fortunately, Satina appeared to have impeccable timing and knocked right then, opening the door. “Are you ready?”
“Yup,” the colonel said and together they walked out, slipping their feet into thongs Satina provided, meeting Teyla and Ronon in the hallway.
They made it to the bath house where Satina informed them Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon would be meeting with Delas and other dignitaries, while Rodney was to have his bath with the other Scholars.
So caught up with the fact that he was going to meet these Scholars finally, he didn't notice at first that Sheppard was raising a stink.
“--No, I'm sorry, we don't split up like that. Someone's got to go with him. Preferably me.”
“I'm sorry, Colonel. Only Scholars and their assistants are allowed in the Scholar baths.”
“Why can't he join us, then?” Sheppard pressed.
For the first time, someone showed an emotion besides general pleasantness or curiosity. Satina looked aghast at the very suggestion. “No, Colonel! Scholars do not bathe with those lower than themselves. It is just not done.”
“Yeah, well, where we come from, people don't take public baths. A matter of perspective.”
“Oh, my God, Colonel. I'm sure I'll be fine. It's going to be a bunch of naked geeks. Where are they going to hide their knives they'll magically be ninjas at using, hmm? It's just a bath.”
“I don't know, McKay,” spoke up Ronon. “Probably not a good idea. Even if they are friendly.”
Rodney sniffed. “Well, clearly we're going to have to come to some compromise. You're the one telling me to behave all the time, Colonel. Don't offend the natives, you say. And for once, okay, you do it a lot actually, but anyway, it's you causing the fuss. It's a shower; I can take care of myself.”
Sheppard glared at him then turned to Satina. “You want this to happen, fine. Since he can't bathe with the rest of us, we either won't, or you'll let me go in as his assistant. I don't think Delas will like it if we don't show, so it's up to you.”
“You don't know what you're suggesting, Colonel Sheppard--” Satina started, but was cut off.
“I don't care. Pick one.”
She pondered, lips drawn tight, but after glancing between the two of them, she relaxed her shoulders. “As you wish, Colonel. Please, I shall lead you to the Scholar baths. Teyla, Ronon, this hallway will take you to Delas. Should you need anything, I will return soon.”
They parted ways and Rodney tried not to blow up at Sheppard again in front of their hosts. What the hell had crawled up his ass and died? Apparently Kirk wasn't working it too hard right now. Sheppard obviously needed to get laid, loosen up. He was looking as military as Lorne did. Gone was the slouch, the sway of the hips, replaced by a stance usually saved for the president. Not that Rodney often watched Sheppard's hips.
Satina led them down a hallway that opened into a large room. Without even glancing in, she did that weird bow and left.
Sheppard shrugged before putting on his devil-may-care grin and walking in. A boy of about ten stopped him with a quick touch to the wrist before he got far. The boy, keeping his head down, took Sheppard's robe, then scurried away.
“Umm, what about mine?” Rodney asked, disgruntled. Then he noticed on the other side of the room, the same scene happening, but once the young child stepped aside, the man whose robe was off removed the elder man's robes for him, folding them and giving them to the boy.
“Uh, assistant...I think you're meant to disrobe me,” Rodney snickered.
Looking mildly annoyed, Sheppard did as told.
“Hey, it's not my fault. You volunteered.”
“I'm trying to protect you, genius. We don't split up and you know that. If this was the only way, so be it.”
Moving forward, Rodney was met by a jovial man around twenty years his senior and much pudgier around the middle. Truth be told, he looked like Santa Claus. “You must be the foreign Scholar. Welcome! I am Brutus, Scholar of Language. Come, join me!”
Rodney nodded his thanks and followed Brutus (et tu, he thought to himself) to the edge of one of the baths. The sound of water splashing into the pools surrounded them and a gentle steam was rising from the surface of the slightly blue water.
“Don't worry, it's not dye. Something to do with the heat, softeners, and the source of the springs. You'd have to ask a water Scholar about that, my friend.”
Brutus slid into the water and gestured that Rodney should do the same. Sliding in, the water was that temperature which registered as just too hot for a minute before becoming luxurious. The water exuded a scent not unlike the Aqua Velva Rodney always teased Sheppard about wearing. He let out a sigh of relief as he slid in the rest of the way.
Noting Sheppard still standing on the side, rigid posture, Rodney glanced around. What he noticed was men anywhere from mid thirties to almost decrepit speaking with one another in excited tones, some arguing amicably, others laughing, some appeared to be in deep philosophical discussions. And around each one of these speaking men was anywhere from one to five younger men, fawning over and fondling them. All men. Touching.
Rodney looked up at Sheppard's face which was carefully blank, but he could read the tension lines around his eyes and the downturn of his mouth. Sheppard was very uncomfortable.
“Invite your assistant in! He should enjoy the water, too.”
To be honest, getting in was probably the last thing Sheppard wanted, but he'd signed up for the job.
“Colonel,” he hissed and Sheppard glared reproachfully before sliding in.
“Your assistant...he's rather old, isn't he?” Brutus leaned over to whisper, beard tickling Rodney's ear.
“I, umm...” Rodney struggled to think fast, feeling Sheppard's eyes on him. “He's been around a long time. He knows how to get the job done, so to say.”
Brutus leaned back and let out a loud laugh, startling everyone else in the pool who all turned their attention to him. And Rodney by proxy.
Wiping at tears, Brutus punched Rodney in the shoulder and said, “I bet he does! And that's all that really matters, isn't it? Friends!” He turned to the other Scholars in the pool. “Meet...” he trailed off.
“Doctor Rodney McKay,” Rodney inserted.
“Meet Rodney. He and his team are here to make trade negotiations. And hopefully, we'll be able to convince him to come up to the Temple and offer his no doubt sage advice on whatever his profession may be. What is your expertise, Rodney?” the man asked.
