“John Sheppard's Naked and Almost Naked Month” (1/1)
Title: “John Sheppard's Naked and Almost Naked Month”
Author: Kristen999
Rating: PG
Categories: Gen/Humor
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Keller
Summary: The three and a half times, John looses his clothes in a four week period.
Word count: 3800
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me. No profit intended
Notes: Written for my good friend rednz for her birthday! Here be pantless Sheppard and humor!
Thank you to my F-list who gave me a ton of great suggestions, most of which made it in here!
Awesome shout out to everybetty for the beta.
------------------
Teyla keeps one hand on John's shoulder, the other uses the slate stone wall of the cave as a guide. They've been lost inside the underground cavern for hours, the pitch blackness swallowing their world.
“I don't think we have much further,” the colonel says.
She's glad he can't see her amused expression; after dinner time it won't be funny anymore. “Of course. I trust you know where you're going.”
The muscles under her fingertips bunch up in response. Something inside the cave blocks out communications, what geological structure hasn't on their missions? Their P-90s are outside with the rest of their team, no doubt enjoying the sunshine.
“For once I'd like to trade with people who don't insist we demonstrate our worthiness,” John huffs.
“We must follow other people's customs if we wish to make allies. It is just the ways of many worlds. Much like your handshakes.”
“Handshakes don't involve getting lost in big, scary caves.”
“Are we lost?”
John grumbles under his breath, making a hasty choice to move faster, only to lose his footing on the uneven ground. Teyla blindly grabs for him, snagging his belt, but unable keep him from falling over. They become a tangle of limbs on the floor after she loses her balance.
“You okay?” she breathes.
“Um, yeah. You?”
“I am fine.”
“Good, good.” John clears his throat. “You uh... mind?”
Teyla uncurls her hands from around his hips and gets up from laying on top of him.
If she were any other woman, Teyla would be a tad offended by how quickly he scrambles away, almost tripping again in his effort.
The darkness once again masks her amusement. Rodney often accuses John of “Kirking” but she doesn't think they have anything in common. The colonel's hair would so kick that Captain's toupee.
“I think I see an exit ahead,” he says.
There are streams of light coming down the tunnel; maybe they've found a way that leads to the outside. The closer they get, the easier it is to see the path ahead. “What is that odd noise?” Teyla asks.
There's a fluttering sound, flapping of fabric or rustling of leaves.
“Whatever it is; its getting louder,” John warns.
They plunge ahead, having little choice in the matter. Teyla pulls out a knife, John his Glock, clicking off the safety. The flapping multiples, reminding her of birds taking to the sky.
The source of the light is high in the rocky ceiling, casting shadows and a flurry of movement ahead.
“I'm getting a bad feeling about this,” he whispers.
Teyla moves closer to John's side, steeling herself for whatever beast or danger. “I think I see an opening several meters past the light.”
The walls around them quiver as if alive and it dawns on her that they are teeming with thousands of insects. “We should move quickly,” she says, ushering John faster.
What is it with these type of things and the colonel? Teyla wonders.
Swarms of them gather around him, thousands of wings swishing in the air. John's arms are a blur of motion, batting them away. Her eyes adjust to the light and Teyla recognizes the multi-colored markings and tiny spots adorning the bodies.
“They're Zedi Moths!” she yells.
They fly near her, but are enthralled with John creating a thick cloud around him. “They're eating my clothes!”
“What?”
It takes a second to register; the moths swirling in a frenzy and the more of John she catches, the more skin she sees.
“Some help, please?”
“We should run. I think they are attracted to the cotton in your shirt and pants”
John is a running blur of moths; they've replaced his clothes with their twittering wings. “Oh, goody!”
The exit to the cave looms ahead, fresh daylight paving the way out. By the time they reach fresh air, the moths have finished dining on most of the colonel's clothes. John stands there with a spattering of black T-shirt around the collar and the hems of his sleeves. He's bare-chested, his dog-tags clinking together with his harsh breathing.
A circle of thread still exists around his waist, accenting the dark hair down his navel. His belt remains around the pant loops by sheer force of will, and Teyla forces her eyes ahead. It's difficult not to crack up at the sight of him pantsless; the thinner cotton of his boxers had obviously made a tasty treat.
Normally John is the stoic type, but his cheeks are tinged pink, hands covering his manhood modestly. She wets her lips to speak, thinking of a way to get him covered but it's impossible not to giggle at him standing around in his boots and nothing else.
“Not a word,” he growls.
The dam breaks and Teyla bursts out in laughter. “I'm so sorry, John,” she says catching her breath.
He looks down at his legs, assessing the damage. “They even ate my socks.”
“We'll get you a new pair.”
“Why didn't they find you as appetizing?” John sulks, pointing at her unaffected outfit.
“This is made from the methis silk of my world; I guess they were not interested.”
They stand there in silence; the walk back to the settlement a ways off if this is the opposite side of where they’d entered. “We should get going.”
John straightens his shoulders. “You lead the way.”
“Sure, I promise not to look.”
