A Royal Deception, by Mandragora (Harlequin Challenge) Part One
Title: A Royal Deception
Author: mandragora1
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Slash, Harlequin Challenge
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
13,027 words
Summary: Atlantis needs Prince Rodney back.
Okay, so first Stargate:Atlantis story. And what do I write? Crack!fic! *hangs head in shame*
Many thanks to z_rayne, for American betaing and also for general beta duties. Thanks also for the useful title suggestions. My thanks to temaris, both for the beta and the frankly insane title suggestions.
A Royal Deception
by Mandragora
"He thinks he's what?" John stared at Major Lorne, who coughed uncomfortably.
"Technically, according to Pisen here, he actually is."
The rabbity little man sitting in the corner raised his head. "That's right."
"So, um," John just barely held back the insane giggle that threatened to escape. "He's really King Rodney?"
"It's Prince Rodney," Pisen said crossly.
"And that would make you…Prince Pisen?" John bit down on his lower lip. Hard.
"Well, I was," Pisen said, gloomily examining his fingernails. "Now it's all his."
"How? I mean, why? How come Rodney deposed you?" And why the hell would he want to?
Pisen drew himself up to his full height. Unfortunately, he was standing right by Ronon. "It wasn't anything he did," Pisen said indignantly, and then, subsiding a little. "Or, I suppose in a way, it was. But I ask you, just because someone scores infinitesimally higher than someone else on an arbitrary intelligence test, does that really make them the best candidate to become the ruler? Under my rule, the city improved by leaps and bounds. I was much better than Princess Camilla. The Urican trade agreement alone, not to mention the removal of the importation tax on sannon, freesial and steel-forged swords has worked wonders on-- Never mind." He sniffed. "You'd think that my achievements would be recognized, as opposed to some crude scientist-come-lately who probably doesn't even know how a yackle works."
"Rodney took some IQ test and that made him King?"
"Prince," Pisen snapped. "And no. What are you, stupid?" But a moment later he was saying, "Sorry, sorry. I'm a little upset. Wouldn't you be? Chucked out of the palace, stripped of the title. Not to mention losing my Marietta. She's my favorite," he confided. "Very big…. Erm. Never mind," he mumbled, as he met Telya's steady stare. "And I've got my memories back, too. And, you know what, I liked being Prince Pisen better. I don't want to just be…me." He sniffled a little and wiped at his nose with a grimy handkerchief.
John had had enough. "Okay, Major, maybe you'd like to tell me what the hell's going on."
"Sir, yes." Lorne straightened smartly. Wow, it must really be bad. "It was when we went through the city gates. I don't know what happened, exactly, but when McKay went through it lit up like he'd hit the jackpot and next thing we know there's all these people running up to him and they're yelling that the new prince is here. And I was trying to keep us all together, but there were a hell of a lot of them and the thing is that when I yelled at McKay to stay close he, well, he didn’t seem to recognize any of us."
"No, he wouldn't," Pisen nodded earnestly. "See, when you get chosen -- to be the new ruler," he added, unnecessarily, "the Testingate wipes your memories of your previous life and makes you think that you really are from Carel. It also makes you feel really good about it all, that you've waited for your whole life for this and that this is what you were born to do. It's a very neat bit of social engineering, when you think about it."
"You mean brainwashing," John snapped.
"You don't understand,” Pisen said. "I was, I was really happy. I felt wanted and admired and…and loved," he finished pathetically.
John grimaced and asked Lorne, "Where'd you pick him up anyway?"
"Outside the city walls. The guards made us leave after Dr McKay was chosen and closed the gates. I thought about fighting," he said in response to John's frown, "but we were outnumbered and I didn't want to cause trouble without knowing why McKay was acting like he was. I, er," he coughed a little, "stopped Ronon from--" He glanced up at Ronon who bared his teeth. John winced. "I stopped Ronon. From following. We decided to wait for a while, see what happened and next thing we know, the gate opened a crack and Pisen here was pushed out. He was pretty upset initially but when we got him calmed down a little and he told us what was going on, well, that's when I radioed you, Colonel."
Jesus. See, this was why John didn't usually let Rodney go off on missions when he wasn't around to babysit. But Rodney had been all, 'Oh, but if this really is iniridium, it could be absolutely vital,' and, 'No, I have to go now,' and 'Can't you tell the Jeinins to wait?' and 'I don't see why they need the military leader just to make a trade deal and I'm sure that Elizabeth can handle it,' until John had given in and let Rodney loose to follow up on the iniridium readings, with Lorne's team and Ronon as additional insurance. While he went off with Weir and Teyla to make nice with the Jeinins.
"O…kay." He looked away from Lorne's uncomfortable expression to Pisen -- and what kind of a name was that anyway? -- who was watching him anxiously. "Okay, so how do we get him back?"
Pisen shrugged. "Find someone smarter and send them through the gate."
Oh crap. Scratch Plan A.
"That could be difficult," Teyla said.
John nodded and rubbed at an eyebrow. "Yeah."
"Oh?" Pisen asked. Then, "Oh." Then, "Well…if that’s so, maybe if you could get him out of the city and immediately after I went back in, then maybe…?" He clapped his hands together hopefully.
John shrugged. "Worth a shot."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The problem was how to get Rodney out. They totally failed to get access to the palace. Turned out there was some sort of force field in place -- yet more technology that if Rodney had been in his right mind would have sent him into so high an orbit he might never have come down again. The force field could apparently distinguish between native Carellians, who were given free access to the palace, and everyone else, who weren't given any access at all. Atlantis sent the best they had -- Zelenka and Simpson combined -- to see if they could figure out how to get through the force field but they'd struck out. Whatever the force field was, they weren't going to crack it any time soon.
Then there'd been the problem with the Jeinins to sort out and after that there'd been that bout of Athosian flu and Beckett had quarantined Atlantis until it had run its course. And after that there had been the major inertial dampeners malfunction, which had grounded half the jumpers and Weir had called a halt on anything but essential travel by jumper until it was fixed. It was pretty much understood that they'd probably have solved that one a lot quicker with Rodney there. But of course they couldn't go and get him until the jumpers were fixed, given that the Carellian's gate was spacebound, so….
The upshot was that by the time they were ready to try again Rodney had been Prince Rodney a good three months and they were running out of ideas. It didn't matter how many times John told himself firmly that there was no way they were leaving Rodney there, they still needed a way to get him out. It didn't even help much when Weir pointed out that Rodney most likely wasn't in any danger, given that the Carellians wanted him to be their prince. John really couldn't help but worry. For all they knew Prince Rodney might have provoked a war with Carel's nearest neighbor by now, no matter what Pisen, who remained in the safehouse a couple of miles out of the city and in radio contact, said.
Bottom line, Rodney was on his team and you never left a team-mate behind, no matter how annoying that team-mate could be. Besides, John missed their arguments.
But now John was ready to, not give up exactly, but to begin to despair a little. If Rodney had been there John was pretty sure that he'd have figured out how to get himself out. Which was the whole problem. Until the day Pisen wistfully mentioned in passing how he hated that he'd be missing the Tramen's tribute when it arrived in seven days. He'd waxed rhapsodic about the parade of goods, looked worryingly like he was going to burst into tears at the thought of missing something called the Yikka, and bemoaned that Rodney, not him, would get first pick of the client city's offerings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sorry, Teyla," John said again. "You know if there were any other way we'd take it, right?"
She nodded. "There is no need to distress yourself, Colonel. Dr McKay is a most valuable member of Atlantis and I must confess that I am finding that I am missing him as a member of our team." She smiled slightly.
"Yeah. Guess he kinda grows on you, huh?"
The smile broadened. "I believe so."
Ronon finished examining his sword. Pisen had said strictly no guns as they'd be discovered immediately if carrying forbidden technology, so John and Ronon were armed with an impressive quantity of knives and of course Ronon was taking his sword. No sword for John -- he figured he'd do better with a knife if it came to a fight. Teyla, necessarily, was unarmed except for a knife in a holster around her thigh. Other than that there was nowhere to put a weapon in the amber satiny halter-top that barely skirted the tops of her nipples and matching skirt that skimmed her thighs and swooped down to pool on the ground at the back, undulating gracefully behind her when she walked.
She looked amazing.
If John had been tempted to whine about his own red and gold harem-style pants, bare chest and short, open vest, one look at Teyla and he'd shut his trap. He could sense her distaste for her outfit. There was no way that she could move in it, other than really slowly under the headdress that added a good foot to her height. Let alone fight. But she hadn't complained at all.
"We ready to go?" Ronon asked. He looked pretty amazing, too. His harem pants and vest -- plain brown, John noted bitterly -- set off his impressive musculature. Beside him John felt even more like a short, skinny white boy than usual.
"Teyla?" John asked. Pisen had explained what she might have to do -- what she most probably would have to do -- and she had not batted an eyelash and agreed without a moment's hesitation. John had been weirdly touched at that proof of Teyla's regard for Rodney. Teyla nodded and John turned to Lorne. "Okay, Major, you and your team hold the fort. And stay alert."
"Will do," Lorne said. "You all look very…nice."
John's eyes narrowed.
"It is as well," Teyla observed blandly, "that you remain behind as backup, Major. However, should we require your assistance might I suggest that you don attire that will enable you to blend in with the indigenous population. I believe that their usual dress will suit you well."
John grinned. Pisen called the local dress 'tunics' but John called them 'dresses', especially with all those floaty draping bits. "Good idea," he agreed. "Consider that an order." He could feel Ronon's grin behind him as they exited grandly, shutting the door on Lorne's crestfallen expression. The rest of his team wasn't looking too happy, either.
They met up with Pisen and the escort about a mile outside Carel's gates. Pisen had obviously spared no expense -- the escort was at least a hundred men and women deep, all dressed in Tramen’s livery of smart green tunics and darker blue leggings. Nothing like John and Ronon's harem pants. John wasn't entirely happy that he and Ronon were expected to ride in the litter with Teyla. He'd have preferred walking alongside keeping an eye open for trouble, but Pisen said that it would be considered disrespectful if they walked. John wasn't sure disrespectful to whom.
