Wraithbait

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--

I wait on the steel ramp, P-90 tucked in as close to my ribs as the bulletproof vest allows, letting the familiar, solid weight of the weapon ground me to the reality of my responsibilities in the anticipation-charged air of the Gateroom. I'm in full alert mode, waiting for Colonel Sumner's signal for the next wave to move out and I'm almost hyperaware of every movement and sound as the techs and scientists and soldiers mutter in awe and excitement and fear, jockeying into position for the 'roll 'em out' of our own little wagon train of pioneers into the Pegasus Galaxy. I can't see most of the activity behind me, but I can almost feel it. The subtle little movements of sound and light and air just beneath my conscious level of perception seem to create a 360-degree image in my mind's eye.

I wonder, between my thoughts of awe, anxiety and analysis about this mission, if that's where the saying 'eyes in the back of your head' comes from, because it feels like that; without actually looking I can sense a presence as someone comes silently up the ramp to stand beside me. It's John -- Major Sheppard. There's not a doubt in my mind. I know as clearly as if I'd turned to see him with my eyes, heard his voice, touched, smelled, tasted... mmm... And let's not go there, because I have too many things on my mind as it is without reawakening the memories of last night that haven't really left my mind yet when I really need it clear to focus on my job here and now.

I sneak a quick glance and study him with the parts of my senses that aren't already occupied with being alert for 'stuff-I-need-to-deal-with-right-away.' He's projecting 'calm casual', though it's obvious that attitude is just something he's put on this afternoon like his sharp new uniform, because it's expected, and because that's what people do, and because it hides things he doesn't want everyone in the world to see. Parts of him, both physical and emotional, that I've seen, even though his clothes and behavior are hiding them from me too right now. I'm in my USMC camo and my 'business suit' of reliable, quiet lieutenant, so I guess that makes us even.

He steps in, a little too close, eyes a little too sharp, presence just trickling into the edges of my personal space and I can feel a little of the real John Sheppard beneath the social costume. He reaches out a hand -- long, graceful but at the same time squarely masculine -- to touch the rippling blue liquid ice of the event horizon, as gently and tentatively and filled with awe as the first time he touched me.

If there's one moment in my career, in my life, when I can't afford to be anything but one-hundred and ten percent professional, it would be now, the sole human bridge between the vanguard that's passed through the Stargate and the remaining expedition members, with every eye on me, waiting for the first report.

But now he's broken the surface tension of my little bubble of professionalism and seeped into my mental and physical awareness. Just like he somehow seeped into my thoughts and my life over the past three weeks as we redeployed from the Antarctic to our staging base at the SGC.

We were all packing up our supplies and packing away our former lives while sizing up the strangers who'd be our only human contact for the foreseeable future, and wondering who would be friend, antagonist, respected, loathed, sought out, avoided. I'd added a few people to each of those categories already. At first, he was just that weird, too tall, Air Force guy, who could do stuff with the Ancient tech, and the guy my CO didn't like, trust, or want along. But one day while I was doing a quick assessment of potential friendships in our new home, I looked past the anchorless misfit who didn't know what to do or say with my otherwise all-Marine team, the civilian scientists or the SGC personnel and finally saw him for the first time. He was trying to act like he didn't care but I saw the hesitation in his posture and glance and a hint of a deep, inescapable grief in his eyes. That realization was a mule-kick to my sense of right and justice because it wasn't right or just that he should hurt. That little gut-deep, soul-deep, burning ache to make it *right* crept over me then, like two- or three-day-old hunger that's gone beyond pain to a numbing, all-pervading ache for something you've almost forgotten but know you need to live.

I couldn't pass by without at least trying to fix it, make it right. Right. With all of us cast adrift in this maelstrom of change, the only anchor I could find to offer him was myself. His eyes said 'oasis' when he looked at me but his body language said 'mirage.' I know he's not some timid lost sheep. He has an almost-tangible aura of power about him but the aura of need is almost as strong. I tried to convey sincerity with my eyes, offered a reassuring smile here and there and overtures of friendship small enough to be trusted -- company at the firing range, a card game with the guys, occasional little explanations of all the new and confusing stuff associated with Stargate Command.

As he picked up one crumb I'd drop another, my only conscious intention one of helping someone who was obviously a decent, intelligent person settle into the kind of unfamiliar situation I've been dropped into myself more than once. Suddenly I'd realized I'd lured him to my room with those little bits of connection, those little bits of myself. I'm not sure what you're supposed to find at the end of a trail of breadcrumbs but I don't think it's me.

He looked and acted every bit the rebel fly-boy he was reputed to be, but damn, there in the privacy of my on-base quarters, when he relaxed enough to let me really look at the person rather than the projection, I found I liked what I saw.

John Sheppard is handsome, charming, socially adept and his whole demeanor shows that he knows it. But I also had the feeling that he didn't buy into that reputation, he just let it work to his advantage. I wondered how he could be all that and still be insecure, but before I got very far I knew the answer was in those anguished eyes. I don't know what caused that hurt but I could see how close it's come to unmaking him. I wonder if, before the unnamed tragedy occurred, the cocky, suave confidence went all the way through. I think I'd have liked that John Sheppard a lot better as a buddy, maybe even a teammate, but the layers of complexity he wears make him a far more intriguing person to discover.

I like intriguing discoveries. That's one reason I'm standing on the ramp ready for a one-way trip to another galaxy as all these thoughts flash through my mind in the space of a few breaths and the complex man I know intimately and don't know at all waits by my side. Our eyes are on the event horizon, but all I'm seeing is him in my room, in my bed, last night, flashing me the same grin he's giving me now. Falling into the memory is like falling through the wormhole -- a fast disorienting tunnel to a strange new, dangerous and possibly wondrous place. The world waiting on the other side might be as fascinating and surprising as the one we started to explore last night, but I know it won't be as enjoyable.

--

"Excited about tomorrow, sir?" I had asked.