“Well, I do a lot, actually. My degrees are in mechanical engineering and astrophysics, but I'm also an expert on the Stargate and Ancient technology. Er, the Ancestor's technology.”
“Brilliant, brilliant! You'll have to meet Archmes, then. He's one of our technology Scholars. Oh, and Camille. He's our Scholar of the Stars. I'm sure you'll have much in common. Now, let me introduce you. First, this handsome devil is Kelarus, Scholar of Ancient Writings. His assistants are Tem, Rict, and Samuel. Then we have Halam, Scholar of Trees. And his assistants, Haku, Retah, Felar, and Belarus...”
And so it went on, introducing ten Scholars and their various assistants. The assistants never said anything, merely eyed him the same way the one at yesterday's dinner had, then turned back to their own Scholars; all the while, stroking and pressing kisses onto the men's cheeks and jaws. Each one only had a first name given and Rodney wasn't sure what the actual point of them was. Were they just a kind of pleasure slave? Did they act as servants? And he couldn't help but notice, all the Scholars and their assistants were men. The society was obvious sexist in some sense. He had noticed one woman Senator walking around yesterday, but who knew how common that was?
Finally, one of the men (Rodney had already forgotten just about everyone's name) asked, “And who is your assistant? Why does he stay to himself so much? Rough night?”
A cackle rose from the group and Rodney found himself blushing yet again. Fortunately, the heat of the water had already made him flushed, so he hoped Sheppard didn't notice the lack of a cool facade.
“This is...John. And he's just...shy. Where we're from, people don't show affection in public much.”
“Then, please, enjoy while you are here! That must be terribly constricting.”
Rodney nodded, hoping he didn't look constipated as he tried not to grimace.
“Terribly constricting,” came Sheppard's deep voice, and all eyes snapped to him.
“Sheppard,” Rodney tried to growl quietly. It was obvious that the assistants weren't meant to speak, at least not in the baths.
“Oh, Doctor McKay, since I have permission in this place, you must allow me.” And suddenly, one of Sheppard's very hairy, very manly arms was draped across his chest to grab his opposite shoulder and Sheppard was doing a damn good impression of the other fawning assistants.
“I, um, er...please, heh, forgive John. At home, we speak a great deal. While we aren't open in the physical sense, our society is very open verbally,” Rodney said, hoping that would cover them both.
All the men nodded and even the assistants looked on approvingly.
“That is why we keep them. They keep our minds young,” chimed in one of the Scholar's across from him.
“And our bodies,” laughed the guy next to Brutus-Kelarus?
Just then, Sheppard's hand found one of Rodney's nipples and flicked it. He struggled not to moan and didn't contain the shudder it caused. From the corner of his eye, he could see a mixture of smugness and confusion on Sheppard's face.
They had to get out of there fast. He couldn't handle anymore time in the hot water (which clearly had something added to provoke his senses or he wouldn't react so vehemently), and watch both old and young handsome men be felt up in a pornographic manner, and have Sheppard pretending like he found Rodney attractive. It was too much. And if he didn't leave now, in about one minute he'd have a very obvious erection and while maybe the others wouldn't mind, no way could he let the colonel see that.
“You'll have to excuse me. I'm afraid my team needs to begin negotiations soon.”
His intent of leave was met with a chorus of groans.
“Let the man breathe,” Brutus spoke up, and Rodney couldn't have been more grateful to the older man. “You will all get to bother him when he visits us at the Temple today, right, Rodney?”
Smiling and nodding, Rodney struggled to get out of the bath gracefully, followed closely by Sheppard who stepped forward to grab their robes from the same kid who'd taken them. He held it out for Rodney with an unreadable expression and he quickly slid his arms into it, wrapping it around himself. The boy put Sheppard's robes on for him and they slid into the bath shoes.
About to leave, Brutus called after them. “I shall meet you after the midday meal, Rodney. And then we will tour the Temple!”
Rodney waved and then jumped when he felt a large hand slide down and grab his ass. Squawking, he turned to face the culprit, only to catch Sheppard mid wink at the group, who all laughed, and then gently pushed him from the room.
Spluttering the whole way out, Rodney didn't manage anything coherent until they made it to the safety of their room.
“You-I, you...what the hell was that for?” he yelled.
“Just playing their game, McKay.”
“You can't just do that to a person!”
“I don't know, McKay,” Sheppard said in that lazy, dangerous tone, “You seemed to enjoy it.”
He stared pointedly at Rodney's crotch where the robe come undone, showing he was half hard in the clinging weird swim trunks.
Spluttering some more, Rodney tried to get across that it wasn't Sheppard, it was just the nice water, any normal man would get hard in such a bath, but the dark-haired man just stared, eyes blank and mocking while cocking a hip out (deliberate, definitely). Then he started to strip right out in the open, staring at Rodney the whole time.
He quickly turned away as Sheppard said, “Whatever makes you feel better.”
“Just put some God damned clothes on, will you?” Rodney said, trying to cover, knowing he wasn't succeeding in Sheppard's view.
Satina or someone had laid out fresh clothes (good since Rodney'd slept in his) that were exactly alike in cut and color, but had slightly different trim on it. Sheppard's however, once he got it on, was that of an assistant's, short, white and no man should be allowed to have such nice looking thighs. They both had different wreaths.
When they were almost ready (Rodney couldn't keep his wreath from stabbing him in the eye until Sheppard came over and adjusted it, trailing a hand down his back as he walked away), there was a knock at the door and their other teammates walked in.
“Ready?” asked Ronon gruffly. “Let's get these talks over and get out of here. This is a weird planet.”
“I agree,” said Rodney in a rush. Maybe if they got off this fucking world, Sheppard would stop touching him, stop doing it just to be an asshole. Because that's what he was doing and it was one thing to be straight and one thing to mock a friend on his looks...and another entirely to be such a fucking tease. It wasn't nice and it wasn't right. As though he wasn't embarrassed enough.
