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SGA Fic: Gayworld Part 2
Rodney was running ahead of schedule in the lab. Clearly, this state of affairs could not be permitted to continue. He didn't want to finish early and be left with conspicuous free time. So around mid-afternoon, he suggested begging off for the day, and asked Rienn to show him around. Maybe with a picnic lunch. She was happy to comply. As they walked along the river that separated the warriors' territory from the farmers' homesteads, she asked about mechanics, physics, chemistry, her questions becoming so broad and basic that Rodney decided to just sit her down and explain the universe from the ground up. She staunchly refused to believe in subatomic particles, but begged to hear more about them, listening with a look of incredulous horror.
Time flew faster than Rodney thought; before he knew it, Keia was striding down from the training arena, eager to tell her girlfriend what she'd missed in the day's battle. Mutual accusations of weakness of body and character (of which not training enough and training too much were both considered signs) commenced immediately, followed quickly by headlocks and vicious shoves to the ground. Love was expressed strangely on this world.
The ground by the river was soft and wet and the mud made Keia's top cling to her small but fascinating breasts. Rienn, the smaller and quicker of the pair, managed to stay dry until Keia leapt forward, catlike, and threw her down to the ground, pinning her, and at that moment Rodney felt warm hands slide over his ribs and up his chest and John's voice whispered warm in his ear, "Act like I'm telling you all the dirty things I'm going to do to you later."
"Oh... ummm," said Rodney, blushing. It wasn't, as it turned out, a difficult ruse.
"Mmm... Who would win in a fight," John murmured lasciviously, "Spider-man or the Hulk?"
"I, uh," said Rodney, struggling to focus. He wanted to say "In costume, or as Peter Parker and Bruce Banner, because it makes a difference," but that didn't sound like it could apply to a conversation about sex (except in a very very wrong world). Also, Spider-Man and the Hulk? What was it, Marvel Appreciation Day? In the sexiest voice he could muster, he said, "I don't see why we're limiting it to just those two options."
John smiled against his ear, and Rodney sat in readiness, hardly breathing, sure John was about to close his mouth over his earlobe, wondering what he would do when it happened. Wondering if now was his cue to tilt back and finally press his lips to John's--he still hadn't had the nerve to kiss him, but it almost felt natural now. Wondering if John would notice he was turned on, what he would think, if maybe John was hard too, whether he'd be able to feel that from this position.
It was just as well when John stepped back, clapping Rodney on the shoulder. "We should probably give those two their privacy."
The girls were writhing around in the shallow water in what now definitely looked like a friendly way.
"I suppose," said Rodney regretfully.
"Come on. I have plans for us tonight," said John cheerfully.
*
Rodney was actually kind of sleepy after his midafternoon snack, but he could hardly ask to turn in when John had been working out all day and he'd just been shooting the breeze with Rienn. John must have gotten used to the Kalenna regimen, because he was wired. Maybe there was Mountain Dew in the well. Or PCP. At any rate, he was raring to stay up late with his new fighting buddies.
John cajoled Rodney into joining a big group game after dinner, explaining that it was "kind of a couples thing." He made it sound like a polite after-dinner Boggle party. In reality, it was some kind of combination poker, quarters, and truth or dare, with an intense round of bets and bluffs with a set of dice under a cup determining who had to take a dozen free hits, make out, or chug. This was the kind of nonsense that a currency-free culture got up to.
As it turned out, it wasn't all couples. Sabin, the doofus from the lab, was single (Rodney could see why), as was Jerol. He was the one Rodney would have been eying with suspicion if John really were gay: wide-mouthed, strong-handed, and totally chummy with John. Apparently they were frequent sparring partners and fighting was good for bonding. (Which was also true of Rodney and John, except that their arguments were verbal, and mostly had to do with the relative efficacy of Star Trek captains.) As it was, Rodney was a little friend-jealous of him.
The other gamers took it easy on them the first few hands in light of their diplomatic standing and/or perceived weakness. Rodney was challenged to lift a marginally heavy rock (at which he succeeded, thank you very much). John, for the most part, had to get progressively more naked. Rodney made sure to let his eyes rove, for verisimilitude. In this company, John actually looked slightly geeky and weedy--thin where his competitors were buff, pale where they were tan, hairy where they were, for the most part, meticulously waxed and oiled. Still, Rodney honestly thought John was the best-looking one there. His beauty was less obvious, more genuine; graceful, balanced, with the ideal ratio of muscular to willowy. (Rodney did not say this aloud as he did not want to make the others feel bad about themselves and then beat him senseless.)
Within three hands, Rodney knew how to order and hedge his bets so that he never lost a round. John caught onto his strategy quickly, although he occasionally lost on purpose so they wouldn't get suspicious. (For his part, Rodney simply trusted in the consuming power of their stupidity.) There was a scary moment when Jerol was challenged to suck on Rodney's neck, but John objected with a loud growl, and everyone laughed, and the dare was taken back. Nobody asked them to violate the exclusivity of their precious relationship for the rest of the night, possibly because they were both black sheep in this company, or possibly because John put his hand on Rodney's knee, and left it there as a reminder.
*
In undergrad Rodney had one of those professors who concerned himself with teaching life skills as well as subject knowledge, and he made all the students give an oral presentation at the end of the term. Rodney didn't bother preparing his remarks since he could explain thermodynamics in his sleep. Indeed, he took the opportunity, during another student's presentation, to grab a surreptitious catnap, and dreamed an entirely new set of physical laws for the universe. When he later applied serious thought to the dream laws, he saw that they were ridiculous; but they were just vivid and convincing enough to linger when he snapped awake, and he kept second-guessing himself during his speech, pausing to comb his conclusions for insane dreamworld-based premises. The professor gave him an A- but recommended speech therapy.