They got through the gate with no trouble other than a smirk from the gate-guards. Ronon had bristled on Teyla's behalf and John had had to order him to stand easy, and before he knew it they were at the palace. Which was a huge domed affair, with Trefoil arches that loomed over the rest of the city on a hill and was surrounded by ornamental gardens.
John took a breath; this was the point at which all their other attempts had failed but this time they were expected and the huge harder-than-durasteel lacework palace gates swung open smoothly while they were still about a hundred yards away.
"Right." John turned to Pisen. "See you outside the city gates. Hopefully with McKay."
"Oh, I do hope so," Pisen agreed fervently. "Oh, I almost forgot, if Teyla doesn't please him-- " He gave her a swift up and down. "--although I can't imagine that for one moment, then he's entitled to-- Oh dear, here comes Geseth. He's the Chamberlain and will most definitely recognise-- I'd better go." He ducked under the litter and around the large mercenary commander -- "Very good mercenaries, highly skilled and they never breach their contract." -- who was acting as both escort captain and introducer, and was gone.
"Welcome, welcome," Geseth, a short, round man, bounded up to meet them as soon as they were through the gates and the litter had been set carefully on the ground. "May I help you up, my dear?" He offered Teyla a hand, which she accepted graciously. Geseth turned back to the litter and took a step back as Ronon loomed over him. "My, how tall you are. I'm not certain that Prince Rodney will-- Ah, yes, splendid, splendid, we're all here." He beamed at John and motioned for them to follow him. The mercenary captain and half a dozen of her men fell in behind.
Geseth set a rapid pace through a myriad of twisting corridors. He kept up a constant litany of enquiries about their journey and the weather in Tramen which John mostly left Teyla to deal with. He was trying to memorize the route.
They halted outside the throne room for a moment. John could hear murmurs of sound and then, "I see. You're suggesting that we should agree to your proposal, which will massively deplete our yackle reserves, in exchange for, what, a hundredth-weight of iniridium? Which we really don't need. In what universe did you think that this would possibly be acceptable? More iniridium? Lovely, marvelous. Really not necessary. Go away. And I'm warning you now, if you can't come up with a workable contract then I will have no choice but to terminate the agreement. You've got two days." There was a protesting murmur. "Are you deaf? Not one more word."
John swerved to avoid a group of richly dressed individuals who were muttering to each other angrily and peeked around the door. Rodney was slumped into a large chair -- hell, might as well call a throne a throne -- on a dais at the end of the room. There was an impatient scowl on his face, a slightly askew platinum circlet around his forehead, and he was wearing a silver and navy-blue tunic over his leggings. John grinned at the sight, although, really, he looked…better than John had expected. The native dress wasn't actually bad on him. Of course, it helped that he'd said no to the frills.
"What's next?" Rodney said loudly to the very grand looking woman who was standing by the dais. She reached up and murmured in his ear. "Oh." He brightened. "Oh. Well, what are you waiting for?" He motioned impatiently. "Send them in."
Geseth banged his staff on the floor summoning silence. "The tribute from Tramen, my lord."
As instructed by Pisen, Teyla led the way, flanked by John and Ronon. They strode slowly through the room, tracked by Rodney's eyes, which were flickering between them, and stopped in front of the dais. John bit down on a giggle at Rodney's very intent expression. Because, really, it wasn't at all funny that Rodney was looking at them like he'd never seen them before. He caught Rodney's eye and smiled a little. Rodney flushed and looked away. Teyla bowed and John hastily followed suit, glaring at Ronon, who bobbed his head.
"My lord, I wish to introduce Teyla, John and Ronon." The mercenary commander spoke in a clear voice as she stepped forward and bowed a little, motioning to them each in turn.
"Good, good," Rodney said. "Er, welcome to Carel. No, really, welcome." He nodded to Ronon and gave Teyla a swift, lopsided smile, which faded as he looked at John. John felt weirdly insulted -- what was wrong with him that he didn't even rate a nod, even if Rodney didn't remember him. Them. He frowned at Rodney, who caught his eye again. Rodney blushed even more and his fingers drummed on the arm of the chair. "Erm," he said and then fell silent, grabbing a goblet on a table by the throne and draining it quickly.
Somehow Geseth managed to worm his way beside Teyla. "Shall I see to the arrangements for Teyla, my lord."
"Yes! Yes, arrangements. Good idea. Yes. But--"
"Yes, my lord?" Geseth smiled encouragingly.
"I, um, don't want her. I want him." And he pointed at John.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They took away all of his knives. John was still protesting that he needed to speak to Teyla and Ronon -- and where the hell where they taking them anyway? -- when he was hustled out of the throne-room by half a dozen very large guardsfolk who performed a breathtakingly quick search in the little corridor to the side and confiscated them all, including the little knife in his boot. They took the boots, too, and then shooed him -- gently -- way down the narrow corridor and into a room that looked like an outtake from a Thousand and One Hot 'n' Sexy Arabian Nights. Then they locked the door.
John spent some time investigating the door and checking out the bars on the window before subsiding into the ridiculously large satiny pillows piled up against the wall. He contemplated his bare feet. And considered killing Pisen.
He'd never said, not once, because John had been listening closely, that if Rodney -- for whatever cracked Rodneyish reason because it was Teyla, for God's sake -- decided that he didn’t want the lead tribute offering, he was entitled to accept either of the two substitutes. In fact, Pisen hadn't even said that he and Ronon were the substitutes. John had thought they were some kind of honor guard. Yeah, thinking back maybe the harem pants were a dead giveaway but how was he supposed to know that they weren't wearing the Tramen national uniform?
Geseth had been pretty explicit. In between twinkling at John and reassuring him as he trotted along the corridor beside John and his escort that of course his companions would be cared for as, after all, they'd come a long way and it would be positively uncivilized not to entertain them for a while, and yes, he would get the opportunity to say goodbye to them before they left but first he needed time to acclimatize to his new life and, really, John didn't need to worry about them at all and perhaps he should be preparing himself for his new life. Which left John wondering whether Geseth needed to breathe. And trying very hard not to think about exactly what that 'new life' was going to involve.
He had wrapped his hands round his calves and rested his aching forehead on his knees when he heard the door open. The woman at the head of the gaggle of soberly dressed people smiled at him brightly. "Ready for your bath?"
John finally drew the line after he'd been ruthlessly stripped and bathed and shaved very, very closely and massaged with some sort of perfumed oil, dressed in black and silver knee-length pantaloons and had some sort of black stuff put around his eyes. He'd thought about protesting earlier but, one, he was way outnumbered and two, either he or they would end up getting hurt. Either way, not in the plan. But he balked at the earring.
The head servant shook her head at him indulgently, just like she had at his every refusal to date, and couldn't seem to grasp that he really meant it this time and, no, she was not going to pierce his ear, and he was serious and, no, she'd better not touch him and for Christ's sake leave his ear alone--
He heard the new voices at the same time as the sting in his ear was subsiding and the arms and legs pinning him to the floor were finally relaxing their grip.
"Is that him?"
John raised his head and glared up at the blond, tall and, oh yeah, freaking gorgeous young man looking down his nose at John.
"Oslon, really, there's no need to be rude." The woman smiling at him was as blonde and as gorgeous as Oslon. John rolled and shifted to his knees and scrambled to his feet. The earring swung against his cheek. "Hello," she said. "I'm Marietta--" John frowned. That name sounded familiar. "--and this is Oslon. Thank you, Griselim, you have done very well."
"Madam, he is not--"
"I know. That's why I'm here."
The head servant nodded and clapped her hands sharply. The servants filed out of the room, the large one at the back glaring at John as he wiped at his nose where the blood was finally starting to congeal.
Marietta sent John a friendly smile. "We wanted to welcome you, and to let you know that you really are welcome here. I thought that you might be concerned. We have heard stories about Tramen that-- Well, no matter." She shook her head. "But rest assured that here we do not allow any uncivilized goings on and that our lord's pleasure is also our pleasure."
Oh God.
"I hesitate to be…indelicate, but Griselim sent word that you seemed to be a little nervous, so…." She gazed at him earnestly with huge blue eyes. "Are you much experienced?"
"What?"
"You're not a virgin?"
"No!" John said indignantly.
"Ah, good. And have there been many men?" she continued matter-of-factly.
John felt a slow tide of warmth travel up his chest. "Um." He had a feeling that a couple of handjobs and that drunken blowjob he'd had in that leather-bar he'd gone into as a dare just before flying out to Afghanistan might not count.
"Ah," she said. "I had wondered. If it would help, perhaps Oslon could be of assistance."
John glanced up at Oslon who gazed down at John and sneered. John swallowed. "Ah no," he said. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass."
"Yes, of course. You wish to keep yourself pure for our lord."
John clamped down on his rising hysteria and nodded.
"Please, sit with me, John." He arranged himself gingerly by her side. "You do understand that our lord intends to do you honor by having you be with him tonight--"
John's honor was just fine as it was.
"--and he would not wish to offer any insult to you, or your people. It is therefore imperative that he sends for you tonight." Oh great. There went his argument as to why he should be left alone tonight to get a good night's sleep. "But he would not wish you to be afraid. He is not-- He would not knowingly do you harm. Do you understand?"
Oh God. How bad could it be? John attempted a smile. "Sure. Thanks. That…helps."
"Good, I had hoped that it would. We will leave you now." She smiled at him again, warmly. "Come, Oslon."
John slumped back into the cushions and regarded his toes. It was just sex. No need to panic. Just sex. With Rodney. Oh God!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So. Your name is John, right?"
John shifted his knees on the carpet. One of the guards who'd pushed him down to kneel before their prince glared at him.
"Oh," Rodney said, waving at the guards, "you can all go now."
"But my lord--"
"Don't be ridiculous," Rodney said. "He's not at all dangerous."
John scowled through his eyelashes. Showed what Rodney knew.
“We’ll be right outside, my lord,” the guard said, pointedly as he closed the door.
"Well?" Rodney asked impatiently.
John got to his feet. He was not going to remain on his knees before Rodney, of all people. Rodney's gaze -- very bright and hot -- followed his movement. "That's right." John folded his arms across his bare chest.