Negotiations went smoothly, Atlantis trading rudimentary mechanical tools and basic Ancient knowledge (on agriculture applications, mostly) for baskets of fruit, several blocks of cheese, and cloth, as per Rodney's request (and the colonel had given him quite a look on that one, Rodney could practically hear the gay jokes that would happen once they got home). It was dull and a relief at the same time because here they could act normally, banter a bit. Rodney could insult things and Teyla would apologize, while Ronon just grunted or pitched in the occasional demand that things were falling from a fair trade. Most importantly, no touching.
By lunchtime, most of the deals were made and Teyla was simply going to clear a few specifics that afternoon while Rodney and Sheppard checked out the Temple. They were hoping to find some useful, hidden information on Ancient technology or locations of ZPMs.
Part Two
Title: The Temple (1/2)
Author: MF Luder
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard,
Keywords: drama, angst, non-con, aliens made them do it
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Very small mention referring to Miller's Crossing.
Disclaimer: They belong to SciFi Channel and various producers.
Archive: My LJ, Wraithbait, anywhere else, let me know.
Summary: At his feet were three men dressed in short togas but with wreaths on their heads, gazing up adoringly. One was prostrate across the Scholar's feet, one had his hand on the Scholar's toga by his feet, and the third was actually on his knees behind the standing man, hands possessively clutching at the Scholar's thighs. A very strange, yet erotic bit of art.
Warnings: Non-con involved.
Feedback: Mulder_Loves_Scully_Forever@hotmail.com
Author's Notes: I always thought I'd be the one to never write an Aliens Made Them Do It, because, does the fandom really need another one from little old me? Also, they all tend to seem the same after a while. But then this planet/civilization struck and just wouldn't go away. For those who know my work, I don't always like happy relationships. Or tidy endings.
Beta Thanks: Mucho gracias to kimberlyfdr for the beta.
It was called the Temple of the Scholars and everyone wandering by them, eying them curiously, were dressed in colorful pastel togas and wreaths covering their heads. It was like being at the Renaissance Festival, but Romanesque. It was the biggest fucking cliché possible.
“I swear, SG-1 never had to put up with this shit. One of these days, I'd like to meet a pompous Goa'uld just for some sense of normality,” Rodney muttered to Sheppard who merely glanced sideways at him from behind his sunglasses before returning to the conversation at hand.
“As you can see, Semenla strives to keep the archives together at all costs. Though over many generations we have been culled, we feel knowledge is the only true form of enlightenment, and have no need for technology beyond that which eases our slaves duties when tending to the fields and wells. Our books are all written in code known only to the Scholars and their assistants. This makes them worthless to the Wraith, who have subsequently left them alone.”
The speaker, Delas, was a man in his early forties with dark hair that curled into little ringlets, wearing a cream colored toga. Based on the lack of color in his robes and the expansive wreath of vines and berries adorning his head, he easily shone as one of the more well-to-do in the city.
Suffice it to say, they'd been very confused when they walked through the gate onto a world that had the temperature of Greece in June and the surrounding fauna to fit the image. On either side of the gate had stood a man dressed in such pale red togas so as to be almost pink, with leather sandals and bare heads. Both had held long javelin-type weapons, but once they registered the visitors, they had melted back into their stances, staring straight ahead.
They'd been greeted by a throng of people all smiling and wishing them a good day as they moved on past with baskets of fruit and grain on their heads, or skins of liquid. Several children had come right up to them, greeting them, asking their names, tugging on the group's hands (much to Rodney's dismay) to lead them towards the nearby village.
They had hardly gotten a word in edgewise, and Rodney couldn't help the flush to his face after giving up on trying to speak. Holding it in was hard, but at some point Sheppard had tossed him a crooked smile and he'd managed not to explode or throw things at the little darlings. Teyla had simply smiled and nodded with kind patience, making little noises of polite surprise when the children told her something they obviously deemed exciting and important.
Ronon just grunted and waded through the crowd.
It wasn't until they met the village's magistrate that they were able to string more than three words together. Once they introduced themselves as peaceful explorers Lt. Colonel Sheppard, Dr. McKay, blah, blah, blah...the attitude suddenly changed and the children who had previously been playing around their feet backed off and bowed in some funny way before running off.
“I'm sorry,” the magistrate, whose name Rodney didn't bother to remember, said, “You came wearing color so they assumed you were working class, as they are.”
When they pressed, the magistrate kept mum and showed them to a room where they sat for approximately an hour before Delas had arrived and ushered them onto a real live chariot, drawn by the nearest thing Pegasus had to horses, apparently. The beasts were about the size of a Clydesdale, but lacked the grace of a horse, making up for it in speed, and obvious ability to drag greater weights. Rodney wasn't sure he'd ever seen so much gold plating in his life. Not to mention the embroidered canopy that threatened to suffocate them if it fell from the supporting rods.
The whole way to the city, home to the Senatorium (the clichés just got worse and worse), was filled with Delas speaking of his people's culture. How color was of the working class. The pale red they'd seen was reserved for the guards (“Kind of girly, don't you think?” Ronon had whispered to the group and Rodney tried to keep his annoyance to himself). Slaves wore pale blacks and browns intended to indicate that, as all color was present, so were the many duties of the slaves. The aristocrats, on the other hand, wore little to no color depending on how high their status was, displaying that they were wedded to one concentration in their line of work. High aides, such as himself (Delas was quick to point out), wore cream. The Senators wore white with sashes of color. The Scholars and their assistants wore white down to the color of their sandals. Headpieces grew bigger depending on your station. Obviously, a slave couldn't wear anything on their head while working, neither could the warriors fight well with such a distraction.
