Title: The Lament of Consequence
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: NC-17 - Adult
Word Count: 8,813
Genre: AMTDI
Warnings: Dubious Consent - and I suppose by definition AMTDI is non-con but this is not non-con in the conventional sense; and I think my beta said it best: Angst, Angst, OMG ANGST
Legal: None of the Atlantis personnel are mine, shame really
Betas: Many thanks to girly_curl_3 and velocitygrass, this fic is so much better because of them. You guys are absolutely the BEST! But I can never leave well enough alone, so any remaining errors are all mine.
Summary: As he walks up the long hallway toward freedom, John is vaguely aware of Elizabeth's voice. She's explaining to Rodney that their release only cost them a few extra bags of milled flax seed and some medical supplies. John knows it cost much, much more.


The Lament of Consequence

As he walks up the long hallway toward freedom, John is vaguely aware of Elizabeth's voice. She's explaining to Rodney that their release only cost them a few extra bags of milled flax seed and some medical supplies. John knows it cost much, much more.

He watches Rodney walk ahead of him. Nothing will ever be the same again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ronon, no!" Teyla's voice alerted John to the scuffle off to his left, out of the corner of his eye. Spinning around, he saw the unthinkable.

Two muscular men were restraining Ronon. Another younger man cowered on the ground, his arms above his head. John raised his weapon in warning. Teyla and Rodney quickly followed suit, but before John could even speak, something heavy struck him from behind, pinning his arms. He watched helplessly as his P-90 clattered against the stone street. He caught a brief glimpse of the others, struggling in the same manner, before something slipped over his head, blocking out his vision.

~~~~

Blindfolded, hands shackled, he and Rodney were led down what seemed to be a long corridor. At first, the surface under his feet seemed to be a continuation of the tiles from the main Grand Hall – the place they'd been taken immediately following the incident. After walking some distance, the grade underfoot began to decline, their footsteps muffled, and even through his boots, John could tell it was hard ground they were walking on.

He didn't fully understand the proceeding that had taken place, but he knew a pig circus when he saw one. Something about Scions and breaking the law of Ususeth. He didn't have a clue what a Scion was and nobody had bothered to explain. A tall man dressed in distinguished ceremonial garb, who John assumed was some sort of High Priest, stood before them rattling off a string of charges before ordering men to take them away.

A cool breeze floated over his forearms and the dankness of the air reached beneath the hood - pungently organic - dirt. He was sure Rodney had figured it out, too, realized they were heading underground – partly because Rodney was a very smart man and partly because he could hear his quick, shallow breathing reverberating through the corridor.

"McKay?" he whispered.

"I'm here." The soft voice came from behind him.

"You all right?"

"Oh, sure. I live to be taken captive by every backward, henotheistic society in the Pegasus galaxy. You?"

"Fine," he said, ignoring the sarcasm, "but, small spaces…"

"Hey, you know, I hadn't thought of that, thanks for the reminder." He paused before adding, "I'm okay."

Nice try, John thought. "What the hell did you say to these people anyway?" he asked.

"Me? Nothing. Why do you always—it was Ronon. He got into a tussle with one of those temple priests or whatever."

"Then where are Ronon and Teyla? Why weren't they brought before that—"

"That's what I was trying to tell you when our escorts here showed up. They let them go. The last I saw, more of those huge guys were leading them back to the ga—Oohf."

He winced at the rush of air leaving Rodney's lungs.

"McKay?" He halted. "All right, that's it. You guys wanna tell me where we're going and why we're being—" John staggered forward as something hard slammed against the back of his knees. He fought to maintain his balance and continued walking. "Jeez, fellas, a simple no would have been—"

"You will keep silent." The voice was in front of him; a dark, menacing voice with a cadence as old as the Ancients. It sounded like that Priest – Ul'rhat, he'd called himself.

"Let it go, Sheppard," Rodney whispered. It was just like McKay to try to get in the last word. John braced for another whump, but it didn't come.

Up ahead, the sound of chains rang out, metal against metal and finally, strong hands jerked him to a halt. He gasped at the lighter but musty air as someone lifted the blindfold. When his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he found himself staring into a cell. He turned just in time to see guards pulling the hood off Rodney and unshackling his hands. He was a little flushed, John noted, his eyes wide in normal McKay panic mode, but he appeared unhurt, and that was the important thing.

He quickly surveyed the accommodations. A large table occupied the center of the cell bracketed by two cots on either side. They were slightly smaller than the beds in Atlantis, if that were possible. A heavy linen cloth covered the table, which was set with bowls of fruit, bread and two large flagon-like containers. Along the back wall stood a basin, with a large porcelain pot on the floor beside it. Not bad as cells went, but a cell with bars just the same and John didn't particularly like being locked up.

Rodney edged next to him. They exchanged glances as Ul'rhat motioned them inside.

"Hold on just a minute," John said. "Are you going to tell us why we're here and why we're being detained?" and quickly added, "in a way we can understand."

The man peered into John's eyes. "One of your number dared to make physical contact with a Scion. This is strictly forbidden."

"Well, if you'll excuse us," John said as Rodney shifted behind him, "we're not exactly from around here. We have no way of knowing your customs. I believe we've offered our apo—"

"There are no excuses. The law of Ususeth has been broken."

"But we didn't break the law. Why—"

Ul'rhat raised his hand, silencing Sheppard. "Those who will suffer the punishment are chosen. It matters not who commits the offense."

"Well, we do things a little differently in our neck of the woods," John said, stepping forward toward the Priest. He immediately found himself surrounded by guards. He backtracked, glancing from the guards to Ul'rhat. "You do realize that our friends have returned through the gate? They'll come back with help, and with a lot more firepower." Rodney snorted behind him and John could almost hear the eyeroll of derision.

"Yes, Colonel Sheppard. In fact, one of our council has already spoken to your superior and explained the reason for your detention. I am told your Dr. Weir will be returning with the others to engage in counsel for your release. However, I am afraid you must remain here until that time. But we are not barbarians." He gestured to the cell. "We have seen to your comfort. There are beds—"

"Of sorts," Rodney interrupted.

"—and food and drink." Bringing his hands together, Ul'rhat's smile was a grotesque slash. "I do not believe the time passed will be unpleasant."

"Too late for that," Rodney said under his breath and John made shushing motions with his hand.

"Now, I leave you," Ul'rhat said. He glanced to one of the guards, who nudged John forward. He and Rodney stepped into the cell. "Sentries are posted just outside," Ul'rhat continued, his unusually pale hand pointed toward a doorway that apparently led to the long corridor they'd just come from. "Should you require anything, you need only call out." John took that as a pleasant way of telling them they were being guarded in case they had thoughts of escaping, which was odd, since the only way out was that way – past the guards.

John watched as the long cerulean robes swept out of sight. Stepping back, he was resigned to the incarceration for the moment, and consoled himself with knowing that if their fate lay in negotiations, at least it was Elizabeth who would be speaking on their behalf.

He turned to the table and began picking through one of the bowls, selecting a tiny yellow fruit resembling a lemon, but soft and fuzzy. Rodney stopped him before it could reach his mouth.

"Are you insane? You aren't seriously going to eat that?"

"I'm sure it's all right, Rodney. These people don't seem to mean us any real harm. We're just pawns for negotiating purposes, probably trying to get a better trade deal. I don't buy that law of Ususeth mumbo-jumbo. Besides, we're liable to be here a while. They took our vests, remember…no power bars."

"Yeah, don't remind me," Rodney muttered.

"Here," John handed him one of the yellow fruits, "you have to eat, too."

Rodney stared. "Well, if I do, I'm not eating that. Are you trying to kill me?"

John cut his eyes at Rodney. "Not yet. Look, it's not a lemon—it doesn't feel like a lemon and it doesn't smell like a lemon. In fact," he pressed the soft middle of the fruit with his thumbs, breaking it open, juice running down over his fingers, "see, it's not even citrusy."

"Citrusy?"

He shrugged and offered half to Rodney, who shook his head and rummaged through the bowl. John ate, licking the juice from his fingers.

"Any one of these could be potentially deadly," Rodney mumbled to himself. He began picking through the bread bowl, selected a portion and handed the bowl to John. Rodney poured water from one of the jugs on the table and poured what looked like syrup from the other. They looked at one another, both choosing the water.

The guards came back to check on them while they were eating, spoke among themselves and went away again. That puzzled John. He looked around; the wall behind them was clearly underground. There was no way to escape, why the need to monitor them? He sat down on one of the cots and finished off his fruit.

"No telling how long this'll take," he told Rodney as he stretched out. At least the mattresses were covered. It looked like the same material as the linen on the table and there was a blanket, very small, very worn and thin. "I'm gonna try and get a little shut-eye," John said stuffing the rolled up blanket behind his head, one booted foot crossing over the other. "Wake me up if anything interesting happens."

"Right," Rodney replied. "That's right, here we are, incarcerated, no food, our fates undecided and you want to sleep."

John smiled. "Relax, Rodney," he said. "You heard the man, Elizabeth's on her way. She'll get us out of this."