"Don't do that," Rodney ordered.
John narrowed his eyes.
"Sorry. Sorry. I meant, you're well, you're very pretty." He was not. "I like your hair," Rodney said confidingly. "And…and, your eyes. And, um, yes." His voice spluttered to a halt. John was actually beginning to feel sorry for Rodney, because, Jesus, even as lord of all he surveyed, he sucked at this.
"Thanks."
"So, um," Rodney said after an awkward silence, "would you like something to drink?"
Alcohol. Yes. Please, God, let it be alcohol. He nodded and Rodney rose from the chair and poured a couple of glasses of some thick, golden liquid. It tasted smooth and slid sweetly down John's throat. Rodney sat down on the huge, divan-like bed in the middle of the room and patted it invitingly. John tensed but made a conscious effort to relax his vertebrae, one by one, and walked slowly towards the bed. Once there he seized up again. This was-- He couldn't-- It was Rodney, for Christ's sake.
"Hey," Rodney said softly. He pulled John down beside him and slid his hand down to clasp John's. John gazed at their interlinked fingers. Teyla. It was supposed to have been Teyla. With the handy little vial of knock-out potion. Not him, and without it. "Marietta told me that you're-- That you haven't-- Um." Rodney took a deep breath. "What I meant to say is that I really like you and I wouldn't hurt you. Not for anything."
John turned his head and met Rodney's hugely earnest eyes. He felt something ease inside him slightly. This Rodney -- who didn't remember him and was unaccountably attracted to him when he could have had Teyla or Ronon instead, and who thought he was a prince and that John was been given to him in tribute, for God's sake, and who was therefore bound to obey his every whim -- was trying to be nice to him and relax the nervous virgin a little. Surprisingly, it was actually working. "Okay." He smiled at Rodney hesitantly.
Rodney obviously took that for encouragement because next thing John knew Rodney was leaning forward and licking at his lips lightly. John's mouth parted in surprise at the feel of Rodney's soft lips and then Rodney was kissing him, gently. Rodney's kisses were tender and slow and he ran his hands unhurriedly up and down John's back, caressing his sides and licking at his neck. He kissed John for a long time and as John felt his body slowly, slowly uncoil he sighed a little into Rodney's mouth, and slid his arms tentatively around Rodney's body, feeling solid muscle move under the tunic beneath his fingers.
Rodney pulled back and smiled at him, familiar lopsided smile. "Okay?" he asked and John nodded, astonished to find that he actually was. Looked like the drink was working.
Rodney's face lit up and he kissed John again, sliding his hand down and down until he was lightly caressing John's stomach and then lower still underneath the pantaloons. John jumped, and his dick stirred in Rodney's broad, warm hand, hardening rapidly as Rodney stroked it firmly. He groaned and then Rodney was kissing him again, hungry and deep. John tumbled backwards as Rodney bit at John's throat, right there. John whimpered, body arching. That was-- This was-- He sighed a little as Rodney licked at a nipple and bit at it lightly. John's tremor in response ran right down to his dick and he moaned. God, he wanted…. He wanted….
"Good?" Rodney asked breathlessly, raising his head and John nodded and twisted breathlessly when Rodney stroked his thigh, under the pantaloons, moving up to cup his balls. Rodney caressed them softly for a while as John's legs parted, the solid weight of Rodney on top of him now familiar and even comforting. "Lift up a little," Rodney ordered. John moved his body obligingly and Rodney pulled at the pantaloons and threw them on the floor, leaving John naked except for the earring.
Rodney ran a finger up John's dick and John's body leaped. Rodney laughed, low in his throat, but John couldn't spare the energy to get angry because Rodney was-- He was licking him and John's dick liked that. John's dick liked that a lot and liked it even more when Rodney's mouth closed around him. John made a choked sound deep in his throat and flung his arm over his eyes. He was this close when Rodney took his mouth away and John moaned in protest.
"No, don't," Rodney said, pulling John's arm down. "I want to see your face. You're so-- Oh!" and he smiled as John reached down an uncertain hand, slid it under the hem of Rodney's tunic and into the leggings and grasped Rodney's dick. John liked how it felt, smooth and hot and alive in his hand. "Oh, yes, that's good. That's great. But. Not yet," and Rodney reached down and pulled John's hand away. John whined a little, but--
"No, no, it'll be good, you'll see," Rodney said, low in John's ear and then he was kissing John again, wildly, hot and wet. Rodney rocked back onto his heels and pulled his tunic impatiently over his head, tossing it in the direction of the pantaloons and then stripping off the leggings. He moved back onto John, kissed him again, more lightly, nudged him onto his side and then his slick, cool finger slid easily inside John, slow and careful. John's instinctive sound of protest turned into a low moan when Rodney's finger found that spot inside of him and pressed and suddenly John was shuddering and reaching down to grab his dick. Rodney added another finger and another as John shivered and wriggled around his fingers. And then he was turned onto his back and Rodney pressed his legs up and apart. John felt exposed and ridiculously vulnerable but then Rodney's warm, heavy body moved onto his and Rodney started to press into him, in small cautious movements. It hurt and John bit his lip.
Rodney stopped moving. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Just-- Get on with it," John snapped.
But instead Rodney leaned down to kiss him, licking at John's mouth and then deepening the kiss when John's lips parted and stroking John's dick until John was whimpering helplessly against Rodney's mouth. And then Rodney slid all the way in and lay on top of John stroking his sides and his face with slow, steady strokes. John felt his body ease, and Rodney must have been watching his face, because he started to move. It didn't hurt any more, but John couldn't help wondering was that it? and feeling weirdly disappointed but then Rodney angled his thrust a little differently and John gasped. Jesus! That was good! That was great. This was fucking fantastic! He wrapped his legs around Rodney's waist and squeezed, pulling his body tighter towards John.
"Come on, again," he gasped, gulping air. "Come on. Jesus!" Rodney moved. "Yeah, just like that. Come on. Now! Again. Fuck me. Oh!"
Because Rodney was thrusting, hard, and again and again, shoving into him, desperate and intense, and it was…Jesus fucking Christ, it was good. It was fucking amazing, and if only he'd known that it could be this good he'd have-- And why hadn't anyone told him it could be this good, and, oh God, he actually wanted it and, Jesus, Rodney!
"You…said…'Rodney'," Rodney said as he lay panting beside John.
"Hmm?" He was sweaty and sore and aching and the parts that weren't felt like a quivering mass of jello. His whole body was tingling. He might never be able to move again.
"You called me, Rodney."
John turned his head cautiously to meet Rodney's eyes. They were looking at him thoughtfully but he was smiling at John in a way that warmed John right through all the way down to his toes. "Well, it is your name," he said reasonably.
"Yes, but-- You're supposed to call me, 'my lord'," Rodney explained.
John stretched luxuriously and stifled a yawn. Wow, but he was wiped. "Why?"
"Well, because-- Because…I don't know, really. I think it's meant to show respect."
"I respect you plenty," John said sleepily.
"Oh. I mean, you do?"
Rodney seemed so surprised and doubtful and pleased that John opened his eyes and smiled at Rodney muzzily. "Sure."
"Oh. Well, I guess it's okay if my consort calls me Rodney, although it's still probably not a good idea in public so maybe you could make sure that you don't--" John reached out and laid his hand blindly across Rodney's mouth. "Mmmmf."
"Sleep now."
"You're really bossy, you know that."
"Am not."
"Oh, well, I guess I'll let it go just this once." Rodney reached out and dimmed the fake-candle lights and put his arm around John's shoulder. John snuggled in sleepily. Who knew that Rodney of all people could be so wonderfully cuddly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John snapped awake.
Shit!
Falling asleep had not been in the plan. Thank God that Rodney was still asleep and snoring softly. The guards must’ve changed shift by now, surely? He fumbled at his arm, and pressed the spot where Beckett had implanted the subcutaneous radio-transmitter. A few seconds later he received the affirmative response, two buzzes. They were on. Question was what to do about Rodney? John didn't want to knock him out, because having a concussion was a bitch. Which meant he'd have to improvise.
John slipped out of bed and winced. There was a dull ache in his lower back and he was a little raw. What the hell had been in that stuff Rodney had given him to drink?
He made his way to the dresser, navigating by the thin slivers of moonlight that came through the shutters. Fumbling in the drawer, he rummaged around quietly. This bit of material should do nicely and-- Oh yes. Grinning slightly, he knelt over an unsuspecting Rodney. John felt a moment's regret; Rodney was going to be badly pissed off and scared and despite the fact that it was for his own good and even after last night, John really didn't want to have to be the person who did this to him. He swiftly stuffed the first scarf into Rodney's mouth and used the second to secure the first by tying it around Rodney's head.
"Mmmm. Mmmfff. Mmmfff!"
John winced at the alarm in Rodney's wide blue eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered as he rolled Rodney over and sat on him, pinning his arms to his body. Rodney's legs flailed and John recoiled as one of them kicked him on the back. Hastily, he tied Rodney's wrists with the blue T-shirt he'd found in the drawer and used the uniform pants around Rodney's ankles, ducking to avoid another kick.
"I won't hurt you, I promise, but you have to come with me."
He turned Rodney over gently, cringing at the fury that radiated from Rodney's stiff face beneath the gag. Better furious than scared, though. Leaving Rodney on the bed, John slipped into the bathroom, grabbing the pantaloons on the way. He washed quickly and slipped them on, coming back out with a washcloth.
"Mmmmnnn." Rodney shook his head emphatically.
"I'm sorry, Rodney. I'm just trying to get you cleaned up. I know you won't believe me, but you're one of us. These people kidnapped you and you've been brainwashed." Rodney's eyes sneered. "Yeah," John sighed. "I told you, you wouldn't believe me."
John's arm tingled and he padded to the door. "Teyla?" he whispered.
"Colonel."
"Just a second. I've just got to finish securing Rodney." John moved quickly back to the bed. "I'm going to untie your ankles so you can put the pants on. It's either that or go out naked," he warned in response to Rodney's murderous glare. "My people -- our people -- are outside and believe me, we're in control. Now, are you going to be good?"