“I'm so never going to live this down.”
Teyla does not think he will, wondering if Rodney still packs his camera. “Look at it this way, Colonel. You can even out your tan now.”
---------------
Rodney carves out trenches in the floor with his pacing, his hands ache from all the wringing they've done. “He should have been back by now.”
Ronon leans against a wall instead of sitting, twirling his blaster like a damn cowboy in some saloon. “Sheppard can take care of himself. These people are pansies.”
“The Gushki are peaceful. They spend most of their lives seeking out harmony and communion with others,” Teyla points out patiently “They would not harm the colonel.”
“Of course, modern-day hippies, forgot to look for the make love not war signs,” Rodney grouches. “I'm sure Sheppard's been brought to their harem to be molested, not that he'd mind.”
“Just because we are not used to societies that are so,…” Teyla pauses to consider her words. “Free-minded about their feelings, does not mean they should be ridiculed.”
Arguing with Teyla is pointless, her arguments found in fortune cookies and books on Taoism. Rodney doesn't feel up to acts of machismo and holds his tongue, a momentous show of restrain. He should have known by the temples and frolicking about that this was a land of lovie-dovies. The robes the people wear leave very little to the imagination, the sheer fabric outlining everyone's attributes. The clothes are white, though he doubts innocence or chastity has anything to do with the choice of color.
“As long as Pryha doesn't stand too close to me; the guy must bathe in perfume. I'm not sure my allergies can stand breathing anywhere near him.”
“Maybe you should sit down,” Teyla suggests.
“Oh no, if I lay down on one of these sofas, I'll never get up again. They're so damn comfortable,” Rodney says, pressing his hands into the velvety plushness.
“I'm sure they've had a lot of use,” Ronon jokes.
Rodney quickly wipes his hands on his BDUs. “Oh, God.”
He’s searching for one of the antiseptic wipes he keeps in his tac vest when Colonel Sheppard steps through the red curtains that make up the doors of this place.
“Hey, Rodney,” Sheppard says, clapping his back. “I missed you.”
Teyla narrows her eyes and Ronon takes two steps to stand next to Sheppard and the Gushki that leads him here.
“Missed me?” Rodney echoes, stepping away to watch Sheppard sway drunkenly.
“Yeah, I missed all of ya.”
Rodney pushes Sheppard's touchy hands away. “What did you do to him!”
Pryha, the lead priest, beams brightly. “We discussed trade and toasted our agreement with our ceremonial tea.”
Rodney sends a glare at the Gushki that would make all his flunkies scatter in terror. “Tea? What tea? Was it drugged?”
Arguing with a guy who looks like the Dalai Lama gets him nowhere because Sheppard takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around Teyla. “Did I tell you that you look absolutely amazing today?”
“No you didn't, but thank you.”
Sheppard hangs on to Teyla, petting her long locks of golden hair. “Very soft, I really should borrow what you use to make it so silky.”
“If you wish, Colonel,” she says smiling.
“Oh, please, stop that. You're only encouraging him,” Rodney snaps.
Ronon grabs Pryha by his bare shoulder, his robe slinking off the other one. “When will it wear off?”
“In a few hours; it's an honor to drink the tea made of the shokuo berry,” the bald man intones as he bows.
Sheppard takes that moment to flop down on one of the sofas, knocking down a stack of fluffy pillows. “You guys are soooo serious. We should chill out.”
Rodney rubs at his temple, looking at the rest of them. “We should go home before our Team Leader begins toking on the nearest bong.”
Before he can chastise the stupid priest/drug dealer about their rules against poisoning, Sheppard yanks his T-shirt out of his BDUs and pulls it over his head.
“Oh, jeesh, put that back on!” Rodney shouts. “No one wants to see your manly physique.”
“It's hot in here,” Sheppard says, fanning himself.
Rodney glares at Teyla. “What are we going to do now?”
“There is no need for hysterics, Rodney. We shall wait until the tea wears off. I'm sure the colonel would not like to return to Atlantis in this state for everyone to see,” she replies knowingly.
He hates it when she's right. “What if it's dangerous?”
“I assure you, it is not,” Pryha insists.
“Forgive me if I don't believe you,” he responds.
“You are forgiven, great McKay,” the priest says.
Rodney slaps his head.
“I think everyone should be happy,” Sheppard smiles, except he's staring fondly at Teyla. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?”
“Yes, you did, Colonel.”
“Good,” Sheppard grins, laying back against the softness. “Because I love you.”
Rodney thinks his head is going to explode.
“I love you too, John,” Teyla says soothingly.
Ronon is back against the wall, face amused.
“That's good,” Sheppard sing-songs.
“Oh, please,” Rodney snips.
Teyla gives him an evil eye, but there's no time for that because Sheppard is unfastening his belt. For a man who is so doped up, it's amazing how quickly he slips out of his BDUs.
“No, no, no! I am so blinded.”
