"Red Ribbon" (Part 2 of 2), SGA/SG-1, John Sheppard/Cameron Mitchell
Title: Red Ribbon
Author: scrollgirl
Fandom: Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Cameron Mitchell/John Sheppard
See Part 1 of 2 for warnings, author's notes, and summary.
Red Ribbon, Part 2 of 2
John is two seconds away from climbing on top of Mitchell and just kissing the mother-loving hell out of him. He's half hard in his jeans, on the other end of the couch, and it'd be so easy to get him in bed. The only reason John's holding back is that this isn't how he imagined it. This isn't how he wanted to have sex with Mitchell, him missing his dick and Mitchell only interested because John's not John.
But what the hell. Not like anything's gone his way the past few weeks. Why should sex be any different? Might as well take what he can get.
There's a sudden knock at the door, and John snatches back his outstretched hand before Mitchell can see. "Probably Jackson checking up on us," says Mitchell, rising to answer the door. Turns out it's not Jackson or anyone else from SG-1, but a bespectacled Asian man and a pretty Caucasian woman.
"Regina!" Mitchell laughs, hauling the woman into his arms and spinning her around. "What the hell are you doing here?" He kisses her cheek and turns to shake hands with the guy. "Kyle, you bastard, how are you?"
"Cam, old man, it's great to see you!" The boisterous greetings keep the strangers from noticing John right away, but Mitchell quickly ushers them in, eyes crinkled and grinning.
"Hey there," the woman, Regina, says to John when she sees him.
Mitchell's expression turns panicked for a moment as his visitors look curiously between him and John, and he stutters, "Uh, this is, this is a friend of mine --"
"Joan." John stands up to shake hands with Regina, then Kyle. "Joan Sheppard. I'm a friend of Cam's from work."
"Nice to meet you," says Regina with a broad smile that strikes a familiar chord. "I'm Regina, first cousin on Cam's father's side, third of four," she adds, name and rank, an old Mitchell family joke John's heard before, and oh fucking hell, Gina, Mitch's baby sister Gina. "And this is my husband, Kyle Truong."
In a daze, John shakes Kyle's hand and fights down the instinct to execute a tactical retreat to the bathroom. Because of course John's going to risk running into Mitchell's relatives so long as they keep hanging out. The Mitchell clan is unto the sun rising in the east: warm, bright, constant, inevitable.
Thankfully Mitchell recovers enough to keep Regina and Kyle's attention away from John, and there's happy banter between them about how everyone's doing, who's been reassigned where, their opinions on the latest batch of boyfriends and girlfriends and babies within the extended family.
"Damn, I haven't thought about Shannon in ages," Mitchell's saying when John tunes back in. "Please tell me Helen's divorced him by now."
"Two years ago, thank God," Regina mutters. "The guy may be a top-notch pilot, but he's a sadistic son of a bitch who gets off on fucking up everyone around him."
"Shannon. You mean Todd Shannon?" John hesitates when everyone turns to look at him. "I... used to know him, kind of. Mutual friends."
"Yeah? You should come along then," Regina says. "Keep Cam from looking like a total loser without a date." John must look like he doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, because she clarifies: "Ricardo Mendosa's bi-annual birthday bash? He does it every other year if he's stateside. He's at Peterson now, so Kyle and I figured it'd be an easy drive."
"Yeah, Regina's on leave and I took a couple of days off from work," Kyle puts in. "We weren't sure Cam would be in town, though. If you guys aren't busy, you should come with."
"I don't know," Mitchell hedges.
"You already have plans?"
"No," Mitchell's forced to admit. "I just, I haven't seen most of these people since Afghanistan."
Regina's not too impressed with that argument. "All the more reason to see them, then. I think they'll be able to restrain themselves from asking too many questions about your current assignment, Lieutenant Colonel Classified, if that's what you're worrying about."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mitchell says primly. Regina rolls her eyes.
"We'll go," says John in a rush, before he can ask himself what the fuck he's thinking. Todd Shannon is ancient history. But that's the problem with hanging around Mitchell -- it's old home week, all week, and for once John's not strong enough to stay the hell away. "It'll be fun. See everyone." He turns to Mitchell desperately. "Right? We'll have a good time."
"Right. Sure." Mitchell's grin is only a little forced. Good man, backing him up like always. "We can do that. I wouldn't mind seeing Mendosa and Brown and those guys. Like you say, it's been a while." He shrugs at his cousin. "You got an address?"
As Regina scribbles down the time and place, John slowly comes back to himself, to a body clenched in half-remembered anxiety, his back and shoulders knotted with old tensions and guilt and not-quite-buried anger. Mitch's baby sister. Todd Fucking Shannon.
Also? He's got a date tomorrow with Cameron Mitchell. Yeah, nice going, John.
* * *
"This is all your fault, you know," Cam pants as he and Teal'c slow their pace to a cool-down jog. It's a gorgeous September afternoon, and it didn't take Teal'c long to convince Cam to join him for a run. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it gets Cam out of the apartment; hell, he's man enough to admit he's in full avoidance mode. Day Three of Operation: Distract Sheppard started with Cam jerking off in the shower to the memory of Joan stretched full-length on his couch, her t-shirt riding up to show off a toned abdomen and sharp hipbones. God, he wants her. It's wrong and he's wrong and he knows it. Joan Sheppard is John Sheppard, and he's a horny jackass who can't seem to remember his friend is in there, inside that body, same as he's always been.
Cam figures, if he doesn't want to screw up their friendship, better to stay the hell away from temptation.
"I cannot see how I am to blame for your current predicament," Teal'c says calmly, not even breathing hard.
"That's because you lack imagination." Cam stumbles once, then stumbles again to a halt, landing against a convenient lamppost. "I can't get her out of my head."
Teal'c looks at him sharply. "You think of Colonel Sheppard as female."
Pressing his forehead to the cold concrete of the lamppost, Cam tries to regain his breath. "No, worse. I see them as two different people." He rolls his head to look pleadingly at Teal'c. "I don't want to hurt him."
"Then do not hurt him," says Teal'c simply. Which is sound advice that Cam's afraid he won't be able to follow.
Teal'c drops him off at home before heading back to the Mountain. "You have tonight and one more day, Colonel Mitchell. I am confident you will survive."
"I can always count on you, buddy," says Cam tiredly. He lets himself into an empty apartment and stands frozen in the entryway for a full minute before remembering that Joan is John and fully capable of walking to the grocery store or the coffee shop or wherever it is she -- he -- has gone. Sheppard doesn't need Cam to hold his hand to cross the street, even if he's currently experiencing some funky genetic manipulation.
He strips off and steps into the shower, grateful the workout has tired him out enough so his libido is under control. The morning had been incredibly awkward, his guilt over getting off on Sheppard's female body warring with the rush of affection and desire he felt seeing Joan half-asleep over a bowl of Cheerios. There'd been a frightening near-miss when she'd bumped into him on the way to the fridge -- half on purpose, Cam thinks. For one heart-stopping moment they'd been pressed up against one another, the swell of her ass against his dick, until she'd shivered and jumped out of arm's reach.
He's almost finished getting ready for their, jeez, their date, when he hears the front door open and female voices. He slips on his sports jacket and goes out into the living room to find Sam and Vala waiting with the devil in their eyes. "Oh God, what," he moans, knowing whatever it is, it can't be healthy for him.
"You'd better appreciate all our hard work, Mitchell," says Vala with a little bounce. "Let me tell you, it took forever just to convince him to put on the eyeliner, never mind the outfit itself." With a dazzling grin, she flashes her hands in the direction of the kitchen -- "Ta-da!" -- then frowns when nothing happens. "Uh, Sheppard? That's your cue!"
"Eyeliner? Outfit?" Cam turns to Sam, bastion of sense and reason. "Sam, Christ. What the hell did you guys do?"
Sam frowns and grabs him by the arm, dragging him out of earshot of Sheppard, who's presumably hiding in the kitchen. "Don't, Cam. You have no idea."
"What the hell do you expect from me, Sam?" he frets. "You telling me this is supposed to be a real date? Do you not remember a little something called 'don't ask, don't tell'?"
"Cam, listen." Sam is firm. "He came to me, okay? He asked me for help. He wanted to do this, and no, I don't think this is necessarily a wise decision, but -- Cam. He's putting himself out there, for you, and you are by God not going to make him feel like a fool." She stares him down. "Are you hearing me?"
"Yes, ma'am," he whispers. Not simply because he can't deny Sam when she lays it on the line like that, but because John going to Sam of all people for help means something. He's not sure what it means, exactly, but he is bound and determined to respect it.
"John, come out, please," Sam calls. Vala prods him from behind, not quite pushing, and John's beet red and flustered when he finally emerges. But the man's always had more guts than brains: he cocks his head, deliberately lets his body go loose, relaxing into his signature 'fuck you, sir' slouch. And God, it shouldn't be hot, but it is, and Cam is so, so screwed.