~~~~

Rodney woke with a start, a hand on his shoulder.

"Sheppard?" He bolted upright. He had fallen asleep at the table. "Wha—what is it, what's wrong? John was in Rodney's personal space, leaning over him, shirtless, sweating profusely. Rodney could see it trickling down his chest. "What is it?" he asked again.

"I don't know. Something's—I feel like I'm on fire." Rodney winced as John's fingers dug into his shoulder.

"You're sweating." He touched John's arm. "Oh my God, you're burning up. I'll get the guards."

"No," John held him down, "I don't want them to know anything."

"Are you kidding, look at you, we've got to get you some help." Rodney rose and pushed past him to the front of the cell.

"Guards? Hello?" Rodney called.

"It's the Colonel," Rodney pointed when they arrived. "He's ill. Do you have someone that could take a look at him? A healer, or a medicine man, shaman, witch doctor – anyone?"

The guards stared at Rodney for a moment, then looked to John. To Rodney's utter disbelief, they began to laugh – not just a chuckle, but real belly laughs. They turned and continued their cackling as they retreated up the hallway.

"Hey," Rodney called after them, "this man needs help—hey!"

"Leave it, Rodney." John's voice was unrecognizable – under-inflated tires on a gravel road – low and grim. Rodney whirled around, his heart racing. John was in the far corner of the cell, sitting on his cot. As Rodney made his way over, he could hear Sheppard's ragged breathing. He started to sit down but John immediately retreated to the far end. Rodney reached out but that voice stopped him cold.

"Get away from me."

"What?" Rodney's voice rose. "Are you—"

"Just do as I say. Stay away from me, don't talk to me and don't call for the guards, understand?"

"No, I—"

"Rodney," his voice was quieter, "just stay on your side of the cell. Please."

Rodney paused, then took a step forward.

"Dammit, McKay, DO IT!" and that tone sent him scuffling back across the room.