Sheppard's stands up, toeing away his pants, since they’d all had to remove their boots earlier before entering the holy temple. Ronon gawks, at a loss for words, giving Sheppard time to remove his boxers and flashing them. The Satedan quickly recovers, grabbing his CO by the shoulders and manhandling him back to the sofa.
“McKay, grab one of the curtains!”
It takes a moment to recover from the shock and indignity of witnessing the full Monty and having it permanently scarred on his retinas before Rodney responds. “Yeah, yeah.”
He strips away the thick curtain and gives it to Ronon, holding a hand in front of his eyes. “Here.”
“I love you, Ronon.”
His bigger teammate covers Sheppard. “Yeah, me too.”
Teyla is next to Rodney, hand on his shoulder. “You need to calm down.”
“Are you kidding me!”
“Why is Rodney mad?”
“He's not,” Ronon tells the colonel
“Sounds like it. Rodney please don't be upset,” Sheppard asks.
Teyla is getting that really pissed off expression that can only mean weeks of Hell.
“What?” Rodney hisses.
“He is drugged, you should reassure him,” she tells him.
“I will not!”
“McKay,” Ronon growls.
“Fine!” Rodney yells, walking over. He peers down at his friend, draped in red velvet. “I enjoy your company,” he tells him.
“Me too,” Sheppard says, waving his hand.
Rodney waves back to the colonel's delight.
----------------
Jennifer does not go off-world very often and she prefers it that way. Too many spears and guns, monsters and the evil cousins to perfectly sweet animals back on Earth. She'll never forget treating Ronon for bites left by a fluffy white killer bunny. Today the trip through the looking glass has her making a house call, thanks in part to another odd custom or ritual she doesn't try to understand.
On PMX-721 the civilization is more modern than most worlds. Physicians are viewed as medical professionals and not witches, except the relationship with their patient is a bit more personal.
“Here is Colonel's Sheppard's doctor,” Teyla says. “Dr. Keller this is Terrick, he is overseer of his town.”
“You will decontaminate him and stay until the recommended time is over?” Terrick asks, getting to business.
“Um…yes?” Jennifer glances at Teyla who nods that this is the best course.
“Then good health to your patient,” Terrick declares. “My people will explain the treatment procedures.”
Jennifer is briefed about the protocols and enters the shower facility knowing she's about to experience a few women's dreams back on Atlantis. John Sheppard paces back and forth outside one of the stalls without a single article of clothing on.
She clears her throat to announce her presence.
Sheppard gets very wide-eyed, his face glows a few shades of red and he searches the giant metal box they're locked inside to duck behind something. The problem is this is nothing but wide open space with a bench to sit on in the corner and shower heads that line the far wall.
“So, this is because of mold?” Jennifer asks, breaking the ice.
“I was scouting out a cave, got a little dirty and realized I had a few holes in my BDUs. Next thing I know, I'm told to strip, enter something out of the Andromeda Strain and wait for my caregiver,” he says the last word with air quotes.
“Well, here I am.” Jennifer says cheerily.
“And you have to....well… you know…” Sheppard scratches the back of his neck.
“Bathe you,” she finishes for him. Oh yeah, her nurses are going to want notes.
The colonel doesn't know what to do with his hands so he crosses his arms in discomfort, biting his bottom lip. “I can stand under a shower without assistance.”
Jennifer is a professional, having seen men out of their uniforms before and even the colonel in various states of undress. It's the job, part of which is maintaining her patient's dignity as a doctor, but this is a little weird. She averts her eyes, staring at the tile floor instead.
Wow, the colonel has very nice feet.
“I've been told we will be under observation to ensure the decontamination is done properly,” she says. “This involves spraying you down with two types of chemicals and then a thorough rinsing.” Damn its hard to maintain a straight face.
Sheppard has a stricken expression of horror; it's cute that the tips of his ears blush pink, too.
“Okay, I'll put my shower cap on,” Jennifer says, because as his caregiver, she has to keep her skin protected.
“Because that's fair,” he points at her outfit.
It is very ironic that she's wearing thin a rubber jumpsuit made of material much like those awful yellow rain jackets. She even has matching boots and latex gloves. Jennifer tucks her hair under a plastic cap and approaches her skittish patient. Sheppard no longer looks her in the eye, trying for the casual 'this doesn't bother me posture.'
“We'll go under the first shower stall,” she indicates ahead.
“Could be worse; this could be prison.”
Jennifer laughs, grabbing the nozzle and dousing him with an orange chemical.
“Oh, my god, that's cold!” Sheppard yelps.
“Please try to stay still,” she orders.
Trying to hose down a guy who won't stop squirming and shrinking under the spray is difficult. “You're dancing around like you have ants in your pants.”
“That's kind of hard when I'm not wearin' any,” he huffs.
“Okay , time for the second one and um...this time, I'm supposed to scrub your skin with foam.”
Sheppard's no longer awkward about his nudity, instead trying to intimidate her by stepping closer. Water drips down his body, the orange beads over his skin are more of a distraction than his attempt to gain control.
“You know you're not as tall with your hair all wet,” Jennifer tells him.