It made a kind of perverse sense and Rodney even remarked on their ability to recognize the inherent right of smart people to rule. But the sight of slaves soured the deal. It wasn't that any of them were treated badly, and none in the group ever saw a bruise, but rather, a world where knowledge was revered, it seemed, should have moved beyond the need for slaves.
Delas, however, clearly proving his worth to his superiors, noted their discomfort, and ever since they had been ushered into a long rectangular room and been poured a kind of wine, no slave had appeared. It was then that Sheppard had asked just what the Scholars did, leading to the current enthusiastically given, if a bit dull, lecture on the history of Semenla.
Rodney couldn't help the feeling that he was back in undergrad where he was clearly smarter than the lecturer and only sitting there because the school insisted he had to take gen eds, even if he was going to get his BA in two years. Oddly enough, the other three members of the team seemed to be fascinated. Or maybe it was just because Delas was fairly attractive; for a dark-haired bureaucrat, anyway.
He tried to ignore the fact that the artistically designed hole (for what purpose-air circulation?) in the ceiling allowed light to dance over the man's body which had obviously been prepared with some kind of lotion or oil intended to make it shine.
Midway through his comments on the works of the famous Scholars, Delas was interrupted by Teyla's stomach grumbling. He stopped mid sentence, a surprised and amused look on his face.
“Please, do forgive me, Delas. It has simply been a time since I last ate. Recently, I am often hungry.” For the first time since Rodney had known her, she looked embarrassed. It was...endearing.
Delas tilted his head in acknowledgment and smiled. “Of course. Your journey has been long today. I will have the cooks prepare a feast for you. I do regret to tell you, though, that before you can step into our hall, you must dress accordingly. I do hope this will not be too much of an inconvenience.”
They all looked at Sheppard who eyed Delas' clothing with a critical eye before shrugging. “Sure. We can join in the costume party, eh, kids?”
Rodney rolled his eyes at Sheppard's affected drawl, but allowed himself to be lead into a room in another section of the building.
A woman, blonde hair arranged in curls reminiscent of the Hellenistic period (it wasn't his fault art history was one of those gen eds he had to take, or that he retained even the most useless of information), wearing a soft yellow gown approached him.
“Doctor McKay. I am Terrina and am here to dress you. First, you must put down your weapon. You will be allowed to continue carrying it at dinner, but I am afraid it will be difficult to dress you while you are holding onto it so tightly.
He stammered and blushed, unaware he'd been doing such and hastily put the P-90 down on the table in the center of the room. Terrina smiled and clapped her hands.
At her cue, several young girls rushed out (all in yellow), carrying bolts of cloth and various wreaths. Rodney blanched. It was like ten of his sister at the age of twelve wanting to play dress up.
“From what I am told, you are some form of scientist, yes? What do you do exactly?”
Grateful for the distraction from small hands cleverly running over his body taking measurements, he responded, “I'm the chief scientist where we're from. Basically, I'm the resident genius. I've got two Ph D's-those are awards for highest scholarly achievement-I figure out all our technology and end up saving everyone's ass at the end of the day.” He smirked to himself.
“Oh,” breathed Terrina, a little reverently, if he wasn't mistaken. She snapped her fingers. “Girls. The white!”
In a flurry, the gaggle of apprentices or whatever they were, fled from the room, only to return this time with a bolt of the brightest white fabric he'd ever seen in his life.
“You are not just a scholar, you are a Scholar,” the woman spoke.
Rodney stared. “How is that, so...pristine? I mean, your world isn't exactly dirt and dust free.”
Terrina's eyes twinkled. “It is one of the few 'technological' luxuries we have, and a secret of us seamstresses. Do not make us spill our secrets, now, Scholar. But, perhaps, if you suggest some in negotiations, I am sure the women of your world would appreciate it, yes?”
He nodded, and although he'd never been keen on fabrics or negotiations over fashion, he figured people like Carter and Simpson would throttle him in his sleep if they found out he hadn't brought back magic white cloth. Who knew what they'd use it for, but there it was.
Half an hour later, he was dressed in a gleaming white toga that belted just above his hips and draped over his shoulder in a surprisingly flattering style. Also (thank God) the togas didn't require lack of underclothing. They (rather disturbingly) studied his boxers and whipped up a pair in the same white as his toga. They then placed a wreath that literally had grapes growing on it atop his head, and laced up to his knees white footwear.
Looking in a mirror, he felt utterly ridiculous. But when in Rome...
“You are ready, Doctor,” Terrina smiled approvingly at him.
“I look like a dink,” he muttered, but she caught him.
“A dink is a good thing on your world, yes?” She looked so earnest and really, it was good craftsmanship, if utterly ridiculous, that he couldn't tell her the truth and merely nodded in response.
She led him down a very long corridor and when they finally stepped out into the bright light of mid-afternoon, it was to an entirely different part of the city.
It rose up like the Roman Forum. The area was all columns and Pantheon-shaped buildings with a few Acropolis-structured buildings in between. And on top the hill was a gleaming temple held up by carved statues as tall as the temple itself.
“That is the Temple of Scholars,” Terrina whispered, as though he couldn't have guessed.
He adjusted his pack and gun, wishing he could pull out his energy reader. He'd bet anything that although it didn't look Ancient, there had to be something interesting up there.
But then he was distracted by another sight. From the building adjacent to his, Ronon, Teyla, and Sheppard exited together and his breath was taken away; not something he was often prone to.
Teyla had never looked more beautiful than right then, wearing a lilac colored toga that set off the golden brown of her skin. Her hair was piled high on her head, all in tight curls. Around it sat a thin wreath decorated with tiny purple buds. Her toga was bound beneath her breasts (which were looking exceptionally full) and fell to the ground from there.