"But, I don't understand—what is it?" he asked, making his way to his own cot. He sat down; wanting desperately to know what was going on. He watched John across the room, sitting there, knees pulled up to his chest, bare arms encircling them, his head resting on his arms. Rodney tried to think of something, anything he could do, both to help Sheppard and slow his own rising level of panic. He was afraid to call for the guards again, didn't want to upset Sheppard, but there was definitely something wrong with him. Rodney's mind immediately went back to the time John had been infected with the Wraith retro-virus. Was this some kind of relapse—some kind of flashback?

After a few minutes, he heard moaning and panting from across the cell. Concerned that John's condition might be getting worse, Rodney got up to investigate. As he neared the cot, he realized John's hand was inside his pants.

"Sheppard? Oh my God." He tried to move away, but he was rooted to the spot.

In an instant, John was up off the bed, backing Rodney against the earthen wall.

Rodney instinctively brought his hands to his chest. He had no idea what to expect from Sheppard's bizarre behavior. John leaned into him, pinning him against the wall. Nudging his crotch against Rodney's hip, John dipped his head, hot breath licked across Rodney's neck and into his ear.

Rodney finally forced his hands out and shoved John off him. "Sheppard—what the hell? What are you doing?"

Rodney stared into blown pupils as John took a step back. John's eyes were wide and Rodney saw something dark there. "No," John muttered. "Not—."

Rodney's brows knitted together. "What?"

"Nothing—nothing," John answered, showing Rodney his sweat-slicked back as he turned to his cot. "Rodney," it was the not-Sheppard voice. "Get the guards. Ask them for some rope or something – you're gonna need to tie me up."

"I what? What are you talking about? What is wrong with you? You have to te—" Like flipping a switch, Rodney's mind began fitting the pieces together. "The food. Oh no, oh my God, you've been poisoned. Wait, no we both ate," Rodney said. Then, snapping his fingers, "That fruit!"

Rodney called out for the guards.

"Listen," Rodney pleaded when they showed up. "Something is really wrong here, are you going to get someone to look at him? He wants me to tie him up." Rodney mimed his hands behind his back.

The guards looked at one another before breaking into peals of laughter.

"I don't know what the hell you find so amusing." Rodney raised his voice, "I want someone here, now, to look at this man, there is something wrong with—"

"All of you just shut the fuck up!" Rodney was startled by John's sudden appearance at his side. The guards stopped laughing and stared at Sheppard. Rodney stared at Sheppard.

John glared at the guards, his voice low and dangerous when he finally spoke. It was ice-water down Rodney's back. "Get me out of this cell. Move me, separate us. NOW!" he demanded.

"No, no, no," Rodney cried. "What are you—that's crazy."

"Be quiet, Rodney." Still looking at the guards, John continued, "Either take me out of this cell, or give Doctor McKay here some rope—better yet, move McKay." The guards regarded one another and one of them stepped away.

"Sheppard, what's wrong with you? I—you always tell us to avoid being separated at all costs. I don't—"

John cut him off. "This is for your own good Rodney, trust me."

"What? Oh God, we need to get somebody in here." He turned to the remaining guard. "Well, aren't you going to do something?" he screamed.

John turned back toward his corner just as the other guard returned. Accompanying him was a wizened old woman in long azure robes. Her nest of silver hair was coiled and fastened at the back of her head with long ebony sticks. As she entered the cell, Rodney's sensitive nose picked up traces of incense and herbs. She glanced his way as she walked toward Sheppard, who peered up at her as she approached. The woman bent and grasped his chin in her wrinkled hand, lifting it to look into his eyes. She reached for his wrist, holding her fingers steady for several seconds before straightening and making her way to the table. She examined the bowls and cast her gaze to Rodney.

"You did not eat?" she asked, pointing to the bowl of fruit. Her voice was small, but powerful.

"No."

The woman pointed to John. "How many?"

"Uh, I think only one piece," he said, stepping forward and pointing to an identical one in the bowl.

She set down the bowl and shook her head slightly.

"What?" Rodney asked, agitated. "Is it poisoned? Look, what's the matter with him?"

She pointed to the flagon that held the syrupy substance and addressed Rodney. "You will need to drink from this when it is over." She then selected a large yellow-green piece of fruit from the bowl.

"When what's over?" Rodney shouted. "I demand to know what's going on here!"

John snorted loudly from his corner.

The woman placed the piece of fruit in Rodney's hand. He backed away. "I'm not eating anything."

Her cryptic response was, "You will need this as well. Break it open when the time comes." She looked in John's direction and then back to Rodney, taking an eternity to raise her pruned hand to his cheek. "It will not last long." She rested doleful eyes on him a moment longer before turning and leaving the cell.

"Wait, I don't understand," Rodney called after her. "Aren't you going to help him? He's in trouble, aren't you going to do something? After all, this is your—"

She turned on Rodney quickly. "There is nothing I can do for him now. I assure you Doctor McKay, your friend is in no danger. If you wish, I can move you to another cell."

He shook his head. The old woman glanced at the guard who had fetched her and then disappeared up the hallway. The guard handed Rodney a length of rope – a very short length of rope.

"Oh, and what am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, sarcasm stepping over the fear in his voice. "This isn’t enough to—"

The guard smiled at him before turning to follow the woman's path out of sight.

"Do it, Rodney," came the not-Sheppard voice. Rodney started. In the surrealistic moment, he'd almost forgotten he wasn't alone. "Tie me up."

He turned and smirked at John. "With what?" he asked, holding up the piece of rope. "I can barely make a knot in this, what do you think—"

"Then tie my fucking hands, I don't care. Just do it, McKay."