Rodney bobbed his head sullenly and stood quietly while John put the pants on him, only flinching when John touched his stomach when fastening the waistband. John flinched too. He steered Rodney to the door and opened it a crack. Teyla and Ronon stood ready, dressed as servants. Behind them were a couple of palace guards, bribed as Pisen had promised.
"How are we…?" Ronon motioned to the large, lidded laundry basket against the wall. "Okay. Good one. Here you go, Rodney."
But Rodney was shaking his head, eyes wide with fear. "Nnnnnmm."
Shit. John exchanged an apprehensive glance with Teyla. Even gagged, Rodney was loud enough to wake the dead. Ronon placed his hand near Rodney's neck and squeezed. "Wait, wait," John said frantically.
"McKay will be fine. This is a well-known restraint technique on Sateda."
"What are you, Spock?" Four faces looked at John in complete incomprehension. He shook his head. "Never mind."
Ronon kept up a steady pressure, until Rodney's eyes flickered and his head lolled to the side. John looked at him doubtfully, but--
"I would not hurt McKay, Sheppard," and Ronon's eyes were so wide and earnest that John had to believe him. He and Ronon carefully folded Rodney into the basket and then Teyla -- "A concubine cannot be seen to be carrying such an item and you have gained a certain… notoriety as such, even in the short time we have been here." -- and Ronon hoisted it to their shoulders.
John walked in front, trying to imitate Oslon, right down to the sneer. His servants followed him bearing some of his possessions and the palace guards brought up the rear. Teyla hissed directions to John as they wended their way through the palace. John tensed as they neared the main door. It might be alarmed in some way, to let the palace inhabitants know that its prince was escaping. And if so, getting to the city walls with an unwilling Rodney was not going to be easy, no matter how many guards Pisen had managed to bribe. But the door opened smoothly, the guards bowing them out.
The ground was cold on John's feet -- who the hell had decided concubines should go without shoes anyway? -- but, thank God, the carriage was waiting. Rodney was taken out of the basket and Ronon lifted him into the carriage, handing him to John, who cradled him gingerly. None of this was Rodney's fault. Well, except for feeding John mind-altering drugs last night and even then you could argue that Rodney hadn't been in his right mind when he'd done it. Teyla and Ronon jumped inside the carriage and the guards leapt fore and aft.
It was all going remarkably smoothly, John thought, as they exited the palace gate. His shoulder-blades itched. Maybe too smoothly.
At that point they passed through the gate to the palace and it shrieked. Guards boiled antlike from the palace and--
"Drive!" Teyla yelled at the guard. The carriage engine whined as the guard poured on speed.
--ran towards them, weapons pointed. Several leapt onto two-wheeled bikes. Their engines thrummed into life. The bikes buzzed around the carriage, and weapons whined and flashed.
Ronon threw a knife out of the window.
"Try not to kill anyone," John called, shifting Rodney onto the seat and grabbing the knife that Teyla held out with a nod. Ronon sent him in incredulous look. John shrugged. The Carellians might be kidnappers but he figured that a people who were just trying to get a good ruler to run their city couldn’t be all bad.
What he wouldn't give to have a P90 to fire over their heads, though. Less chance of hurting them than using the knives and a much better chance of actually getting out of there.
The carriage lurched along the street. It rocked when one of the bike-riders leapt onto the door, clinging hard and fumbling with the door handle. Ronon smashed his hand into the guard's face and she fell and rolled into the street. There was another thump and then another. More bikers. The guard in front yelled and the carriage engine spluttered and died. The carriage began to coast to a halt.
"Everyone out!" John nodded to Ronon, who slung Rodney over his shoulder. Teyla took point and John their six -- he trusted her sense of direction. They had one guard left. John hoped that the other wasn't badly hurt. A couple of the bikers leapt at them, but were hampered by the need not to hurt their prince and were only using knives. John and Teyla and the guard slashed and hacked their way down the street but John didn't think they'd killed anyone. He hoped.
More and more guards surrounded them and it wasn't looking good. They were just too far outnumbered. He started looking around for an escape route and groaned when he saw Rodney's head lift and twitch. Crap! They hadn't gotten to the city gates yet. On the plus side, maybe if Rodney was conscious he might prevent the city guard from killing them. A guard almost skewered him and John dodged. His heart pounded and he inhaled shakily. That had been close.
Yet more guards erupted down the street. They were now surrounded and about to be cut off. Unless -- John looked up at the overhanging buildings -- they could go up. Could Ronon climb with Rodney and--
Oh thank you, God. Behind, there was gun fire.
To their credit, the city and palace guards held their ground, but -- not being idiots -- ran for cover.
"Are you all okay?" Lorne yelled from behind his P90. He was backed by his team and the mercenaries.
"We're fine," John called. "But I guess the party's over."
"Go, we'll cover you."
John nodded, waved to Teyla and Lorne and ran, his heart thumping in his ears. Somewhere they'd lost the other guard. Ahead of them were the gates. Okay, moment of truth.
"Mmmnnn!" Rodney writhed on Ronon's shoulder and John saw Ronon actually wince when a kick landed perilously close to his balls. Ronon grimaced and shifted Rodney slightly out of range and Jesus, how strong did Ronon have to be to carry Rodney -- who John had reason to know was no lightweight -- like that and be able to run. And fight. Ronon fended off one of the gate guards, who made a desperate jump to save his prince and then they were running through the gate and it was flashing and the sirens were wailing even louder and--
"Wonderful, you are here!" Pisen hopped from foot to foot enthusiastically.
"I don't know if you've noticed but we're a little busy here," John said, baring his teeth.
"Oh, yes, I'll just, um, get going then, shall I?"
John snagged Pisen's sleeve. "You'll make sure all the guards are okay?"
"Yes, yes, of course. They're all my people."
"Let's hope," John muttered.
A moment later and Pisen ran through the gate with a departing wave. It lit up like a firecracker and then the siren shut off abruptly, as if corked. And Pisen was being greeted with cries of, "Prince Pisen!" and "Come see, our Prince is home," and "Welcome back, my lord."
Pisen yelled to the city guard to stand down and do their jobs and guard him and, thank God, the guards pursuing them were slowing and then they halted and began to straggle back to the city. Well disciplined. John liked that in troops when they weren't trying to capture them.
Lorne and his team ran up -- all accounted for and unhurt, thank God -- and the mercenaries peeled off with a salute. They looked happy enough; maybe they'd already gotten paid.
John nodded at Ronon, who lowered Rodney to the ground. Rodney was quiet behind the gag but when his feet touched the floor he protested.
"Sorry, Rodney, not yet," John said and nodded to Ronon and Lorne; they grabbed Rodney's elbows and began to run, with Teyla on point and John and Lorne's team bringing up the rear. John could hear Rodney's continued muffled protests, but he wasn't about to risk taking the gag off. He wanted to get the hell out of Dodge and well out of earshot of Carel before removing it. Just in case it hadn't worked and Rodney still thought he was a prince.
They didn't stop until the city was a distant speck. John called a halt and turned to Rodney with trepidation. His face was scarlet behind the gag and John was worried about whether or not he could breathe. "Rodney, I'm going to take the gag off and we'll get you some water, okay?"
Ronon untied Rodney's wrists and undid the gag. John watched, holding his breath. Rodney spluttered and bent over, resting his hands on his knees, heaving in air. Lorne handed him a canteen and Rodney drank and spat and drank again. "Did you have to gag me?" he said to John, glaring from bright blue eyes.
"I didn't think you'd come quietly. Sorry." John shrugged his shoulders.
"Not then," Rodney snapped. "But you could have taken it out once we were outside Carel. God knows how much fabric I've inhaled and those threads could be carcinogenic and I doubt that my lungs will ever be the same again."
"Rodney!" John grinned, unexpectedly elated. "It is you."
"Well of course it is, Colonel. Who did you think you were rescuing? Bart Jan Bok?"
Who? "I meant, you've got your memories back," John explained.
"Well of course I have. That was the whole point of this little charade wasn't it? The kidnapping, the infiltration of the palace, the--" Rodney froze for a second, staring at John. "I-- I-- God knows how much of a mess those idiots have made while I've been away. Zelenka's halfway competent, true, but he doesn't know anywhere near as much as I do about Atlantis' systems and-- Well," Rodney snapped, "what are you all waiting for? You need to get me back to Atlantis, stat." And he turned and marched off down the road.
John looked after him for a second, then shrugged and followed. Lorne came up beside him. "Why did we want him back again?" Lorne said quietly, tugging at his tunic. John grimaced and folded his arms. The wind was a little chilly on his bare chest.
Despite Rodney's protests about wasting time, they stopped off at the house where Lorne's team had been holed up to collect their gear. And change clothes. John stripped off the pantaloons and scrubbed the kohl from around his eyes. He stared at the earring in his palm. It looked like a large, black pearl set in silver. After a moment's hesitation he slipped it into his pants pocket. God, but it was great to be back in uniform.
Downstairs he found Ronon, together with Lorne who was drinking from a large cup. And -- Christ -- it was the same stuff that Rodney had given to John last night.
"Should you be drinking that?"
Lorne looked up, eyebrows raised. "There's no alcohol in it."
Oh. "Yeah, but what about side-effects?"
Lorne shrugged. "I haven't noticed any."
Oh. "Well, yeah, but… Maybe just not yet?"
"I've been drinking it for a couple of days now and haven't noticed anything. Everyone drinks it, you know, including the kids. I think it's pretty safe. Tastes good too. Want some?" He tipped the cup towards John.
John smiled weakly. He could still remember the thick, sweet taste of it last night, just before Rodney had-- Rodney had-- "Thanks, but I think I'll pass." He groped for a chair and sank into it shakily.
“Are you okay, sir?” Lorne asked, cocking his head to one side. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re looking a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” John said, checking his vest with trembling fingers and carefully avoiding looking at Lorne.
"Yes, yes," Rodney was saying to Teyla was they clattered down the stairs together, both in uniform. "I really do appreciate that but--" He stopped abruptly when he saw John and looked away. John's throat tightened. "Are we ready to go yet?"
John swallowed. There was a horrible, tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. "We are. Let's go home."