Ronon was in the dreaded almost-pink shade, but on him it looked far from girly; especially considering the glare he was casting about, daring anyone to think such thoughts. It screamed 'real men wear pink' if anything ever had. His toga was tied to the side and kept shorter than everyone else's, presumably to allow for movement, but really, just giving Rodney a nice look at very muscular legs (which he kept at a very short look or Ronon would kill him). His dreads were tied half back and his shoes laced to his knees.
Sheppard, though, was the true masterpiece. His toga was cream with a pink sash crossing his chest. It fell to his knees where it met the straps of his sandals. Apparently, they hadn't known quite what to do with him, being both a 'warrior' and a leader. But his hair was surrounded by a wreath that had red berries and thin leaves decorating it. In any other setting, Rodney might have laughed (despite his own ensemble), but in spite of Sheppard's uncomfortable stance and tight grip on the P-90 he'd wrapped over his toga, he fit right in. It didn't help that some of whatever Delas had been wearing (and that Rodney had refused to have put on him, because, ew) was now glistening over developed biceps. And the chest hair...
Rodney felt a tug low in his gut that he refused to acknowledge despite the rather stunning image Sheppard portrayed and tried not to blush when the other man caught him looking. Because he wasn't looking. Just, professional curiosity. And fodder for black mail at some indeterminate future date.
Ronon grunted when he saw Rodney. “It suits you.” Rodney glared, but Ronon bared his teeth in response and he gave up.
“You look well,” Teyla said, laying a gentle hand on his arm.
This time he flushed. After all, he didn't get a compliment like that from just anyone normally. “You look very lovely, yourself,” he replied, and she smiled at him.
Sheppard muttered, “We look like idiots.”
“Actually, I'm wishing I'd brought a camera; that pink sash just really compliments your eyes,” joked Rodney, smirking.
Something must have shone through though, because Sheppard blinked at him slowly before a funny gleam settled in his eyes. “Sure thing, McKay,” he drawled, and if Rodney hadn't clearly been hallucinating, he'd have sworn the colonel cocked his hip out.
Terrina clapped and exclaimed over them. “Oh, you all look marvelous! Satina will lead you to the banquet hall. I assure you, Colonel Sheppard, you won't need your gun. We have no need for violence, here, save for the Wraith.”
He nodded, but his face was closed and his grip didn't relax.
Satina, a slip of a girl, so small it looked like the light breeze would knock her over, quickly led them into another building across the square. Before making it all the way over, Sheppard stopped to admire the statue in the center. Rodney let Teyla and Ronon keep going while he dropped back.
Sheppard's gaze went hooded as soon as he saw Rodney approach, so he stopped on the other side and examined the statue himself.
Made out of some kind of white rock, it featured a man wearing his toga styled as Rodney's was, holding a book and wearing, of all things, glasses. At his feet were three men dressed in short togas but with wreaths on their heads, gazing up adoringly. One was prostrate across the Scholar's feet, one had his hand on the Scholar's toga by his feet, and the third was actually on his knees behind the standing man, hands possessively clutching at the Scholar's thighs. A very strange, yet erotic bit of art.
“Don't let it go to your head, McKay,” Sheppard said, practically into his ear and pitched low, causing Rodney to jump. “You aren't going to have adoring fans falling at your feet.”
“Yes, yes, thank you, Colonel, for that wonderful revelation. And if you're done admiring the scenery, perhaps we could go eat now? Teyla's stomach isn't the only one grumbling at this point,” he snapped, trying to recover his composure.
Sheppard tilted his head and smiled Mona Lisa-like, walking backwards away from him, before turning around to jog and catch up with the other team members.
Shaking his head, Rodney followed, trying to disregard the sudden sense that something deeper was going on with his team leader, and with this place.
Dinner truly was a feast; plates of cheeses, fruits, light meats, and various hot and cold pastries covered the table as well as silver goblets filled with more of the wine they had been drinking earlier. Rodney made Sheppard taste anything that looked suspicious for citrus and fortunately only had to pass on three of the many fruits and found, to his delight, something that tasted exactly like a ground cherry, causing him to stifle a moan the flavor incurred. At one point, he caught Delas looking at him and Sheppard's interaction closely and he turned red for about the fifth time that day, but it wasn't his fault if someone read something into it. He had someone do this for him at every backwater planet's feasts. Sheppard was simply closest to him this time.
They were seated with a few Senators and high end aides like Delas. There was an assistant of a Scholar seated with them, identifiable because of the short white toga and leafy wreath, who sat quietly the whole time taking everything in, and especially scrutinizing the team's interaction. When Rodney nudged Sheppard, he'd merely shrugged and said, “We'd do it, too, McKay.” And he had a point. They were introduced as 'Ronon the Warrior,' 'Teyla the Diplomat' (which explained the purple, Rodney guessed), Lt. Colonel Sheppard, the Warrior Leader,' and finally, 'Dr. McKay the Scholar'. Although their clothes obviously distinguished them for their roles according to this society, the assistant had turned to Rodney with a scathing stare up and down his body, which finally settled about crotch level and his eyes lit up.
Sheppard, of course, noticed and growled in the back of his throat. Rodney didn't know whether to take it as a stay-away-from-my-scientist thing or something else that had been nagging him in the back of his mind all day. Either way, he milked it for all it was worth by smirking and whispering to the colonel, “Guess I might get those fans after all,” to which Sheppard had bitten something back about not being wanted for his brains. Which, in Rodney's case, it didn't really matter. Sometimes, it was nice to be wanted for something beyond his genius. Even if it was by some scribe almost twenty years younger than him.
At dinner's end, Delas stood up. “Kind friends and peaceful travelers. Tomorrow, we begin negotiations for a new trade agreement. I have faith that both sides will have something of value to offer the other. And so we wish to bid you goodnight early, so that you may relax and enjoy yourselves in our humble city. We begin each morning with a bath that I hope you will join us for. Satina shall see to your personal needs while you are here and will now show you to your rooms. She will also knock in the morning to wake you. Have a good evening.”