He was sitting next to me on my bed. With my little temporary cot tucked into a corner of an already-crowded double, there wasn't even room for a spare chair for visitors.

He smiled that smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Not 'sir', Ford, 'John'. Calling me 'sir' when I'm sitting on your bed makes me think of things I'm pretty sure neither of us are into."

I thought about commenting on that, but thought better of it. "Aiden," I said instead.

"Hm?"

"My name. It's Aiden. I call you John, you call me Aiden."

"Okay," he considered it for a moment and the next smile, though small and tentative, did reach his eyes, "Aiden."

"So, excited about tomorrow, John?"

"Oh, yeah," he answered. "That is, if they can really make the connection and we really have a mission." He shrugged. "The waiting's nerve-wracking. I can't tell you how many times I've thought about getting in that elevator, going up the twenty-whatever floors to the surface, finding a plane and getting another fifty thousand feet above that, just to be away from the thought of wormholes and aliens and other freaking galaxies."

I nodded understanding, even though the thought of him running away left me feeling strangely empty. "But you didn't."

"There's still time," he smirked.

He leaned over to the gym bag he'd dropped on the floor, unrolled a towel with a muffled clink of glass, and offered me one of the beers he'd had wrapped in it. I took it; the first of quite a few rules I broke for him -- with him -- that night.

"To Atlantis," he'd said, tilting his bottle toward me.

"Atlantis," I agreed, and he clinked the glass of his bottle against mine.

I smiled back again, pleased for my own part that we were developing some level of comfort with each other, and pleased for John that pain seemed to lift when you could get him relaxed, happy and distracted.

I was distracted as well, but not relaxed or happy about it at the moment. I was still thinking about the idea that I'd actually lured Major Sheppard here -- that I'd been inviting more than the beginnings of a new friendship. If I had, it wasn't intentional. The extent of my sexual thoughts about him before this point had been considering the possibility -- in the far-far distant future -- of some casual mutual stress relief. Just a friendly hand if the stress and isolation of the mission got to be too much, and a maybe by that time, a good enough friend that I could stand to offer a hand in return.

So, was he just there because I offered a friendly distraction? Or could he possibly think I'd been offering more? The real question then, if so, was I willing to make good on that perceived offer?

No, I decided... I definitely wasn't ready to consider it at the moment. But... well, maybe I'd keep an open mind about the possibility sometime in the future.

"What about you?" John gestured toward me with his half-empty beer. "All packed up and ready to go?"

"Yep." I nodded and took in the small room with a glance. "Just the clothes I'm wearing and my shaving kit for the morning."

He picked up the only stray item lying around. "And a three-month old 'Sports Illustrated'?"

"Yeah, well, something to do with the evening. I borrowed it from one of the guys on SG-12."

"What, no big plans for your last evening before we ship out?"

"A lot of they guys are going out for a 'Last Night On Earth' binge -- drinking and, well, whatever."

He laughed; a small but genuine, bright sound. "No 'whatever' for you, Aiden?"

I suddenly felt very young and inexperienced compared to his worldly smirk. My facial expression must have revealed something of that, because the small, sincere smile was back as he shook his head.

"S'okay. I'm not out there with them either."

"I just... I guess I'd rather have a quiet night in, to get my head around really leaving."

"You don't think you're going to get enough of quiet nights alone on the other side?"

"Probably. Probably more than enough. It just seemed, I dunno, too stupid and shallow of a way to start something this important."

"Yeah, it does, but Marines aren't expected to be intellectual and philosophical. They're just supposed to be gung-ho or whatever," he said. I smiled at him and he smiled back, raising an eyebrow appraisingly at me. "Though I guess we'd already established the lack of 'whatever'."

"Hey!" I protested. "There's no 'lack of whatever', I just didn't feel like going out to pick up some girl I'll never see again at a bar and ... And not all Marines are idiots!"

"Ah, *you're* not. You have to admit you're not an average Marine, though."

His smile that time was definitely flirtatious. I was mentally scrambling, deciding what to do about it, how to explain that wasn't what I wanted without undoing all my work at coaxing the beginnings of a friendship out of him, then I took another look at that smile and at those eyes. At those eyes that were already starting to accept the rejection. It felt all kinds of wrong to add to the sadness I could see there. And all kinds of right to keep noticing how beautiful that smile and those eyes were.

"It's Stargate Command," I said finally, stalling for decision-making time, "nothing here is average."

He made a little quirk of a smile, sardonic, if I was going to be poetic about it. "No. It sure isn't." He shrugged and sprawled a bit on my cot. I could see he wasn't really relaxed yet, just trying to act like he was to make us both feel a little more at ease. I could appreciate the effort. And I could also appreciate the look. In fact, the more I looked at him sprawled in, er, *on* my bed, the more I was beginning to like the idea of seeing it a lot more often. That was so not the way I usually do things.

"So, how did you end up here?" he asked.

I didn't really want to get into something that complicated. "Short story? I was recruited. Long story... is a long story."

"Save it for one of the quiet, boring evenings in Atlantis then. This doesn't seem like a night for getting too serious."

He looked even better sensing and accepting that there were things I didn't want to talk about. "Deal; if you'll tell me your story too."

"Not much to tell." He gave another contrivedly-casual shrug.

"Rii-ight. Not all Marines are stupid, remember?"

"Not all of them." He chuckled. "But we've already established that you're not an average Marine."

"Why not? I feel pretty average to me."

"Nope. Not even close. But, hey, I wouldn't call myself average Air Force either, though I am a lot closer."

I gave him a skeptical glance.

"Alright," he conceded, "You seem too quiet and unpretentious. All the Marines I've met always have to be strongest or loudest or toughest."

"Yeah, a lot of guys are in the service because they have something to prove."

"And what about you?"

"Didn't have the grades for medicine or the patience for law. Didn't like the whole cop attitude. And I needed to be somewhere I could make a difference."

"So, you can make a difference here?"