"John," he breathes, looking him up and down. He's got on a slinky white dress with an indecent neckline and a hem that skims mid-thigh. His slender curves are on display, all sweet lines and bare skin Cam wants to touch. His dark hair is artfully mussed, curling to frame his face. With the high heels and smoky make-up and tinkling silver bangles on the arm he usually wears his black wristband, John looks sexy and classy and, God. "You look incredible."
If possible John turns even redder, but his mouth tips into a genuine smile. "Yeah? It's not, y'know. Too weird?"
Cam drifts closer, mesmerized. "Hell, no. Not weird at all. This is..." He stares down at John, who's almost back to his usual height with the heels. "God, you smell good too," he murmurs, because John's wearing perfume, a delicate ocean scent that's perfectly fitting.
A light flashes in Cam's peripheral, and he jerks back to see Vala with his digital camera, grinning madly at him. The moment shattered, Cam grabs for the camera while she dances away. "No photos, Vala!"
Sam comes to the rescue. "I'll make sure it's secure," she says, holding out her hand until Vala surrenders the camera. She looks between John and Cam. "Trust me."
Looking torn, John eventually nods. "I fucking learned how to walk in heels," he growls, taking Cam's arm in a fierce grip. "So we're fucking going to this party."
Cam takes a long moment to drink him in, the bright flame in him that Cam first saw years ago, when they were younger and near invincible. When Vala steals the camera back and snaps a few more shots, he barely notices: his field of vision is too full with John.
Sam presses something into his hand -- the Asgard anti-surveillance device. He tucks it into his breast pocket, then adjusts John's clasp on his arm with gentle care. "Let's do this."
* * *
Mendosa's gone all out for this shindig, which John appreciates because he's flushed and floating from two glasses of decent white wine and two more glasses of excellent brandy that Regina finagled from -- somewhere. He clings to Cam's arm as they circulate the room, trusting Cam to keep him steady on his heels. John recognises a few faces in the crowd, mostly from Afghanistan, a couple others from ROTC, but of course they don't recognise him -- just as well since he can't imagine what he'd say to them. Given the same situation, I'd make the same decision and damn the court martial? Don't pity me for Antarctica because my current assignment is literally out of this world?
"Oh crap," Cam mutters under his breath. "Todd Shannon at two o'clock." But Shannon spots them, spots John, and cuts through the crowd like a shark scenting blood in the water. He stands in Cam's path, lets his eyes linger on John's cleavage, deliberately provocative. John can feel Cam bristling.
"Mitchell. Been a while." Shannon's smile turns predatory and he takes John's free hand in his own, gently stroking his palm. "Are you going to introduce me to your beautiful date?"
Fuck, John's trembling and he knows Shannon can feel him trembling -- he sees the satisfied glint in those sharp green eyes. It's insane because John hates Shannon, doesn't want anything to do with him, but he can't force himself to look away.
"Maybe some other time," says Cam blandly. "If you'll excuse us." He tries to guide John past Shannon, but the other man tightens his hold on John's hand.
"I'm not done here, Mitchell," says Shannon, soft and even. But the faint suggestion of a threat is enough to snap John out of it.
"I say we're done," he says in a tight voice, breaking Shannon's grip easily. "You don't seem like anyone I'd care to know." With a subtle tug on Cam's arm, John leads them through the crowd and out into the hotel foyer. The air is cooler and John leans against the wall behind a pillar.
Cam's there, at a reasonable distance, concern and anger colouring his face. "That son of a bitch," he says savagely. He cups a warm palm around John's bare shoulder. "Are you okay?"
John nods, not quite ready to speak.
"You want something to drink?"
Huffing a laugh, John shakes his head. "I've had enough for tonight, I think." He looks up to find Cam's blue eyes gazing down at him, everything he's feeling there for the world to see. He's a decent man, Cameron Mitchell is, thinks John. Smart and kind and loyal as the day is long, and, okay, kind of old-fashioned. But he's got a good heart, and more courage and fight in him than anyone would expect after the blows he's suffered.
Cam's expression turns confused. "What?"
John shakes his head again, and grins. "Nothing. Just. My taste in men has greatly improved over the years."
Cam smiles a little. "Oh." Then he seems to understand what John's saying, and the smile turns megawatt. "Oh. Well." He bounces on his toes, ridiculously pleased. "Do you, uh," he tilts his head toward the ballroom. "Would you like to dance?"
It's silly, and John knows Cam's simply treating him like he'd treat a woman on a real date, but he's got maybe 24 hours left and he is determined to make the most of it. "Slow dancing's fine," he says, tucking his arm into Cam's again. "But I'll probably kill you with these heels if we try anything fancy."
"Slow dancing it is, then."
They take an empty corner of the dance floor and make it theirs, and John basks in it. This is nothing like what he wanted, it's nothing he could've ever imagined -- the dress, the shoes, the way Cam's big hands span his ribcage -- but it's good, better than anything's felt in a long time, and he's not about to let what should be get in the way of having this.
He lifts one hand and trails the back of his fingers down Cam's cheek, feeling the other man shudder in response, and pull John closer. "Cam," he whispers, and wraps his arms around Cam's neck, letting him take his weight. "Cam, please." He tilts his face up.
But Cam's got his eyes closed, fighting it, though his breathing's turning harsh and his hands keep stroking down John's back to his hips. "We can't," he says tightly.
"We can," says John, touching his lips to the corner of Cam's mouth. With a ragged breath, Cam turns blindly to find his lips again, and they kiss, slow and soft and lingering, one kiss after another until John's hot and melting and clutching at Cam's shoulders.
"Cameron. Cam."
Someone's trying to talk to Cam. Sounds urgent, but John's lost in sensation and doesn't care, not until Cam gasps and breaks the kiss.
"Cam, here. Go, before you get arrested."
"I ain't takin' your bed, Kyle."
"You'd better or Regina's gonna come over here."
Cam turns John in his arms, tucks him into his side. "We're gonna go upstairs, okay?"
It takes a moment, but John quickly nods, and pulls him down for a kiss. "Hotel room. Bed." He doesn't spare another thought for Regina and Kyle because Cam's guiding him out into the foyer and over to the bank of elevators. They snag an empty elevator, thank God, and John doesn't waste time dragging Cam into another kiss, this one wet and deep and thoroughly X-rated.
"Fuck," Cam groans when they pull apart to breathe. "John, Christ." He forces himself to gentle his touches, too afraid of losing total control when they're so close to privacy. "You okay?"
"Better than okay." Pressing his face into the hollow of Cam's throat where the top button of his shirt's undone, John murmurs, "I want you, Cameron Mitchell."
Evidently Cam hears him because his hands are shaking a little as he pulls John out of the elevator, down the hall, and finally -- inside a hotel room with a lock and a bed and Cam dumping his jacket on the floor, toeing off his shoes, unbuckling his belt.
John grabs his hands before he can lower the zipper. "Wait, Cam." John's not foolish enough to think there won't be any fallout from this, but the least he can do is ask one last time. "We don't have to do this. Not if you have any doubts."
* * *
Cam can't help but smile at John's offer to back out with no hard feelings. It's sweet. "No doubts," he promises. He cups John's face in both hands and kisses him gently. "Been a long, long time since I wanted someone the way I want you." He kisses him again. "John." Again. "John." And again. "John."
Cursing under his breath, John pulls out of reach, overwhelmed. "Fucking hell, Mitchell. You're a lethal weapon." He kicks off his heels. "Come on, take off your clothes." John licks his lips and reaches out to cup Cam's erection through his pants. "I want to see you."
Stumbling back, Cam lands his ass on the bed. "When you put it like that..." He doesn't waste time, just pulls off pants and underwear and socks in one go, then yanks his dress shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it. And then he's naked, except his tags, and hard and willing for whatever John has in mind.
"Fuck, Cam," John swears, and goes down on his knees right in front of him. Cam freezes, holds painfully still, because John, with that red mouth and that dazed look in his eyes, is almost enough to get him to come right this second. "Please," John murmurs, like he's the one needing permission.
Resting a careful hand on the nape of his neck, Cam brings John closer, close enough for his lipstick-red mouth to brush the wet tip of his cock. "John." Wide green eyes, familiar and mysterious with the black eyeliner and shadow, flicker up to Cam. "Suck me. Please." With a moan, John takes the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking gently. He brings his hands up to stroke Cam's balls, his thighs. He pulls off with a desperate gasp, then licks the shaft, long delicious licks that drive Cam crazy with anticipation. "Jesus Christ," he pants when John bobs his head up and down, moaning and clearly loving having Cam's dick in his mouth, and then, "oh holy fuck, John," he relaxes and swallows and goes down, down, down, taking almost all of Cam deep in his throat, and Cam's gonna come, he's can't stop it -- but then John's mouth is gone and he's pressing hard against the base of Cam's dick, stopping him.
"God, what?"
"Don't come," John rasps, his voice shot all to hell. "Not yet. Want you to fuck me, Cam."
"Shit, shit," Cam moans, holding himself from the brink with all the willpower he can summon. "Whatever you want, just -- give me a minute." He takes a couple of deep breaths, cools down enough to focus his attention back on John. Who is, Christ. Touching himself with his dress hiked up and his hand down a pair of lacy panties. "Okay, that is seriously hot."