He stomps over to the next stall, his feet making squishing noises and she gets a nice long look at his firm back side. She's never noticed how broad his shoulders are or how all that running has toned every lean muscle. It's her turn for rosy cheeks, but thank goodness the colonel is too busy pouting to notice.
The next five minutes she goes over the nerve bundles in the spinal cord to keep her mind focused on boring, cold facts. Its a difficult task to do when the military commander of Atlantis is covered head to toe in purple froth.
“I look like a damn grape marshmallow,” he grumbles.
Jennifer scours his skin with a long handled brush to keep from laughing out loud.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, you're hairy,” she defends, after pulling a few out with the bristles.
Now they're both blushing.
The last cycle to this ordeal is almost over; the colonel stands under a gush of warm water, ridding him of any remnants of chemicals. She walks him over towards a box and pulls out something to dry with.
“I had towels here the entire time?” He rolls his eyes as he wraps some fabric around his waist.
“You were not allowed to contaminate them beforehand.”
Sheppard finishes toweling off, his hair a spiky mess that's simply adorable. He takes a seat on the bench while she disposes of her gloves and cap.
She sits at the very far end of the bench, tapping her fingers nervously over it. They still have to spend twelve hours together and it’s hard not to stare at her now only half-naked teammate.
“So, now what do we now?” he asks, droplets of water leaving trails down the planes of his chest.
“As your caregiver, we're supposed to have sex.”
It's amazing how fast Sheppard loses the ability to speak.
“Actually, I'm not kidding. That's how things work here, but I got permission to skip that part of the doctor-patient relationship,” Jennifer smiles.
“Oh....that's good. Um.. have a deck of cards?”
It was going to be a long night.
------------------
John hates swamps; they are humid, filled with marshlands of gunk and he always, always comes back filthy. This time is no different, mucking his way through a trail that is nothing but knee deep mud. His uniform top and undershirt feel glued to his skin, his BDUs are soaked with water seeping into any empty space.
“I don't see why Yoda liked living on Dagobah.”
“The little green guy?” Ronon asks behind him.
“Yeah, lived in a tree or something,” John says, taking a step and sinking even deeper. “Oh, good grief.”
Ronon snickers, which is a very odd thing for the big guy and a sound John would rather not have directed at him.
“Very funny.”
“You should watch where you're going.”
John wiggles a few inches, but he knows he's stuck and probably should have avoided the suspicious looking ground ahead. “Next time, you'll take point.”
Ronon studies the tree limbs above. “I was, you were being too slow.”
The sludge is up to John's waist, layers of silt, mud and heavy water. He longs for a nice hot shower and the fuzzy feeling of a beer on an empty stomach. At least this isn't quicksand because that would be a very bad thing.
He's about to suggest a rope if they had one, when John feels something brush up against his leg. “Whoa.”
“What?” Ronon's eyes dart around for hidden danger.
The 'something' slithers across his thigh and damn, that's really, really, not cool. “There it is again!”
Ronon points his blaster at the muddy water in front of John. “Tell me where to fire.”
“No! Wait. Watch where you point that thing,” John warns, more worried about not having children later in life.
This time, whatever is in the marsh with him is slinking around his boots. John lifts his left one to stomp on the mystery creature, but the thing takes the opportunity to slip up his pant leg. “No freaking way!”
Ronon's pacing up and down in front of the gunk, looking for all the world like he's going to jump in.
John's busy trying not to panic while a coiled mass slowly envelops his leg and begins to tighten. “Pull me out!”
Ronon attacks the tree, breaking off one of the thick branches, and shoves the thing at him. “Grab on to this!”
John doesn't have to be told twice, wrapping his hands around the lifeline, Ronon tugging with all his might. The mud fights back, slurping to keep him; however, it's no match for Ronon's brute strength.
John pops out, his forward momentum sending him flying on top of Ronon in a heap. With the wind knocked out of him, John still thrashes about, scrambling onto the tree roots to inspect his leg.
“Damn thing's latched itself around me,” he pants.
There's no time to protest anything, Ronon's knife slices along the seam of his left leg, splitting the fabric.
“Why did you do that?!”
“How else was it coming off? Want me to leave it there?”
“No!”
There's a brown and green snake coiled around his calf, inching its way up higher. A pair of beady eyes stares at him, while a tiny dark tongue darts in and out of its mouth.
“Kind of cool looking,” Ronon admires.
With a glint of metal, Ronon chops off the head and the snake slumps away, releasing its hold on his leg. John rests his head against the tree trunk, sighing. “That was my forth pair of BDUs this month.”
“Yeah, you keep losing them,” Ronon snorts. He holds up the water snake; the reptile swings from his hand and is longer than John's whole body. “Looks like we have dinner.”
“I'll take an MRE, thanks. Let's go, this mission is scrapped,” John says standing.
“What are you going to tell Carter this time?”
John looks down on himself, one pant leg almost gone, the other ruined. “That at least I still have my shirt.”