~~~~~~~~
END PART ONE
PART TWO
Author: mandragora1
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Slash, Harlequin Challenge
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
13,027 words
Summary: Atlantis needs Prince Rodney back.
Okay, so first Stargate:Atlantis story. And what do I write? Crack!fic! *hangs head in shame*
Many thanks to z_rayne, for American betaing and also for general beta duties. Thanks also for the useful title suggestions. My thanks to temaris, both for the beta and the frankly insane title suggestions.
A Royal Deception
by Mandragora
"He thinks he's what?" John stared at Major Lorne, who coughed uncomfortably.
"Technically, according to Pisen here, he actually is."
The rabbity little man sitting in the corner raised his head. "That's right."
"So, um," John just barely held back the insane giggle that threatened to escape. "He's really King Rodney?"
"It's Prince Rodney," Pisen said crossly.
"And that would make you…Prince Pisen?" John bit down on his lower lip. Hard.
"Well, I was," Pisen said, gloomily examining his fingernails. "Now it's all his."
"How? I mean, why? How come Rodney deposed you?" And why the hell would he want to?
Pisen drew himself up to his full height. Unfortunately, he was standing right by Ronon. "It wasn't anything he did," Pisen said indignantly, and then, subsiding a little. "Or, I suppose in a way, it was. But I ask you, just because someone scores infinitesimally higher than someone else on an arbitrary intelligence test, does that really make them the best candidate to become the ruler? Under my rule, the city improved by leaps and bounds. I was much better than Princess Camilla. The Urican trade agreement alone, not to mention the removal of the importation tax on sannon, freesial and steel-forged swords has worked wonders on-- Never mind." He sniffed. "You'd think that my achievements would be recognized, as opposed to some crude scientist-come-lately who probably doesn't even know how a yackle works."
"Rodney took some IQ test and that made him King?"
"Prince," Pisen snapped. "And no. What are you, stupid?" But a moment later he was saying, "Sorry, sorry. I'm a little upset. Wouldn't you be? Chucked out of the palace, stripped of the title. Not to mention losing my Marietta. She's my favorite," he confided. "Very big…. Erm. Never mind," he mumbled, as he met Telya's steady stare. "And I've got my memories back, too. And, you know what, I liked being Prince Pisen better. I don't want to just be…me." He sniffled a little and wiped at his nose with a grimy handkerchief.
John had had enough. "Okay, Major, maybe you'd like to tell me what the hell's going on."
"Sir, yes." Lorne straightened smartly. Wow, it must really be bad. "It was when we went through the city gates. I don't know what happened, exactly, but when McKay went through it lit up like he'd hit the jackpot and next thing we know there's all these people running up to him and they're yelling that the new prince is here. And I was trying to keep us all together, but there were a hell of a lot of them and the thing is that when I yelled at McKay to stay close he, well, he didn’t seem to recognize any of us."
"No, he wouldn't," Pisen nodded earnestly. "See, when you get chosen -- to be the new ruler," he added, unnecessarily, "the Testingate wipes your memories of your previous life and makes you think that you really are from Carel. It also makes you feel really good about it all, that you've waited for your whole life for this and that this is what you were born to do. It's a very neat bit of social engineering, when you think about it."
"You mean brainwashing," John snapped.
"You don't understand,” Pisen said. "I was, I was really happy. I felt wanted and admired and…and loved," he finished pathetically.
John grimaced and asked Lorne, "Where'd you pick him up anyway?"
"Outside the city walls. The guards made us leave after Dr McKay was chosen and closed the gates. I thought about fighting," he said in response to John's frown, "but we were outnumbered and I didn't want to cause trouble without knowing why McKay was acting like he was. I, er," he coughed a little, "stopped Ronon from--" He glanced up at Ronon who bared his teeth. John winced. "I stopped Ronon. From following. We decided to wait for a while, see what happened and next thing we know, the gate opened a crack and Pisen here was pushed out. He was pretty upset initially but when we got him calmed down a little and he told us what was going on, well, that's when I radioed you, Colonel."
Jesus. See, this was why John didn't usually let Rodney go off on missions when he wasn't around to babysit. But Rodney had been all, 'Oh, but if this really is iniridium, it could be absolutely vital,' and, 'No, I have to go now,' and 'Can't you tell the Jeinins to wait?' and 'I don't see why they need the military leader just to make a trade deal and I'm sure that Elizabeth can handle it,' until John had given in and let Rodney loose to follow up on the iniridium readings, with Lorne's team and Ronon as additional insurance. While he went off with Weir and Teyla to make nice with the Jeinins.
"O…kay." He looked away from Lorne's uncomfortable expression to Pisen -- and what kind of a name was that anyway? -- who was watching him anxiously. "Okay, so how do we get him back?"
Pisen shrugged. "Find someone smarter and send them through the gate."
Oh crap. Scratch Plan A.
"That could be difficult," Teyla said.
John nodded and rubbed at an eyebrow. "Yeah."
"Oh?" Pisen asked. Then, "Oh." Then, "Well…if that’s so, maybe if you could get him out of the city and immediately after I went back in, then maybe…?" He clapped his hands together hopefully.
John shrugged. "Worth a shot."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The problem was how to get Rodney out. They totally failed to get access to the palace. Turned out there was some sort of force field in place -- yet more technology that if Rodney had been in his right mind would have sent him into so high an orbit he might never have come down again. The force field could apparently distinguish between native Carellians, who were given free access to the palace, and everyone else, who weren't given any access at all. Atlantis sent the best they had -- Zelenka and Simpson combined -- to see if they could figure out how to get through the force field but they'd struck out. Whatever the force field was, they weren't going to crack it any time soon.
Then there'd been the problem with the Jeinins to sort out and after that there'd been that bout of Athosian flu and Beckett had quarantined Atlantis until it had run its course. And after that there had been the major inertial dampeners malfunction, which had grounded half the jumpers and Weir had called a halt on anything but essential travel by jumper until it was fixed. It was pretty much understood that they'd probably have solved that one a lot quicker with Rodney there. But of course they couldn't go and get him until the jumpers were fixed, given that the Carellian's gate was spacebound, so….
The upshot was that by the time they were ready to try again Rodney had been Prince Rodney a good three months and they were running out of ideas. It didn't matter how many times John told himself firmly that there was no way they were leaving Rodney there, they still needed a way to get him out. It didn't even help much when Weir pointed out that Rodney most likely wasn't in any danger, given that the Carellians wanted him to be their prince. John really couldn't help but worry. For all they knew Prince Rodney might have provoked a war with Carel's nearest neighbor by now, no matter what Pisen, who remained in the safehouse a couple of miles out of the city and in radio contact, said.
Bottom line, Rodney was on his team and you never left a team-mate behind, no matter how annoying that team-mate could be. Besides, John missed their arguments.
But now John was ready to, not give up exactly, but to begin to despair a little. If Rodney had been there John was pretty sure that he'd have figured out how to get himself out. Which was the whole problem. Until the day Pisen wistfully mentioned in passing how he hated that he'd be missing the Tramen's tribute when it arrived in seven days. He'd waxed rhapsodic about the parade of goods, looked worryingly like he was going to burst into tears at the thought of missing something called the Yikka, and bemoaned that Rodney, not him, would get first pick of the client city's offerings.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Sorry, Teyla," John said again. "You know if there were any other way we'd take it, right?"
She nodded. "There is no need to distress yourself, Colonel. Dr McKay is a most valuable member of Atlantis and I must confess that I am finding that I am missing him as a member of our team." She smiled slightly.
"Yeah. Guess he kinda grows on you, huh?"
The smile broadened. "I believe so."
Ronon finished examining his sword. Pisen had said strictly no guns as they'd be discovered immediately if carrying forbidden technology, so John and Ronon were armed with an impressive quantity of knives and of course Ronon was taking his sword. No sword for John -- he figured he'd do better with a knife if it came to a fight. Teyla, necessarily, was unarmed except for a knife in a holster around her thigh. Other than that there was nowhere to put a weapon in the amber satiny halter-top that barely skirted the tops of her nipples and matching skirt that skimmed her thighs and swooped down to pool on the ground at the back, undulating gracefully behind her when she walked.
She looked amazing.
If John had been tempted to whine about his own red and gold harem-style pants, bare chest and short, open vest, one look at Teyla and he'd shut his trap. He could sense her distaste for her outfit. There was no way that she could move in it, other than really slowly under the headdress that added a good foot to her height. Let alone fight. But she hadn't complained at all.
"We ready to go?" Ronon asked. He looked pretty amazing, too. His harem pants and vest -- plain brown, John noted bitterly -- set off his impressive musculature. Beside him John felt even more like a short, skinny white boy than usual.
"Teyla?" John asked. Pisen had explained what she might have to do -- what she most probably would have to do -- and she had not batted an eyelash and agreed without a moment's hesitation. John had been weirdly touched at that proof of Teyla's regard for Rodney. Teyla nodded and John turned to Lorne. "Okay, Major, you and your team hold the fort. And stay alert."
"Will do," Lorne said. "You all look very…nice."
John's eyes narrowed.
"It is as well," Teyla observed blandly, "that you remain behind as backup, Major. However, should we require your assistance might I suggest that you don attire that will enable you to blend in with the indigenous population. I believe that their usual dress will suit you well."
John grinned. Pisen called the local dress 'tunics' but John called them 'dresses', especially with all those floaty draping bits. "Good idea," he agreed. "Consider that an order." He could feel Ronon's grin behind him as they exited grandly, shutting the door on Lorne's crestfallen expression. The rest of his team wasn't looking too happy, either.
They met up with Pisen and the escort about a mile outside Carel's gates. Pisen had obviously spared no expense -- the escort was at least a hundred men and women deep, all dressed in Tramen’s livery of smart green tunics and darker blue leggings. Nothing like John and Ronon's harem pants. John wasn't entirely happy that he and Ronon were expected to ride in the litter with Teyla. He'd have preferred walking alongside keeping an eye open for trouble, but Pisen said that it would be considered disrespectful if they walked. John wasn't sure disrespectful to whom.
