Bondsman by Casspeach

[casspeach]

Title: Bondsman
Author: Casspeach
Rating: NC17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Spoilers: nope, don't think so
Summary: "I didn't get an unctor." John whined, and Rodney gave him a sympathetic and faintly pleased look.
Notes: Um, this got ridiculously out of hand but, well it's a long weekend and I was enjoying myself entirely too much to stop. If this is too long for flashfic let me know and I will take it down. Also, I had almost finished this before Kylielee1000 posted hers, so um, no plagiarism intended but this is another aliens made them do it because well, slaves and aliens made them do it go together like tea and biscuits and I couldn't think of anything clever and metaphorical for slaves.



Bondsman

The mission had been far too easy and John Sheppard had had a lifetime of experience to teach him that when something seemed to good to be true, that was because it is. So he was waiting, biding his time, keeping his guard up for when the other shoe dropped.

Granted it hadn't exactly gone to plan thus far. They were expecting an uninhabited but habitable planet, a potential alpha site for any of the potential disasters that might befall Atlantis. Instead of which they'd slogged up a steep rocky incline and been surprised by a group of meet and greeters from a society that, they were amiably informed, actually lived under the mountain range they had started to climb.

They were shown through magnificent subterranean caverns to separate rooms, which John wasn't exactly happy about to prepare for a feast in their honour. John managed to make himself stay in his for almost five minutes before he went to check on Rodney.

"McKay?" he announced striding into what was actually a suite of rooms, even more sumptuously appointed than his own. "Rodney. You in here?"

"Bathroom, major," came the reply and John made himself comfortable on the plush ottoman to await his friend.

Rodney wandered through after a time, pulling a loose silk top over his head as he came but not before John got a glimpse of pale flesh glistening. A young man trailed behind McKay, carrying his standard issue blue science shirt and a bowl. Rodney smiled and came to sit on the low couch diagonally opposite Sheppard. He smelled exotic and looked relaxed and happy.

"Who's your friend?" John asked.

"Unctor," Rodney said. "He's not my friend he's my unctor, apparently."

"I didn't get an unctor." John whined, and Rodney gave him a sympathetic and faintly pleased look.

"Maybe I'll lend you mine."

There was a polite knock at the door, and Rodney, resplendent in his blue silk, went to answer. It was another party of magnates come to issue the official invite to the evening's festivities. Sheppard tried not to be too annoyed that they had come to McKay's quarters instead of his own, it was bound to have been a misunderstanding, maybe they had already called at his rather small room and found him absent. Of course, that didn't explain why they addressed Rodney exclusively, as though John were not even in the room, or was part of the furniture.

Rodney tried to bring him into the conversation on a couple of occasions, but it clearly made their hosts uncomfortable, although not nearly as much as when John spoke uninvited. It felt almost exactly like being a child again, aside from the sympathetic glances he was getting from McKay who was looking increasingly perplexed as the discussion went on.

"Okay," John whispered when the dignitaries had finally left, "do you want to tell me what the hell is going on?"

"You can speak normally now," Rodney said smugly, "they're gone."

"Yeah, what the hell was up with that? You get an unctor and a palace, and I get a box room and to speak when spoken to. What is an unctor, anyway?"

"Masseur," Rodney explained as though it was perfectly reasonable. "I think they have a more hierarchical society than we do."

"So who died and made you King?"

Rodney just shrugged.

"I'm looking forward to this feast," he said, smiling broadly "and we need to make nice with these people. The reason we weren't picking them up before is because of an ore in the mountains they live under, it blocks the signals. It also blocks the Wraith's transport beams."

"That could be useful."

"Very useful, which is why we have to go along with their funny little ways."

John nodded slowly. He could do the seen and not heard thing for one evening if it got Rodney a useful new toy to play with, although technically metallic ore didn't sound so much McKay's idea of a good time as something he'd enjoy graciously bestowing on the metallurgists.

"You should consider yourself lucky, Major. Teyla and Ford don't even get to go to the feast. They get to have dinner with the servants."