Author: Kristen999
Rating: PG
Categories: Gen/Humor
Characters: Sheppard, McKay, Ronon, Teyla, Keller
Summary: The three and a half times, John looses his clothes in a four week period.
Word count: 3800
Disclaimer: None of them belong to me. No profit intended
Notes: Written for my good friend rednz for her birthday! Here be pantless Sheppard and humor!
Thank you to my F-list who gave me a ton of great suggestions, most of which made it in here!
Awesome shout out to everybetty for the beta.
------------------
Teyla keeps one hand on John's shoulder, the other uses the slate stone wall of the cave as a guide. They've been lost inside the underground cavern for hours, the pitch blackness swallowing their world.
“I don't think we have much further,” the colonel says.
She's glad he can't see her amused expression; after dinner time it won't be funny anymore. “Of course. I trust you know where you're going.”
The muscles under her fingertips bunch up in response. Something inside the cave blocks out communications, what geological structure hasn't on their missions? Their P-90s are outside with the rest of their team, no doubt enjoying the sunshine.
“For once I'd like to trade with people who don't insist we demonstrate our worthiness,” John huffs.
“We must follow other people's customs if we wish to make allies. It is just the ways of many worlds. Much like your handshakes.”
“Handshakes don't involve getting lost in big, scary caves.”
“Are we lost?”
John grumbles under his breath, making a hasty choice to move faster, only to lose his footing on the uneven ground. Teyla blindly grabs for him, snagging his belt, but unable keep him from falling over. They become a tangle of limbs on the floor after she loses her balance.
“You okay?” she breathes.
“Um, yeah. You?”
“I am fine.”
“Good, good.” John clears his throat. “You uh... mind?”
Teyla uncurls her hands from around his hips and gets up from laying on top of him.
If she were any other woman, Teyla would be a tad offended by how quickly he scrambles away, almost tripping again in his effort.
The darkness once again masks her amusement. Rodney often accuses John of “Kirking” but she doesn't think they have anything in common. The colonel's hair would so kick that Captain's toupee.
“I think I see an exit ahead,” he says.
There are streams of light coming down the tunnel; maybe they've found a way that leads to the outside. The closer they get, the easier it is to see the path ahead. “What is that odd noise?” Teyla asks.
There's a fluttering sound, flapping of fabric or rustling of leaves.
“Whatever it is; its getting louder,” John warns.
They plunge ahead, having little choice in the matter. Teyla pulls out a knife, John his Glock, clicking off the safety. The flapping multiples, reminding her of birds taking to the sky.
The source of the light is high in the rocky ceiling, casting shadows and a flurry of movement ahead.
“I'm getting a bad feeling about this,” he whispers.
Teyla moves closer to John's side, steeling herself for whatever beast or danger. “I think I see an opening several meters past the light.”
The walls around them quiver as if alive and it dawns on her that they are teeming with thousands of insects. “We should move quickly,” she says, ushering John faster.
What is it with these type of things and the colonel? Teyla wonders.
Swarms of them gather around him, thousands of wings swishing in the air. John's arms are a blur of motion, batting them away. Her eyes adjust to the light and Teyla recognizes the multi-colored markings and tiny spots adorning the bodies.
“They're Zedi Moths!” she yells.
They fly near her, but are enthralled with John creating a thick cloud around him. “They're eating my clothes!”
“What?”
It takes a second to register; the moths swirling in a frenzy and the more of John she catches, the more skin she sees.
“Some help, please?”
“We should run. I think they are attracted to the cotton in your shirt and pants”
John is a running blur of moths; they've replaced his clothes with their twittering wings. “Oh, goody!”
The exit to the cave looms ahead, fresh daylight paving the way out. By the time they reach fresh air, the moths have finished dining on most of the colonel's clothes. John stands there with a spattering of black T-shirt around the collar and the hems of his sleeves. He's bare-chested, his dog-tags clinking together with his harsh breathing.
A circle of thread still exists around his waist, accenting the dark hair down his navel. His belt remains around the pant loops by sheer force of will, and Teyla forces her eyes ahead. It's difficult not to crack up at the sight of him pantsless; the thinner cotton of his boxers had obviously made a tasty treat.
Normally John is the stoic type, but his cheeks are tinged pink, hands covering his manhood modestly. She wets her lips to speak, thinking of a way to get him covered but it's impossible not to giggle at him standing around in his boots and nothing else.
“Not a word,” he growls.
The dam breaks and Teyla bursts out in laughter. “I'm so sorry, John,” she says catching her breath.
He looks down at his legs, assessing the damage. “They even ate my socks.”
“We'll get you a new pair.”
“Why didn't they find you as appetizing?” John sulks, pointing at her unaffected outfit.
“This is made from the methis silk of my world; I guess they were not interested.”
They stand there in silence; the walk back to the settlement a ways off if this is the opposite side of where they’d entered. “We should get going.”
John straightens his shoulders. “You lead the way.”
“Sure, I promise not to look.”
“I'm so never going to live this down.”