They got through the gate with no trouble other than a smirk from the gate-guards. Ronon had bristled on Teyla's behalf and John had had to order him to stand easy, and before he knew it they were at the palace. Which was a huge domed affair, with Trefoil arches that loomed over the rest of the city on a hill and was surrounded by ornamental gardens.
John took a breath; this was the point at which all their other attempts had failed but this time they were expected and the huge harder-than-durasteel lacework palace gates swung open smoothly while they were still about a hundred yards away.
"Right." John turned to Pisen. "See you outside the city gates. Hopefully with McKay."
"Oh, I do hope so," Pisen agreed fervently. "Oh, I almost forgot, if Teyla doesn't please him-- " He gave her a swift up and down. "--although I can't imagine that for one moment, then he's entitled to-- Oh dear, here comes Geseth. He's the Chamberlain and will most definitely recognise-- I'd better go." He ducked under the litter and around the large mercenary commander -- "Very good mercenaries, highly skilled and they never breach their contract." -- who was acting as both escort captain and introducer, and was gone.
"Welcome, welcome," Geseth, a short, round man, bounded up to meet them as soon as they were through the gates and the litter had been set carefully on the ground. "May I help you up, my dear?" He offered Teyla a hand, which she accepted graciously. Geseth turned back to the litter and took a step back as Ronon loomed over him. "My, how tall you are. I'm not certain that Prince Rodney will-- Ah, yes, splendid, splendid, we're all here." He beamed at John and motioned for them to follow him. The mercenary captain and half a dozen of her men fell in behind.
Geseth set a rapid pace through a myriad of twisting corridors. He kept up a constant litany of enquiries about their journey and the weather in Tramen which John mostly left Teyla to deal with. He was trying to memorize the route.
They halted outside the throne room for a moment. John could hear murmurs of sound and then, "I see. You're suggesting that we should agree to your proposal, which will massively deplete our yackle reserves, in exchange for, what, a hundredth-weight of iniridium? Which we really don't need. In what universe did you think that this would possibly be acceptable? More iniridium? Lovely, marvelous. Really not necessary. Go away. And I'm warning you now, if you can't come up with a workable contract then I will have no choice but to terminate the agreement. You've got two days." There was a protesting murmur. "Are you deaf? Not one more word."
John swerved to avoid a group of richly dressed individuals who were muttering to each other angrily and peeked around the door. Rodney was slumped into a large chair -- hell, might as well call a throne a throne -- on a dais at the end of the room. There was an impatient scowl on his face, a slightly askew platinum circlet around his forehead, and he was wearing a silver and navy-blue tunic over his leggings. John grinned at the sight, although, really, he looked…better than John had expected. The native dress wasn't actually bad on him. Of course, it helped that he'd said no to the frills.
"What's next?" Rodney said loudly to the very grand looking woman who was standing by the dais. She reached up and murmured in his ear. "Oh." He brightened. "Oh. Well, what are you waiting for?" He motioned impatiently. "Send them in."
Geseth banged his staff on the floor summoning silence. "The tribute from Tramen, my lord."
As instructed by Pisen, Teyla led the way, flanked by John and Ronon. They strode slowly through the room, tracked by Rodney's eyes, which were flickering between them, and stopped in front of the dais. John bit down on a giggle at Rodney's very intent expression. Because, really, it wasn't at all funny that Rodney was looking at them like he'd never seen them before. He caught Rodney's eye and smiled a little. Rodney flushed and looked away. Teyla bowed and John hastily followed suit, glaring at Ronon, who bobbed his head.
"My lord, I wish to introduce Teyla, John and Ronon." The mercenary commander spoke in a clear voice as she stepped forward and bowed a little, motioning to them each in turn.
"Good, good," Rodney said. "Er, welcome to Carel. No, really, welcome." He nodded to Ronon and gave Teyla a swift, lopsided smile, which faded as he looked at John. John felt weirdly insulted -- what was wrong with him that he didn't even rate a nod, even if Rodney didn't remember him. Them. He frowned at Rodney, who caught his eye again. Rodney blushed even more and his fingers drummed on the arm of the chair. "Erm," he said and then fell silent, grabbing a goblet on a table by the throne and draining it quickly.
Somehow Geseth managed to worm his way beside Teyla. "Shall I see to the arrangements for Teyla, my lord."
"Yes! Yes, arrangements. Good idea. Yes. But--"
"Yes, my lord?" Geseth smiled encouragingly.
"I, um, don't want her. I want him." And he pointed at John.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They took away all of his knives. John was still protesting that he needed to speak to Teyla and Ronon -- and where the hell where they taking them anyway? -- when he was hustled out of the throne-room by half a dozen very large guardsfolk who performed a breathtakingly quick search in the little corridor to the side and confiscated them all, including the little knife in his boot. They took the boots, too, and then shooed him -- gently -- way down the narrow corridor and into a room that looked like an outtake from a Thousand and One Hot 'n' Sexy Arabian Nights. Then they locked the door.
John spent some time investigating the door and checking out the bars on the window before subsiding into the ridiculously large satiny pillows piled up against the wall. He contemplated his bare feet. And considered killing Pisen.
He'd never said, not once, because John had been listening closely, that if Rodney -- for whatever cracked Rodneyish reason because it was Teyla, for God's sake -- decided that he didn’t want the lead tribute offering, he was entitled to accept either of the two substitutes. In fact, Pisen hadn't even said that he and Ronon were the substitutes. John had thought they were some kind of honor guard. Yeah, thinking back maybe the harem pants were a dead giveaway but how was he supposed to know that they weren't wearing the Tramen national uniform?
Geseth had been pretty explicit. In between twinkling at John and reassuring him as he trotted along the corridor beside John and his escort that of course his companions would be cared for as, after all, they'd come a long way and it would be positively uncivilized not to entertain them for a while, and yes, he would get the opportunity to say goodbye to them before they left but first he needed time to acclimatize to his new life and, really, John didn't need to worry about them at all and perhaps he should be preparing himself for his new life. Which left John wondering whether Geseth needed to breathe. And trying very hard not to think about exactly what that 'new life' was going to involve.
He had wrapped his hands round his calves and rested his aching forehead on his knees when he heard the door open. The woman at the head of the gaggle of soberly dressed people smiled at him brightly. "Ready for your bath?"
John finally drew the line after he'd been ruthlessly stripped and bathed and shaved very, very closely and massaged with some sort of perfumed oil, dressed in black and silver knee-length pantaloons and had some sort of black stuff put around his eyes. He'd thought about protesting earlier but, one, he was way outnumbered and two, either he or they would end up getting hurt. Either way, not in the plan. But he balked at the earring.
The head servant shook her head at him indulgently, just like she had at his every refusal to date, and couldn't seem to grasp that he really meant it this time and, no, she was not going to pierce his ear, and he was serious and, no, she'd better not touch him and for Christ's sake leave his ear alone--
He heard the new voices at the same time as the sting in his ear was subsiding and the arms and legs pinning him to the floor were finally relaxing their grip.
"Is that him?"
John raised his head and glared up at the blond, tall and, oh yeah, freaking gorgeous young man looking down his nose at John.
"Oslon, really, there's no need to be rude." The woman smiling at him was as blonde and as gorgeous as Oslon. John rolled and shifted to his knees and scrambled to his feet. The earring swung against his cheek. "Hello," she said. "I'm Marietta--" John frowned. That name sounded familiar. "--and this is Oslon. Thank you, Griselim, you have done very well."
"Madam, he is not--"
"I know. That's why I'm here."
The head servant nodded and clapped her hands sharply. The servants filed out of the room, the large one at the back glaring at John as he wiped at his nose where the blood was finally starting to congeal.
Marietta sent John a friendly smile. "We wanted to welcome you, and to let you know that you really are welcome here. I thought that you might be concerned. We have heard stories about Tramen that-- Well, no matter." She shook her head. "But rest assured that here we do not allow any uncivilized goings on and that our lord's pleasure is also our pleasure."
Oh God.
"I hesitate to be…indelicate, but Griselim sent word that you seemed to be a little nervous, so…." She gazed at him earnestly with huge blue eyes. "Are you much experienced?"
"What?"
"You're not a virgin?"
"No!" John said indignantly.
"Ah, good. And have there been many men?" she continued matter-of-factly.
John felt a slow tide of warmth travel up his chest. "Um." He had a feeling that a couple of handjobs and that drunken blowjob he'd had in that leather-bar he'd gone into as a dare just before flying out to Afghanistan might not count.
"Ah," she said. "I had wondered. If it would help, perhaps Oslon could be of assistance."
John glanced up at Oslon who gazed down at John and sneered. John swallowed. "Ah no," he said. "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'll pass."
"Yes, of course. You wish to keep yourself pure for our lord."
John clamped down on his rising hysteria and nodded.
"Please, sit with me, John." He arranged himself gingerly by her side. "You do understand that our lord intends to do you honor by having you be with him tonight--"
John's honor was just fine as it was.
"--and he would not wish to offer any insult to you, or your people. It is therefore imperative that he sends for you tonight." Oh great. There went his argument as to why he should be left alone tonight to get a good night's sleep. "But he would not wish you to be afraid. He is not-- He would not knowingly do you harm. Do you understand?"
Oh God. How bad could it be? John attempted a smile. "Sure. Thanks. That…helps."
"Good, I had hoped that it would. We will leave you now." She smiled at him again, warmly. "Come, Oslon."
John slumped back into the cushions and regarded his toes. It was just sex. No need to panic. Just sex. With Rodney. Oh God!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"So. Your name is John, right?"
John shifted his knees on the carpet. One of the guards who'd pushed him down to kneel before their prince glared at him.
"Oh," Rodney said, waving at the guards, "you can all go now."
"But my lord--"
"Don't be ridiculous," Rodney said. "He's not at all dangerous."
John scowled through his eyelashes. Showed what Rodney knew.
“We’ll be right outside, my lord,” the guard said, pointedly as he closed the door.
"Well?" Rodney asked impatiently.
John got to his feet. He was not going to remain on his knees before Rodney, of all people. Rodney's gaze -- very bright and hot -- followed his movement. "That's right." John folded his arms across his bare chest.
"Don't do that," Rodney ordered.
John narrowed his eyes.