"Yeah, maybe we can pick them up a doggy bag. Do you think they'll have turkey sandwiches?"

"I'm sure they will, major, it's a feast after all."

It was a feast indeed. The hall they had earlier been received in was now brightly decorated, the light of thousands of candles glinting off the ore in the walls. There was music and dancing, and enormous quantities of food and drink.

"Do you think they have citrus on this planet?" John muttered.

"They do," Rodney replied, "I already asked, and they're going to sort something out to let me know which dishes to avoid."

Something turned out to be a small boy.

"This is Marcus," explained the hostess who had brought him, "he will be your salvor. He suffers with the same sensitivity as you and will try each dish for you to check for what you call citrus."

John watched realisation hit Rodney.

"So, when he has a severe allergic reaction to a dish..." he said.

"You will know to avoid it," the hostess beamed.

Rodney looked to John, blue eyes still wide with shock, and clearly trying to process his thoughts.

"Thank you," John said, speaking when spoken to be damned because the hostess was starting to look unimpressed with Rodney's obvious distaste.

"Thank you?" Rodney jeered once she was out of earshot. "Thank you? I'm not going to be responsible for some kid going into anaphylaxis...I thought they'd get the chef to label the dishes with citrus or something...If you keep exposing yourself to an allergen your reaction gets more severe each time...do you have any idea how unpleasant anaphylaxis is? I wouldn't wish it on Kavanagh."

"I know, McKay," John muttered back, "I'm not suggesting you use him, we just don't want to offend our hosts."

"I don't care if we do offend them. What they're suggesting is tantamount to murder, major. I'll have an MRE. If they want to take offence let them."

"No you won't. We'll do what we always do. I'll eat first; anything I think might have citrus in I'll push away, anything I continue to eat you can ask the boy to try for you, okay?"

"I don't see why..."

"We're underground in a maze of tunnels and we don't know where Ford and Teyla are. Even if we get to the surface we can't look for them because our kit doesn't work."

John watched Rodney think through what he'd said before nodding his agreement and the rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. As the meal ended and the dancing restarted John let his concentration wander away from the hall again, back to Teyla and Ford. He knew he had failed by letting them out of his sight. It was always a gamble, first contact, and this time he'd played his hand badly but there was no open hostility as yet, and if they played by the rules there was a good chance things would end up okay.

Rodney had been caught up into the dancing as soon as it had begun; a veritable line of women and men queuing to partner him and John had been torn in several directions. He felt nervous with Rodney away from him, wryly amused at McKay's obvious displeasure at having to dance, vaguely hurt not to have been asked himself. He also felt jealous of Rodney's partners, and that wasn't as much of a surprise to him as it should have been.

He stared at his goblet, wondering what the hell he'd been drinking to make him think that if Rodney asked him to dance, he would. Even though he was possibly the worst dancer he'd ever seen. He watched Rodney trip over his own feet, his partner's feet, bump into the edge of a table and generally behave as though there was no such thing in the entire universe as rhythm. He had all the grace of a newborn elephant and John wanted to be on the dance floor with him more than anything he could think of.

There was definitely something other than how pleasantly solid McKay would feel in his arms, and which of them would lead, that he was supposed to be expending his mental energy on. Rodney would lead anyway, no point even wondering about that; he was the king, John the nobody, and John could live without listening to McKay criticising his ability to lead at the tango for the rest of eternity. But he had to focus.

Ford and, and someone, pretty girl, long hair, mildly frightening. He was supposed to be thinking about them, and picking them up from somewhere. It seemed a little odd that they'd wandered off. John had a feeling that wasn't in the rules. His wandering attention was dragged back to the here and now from across the room by Rodney stridently complaining about something and gesticulating. Then he strode over to John and grabbed a handful of the shoulder of his t-shirt, pulling him to standing with an urgent hiss of 'we need to talk'.