When, on his fourth morning among the Kalenna, Rodney drifted slowly out of a very nice dream, serene and warm all over, it seemed totally natural that he should be lying with his arm slung over John's shoulder and only the thin fabric of his shorts between his erection and the small of John's back. He pressed his hips into John's warm back, ran a lazy fingertip over his stubbled jawline, traced along those lips he knew so well...
Except he didn't. Did he? Wait, what was reality?
John pressed his lips together and made a sleepy protest sound. Rodney yanked his arm back and rolled over so quickly he fell into a heap on the ground, nearly pulling the canvas wall off its moorings. John rubbed his face with his palm and blinked. "Wha..."
"I'm going to go wash up," Rodney announced, clambering to his feet.
It was still dark out and there was nobody at the bathing-house. Rodney pumped in a bucket of clean water and sat alone in the middle of the dark room, running water over his arms and legs. He didn't remember the specifics of the dream now--the overall storyline. Only snatches of random detail, and the deep, abiding, and entirely unearned appreciation for John.
They should have never stopped wearing all their clothes to bed. Sure, it was hot out, and sure, they'd managed to make it the first three nights without anything untoward happening, but it was bound to go wrong. They acted these roles all day, and his higher brain knew perfectly well it was just playacting, but his body had learned some kind of instinctual pull toward John's. Classical conditioning, right? Rodney had once convincingly (if he did say so himself) denounced the idea that intelligent, evolved humans such as himself could be trained like dogs, and Zelenka's subsequent attempt to get him to salivate whenever he heard Darth Vader's Imperial March had been unsuccessful, but that didn't mean it wasn't theoretically possible.
The dream had had something to do with superheroes, maybe--John as Batman? Except when he was the Riddler? The memory was slippery. He just kept coming back to the day before, and John's voice whispering "Spider-Man or the Hulk?" Watching Rienn and Keia tumble around in the surf had been pleasing, yeah, but it had been the unexpected warm pressure of John's hands on his body that had really set him off, and that should have been a warning sign right there.
John should have known better than to provoke him while he was watching a girlfight. How would he have liked it if Rodney had turned and made out with him, as he almost did? If he'd pushed John to the ground, yanked off his shirt? Would John have stopped him? How far would he play along? He wasn't getting any either; maybe he'd want it, too. Maybe he'd get that flash in his eyes like when he was going in for the kill, pull Rodney down on top of him, thrust a warm tongue into his mouth. Or maybe he'd get that look like he did when he was flying, and you could see the whole universe reflected in his eyes, and he'd spread his magic hand over Rodney and make him glow. He'd slip his hand down, over Rodney's hip, under his waistband, and it would feel so good, so achingly, relievingly good, because his cock would be sensitive and yearning from a week of endless teasing and tension, just like it was now.
It was no longer acceptable that he hadn't come in a week; he didn't bother thinking twice, or worrying if anyone would come in, or edging himself up to draw out the moment, just jerked himself hard and fast until he came, collapsed against the wall, and immediately felt disgusted with himself. He had actual lesbian mud-wrestling mental images and he'd spent his precious jerk-off minutes thinking about hypothetical sexy Sheppard?
Maybe there was something in the water here, or the food. He'd been eating a lot of the food. He knew those little cakes (fairy cakes!) were too good to be true. Really, there was no other way to explain the percentage of people here who were attracted to the same sex, i.e. all of them. Situational homosexuality couldn't be that common, or people in prison or prep school or the army would just be fucking each other all the time.
(Maybe they were. Were they? He'd have to ask John. Rodney himself had been in strongly male-dominated isolated research post situations before, but there had always been at least a couple of women, and anyway he had never taken much of an interest in the other scientists' social lives. There could have been big gay orgies going on, he supposed, that he just wasn't invited to.)
Maybe he should go easy on himself. He was basically a walking pressure tank of sexual tension at this point, and it had to come out somehow. Here he was, surrounded by asskicking babes who made out with each other and whom he could look at all he liked but never, ever touch; never alone long enough to get himself off; constantly touching John in more and more inappropriate ways in their escalating game. John's touches were the closest he got to any kind of sexual satisfaction, so it was no wonder he'd learned to respond to them. Long for them. He'd just chalk this up to temporary insanity.
It was getting light out, and the soldiers were beginning to wander out of their tents for their morning pre-training training. As the first few bathers undressed in the anteroom, Rodney carefully re-dressed in his boxers and T-shirt walked out with his head held high.
The tent was empty--Sheppard must have gone for a run or something--so Rodney put on real clothes and went to the lab. His work was pretty much done. It was basically just a boring assembly line at this point. Just to pass the time, he dragged out some sideline experimentation, even though he knew he wasn't likely to get a better weapon than the one he'd designed. But he'd found a couple of little Ancient devices, nothing special, just trinkets stolen off a couple of Wraith who'd stolen them somewhere else, and since the Kalenna didn't have the gene, he thought he'd try and use them to make a special gun for--well, for anyone who could use it back on Atlantis.
He managed to hole himself up in the lab all day, working straight through dinner. It was remarkably easy convincing Rienn to fetch snacks for him (she was such a good helper). By the time dusk rolled around, the morning's worries seemed far away and ridiculous. What had he thought, that he was turning gay down on this planet? Not likely. Sure, if he was going to be attracted to any man, John was a good bet. Rodney was secure enough in his heterosexuality to admit that John was, objectively, attractive. Slender and lean and ridiculously pretty-faced and fuckable. Objectively! Objectively fuckable. Not by him, but by someone.