Teyla does not think he will, wondering if Rodney still packs his camera. “Look at it this way, Colonel. You can even out your tan now.”
---------------
Rodney carves out trenches in the floor with his pacing, his hands ache from all the wringing they've done. “He should have been back by now.”
Ronon leans against a wall instead of sitting, twirling his blaster like a damn cowboy in some saloon. “Sheppard can take care of himself. These people are pansies.”
“The Gushki are peaceful. They spend most of their lives seeking out harmony and communion with others,” Teyla points out patiently “They would not harm the colonel.”
“Of course, modern-day hippies, forgot to look for the make love not war signs,” Rodney grouches. “I'm sure Sheppard's been brought to their harem to be molested, not that he'd mind.”
“Just because we are not used to societies that are so,…” Teyla pauses to consider her words. “Free-minded about their feelings, does not mean they should be ridiculed.”
Arguing with Teyla is pointless, her arguments found in fortune cookies and books on Taoism. Rodney doesn't feel up to acts of machismo and holds his tongue, a momentous show of restrain. He should have known by the temples and frolicking about that this was a land of lovie-dovies. The robes the people wear leave very little to the imagination, the sheer fabric outlining everyone's attributes. The clothes are white, though he doubts innocence or chastity has anything to do with the choice of color.
“As long as Pryha doesn't stand too close to me; the guy must bathe in perfume. I'm not sure my allergies can stand breathing anywhere near him.”
“Maybe you should sit down,” Teyla suggests.
“Oh no, if I lay down on one of these sofas, I'll never get up again. They're so damn comfortable,” Rodney says, pressing his hands into the velvety plushness.
“I'm sure they've had a lot of use,” Ronon jokes.
Rodney quickly wipes his hands on his BDUs. “Oh, God.”
He’s searching for one of the antiseptic wipes he keeps in his tac vest when Colonel Sheppard steps through the red curtains that make up the doors of this place.
“Hey, Rodney,” Sheppard says, clapping his back. “I missed you.”
Teyla narrows her eyes and Ronon takes two steps to stand next to Sheppard and the Gushki that leads him here.
“Missed me?” Rodney echoes, stepping away to watch Sheppard sway drunkenly.
“Yeah, I missed all of ya.”
Rodney pushes Sheppard's touchy hands away. “What did you do to him!”
Pryha, the lead priest, beams brightly. “We discussed trade and toasted our agreement with our ceremonial tea.”
Rodney sends a glare at the Gushki that would make all his flunkies scatter in terror. “Tea? What tea? Was it drugged?”
Arguing with a guy who looks like the Dalai Lama gets him nowhere because Sheppard takes the opportunity to wrap his arm around Teyla. “Did I tell you that you look absolutely amazing today?”
“No you didn't, but thank you.”
Sheppard hangs on to Teyla, petting her long locks of golden hair. “Very soft, I really should borrow what you use to make it so silky.”
“If you wish, Colonel,” she says smiling.
“Oh, please, stop that. You're only encouraging him,” Rodney snaps.
Ronon grabs Pryha by his bare shoulder, his robe slinking off the other one. “When will it wear off?”
“In a few hours; it's an honor to drink the tea made of the shokuo berry,” the bald man intones as he bows.
Sheppard takes that moment to flop down on one of the sofas, knocking down a stack of fluffy pillows. “You guys are soooo serious. We should chill out.”
Rodney rubs at his temple, looking at the rest of them. “We should go home before our Team Leader begins toking on the nearest bong.”
Before he can chastise the stupid priest/drug dealer about their rules against poisoning, Sheppard yanks his T-shirt out of his BDUs and pulls it over his head.
“Oh, jeesh, put that back on!” Rodney shouts. “No one wants to see your manly physique.”
“It's hot in here,” Sheppard says, fanning himself.
Rodney glares at Teyla. “What are we going to do now?”
“There is no need for hysterics, Rodney. We shall wait until the tea wears off. I'm sure the colonel would not like to return to Atlantis in this state for everyone to see,” she replies knowingly.
He hates it when she's right. “What if it's dangerous?”
“I assure you, it is not,” Pryha insists.
“Forgive me if I don't believe you,” he responds.
“You are forgiven, great McKay,” the priest says.
Rodney slaps his head.
“I think everyone should be happy,” Sheppard smiles, except he's staring fondly at Teyla. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look today?”
“Yes, you did, Colonel.”
“Good,” Sheppard grins, laying back against the softness. “Because I love you.”
Rodney thinks his head is going to explode.
“I love you too, John,” Teyla says soothingly.
Ronon is back against the wall, face amused.
“That's good,” Sheppard sing-songs.
“Oh, please,” Rodney snips.
Teyla gives him an evil eye, but there's no time for that because Sheppard is unfastening his belt. For a man who is so doped up, it's amazing how quickly he slips out of his BDUs.
“No, no, no! I am so blinded.”