With a clap of his hands, not unlike Terrina's, people began chatting in small groups and leaving the room. Rodney watched as the assistant shot a smoldering stare back at Rodney before slipping out a side door. He was probably barely legal back on Earth, and Rodney didn't usually like young guys, but there was just something in his stare and adoration that hit a spot inside him.
They followed Satina back to yet another building, this one opened with gleaming light brown doors into a corridor that split in several places into rooms.
“I am afraid you will have to sleep two to a room. I hope this causes no problems. It is merely how our rooms are set up. Separate beds, I assure you.”
“That will be fine, Satina,” Teyla responded.
“Teyla, Doctor McKay, if you will just go down this corridor, you will find--”
“Ah, no,” interjected Sheppard. “I'm afraid, McKay will be staying with me. We'll take the first room. Ronon and Teyla can share the other.”
The girl nodded, but it was obvious her eyes were considering Sheppard. It was becoming almost creepy how much they kept staring at him.
Once they got into the room, Rodney dropped his stuff onto one of the beds which was gratefully bigger than Atlantis' and almost looked comfortable. “What's got your manly underwear in a knot, Colonel?”
Sheppard didn't answer him right away, sitting down on the other bed in a huff and scrambling to undo the leather straps. “Oh, for the love of--” he cut off, clearly agitated.
“Hello? McKay calling Sheppard! What are you so damn pissy about? You've been like this ever since we got to the city. I'd thought you'd be happy. The idealistic Roman society down to the food, good weather and scantily clad girls. I'd have thought this would have been your paradise. Just needs an Ascended woman for you to Kirk over. Or do you have a problem because for once someone is more interested in what I have to offer than your stupid guns and machoism?” He'd worked himself up now and started pacing the room, annoyed.
“What I have a problem with, Rodney, is the way they keep looking at you! It's like they haven't eaten in weeks and they're going to chow down on your ample assets.”
“Ample assets?” Rodney asked, mockingly. “I don't know whether to punch you for calling me fat or mock you mercilessly for sounding like a 19th century English poet.”
Sheppard shook his head roughly. “I don't like it. It's not...normal! It's creepy and it's getting on my nerves.”
“Well, I am so sorry if some male staring at me offends your homophobic militaristic mindset or whatever the hell your deal is. But it doesn't bother me and you can just take your issues and shove them up your ass, Colonel,” he ended with as much disdain as possible, before sitting down hard on the bed and quickly shucking his shoes before climbing under the light sheet and turning his back to Sheppard.
A minute later he heard a quiet, resigned, “McKay...” but he refused to acknowledge it and eventually he heard the other man shuffle around and finally climb under the bed cover.
He didn't think either of them slept much that night.
In fact, by the time there was a sharp knock at the door, he was pretty sure he'd only gotten a few hours, despite the actual comfort of the bed. His mind had been spinning with possibilities. Why was Sheppard acting so damn weird? Would he sleep with the assistant if given the chance? What would it take to get into the Temple?
But he dutifully got up with the knock and Satina walked in carrying two robes and some kind of other garment, laying them down on a nightstand.
“I will be back momentarily to bring you to the baths.” Then she left.
“Baths,” Rodney muttered. “It's like we're fucking stuck in an episode of Rome.”
Sheppard snorted at that from across the room and Rodney looked over cautiously. Apparently he'd gotten over whatever it was because he didn't flinch when Rodney looked at him.
“Just as long as you don't invite any duels to the death, I suppose it's not too bad.”
“Aw, McKay, you care.”
Rolling his eyes, Rodney snatched the robe and other thing from the table and snapped, “Turn around.”
After he'd grabbed his own robe and complied, Rodney turned his back and figured out the other thing was actually some weird loin cloth-cum-swim trunks. Pulling them and the robe on in record time, he turned just in time to catch a flash of slightly less tanned flesh as Sheppard pulled the shorts on after shucking his other clothing and putting the robe on.
Turning back to the wall, Rodney closed his eyes and focused on breathing. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He'd learned to control it. He had to. Sheppard was definitely straight and even if he wasn't, he'd made it clear that though they were friends, Sheppard didn't think too much of Rodney beyond his ability to save their collective asses. He was in his late thirties and by no means did that allow him the midlife crisis of having a crush on a straight guy. He knew how well that turned out. Besides, he had Katie back on Atlantis. As his sister had so kindly pointed out, he was no John Sheppard and he wouldn't find someone much better than Katie (well, besides Carter, but he'd given up on that).
It was all so stupid and in that moment, the only thing he wanted to do was get as far away from Semenla as possible. Like, back to Earth would be nice. Maybe he should take some leave time once he got back. Not that he was sure Jeannie would appreciate him coming back so soon. Or that he'd want to go back, still feeling the guilt after her kidnapping. Yup. He was just screwed all around.
“McKay,” came Sheppard's drawl and Rodney had to turn around lest Sheppard made a snide comment, or worse, come over to see what was wrong.
Fortunately, Satina appeared to have impeccable timing and knocked right then, opening the door. “Are you ready?”
“Yup,” the colonel said and together they walked out, slipping their feet into thongs Satina provided, meeting Teyla and Ronon in the hallway.
They made it to the bath house where Satina informed them Sheppard, Teyla, and Ronon would be meeting with Delas and other dignitaries, while Rodney was to have his bath with the other Scholars.
So caught up with the fact that he was going to meet these Scholars finally, he didn't notice at first that Sheppard was raising a stink.
“--No, I'm sorry, we don't split up like that. Someone's got to go with him. Preferably me.”
“I'm sorry, Colonel. Only Scholars and their assistants are allowed in the Scholar baths.”
“Why can't he join us, then?” Sheppard pressed.
For the first time, someone showed an emotion besides general pleasantness or curiosity. Satina looked aghast at the very suggestion. “No, Colonel! Scholars do not bathe with those lower than themselves. It is just not done.”