He was over it now. He'd just needed a break from the confusing game, and now he was good to go. When he saw Sheppard again he would just see his friend, and he would want nothing more than to drag him into private so they could have high-minded intellectual conversations and not touch. With utter confidence he strode out to the field.
Down at the gladiatorial arena of horribleness, John was giving an after-dinner karate tutorial. When he caught sight of Rodney approaching his face lit up. Rodney warmed with a gooey friendly feeling, even though he knew John was (a) acting and/or (b) glad for an excuse to rest. He pushed his damp hair out of his eyes, hopped over the short stone wall, and strode out to meet him. Rodney picked up speed, heart beginning to pound. That moment of anxiety was approaching, when he'd have to decide once again how he was going to greet his "lover".
The other warriors barely gave them a glance, what with all the jackets and shirts to gather up, water to drink, and opponents to shake hands with. Even Rienn and Keia, usually their most attentive audience, were busy examining a scrape on Keia's arm. After four days, the newcomers' novelty seemed to have finally worn off.
John must have noticed the lack of audience, or else he'd noticed Rodney's conspicuous absence during the day, because he didn't make any attempt to play the game tonight. Just said, "Hey," and fell into step with Rodney, like they were themselves.
Halting his train of thought at the station before he talked himself out of it, Rodney turned, took John's face in his hands, and jammed their mouths together. There!
He was going for a short but decisive "mwah" kiss, but John didn't cooperate. His lips parted, in surprise, perhaps, and Rodney, inspired, widened his mouth, and, on a whim, slipped him a little tongue. John made a strange ragged noise, and his hands gained purchase on Rodney's back. Rodney slid his hand gently back, running his thumb over John's jaw, slipping his fingertips into John's hair. With a jolt he felt John's tongue running the length of his.
Rodney's hands, no longer in his conscious control, dropped down to John's shoulders and then away; and then, finally, they drew away from each other. John's expression was completely indecipherable but his mouth was red and wet and his breath was coming in gasps, just like Rodney's.
The perfect kiss and nobody was even looking at them, but Rodney didn't care anymore. He hadn't kissed John for anyone else but himself. Maybe men didn't do anything for him but this wasn't men; this was John; John did it for him. John had done it for them from the moment they started this game; from the first moment, quite possibly, that he watched John slink around his Antarctica lab and effortlessly light the world. And it was time to admit it.
*
On the friendship betrayal spectrum from cafeteria tray raiding to facial stabbing, Rodney wondered how wrong it was to sit in front of a bonfire wearing John's jacket and clutching his hand with genuine, schoolgirlish glee. The Kalenna, pumped after the presentation of the new power rifles, had thrown together a party. (First they'd thrown together an impromptu target practice sessions, but the party followed immediately after, and partially overlapping. Rodney felt that this was a recipe for disaster and he was glad when Commander Ayal instructed them to sheathe their weapons for the night and concentrate on enjoying themselves.) Some of the warriors played loud percussive instruments; some did obscene grinding dances with heavy emphasis on energetic pelvic thrusts; some carried barrels down from the mess; some simply drank. Rodney and John fell into the latter category. They sat in the place of honor by the fire, accepting gifts (mostly free drinks, and a few third-best weapons), and chatting with the warriors that streamed by between dances to thank them and admire their perfect-couple cuteness.
So. He wanted Sheppard. It was surreal, but not really upsetting, nor even surprising. Like most of Rodney's best ideas, it had been quietly brewing in his brain for some time, so that by the time it reached his conscious thoughts it immediately seemed beyond obvious.
He wanted Sheppard, and he had him, sort of. Only in public, of course, and only for tonight and tomorrow morning until they left. On Atlantis it would probably raise a few eyebrows if he casually leaned over and planted quick kisses on John's temple, as he was periodically doing now. This made him feel a little presumptuous, but, to be fair, John had started it. He'd even given Rodney a second, albeit considerably briefer, kiss on the lips toward the beginning of the party. The kissing barrier was obliterated, and it felt glorious.
Still, Rodney was fidgety. His desire was intensifying by the moment now that he wasn't burying it in denial. It was a lot of pressure, knowing he only had this evening, and he'd have to get the most out of it he could or hate himself forever.
He nudged John. "Want to dance?" Rodney wasn't much of a dancer, but they'd already taken the "when in Rome" thing this far, and he wanted to do something.
"Uh..." John squinted at the dancers, who were now doing a kind of semi-synchronized quadrille kind of thing that involved certain dancers shimmying backwards onto the ground at particular times and others jumping on top of them. "Maybe later."
Fair enough. He'd been wondering where the line was.
"Hi, boys," came a shaky female voice. Rienn was standing over them, making a somewhat unsuccessful attempt to smile. "I just wanted to say, if I don't see you both tomorrow, it's been really great getting to know you. Thanks for everything." She clasped Rodney's shoulder briefly, and then walked off, rubbing her eyes.
"I think she might be upset," John surmised.
"Who wouldn't be?" said Rodney. "We're leaving."
"Times like these I wish Teyla were here. Whenever I try to comfort anyone I just end up making them feel worse."