John smirks and reaches back to unzip the dress. He shrugs it to the floor, then steps close for Cam to pull his panties off. His thighs are silky smooth, and Cam has to swallow hard at the proof that John wants him, wants him badly enough to shave his legs and buy sexy lingerie. "You're amazing, you know that?" he says, kissing his way up John's beautiful body, from hip to belly to breast to shoulder to chin. "You blow my mind."
"And people think I'm the crazy one," John mutters under his breath, but he helps Cam shove the covers off the bed, and doesn't resist when Cam pulls him down and kisses him softly, tenderly. "You're definitely," he sighs between kisses, "the crazy one."
"Whatever gets you through the night, sweetheart," Cam laughs, cupping one breast in his hand, enjoying John's sharp inhalation and quiet moan. "You like that?" He pinches a nipple, mouth going dry when John jerks and arches into his hand. "Yeah, like that." He does it again to watch the pleasure washing over John's face. "What else you like?"
"How the fuck do I know?" John groans, biting at Cam's throat. "Not like I've done this before."
"Good point." He trails a hand down John's belly to tangle in his curls. "I'm pretty sure you'll like this," he says, teasing the wet folds between John's thighs, dipping in further and further until John's panting and arching up, one hand wrapped tight around Cam's forearm.
"Cam, Cam, please," he begs. "Touch me, do it." Cam nuzzles him, finds his clit and rubs, the slick moisture letting his fingers slide around and around until John's gasping, crying out, "Cam, fuck, Cam, Cam," and coming in a long, rippling wave. By the time he comes down from orgasm, Cam's struggling not to just rub off on John's wet thighs until he comes. But John fumbles for his purse and pulls out a condom, his hands barely steady enough to roll it on.
He lies down and drags Cam on top of him. "You gonna fuck me now, Mitchell?" He says it like a dare, legs spread open.
"John," says Cam helplessly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna fuck you." He rubs himself between the lips of John's vagina, and God, now that he's here -- yeah, it's a little weird, but weirdly sexy and an incredible turn-on. He's going to fuck John Sheppard. "Fuck," he rasps, pressing in carefully, because technically John's a virgin. No barrier though, just melting heat and a tight channel gripping him through the latex.
"Yeah, yeah, Cam," John sighs, curving up to meet him while Cam thrusts deeper and deeper. "S'good."
"I can make it better," Cam promises, then forces himself to pull back a little, change the angle, drive in harder -- John's sharp gasp and suddenly grasping hands are his reward for the effort. "Good?"
John's nod is a bit frantic, his eyes wild as he stares up at Cam. "Cam. Cam, I --" He breaks off. Surges up to kiss him, wet and messy, tongues twining, and it's so good Cam's not sure he can hold on much longer. He glides one hand down John's sweat-slick back, over his hip and between their bodies, searching out his clit. "God!" John arcs, wraps his legs around Cam's thighs, and comes with a shuddering cry.
Gripping John's hips, Cam starts thrusting again, fast and rough, barely controlled, until, "John, John," he comes hard, his vision going white. "Christ almighty," he gasps, "John."
"Yeah," he murmurs, lips pressed against Cam's throat. "That was..."
Cam threads his fingers through John's mess of hair. "...hmm, what you said."
* * *
John wakes to Cam's tongue tracing damp circles on his stomach, the stubble on his chin scratching a counterpoint. "Cameron?"
"Mornin', sweetheart," Cam smiles up at him, warm and content, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "How you feelin'?"
"Pretty good," says John cautiously. "Sweetheart?"
Cam quirks an eyebrow, challenging. "That a problem?" He thumbs John's nipple, his hand big and warm on John's breast. "Or are you not a pet name kind of guy?"
Fairly certain he's never given the subject much thought, he simply shrugs. "Whatever you want." Eyes sliding shut, he lets himself be rolled onto his side, his back to Cam's chest, his ass against Cam's half-hard dick. "You spooning me, Mitchell?" he asks, amused.
"I'm a snuggler, get used to it," was the sleepy reply.
Since it's his last day as a woman and he's pretty sure Cam won't be so eager to spoon once John has his dick back, he doubts he'll have a chance to get used to it. Which is a pity, because the arms around him are strong and protective and John doesn't want to leave this place. Making a few non-committal noises, he settles down within Cam's embrace and allows his drowsiness to overtake him.
The second time he wakes it's to an empty bed, the faint murmur of voices, then the hotel room door closing. It's still early, too early on a Sunday morning, and John turns over to press his face into Cam's pillow, hunting out his scent, Hugo Boss and male sweat and sex. It's not as reassuring as it should be. There was a tide turning last night, and John feels terribly unmoored.
After a few minutes, though, he pushes himself up and gets out of bed because if there's one luxury he can't allow himself, it's wallowing in self-pity. In the bathroom, he finds toiletries that must be for him -- toothbrush, toothpaste, a new razor (pink), shaving gel, a loofah (also pink). He lingers in the shower, touched by Cam's thoughtfulness, and in spite of the voice in the back of his head urging him to get out while the getting's good, he's determined to not screw up the morning after.
He's standing in front of the mirror, trying to decide if he's crazy enough to put on make-up, when Cam taps on the bathroom door. "You decent?"
John's in a towel, which is decent enough, but he's reluctant to let Cam see him like this in the cold light of day. Even after having sex with this body, John's not sure how he feels about it, the unfamiliarity of its sensations. He wishes Teyla was here. Colonel Carter and Vala are nice enough, but they don't have Teyla's ability to impart a sense of calm and self-possession. But if wishes were horses. "Yeah, come in."
Cam enters dressed in jeans and a wrinkled USAF t-shirt, probably from the kit he keeps in the car. "I figured you wouldn't want to wear your party dress home, so I bought you stuff from the gift shop downstairs." He pulls out a light blue t-shirt and a dark blue skirt. "Hope they fit okay."
They don't, really, the t-shirt tight across John's breasts and the skirt loose around his hips, riding low to show off the curve of his waist. But the appreciative gleam in Cam's eyes is an ego boost, so John lets it go.
Regina and Kyle are sitting around the tiny hotel room table when they come out. "Good morning, Joan!" Regina exclaims, a wicked grin on her face. "And how did you sleep last night?"
"Gina," Cam growls. "Leave her alone." There's enough real anger in his tone that Regina subsides, though she's obviously still laughing at them on the inside.
"We were about to go down for breakfast," Kyle jumps in. "Did you guys want to join us?"
"Let's just get McDonald's on the way," says Regina, digging into her purse.
Her husband groans. "Honey, is this really how you want to spend our hard-earned vacation?"
"It'll be fun!" She finally pulls out a hot pink flyer that proclaims HAPPY 50th ANNIVERSARY TOWN OF BOONE!!! in 40 point font. "Did you know the town of Boone, Colorado, was incorporated fifty years ago this Friday?"
Cam and Kyle share a look of fond impatience. "No, honey," Kyle rolls his eyes. "We didn't know that."
"They're having a carnival all week." She waves the flyer at them. "There's a pie-eating contest and midway games and cotton candy."
John perks up. "Do they have rides?"
"'Games and rides for the whole family,'" Regina quotes. "You wanna go?"
Cam brushes his fingers down John's arm and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. "We can ride the Ferris Wheel," he says, warm promise in his eyes.
* * *
"C'mon, Sheppard, don't tell me you're afraid of lil' ol' blue-haired grandmas."
"Stop trying to goad me, Mitchell. It's not going to work."
"Nothing wrong with a bit of exercise and some healthy competition."
"Against senior citizens?"
"I dare you."
"What are you, five?"
"I double-dog dare you."
"Oh, you are on."
And that's how Cam and John find themselves tied at the ankle and struggling to keep up with the very blue-haired, very nimble Mrs. Diane Morrison and Mrs. Magda Polanski of Boone, Colorado, as they race across the local high school football field.
Kyle's busting a gut laughing while Regina's jumping up and down in the sidelines, screaming, "Goddammit, are you a Mitchell or are you a Mitchell!" But it's all to no avail because Team Morrison/Polanski, reigning champs of the Boone Carnival Three-Legged Race twelve years running, beat Team Mitchell/Sheppard to the finish line by a healthy four metres.
"Let's give a round of applause to our second place team! What great sports!" The guy with the mic, the mayor or something, pounds Cam on the back and pats John lightly on the shoulder. A little girl all decked out in her Sunday best marches up on stage to present them with their red ribbons. "Congratulations, Cameron and Joan!"
Regina's got her digital camera out, snapping photos every two seconds, and Cam feels kind of bad that none of them will turn out -- the Asgard device is still switched on. It would've been nice to have photos to capture this moment, John flushed and happy, laughing easily. Cam's willing to bet he hasn't thought about Atlantis all day.
They eat corn dogs and funnel cakes until they're ready to hurl, and John plays the shooting game and hits every damn target. "Thanks for the teddy bear," Cam tells him solemnly. "I'll treasure him always."