“Yeah, well, where we come from, people don't take public baths. A matter of perspective.”
“Oh, my God, Colonel. I'm sure I'll be fine. It's going to be a bunch of naked geeks. Where are they going to hide their knives they'll magically be ninjas at using, hmm? It's just a bath.”
“I don't know, McKay,” spoke up Ronon. “Probably not a good idea. Even if they are friendly.”
Rodney sniffed. “Well, clearly we're going to have to come to some compromise. You're the one telling me to behave all the time, Colonel. Don't offend the natives, you say. And for once, okay, you do it a lot actually, but anyway, it's you causing the fuss. It's a shower; I can take care of myself.”
Sheppard glared at him then turned to Satina. “You want this to happen, fine. Since he can't bathe with the rest of us, we either won't, or you'll let me go in as his assistant. I don't think Delas will like it if we don't show, so it's up to you.”
“You don't know what you're suggesting, Colonel Sheppard--” Satina started, but was cut off.
“I don't care. Pick one.”
She pondered, lips drawn tight, but after glancing between the two of them, she relaxed her shoulders. “As you wish, Colonel. Please, I shall lead you to the Scholar baths. Teyla, Ronon, this hallway will take you to Delas. Should you need anything, I will return soon.”
They parted ways and Rodney tried not to blow up at Sheppard again in front of their hosts. What the hell had crawled up his ass and died? Apparently Kirk wasn't working it too hard right now. Sheppard obviously needed to get laid, loosen up. He was looking as military as Lorne did. Gone was the slouch, the sway of the hips, replaced by a stance usually saved for the president. Not that Rodney often watched Sheppard's hips.
Satina led them down a hallway that opened into a large room. Without even glancing in, she did that weird bow and left.
Sheppard shrugged before putting on his devil-may-care grin and walking in. A boy of about ten stopped him with a quick touch to the wrist before he got far. The boy, keeping his head down, took Sheppard's robe, then scurried away.
“Umm, what about mine?” Rodney asked, disgruntled. Then he noticed on the other side of the room, the same scene happening, but once the young child stepped aside, the man whose robe was off removed the elder man's robes for him, folding them and giving them to the boy.
“Uh, assistant...I think you're meant to disrobe me,” Rodney snickered.
Looking mildly annoyed, Sheppard did as told.
“Hey, it's not my fault. You volunteered.”
“I'm trying to protect you, genius. We don't split up and you know that. If this was the only way, so be it.”
Moving forward, Rodney was met by a jovial man around twenty years his senior and much pudgier around the middle. Truth be told, he looked like Santa Claus. “You must be the foreign Scholar. Welcome! I am Brutus, Scholar of Language. Come, join me!”
Rodney nodded his thanks and followed Brutus (et tu, he thought to himself) to the edge of one of the baths. The sound of water splashing into the pools surrounded them and a gentle steam was rising from the surface of the slightly blue water.
“Don't worry, it's not dye. Something to do with the heat, softeners, and the source of the springs. You'd have to ask a water Scholar about that, my friend.”
Brutus slid into the water and gestured that Rodney should do the same. Sliding in, the water was that temperature which registered as just too hot for a minute before becoming luxurious. The water exuded a scent not unlike the Aqua Velva Rodney always teased Sheppard about wearing. He let out a sigh of relief as he slid in the rest of the way.
Noting Sheppard still standing on the side, rigid posture, Rodney glanced around. What he noticed was men anywhere from mid thirties to almost decrepit speaking with one another in excited tones, some arguing amicably, others laughing, some appeared to be in deep philosophical discussions. And around each one of these speaking men was anywhere from one to five younger men, fawning over and fondling them. All men. Touching.
Rodney looked up at Sheppard's face which was carefully blank, but he could read the tension lines around his eyes and the downturn of his mouth. Sheppard was very uncomfortable.
“Invite your assistant in! He should enjoy the water, too.”
To be honest, getting in was probably the last thing Sheppard wanted, but he'd signed up for the job.
“Colonel,” he hissed and Sheppard glared reproachfully before sliding in.
“Your assistant...he's rather old, isn't he?” Brutus leaned over to whisper, beard tickling Rodney's ear.
“I, umm...” Rodney struggled to think fast, feeling Sheppard's eyes on him. “He's been around a long time. He knows how to get the job done, so to say.”
Brutus leaned back and let out a loud laugh, startling everyone else in the pool who all turned their attention to him. And Rodney by proxy.
Wiping at tears, Brutus punched Rodney in the shoulder and said, “I bet he does! And that's all that really matters, isn't it? Friends!” He turned to the other Scholars in the pool. “Meet...” he trailed off.
“Doctor Rodney McKay,” Rodney inserted.
“Meet Rodney. He and his team are here to make trade negotiations. And hopefully, we'll be able to convince him to come up to the Temple and offer his no doubt sage advice on whatever his profession may be. What is your expertise, Rodney?” the man asked.
“Well, I do a lot, actually. My degrees are in mechanical engineering and astrophysics, but I'm also an expert on the Stargate and Ancient technology. Er, the Ancestor's technology.”
“Brilliant, brilliant! You'll have to meet Archmes, then. He's one of our technology Scholars. Oh, and Camille. He's our Scholar of the Stars. I'm sure you'll have much in common. Now, let me introduce you. First, this handsome devil is Kelarus, Scholar of Ancient Writings. His assistants are Tem, Rict, and Samuel. Then we have Halam, Scholar of Trees. And his assistants, Haku, Retah, Felar, and Belarus...”