To John's surprise, but apparently not Rodney's, his legs weren't working quite as efficiently as they usually did and he stumbled a little as he was dragged out of the hall. Fortunately he stumbled into Rodney, who was every bit as solid as John had imagined. Once they were in the corridor John felt his head start to clear but Rodney was at least five minutes into his monologue before John was able to stop enjoying the warmth radiating from the other man's body and make sense of what he was saying.

"...they're slaves and I'm supposed to pick one for the ceremony. Of course it's my own fault for letting them think I was the big man, the leader of the group, so now I guess I am just going to have to take one for the team because they have definitely intimated that Ford and Teyla will be sold into slavery if I don't take part in their little ritual."

"I'm sorry," Sheppard said, brow creased in confusion, "take one for the team? Sold into slavery?"

"Have you been listening to anything I've said? No, sorry, of course you haven't. Whatever it is they're burning in there, they were burning most of it on your side of the room. Are you okay now?"

John nodded, still struggling to make sense of what Rodney had said.

"Okay, I'll start again, but we have to be quick because the ceremony starts in about fifteen minutes apparently. As new arrivals to the city, and in order to ever see Ford or Teyla again, they want me to take part in a ceremony of joining. Now, it sounds to me like it was probably initially intended to be a way of increasing the size of the gene pool by mating with any new genes that came along because they're a pretty small population but they seem to have forgotten that along the way and it's become a kind of Bacchanalia."

"They want your genes?"

"I just explained that, no, they used to want my genes, I think, but now they just want me to join in their ceremony."

"And for this you need a partner."

Rodney flushed a little and didn't quite meet John's gaze, but he mumbled an affirmative.

"And you don't want to pick one of the Bithynians?"

"No. It just...it doesn't feel right. I know a lot of people probably think I should be grateful for whatever I can..."

"Fine, McKay. Leave it with me."

Before Rodney could formulate an answer, John had spotted the priest, who was clearly looking for Rodney, and marched up to him, greeting him with his most winning smile.

"Look, there's been a misunderstanding," he said, pleasantly, ignoring Rodney's increasingly frantic protests. "Were we come from we, um, we pair-bond. Like penguins, no? Dolphins? Well anyway, we form a close attachment with a single other person. I'm Rodney's, and he's mine, so if you want him to do the ceremony, you'll have to let him do so with me."

"Very well," said the priest, "that is not our usual way, but it is acceptable. We will start in five minutes, I hope that gives you sufficient time to prepare."

"No, no he didn't mean that," Rodney insisted to the priest's departing back, "It's fine. We'll do it your way, I..."

"I did mean it. You didn't want to do it his way."

"It's an orgy."

"Okay, fine."

"Fine?"

"Yes. Fine."

"They want us to have sex. How can that possibly be fine?"

Rodney's voice rose in pitch as he spoke and John idly wondered if it would pass out of the audible range before they'd finished this discussion. At least the bit of his brain that wasn't freaking out idly wondered.

"Better me than some prostitute," he said, far more calmly than he felt, folding his arms across his chest and slouching insouciantly against a nearby wall, "who knows what you might pick up from a slave girl who regularly attends group sex sessions."

Rodney's face was such a picture, eyes wide, mouth open, a variety of conflicting emotions crossing his face, that John almost wished he'd known, wished he'd planned this.

"That's very noble of you," he stuttered out. "Keeping me safe from intergalactic VD is surely above and beyond the call of duty. I was planning on choosing a male slave anyway. I don't want to inadvertently impregnate someone."

John was forced to concede that that was touché, while another part of his brain pointed out that Rodney probably meant it, and Rodney only seemed to be balking at his partner being John, rather than John being a man. He reached out a hand and tried not to mind when Rodney flinched.

"Really. It's okay," he said.

Rodney blinked at him a few times.

"Don't ask don't tell?" he squeaked.

"Means don't ask and don't tell. There's no 'don't get involved in intergalactic orgies' in there."

Rodney didn't look as if he was going to buy the act.

"This wasn't how I'd planned for you to find out that I'm bi," Rodney muttered.