Rodney drew himself up. "No. I'm not going to. Not until you tell me what the hell this is all about. You didn't say a word to that old crone, which means you obviously know something. Why won't you tell—"

John was on him in seconds, and Rodney stumbled backwards. Nostrils flaring, John's hands flew to the bars on either side of Rodney's shoulders. Trembling, his heart pounding, Rodney felt a hot slash of adrenaline as he realized John had him pinned against the cell door. There was no mistaking the hard ridge of John's erection pressing into his thigh. The heat from John's body covered Rodney like a veiled caress, together with humid breath gusting across his neck and the stale odor of sweat prickling Rodney's nose. His eyes widened as John leaned in slowly – he stiffened as John brushed their lips together. Rodney held his breath and didn't respond. John smirked and went back in, roughly and inelegantly taking his mouth.

Rodney's head swam with the many sensations flooding his brain – John's warm mouth, hips thrashing against him lewdly, heat flushing up the back of his neck, and all fighting with his concern for John and shock at what was happening.

He sighed and gave in. Opening his mouth slightly, he shuddered as John nibbled his lower lip—then bit. Hard.

The ferrous tang of his own blood was disturbingly familiar, but no less frightening. Rodney tried to break free, but John answered any motion by forcing him tighter against the bars that were cutting into his back. It was a new feeling for Rodney. Fear – of John. He managed to raise his hands, tried to push John away, tried to tell John he was hurting him, but John didn't seem to care. His moans were harsh in Rodney's ear as he sped up his thrusting. Rodney's eyes widened again as John suddenly pulled back. Their gaze locked briefly before John threw his head back—his hips finally slowed, then stilled altogether.

He fell forward against Rodney, hands still clutching the bars, his breath short, tight huffs. Rodney didn't need to see the warm wet spot to know what had happened.

"Figured it out?" John rasped. "Understand, now?"

Rodney was still trying to catch his own breath – when he could remember to breathe.

"If you know what's good for you," John panted, "you'll do as I've asked – I'm not saying it's gonna work—" Letting go of the bars, he backed away.

Rodney walked over to the cot John had been sitting on. "There's—there's nothing to tie you to. There's not enough—"

John turned around, thrust his hands behind him and held them out.
Understanding, Rodney wrapped the rope around them.

"Tighter!"

"I don't have a lot to work with here," Rodney snapped. His fingers suddenly felt huge and clumsy as he tried to fashion the knots. Satisfied, he stepped back, watched as John twisted his hands, testing the hold.

"Just stay on your side, Rodney," he said quietly

Thoughts were coming at Rodney from all sides. Jesus, separating them might have been the best thing after all. He thought about calling for the guards again. In the end, he just walked back to his cot and sat down.

Was that what the woman meant? Was that what wouldn't last long? The fruit – some sort of sex potion, aphrodisiac. Poor John. John couldn't help himself, didn't know what he was doing. He'd never do that kind of thing unless – and that was it. He wouldn't. Rodney swallowed hard. What John was doing – things Rodney had only thought of before, more often than not with his hand wrapped around his dick, but this wasn't John, wasn't at all the way he'd imagined them being together. John remained quiet and Rodney's breathing eventually evened out, his eyes growing heavy.

~~~~

Rodney shook awake, adrenaline flooding his veins – that damned sense of falling. He looked around, heart thudding against his chest. John stood in front of him. He kept his eyes on Sheppard as he slowly sat up.

"Untie me, Rodney, please," John said, his voice even. He seemed so normal, so Sheppard.

"But you said not to, no matter what."

John glared at him and moved back to his side of the cell. Rodney tried not to let his eyes follow, but like a bad accident, he couldn't look away. John was standing over in the corner, his hips—Christ, he was humping the wall.

Rodney couldn't stand it, couldn’t stand to see John like that. And the panting and grunting, he tried to cover his ears, tried to tune it out, didn't want to hear it. God, he didn't even want to think about it because if he did, he'd have to admit that it was…exciting him. He knew John must be in some kind of sexual agony or whatever, but God help him, it was turning him on.

He wondered if John made sounds like that during sex, and from there Rodney's mind swerved into an image of John – naked, face drawn in passion, sweating, fucking some nameless, faceless, formless body, and dear God. Another image swam to the surface – John's face moments ago – as he reared back, groaning out his release. The phantom touch of his cock still lingered and Rodney pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch in a useless attempt to stave off his own erection.

The sound of John's voice made Rodney jump. "Rodney please—please come and untie me. God, if I can just get a hand on my dick. Ahhh, Rodney, please!"

Enough!

Rodney couldn't take any more. He had no idea how long the effects of this thing were supposed to last – he didn't care; all he knew at this point was that he'd do anything to help John. He tried to fix in his mind that he had no idea what John was feeling, no idea what he was going through – unbridled lust, total consuming passion – none too sure he'd be able to handle it either. The mere fact that John was begging for his help, Rodney reasoned, had to mean it was pretty damn bad.

When he was an arm's length away, he deliberately laid a hand on John's shoulder, gently called his name. John immediately stopped rubbing against the wall, but did not turn around. He just shoved his bound hands backwards toward Rodney.

"Untie me and then go away," his voice sounded small and calm. When Rodney did nothing, John turned on him.

"Untie me goddammit!" His movements were so sudden Rodney recoiled instantly.

"Well, I'm sure as hell not doing it now," Rodney exclaimed, chin jutting into the air.

The sardonic grin John flashed was brutal, something that didn't belong on his otherwise flawless face. It wasn't like anything Rodney had ever seen before. "I'm not—I'm not afraid of you, but—you asked me not to. I can't. You understand that don't you?" He watched John struggle briefly trying to free himself. "Sheppard—John? Maybe—maybe I can help you. Let me—"

"Help me? You'd better be worried about helping yourself."

"Would you just listen to me? I get it—okay. I mean, I can't imagine what you're going through, but—if you'll just—here, let me—let me at least undo your pants," Rodney said, heat flushing his face, hand poised inches from John's crotch. "So—so you won't be confined."

John nearly fell onto Rodney's hand. "Yes, please!"

Rodney's fingers stuttered as he unfastened and removed John's empty thigh holster. Undoing and unzipping – something he normally could accomplish semi-conscious – seemed to be taking an interminable amount of time, hampered even further by the dull thud of his pulse pounding in his ears. Finally, he tugged the waistband to either side to give John room.

"It's not enough," he said. "Pull 'em down."

"What?"

"Pull my pants down." John said it so nonchalantly he could have been asking Rodney to pull up the HUD or pass the salt in the mess.

Reluctantly, trying to focus on anything but John's highly tented boxers, Rodney inched the BDU's over John's hips. The throaty sigh rippled down Rodney's spine and he found himself staring just a half second too long—

"Don't go."

Rodney stopped. John's voice was softer now. Rodney turned to find John's eyes boring into him. "You want to help me?" he asked.

Rodney nodded warily and stepped closer.

"Then touch me," John growled, pushing forward. "Fucking touch me." Again, he wrestled with the rope that bound him, his face lined in a grimace that tore at Rodney. "Jesus, Rodney, please—"

He had no idea what possessed him, but Rodney found himself reaching for John, for the cotton-veiled hard-on that made him swear he was gripping a length of lead pipe. John groaned at the contact and drove himself into Rodney's hand. That seemed to be all that was needed to satisfy John, but the blood banging in Rodney's head, the churning low in his belly, the cold sweat beading across his face and neck were all screaming at him—making it impossible to ignore the one thing he knew he shouldn't do – the one thing he didn't seem able to stop himself from doing.

Looking into John's eyes, Rodney slid his hand beneath the boxers. John's cock was hot and already slick. Rodney had to stifle his own groan as he drew his hand along the length, the heat rushing straight through him to his own dick.

"Oh fuck," John gasped as he spilled over Rodney's hand.