"You got that right," said Rodney. He'd once come to John with a list of extremely compelling evidence that he had contracted a deadly plague indigenous to a world very recently visited by one of the other away teams. All John would say was "Well, stay away from me, I don't want to catch it. Wait, you didn't reset your passwords, did you? In case you die." Rodney had gone back to the lab and changed them all out of spite, so that John would be sorry at the funeral, but then he thought better of it and changed them back.
Rodney stood, puffing out his chest. "I'll comfort her."
"Oh, this'll end well," said John.
Rodney kicked him.
*
He found Rienn fiddling angrily with the toggles on the flap of her tent.
"Hey," he said awkwardly.
"Hi, Rodney." She sniffed. "I'm a little--not very good company right now. You should go back. Be with--be with John." She barely got out the name.
"Whatever. I can see him anytime. Do you want company?" Rodney pushed her hands away, undid the toggles easily, and felt like a stud.
Rienn crawled into the tent and curled up on a sumptuous purple blanket. She patted the space beside her.
Rodney compliantly joined her, looking around. Their tent looked a lot bigger on the inside--certainly a lot bigger than his and John's. Instead of a bulky cot they just had lots of cushy blankets on the floor. Everything draped in soft cloth and pillows and smelled slightly of spruce. A small lantern in the corner radiated dim, pinkish light. It was like being in a new age massage parlor, or a womb.
"I just, I don't know about me and Keia," said Rienn, hugging a pillow.
"Really? Wow. It seemed like you were having fun at the riverbank the other day." A weird possibility occurred to Rodney. "Was that--hey, is all that just an act?"
"No, we were having fun. I do love her. I love her so much. Sometimes we seem like we're practically the same person, you know?" She smiled sadly. "But then other times it seems like we don't understand each other at all." She sighed. "Tell me, Rodney. What's your secret?"
"My secret?" There were so many to choose from.
"You and John. You seem so in love, even after two years. Or is that not the case?"
"No, no, of course it's the case. You want to know my secret for relationship success? Easy. The key to a relationship is..." He racked his brain for anything anyone had ever said to him on the subject. The problem was that relationship advice had never really been particularly relevant to him; he'd dated girls, but not for longer than a year or so, and he'd never put much stock in anyone else's opinion.
"Communication," he said finally, settling on something he thought he'd heard Teyla mention at some point. "You have to be open and honest. You can't keep secrets from each other." Ha. "And great sex, of course!" Double ha.
That got a smile, anyway. "You're right." Rienn nodded slowly. "Of course you are. I'll do my best." She opened her arms and embraced him. "Thank you, Rodney. You have been a good friend to me."
"No problem," said Rodney.
She actually seemed cheered. So there, John, Rodney thought smugly. Then he bid her goodbye, because he might as well quite while he was ahead.
*
The party was still swinging, and John was still parked in front of the fire. The accumulated stress of the week must have been finally catching up with him, because he was practically nodding off into his beer. Damn. Rodney had hoped to keep him out all night and hang on him. Yes, yes, it was very wrong, but tomorrow it would be all over so he might as well enjoy it while he could.
"Look alive, Colonel," said Rodney, removing the precariously hanging goblet from his slack grip.
"I'm just resting my eyes," said John without opening his eyes.
Rodney had only been bisexual for half a day but even he knew it was mean to force your boyfriend to party with you all night when he was hurting from a fifty-hour workweek of sparring with bodybuilders, even if he was only your fake boyfriend. "You want to cut out?"
"Nah. It'd be rude to go now."
"So we'll be rude. That's kind of my specialty."
Rodney put an arm around John's shoulder and led him off to the tents amidst cheers from the assembled partygoers, who clearly assumed they were slipping off, like some of the others already had, to cap off the night's excitement with some white-hot fucking. If only.
They walked with their arms slung over each other the whole way, even though they seemed to be alone by the time they got to their tent. (The warriors seemed to prefer to engage in exhilaration-sex in unusual locales.) It was probably for the best. They'd both had a little more to drink than was perhaps necessary.
"There you go, now, isn't that nice?" Rodney cooed as he deposited John onto the cot. He couldn't explain why the beer seemed to have made him matronly and vaguely Scottish, but it was beyond his control. "Under the covers, there you are." He shrugged out of his jacket and stretched out next to John.
"Thanks, Rodney." John smiled sleepily and lolled into Rodney's space, and then his lips were slipping hotly over Rodney's mouth. It was a moment before Rodney even realized there was anything wrong with this picture, and several more before John did, and in the interval the following thoughts passed through Rodney's head:
1. John wanted him too! 2. Well, of course. Where had he gotten the absurd assumption that John wouldn't want him too? 2(A). They were best friends. Practically the same person. 2(B). Rodney was an attractive guy and had, by all accounts, a good ass. 3. Straight? Pshaw. 3(A). Why would a straight guy ever agree play this game? 3(A(a)). Even Rodney was driven by secret lust. 3(B). Aforementioned "good ass" comment. 3(C). Waaaay too good at "playing" gay. 3(C(a)). "sweetheart baby darling" 3(C(b)). "Ta ta!" 3(C(c)). "I'm a pretty good actor." 4. Hooray!
John froze against his mouth. Rodney took the hint and pulled back. "Ah..." he began.
"Sorry," John mumbled. "I forgot."
Rodney had his thoughts together now and knew exactly what he wanted to say; and what actually came out of his mouth, while considerably less eloquent than planned, got the job done. "Fuck me!" he said.
John frowned, misunderstanding. "Hey, no need to get upset..."
"No, no, really!" Rodney bounced happily on the cot. "We're here, we're queer, I guess, we're a little drunk so we can blame it on that later if need be, it's our last night on Gayworld, and everyone thinks we're fucking anyway, so let's fuck!"