"Sorry. Sorry. I meant, you're well, you're very pretty." He was not. "I like your hair," Rodney said confidingly. "And…and, your eyes. And, um, yes." His voice spluttered to a halt. John was actually beginning to feel sorry for Rodney, because, Jesus, even as lord of all he surveyed, he sucked at this.
"Thanks."
"So, um," Rodney said after an awkward silence, "would you like something to drink?"
Alcohol. Yes. Please, God, let it be alcohol. He nodded and Rodney rose from the chair and poured a couple of glasses of some thick, golden liquid. It tasted smooth and slid sweetly down John's throat. Rodney sat down on the huge, divan-like bed in the middle of the room and patted it invitingly. John tensed but made a conscious effort to relax his vertebrae, one by one, and walked slowly towards the bed. Once there he seized up again. This was-- He couldn't-- It was Rodney, for Christ's sake.
"Hey," Rodney said softly. He pulled John down beside him and slid his hand down to clasp John's. John gazed at their interlinked fingers. Teyla. It was supposed to have been Teyla. With the handy little vial of knock-out potion. Not him, and without it. "Marietta told me that you're-- That you haven't-- Um." Rodney took a deep breath. "What I meant to say is that I really like you and I wouldn't hurt you. Not for anything."
John turned his head and met Rodney's hugely earnest eyes. He felt something ease inside him slightly. This Rodney -- who didn't remember him and was unaccountably attracted to him when he could have had Teyla or Ronon instead, and who thought he was a prince and that John was been given to him in tribute, for God's sake, and who was therefore bound to obey his every whim -- was trying to be nice to him and relax the nervous virgin a little. Surprisingly, it was actually working. "Okay." He smiled at Rodney hesitantly.
Rodney obviously took that for encouragement because next thing John knew Rodney was leaning forward and licking at his lips lightly. John's mouth parted in surprise at the feel of Rodney's soft lips and then Rodney was kissing him, gently. Rodney's kisses were tender and slow and he ran his hands unhurriedly up and down John's back, caressing his sides and licking at his neck. He kissed John for a long time and as John felt his body slowly, slowly uncoil he sighed a little into Rodney's mouth, and slid his arms tentatively around Rodney's body, feeling solid muscle move under the tunic beneath his fingers.
Rodney pulled back and smiled at him, familiar lopsided smile. "Okay?" he asked and John nodded, astonished to find that he actually was. Looked like the drink was working.
Rodney's face lit up and he kissed John again, sliding his hand down and down until he was lightly caressing John's stomach and then lower still underneath the pantaloons. John jumped, and his dick stirred in Rodney's broad, warm hand, hardening rapidly as Rodney stroked it firmly. He groaned and then Rodney was kissing him again, hungry and deep. John tumbled backwards as Rodney bit at John's throat, right there. John whimpered, body arching. That was-- This was-- He sighed a little as Rodney licked at a nipple and bit at it lightly. John's tremor in response ran right down to his dick and he moaned. God, he wanted…. He wanted….
"Good?" Rodney asked breathlessly, raising his head and John nodded and twisted breathlessly when Rodney stroked his thigh, under the pantaloons, moving up to cup his balls. Rodney caressed them softly for a while as John's legs parted, the solid weight of Rodney on top of him now familiar and even comforting. "Lift up a little," Rodney ordered. John moved his body obligingly and Rodney pulled at the pantaloons and threw them on the floor, leaving John naked except for the earring.
Rodney ran a finger up John's dick and John's body leaped. Rodney laughed, low in his throat, but John couldn't spare the energy to get angry because Rodney was-- He was licking him and John's dick liked that. John's dick liked that a lot and liked it even more when Rodney's mouth closed around him. John made a choked sound deep in his throat and flung his arm over his eyes. He was this close when Rodney took his mouth away and John moaned in protest.
"No, don't," Rodney said, pulling John's arm down. "I want to see your face. You're so-- Oh!" and he smiled as John reached down an uncertain hand, slid it under the hem of Rodney's tunic and into the leggings and grasped Rodney's dick. John liked how it felt, smooth and hot and alive in his hand. "Oh, yes, that's good. That's great. But. Not yet," and Rodney reached down and pulled John's hand away. John whined a little, but--
"No, no, it'll be good, you'll see," Rodney said, low in John's ear and then he was kissing John again, wildly, hot and wet. Rodney rocked back onto his heels and pulled his tunic impatiently over his head, tossing it in the direction of the pantaloons and then stripping off the leggings. He moved back onto John, kissed him again, more lightly, nudged him onto his side and then his slick, cool finger slid easily inside John, slow and careful. John's instinctive sound of protest turned into a low moan when Rodney's finger found that spot inside of him and pressed and suddenly John was shuddering and reaching down to grab his dick. Rodney added another finger and another as John shivered and wriggled around his fingers. And then he was turned onto his back and Rodney pressed his legs up and apart. John felt exposed and ridiculously vulnerable but then Rodney's warm, heavy body moved onto his and Rodney started to press into him, in small cautious movements. It hurt and John bit his lip.
Rodney stopped moving. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Just-- Get on with it," John snapped.
But instead Rodney leaned down to kiss him, licking at John's mouth and then deepening the kiss when John's lips parted and stroking John's dick until John was whimpering helplessly against Rodney's mouth. And then Rodney slid all the way in and lay on top of John stroking his sides and his face with slow, steady strokes. John felt his body ease, and Rodney must have been watching his face, because he started to move. It didn't hurt any more, but John couldn't help wondering was that it? and feeling weirdly disappointed but then Rodney angled his thrust a little differently and John gasped. Jesus! That was good! That was great. This was fucking fantastic! He wrapped his legs around Rodney's waist and squeezed, pulling his body tighter towards John.
"Come on, again," he gasped, gulping air. "Come on. Jesus!" Rodney moved. "Yeah, just like that. Come on. Now! Again. Fuck me. Oh!"
Because Rodney was thrusting, hard, and again and again, shoving into him, desperate and intense, and it was…Jesus fucking Christ, it was good. It was fucking amazing, and if only he'd known that it could be this good he'd have-- And why hadn't anyone told him it could be this good, and, oh God, he actually wanted it and, Jesus, Rodney!
"You…said…'Rodney'," Rodney said as he lay panting beside John.
"Hmm?" He was sweaty and sore and aching and the parts that weren't felt like a quivering mass of jello. His whole body was tingling. He might never be able to move again.
"You called me, Rodney."
John turned his head cautiously to meet Rodney's eyes. They were looking at him thoughtfully but he was smiling at John in a way that warmed John right through all the way down to his toes. "Well, it is your name," he said reasonably.
"Yes, but-- You're supposed to call me, 'my lord'," Rodney explained.
John stretched luxuriously and stifled a yawn. Wow, but he was wiped. "Why?"
"Well, because-- Because…I don't know, really. I think it's meant to show respect."
"I respect you plenty," John said sleepily.
"Oh. I mean, you do?"
Rodney seemed so surprised and doubtful and pleased that John opened his eyes and smiled at Rodney muzzily. "Sure."
"Oh. Well, I guess it's okay if my consort calls me Rodney, although it's still probably not a good idea in public so maybe you could make sure that you don't--" John reached out and laid his hand blindly across Rodney's mouth. "Mmmmf."
"Sleep now."
"You're really bossy, you know that."
"Am not."
"Oh, well, I guess I'll let it go just this once." Rodney reached out and dimmed the fake-candle lights and put his arm around John's shoulder. John snuggled in sleepily. Who knew that Rodney of all people could be so wonderfully cuddly.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John snapped awake.
Shit!
Falling asleep had not been in the plan. Thank God that Rodney was still asleep and snoring softly. The guards must’ve changed shift by now, surely? He fumbled at his arm, and pressed the spot where Beckett had implanted the subcutaneous radio-transmitter. A few seconds later he received the affirmative response, two buzzes. They were on. Question was what to do about Rodney? John didn't want to knock him out, because having a concussion was a bitch. Which meant he'd have to improvise.
John slipped out of bed and winced. There was a dull ache in his lower back and he was a little raw. What the hell had been in that stuff Rodney had given him to drink?
He made his way to the dresser, navigating by the thin slivers of moonlight that came through the shutters. Fumbling in the drawer, he rummaged around quietly. This bit of material should do nicely and-- Oh yes. Grinning slightly, he knelt over an unsuspecting Rodney. John felt a moment's regret; Rodney was going to be badly pissed off and scared and despite the fact that it was for his own good and even after last night, John really didn't want to have to be the person who did this to him. He swiftly stuffed the first scarf into Rodney's mouth and used the second to secure the first by tying it around Rodney's head.
"Mmmm. Mmmfff. Mmmfff!"
John winced at the alarm in Rodney's wide blue eyes. "I'm sorry," he muttered as he rolled Rodney over and sat on him, pinning his arms to his body. Rodney's legs flailed and John recoiled as one of them kicked him on the back. Hastily, he tied Rodney's wrists with the blue T-shirt he'd found in the drawer and used the uniform pants around Rodney's ankles, ducking to avoid another kick.
"I won't hurt you, I promise, but you have to come with me."
He turned Rodney over gently, cringing at the fury that radiated from Rodney's stiff face beneath the gag. Better furious than scared, though. Leaving Rodney on the bed, John slipped into the bathroom, grabbing the pantaloons on the way. He washed quickly and slipped them on, coming back out with a washcloth.
"Mmmmnnn." Rodney shook his head emphatically.
"I'm sorry, Rodney. I'm just trying to get you cleaned up. I know you won't believe me, but you're one of us. These people kidnapped you and you've been brainwashed." Rodney's eyes sneered. "Yeah," John sighed. "I told you, you wouldn't believe me."
John's arm tingled and he padded to the door. "Teyla?" he whispered.
"Colonel."
"Just a second. I've just got to finish securing Rodney." John moved quickly back to the bed. "I'm going to untie your ankles so you can put the pants on. It's either that or go out naked," he warned in response to Rodney's murderous glare. "My people -- our people -- are outside and believe me, we're in control. Now, are you going to be good?"
