Title: Bruises
Author: Coreopsis
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: P for porn
Spoilers: Season 2, Condemned
Date: August 19, 2005
Disclaimer: The characters and universe do not belong to me and I'm not making any money off them.
Notes: the other headers tell you all you need to know, I think. *g* Feedback welcome at coreopsis at gmail.com

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They leap through the gate to Atlantis, vests and weapons missing and another puddlejumper out of commission. As John and the others wait tensely for the second puddlejumper to come through the gate safely, he reflects on their losses. He can get another vest, another knife, another gun, another holster, but the loss of the puddlejumper actually makes his stomach hurt.

He rubs his ribs as he drags himself toward the infirmary, the rest of his team and their new guest in tow, and thinks it might also be the bruises left from the fighting causing the ache in his midsection, but still...his favorite puddlejumper. It's not like they have an inexhaustible supply. He might have come here over a year ago with no hope of flying again, but since he's gotten a second chance in the air--and through space--he's not about to give it up too easily. Maybe they'll make the next few missions on foot, just see how that works out for a while.

It's night time in Atlantis as he leaves the infirmary. Ronon limps out with Beckett following behind demanding that he stay. John opens his mouth to issue an order, but Teyla appears at his shoulder and murmurs, "He thinks he's not badly injured. Perhaps he needs to see a little more of how the city works. How everyone looks out for everyone else, not just their teammates."

"Okay, but if there are complications tomorrow, I'll haul his ass in here myself," John says with a firm nod. He isn't completely confident that he could do it, and he suspects Teyla isn't either, but she says nothing and he says nothing and a minute or two later they exchange goodnights at the junction of the corridor. She heads one way to her quarters, and he heads the other toward the control room.

He has no pressing business in the control room, but he likes to check in before he goes to bed, needs to know his city is all tucked in safe and sound for another night. Elizabeth is already there, so they have a preliminary debriefing even though they have a full one scheduled for the first thing in the morning.

As he finally makes his way toward his quarters an hour later, he remembers that Rodney was the first to leave the infirmary and he flashes on Rodney's face before he'd left. He'd looked exhausted and numb, and he'd hardly complained as Carson had poked and prodded him. Well, he had complained, of course, because he wasn't dead or in a coma, but he hadn't complained as much as John would have expected.

John thinks briefly of stopping by Rodney's room just to make sure he's okay, but that isn't something they do right now. A few months ago, yes, and probably a few months in the future, but not now. John walks on by Rodney's door and goes to his quarters. A hot shower and a solid six or seven hours of sleep sound like the closest thing to heaven that John can imagine right now.

After he's washed the sweat and grime off, he just stands there and lets the water pound into him. He thinks it might be nice if the water pressure lightened to a soft spring shower and it does. He lays his hand on the wall in gratitude, and relief that the city still stands and still listens to him. He would understand if she held a grudge for all the damage, but she doesn't seem to, and he knows exhaustion has really set in when he starts thinking of the city as "she" instead of "it".

He dries off and puts on clean boxers and a t-shirt, thinks for a moment about pulling on some pants and going to the mess hall. He never did eat dinner, but he's passed right through to not hungry anymore. No, sleep is really all he wants right now.

John is just sitting down on his bed when a knock at his door interrupts his self-indulgent little groan at sinking into the wonderful softness of his mattress. Yesterday, he hadn't thought it was anything special, but being tied to a pole and forced to sit on a hard dirt floor for hours has changed his perceptions of a lot of things. When he opens the door, he's confronted with another of those things.

Rodney stands in the corridor with his head tilted to one side and his hands behind his back. His expression suggests that a cigarette and blindfold are all that are missing to make the picture complete. "Colonel."

"Rodney." John waits for a moment but nothing else happens. "Did you want something?" The choice of words is ironic because John is the one who wants. He's also the one who can't give in to the wanting.

"I wanted...I just wanted to see if you were--" Rodney's hands come out from behind his back. One makes a circle in the air and the other shoves a plastic-wrapped sandwich into John's hand. "And you are. Obviously. I...uh...I owed you a sandwich and I knew you'd probably skip dinner. So I'll just..." He points toward his room down the hall.

John looks up and down the hall, but there's nobody around. He knows he shouldn't, knows it's a bad idea on so many levels, but he's going to anyway. "You can come in for a minute, if you want."

With a spastic nod, Rodney's inside and the doors are sliding shut, and John thinks maybe the other side of the room is where he should be. But he stands still, just looking at Rodney, whose eyes dart around the room and over John's bed and over his body, but never meet his.

"I thought we weren't going to do this anymore."

"Do what...worry? Care?" Rodney finally looks at him and his mouth is turned down in annoyance. "I tried but, oddly enough, there's not a switch I can flip to just stop doing it. Is that something they teach in the military?"

John glares and starts to reply, but Rodney waves his hand. "Okay, okay, that's...yeah, cheap shot. I know you care. Too much. Just not about me, I guess."

"Rodney, you know that's not true."

Rodney rolls his eyes. "Did it ever occur to you that just before a Wraith invasion was not the best time to break up with someone? I mean, what was that? Trying to spare my feelings in case you decided to, oh I don't know, fly a jumper into a hive ship carrying a nuclear bomb that I built? Yes, yes, I'd feel ever so much better if you broke up with me before you obliterated yourself."