I stared at my hands for a moment. "I think so. I hope so."

I wondered why I was opening up to this stranger, but it felt good to say these things to someone. Outside the SGC I had to admit his stereotype held true more than I liked, and I had more buddies than friends in the Corps. Without explanations or excuses, John understood why I wasn't out partying and that I was more than that stereotype. And, hell yes, I should hate stereotyping, and I do, but that's why I liked Stargate Command. Got away from the worst of the true ones and I got to see how far off base other ones were. It may be hokey to say, but when you're facing real aliens and world annihilation, things like skin color, gender and service branch or even planet of origin don't mean a whole lot anymore.

"Why the Marine Corps, though, since you don't quite seem to fit with the image?"

I shook my head. "That depends on the image."

He smiled humorlessly, disdainfully. "First in, last out. Honor, integrity -- the PR image."

"It's not just PR," I said, finding myself disappointed in him and on the verge of anger. "Those things *do* mean something to me. When..." I swallowed hard, not sure if I could continue, or should.

"Easy," John said softly. "I may not like all the Marines I've met, but I do respect the ideal. And the tough jobs you guys get done that no one else could do." An apology would have felt patronizing but he managed to convey his sincerity and I knew he'd just said what he did out of cynicism and not any real intent to insult.

"It's more than that, though. When..." I choked again, momentarily, and continued in spite of the pain because I really needed him to understand, more than I needed to not feel vulnerable. "When my dad died. I was eight. My mom, she still only had a part time job and was sick a lot of the time so I knew not to expect much for Christmas because Santa Claus wasn't real anymore. But you know the 'Toys For Tots' drive? That's the Marines -- the Reserves -- and they have a party for the kids every year. That year I was one of the kids. One toy and some cookies... it might not look like much but it made a real difference to me. Here were these Marines in their uniforms, laughing and smiling with us and making sure kids like me didn't get forgotten for just one day. They were the coolest thing I'd ever seen and right then I decided they were way better than Santa Claus, because not only were they real, they were brave and strong and in control. I felt safe again for the first time in months, knowing that no matter what happened, these guys could handle it and I realized that's how I wanted to be -- *what* I wanted to be."

I ran out of steam then, embarrassed by my emotional display, half wishing I could take it back and have my comfortable shell of Marine bravado. John was silent for a while, probably feeling uncomfortable too. Then again, it's obvious there's a good bit of pain underlying his bravado, so maybe he wouldn't think too much less of me for getting a little emotional over some memories of my own.

He nudged me. "C'mon, admit it. You just thought the shiny swords were really cool."

I looked up in surprise, seeing his sad eyes and coaxing smile and couldn't help but laugh. "Well, yeah!" I grinned and pointed at him. "*You* guys don't get swords."

He laughed too, as relieved as I was, then raised an eyebrow and suddenly turned serious. "Well, for what it's worth, you've, er, I mean, I appreciate your helping me get settled in around here. It's--" He paused, shifting in a way that was clearly suppressed fidgeting. "Not saving the world kind of big, but it's made a difference to me."

I shrugged, not wanting credit for something anyone else could have done and obviously hadn't. Finding I liked his admiration more than I probably should, I decided to redirect the conversation again. "What about you? Why Air Force?"

He flashed a big grin at that, only half-contrived. "Flying! I had to fly. It's the coolest."

"You can fly without being in the Air Force."

"Not the cool stuff. The really fast, crazy stuff. Little, super-fast, high-tech jets so responsive at the controls it's almost like they react to your will rather than your touch." He was sitting forward now, eyes wide and bright and far-focused, a look of pure bliss on his face. "There's nothing like it." ...A kind of sexy look of excitement and bliss.

"You were flying helicopters in Antarctica."

He nodded. "They're not so fast, but they move all kinds of different ways than planes, so that's cool too."

"I'd always heard jet pilots hated chopper pilots and vice versa?" I'd really been curious about that since I'd heard some of his background and found it as enigmatic as he seemed to be.

"Yep. I hate myself." He flashed that grin again, then tapped his chest. "Not average either. Well, the truth?"

I nodded in encouragement.

"I kinda get bored easily. When the opportunity to get 'copter training came up, I jumped at the chance to fly anything new and get in some airtime." He shrugged again. "If it flies, I want to fly it."

I couldn't think of much to say to that, so I smiled and nodded, and let the conversation lapse into silence. After a moment he lifted the empty beer bottle from my hand and laid it back in the gym bag with his, padding them with the towel.

"Your roommates," John nodded at the empty bunk beds across the room from my single, "they out for the 'Last Night On Earth' binge?"

"Hudson's off-world for two more days and Kovachek just signed out this morning for a week's leave. Somewhere in the Midwest." I frowned, not remembering where home was for him, then decided it didn't matter anyway.

"So you've got a room all to yourself. Cool."

"For one whole night till we ship out tomorrow, yeah."

"They stuck me in with two SFs and this really boring captain from the accounting department because it was the only open Air Force bunk. I try not to spend any more time there than I have to."

He sprawled a bit again and bumped his shoulder against mine. "So how... how non-typical is the military around here?"

"Well, they're still answerable to the top brass, but things can't always be 'by the book' when so much of the stuff that we have to deal with isn't in any of the books. There're civilians and different U.S. service branches mixed together on some teams, the Russians, Brits, and everyone else they've brought in for Atlantis, and aliens - or at least humans from other planets - here, too. General O'Neill says we're still making it up as we go along."

"Sumner seems a bit less open-minded," John observed.

"He's really sharp at dealing effectively with pretty much any situation as it comes up, but he feels, I think, that proper military order is part of what makes that possible. O'Neill's more of the 'if it gets the job done then it was the right thing to do' kinda guy."

"I hear he's done some pretty unorthodox things."

"Oh, yeah. I get the impression that Sumner hates it, but it's part of what got the General the rank of general, so he can't really argue with it. The adventures of O'Neill and SG-1, even as little as I've seen and heard, could be enough stories to fill all those quiet nights in Atlantis."