"Really? You didn't plan this? That is a surprise. What had you planned, a coming out party?"

"I don't think I can go through with this."

"I'm sorry," John reached out and put a hand on Rodney's shoulder, in a friendly gesture of support. "It'll be all right, really. Unless, oh, unless you don't think you can..." he flushed red, because how arrogant to think that Rodney even wanted to have sex with him, "...unless you don't think you can, you know, get it up for me."

Rodney gave him a look that was almost fond for a moment.

"You realise..." he said haltingly, "you realise they think I'm the leader and you're, well, you're my bondsman."

John hoped he didn't blanch as much on the outside as it felt like on the inside. It wasn't so much that he minded...more that he would have liked to have had a discussion about it, to have felt like he had a choice.

"So you'll be topping?"

Rodney had the decency to look apologetic, and shrugged.

"I think that's what they expect. I, um, I don't care either way, so, if you feel strongly we could talk to the priest again, see if..."

"It's fine, in fact I think, I think it might be easier because I won't have to...I'm a very private person Rodney, I don't think I could perform in front of an audience."

"Whereas I'm a real exhibitionist," Rodney laughed, and there was just the faintest edge of hysteria in it.

Then an acolyte appeared from the far end of the corridor and motioned for them to join him. John heard Rodney swallow loudly and felt comforted by the fact that he was obviously just as nervous. He wanted to say something, to reassure Rodney that they would still be friends after this was over, but the words got stuck in the desert of his throat as they were led into the ceremonial chamber.

The first thing he noticed was the raised dais on the altar, and the second was the manacles at each corner. He fought the urge to back-pedal but couldn't stop a quick glance at Rodney, who was pale and wide-eyed, and glanced at John just as he looked away.

The priest intoned some words that John didn't hear, and an acolyte stepped forward to ceremonially rid him of his clothes. It was all he could do to think of Ford and Teyla and not punch the guy's lights out, especially when he started to smear oil over his chest and back, over his legs. It was the same oil that Rodney smelt of, after his unctor had visited, and that made it less frightening somehow.

He glanced in McKay's direction, and instantly wished he hadn't because Rodney was naked, which he should have guessed he might be, and was animatedly discussing something with the priest. When he realised it was the manacles, he sidled over. Rodney spared him not the slightest bit of attention, continuing instead to argue as though being naked was no impediment to serious debate.

"It's fine," John said quietly.

"No. It's not."

Rodney's face was drawn and pale and it occurred to John that it wasn't all right with Rodney. The priest's expression was thunderous, and John could feel his nerve running out, so he played dirty.

"It'd be easier for me," he said, wishing he didn't feel like such a shit. "If I can't escape."

McKay nodded, grimly determined, and gestured to the podium. As John climbed up onto it and settled himself onto hands and knees the entire congregation started to chant. He had never felt more exposed or less turned on in his life. It was Rodney who settled his wrists and ankles into the manacles, for which John was grateful, and he tried in a raw halting voice to assure Rodney that he was okay, that he wanted to go through with this.

"I can see how much you want this," Rodney muttered, under the ongoing chanting, with a sly glance at John's quiescent groin.

"I didn't mean that, " John whispered back, and Rodney's face contorted into something unreadable for a second and then he was gone.

John rested his head on the cold stone of the platform, and tried not to think about the picture he must make with his ass in the air like he was begging for it, as he felt Rodney's knees slide between his own. He couldn't suppress a shudder that ran the length of his body as the chanting grew louder. Rodney lowered himself over John's back, bracing himself on one hand while the other gentled him with soothing strokes of his flank and hip. He felt Rodney's forehead, clammy against his back, and the deep slow breaths Rodney was taking. He wished he hadn't agreed to being bound now, because he wanted to reach back with his hand and reassure the other man that he was okay.

"Are you sure?" he heard Rodney murmur against his back, and he nodded shakily wondering what on earth Rodney was planning to do if he had said no.