As dusk settles, Regina and Kyle find seats near the bandstand to listen to some local jazz. But John leans against Cam and whispers, "Ferris wheel. Now." Cam buys a bunch of tickets and they ride the Ferris wheel 'round and 'round, and they make out like teenagers, John practically straddling him in the swaying carriage, Cam's hands under John's t-shirt.
"This is supposed to be a family ride," Cam protests when John starts tugging at his belt. "John, don't, there's kids in the next carriage."
John growls in frustration. "We passed a motel on the way."
"We passed a dozen motels," Cam agrees. "I'd rather go home. Wouldn't you?" It's the wrong thing to say, Cam knows it the moment he says it, but John's already gone still and quiet and far, far away. "There's a Holiday Inn the next block over."
"That's fine," says John, and rests his head on Cam's shoulder as the Ferris wheel makes one more rotation.
Their second night together is even more intense than their first. John doesn't let Cam come for the longest time, wanting desperately to get fucked and pushing Cam to stop being so goddamn careful. They've got bruises everywhere by the time round one is over, but it's nothing compared to the broken look in John's eyes.
"You're gonna be here in the morning, right?" Cam can't help but ask. "John, promise me you'll be here in the morning."
He's not.
* * *
Despite Cam's valiant attempt to stay awake until the change happens, he eventually drifts off to sleep. John really wore him out.
There's only a sliver of yellow light from a crack in the curtains, and John nearly stumbles into a wall. Getting dressed in the dark isn't something he's used to doing any more. On Atlantis, the lights dim and brighten with a mere thought. He stands by the bed for a while, tracing the faint shadow of Cam's body with his eyes, filling in details from memory. He wants to kiss him one last time or something sentimental like that, but he's not a total idiot, even if he is a coward.
He breaks into Cam's car and takes his clothes from the night before, then walks to another motel down the block and pays cash for a room. Takes a shower. Lies naked on the bed for a couple of hours, staring up at the ceiling. When the sky begins to lighten the change happens, and it's like nodding off, then suddenly jerking awake -- a moment of disorientation, adrenaline, animal instinct. He's up on his knees, arms raised defensively, when he realises it's over. He's back.
* * *
"Hey, you're back," says Jackson, looking up from the avalanche of books and manuscripts spilling across his desk.
"Nothing gets by you," Cam grumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face. He needs more coffee, dammit. No, scratch that. He needs John Sheppard to not be such a fucking asshole.
Jackson narrows his eyes at him. "Rough night?" he asks rather pointedly. He reaches over to Cam's breast pocket and taps the Asgard device on. "I would've thought you'd be more mellow than this after sex."
Cam stiffens. "I don't need to hear your opinion on my sex life."
Of course, Jackson's not exactly the kind of guy to back off uncomfortable subjects just because Cam tells him to. "Look, I'm not trying to pry into your personal life," he says earnestly. "But considering I'm the one who told Sheppard it was do or die and basically dumped him in your lap, I just want some reassurance that I haven't caused irreparable damage between you two. I mean, I'd have volunteered to help him out, but it was pretty obvious I'd be the consolation prize."
There are days when Jackson's not speaking English even when he's speaking English. "What the hell are you on about, 'volunteering to help him out'," says Cam, frowning.
"He didn't tell you?" There's a flash of, Cam's not sure what -- pity, maybe -- before Jackson smooths out his expression. "I'm sure it wasn't anything important."
"Volunteering to..." Cam chokes on air. "You're talking about the sex, aren't you. That's why Teal'c gave me the counter-surveillance device. Because he knew Sheppard was going to ask me to 'help him out'."
"Cameron, don't," Jackson says warningly. It's not pity in his voice, after all. Sympathy, most likely. Understanding. "You know it wasn't like that. Not for him."
But it's hard to believe that when Cam woke up to an empty bed. "He should have told me."
"Maybe he didn't want it to be about that." His gaze turning inward, Jackson seems lost in memory of a story Cam's not privy to. "Maybe he wanted you to say yes for the right reasons."
* * *
"I can't believe I had to hear about your accidental sex change via Ancient technology from Cadman, of all people," Rodney grumbles. He's been at it for twenty minutes now, yelling at the top of his lungs for the first fifteen, and shifting to a lower gear the last five. John estimates another five to ten minutes before they can move on to a new topic.
"It was kind of a little vacation," says John thoughtfully. Almost a honeymoon, really -- he's willing to admit in the privacy of his own head that that's how he's starting to think of those four days with Cameron. A blissful dream divorced from reality. "There was a lot of sleeping and eating and vegging out on the couch."
"Oh, how wonderful for you. Meanwhile I'm leaving a million messages on your voicemail that you never return, and Carson has to get that Dr. Lam person on the phone to explain why your DNA getting rearranged so that you've got, you know -- girl parts -- doesn't mean you're necessarily going to die from some horrible genetic mutation!"
John sighs. "I said I was sorry."
"You better be! I was worried," Rodney added, more quietly. "Do you know how many things can go wrong with gene therapy? It's not like it's an exact science, you know!"
"Hell, I turned into a giant mutant bug that one time, and I got better." Movement in his doorway has him glancing up from his model airplanes. "Uh, McKay, I'm gonna have to call you back." Ignoring the squawk of protest, John hangs up the phone and slowly gets to his feet. "Cameron."
Cam comes fully into the room and closes the door, shoving a chair under the doorknob. "We need to talk."
"Not here," John protests, because it's bad enough SG-1 conspired to get two male officers in bed together, never mind that one of them was gender-switched -- they don't need to flaunt it here on base right under Landry's nose. But Cam shows him the oval device in his hand; it's not Ancient tech.
"It's Asgard. We're fine." He tucks it back in his pocket. "And we are going to have this conversation now, because you've been avoiding me for three days straight, staying in base quarters so I can't catch you at your apartment, running out whenever I see you in the commissary or the locker room."
"I've been busy," John mutters.
Cam's head is down and he looks exhausted, worn thin. "John. Please."
"Look, what do you want from me?" John kicks at his desk. "This was never going to end well. Just. Why can't you leave it alone?"
"Because it meant something to me," Cam says softly, wrenchingly. "You mean something to me, John. Am I so wrong to think I meant something to you too?"
His blue eyes are burning a hole in John's heart. "How can even you say that?" he demands, pissed off, turning to one side. "I've known you a long time, Mitchell. You're straight. You've always been straight."
Cam tips a smile. "Oh yeah? I think last weekend would prove otherwise."
"You had sex with a female body," John argues.
Cam shakes his head and moves closer, reaching out to brush John's jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Do you really think I'd stop wanting to kiss you because you've got a five o'clock shadow?"
Jerking his chin away, John snorts. "You telling me you don't?" It's a tactical error, though, to throw down a challenge like that. If there's one thing Mitchells are good at, it's rising to the challenge. "Cam, stop it." But Cam's got his big, warm hands cupping John's face, and his eyes are an amazing blue, and his mouth is soft, kissing John sweetly. "Cam..."
Brushing his lips over John's cheek, to his temple, Cam pulls him close and buries his nose in John's hair. "One of these days Landry's gonna hold you down and give you a buzz-cut." He wraps his arms around John and holds on, and holds on, and after a while, John can't not hold on too. "You gonna give me a chance, Shep?"
"Doesn't look like I have much choice," says John, oddly relieved. "You're kind of insane, you know. Are you honestly willing to risk losing SG-1? For this?"
"Risk, yes. For this." He kisses John again, then leans back to meet his eyes. "Though I'd rather keep you both." He smiles a little. "But hey, I just heard tell from Jackson that General O'Neill is on the president's case to repeal DADT before his second term is up. Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction," he chuckles when John stares in surprise. "Those guys, man. Thank God they're on our side."
John's more interested in kissing Cam than talking about O'Neill or Jackson. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Crap," says Cam, pulling away. "Yeah, I forgot to mention. We've got a bead on Merlin's weapon, something about a perfect pyramid made up of the four points using the four planets -- whatever. But we're supposed to gear up in ten minutes." He glances at his watch. "Make that two minutes."
It's John's turn to cup his face and kiss him, letting their tongues tangle briefly. "When you get back," he says. "Rodney's up for the weekend and I'm taking him and Elizabeth and Carson out for dinner. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll spend half his weekend in the lab or chasing after Carter, or in the lab chasing after Carter."
Cam makes a face. "Maybe Saturday morning? He won't even be awake then." They kiss one more time, soft and slow and lingering. "John," he sighs, touching their foreheads together.
"You better go," John says reluctantly. "You've got a Holy Grail to find." Cam snorts at that and moves away, one hand trailing down John's arm until their hands break apart. He moves the chair blocking the door. "Oh, hey," says John, remembering. "You like Monty Python, right?"
"The knights who say 'Ni'," Cam laughs, his eyes crinkling. "I drive Jackson nuts with that one. I'm surprised you remember."
John shrugs. "I guess I remember more than I thought." He smiles to himself, secretly pleased.
"I'll see you when I get back?" says Cam, half out the door.