Rodney bobbed his head sullenly and stood quietly while John put the pants on him, only flinching when John touched his stomach when fastening the waistband. John flinched too. He steered Rodney to the door and opened it a crack. Teyla and Ronon stood ready, dressed as servants. Behind them were a couple of palace guards, bribed as Pisen had promised.
"How are we…?" Ronon motioned to the large, lidded laundry basket against the wall. "Okay. Good one. Here you go, Rodney."
But Rodney was shaking his head, eyes wide with fear. "Nnnnnmm."
Shit. John exchanged an apprehensive glance with Teyla. Even gagged, Rodney was loud enough to wake the dead. Ronon placed his hand near Rodney's neck and squeezed. "Wait, wait," John said frantically.
"McKay will be fine. This is a well-known restraint technique on Sateda."
"What are you, Spock?" Four faces looked at John in complete incomprehension. He shook his head. "Never mind."
Ronon kept up a steady pressure, until Rodney's eyes flickered and his head lolled to the side. John looked at him doubtfully, but--
"I would not hurt McKay, Sheppard," and Ronon's eyes were so wide and earnest that John had to believe him. He and Ronon carefully folded Rodney into the basket and then Teyla -- "A concubine cannot be seen to be carrying such an item and you have gained a certain… notoriety as such, even in the short time we have been here." -- and Ronon hoisted it to their shoulders.
John walked in front, trying to imitate Oslon, right down to the sneer. His servants followed him bearing some of his possessions and the palace guards brought up the rear. Teyla hissed directions to John as they wended their way through the palace. John tensed as they neared the main door. It might be alarmed in some way, to let the palace inhabitants know that its prince was escaping. And if so, getting to the city walls with an unwilling Rodney was not going to be easy, no matter how many guards Pisen had managed to bribe. But the door opened smoothly, the guards bowing them out.
The ground was cold on John's feet -- who the hell had decided concubines should go without shoes anyway? -- but, thank God, the carriage was waiting. Rodney was taken out of the basket and Ronon lifted him into the carriage, handing him to John, who cradled him gingerly. None of this was Rodney's fault. Well, except for feeding John mind-altering drugs last night and even then you could argue that Rodney hadn't been in his right mind when he'd done it. Teyla and Ronon jumped inside the carriage and the guards leapt fore and aft.
It was all going remarkably smoothly, John thought, as they exited the palace gate. His shoulder-blades itched. Maybe too smoothly.
At that point they passed through the gate to the palace and it shrieked. Guards boiled antlike from the palace and--
"Drive!" Teyla yelled at the guard. The carriage engine whined as the guard poured on speed.
--ran towards them, weapons pointed. Several leapt onto two-wheeled bikes. Their engines thrummed into life. The bikes buzzed around the carriage, and weapons whined and flashed.
Ronon threw a knife out of the window.
"Try not to kill anyone," John called, shifting Rodney onto the seat and grabbing the knife that Teyla held out with a nod. Ronon sent him in incredulous look. John shrugged. The Carellians might be kidnappers but he figured that a people who were just trying to get a good ruler to run their city couldn’t be all bad.
What he wouldn't give to have a P90 to fire over their heads, though. Less chance of hurting them than using the knives and a much better chance of actually getting out of there.
The carriage lurched along the street. It rocked when one of the bike-riders leapt onto the door, clinging hard and fumbling with the door handle. Ronon smashed his hand into the guard's face and she fell and rolled into the street. There was another thump and then another. More bikers. The guard in front yelled and the carriage engine spluttered and died. The carriage began to coast to a halt.
"Everyone out!" John nodded to Ronon, who slung Rodney over his shoulder. Teyla took point and John their six -- he trusted her sense of direction. They had one guard left. John hoped that the other wasn't badly hurt. A couple of the bikers leapt at them, but were hampered by the need not to hurt their prince and were only using knives. John and Teyla and the guard slashed and hacked their way down the street but John didn't think they'd killed anyone. He hoped.
More and more guards surrounded them and it wasn't looking good. They were just too far outnumbered. He started looking around for an escape route and groaned when he saw Rodney's head lift and twitch. Crap! They hadn't gotten to the city gates yet. On the plus side, maybe if Rodney was conscious he might prevent the city guard from killing them. A guard almost skewered him and John dodged. His heart pounded and he inhaled shakily. That had been close.
Yet more guards erupted down the street. They were now surrounded and about to be cut off. Unless -- John looked up at the overhanging buildings -- they could go up. Could Ronon climb with Rodney and--
Oh thank you, God. Behind, there was gun fire.
To their credit, the city and palace guards held their ground, but -- not being idiots -- ran for cover.
"Are you all okay?" Lorne yelled from behind his P90. He was backed by his team and the mercenaries.
"We're fine," John called. "But I guess the party's over."
"Go, we'll cover you."
John nodded, waved to Teyla and Lorne and ran, his heart thumping in his ears. Somewhere they'd lost the other guard. Ahead of them were the gates. Okay, moment of truth.
"Mmmnnn!" Rodney writhed on Ronon's shoulder and John saw Ronon actually wince when a kick landed perilously close to his balls. Ronon grimaced and shifted Rodney slightly out of range and Jesus, how strong did Ronon have to be to carry Rodney -- who John had reason to know was no lightweight -- like that and be able to run. And fight. Ronon fended off one of the gate guards, who made a desperate jump to save his prince and then they were running through the gate and it was flashing and the sirens were wailing even louder and--
"Wonderful, you are here!" Pisen hopped from foot to foot enthusiastically.
"I don't know if you've noticed but we're a little busy here," John said, baring his teeth.
"Oh, yes, I'll just, um, get going then, shall I?"
John snagged Pisen's sleeve. "You'll make sure all the guards are okay?"
"Yes, yes, of course. They're all my people."
"Let's hope," John muttered.
A moment later and Pisen ran through the gate with a departing wave. It lit up like a firecracker and then the siren shut off abruptly, as if corked. And Pisen was being greeted with cries of, "Prince Pisen!" and "Come see, our Prince is home," and "Welcome back, my lord."
Pisen yelled to the city guard to stand down and do their jobs and guard him and, thank God, the guards pursuing them were slowing and then they halted and began to straggle back to the city. Well disciplined. John liked that in troops when they weren't trying to capture them.
Lorne and his team ran up -- all accounted for and unhurt, thank God -- and the mercenaries peeled off with a salute. They looked happy enough; maybe they'd already gotten paid.
John nodded at Ronon, who lowered Rodney to the ground. Rodney was quiet behind the gag but when his feet touched the floor he protested.
"Sorry, Rodney, not yet," John said and nodded to Ronon and Lorne; they grabbed Rodney's elbows and began to run, with Teyla on point and John and Lorne's team bringing up the rear. John could hear Rodney's continued muffled protests, but he wasn't about to risk taking the gag off. He wanted to get the hell out of Dodge and well out of earshot of Carel before removing it. Just in case it hadn't worked and Rodney still thought he was a prince.
They didn't stop until the city was a distant speck. John called a halt and turned to Rodney with trepidation. His face was scarlet behind the gag and John was worried about whether or not he could breathe. "Rodney, I'm going to take the gag off and we'll get you some water, okay?"
Ronon untied Rodney's wrists and undid the gag. John watched, holding his breath. Rodney spluttered and bent over, resting his hands on his knees, heaving in air. Lorne handed him a canteen and Rodney drank and spat and drank again. "Did you have to gag me?" he said to John, glaring from bright blue eyes.
"I didn't think you'd come quietly. Sorry." John shrugged his shoulders.
"Not then," Rodney snapped. "But you could have taken it out once we were outside Carel. God knows how much fabric I've inhaled and those threads could be carcinogenic and I doubt that my lungs will ever be the same again."
"Rodney!" John grinned, unexpectedly elated. "It is you."
"Well of course it is, Colonel. Who did you think you were rescuing? Bart Jan Bok?"
Who? "I meant, you've got your memories back," John explained.
"Well of course I have. That was the whole point of this little charade wasn't it? The kidnapping, the infiltration of the palace, the--" Rodney froze for a second, staring at John. "I-- I-- God knows how much of a mess those idiots have made while I've been away. Zelenka's halfway competent, true, but he doesn't know anywhere near as much as I do about Atlantis' systems and-- Well," Rodney snapped, "what are you all waiting for? You need to get me back to Atlantis, stat." And he turned and marched off down the road.
John looked after him for a second, then shrugged and followed. Lorne came up beside him. "Why did we want him back again?" Lorne said quietly, tugging at his tunic. John grimaced and folded his arms. The wind was a little chilly on his bare chest.
Despite Rodney's protests about wasting time, they stopped off at the house where Lorne's team had been holed up to collect their gear. And change clothes. John stripped off the pantaloons and scrubbed the kohl from around his eyes. He stared at the earring in his palm. It looked like a large, black pearl set in silver. After a moment's hesitation he slipped it into his pants pocket. God, but it was great to be back in uniform.
Downstairs he found Ronon, together with Lorne who was drinking from a large cup. And -- Christ -- it was the same stuff that Rodney had given to John last night.
"Should you be drinking that?"
Lorne looked up, eyebrows raised. "There's no alcohol in it."
Oh. "Yeah, but what about side-effects?"
Lorne shrugged. "I haven't noticed any."
Oh. "Well, yeah, but… Maybe just not yet?"
"I've been drinking it for a couple of days now and haven't noticed anything. Everyone drinks it, you know, including the kids. I think it's pretty safe. Tastes good too. Want some?" He tipped the cup towards John.
John smiled weakly. He could still remember the thick, sweet taste of it last night, just before Rodney had-- Rodney had-- "Thanks, but I think I'll pass." He groped for a chair and sank into it shakily.
“Are you okay, sir?” Lorne asked, cocking his head to one side. “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’re looking a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” John said, checking his vest with trembling fingers and carefully avoiding looking at Lorne.
"Yes, yes," Rodney was saying to Teyla was they clattered down the stairs together, both in uniform. "I really do appreciate that but--" He stopped abruptly when he saw John and looked away. John's throat tightened. "Are we ready to go yet?"
John swallowed. There was a horrible, tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. "We are. Let's go home."
~~~~~~~~
END PART ONE
PART TWO