~~~~

"Rodney, I can't."

In a moment of weakness, finally being worn down, Rodney had untied John's hands. John had professed a need to touch him and even knowing the potential danger, Rodney had done as John asked. Confident he could maintain control of the situation as long as he gave John what he needed and didn't give him a reason to be angry or agitated. But maybe it was because Rodney wanted John's hands free, wanted John's touch.

"Yes, you can," Rodney said over his shoulder. "Look, this—whatever it is, maybe it works by degrees, you know, the more orgasms you have, the sooner it'll be over. It's—it'll be okay."

Rodney wasn't exactly sure how it had come to this. The two of them naked, with him bent over the table trying to convince John it was all right to fuck him. John had quickly become bored with Rodney's hand. Even the blowjob couldn't hold his interest after he'd come. Contrary to Rodney's ad-hoc hypothesis, each orgasm seemed to heighten John's need and in a way that had spiraled irrefutably and inevitably to this conclusion.

"But I'll hurt you, there's no—ah, God Rodney, I can't," John cried. John's words were cautious and seemed to belie his desire. The way he was rubbing his cock between Rodney's bare cheeks, Rodney knew John's resolve – trying to hold back from just plunging in – was apt to crumble at any moment. Then he remembered. He reached for the bowl, for the piece of fruit the old woman had given him. He slammed it against the table breaking it open. Inside was…

These people didn't miss a trick, he thought. He scooped out some of the thick, slippery innards with his fingers, turned to John and held out his hand, but John just shoved it down and Rodney felt his own cock lengthen as he worked the slick back and forth over John's rigid shaft. An odd sense of anticipation gripped him: John was going to fuck him – fuck him.

Rodney looked up. His eyes widened as John grazed his fingertips along his jaw. It was such an insanely intimate touch, made even more so by the look in John's eyes. The next instant, John gripped Rodney's chin roughly, twisted him toward the table and bent him over.

He tried to prepare for the breach, but there were no preliminaries, no gentleness. Rodney gasped for air as John buried himself inside. He tried to breathe with the thrusts that came hard and fast. While he was no virgin, the last time had been a long, long time ago, and, of course, John didn't know about that.

John's hand lay in the center of Rodney's back a strong, warm presence, an anchor. As Rodney got control of his breathing, he began to relax beneath that warmth. The burning and the panic had finally given way to the incredible feeling of being filled up, of being fucked. He tried not to think about how good John's cock felt. Long and slender with a large purplish head that plowed it's way through Rodney's tight ass, reached places deep inside him Rodney had never felt before, and he had to bite his tongue each time John brushed over that spot.

His own cock was so hard it ached - heavy, bobbing there between his legs. He tried to move closer to the table so that John's thrusting would push him against the linen cloth. God, anything for some friction, but every move forward had John pulling his hips back, driving into him even harder.

When he could stand it no longer, he reached between his legs. Immediately, John's weight pressed against him, John's lips at his ear.

"That's right, Rodney, touch yourself," John husked.

Rodney couldn't mask his groan this time.

"Am I making your dick hard?"

Rodney chewed his lip.

"Answer me," John growled, snapping his hips forward. "Is your dick hard?"

"Yes," Rodney choked out.

"Done this before, haven't you? Jesus, with an ass like this—" Rodney bit the inside of his cheek at the sharp sting left by John's palm – the loud smack reverberated in the air. "You like it don't you?"