Now John was awake, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He blinked. Cautiously he said, "Cut it out, Rodney."
"Oh, come on, John, you don't have to pretend with me. Not here. I know you're attracted to me. I'm saying I'm attracted to you too. It's perfect! Now we can be all 'what happens on Kalenna stays on Kalenna' about it if you want, but if so, that's all the more reason not to waste another minute. Come on, now, get with the program." And with those admittedly unromantic words (paired with some equally unromantic snaps) he planted on hand on John's bicep, another on his thigh, and leaned forward.
Then there was a sharp pain in Rodney's chest and he went tumbling to the floor, nearly taking the whole tent down with him. He looked up, betrayed, at John, who stood over him, breathing, looking fearsome and fearful.
"Sorry," said John after a tense moment, "but even you have to admit you were asking for it."
Rodney sulkily checked his mouth and nose for blood. There was none. "I don't understand," he moaned. "I'm right! I know when I'm right and I'm right that you want me. Nothing else makes sense."
"Nice humility," John muttered, rubbing his hair.
"Please." Rodney scrambled to his feet. "I can see right through you. This right here, this is the act! Come on. Tell it to my face. Look me in the eye and tell me you're not attracted to me."
John looked him in the eye. "I'm not attracted to you."
"Oh," said Rodney.
*
Rodney trudged through the rows of tents, shoulders slumped. The soldiers' living quarter had felt so private earlier, just him and John, but now he could see and hear evidence of plenty of couples screwing in their tents. He was the loneliest man on the planet. He shivered. And to top it all off he'd left John's jacket in the tent.
It didn't make any sense. But then people in general didn't make sense, and John was, classically, among the least predictable.
It was possible, of course, that John was dealing with the exact same set of confused motives and epiphanies that Rodney had got over in lightning speed. He was just not as logical and perspicacious and therefore still believed his own self-deluding bullshit. If John had called him on it the day before, just gone up to him and said "You want me, so come on and fuck me," what would Rodney have said then? Well, obviously he would have considered John's point carefully and conceded its truth, and thenceforth fucking should have commenced; but not everyone was as eminently reasonable as he.
Then again, maybe John was so much less mentally complicated than Rodney that he didn't even have confused motives and self-deluding bullshit. Maybe he genuinely had agreed to go along with the game because Rodney had asked him to and because it was a lark. Maybe he didn't need actual underlying desire; maybe for him, fucking with people's heads was motive enough. It was difficult for Rodney to judge the relative complexity of other life forms' thought processes since his own were so advanced. He kicked a rock.
Where could he go now? He was exiled from his tent. The party was still going on down at the arena, but he didn't feel like sitting alone among the couples, getting asked "Where's John?" He also didn't really feel like going to Jerol and explaining that he needed a new tent.
He thought maybe Rienn would be able to come up with something, but her tent was dark and still. He remembered Keia saying that she liked to go to the mess at night for snacks, and he realized he was terribly hungry. Nothing like attempting to jump your best friend and getting horrifically shot down to fuel the appetite.
The mess was dark and empty, the energy lamps extinguished and the long tables cleared of their usual bowls of bread and fruit. Between concern for disturbing Sheppard's sleep and plain exhaustion, Rodney hadn't attempted to score any midnight snacks while he was here, and he wasn't quite sure of the protocol. The underclass, the farmers, were always walking back and forth at mealtimes, carrying heavy platters from behind a partition at the back of the room, so Rodney headed in that direction. He wondered if there would just be food out, or if he'd have to rifle through the stores, and whether that was quite allowed. Then, if he were caught, it would probably be by one of the servants, and they probably didn't have the authority to get him in trouble.
He rounded the partition into the kitchen and jumped. He was not alone. At the other end of the dark room, a couple was quietly fucking. The woman was perched on a table with her back to Rodney. The man, a pale, angular scarecrow, braced his skinny arms against a bar of hanging pans behind her. Short low grunts escaped the woman's lips. Something pinged Rodney as wrong about this scenario, but it took him another moment to remember he hadn't seen anyone brazenly flaunting their heterosexuality since he arrived. Definitely a no-no for warriors, but he guessed it was all right for the farmer class, of which this man was clearly one.
He was debating asserting his God-given right as a technical honorary member of the warrior class and demanding food vs. politely giving the straight people their privacy when the woman's face turned and Rodney recognized Rienn.
There was no question of getting a snack now. He desperately wished he could unsee what he'd seen. He did the next best thing and turned and fled.
Just outside the door to the mess he crashed headlong into Sheppard. John put an arm out to help him, but then stepped back and let him dust himself off on his own.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," said Rodney stiffly.
"Thought I'd find you here." John put his hands in his pockets. "Find anything?"
Rodney jumped. "What?"
"To eat."
"No. No, there's nothing in there. Complete waste of time," said Rodney. Not that he distrusted John, exactly, but he figured the fewer people in on Rienn's extracurricular activities, the better.
"Listen," said John. "I shouldn't've hit you."
"Uh... that's okay," said Rodney. "I shouldn't've." He stopped, unable to come up with a suitably euphemistic way to end the sentence on short notice.
"You can come back if you want. Sleep." Without waiting for an answer, he turned and headed back toward the tents. Rodney briefly considered refusing the charity, but he really didn't have anywhere else to go, so he ran to catch up.