John laughed softly and nudged his shoulder against mine again. "I may take you up on that. But not ALL the nights, hmm?"

Roger, Control, we have flirting.

It was subtle enough to be ignored with no question, but solid enough to give me a little tingle of pleasure. I liked him flirting with me?

--

Yeah, I did, I recall, as I turn to face him and a Gateroom full of anxious explorers. His eyes are bright and playful, excited with an obvious undercurrent of anxiety and a hint of sadness. That's just John, through and through.

I hear one of the med staff wondering if something's wrong, since Sumner's first team has been gone for a little while now, but one of my men reassures her that if there was trouble, we'd be hearing about it.

John nods in agreement. "... Unless the trouble's *really* bad. Or it hasn't seen them yet," he says very quietly. He meets my gaze for a moment, and I nod back at his assessment and our silent agreement that the soldier behind us is right not to add unnecessarily to the science staff's worries.

I like the subtle shift in our interaction from a few days ago and the way we seem to get each others' thought processes more, now that we've had a chance to experience them more intimately. I'm relieved that what's happened between us seems to have improved our working relationship. Maybe it was a risk we shouldn't have taken, since things could have gone so very badly instead. But that didn't seem important at the time and it doesn't seem any more important right now. The whole expedition is a material example of the old adage 'nothing ventured, nothing gained,' so it's only fair that the people who are part of it feel the same way about life and about each other. That thought triggers another memory of last night and I indulge for a moment.

--

I looked up at him to see if he was actually serious with the flirting, and found myself looking into his eyes for a long moment. There's no flirting or gazing into one another's eyes with anything I ever expected to experience with a guy. The depth of his eyes, the emotional complexity of his hesitant half-smile implied... promised... something more than just physical release for one night, or several. They promised something indefinable, something sweet, something that I wasn't looking for but found myself wanting with a strength and intensity and a bittersweet longing that took me by surprise. What he might have been implying and I might have been contemplating was a whole different galaxy from anything I've ever done.

But whole different galaxies obviously don't deter either of us.

Two ways I could react; I could take the comment as a reminder we'd agreed to share our own stories on some of those quiet nights, or I could accept the invitation he was offering with everything but his words.

"Not all the nights," I agreed.

"Not tonight." It was part statement, part question.

I'd spent the past week making my goodbyes to my family and packing away all my belongings -- from my stereo and books to my favorite pillow -- in an SGC-funded long-term storage unit. Packing away my past, saying goodbye to my old life, and getting ready to walk into a new whole new galaxy tomorrow. What's one more?

"Not tonight," I smiled.

When I saw his full-charged, all-the-way-sincere smile in response, I knew I made the right decision.

He stared at his hands for a moment so I did too. He has really nice hands; strong but graceful. They looked like they'd be firm and confident, yet gentle. ...Touching me.

John glanced sideways at me. "You, um." He hesitated. "Look. I'm not pushing you, and I don't want to get you in any trouble with command. But I don't want to sit around alone reading an old magazine all night and I don't get the impression you really do either. Company is good. Friendship is even better. I mean, we could just hang out and talk. But I was kinda hoping..." He shook his head. "I thought we were on the same page here. Are we?"

I hadn't realized how scared he was. He was letting that total self-assurance slip, yet being cautious, very cautious, to not put into words exactly where he thought and hoped we were going, just in case I was as by-the-book in this as I am with most of the regulations. Maybe, since he's Air Force, we weren't really in the same chain of command until our mission officially started tomorrow...? I was just rationalizing. You can't pick and choose which rules to obey and how to interpret them. But we do it anyhow, and in spite of my respect for the rules, I couldn't convince myself that this was anything but right and essential.

"I think we are."

"Yeah?" He smiled his real smile and damn, I was almost embarrassed to be seeing so much of him in his eyes. All the hope and fear, hunger and anxiety and ... admiration?

I nodded, letting the smile I couldn't suppress speak for me.

For a few moments, neither or us said or did anything. Decision made, I didn't know what to do next. I stared at my hands again, hoping he'd be the first to make some kind of move. When he did, it was just another casual bump of his shoulder against mine. I wanted him to know that I was okay with all this -- more than that -- excited, eager, welcoming. But I wanted to let him know without the words I wasn't sure how to put together at the moment, without cheap lines, and without having to be the one to make the first moves for just a little while longer. I leaned a little into the pressure on my shoulder, feeling warmth, strength, support, and a new but deep affection; all the things I wanted right now. All the things I needed from this... relationship.

I still couldn't put that into words or dynamic action, but I relaxed against that one stable point of contact and let my head lean in as well till it touched his. I felt his shift, as he accepted that touch and leaned into it too, then tilted his head more to brush his cheek against mine. He held out an open hand to me and I took it, our fingers curling naturally and comfortably around each other's.

I just smiled and enjoyed our current position for a few breaths. Breaths in which I became aware of the unfamiliar but pleasant scent of his shampoo -- or more likely, hair gel -- a hint of mint and aftershave, and the natural, understated skin-sweat-hair smell underlying them. Taken all together the effect was really very nice. I took a slow, deep breath, just savoring him.

With his free hand, John reached up and took off my cap. I always forget I still have it on, and feel kinda weird without it, but when he rubbed his slightly stubble-roughened cheek against mine, when our foreheads touched, the edge of our closed eyelids -- and when, oh, just the corner of his lips brushed against the corner of mine -- nothing else mattered.

I heard the soft thump as the hat fell to the bed behind me and felt him bring his hand to rest on the back of my neck. The first brush of his fingertips felt cool against my skin, but as his hand pressed close, it was warm and welcome. I could feel his thumb moving, sweeping over the edge of my hair and back down to skin. The gentle yet insistent pressure of his fingers coaxed me into turning my face more toward his. The contact of his shoulder and cheek left mine as I followed that turn, and I felt the loss, but they were replaced with the brush of his closed lips over mine, soft and slow. I felt his indrawn breath against my lower lip then the warm exhalation of his sigh of pleasure. I licked my lips automatically in response and when we met again it was with lips still parted. He pressed in, lips closing over, and sliding off, my lower lip then the upper in a series of light touches that were unmistakable kisses.