Rodney whimpered.

John bent to his ear again. "Tell me you like it, Rodney—tell me my hard dick in your ass feels good." Rodney groaned and gathered up a handful of linen. "TELL ME!"

"Yes!" Rodney cried and shivered as John licked the outer shell of his ear. John's words had Rodney right on the brink, had him pushing forward into his hand and back onto John's cock, meeting John's thrusts, his moans growing louder and louder.

"That's it, fuck that hand. I wanna feel you come, wanna feel you come all around my cock—fuck it, Rodney."

He fisted himself faster as John began to thrust with renewed fervor. God, it shouldn't—but it—he was right on the edge—could feel it—the tingling—in his scalp, the balls of his feet, his thighs turning to stone as it built up—

"Yeah, fuck yourself, Rodney—fuck me. Sweet Jesus," he panted, "do you—any idea how good you feel? So—fucking—"

It was John's voice that tipped Rodney over. He cried out and came hard across the linen, ass clenching around the intrusion and, oh God, it felt good, spasm after spasm, his vision reduced to a pinpoint of white, the sound of his own voice strange to him.

John's hips began to stutter like before. Rodney heard him cry out as well, slowly jerking into him, knew he was coming too, that deliciously profane invective continuing to pour from John's lips, voice low and guttural, like an animal.

John's forehead was hot against Rodney's back as he panted his way through the last of the spasms. Rodney steadied himself, trying to hold them both up, thigh muscles trembling and begging for relief. Just as Rodney was beginning to warm to John's weight, he pulled out and moved away, leaving Rodney to collapse onto the table. The tender skin of his ass burned and while there was some relief in that John was no longer mercilessly pounding into him, there was also an emptiness, he didn't want to think about it too hard, but it was like something he'd coveted, longed for, had been placed in his hand for mere moments then snatched away, and he couldn't help but wonder if there had been any of the real John there at all.

Rodney slowly pulled himself together, his cock soft now, remnants of semen glistening on his stomach and thigh. He got up and gingerly walked over to where John sat.

"Sheppard?"

"Don't," John said softly.

Rodney haltingly laid his hand on John's shoulder, confident he'd pull away, but he didn’t.

"Did I hurt you?" John asked, his head bowed, his tone somewhat penitent.

"No, not really," Rodney lied. John huffed into his crossed arms. Rodney suspected he knew he was lying.

"I didn't mean—Jesus, Rodney, I can't believe you—"

"Listen," he soothed, "you needed help. We'll just think of it that way, hmm?" When John didn't shy away from him, Rodney sat down. He began to stroke John's back. After the starkness of what had just happened, Rodney craved reassurance, a validation that could only be gained by the intimacy and warmth of John's skin, the feel of it, the smell of it, the—

John's head snapped up. His eyes were bright, but there was still something dark and feral in his face, and Rodney had just enough time to register that before John was on him again.

Rodney had no time to get away, no time to put up a fight. John was too quick. He grabbed Rodney's arms and pushed him back against the wall. Rodney winced as John's fingers pressed dangerously into his flesh.

"Please," John begged, "for the love of God, tie my hands again and just leave me alone."

But Rodney didn't move, just shook his head. "I think we've found out that doesn't work. Jesus, this can't last much longer, we can—let me just—"

John threw him aside on the cot and got up. "Stupid fuck!" He paced the cell, raking his hands through his hair. "Don't you understand? I don't want—I can't help myself. I don't—" He stopped and looked at Rodney. "This has nothing to do with us, McKay."

Rodney lowered his eyes. His skin flushed as regret burned through every pore, or was it shame…for he'd thought, hoped, for one fleeting moment that it had. Was it possible to feel any more naked? Rodney didn't think so, but he felt it all the same. He said nothing, just curled up at the head of John's cot and tried to cover himself.

"Good," John spat as he crossed to the other side of the cell.

~~~~

Standing beside the small bed where Rodney lay, John knew Rodney was intentionally ignoring him. Rodney had stopped talking to him, at all. John ached at the sight of him huddled there under the tatty blanket. He hadn't been lying, he couldn't help himself, but still—

He swiped his hand across the back of his neck and turned away.

Minutes later, he was back at Rodney's side. He leaned down and brushed his hand across Rodney's shoulder in an attempt to—what? He jerked it back immediately. The very touch of Rodney's skin was too much, and John felt himself growing hot again. Fuck. He tried to back away. Fuck! He tried.

"Jesus Christ, Sheppard!" John had snatched the blanket from Rodney and climbed onto the cot. Rodney tried to sit up, tried to protest, but again, John was too quick.

John stiffened his arm to stop him and forcibly separated his legs. That haze was back and all his senses were heightened. He could smell Rodney's sudden fear, the same as when he'd first pinned him against the cell door, but this time it was mixed with something else – arousal. He could see the confusion in Rodney's eyes. He wanted to tell Rodney it was okay, that he wasn't going to hurt him, would never hurt him, but then he caught his scent again, stronger now and it set the blood hammering in his head, so that instead of comforting...

John stroked roughly across Rodney's ass, slick with come seeping from the hole, and pressed two fingers inside. Rodney grimaced but made no sound, even as John twisted them, coating them. Rodney was still slick and hot inside and that, oh god, just fueled whatever this was. John rubbed the bit of semen from his fingers over his hard-again dick, looking down at Rodney.

"John, no—" Rodney began, but John didn't hear him. He could only hear his pulse, feel the throbbing between his legs, his vision tinged scarlet – just like it had been at the onset.

He pushed inside and heard Rodney cry out. Bending to his neck, John delighted in Rodney's erratic pulse pounding against his tongue as he fucked him – frantically – like he'd never fuck again. Rodney's scent and the smell of sex were like spurs to his backside, forcing him faster – harder. Rodney's face contorted. It was fluid, shifting like one of those psychedelic light shows, his hands claws around John's forearms. Rodney's mouth, the bottom lip bruised and puffy from John's bite earlier, and without thinking, John leaned down and kissed him, softly but urgently.

The kiss wrenched something inside John, he was so close, the build up was more intense this time, every nerve ending in his body thrummed with the anticipation of coming, like it was something he had to do or die, and the quicker the better. It was just a breath away – he could feel it. He began to fuck Rodney with long, deep strokes, pulling back slowly then snapping his hips forward, burying himself in Rodney's tight heat. God, so good – so good. Their moaning grew louder. John needed to come—needed to, but he didn't want to stop – Jesus, he never wanted to stop, but he was right there, right there—right fucking there.

He felt a hand dig into his shoulder, Rodney was calling his name. He tried to focus on Rodney beneath him, and the look on his face ripped John open, finally, his hips thrusting once, twice more then holding still, coming inside Rodney, coming so hard his head swam, dizzy as wave after wave wracked him, purged him.

John balanced himself on a trembling arm, muscles shaking violently, head low, brushing Rodney's chest as he felt himself spiraling down. He wanted to kiss Rodney again, wanted to lay in his arms, touch him, soothe him, but he was overcome with the sudden urge to sleep. He slipped out and fell onto the bed. The cot was very small and not a good fit for the both of them, but he didn't care – he was asleep in seconds.