Sensing that it was going to be another night like their first here, the only undressing Rodney did was to empty his pockets before he scrunched up on the far edge of the cot, trying his best to become two-dimensional. John didn't make the same effort. When he lay down Rodney felt the warmth of his body pressing solidly against his back. He wasn't exactly spooning, but neither was he trying to maintain distance. Rodney turned to him to talk to him, or at least try and interpret his expression, but he was facing in the other direction. His back was bare.
This was a confusing fucking planet.
*
They were wakened before dawn by commotion outside. Voices, shouting. A thump and an anguished cry. Rodney looked over. John was just waking up himself. He rubbed his eye, glanced at Rodney, and shrugged. They climbed out of bed.
A crowd had gathered near Keia and Rienn's tent. John and Rodney pushed to the front and found Keia was slamming Rienn into the ground. Rienn was making only a cursory effort to struggle, blood and tears streaming down her face. Keia pulled up her head by the hair and hissed in her ear. "Slut!"
She yanked Rienn to her feet and threw her backward. "Breeder!"
Rienn landed at the feet of one of the spectators, who simply shoved her roughly back into the ring at Keia.
"Hey, hey, hey, now!"
John had entered the ring. He tried to pull Keia off Rienn, but Keia, hardly breaking the time of her punches, just flicked her arm back, elbowing him in the face. John dodged, but just a moment too late, so that her blow bruised the side of his face instead of bashing his nose in. She clearly expected him to be down for the count, so she wasn't expecting it when he threw his arms around her neck. He managed to pull her back a few steps before she ducked underneath him, flipping him over her shoulder. With her rage turned to John, Rodney slipped to Rienn's side to examine her injuries. She curled into a fetal ball and turned her head against Rodney's knee, shielding her dirty tear-streaked face from the others.
"What is the meaning of this?" thundered a voice. Commander Ayal pushed through the crowd, looking even more frighteningly stern than usual, the scar over his eye bulging. He leapt into the fray and wrapped his arms tightly around Keia, binding her.
"Commander Sheppard!" Ayal sounded like a disappointed parent. "Perhaps you are not aware that we limit our sparring to the arena!"
John stepped back, panting, and wiped a trace of blood from his eye.
Keia struggled, and Ayal let her go. "It's her!" She thrust an accusatory finger at Rienn. "She fucks men!"
All eyes were now on Rienn as she pathetically pushed her way up. Rodney just knelt there, feeling useless and stupid, wondering if it would be better or worse for her if he tried to help her, and resisting the urge to jump away lest he, too, be labeled a dirty heterosexual.
Ayal's expression turned from garden-variety storm cloud to horrendous nightmarescape. The scar throbbed mesmerizingly. "Violation of kya-nde-ki is a serious accusation."
"I accuse her!" said Keia.
"You have been accused," Ayal told Rienn. She was still on her hands and knees, pathetically bleeding into the dirt, but she managed to nod acknowledgment.
"Are you guilty?"
"You don't have to answer that," Rodney advised, even though he had no reason to believe there was such a thing as Miranda rights on this world.
She shook her head. "It's okay, Rodney." She got herself to a kneeling position and looked defiantly up at Ayal. Rodney braced himself. Rienn declared in as strong a voice as could be expected from a woman with bleeding jaw, "I am innocent."
Huh, thought Rodney.
"Very well. You will be escorted to the chamber of questioning. Are there any enforcers present?"
Some hardened thugs stepped forward from the assembled gawkers. Rodney put a protective arm around Rienn's back, and John joined him at Rienn's other side. "We'll take her."
Ayal frowned disapprovingly, but he didn't forbid it, just turned and began walking up the hill.
Rodney and John helped Rienn to her feet. She tried to break free and walk on her own, but instead she stumbled to the ground and retched.
"Quickly!" Ayal commanded.
"Come on. No arguing." John swept Rienn into his arms and carried her, wedding-style. She made noises of protest at first, but then relaxed gratefully into his embrace. Rodney tried not to feel jealous.
He ran to catch up with Ayal. "What are you going to do to her?"
"She will be questioned. If she is found guilty, she faces death. If she admits to her crime, and begs forgiveness, or if it determined that she has been defiled by force, she shall merely be exiled, and shall never longer bear the title of warrior."
"Jesus." Rodney glanced back at John and Rienn. They were close enough to hear, but neither seemed surprised.
Ayal shook his head. "I am sorry you had to witness this unfortunate incident, and on your last night here, which should have been joyous. But it serves as a reminder of the importance of discipline in our ranks." He eyed Rodney reproachfully, the way he had when he first saw Teyla's stomach.
The mob followed them to the fortress, but most were not allowed into the chamber of questioning; only a handful of enforcers, John because he was carrying Rienn, and Rodney, who was perhaps permitted as an attache of John. Ayal sat in an ornate chair and nodded at the floor in front of him. John carefully placed Rienn down on the ground (the enforcers snorted at his gentleness) and squeezed her shoulder encouragingly before stepping back.
"Leave us."
The enforcers marched out, and, after Rienn sent them a reassuring wave, John and Rodney reluctantly followed. It was called the chamber of questioning, not the chamber of kicking-you-when-you're-down, but Rodney still felt weird leaving her alone. Rodney tried to listen at the door after Ayal closed it, but it was thick, solid wood, and the walls were thick, solid stone. No sound escaped.
The crowd was still gathered outside, poised, waiting. Rodney leaned wearily against the fortress wall. John stood next to him and, after a moment, quietly took his hand. Rodney looked around, unsure how to react. This didn't seem like the time or place. Then again, they'd probably lost some militant-homosexual points by showing such sympathy to Rienn. Hadn't they started the game in the first place ostensibly to divert this kind of suspicion? But it felt hateful to use it so calculatingly now. Rodney extricated his hand.