John nods. "I'll be here."
the end
Author: scrollgirl
Fandom: Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Cameron Mitchell/John Sheppard
See Part 1 of 2 for warnings, author's notes, and summary.
Red Ribbon, Part 2 of 2
John is two seconds away from climbing on top of Mitchell and just kissing the mother-loving hell out of him. He's half hard in his jeans, on the other end of the couch, and it'd be so easy to get him in bed. The only reason John's holding back is that this isn't how he imagined it. This isn't how he wanted to have sex with Mitchell, him missing his dick and Mitchell only interested because John's not John.
But what the hell. Not like anything's gone his way the past few weeks. Why should sex be any different? Might as well take what he can get.
There's a sudden knock at the door, and John snatches back his outstretched hand before Mitchell can see. "Probably Jackson checking up on us," says Mitchell, rising to answer the door. Turns out it's not Jackson or anyone else from SG-1, but a bespectacled Asian man and a pretty Caucasian woman.
"Regina!" Mitchell laughs, hauling the woman into his arms and spinning her around. "What the hell are you doing here?" He kisses her cheek and turns to shake hands with the guy. "Kyle, you bastard, how are you?"
"Cam, old man, it's great to see you!" The boisterous greetings keep the strangers from noticing John right away, but Mitchell quickly ushers them in, eyes crinkled and grinning.
"Hey there," the woman, Regina, says to John when she sees him.
Mitchell's expression turns panicked for a moment as his visitors look curiously between him and John, and he stutters, "Uh, this is, this is a friend of mine --"
"Joan." John stands up to shake hands with Regina, then Kyle. "Joan Sheppard. I'm a friend of Cam's from work."
"Nice to meet you," says Regina with a broad smile that strikes a familiar chord. "I'm Regina, first cousin on Cam's father's side, third of four," she adds, name and rank, an old Mitchell family joke John's heard before, and oh fucking hell, Gina, Mitch's baby sister Gina. "And this is my husband, Kyle Truong."
In a daze, John shakes Kyle's hand and fights down the instinct to execute a tactical retreat to the bathroom. Because of course John's going to risk running into Mitchell's relatives so long as they keep hanging out. The Mitchell clan is unto the sun rising in the east: warm, bright, constant, inevitable.
Thankfully Mitchell recovers enough to keep Regina and Kyle's attention away from John, and there's happy banter between them about how everyone's doing, who's been reassigned where, their opinions on the latest batch of boyfriends and girlfriends and babies within the extended family.
"Damn, I haven't thought about Shannon in ages," Mitchell's saying when John tunes back in. "Please tell me Helen's divorced him by now."
"Two years ago, thank God," Regina mutters. "The guy may be a top-notch pilot, but he's a sadistic son of a bitch who gets off on fucking up everyone around him."
"Shannon. You mean Todd Shannon?" John hesitates when everyone turns to look at him. "I... used to know him, kind of. Mutual friends."
"Yeah? You should come along then," Regina says. "Keep Cam from looking like a total loser without a date." John must look like he doesn't know what the hell she's talking about, because she clarifies: "Ricardo Mendosa's bi-annual birthday bash? He does it every other year if he's stateside. He's at Peterson now, so Kyle and I figured it'd be an easy drive."
"Yeah, Regina's on leave and I took a couple of days off from work," Kyle puts in. "We weren't sure Cam would be in town, though. If you guys aren't busy, you should come with."
"I don't know," Mitchell hedges.
"You already have plans?"
"No," Mitchell's forced to admit. "I just, I haven't seen most of these people since Afghanistan."
Regina's not too impressed with that argument. "All the more reason to see them, then. I think they'll be able to restrain themselves from asking too many questions about your current assignment, Lieutenant Colonel Classified, if that's what you're worrying about."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Mitchell says primly. Regina rolls her eyes.
"We'll go," says John in a rush, before he can ask himself what the fuck he's thinking. Todd Shannon is ancient history. But that's the problem with hanging around Mitchell -- it's old home week, all week, and for once John's not strong enough to stay the hell away. "It'll be fun. See everyone." He turns to Mitchell desperately. "Right? We'll have a good time."
"Right. Sure." Mitchell's grin is only a little forced. Good man, backing him up like always. "We can do that. I wouldn't mind seeing Mendosa and Brown and those guys. Like you say, it's been a while." He shrugs at his cousin. "You got an address?"
As Regina scribbles down the time and place, John slowly comes back to himself, to a body clenched in half-remembered anxiety, his back and shoulders knotted with old tensions and guilt and not-quite-buried anger. Mitch's baby sister. Todd Fucking Shannon.
Also? He's got a date tomorrow with Cameron Mitchell. Yeah, nice going, John.
* * *
"This is all your fault, you know," Cam pants as he and Teal'c slow their pace to a cool-down jog. It's a gorgeous September afternoon, and it didn't take Teal'c long to convince Cam to join him for a run. Of course, it doesn't hurt that it gets Cam out of the apartment; hell, he's man enough to admit he's in full avoidance mode. Day Three of Operation: Distract Sheppard started with Cam jerking off in the shower to the memory of Joan stretched full-length on his couch, her t-shirt riding up to show off a toned abdomen and sharp hipbones. God, he wants her. It's wrong and he's wrong and he knows it. Joan Sheppard is John Sheppard, and he's a horny jackass who can't seem to remember his friend is in there, inside that body, same as he's always been.
Cam figures, if he doesn't want to screw up their friendship, better to stay the hell away from temptation.
"I cannot see how I am to blame for your current predicament," Teal'c says calmly, not even breathing hard.
"That's because you lack imagination." Cam stumbles once, then stumbles again to a halt, landing against a convenient lamppost. "I can't get her out of my head."
Teal'c looks at him sharply. "You think of Colonel Sheppard as female."
Pressing his forehead to the cold concrete of the lamppost, Cam tries to regain his breath. "No, worse. I see them as two different people." He rolls his head to look pleadingly at Teal'c. "I don't want to hurt him."
"Then do not hurt him," says Teal'c simply. Which is sound advice that Cam's afraid he won't be able to follow.
Teal'c drops him off at home before heading back to the Mountain. "You have tonight and one more day, Colonel Mitchell. I am confident you will survive."
"I can always count on you, buddy," says Cam tiredly. He lets himself into an empty apartment and stands frozen in the entryway for a full minute before remembering that Joan is John and fully capable of walking to the grocery store or the coffee shop or wherever it is she -- he -- has gone. Sheppard doesn't need Cam to hold his hand to cross the street, even if he's currently experiencing some funky genetic manipulation.
He strips off and steps into the shower, grateful the workout has tired him out enough so his libido is under control. The morning had been incredibly awkward, his guilt over getting off on Sheppard's female body warring with the rush of affection and desire he felt seeing Joan half-asleep over a bowl of Cheerios. There'd been a frightening near-miss when she'd bumped into him on the way to the fridge -- half on purpose, Cam thinks. For one heart-stopping moment they'd been pressed up against one another, the swell of her ass against his dick, until she'd shivered and jumped out of arm's reach.
He's almost finished getting ready for their, jeez, their date, when he hears the front door open and female voices. He slips on his sports jacket and goes out into the living room to find Sam and Vala waiting with the devil in their eyes. "Oh God, what," he moans, knowing whatever it is, it can't be healthy for him.
"You'd better appreciate all our hard work, Mitchell," says Vala with a little bounce. "Let me tell you, it took forever just to convince him to put on the eyeliner, never mind the outfit itself." With a dazzling grin, she flashes her hands in the direction of the kitchen -- "Ta-da!" -- then frowns when nothing happens. "Uh, Sheppard? That's your cue!"
"Eyeliner? Outfit?" Cam turns to Sam, bastion of sense and reason. "Sam, Christ. What the hell did you guys do?"
Sam frowns and grabs him by the arm, dragging him out of earshot of Sheppard, who's presumably hiding in the kitchen. "Don't, Cam. You have no idea."
"What the hell do you expect from me, Sam?" he frets. "You telling me this is supposed to be a real date? Do you not remember a little something called 'don't ask, don't tell'?"
"Cam, listen." Sam is firm. "He came to me, okay? He asked me for help. He wanted to do this, and no, I don't think this is necessarily a wise decision, but -- Cam. He's putting himself out there, for you, and you are by God not going to make him feel like a fool." She stares him down. "Are you hearing me?"
"Yes, ma'am," he whispers. Not simply because he can't deny Sam when she lays it on the line like that, but because John going to Sam of all people for help means something. He's not sure what it means, exactly, but he is bound and determined to respect it.
"John, come out, please," Sam calls. Vala prods him from behind, not quite pushing, and John's beet red and flustered when he finally emerges. But the man's always had more guts than brains: he cocks his head, deliberately lets his body go loose, relaxing into his signature 'fuck you, sir' slouch. And God, it shouldn't be hot, but it is, and Cam is so, so screwed.
"John," he breathes, looking him up and down. He's got on a slinky white dress with an indecent neckline and a hem that skims mid-thigh. His slender curves are on display, all sweet lines and bare skin Cam wants to touch. His dark hair is artfully mussed, curling to frame his face. With the high heels and smoky make-up and tinkling silver bangles on the arm he usually wears his black wristband, John looks sexy and classy and, God. "You look incredible."