~~~~

The urgency of a full bladder dragged John toward consciousness. The warm body beside him was gone. He bolted up, looked around wildly and found Rodney across the room on the other bed. He stood and availed himself of the porcelain pot. John's head seemed clear, his vision was focused, no more blood pulsing through his ears and his skin felt normal again. Thank Christ, it was over. He turned to Rodney. The small blanket barely covered him, his shoulders, legs and part of his ass were exposed. He appeared to be sleeping.

John reached for his own blanket. Grabbing it, the blood on the sheet drew his eyes like a magnet. Bile hit the back of his throat so fast he barely had time to turn his head. He stumbled and gripped the basin. Jesus. The bitter acid burned its way up and out, as John bent over and spit into the pot. He couldn't bring up anything else, just continued to heave air. When he could, he stood at the basin and splashed water over his face and the back of his neck. A tight, sharp prickling made his arms itch. Looking down, several long scratches marked his forearms. Jesus fuck, what had he done? Oh God, had he hurt Rodney after all? But hadn't Rodney wanted... didn't he…. The clanging of the door startled him. He whirled around, water still dripping from his face and hair.

It was the old woman.

John moved quickly to cover Rodney's exposed body with the extra blanket. "What have you done to him?" he demanded.

"I have done nothing. It is the healing elixir that has made him sleep. I will hold your people until it has fully worked its way."

"They're here?" John asked as he strode to the table to retrieve his pants. The woman nodded and John eyed her as he pulled them on, then glanced again at Rodney. He'd obviously gotten up and drank the stuff while he'd been asleep.

"What did you—what the hell happened here? More importantly, why did you do this?"

The woman regarded John coolly, then sat down at the table. Pulling on his shirt, John stood his ground.

"I am Lllatha, Colonel Sheppard," she began. "Today, you and Doctor McKay have been given the gift of eternal pairing. It is the greatest gift that can be bestowed upon—"

"Gift?" John exclaimed. "Do you know what you've done—you've ruined a good friendship. Shot it all to hell!" He pointed to Rodney. "He was a member of my team. He trusted me! This," he said, sweeping his hand around, "has compromised our ability to work together. You made me violate that trust—without asking—without my consent."

"On the contrary, Colonel Sheppard, I felt a great impetus to bring you and Doctor McKay together. It is what I do. I have been a Protectorate for many years, more years than you would believe if I were to tell you. To create such a pairing as this—"

"I've violated him, don't you understand? I hurt him. He didn't have the excuse of being drugged or whatever—under the influence of—"

"I am sorry, Colonel, but I do not share your outrage. The fact that Doctor McKay did not ingest the pairing element speaks only to the strength of this bond. The people of Krubon-laur would deem it a great honor to be so strongly paired."

"Well, I don’t give a damn what your people think." John's eyes blazed. "And I can assure you, Doctor McKay wouldn't see it that way either."

Lllatha narrowed her gaze. "And you can answer for your friend? You are so sure of his thoughts?"

John hesitated for a moment. "Yes."

"Then you do not feel something more could grow of this friendship you have? You do not wish it?" Lllatha asked, standing. "There is great potential here for the two of—"

"No!" He slammed his fist on the table. "Not here, not like this!" They stood eye to eye for a long moment, John's chest heaving, his lips a tight line, pulling air into his lungs and exhaling in great torrents, trying to clear his head.

Lllatha finally lowered her eyes. "As you wish, Colonel. I can give you something that will make you and Doctor McKay forget. It is rare to perform a reversal, but it can be done. It will make things as they were before."

"Whoa, wait just a minute; I don't think we'll be taking anything you offer at this point. Besides, how do I know it won't remove our memories altogether or scramble our brains or something? Doctor McKay is a scientist, his mind—"

Lllatha pulled a yellowed glass container from her robes. "Colonel Sheppard, these herbs have been used for centuries. The compilation is as precise as the element itself. There has never been an incident of damage to the mind. This one is for you." she handed John a brown, crudely fashioned capsule. "This one," she held up a smaller, blue-green capsule, "is for Doctor McKay."