Keia was yammering her story to anyone who'd listen, from which Rodney roughly reconstructed what must have actually happened. Keia had left the party and headed up toward the mess (looking, she was sure to tell everyone, for a present for her erstwhile lover). Rienn had emerged, looking preoccupied, her uniform in a state of disarray. Keia had asked her what was wrong, thinking she might have gotten into a fight. Rienn had hesitated, and then asked Keia if she could keep a secret. "Of course," Keia had said. "You can trust me with anything." So Rienn had pulled her into their tent, and told her. Keia's description of Rienn's sexual encounter with the farmer man was told with a level of lurid detail that could only be embellished. Rodney doubted Rienn had gotten very far into her explanation before Keia starting beating her up.
Rodney crossed his arms and tried to look disbelieving.
Ayal emerged from the chamber of questioning. Rodney was pleased to note that his uniform did not look any more blood-spattered than before. He called Keia in, and she flew to the door, anxious to deliver her testimony.
Ayal looked around the assembled mob. "Is anyone in possession of any further evidence?"
There was a silence. Ayal looked right at Rodney. What the hell? Rodney blushed and sweated. John followed Ayal's gaze and looked at Rodney quizzically.
"Suppression of evidence is a serious offense," Ayal rumbled, "punishable by pain."
A warrior's definition of "pain" was certainly several levels more intense than Rodney was comfortable with. His leg began to twitch. For God's sake, relax, he ordered himself There was no way to prove he knew anything; only Rienn and her boyfriend could have seen him, and Rienn had a vested interest in his silence, and the boyfriend wasn't even being consulted at this trial. Of course, John had seen him at the mess...
"Can anyone suggest a person, present or not, who may be in possession of further evidence?"
Rodney glanced surreptitiously at John. He was looking straight ahead.
"Very well," Ayal told the silent crowd. "Keia, your evidence will be taken. Anyone with any further information should come to us immediately. I will deliver my verdict at tomorrow's morning meal."
The crowd made noises of disappointment as Ayal and Keia disappeared inside. They must've been used to instant judicial action while-u-wait. As the soldiers dispersed, heading back to their tents to get some sleep or get off on Keia's stories, Rodney stayed where he was. John remained with him. Finally when they were more or less alone, Rodney broke under the pressure of John's suspicious glances, and said quietly, "Well, obviously she's guilty."
"Obviously," said John. "So you did."
"So I did wh--Oh God, it wasn't me!" Rodney whisper-yelled. "Is that what you think? No! John. No."
"You sure?"
"Am I sure? Of course I'm sure. What? First of all, when would this alleged tryst have occurred? Between when you kicked me out of bed and when you came and got me again, I had exactly enough time to go to the mess, walk in on her and her cook or whatever, and leave, and I know this because that's what I did. I'm not that fast. Ask any of my exes."
"Well, I don't know. You could have done it anytime. At the labs or anything."
"Well, I didn't," said Rodney.
"Okay," said John.
"Okay," said Rodney. Then, "You really think I could have?"
John just stared.
"Okay, okay, sorry, not the time," Rodney conceded. "So what's the plan? What do we do next?"
"Leave," said John. "Thank God."
"Ah, you meant to say 'help her first and then leave', right?"
"Help her how?"
"I don't know. Get her off this fucking planet."
"What, you want to bring her back to Atlantis with us? Make her your right-hand woman?"
Rienn had such a fertile mind that Rodney had, in fact, daydreamed about hiring her to do menial work in the labs, but it wasn't really a possibility. Her intellect shone bright among the duds on Kalenna. At home, she'd seem a pretty weak bulb.
Still, John's scorn was unwarranted. "You got Ronon," Rodney pointed out.
"Yeah, but I don't want to sleep with Ronon."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Nothing," said John. He concluded, somewhat off-topic, "I just don't think we should get involved."
"What? What is this, some misguided attempt to invoke the prime directive? We've already sold them arms, you nimrod."
John shrugged. "It's like Teyla said. This is their way of life."
"Oh my God," said Rodney. "She could be killed because she fell in love with the wrong person in a society that would never approve! I know you find that hard to relate to, being the poster boy for mainstream sexuality, but still. Surely you can find it in your heart to have some kind of compassion here. Haven't you seen West Side Story?"
"No," said John irritably. "And don't call me Shirley."
Rodney was ready for him. "Joey," he said tensely, "have you ever seen a grown man naked?"
John made a "you've gotta be kidding" face, but Rodney didn't back down. John looked away, and, finally, sighed.
"Fine. Whatever. Go offer her asylum."
"Yes!" Rodney grinned. "I love being the deus ex machina."
*
"I didn't do anything."
Rodney looked longingly at the stone wall opposite. Trying to talk to it, or possibly even to John, would be easier. Even after a patient explanation of why Rodney knew her exact level of guilt and why he didn't care one way or the other, Rienn was sticking to her story.
"Well, it was nice knowing you," said Rodney.
"You too," said Rienn politely.
Rodney sighed. "Listen, I told you, we're alone. Nobody can hear us. Eavesdropping at this door is an exercise in futility, I should know, and I would have seen energy devices on my scan. You can be straight with me. Uh, truthful."
"I didn't do--"
"Okay, fine," Rodney snapped. "I don't care. Just come with us. We can find you a place to live--a good one. Both of you, if you want. You can be with him, for real. No more hiding."