Stress-relief buddy sex doesn't involve kissing. If at all, maybe something hungry and rough and aggressive in the heated moment of passion was excusable. This broke with all norms and expectations, pretty much like John himself, and I found myself liking and wanting much more of both John and his kisses. We were holding hands and trading chaste little kisses, like eighth-graders on the porch steps, and I was more turned on than I've been by anything in a long while. I'm not just talking about physical arousal. My mind and emotions seemed to be just as caught up in the heat of his touch.

It wasn't until John pulled back, with a heartbreakingly worried expression, and whispered, "What?" that I realized I'd made a kinda distressed, strangled sound. The instinct was deep to temporize, to just say something that wouldn't lessen his opinion of me. Instead I responded in kind to the honesty he'd been showing me in his eyes, whether intentional or not.

"Um. Sexual identity crisis," I admitted.

"I thought..." He touched my lower lip with the soft, warm pad of his thumb before pulling further away from me, physically and emotionally. "Sorry. I thought you wanted this." In spite of his attempted distance, I could hear his unspoken 'I thought you wanted ME,' in his voice.

He hadn't released his hold on my hand yet so I used it to pull him back in close and wrapped my free hand around the back of his neck to keep him there. "I want it. I want you."

He was still guarded. "But?" he prompted.

"But..." I nodded then shook my head, releasing my hold on his neck as I tried to sort out my confusion. "I didn't expect it to be so nice."

"Is that bad?"

"No! Just, I dunno, surprising. I thought it would just be..." I had to pause there, not really knowing how to express what I'd expected it to be. Casual? Superficial? Uncomplicated? When has anything ever been any of those for me?

"Just sex?" he supplied. I nodded.

"Is that what you want?" he asked.

"No," I hastened to assure him, then paused again, struggling for words.

"It's not," he said softly.

And suddenly the distance between us was gone and I could see right through those green, green eyes to his emotions again.

"I thought you wanted -- that *I* wanted -- just a little fun, but this is... There's... Something real. Something..." I stopped short, realizing how sappy I was sounding, and feeling desperate not to alienate John. "I'm sorry," I faltered, "we hardly even know each other. I didn't mean to get all... just because it's the first time I've kissed a guy, I didn't have to go all sappy."

"It is? Y'know, the first time?" he clarified.

I nodded, staring down at our joined hands.

"Cool."

The smile in his voice made me look up and meet his open gaze, knowing how surprised I must look. "Aiden," he said softly, "look me in the eye and tell me you don't know me."

I looked, but couldn't say it. I'd revealed more of myself to him in one evening than I had to anyone for a long time, and I had a feeling it was the same for him.

"I realize we don't really know all that much about each other yet," he said, still holding my gaze, "but my gut instinct is telling me you know me, telling me to trust you. I've learned to live by that instinct after a few times it's been the only reason I survived. I trust what's happening here, even though I have no idea what it is."

I've learned to trust gut instinct too, and right then it was telling me what this was. It was telling me love, but that was just too ridiculous and sappy because we really didn't know each other well enough for it to be and because, considering tomorrow, neither of us could afford for it to be anything like that. Or maybe, just maybe, we couldn't afford for it *not* to be.

"Trust what's happening?" I repeated.

He smiled and nodded eagerly, then turned serious. "You still okay with this?"

"Yeah." I squeezed his hand.

He licked his lips with an apologetic shrug. "The, uh, sweet-cute thing? I can see how it could freak you out. I don't expect you to be girly. I don't want it. Being strong and male are part of what makes you so hot. I really did like feeling that we had a connection, that you... care about me and I care about you." He paused with a more flirtatious smile. "Heat things up a bit?"

I opened my mouth to ask what he meant, and found it met by his. His tongue brushed against mine, coaxed me into responding. He sucked on my tongue and lips in hot, wet, slippery, deep kisses that were as strong and passionate as our earlier ones had been soft and sweet.

Oh, yeah, it was good. Good enough that I was able to shut down that little part of my mind that was trying to protest that this was a guy I was kissing and a guy I was going to be doing a whole lot of things with that I'd thought I didn't want until, apparently, they were offered in the right package, and just focus on all the good stuff.

John moved both hands to my waist, pushing them up under the edge of my shirt and gliding firm, warm pressure up over my ribs. Slowly, I uncurled my hands from the fists they'd been clenched in against his shoulders and fit them against the long hard muscles of his back. I could feel the subtle shift and play of muscles beneath my hands as his hands moved against my skin, fingertips nearly coming together over my spine and his thumbs starting to curve around my sides. He has really big hands, I thought, then as I ran mine over the fabric of his shirt, down to his narrow waist, I realized they covered about the same area on him. Oh, and didn't that feel so good -- the firm, strong, yielding yet unyielding, latent power poised just under my hands. I'd never, ever felt anything quite like it, and wondered if this was one of the things that drew him to flying; this feeling of something so powerful in your hands, responding to your touch but never really within your control.

The closest thing, I think, I could compare it to was the time on my aunt's farm when she let me ride the stallion instead of the little, sedate gelding pony. She'd had him under tight reign but leaning down over that wide arched neck and feeling the potential, the promise, in that barely controlled power when she let him canter on the lunge, I'd felt like we were flying. I couldn't figure out if the analogy was cheesy or a little kinky, or maybe both, comparing John to a stallion and wondering if that's how he'd feel underneath me -- if it would feel like he was flying too.