And so it went on, introducing ten Scholars and their various assistants. The assistants never said anything, merely eyed him the same way the one at yesterday's dinner had, then turned back to their own Scholars; all the while, stroking and pressing kisses onto the men's cheeks and jaws. Each one only had a first name given and Rodney wasn't sure what the actual point of them was. Were they just a kind of pleasure slave? Did they act as servants? And he couldn't help but notice, all the Scholars and their assistants were men. The society was obvious sexist in some sense. He had noticed one woman Senator walking around yesterday, but who knew how common that was?
Finally, one of the men (Rodney had already forgotten just about everyone's name) asked, “And who is your assistant? Why does he stay to himself so much? Rough night?”
A cackle rose from the group and Rodney found himself blushing yet again. Fortunately, the heat of the water had already made him flushed, so he hoped Sheppard didn't notice the lack of a cool facade.
“This is...John. And he's just...shy. Where we're from, people don't show affection in public much.”
“Then, please, enjoy while you are here! That must be terribly constricting.”
Rodney nodded, hoping he didn't look constipated as he tried not to grimace.
“Terribly constricting,” came Sheppard's deep voice, and all eyes snapped to him.
“Sheppard,” Rodney tried to growl quietly. It was obvious that the assistants weren't meant to speak, at least not in the baths.
“Oh, Doctor McKay, since I have permission in this place, you must allow me.” And suddenly, one of Sheppard's very hairy, very manly arms was draped across his chest to grab his opposite shoulder and Sheppard was doing a damn good impression of the other fawning assistants.
“I, um, er...please, heh, forgive John. At home, we speak a great deal. While we aren't open in the physical sense, our society is very open verbally,” Rodney said, hoping that would cover them both.
All the men nodded and even the assistants looked on approvingly.
“That is why we keep them. They keep our minds young,” chimed in one of the Scholar's across from him.
“And our bodies,” laughed the guy next to Brutus-Kelarus?
Just then, Sheppard's hand found one of Rodney's nipples and flicked it. He struggled not to moan and didn't contain the shudder it caused. From the corner of his eye, he could see a mixture of smugness and confusion on Sheppard's face.
They had to get out of there fast. He couldn't handle anymore time in the hot water (which clearly had something added to provoke his senses or he wouldn't react so vehemently), and watch both old and young handsome men be felt up in a pornographic manner, and have Sheppard pretending like he found Rodney attractive. It was too much. And if he didn't leave now, in about one minute he'd have a very obvious erection and while maybe the others wouldn't mind, no way could he let the colonel see that.
“You'll have to excuse me. I'm afraid my team needs to begin negotiations soon.”
His intent of leave was met with a chorus of groans.
“Let the man breathe,” Brutus spoke up, and Rodney couldn't have been more grateful to the older man. “You will all get to bother him when he visits us at the Temple today, right, Rodney?”
Smiling and nodding, Rodney struggled to get out of the bath gracefully, followed closely by Sheppard who stepped forward to grab their robes from the same kid who'd taken them. He held it out for Rodney with an unreadable expression and he quickly slid his arms into it, wrapping it around himself. The boy put Sheppard's robes on for him and they slid into the bath shoes.
About to leave, Brutus called after them. “I shall meet you after the midday meal, Rodney. And then we will tour the Temple!”
Rodney waved and then jumped when he felt a large hand slide down and grab his ass. Squawking, he turned to face the culprit, only to catch Sheppard mid wink at the group, who all laughed, and then gently pushed him from the room.
Spluttering the whole way out, Rodney didn't manage anything coherent until they made it to the safety of their room.
“You-I, you...what the hell was that for?” he yelled.
“Just playing their game, McKay.”
“You can't just do that to a person!”
“I don't know, McKay,” Sheppard said in that lazy, dangerous tone, “You seemed to enjoy it.”
He stared pointedly at Rodney's crotch where the robe come undone, showing he was half hard in the clinging weird swim trunks.
Spluttering some more, Rodney tried to get across that it wasn't Sheppard, it was just the nice water, any normal man would get hard in such a bath, but the dark-haired man just stared, eyes blank and mocking while cocking a hip out (deliberate, definitely). Then he started to strip right out in the open, staring at Rodney the whole time.
He quickly turned away as Sheppard said, “Whatever makes you feel better.”
“Just put some God damned clothes on, will you?” Rodney said, trying to cover, knowing he wasn't succeeding in Sheppard's view.
Satina or someone had laid out fresh clothes (good since Rodney'd slept in his) that were exactly alike in cut and color, but had slightly different trim on it. Sheppard's however, once he got it on, was that of an assistant's, short, white and no man should be allowed to have such nice looking thighs. They both had different wreaths.
When they were almost ready (Rodney couldn't keep his wreath from stabbing him in the eye until Sheppard came over and adjusted it, trailing a hand down his back as he walked away), there was a knock at the door and their other teammates walked in.
“Ready?” asked Ronon gruffly. “Let's get these talks over and get out of here. This is a weird planet.”
“I agree,” said Rodney in a rush. Maybe if they got off this fucking world, Sheppard would stop touching him, stop doing it just to be an asshole. Because that's what he was doing and it was one thing to be straight and one thing to mock a friend on his looks...and another entirely to be such a fucking tease. It wasn't nice and it wasn't right. As though he wasn't embarrassed enough.
Negotiations went smoothly, Atlantis trading rudimentary mechanical tools and basic Ancient knowledge (on agriculture applications, mostly) for baskets of fruit, several blocks of cheese, and cloth, as per Rodney's request (and the colonel had given him quite a look on that one, Rodney could practically hear the gay jokes that would happen once they got home). It was dull and a relief at the same time because here they could act normally, banter a bit. Rodney could insult things and Teyla would apologize, while Ronon just grunted or pitched in the occasional demand that things were falling from a fair trade. Most importantly, no touching.
By lunchtime, most of the deals were made and Teyla was simply going to clear a few specifics that afternoon while Rodney and Sheppard checked out the Temple. They were hoping to find some useful, hidden information on Ancient technology or locations of ZPMs.
Part Two