The hand on his flank fluttered down to the curve of his hip and then left his skin as Rodney pulled away. Fingers slick with oil returned, stroking over one buttock, the top of his thigh, seeking permission he didn't want to give. Gentle, caring caresses that made him shake and sweat and want to beg Rodney to just get the fuck on with it. He didn't want tenderness, he wanted it over with but he held his tongue because Rodney had by far the worse end of the deal, and if Rodney needed to be gentle, John could let him.

After what he deemed, mainly from the change in tone of the chanting rather than any physical response of his own, to be long enough, he widened his knees. Rodney's hand immediately dipped between them, stroking their oily fingerprints over his scrotum, his perineum, a slick line like a brand up to his tailbone and back again. He flinched each time a fingertip traced over his hole and felt himself tighten, against his best intentions, when Rodney began trying to work a digit into him.

The chanting rose in pitch and volume, and John wanted to cry.

"Oh fuck," Rodney whispered from behind him, sounding guilty and broken. "You haven't done this before, have you?"

Sheppard wanted to snap back a witty rejoinder about churches in Canada and manacles but he couldn't find his voice. He didn't think Rodney would be interested right now in his occasional solo experiment in that direction either, so he just shook his head.

"Okay, okay, right," Rodney said, like he was just working out a difficult equation or an engineering problem rather than how to deflower his CO to most entertaining effect. "Put your knees together."

That shook John out of his self-pitying reverie and he looked back at Rodney over his shoulder.

"Put my knees together?" he clarified.

"Yes. I know it'll be hard with your ankles, um, but..." he gave John a tight little smile. "We're going to plan B," he explained, "this isn't how a first time should be."

John almost laughed. Nothing could be further than the first time he'd infrequently allowed himself to imagine than this was. Unless it had been someone other than Rodney with him. He struggled to get his knees as close together as he could, feeling his skin graze on the stone as he did.

He flinched again when Rodney's hands stroked up the inside of his thighs, pushing between them to slick them with oil. He managed to raise an eyebrow in question, and Rodney offered him another tiny smile.

"Intercrural frottage," he said. "I have to come, you don't, and if I think I'm hurting you...well, that's not really my thing."

John couldn't quite say it had been plain sailing from thereon in, but smoother waters than before certainly. There'd been a pause during which the chanting had died back down to pre-attempted penetration levels and he'd been able to hear Rodney chanting himself, a desperate litany of please please please coupled with the frantic sounds of skin on skin as he'd worked himself to erection.

He wasn't sure he would ever forget the sensation of Rodney's cock between his thighs, sliding in the oil, or the strangled gasp he'd got when it had finally occurred to him that the tighter the space into which Rodney was thrusting, the sooner they could go home. It felt like forever, the pushing and pulling at his hips, the manacles biting rhythmically at his wrists and ankles and the oddly unreal slide of skin against skin.

Finally Rodney gave a groan that sounded as far from pleasure as was possible and collapsed against John's back as he came. He was breathing in great shuddering sobs and a wave of guilt washed over John. He could have let Rodney do this with anyone, it might even have been fairer, but he hadn't because he hadn't wanted anyone else to have Rodney like this. Even if it had been possibly the worst sex ever.

He felt numb, which given the lividity of the bruising of his wrists was probably not a bad thing, as he struggled back into his clothing. Rodney wouldn't look at him, not even when he was dressed, wristband over one manacle mark, watchstrap over the other. He tried not to let that make him feel dirty.

The Bithynians were true to their word and released the entire team along with a generous sample of their metal ore. They expressed a hope that they might develop closer ties with Atlantis and John left Teyla to give back the expected platitudes, partly in the hope that they would take offence at having to deal with someone they considered a slave.

The walk back to the 'jumper was undertaken in silence and John could feel both Ford's and Teyla's curiosity and unease. Ford even bravely ventured a couple of questions about what had happened while they'd been bored out of their minds in a plushly furnished holding cell but soon understood the unspoken command to leave it alone.