Alright, so maybe I hadn't stopped over-thinking. Till his hands moved again, dragging the t-shirt up my chest and coaxing my arms up so he could pull the shirt up and off. When it cleared my face and I could see him again I noticed that he was staring at me. He reached out slowly and laid his fingertips just below my collarbone. His eyes drifted half-shut. His hands drifted out and down over my shoulders and biceps, then mapped down over my pecs, the friction of skin on skin raising my nipples against his palms. He ran the back of one hand over my abs as the other followed the contour of my arm again.

"Whoa," he whispered, eyes flicking up to mine then back down to his hands. He raised an eyebrow, lightening the mood as he looked back up with a half smirk. "Impressive."

"Me?" I asked, incredulous, belatedly hoping it didn't sound like I was fishing for compliments. Not that I minded his appreciation at all. I just didn't feel like I really deserved it. "I'm not really built, like some of the guys. I mean, I work out and do a little weight training, but just, y'know, to keep up the strength and endurance for the job."

He made a soft throaty sound that could have been good or bad, but the confidence and awe he expressed with his touch made it feel good to me.

"Damn," he sighed. "That's all the better. All this isn't just for show."

I shrugged, a little awkward at the attention, and decided I deserved to get a better look at him too if I was going to put up with the embarrassment. I tugged at his shirt and he drew his focus away from my muscle structure, smiling as he helped me pull it off. I didn't get much chance to look, though. He leaned in to kiss me then bent forward to untie his boots. I got a good look at his back and shoulders then -- as long, lean and sleek as they had felt under my hands. I never really got off on looking at other guys. It's not the kind of thing I could afford to let myself get into even if it had occurred to me to want it. But I could look now, and let myself savor the rare opportunity to stare and to want and to feel. I stroked both hands up his neck, out over the sharp bones of his shoulder blades and down the tight cords of muscle bracketing his spine.

"Mmm," he hummed, and feeling the sound vibrate through his body, I had to agree. He tugged at my boot laces then and I laughed, pushing his hands away to take care of it myself. He smiled back and when I kicked aside the second boot and sock, tapped my bare toes with his.

"The door locked?" he asked.

I shook my head, trying not to think about how dangerous of an oversight that could have been and jumped up to fix it. When I returned the short distance to the bed, he caught me around the waist and instead of letting me sit again, pulled me in, to stand in the space he'd made for me between his knees. I could feel his warm breath against my stomach and looked down at the top of his unruly hair. He held me close, his strong chest pushing firmly against my groin, and pressed a warm, leisurely, open-mouthed kiss to my solar plexus. I shivered in pleasure and he traced up my ribs with his tongue, making my eyes widen in shock as he mouthed a nipple, shooting unexpected desire down my whole body. He flashed me a smug grin then did the same to the other till I gasped in pleasure, grinding myself involuntarily against his hard chest. My hand clenched ineffectually on air then, as it brushed against his head, I found myself digging my fingers into his thick hair and cradling his skull against my palm. He felt so strong and so fragile at the same time under my hand. He responded by curling one hand around the back of my leg, fingertips brushing up my inner thigh and making me push helplessly into his embrace again.

He licked back down my stomach, his hand sliding up over my ass. I was momentarily surprised by the liberties he was taking with me, till it finally settled in my head that we were heading toward far more intimate contact than John petting my butt through my BDUs.

He paused with a hand on my belt buckle, glancing up to see if the inarticulate sound that touch had elicited was permission or the start of a complaint. Time now, to stop if I was going to stop, I thought. Instead I smiled down at him, dragged my fingertips over his shoulders and let him open my pants. He was still taking things slow, being very gentle and tactile, while stroking his palms over my hips between the fabric of my BDUs and boxers. He caressed up my ribs, then down again, sliding his fingers under the elastic of my underwear to push them, along with my pants, down my legs. Before he gave me enough room to step out of them, he pulled me in to press another kiss to my chest. I could feel his heated skin everywhere we touched down the length of my body, his thick, coarse chest hair and the cooler metal of his dog tag chain chafing against my cock in a strange but amazingly pleasurable sensation.

I pulled away and was momentarily preoccupied trying to step out of the fabric pooled around my ankles with some degree of grace, so the unexpected feeling of his warm wet mouth engulfing most of my cock wrenched a cry of surprise -- very enjoyable surprise -- out of me. When he pulled back I followed unconsciously, not wanting to lose the sweet sensation, but his hands on my hips stilled me.

He smiled up at me, letting me know it was okay, and raised a finger. "Not right now. I have plans," he tapped the head of my cock lightly with one fingertip, making me jerk in response, "for that."

I stepped back and pulled him to his feet, my hands attacking his belt buckle while we found each other's mouths. I took control of the kiss this time, pushing my tongue against his -- restlessly, hungrily -- licking it, licking and sucking at his lips. With John, kissing was so good -- an undertone of sweet affection but challenging, strong and aggressive and everything that was absolutely perfect. Through it, though, I was able to hold onto enough of that Marine determination to shove his pants out of the way at the same time. As soon as his cock was free, he thrust against me and the tight curls on his groin teased the underside of my cock, while his slid caressingly along its side. I held him tight against me with a hand on his lower back, stroking down the shallow curve at the top of his butt, and pressed in, coaxing him push into me harder. I spared a moment to take in the fact that John Sheppard was naked in my arms. That his hard cock was touching mine. I was thrusting into another man's pubic hair, pressing against long lean muscle and lots of body hair and hot smooth skin with my whole naked body. I sucked hard on his tongue in response, squeezing him in my arms, caressing myself with his body.

He worked a thigh between mine, giving my cock something to ride against, then dropped back to the cot, pulling me with him and into his lap. The movement separated our mouths but they were drawn back together with an almost magnetic pull of mutual need. He wrapped strong hands around my waist, tugging me closer and closer till my thighs were spread wide, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his narrow hips, his cock pushing up underneath my balls as mine pressed into his firm stomach.

He's enough taller than me that kissing wasn't impossible in that position but my neck had started to feel the strain. Not enough to stop me, but enough to make me reconsider the angle of attack. I reluctantly let go of his lips with a slow lick, looking down to see them reddened and glistening, making me push against him again as a surge of arousal rushed through me.