"But he didn't—what's the difference?" John asked.

"Exactly, he did not ingest the pairing element. This will work slowly, gradually fading his memory of what has happened today. I promise you, no other memories will be affected."

John regarded her skeptically, but nodded. "And mine?"

"Your memory will fade much faster. And all memories attached to the pairing will be removed, the things you felt, the things you sensed," she waved her hand, "about yourself as well as your friend."

John opened his mouth, unsure of the question he wanted to ask. He simply nodded instead. He thought of the blood on the sheet - he was sure he understood, sure he had no choice.

"Doctor McKay will wake soon," the old woman said. "I shall go and prepare the council for your release."

John watched her as she turned and left the cell, then looked at the capsules in his hand. He stuffed the brown one in his pocket and walked over to wake Rodney.

~~~~

"I'm not taking that, are you crazy?" Rodney shrieked when John told him about the capsule. Sitting up, he pulled one of the blankets around his shoulders.

John couldn't meet his eyes. "It's all right, Rodney. I spoke with the old woman. It'll help—with the pain. She gave me one, too. For the aftereffects."

"Really?"

"Yeah, it's okay."

"Did the old woman happen to explain what this was all about?" Rodney asked.

John had neither the time nor the inclination to explain what the woman had told him. The why didn't matter anyway, did it? "For someone's amusement," he said dryly.

"Amusement? Jesus, that's—" John could feel the weight of Rodney's gaze but he still wouldn't look his way. "How soon can we get out of here?" Rodney asked.

"It's being arranged now." John told him, handing him the capsule and some water, his jaw tight as he watched Rodney swallow it. "You'd better get dressed; they'll be back for us any minute." He turned away and walked to the cell door to wait.

The bars felt cool on his forehead and cheek. His heart beat like a drum in his chest, his stomach burned hot, but this time it didn't have anything to do with the goddamn pairing."

~~~~

He had never been so glad to hear familiar voices. Elizabeth was talking with Lllatha, the sound of it carried down the long corridor.

When they finally came into view, John forced a smile. "Hi, thought you guys'd never get here." Elizabeth smiled back.

She turned to Ul'rhat who had accompanied them, "Release them please." He looked to the old woman, who nodded and stood aside.

John stepped back to let Rodney go first. Rodney didn't hesitate. He walked out of the cell nodding absently to the old woman, who gave him a weak smile. As John left the cell, Lllatha placed her hand on his arm. "Good luck to you, Colonel Sheppard."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The medical examinations complete, John begs Elizabeth to let them clean up before the debriefing, and breathes a sigh of relief when she acquiesces. He follows Rodney through the jumper bay to the showers. One long continuously tiled enclosure, the area off the ready room had probably once been used by the Ancients as a decon facility. By no means private, the "showers" have no actual stall separations, but it's great for washing away the dirt and muck from any number of ass-end Pegasus planets.

Rodney hasn't spoken to him since their release. He's barely looked at him. John's stomach knots as Rodney makes his way to the far end of the shower. John quietly strips and turns the water on at the fixture nearest him. He steps forward to let the hot spray completely soak him. Steam rises as the water needles into the kinks and tension, though not making much of a dent. He wonders how long it will take for Rodney's memory to fade.

John glances over at him and his stomach heaves again. Bruises, like fingerprints, mark Rodney's arms and hips – ugly, yellow-purple, just starting to turn dark, and Christ; he doesn't want to think about what other damage he's done. Fuck. He grips the tile, leans forward and dips his head under the spray. Just stands there. Maybe he can drown himself.

A hand on his shoulder startles him. He snaps his head around, spluttering water all over Rodney who's standing right beside him. Their eyes meet briefly before John shifts his gaze to Rodney's arm. He runs his hand over the bruises, gently, fingering the wet skin. When he does finally look up, he's surprised to find Rodney's eyes waiting for him. Jesus.

John can't find the words, but he tries. God, he tries – his jaw works but – nothing, and all of a sudden there's too little air in his lungs and nothing he can possibly say will be adequate anyway.

He silently pleads with Rodney. For what, he's not sure. Absolution, understanding, a second chance? Why? They're not going to remember any of this.

Before he realizes what he's doing, John reaches up to cup Rodney's cheek. It's like an iron fist to his gut when Rodney leans in and brushes a kiss into his palm. He stands mute as Rodney turns away and leaves the shower.

It hits him hard: this time tomorrow Rodney might not remember anything, not even that touch.

He turns and grabs his pants, jams his hand into the pocket and pulls out the remaining capsule. He holds it. Stares at it – until it and his hand are just a blur and other sounds and images start to fill his mind and ears: Rodney's moans, the bloody sheet, the desperation of Rodney clutching him as he came, the look in Rodney's eyes moments ago…uncertainty, mixed with so much longing. All memories…the things you felt, the things you sensed…about yourself…

Then it all dissolves.

"You God damn fucking coward," he curses, staring at the capsule.

He tips his hand and lets it fall to the shower floor.

Tiny rivulets of reddish brown make their way to the drain.

John Sheppard doesn't forget. John Sheppard leaves nothing behind if he can help it. He doesn't have to be told that every action, every decision has consequences. Nobody knows that better than he does.

He aches for Rodney's memory; aches for decisions made that can't be taken back, but he also knows that not everything will be forgotten. What Rodney brought with him into that cell today will still be there, and now John knows it's there.

He turns to the spray and punches the cold water back until a billowy cloud of steam encircles him. Stepping under the scalding water, John can't scrub long enough or hard enough.