John tried to start a conversation with Rodney a few times. He felt responsible for what had happened, even though he knew he was not, and he wanted to reassure McKay that they would get past this, they would stay friends. The trouble was he wasn't sure he believed it himself, and he knew Rodney wouldn't.

The debriefing was mercifully short and, apart from a raised eyebrow Carson didn't comment on the manacle bruises or the five perfect finger bruises on each of his hips.

"It's not what it looks like," John said, and Carson had scrutinised his face for a moment before nodding. "I would tell you if it was."

He'd gone to his room and showered, the water jets just a little too forceful and a little too hot to be comfortable, until the stench of the ceremony was obliterated. Then he'd settled down to read the same sentence of War and Peace fifteen times before conceding defeat.

Rodney wouldn't answer his door. John knew he was in there, because he'd already been to the lab and the mess and besides, he'd brought a life signs detector with him.

"I know you're in there, McKay," he shouted through the door.

The door whistled open to reveal a furious-looking Rodney.

"Yes, major, I am in here. Congratulations on finding me. Now it's your turn to hide and I'll come and find you."

John got his foot in the door before Rodney tried to shut it in his face.

"Will you though?" he asked through the gap in the doorway, "will you come and find me, Rodney?"

Rodney stared at him for a moment, then turned away from the door, which slid open again in the closest thing to an invitation John figured he was going to get. He followed the slumped shoulders of his friend into the room. Rodney stared out of his window, still facing away from John.

"Eventually," he said. "I just...I need some time. I don't do the 'let's talk about this and get it all out in the open thing', okay. I prefer the pretend it never happened method and that doesn't work until the memory is less raw."

He turned then, fixing John with a pleading gaze.

"I want us to be friends," John said because he wanted Rodney to understand that he didn't blame him, didn't hate him. He blamed himself. "I don't want this to spoil what we had. You're..."

"Please just leave me alone then," Rodney requested. "It'll be okay in the end, I just need time. I've done this before."

"You have?" John quipped, unable to resist and horrified to watch Rodney blanch.

"No. No of course not," he stammered, "not like that, not anything like that. I've had regrettable experiences with colleagues before, is all I meant."

"I know that's what you meant."

"Oh. Okay then. That's fine. I thought you meant..."

"I don't regret it," John said quietly, realising as he did that it was true in a twisted kind of way. "I mean, if I were ever to find myself in that situation again..." he paused as Rodney shuddered and considered again that he had got the easier end of the deal, he had had only to kneel back and think of Atlantis, "if I were ever in that situation again, I wouldn't do things any differently."

"How can you say that?" Rodney asked. "Not that I don't appreciate you trying to make me feel better but I violated you."

"No," John interrupted vehemently, "no, no you didn't. You made what could have been a frightening and painful experience into something as bearable as it could have been."

He suppressed a shudder himself. Had the boot been on the other foot he wasn't sure he would have thought of alternatives to penetrative sex. He'd probably just have persevered.

"Well, if you're here to ensure that your reputation as a ladies' man remains unsullied you have nothing to fear," Rodney said, his voice tight and closed off. "I have no intention of ever telling anyone about what happened, and if anyone asks me I will probably cry."

"I don't care about my reputation," John said, walking across the room to stand beside Rodney and place a hand on his shoulder. "I care about my friend. I care that this is upsetting you."

"Upsetting me? What about you?"

"Actually, I think I've finished freaking out now."

Rodney frowned in confusion.

"Well it's not like I hadn't thought about it ever before. Not with the audience or anything but," he shrugged, "I had thought about it."

"Sex with another man?"

"Sex with you. I've had sex with other men, just not anything more than a quick handjob, a couple of buddies helping each other out, you know?" he gave a shy smile and squeezed the shoulder he was holding. "It was never anything like this."

"I should hope not, today was enough to make me seriously consider a vow of chastity," he scrutinised John's face before asking his next question haltingly. "You've really thought about having sex with me?"

John nodded, feeling himself flush with heat. He'd never imagined he would find himself casually chatting with Rodney about the fact that he fantasised about them together.