Sheppard's stands up, toeing away his pants, since they’d all had to remove their boots earlier before entering the holy temple. Ronon gawks, at a loss for words, giving Sheppard time to remove his boxers and flashing them. The Satedan quickly recovers, grabbing his CO by the shoulders and manhandling him back to the sofa.
“McKay, grab one of the curtains!”
It takes a moment to recover from the shock and indignity of witnessing the full Monty and having it permanently scarred on his retinas before Rodney responds. “Yeah, yeah.”
He strips away the thick curtain and gives it to Ronon, holding a hand in front of his eyes. “Here.”
“I love you, Ronon.”
His bigger teammate covers Sheppard. “Yeah, me too.”
Teyla is next to Rodney, hand on his shoulder. “You need to calm down.”
“Are you kidding me!”
“Why is Rodney mad?”
“He's not,” Ronon tells the colonel
“Sounds like it. Rodney please don't be upset,” Sheppard asks.
Teyla is getting that really pissed off expression that can only mean weeks of Hell.
“What?” Rodney hisses.
“He is drugged, you should reassure him,” she tells him.
“I will not!”
“McKay,” Ronon growls.
“Fine!” Rodney yells, walking over. He peers down at his friend, draped in red velvet. “I enjoy your company,” he tells him.
“Me too,” Sheppard says, waving his hand.
Rodney waves back to the colonel's delight.
----------------
Jennifer does not go off-world very often and she prefers it that way. Too many spears and guns, monsters and the evil cousins to perfectly sweet animals back on Earth. She'll never forget treating Ronon for bites left by a fluffy white killer bunny. Today the trip through the looking glass has her making a house call, thanks in part to another odd custom or ritual she doesn't try to understand.
On PMX-721 the civilization is more modern than most worlds. Physicians are viewed as medical professionals and not witches, except the relationship with their patient is a bit more personal.
“Here is Colonel's Sheppard's doctor,” Teyla says. “Dr. Keller this is Terrick, he is overseer of his town.”
“You will decontaminate him and stay until the recommended time is over?” Terrick asks, getting to business.
“Um…yes?” Jennifer glances at Teyla who nods that this is the best course.
“Then good health to your patient,” Terrick declares. “My people will explain the treatment procedures.”
Jennifer is briefed about the protocols and enters the shower facility knowing she's about to experience a few women's dreams back on Atlantis. John Sheppard paces back and forth outside one of the stalls without a single article of clothing on.
She clears her throat to announce her presence.
Sheppard gets very wide-eyed, his face glows a few shades of red and he searches the giant metal box they're locked inside to duck behind something. The problem is this is nothing but wide open space with a bench to sit on in the corner and shower heads that line the far wall.
“So, this is because of mold?” Jennifer asks, breaking the ice.
“I was scouting out a cave, got a little dirty and realized I had a few holes in my BDUs. Next thing I know, I'm told to strip, enter something out of the Andromeda Strain and wait for my caregiver,” he says the last word with air quotes.
“Well, here I am.” Jennifer says cheerily.
“And you have to....well… you know…” Sheppard scratches the back of his neck.
“Bathe you,” she finishes for him. Oh yeah, her nurses are going to want notes.
The colonel doesn't know what to do with his hands so he crosses his arms in discomfort, biting his bottom lip. “I can stand under a shower without assistance.”
Jennifer is a professional, having seen men out of their uniforms before and even the colonel in various states of undress. It's the job, part of which is maintaining her patient's dignity as a doctor, but this is a little weird. She averts her eyes, staring at the tile floor instead.
Wow, the colonel has very nice feet.
“I've been told we will be under observation to ensure the decontamination is done properly,” she says. “This involves spraying you down with two types of chemicals and then a thorough rinsing.” Damn its hard to maintain a straight face.
Sheppard has a stricken expression of horror; it's cute that the tips of his ears blush pink, too.
“Okay, I'll put my shower cap on,” Jennifer says, because as his caregiver, she has to keep her skin protected.
“Because that's fair,” he points at her outfit.
It is very ironic that she's wearing thin a rubber jumpsuit made of material much like those awful yellow rain jackets. She even has matching boots and latex gloves. Jennifer tucks her hair under a plastic cap and approaches her skittish patient. Sheppard no longer looks her in the eye, trying for the casual 'this doesn't bother me posture.'
“We'll go under the first shower stall,” she indicates ahead.
“Could be worse; this could be prison.”
Jennifer laughs, grabbing the nozzle and dousing him with an orange chemical.
“Oh, my god, that's cold!” Sheppard yelps.
“Please try to stay still,” she orders.
Trying to hose down a guy who won't stop squirming and shrinking under the spray is difficult. “You're dancing around like you have ants in your pants.”
“That's kind of hard when I'm not wearin' any,” he huffs.
“Okay , time for the second one and um...this time, I'm supposed to scrub your skin with foam.”
Sheppard's no longer awkward about his nudity, instead trying to intimidate her by stepping closer. Water drips down his body, the orange beads over his skin are more of a distraction than his attempt to gain control.
“You know you're not as tall with your hair all wet,” Jennifer tells him.