If possible John turns even redder, but his mouth tips into a genuine smile. "Yeah? It's not, y'know. Too weird?"
Cam drifts closer, mesmerized. "Hell, no. Not weird at all. This is..." He stares down at John, who's almost back to his usual height with the heels. "God, you smell good too," he murmurs, because John's wearing perfume, a delicate ocean scent that's perfectly fitting.
A light flashes in Cam's peripheral, and he jerks back to see Vala with his digital camera, grinning madly at him. The moment shattered, Cam grabs for the camera while she dances away. "No photos, Vala!"
Sam comes to the rescue. "I'll make sure it's secure," she says, holding out her hand until Vala surrenders the camera. She looks between John and Cam. "Trust me."
Looking torn, John eventually nods. "I fucking learned how to walk in heels," he growls, taking Cam's arm in a fierce grip. "So we're fucking going to this party."
Cam takes a long moment to drink him in, the bright flame in him that Cam first saw years ago, when they were younger and near invincible. When Vala steals the camera back and snaps a few more shots, he barely notices: his field of vision is too full with John.
Sam presses something into his hand -- the Asgard anti-surveillance device. He tucks it into his breast pocket, then adjusts John's clasp on his arm with gentle care. "Let's do this."
* * *
Mendosa's gone all out for this shindig, which John appreciates because he's flushed and floating from two glasses of decent white wine and two more glasses of excellent brandy that Regina finagled from -- somewhere. He clings to Cam's arm as they circulate the room, trusting Cam to keep him steady on his heels. John recognises a few faces in the crowd, mostly from Afghanistan, a couple others from ROTC, but of course they don't recognise him -- just as well since he can't imagine what he'd say to them. Given the same situation, I'd make the same decision and damn the court martial? Don't pity me for Antarctica because my current assignment is literally out of this world?
"Oh crap," Cam mutters under his breath. "Todd Shannon at two o'clock." But Shannon spots them, spots John, and cuts through the crowd like a shark scenting blood in the water. He stands in Cam's path, lets his eyes linger on John's cleavage, deliberately provocative. John can feel Cam bristling.
"Mitchell. Been a while." Shannon's smile turns predatory and he takes John's free hand in his own, gently stroking his palm. "Are you going to introduce me to your beautiful date?"
Fuck, John's trembling and he knows Shannon can feel him trembling -- he sees the satisfied glint in those sharp green eyes. It's insane because John hates Shannon, doesn't want anything to do with him, but he can't force himself to look away.
"Maybe some other time," says Cam blandly. "If you'll excuse us." He tries to guide John past Shannon, but the other man tightens his hold on John's hand.
"I'm not done here, Mitchell," says Shannon, soft and even. But the faint suggestion of a threat is enough to snap John out of it.
"I say we're done," he says in a tight voice, breaking Shannon's grip easily. "You don't seem like anyone I'd care to know." With a subtle tug on Cam's arm, John leads them through the crowd and out into the hotel foyer. The air is cooler and John leans against the wall behind a pillar.
Cam's there, at a reasonable distance, concern and anger colouring his face. "That son of a bitch," he says savagely. He cups a warm palm around John's bare shoulder. "Are you okay?"
John nods, not quite ready to speak.
"You want something to drink?"
Huffing a laugh, John shakes his head. "I've had enough for tonight, I think." He looks up to find Cam's blue eyes gazing down at him, everything he's feeling there for the world to see. He's a decent man, Cameron Mitchell is, thinks John. Smart and kind and loyal as the day is long, and, okay, kind of old-fashioned. But he's got a good heart, and more courage and fight in him than anyone would expect after the blows he's suffered.
Cam's expression turns confused. "What?"
John shakes his head again, and grins. "Nothing. Just. My taste in men has greatly improved over the years."
Cam smiles a little. "Oh." Then he seems to understand what John's saying, and the smile turns megawatt. "Oh. Well." He bounces on his toes, ridiculously pleased. "Do you, uh," he tilts his head toward the ballroom. "Would you like to dance?"
It's silly, and John knows Cam's simply treating him like he'd treat a woman on a real date, but he's got maybe 24 hours left and he is determined to make the most of it. "Slow dancing's fine," he says, tucking his arm into Cam's again. "But I'll probably kill you with these heels if we try anything fancy."
"Slow dancing it is, then."
They take an empty corner of the dance floor and make it theirs, and John basks in it. This is nothing like what he wanted, it's nothing he could've ever imagined -- the dress, the shoes, the way Cam's big hands span his ribcage -- but it's good, better than anything's felt in a long time, and he's not about to let what should be get in the way of having this.
He lifts one hand and trails the back of his fingers down Cam's cheek, feeling the other man shudder in response, and pull John closer. "Cam," he whispers, and wraps his arms around Cam's neck, letting him take his weight. "Cam, please." He tilts his face up.
But Cam's got his eyes closed, fighting it, though his breathing's turning harsh and his hands keep stroking down John's back to his hips. "We can't," he says tightly.
"We can," says John, touching his lips to the corner of Cam's mouth. With a ragged breath, Cam turns blindly to find his lips again, and they kiss, slow and soft and lingering, one kiss after another until John's hot and melting and clutching at Cam's shoulders.
"Cameron. Cam."
Someone's trying to talk to Cam. Sounds urgent, but John's lost in sensation and doesn't care, not until Cam gasps and breaks the kiss.
"Cam, here. Go, before you get arrested."
"I ain't takin' your bed, Kyle."
"You'd better or Regina's gonna come over here."
Cam turns John in his arms, tucks him into his side. "We're gonna go upstairs, okay?"
It takes a moment, but John quickly nods, and pulls him down for a kiss. "Hotel room. Bed." He doesn't spare another thought for Regina and Kyle because Cam's guiding him out into the foyer and over to the bank of elevators. They snag an empty elevator, thank God, and John doesn't waste time dragging Cam into another kiss, this one wet and deep and thoroughly X-rated.
"Fuck," Cam groans when they pull apart to breathe. "John, Christ." He forces himself to gentle his touches, too afraid of losing total control when they're so close to privacy. "You okay?"
"Better than okay." Pressing his face into the hollow of Cam's throat where the top button of his shirt's undone, John murmurs, "I want you, Cameron Mitchell."
Evidently Cam hears him because his hands are shaking a little as he pulls John out of the elevator, down the hall, and finally -- inside a hotel room with a lock and a bed and Cam dumping his jacket on the floor, toeing off his shoes, unbuckling his belt.
John grabs his hands before he can lower the zipper. "Wait, Cam." John's not foolish enough to think there won't be any fallout from this, but the least he can do is ask one last time. "We don't have to do this. Not if you have any doubts."
* * *
Cam can't help but smile at John's offer to back out with no hard feelings. It's sweet. "No doubts," he promises. He cups John's face in both hands and kisses him gently. "Been a long, long time since I wanted someone the way I want you." He kisses him again. "John." Again. "John." And again. "John."
Cursing under his breath, John pulls out of reach, overwhelmed. "Fucking hell, Mitchell. You're a lethal weapon." He kicks off his heels. "Come on, take off your clothes." John licks his lips and reaches out to cup Cam's erection through his pants. "I want to see you."
Stumbling back, Cam lands his ass on the bed. "When you put it like that..." He doesn't waste time, just pulls off pants and underwear and socks in one go, then yanks his dress shirt off over his head without unbuttoning it. And then he's naked, except his tags, and hard and willing for whatever John has in mind.
"Fuck, Cam," John swears, and goes down on his knees right in front of him. Cam freezes, holds painfully still, because John, with that red mouth and that dazed look in his eyes, is almost enough to get him to come right this second. "Please," John murmurs, like he's the one needing permission.
Resting a careful hand on the nape of his neck, Cam brings John closer, close enough for his lipstick-red mouth to brush the wet tip of his cock. "John." Wide green eyes, familiar and mysterious with the black eyeliner and shadow, flicker up to Cam. "Suck me. Please." With a moan, John takes the head of his cock into his mouth, sucking gently. He brings his hands up to stroke Cam's balls, his thighs. He pulls off with a desperate gasp, then licks the shaft, long delicious licks that drive Cam crazy with anticipation. "Jesus Christ," he pants when John bobs his head up and down, moaning and clearly loving having Cam's dick in his mouth, and then, "oh holy fuck, John," he relaxes and swallows and goes down, down, down, taking almost all of Cam deep in his throat, and Cam's gonna come, he's can't stop it -- but then John's mouth is gone and he's pressing hard against the base of Cam's dick, stopping him.
"God, what?"
"Don't come," John rasps, his voice shot all to hell. "Not yet. Want you to fuck me, Cam."
"Shit, shit," Cam moans, holding himself from the brink with all the willpower he can summon. "Whatever you want, just -- give me a minute." He takes a couple of deep breaths, cools down enough to focus his attention back on John. Who is, Christ. Touching himself with his dress hiked up and his hand down a pair of lacy panties. "Okay, that is seriously hot."