"Thank you," Rodney said, scooting away again, out of reach of John's hand. "I do feel a little better. You can go now."

"I can...I can go now?"

"Yes. Thank you. I have a lot of work to do. I suggest we meet up and compare mission reports before we submit them. I assume you are not overly keen for Dr Weir to know the full details."

"I don't want to go." John whined, hating himself for his tone of voice.

"No? What do you want?"

"I want to do it again," he whispered, almost inaudible over the hum of Atlantis and the whirr of Rodney's laptop fan.

They stared at one another for a long moment, disbelief writ large across Rodney's face.

"You want to do that again?" he asked. "May I remind you of my vow of chastity."

"You only said you'd considered a vow," John countered easily, starting to smile because this felt almost normal and he hadn't been sure they would ever get this back.

"That was before I realised that humiliatingly bad public sex was your kink. Now I'm thinking celibacy is the only way to preserve my sanity, and Atlantis needs me to be sane."

"So..." John drawled, smile widening, "if you can't have me, because of my awful kinkiness, you don't want anyone, huh?"

Rodney just smiled back, indulgently.

"Yes, John," he said, and then paused, weighing his next thought carefully. "I'm sorry, about..." he waved a hand vaguely, "I wanted to make it as...I wanted it to be better than it was, I just..."

"It's okay."

"No. It isn't okay. It was awful, and I hurt you."

"No," John said, aghast, "you didn't hurt me. I felt..."

"You felt nothing," Rodney said in a small tight voice.

"I felt safe, cared for." Rodney sneered and John couldn't help but touch him again, reaching out to cup the side of his face. "It was awful, of course it was, but not because of you."

"I wish I could believe you. I wish...I know it wasn't what either of us would have wanted, but I wish...I feel like I used you."

"Well, I don't feel like that, and I think that it's my call. However, if you wanted to atone..."

"For something I haven't done?"

"I'm just offering."

"Well, that's very kind of you, major, thank you."

"You're welcome."

There was a long silence then, and John knew Rodney was waiting for him to leave. Yesterday he would have unceremoniously thrown him out, but today he was waiting, politely, for John to get the message and go of his own accord. He didn't want to. He trusted Rodney, if Rodney said things would go back to normal eventually, then they doubtless would. But things had changed, and whilst the memory of the ceremony would fade, the knowledge that Rodney had wanted to make it good for him, had been able to come when he couldn't even get hard, those things would always be with him.

"What did you think about?" he asked, knowing damn well he shouldn't.

"Excuse me?"

"What did you think about? When we...you know."

He watched Rodney's reactions play across his face: the initial flat out refusal to even consider answering chased away by the possibility that John needed to know.

"I thought about you," Rodney said quietly. "I thought about how I wanted things to be between us, how I would have chosen our first time together to have been. I thought about this, I guess - afterwards. Although in my fantasy I came to you, because I'm braver in my head."

"You're brave..."

"Not at this kind of thing. I thought about finding you, and apologising, and you saying I didn't need to apologise, that it was fine, that you wanted it."

"All of which I have said, Rodney."

Rodney nodded.

"I believed you in my fantasy," he said.

"Well, how do I make you believe me for real?"

"You can't."

John felt the finality of that and it left him winded. If McKay had no answer, what hope was there for his finding one?

"I have to," John said.

"No. You want to."

"Okay, fine, I want to. I want this, us."

"John, please, I can't."

"Because?"

"Because I thought about you, don't you get that?"

"I get that. I like that."

"I thought about the fact that you were tied down, under me, that I could do whatever I wanted and you couldn't stop me. I can still feel your skin on my hands, how tight you were, how much I wanted to just..."

"But you didn't." John interjected, "and for what it's worth, I can still feel your hands on me, and I like it. I'd like to feel it again, without the audience, without having to worry about the rest of the team, without having to wonder if one or both of us is still under the influence of that psychoactive incense."