I unwrapped one arm from around him to touch his hair and trace the features of his face. I'm not the type to carry on about someone's eyes -- extended eye contact borders on too intimate for most situations -- but I found myself staring at the complex color striations of his irises. Bright dark green at the edges, with a starburst of nearly incandescent green-gold splashed out from the center. Hazel, I thought, really grasping for the first time why they use that term for eye-color, because nothing in the world is quite that indescribable shade other than the new spring bark of hazel trees and John's eyes.

He noticed that I was staring and looked up at me. I opened my mouth to apologize but instead managed to continue the evening's trend of embarrassingly straightforward honesty. "You have the most amazing eyes."

His mouth quirked slightly and he dropped his gaze, looking shy.

"Sorry," I managed belatedly. "I didn't mean to embarrass you."

He shook his head and smiled. When he shrugged, I could feel his shoulder muscles ripple beneath my hand. "It's alright. From you." He brushed his hand across my cheek. "It's just that I've had strangers in stores comment on them a couple times and that's a little embarrassing. I'm never sure if they're flirting or just being awkwardly complimentary. I..." he paused, tracing his fingertip over my lower lip, "...was just about to say the same thing about your lips. You have beautiful lips." My turn to be embarrassed but he continued anyway, brushing them lightly with his wet lips and tongue as he spoke. "So full, soft and firm. Glossy. A perfect dark pink."

I imagined high school girl grocery store cashiers saying something like that to me, relieved for myself that they didn't, and suddenly both jealous and sympathetic that they were definitely flirting with John when they cooed about his eyes.

"Everyone must be wanting to kiss you all the time."

I squirmed, completely unused to that kind of talk from anyone, and shook my head in denial.

"I do," he said. "All day. All night. The only reason I'm able to stop, is that I want to be able to look at the rest of you too, touch your perfect skin everywhere else."

We were bordering on sappy again, but his fingertips trailing sensuously across my skin were definitely telling me that this was about physical pleasure and raw lust, too. He nudged my chin up with his head to place a kiss at the base of my throat. Both strong hands on my waist pulled me snug against him again and slid down with wide splayed fingers, each hand cupping one butt cheek. His fingertips traced down to the base of my spine, then slid just a little lower, making me gasp. My unconscious attempt to pull away had me thrusting against John's abs, his cock sliding beneath me till I could feel the tip of it press into the flat space behind my balls where it nearly touched his finger. I felt his smile against my neck as he teased me again with his fingertips. In this position, my movement was limited and I felt vulnerable and spread wide open to his questing touch. Was he going to... Could I let him...?

"Easy," he whispered. The fingertip pressing against my opening didn't move, either in or away, but his other hand smoothed down my spine calmingly. "I won't hurt you, Aiden. I promise." His finger traced a small circle and the hand on my back soothed me again as I squirmed at the touch.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone and I slitted my eyes open to follow his movement as he brought that finger to his lips, wetting it with his tongue. I felt the warm pressure of his open palm on my ass first, then the cool wetness of his touch against... I didn't know what words to use, even in my own mind. 'Anus' sounded a little too clinical, 'asshole' was a little too vulgar, and whoa, no time to think as he circled, pressed, circled, and pushed just slightly in. In me. Inside me. John's finger.

He stroked my back again and closed his teeth around the muscle where my shoulder met my neck as he pushed his finger in a little further. Warm, wet lips trailed over my skin as his teeth released me and I could feel the strength and tension in his chest and arms holding me to him. We kissed again, his finger stroking tentatively inside me, the other hand sliding over my shoulders, back and butt. My hands were free to explore all of his smooth skin and hard muscle I could reach but I kept finding one or the other drawn back to the base of his skull and his soft, ridiculous hair.

"I'm gonna fuck you so good," he whispered.

I gasped and swallowed hard, stilling in his arms, felt myself clench around his finger. Well, where did I think this was going when we started? Certainly not holding hands all night. I *was* sitting naked in his lap. I could handle this.

"No?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Okay." I could hear the tremor in my voice and hoped he couldn't.

His finger left me and I shuddered again. He took my head in both his hands and kissed me till I started to relax again.

"If you don't want to, just say so. Aiden?"

"It's not that, I just, um, I've never..."

"Oh!" He kissed me again, sweetly. "Sorry, I didn't know. Do you want to fuck me instead?"

My shiver that time was from a whole different kind of tension. How could he be so sweet and so filthy at the same time?

He gave a small soft chuckle. "We can do that. Couldn't decide which I wanted more anyhow." He brushed a kiss over my lips and slid a hand between us to stroke my cock hard. "We'll save the rest for next time. I mean, if you want to try it. If you want there to be a next time..."

"Oh. Yeah!" I never had before tonight, but I found that I did want it; for there to be a next time, for it to be with him, for him to be inside me. "Yes, a lot of next times."

"You, uh, you ever done this before?" he asked me. I gave a hesitant, negative shake of my head, unable to meet his eyes. He tilted his head and looked at me with a soft questioning expression. "You're not a virgin are you?"

I looked up at him, half offended and half embarrassed. "No! I've, uh, I've had sex with women, handjobs with guys. I just never knew a guy I wanted to go past that point with."

I could see him trying to suppress a smile that still showed in his pursed lips and bright eyes. "What?" I asked, hoping he wasn't laughing at me.

He broke into a grin of irrepressible delight. "Just being happy that you do now."

That made me laugh, so I kissed him.

"So..." he said, leadingly, "condoms and lube?"

"I have some condoms in my pack but I'm not sure what I have that'd be safe to use as lubrication with latex." I offered an apologetic shrug.

He just kissed me lightly, then turned us both a bit to lay me down on the bed so he could reach his gym bag. After a moment of rummaging, he set one of the beer bottles on the floor and came back up with a small tube.