John smirks and reaches back to unzip the dress. He shrugs it to the floor, then steps close for Cam to pull his panties off. His thighs are silky smooth, and Cam has to swallow hard at the proof that John wants him, wants him badly enough to shave his legs and buy sexy lingerie. "You're amazing, you know that?" he says, kissing his way up John's beautiful body, from hip to belly to breast to shoulder to chin. "You blow my mind."
"And people think I'm the crazy one," John mutters under his breath, but he helps Cam shove the covers off the bed, and doesn't resist when Cam pulls him down and kisses him softly, tenderly. "You're definitely," he sighs between kisses, "the crazy one."
"Whatever gets you through the night, sweetheart," Cam laughs, cupping one breast in his hand, enjoying John's sharp inhalation and quiet moan. "You like that?" He pinches a nipple, mouth going dry when John jerks and arches into his hand. "Yeah, like that." He does it again to watch the pleasure washing over John's face. "What else you like?"
"How the fuck do I know?" John groans, biting at Cam's throat. "Not like I've done this before."
"Good point." He trails a hand down John's belly to tangle in his curls. "I'm pretty sure you'll like this," he says, teasing the wet folds between John's thighs, dipping in further and further until John's panting and arching up, one hand wrapped tight around Cam's forearm.
"Cam, Cam, please," he begs. "Touch me, do it." Cam nuzzles him, finds his clit and rubs, the slick moisture letting his fingers slide around and around until John's gasping, crying out, "Cam, fuck, Cam, Cam," and coming in a long, rippling wave. By the time he comes down from orgasm, Cam's struggling not to just rub off on John's wet thighs until he comes. But John fumbles for his purse and pulls out a condom, his hands barely steady enough to roll it on.
He lies down and drags Cam on top of him. "You gonna fuck me now, Mitchell?" He says it like a dare, legs spread open.
"John," says Cam helplessly. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm gonna fuck you." He rubs himself between the lips of John's vagina, and God, now that he's here -- yeah, it's a little weird, but weirdly sexy and an incredible turn-on. He's going to fuck John Sheppard. "Fuck," he rasps, pressing in carefully, because technically John's a virgin. No barrier though, just melting heat and a tight channel gripping him through the latex.
"Yeah, yeah, Cam," John sighs, curving up to meet him while Cam thrusts deeper and deeper. "S'good."
"I can make it better," Cam promises, then forces himself to pull back a little, change the angle, drive in harder -- John's sharp gasp and suddenly grasping hands are his reward for the effort. "Good?"
John's nod is a bit frantic, his eyes wild as he stares up at Cam. "Cam. Cam, I --" He breaks off. Surges up to kiss him, wet and messy, tongues twining, and it's so good Cam's not sure he can hold on much longer. He glides one hand down John's sweat-slick back, over his hip and between their bodies, searching out his clit. "God!" John arcs, wraps his legs around Cam's thighs, and comes with a shuddering cry.
Gripping John's hips, Cam starts thrusting again, fast and rough, barely controlled, until, "John, John," he comes hard, his vision going white. "Christ almighty," he gasps, "John."
"Yeah," he murmurs, lips pressed against Cam's throat. "That was..."
Cam threads his fingers through John's mess of hair. "...hmm, what you said."
* * *
John wakes to Cam's tongue tracing damp circles on his stomach, the stubble on his chin scratching a counterpoint. "Cameron?"
"Mornin', sweetheart," Cam smiles up at him, warm and content, the corner of his eyes crinkling. "How you feelin'?"
"Pretty good," says John cautiously. "Sweetheart?"
Cam quirks an eyebrow, challenging. "That a problem?" He thumbs John's nipple, his hand big and warm on John's breast. "Or are you not a pet name kind of guy?"
Fairly certain he's never given the subject much thought, he simply shrugs. "Whatever you want." Eyes sliding shut, he lets himself be rolled onto his side, his back to Cam's chest, his ass against Cam's half-hard dick. "You spooning me, Mitchell?" he asks, amused.
"I'm a snuggler, get used to it," was the sleepy reply.
Since it's his last day as a woman and he's pretty sure Cam won't be so eager to spoon once John has his dick back, he doubts he'll have a chance to get used to it. Which is a pity, because the arms around him are strong and protective and John doesn't want to leave this place. Making a few non-committal noises, he settles down within Cam's embrace and allows his drowsiness to overtake him.
The second time he wakes it's to an empty bed, the faint murmur of voices, then the hotel room door closing. It's still early, too early on a Sunday morning, and John turns over to press his face into Cam's pillow, hunting out his scent, Hugo Boss and male sweat and sex. It's not as reassuring as it should be. There was a tide turning last night, and John feels terribly unmoored.
After a few minutes, though, he pushes himself up and gets out of bed because if there's one luxury he can't allow himself, it's wallowing in self-pity. In the bathroom, he finds toiletries that must be for him -- toothbrush, toothpaste, a new razor (pink), shaving gel, a loofah (also pink). He lingers in the shower, touched by Cam's thoughtfulness, and in spite of the voice in the back of his head urging him to get out while the getting's good, he's determined to not screw up the morning after.
He's standing in front of the mirror, trying to decide if he's crazy enough to put on make-up, when Cam taps on the bathroom door. "You decent?"
John's in a towel, which is decent enough, but he's reluctant to let Cam see him like this in the cold light of day. Even after having sex with this body, John's not sure how he feels about it, the unfamiliarity of its sensations. He wishes Teyla was here. Colonel Carter and Vala are nice enough, but they don't have Teyla's ability to impart a sense of calm and self-possession. But if wishes were horses. "Yeah, come in."
Cam enters dressed in jeans and a wrinkled USAF t-shirt, probably from the kit he keeps in the car. "I figured you wouldn't want to wear your party dress home, so I bought you stuff from the gift shop downstairs." He pulls out a light blue t-shirt and a dark blue skirt. "Hope they fit okay."
They don't, really, the t-shirt tight across John's breasts and the skirt loose around his hips, riding low to show off the curve of his waist. But the appreciative gleam in Cam's eyes is an ego boost, so John lets it go.
Regina and Kyle are sitting around the tiny hotel room table when they come out. "Good morning, Joan!" Regina exclaims, a wicked grin on her face. "And how did you sleep last night?"
"Gina," Cam growls. "Leave her alone." There's enough real anger in his tone that Regina subsides, though she's obviously still laughing at them on the inside.
"We were about to go down for breakfast," Kyle jumps in. "Did you guys want to join us?"
"Let's just get McDonald's on the way," says Regina, digging into her purse.
Her husband groans. "Honey, is this really how you want to spend our hard-earned vacation?"
"It'll be fun!" She finally pulls out a hot pink flyer that proclaims HAPPY 50th ANNIVERSARY TOWN OF BOONE!!! in 40 point font. "Did you know the town of Boone, Colorado, was incorporated fifty years ago this Friday?"
Cam and Kyle share a look of fond impatience. "No, honey," Kyle rolls his eyes. "We didn't know that."
"They're having a carnival all week." She waves the flyer at them. "There's a pie-eating contest and midway games and cotton candy."
John perks up. "Do they have rides?"
"'Games and rides for the whole family,'" Regina quotes. "You wanna go?"
Cam brushes his fingers down John's arm and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. "We can ride the Ferris Wheel," he says, warm promise in his eyes.
* * *
"C'mon, Sheppard, don't tell me you're afraid of lil' ol' blue-haired grandmas."
"Stop trying to goad me, Mitchell. It's not going to work."
"Nothing wrong with a bit of exercise and some healthy competition."
"Against senior citizens?"
"I dare you."
"What are you, five?"
"I double-dog dare you."
"Oh, you are on."
And that's how Cam and John find themselves tied at the ankle and struggling to keep up with the very blue-haired, very nimble Mrs. Diane Morrison and Mrs. Magda Polanski of Boone, Colorado, as they race across the local high school football field.
Kyle's busting a gut laughing while Regina's jumping up and down in the sidelines, screaming, "Goddammit, are you a Mitchell or are you a Mitchell!" But it's all to no avail because Team Morrison/Polanski, reigning champs of the Boone Carnival Three-Legged Race twelve years running, beat Team Mitchell/Sheppard to the finish line by a healthy four metres.
"Let's give a round of applause to our second place team! What great sports!" The guy with the mic, the mayor or something, pounds Cam on the back and pats John lightly on the shoulder. A little girl all decked out in her Sunday best marches up on stage to present them with their red ribbons. "Congratulations, Cameron and Joan!"
Regina's got her digital camera out, snapping photos every two seconds, and Cam feels kind of bad that none of them will turn out -- the Asgard device is still switched on. It would've been nice to have photos to capture this moment, John flushed and happy, laughing easily. Cam's willing to bet he hasn't thought about Atlantis all day.
They eat corn dogs and funnel cakes until they're ready to hurl, and John plays the shooting game and hits every damn target. "Thanks for the teddy bear," Cam tells him solemnly. "I'll treasure him always."