John stands there and lets Rodney's recriminations roll over him for a moment, before snapping, "Did it ever occur to you that obliterating myself would be a damn sight easier if I could put you out of my mind for more than five minutes at a time?"

John doesn't think of moving, just does it. And then Rodney's back is against the wall, and John's hands are on the wall on either side of his head and John's mouth is on his. It's awkward because he's caught Rodney off guard but it's perfect because it's Rodney and he's missed this so much.

John was too tired to jerk off in the shower just a few minutes before, but the moment Rodney's hands circle his hips, he gets hard. Pushing forward, he presses his erection against Rodney's hardening cock and fuck, but he really missed this. He pulls his mouth away and rests his forehead against Rodney's and pushes harder. His hands slide from the wall to Rodney's shoulders, down to his biceps, gripping hard and pressing Rodney against the wall, as if John is afraid he'll run away, even though Rodney is digging his fingers into John's hips like what he really wants is to crawl inside John's body.

"So does this mean we're back together?" Rodney's voice is breathless and maybe just a little amused. Well, why wouldn't he be? He's getting his way.

John moves one leg between Rodney's and doesn't flinch when he accidentally puts pressure on the big bruise forming just above his right knee. He welcomes the pain because it keeps him from coming in his shorts like an oversexed teenager. He awkwardly bumps against Rodney's thigh and the jolt gets him back under control so he can speak. "I don't know if we were ever really apart."

"All that sex we weren't having for nearly three months? That was apart." Rodney is shivering against him and John can barely focus on the words. He arches into Rodney and slides his open mouth down the side of Rodney's neck. He tastes clean and hot and perfect and John thinks that some of that sleep he'd been looking forward to could be sacrificed to giving Rodney a thorough licking. He flicks his tongue over Rodney's earlobe and then rakes his teeth across his jugular just to hear his voice break when he gasps John's name.

Rodney's hands are fumbling between them and John pulls away just enough to give Rodney room to get his pants open and shoved down. When Rodney hooks his fingers in John's boxers, John shakes his head and lowers himself slowly to his knees, using Rodney's body for handholds. When he's down, he takes his t-shirt off so that he can feel Rodney's hands on his skin.

"Oh...oh please. Yes." Rodney strips his own shirt off and his hands are everywhere almost at once--combing through John's hair, brushing his face, stroking his neck and shoulders. Rodney even bends over so he can run his hands down John's upper arms and over his shoulder blades, petting John like something precious and muttering a steady litany of "oh, yes, missed you, missed this, your mouth, oh your mouth, good, you're good, fantastic really, please, just....yes."

John smiles against Rodney's belly at the compliments because he hasn't even done anything yet. He licks the head of Rodney's cock, just tasting him and getting reacquainted. Rodney jerks a little and lets out a breath as he plants his hands on John's shoulders.

John opens his mouth and takes Rodney in, closing his eyes for a moment to savor it, the weight and width and delicious slide of Rodney's cock on his tongue. Then he opens his eyes and looks up to find Rodney staring down at him with wide eyes filled with raw emotion. It's jarring even though it shouldn't be. John should be used to Rodney throwing it all out there and trusting John to know what to do with it. He almost laughs at that because he's so fucking lost most of the time but he hides it so well that he's got Rodney completely believing in him. He turns his amusement into a hum that makes Rodney twitch his hips and dig his fingers into John's shoulders, and John knows he's going to have a few more bruises to go with the ones from the fight--damn his pale skin--and yet he thinks he probably deserves these. Just a little. He hopes Rodney left bruises on his hips too. He'll push his fingers into them tomorrow and revel in the ache and how they got there.

But for now, he sucks and licks and strokes his hands over every bit of Rodney he can reach until Rodney stiffens and comes and says "John" in that broken gasp that is quite possibly the sexiest thing John has ever heard. John swallows and pulls his mouth off slowly with a tender lick, pushes his face against Rodney's hip and shoves one hand inside his boxers. He barely has to touch himself and he's coming hard, sparks behind his eyes and Rodney's fingers in his hair.

For several moments, neither of them move or make a sound. They just breathe.

They just breathe.

Together and perfect once more.

When John's knees start to protest, he looks up at Rodney, who hooks his hands under John's arms and pretends he's lifting John to his feet, even though he's just steadying him. They lie against each other, propped up by the wall, until John says. "I need water."

"And to be naked," Rodney says with a tug on John's damp-fronted boxers. John snorts a laugh and Rodney pokes him. "You've got a perfectly good --if incredibly narrow--bed over there, so why are we still standing here?"

"Don't know about you but I'm too tired to move." But as John says the words, he's pulling back and shoving his boxers down. He gives himself a cursory wipe and heads to the bathroom for a drink. While he's in there, he stares at himself in the mirror and wonders if he's making a mistake, but then Rodney calls out to ask what's taking him so long and he knows he is but it doesn't matter. He can't stop any more than Rodney can. John just hides it better.

The sandwich lies on the floor where he dropped it, so John picks it up and unwraps it as he walks over to the bed where Rodney sits fully dressed again. He hands Rodney half the sandwich and eats his own half in three bites. Rodney hands the other half back and points at John's thigh. "You eat it. I'm going to go get some ice for that leg."

He's out the door before John can stop him, and that's when John knows that trying to leave Rodney was, is, and always will be a waste of time. And when he stretches out on his bed to await his own private nurse to return, he does so with an extremely pleased grin on his face

The end.

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