Rienn stared at the table. Her face was swollen to chipmunk proportions, and she looked lost and forlorn. Rodney thought maybe he was getting through.
"And hey," he said. "You can go on being a warrior if that's what you want."
"Not a Kalenna warrior," said Rienn with new conviction. "This is my home." Her eyes flashed, and for a moment she resembled her commander, what with the slashes across her face that would certainly scar if not stitched, which they wouldn't be, because Rodney hadn't seen a single medic anywhere, and anyway, they were probably a point of irrational pride.
"Well, it's a sucky home," said Rodney. "They're going to punish you for being who you are. And for what? There's nothing wrong with who you are. Who you are is great."
"I know," said Rienn reverently. "I am a Kalenna warrior."
"Terrific," Rodney sighed. "Don't come crying to me when you're dead."
*
"Okay, she won't come, but we should probably still make the offer to the guy. I don't know his name, and I only saw him for like a second, so I don't know if I'd recognize him, but we can just go over to the farmers' side and ask for the guy who scored with the warrior. They're probably making him their king if they're not lynching him."
"No need," said John. "I just talked to Ayal. They're going to find her innocent."
Rodney breathed out a long sigh of relief.
"I said our goodbyes, too, so we can bail whenever you're ready. What's that?"
"Hm? Oh." Rodney held out the long box he was holding under his arm. "I stopped by the lab. This is for you."
John eyed the box suspiciously as they walked down the hill and out to the meadow where the jumper was cloaked. "It's not a dozen long-stemmed roses, is it?"
"Ha, ha. No, you don't have to worry. I'm over that. Temporary insanity. I'm sure I'll be straight again once I get to Atlantis." Rodney looked over his shoulder. John had stopped a few paces back, peering into the box. What he was looking at was a brand new super-cool energy rifle with all the bells and whistles, some of which Rodney didn't even understand because his own ATA was too weak to activate them.
John closed the box and looked up at Rodney, grinning. "How did you know?"
"I don't know, I just had this feeling." Rodney smiled back. He was getting that warm fuzzy feeling in his stomach again. He'd better be straight again once he got back to Atlantis, because he wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.
They walked in mostly-comfortable silence down the hill to the jumper. When they arrived--John knew exactly where she was, and patted her affectionately to decloak--Rodney glanced back at the fortress. Against the gray sky it looked foreboding and grim. Hard to believe he had so many happy memories from the last five days.
John didn't look back, just hefted the box under his arm and whistled a little tune. "Well, I'd say this was a successful trip."
"I guess." Rodney climbed up the gangway behind him. "I wish Rienn would've come with us."
"She made her choice, and hey, she didn't get slaughtered," said John. "Can't ask more than that."
"But what kind of life is she going to have there?" Rodney threw himself into the shotgun seat. "Everyone's always going to suspect her, and doubt, and it's not like she's going to stop liking men. She's just going to have to live with it."
"But she gets to be a warrior."
"Fuck that," said Rodney.
"No, it's all right," John assured him. "Think about it. Would you have left your home? Your people?"
"I did," said Rodney.
"Right, Earth, whatever." John dismissed his home planet with a wave. "Would you leave Atlantis? Even if you couldn't be with--Katie, or whoever you like."
So nice of you to pretend you don't know, Rodney thought.
"In her place," said John. "I'd have made the exact same choice."
Rodney stared as John lovingly guided the ship up into the air. You did, he thought. You do, all the time.
"So tell me this," said Rodney. "Say you're in her position. You like guys. Uh, you're a Kalenna girl in this scenario."
"Got it."
"You meet this perfect guy that you're totally into. Smart, charming, sexy, gets your jokes..."
"Riiight..."
"What would you do--just ignore it? Or would you go for it, have this whole secret relationship? I mean, would you make the same choice she did originally, to give this guy a shot? Pretend you don't know how it's going to turn out."
"The thing is, that's always the way it turns out, eventually," said John. "That or you break each other's hearts. Or both."
"So, then... you wouldn't," said Rodney flatly.
"No," said John after a moment. "I would."
Rodney looked at him. He was concentrating on his flying, looking straight ahead into the sky. His hands were resting on the dials, but only the left seemed to be doing anything. On an impulse Rodney reached out and took the right. John glanced down briefly, but he didn't pull away.
"Will you?" Rodney asked quietly.
"I don't want to engage in hypotheticals, Rodney," was all John would say.
Then, all of a sudden, a jolt coursed through Rodney's body, because John squeezed his hand.
"So," said Rodney, coughing, and catching on, "it's Wednesday, you know. Game night."
"That's right," said John. "My quarters after debriefing?"
"Let the games begin," said Rodney.
The End
In exchange for her beta on Two Weeks Notice, my McKay/Zelenka romantic comedy, I promised keefaq an equally lighthearted John/Rodney romp. She wanted a good old-fashioned oldschool cliche fic: a story featuring a tried and true SGA fic trope. On the shortlist:
1. Pretending to be gay
2. Forced proximity
3. Oblivious!Rodney
4. Pining!John
5. Accidental Outing
6. DADT
7. Geeky!john
8. Past exposed
I thought, why do one of these when I could do all of them? I revised "all" to "five" and came up with the outline for this story. I then proceeded to write about half of it, take a three month long break (due mainly to life events, classes and other writing), and then finally finish it in the form you see now as a way of putting off working on a yule fic.
Google ads alongside my text box when I had this in gmail drafts:
- Stargate Atlantis Poll
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YESSSSS.
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