As dusk settles, Regina and Kyle find seats near the bandstand to listen to some local jazz. But John leans against Cam and whispers, "Ferris wheel. Now." Cam buys a bunch of tickets and they ride the Ferris wheel 'round and 'round, and they make out like teenagers, John practically straddling him in the swaying carriage, Cam's hands under John's t-shirt.
"This is supposed to be a family ride," Cam protests when John starts tugging at his belt. "John, don't, there's kids in the next carriage."
John growls in frustration. "We passed a motel on the way."
"We passed a dozen motels," Cam agrees. "I'd rather go home. Wouldn't you?" It's the wrong thing to say, Cam knows it the moment he says it, but John's already gone still and quiet and far, far away. "There's a Holiday Inn the next block over."
"That's fine," says John, and rests his head on Cam's shoulder as the Ferris wheel makes one more rotation.
Their second night together is even more intense than their first. John doesn't let Cam come for the longest time, wanting desperately to get fucked and pushing Cam to stop being so goddamn careful. They've got bruises everywhere by the time round one is over, but it's nothing compared to the broken look in John's eyes.
"You're gonna be here in the morning, right?" Cam can't help but ask. "John, promise me you'll be here in the morning."
He's not.
* * *
Despite Cam's valiant attempt to stay awake until the change happens, he eventually drifts off to sleep. John really wore him out.
There's only a sliver of yellow light from a crack in the curtains, and John nearly stumbles into a wall. Getting dressed in the dark isn't something he's used to doing any more. On Atlantis, the lights dim and brighten with a mere thought. He stands by the bed for a while, tracing the faint shadow of Cam's body with his eyes, filling in details from memory. He wants to kiss him one last time or something sentimental like that, but he's not a total idiot, even if he is a coward.
He breaks into Cam's car and takes his clothes from the night before, then walks to another motel down the block and pays cash for a room. Takes a shower. Lies naked on the bed for a couple of hours, staring up at the ceiling. When the sky begins to lighten the change happens, and it's like nodding off, then suddenly jerking awake -- a moment of disorientation, adrenaline, animal instinct. He's up on his knees, arms raised defensively, when he realises it's over. He's back.
* * *
"Hey, you're back," says Jackson, looking up from the avalanche of books and manuscripts spilling across his desk.
"Nothing gets by you," Cam grumbles, scrubbing his hands over his face. He needs more coffee, dammit. No, scratch that. He needs John Sheppard to not be such a fucking asshole.
Jackson narrows his eyes at him. "Rough night?" he asks rather pointedly. He reaches over to Cam's breast pocket and taps the Asgard device on. "I would've thought you'd be more mellow than this after sex."
Cam stiffens. "I don't need to hear your opinion on my sex life."
Of course, Jackson's not exactly the kind of guy to back off uncomfortable subjects just because Cam tells him to. "Look, I'm not trying to pry into your personal life," he says earnestly. "But considering I'm the one who told Sheppard it was do or die and basically dumped him in your lap, I just want some reassurance that I haven't caused irreparable damage between you two. I mean, I'd have volunteered to help him out, but it was pretty obvious I'd be the consolation prize."
There are days when Jackson's not speaking English even when he's speaking English. "What the hell are you on about, 'volunteering to help him out'," says Cam, frowning.
"He didn't tell you?" There's a flash of, Cam's not sure what -- pity, maybe -- before Jackson smooths out his expression. "I'm sure it wasn't anything important."
"Volunteering to..." Cam chokes on air. "You're talking about the sex, aren't you. That's why Teal'c gave me the counter-surveillance device. Because he knew Sheppard was going to ask me to 'help him out'."
"Cameron, don't," Jackson says warningly. It's not pity in his voice, after all. Sympathy, most likely. Understanding. "You know it wasn't like that. Not for him."
But it's hard to believe that when Cam woke up to an empty bed. "He should have told me."
"Maybe he didn't want it to be about that." His gaze turning inward, Jackson seems lost in memory of a story Cam's not privy to. "Maybe he wanted you to say yes for the right reasons."
* * *
"I can't believe I had to hear about your accidental sex change via Ancient technology from Cadman, of all people," Rodney grumbles. He's been at it for twenty minutes now, yelling at the top of his lungs for the first fifteen, and shifting to a lower gear the last five. John estimates another five to ten minutes before they can move on to a new topic.
"It was kind of a little vacation," says John thoughtfully. Almost a honeymoon, really -- he's willing to admit in the privacy of his own head that that's how he's starting to think of those four days with Cameron. A blissful dream divorced from reality. "There was a lot of sleeping and eating and vegging out on the couch."
"Oh, how wonderful for you. Meanwhile I'm leaving a million messages on your voicemail that you never return, and Carson has to get that Dr. Lam person on the phone to explain why your DNA getting rearranged so that you've got, you know -- girl parts -- doesn't mean you're necessarily going to die from some horrible genetic mutation!"
John sighs. "I said I was sorry."
"You better be! I was worried," Rodney added, more quietly. "Do you know how many things can go wrong with gene therapy? It's not like it's an exact science, you know!"
"Hell, I turned into a giant mutant bug that one time, and I got better." Movement in his doorway has him glancing up from his model airplanes. "Uh, McKay, I'm gonna have to call you back." Ignoring the squawk of protest, John hangs up the phone and slowly gets to his feet. "Cameron."
Cam comes fully into the room and closes the door, shoving a chair under the doorknob. "We need to talk."
"Not here," John protests, because it's bad enough SG-1 conspired to get two male officers in bed together, never mind that one of them was gender-switched -- they don't need to flaunt it here on base right under Landry's nose. But Cam shows him the oval device in his hand; it's not Ancient tech.
"It's Asgard. We're fine." He tucks it back in his pocket. "And we are going to have this conversation now, because you've been avoiding me for three days straight, staying in base quarters so I can't catch you at your apartment, running out whenever I see you in the commissary or the locker room."
"I've been busy," John mutters.
Cam's head is down and he looks exhausted, worn thin. "John. Please."
"Look, what do you want from me?" John kicks at his desk. "This was never going to end well. Just. Why can't you leave it alone?"
"Because it meant something to me," Cam says softly, wrenchingly. "You mean something to me, John. Am I so wrong to think I meant something to you too?"
His blue eyes are burning a hole in John's heart. "How can even you say that?" he demands, pissed off, turning to one side. "I've known you a long time, Mitchell. You're straight. You've always been straight."
Cam tips a smile. "Oh yeah? I think last weekend would prove otherwise."
"You had sex with a female body," John argues.
Cam shakes his head and moves closer, reaching out to brush John's jaw with the pad of his thumb. "Do you really think I'd stop wanting to kiss you because you've got a five o'clock shadow?"
Jerking his chin away, John snorts. "You telling me you don't?" It's a tactical error, though, to throw down a challenge like that. If there's one thing Mitchells are good at, it's rising to the challenge. "Cam, stop it." But Cam's got his big, warm hands cupping John's face, and his eyes are an amazing blue, and his mouth is soft, kissing John sweetly. "Cam..."
Brushing his lips over John's cheek, to his temple, Cam pulls him close and buries his nose in John's hair. "One of these days Landry's gonna hold you down and give you a buzz-cut." He wraps his arms around John and holds on, and holds on, and after a while, John can't not hold on too. "You gonna give me a chance, Shep?"
"Doesn't look like I have much choice," says John, oddly relieved. "You're kind of insane, you know. Are you honestly willing to risk losing SG-1? For this?"
"Risk, yes. For this." He kisses John again, then leans back to meet his eyes. "Though I'd rather keep you both." He smiles a little. "But hey, I just heard tell from Jackson that General O'Neill is on the president's case to repeal DADT before his second term is up. Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction," he chuckles when John stares in surprise. "Those guys, man. Thank God they're on our side."
John's more interested in kissing Cam than talking about O'Neill or Jackson. "What are you doing tonight?"
"Crap," says Cam, pulling away. "Yeah, I forgot to mention. We've got a bead on Merlin's weapon, something about a perfect pyramid made up of the four points using the four planets -- whatever. But we're supposed to gear up in ten minutes." He glances at his watch. "Make that two minutes."
It's John's turn to cup his face and kiss him, letting their tongues tangle briefly. "When you get back," he says. "Rodney's up for the weekend and I'm taking him and Elizabeth and Carson out for dinner. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll spend half his weekend in the lab or chasing after Carter, or in the lab chasing after Carter."
Cam makes a face. "Maybe Saturday morning? He won't even be awake then." They kiss one more time, soft and slow and lingering. "John," he sighs, touching their foreheads together.
"You better go," John says reluctantly. "You've got a Holy Grail to find." Cam snorts at that and moves away, one hand trailing down John's arm until their hands break apart. He moves the chair blocking the door. "Oh, hey," says John, remembering. "You like Monty Python, right?"
"The knights who say 'Ni'," Cam laughs, his eyes crinkling. "I drive Jackson nuts with that one. I'm surprised you remember."
John shrugs. "I guess I remember more than I thought." He smiles to himself, secretly pleased.
"I'll see you when I get back?" says Cam, half out the door.
John nods. "I'll be here."
the end