He stomps over to the next stall, his feet making squishing noises and she gets a nice long look at his firm back side. She's never noticed how broad his shoulders are or how all that running has toned every lean muscle. It's her turn for rosy cheeks, but thank goodness the colonel is too busy pouting to notice.
The next five minutes she goes over the nerve bundles in the spinal cord to keep her mind focused on boring, cold facts. Its a difficult task to do when the military commander of Atlantis is covered head to toe in purple froth.
“I look like a damn grape marshmallow,” he grumbles.
Jennifer scours his skin with a long handled brush to keep from laughing out loud.
“Ow!”
“Sorry, you're hairy,” she defends, after pulling a few out with the bristles.
Now they're both blushing.
The last cycle to this ordeal is almost over; the colonel stands under a gush of warm water, ridding him of any remnants of chemicals. She walks him over towards a box and pulls out something to dry with.
“I had towels here the entire time?” He rolls his eyes as he wraps some fabric around his waist.
“You were not allowed to contaminate them beforehand.”
Sheppard finishes toweling off, his hair a spiky mess that's simply adorable. He takes a seat on the bench while she disposes of her gloves and cap.
She sits at the very far end of the bench, tapping her fingers nervously over it. They still have to spend twelve hours together and it’s hard not to stare at her now only half-naked teammate.
“So, now what do we now?” he asks, droplets of water leaving trails down the planes of his chest.
“As your caregiver, we're supposed to have sex.”
It's amazing how fast Sheppard loses the ability to speak.
“Actually, I'm not kidding. That's how things work here, but I got permission to skip that part of the doctor-patient relationship,” Jennifer smiles.
“Oh....that's good. Um.. have a deck of cards?”
It was going to be a long night.
------------------
John hates swamps; they are humid, filled with marshlands of gunk and he always, always comes back filthy. This time is no different, mucking his way through a trail that is nothing but knee deep mud. His uniform top and undershirt feel glued to his skin, his BDUs are soaked with water seeping into any empty space.
“I don't see why Yoda liked living on Dagobah.”
“The little green guy?” Ronon asks behind him.
“Yeah, lived in a tree or something,” John says, taking a step and sinking even deeper. “Oh, good grief.”
Ronon snickers, which is a very odd thing for the big guy and a sound John would rather not have directed at him.
“Very funny.”
“You should watch where you're going.”
John wiggles a few inches, but he knows he's stuck and probably should have avoided the suspicious looking ground ahead. “Next time, you'll take point.”
Ronon studies the tree limbs above. “I was, you were being too slow.”
The sludge is up to John's waist, layers of silt, mud and heavy water. He longs for a nice hot shower and the fuzzy feeling of a beer on an empty stomach. At least this isn't quicksand because that would be a very bad thing.
He's about to suggest a rope if they had one, when John feels something brush up against his leg. “Whoa.”
“What?” Ronon's eyes dart around for hidden danger.
The 'something' slithers across his thigh and damn, that's really, really, not cool. “There it is again!”
Ronon points his blaster at the muddy water in front of John. “Tell me where to fire.”
“No! Wait. Watch where you point that thing,” John warns, more worried about not having children later in life.
This time, whatever is in the marsh with him is slinking around his boots. John lifts his left one to stomp on the mystery creature, but the thing takes the opportunity to slip up his pant leg. “No freaking way!”
Ronon's pacing up and down in front of the gunk, looking for all the world like he's going to jump in.
John's busy trying not to panic while a coiled mass slowly envelops his leg and begins to tighten. “Pull me out!”
Ronon attacks the tree, breaking off one of the thick branches, and shoves the thing at him. “Grab on to this!”
John doesn't have to be told twice, wrapping his hands around the lifeline, Ronon tugging with all his might. The mud fights back, slurping to keep him; however, it's no match for Ronon's brute strength.
John pops out, his forward momentum sending him flying on top of Ronon in a heap. With the wind knocked out of him, John still thrashes about, scrambling onto the tree roots to inspect his leg.
“Damn thing's latched itself around me,” he pants.
There's no time to protest anything, Ronon's knife slices along the seam of his left leg, splitting the fabric.
“Why did you do that?!”
“How else was it coming off? Want me to leave it there?”
“No!”
There's a brown and green snake coiled around his calf, inching its way up higher. A pair of beady eyes stares at him, while a tiny dark tongue darts in and out of its mouth.
“Kind of cool looking,” Ronon admires.
With a glint of metal, Ronon chops off the head and the snake slumps away, releasing its hold on his leg. John rests his head against the tree trunk, sighing. “That was my forth pair of BDUs this month.”
“Yeah, you keep losing them,” Ronon snorts. He holds up the water snake; the reptile swings from his hand and is longer than John's whole body. “Looks like we have dinner.”
“I'll take an MRE, thanks. Let's go, this mission is scrapped,” John says standing.
“What are you going to tell Carter this time?”
John looks down on himself, one pant leg almost gone, the other ruined. “That at least I still have my shirt.”