Rodney considered, taking his time, and John wondered how many angles he'd found to look at the question from.

"Okay," he said finally. "If you're sure you want to."

"I'm sure. I'm definitely sure. I can furnish you with hard evidence that I want to, if you'd like."

Rodney smiled and closed the gap between them.

"What kind of scientist would I be if I didn't like hard evidence?" He held John's gaze for a long, heated moment.

"I wanted to dance with you," John said, for no reason other than that he wanted Rodney to know, "when you were dancing, I wanted you to dance with me."

"I'm a terrible dancer."

"I know," he shrugged, "but I still wanted to."

"We can dance later," Rodney said, sweeping an arm around John's waist and pulling him in, close enough to feel that Rodney was sporting his own evidence of what a fabulous idea this was. "I want something else first."

Then his mouth was on John's, hot and possessive and asking, his free hand sliding into the short hair at the nape of John's neck to hold him at the perfect angle for a thorough exploration of tongue and teeth and lips. He pulled back after a time and watched Rodney smiling happily at him. He knew he was grinning just as broadly.

"You know, " he said as he unceremoniously stripped his clothes before helping Rodney do the same, "we should really send the Bithynians a fruit basket or something."

Rodney shot him a look that said he was planning an entirely different gift for the Bithynians. And then the choice of thank you present seemed less important than joining Rodney as he stretched out on his bed, patting the mattress beside him in invitation. John accepted and found himself swept into strong arms as soon as he did. Rodney aligned their bodies together before taking his mouth again. This was what had been missing earlier, he decided, kissing, and naked skin all along his own body, and the fact that he could touch back.

He tore off his watch and wristband because they were preventing him touching as much as he wanted. He wanted every part of him to be in contact with Rodney, wanted to crawl inside his skin and feel safe forever. He could only articulate it with kisses and caresses because the words weren't there but Rodney seemed to understand.

They kissed a while longer, bodies touching, cocks bumping and rubbing together, hands wandering but with no sense of purpose, just enjoying the ride. Then Rodney leaned over John, pressing him into the mattress as he reached for his bedside cabinet. He felt Rodney's entire body stiffen against him as he realised what he was doing and startled back, but John held him, one strong arm looped around his back while his other hand went to Rodney's face and caressed.

"It's okay," he said, because it was, and then Rodney had got the lotion he was looking for and lay back down.

John could only watch as he poured a generous amount into his hand and slicked between his own thighs. He closed a hand around John's cock and pulled, his fist gliding smoothly over sensitive flesh and dragging a whimper from John's throat.

"I don't think I'm ready for..." he said and shifted his hips forward, letting John's cock slide into the slick place he'd made between his legs, "...not yet."

John's hips bucked forward almost of their own volition, and he moaned again as Rodney pressed his thighs together as tightly as he could to make a perfect place for him to thrust into over and over. They kissed as he moved, Rodney's still slippery hand on his hip, covering the fingermark bruises of earlier and keeping him in rhythm. Rodney's grip shifted, the palm of his hand sliding over the curve of John's buttock and the tip of one finger searching for the place between, and what had been so tight and awful before had him holding on firmly to Rodney's shoulders in pleasure. His movements became more erratic, as that single fingertip rubbed and pressed, so gently and so good that as soon as he opened even the tiniest bit he was coming, in long hard pulses between Rodney's thighs.

He was still shaking from the intensity of his orgasm as he slipped his hand into the wet mess on Rodney's leg and used it to slick his cock. He felt his own twitch a little in an aftershock at the glorious thought that he was marking Rodney in his own way, rubbing his come into Rodney's skin, scenting his territory. Rodney wasn't far behind him, and as he came he plastered his mouth to John's once more, moaning his completion against his lips as he spilled against his hand.

They basked for a moment and then Rodney took John's wrist in a gentle but firm grasp and kissed the manacle bruise in a wordless apology.

"I don't mind them," John murmured into the perfectly Rodney scented skin behind his ear. "I'm your bondsman. They're my bonds."