I blinked a couple times and sat up. "You took *beer* and *lube* to the gym?"

"Gym? I didn't go to the gym. I just didn't want anyone to see me carrying beer around the base," John said with a self-satisfied smirk. He reached back into the bag and pushed a foil condom packet into my hand. He opened the tube and took my other hand in his, squeezing some gel out onto my fingers and then laid down on his stomach in the space between me and the wall.

He looked up at me and raised his eyebrows expectantly while I was busy deciding if I should try to not stare at his ass. Or maybe bite it. He dropped his eyes to my hands, smiled and took the condom packet from me.

"Here," he said, ripping it open. "That," he pointed at the hand with the lube, "goes in me. This," he held up the condom with one hand, "goes on you." He rolled it down over my cock with a long, slow, firm stroke that made it jump in his hand. "And then, *this*," he gave it a squeeze and another stroke, "goes in me." He gave me another of those self-satisfied grins.

I had to kiss him again. I stroked the curve of his lower back and butt with the back of my lubed hand, gently learning the feel of him before I went any further. He pulled his knees under him, wiggling his butt a little in encouragement.

After a moment, he peered back at me over his shoulder. "Do you want me to do it?"

"Hm?" I asked, distracted by the view.

"If you're not comfortable touching me... there. I can do the lube myself."

No. Mine, I thought, surprised at myself. I took a deep breath. "I want to. I was just, y'know, enjoying looking at you."

"Working out your plan of attack?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Sorta."

"Marines," he sighed good naturedly. "Fingers. Cock. Fuck. Simple enough?"

"Dunno." I rested a hand on his back, trailing my eyes over his ass on offer to me. A dusting of fine, dark hair covered his pale skin and when I dragged my fingernails through it, his skin tightened into goosebumps. I ran a thumb down the crease of his ass, getting my first good look at the small, tight pucker. I touched, tentatively, with one lubed fingertip and heard his indrawn breath of reaction. "I might need to study the terrain."

"God, you're killin' me here. If you don't do something soon, I'm going to jump you, knock you down flat on your back and sit on your cock."

That actually sounded really good too, but right now I was busy. I wasn't teasing him on purpose. I was just taking things slow so I wouldn't accidentally hurt him as I figured it all out. I pressed and rubbed, coating the pink skin till it was hot and shiny, then worked the fingertip in. The clenching of his muscles was so tight around my finger that I couldn't imagine how I could ever fit, even though I knew it actually was possible.

--

I know I shouldn't be dwelling on that kind of memory right now. I shouldn't even be letting thoughts like that cross my mind with all the eyes and pressure on both of us at this moment. It would be too easy to betray something in the way my body is starting to react or in the brief but heated glances that flash between us. We can't afford to have people notice, or even suspect, that there might be more than casual acquaintance.

His fingertip sends little ripples of light through the waves of the event horizon, just like his closeness does to me and I shiver in reaction.

I've barely managed to get my focus back on work by reviewing Sumner's earlier instructions and the Atlantis personnel manifest when John once again shatters my world.

"What's it feel like?"

And just like that, in spite of all my attempts at Marine professionalism, my mind's back in my bed last night as I asked him that exact same thing.

--

John made a soft sound of pleasure. He pushed back against me and my finger sank in deeper. I pulled back a little and pushed again, spreading the lube and easing my way into him.

"That's it," he sighed, "yeah, in, in all the way, then out. Just like that." He rocked his hips back to meet my cautious thrusting. He sighed in satisfaction and dropped his head into my pillow. "Second one now."

I slid out of him, pressed two fingertips as tightly together as I could to ease them into him together. This time they went in a little easier and he was immediately pushing back against them.

"What..." I swallowed hard, trying to tame the tremor in my voice. "What does it feel like?"

"Hurts like hell."

I froze in horror and then pulled my hand back. I glanced up at his face and he turned his head to look at me with a slightly chagrined smile.

"Aiden! I was kidding!" He turned halfway over, resting on one hip and elbow so we could see each other's faces. "It's good. Real good." His cock, full and hard enough to give me a shiver of desire, seemed to be evidence that he'd been enjoying it. ...Unless he was into pain. I really hoped he wasn't.

He seemed to be studying my face. I probably still looked a little skeptical and worried, because I was.

"I can show you." He smiled invitingly. "Were you okay with me fingering you earlier?"

"Um, yeah, I guess so."

His smile turned big and wicked. "Then, I have an idea. Here."

I let him rearrange us, not entirely sure what he was trying to do, but giving in to the 'trust what's happening' theme, since I don't think I'd had a handle on what was going on since John walked into my room. I ended up mirroring his position on my side, but turned the other direction, so we were facing each other.

He wrapped an arm around my leg, bending his into my chest in an obvious cue to do the same to him. He reached for the lube and I felt the tube brushing against my knee as he slicked his fingers. As rested his cheek against my raised thigh, looking down it at my ass he drew his fingertip down the crease to rest against my hole. I gave the position a try as well and found I could lean my chest against his leg, look over his narrow hip to the tight rounded curves of his ass, and be in the perfect position to slide my finger back inside him. He made a very happy sigh at the contact.

He touched me again, the tip of his finger sliding into me more easily than it had earlier. It felt kinda odd; mostly okay, though it didn't really feel as good as the sounds he was making implied it felt to him and the thought of getting something the size of his cock in there still sounded a bit painful. I followed his lead with the speed and depth of thrusts but I was still getting more pleasure from the friction of my cock against his chest, even inside the slightly damp, crinkly condom, and the thought of having it in the tight hot channel my fingers were buried in, than I was from the feeling of his finger moving in me.

I added a second one when he did, feeling the not entirely comfortable stretch as he pushed inside me to two thick knuckles.

"Relax," he whispered, stroking my thigh soothingly with his other hand. If I looked up the long lean length of his body, I could see he was intent on the sight of his fingers sliding in and out of me but it was the look of enjoyment on his face that actually got me to relax a bit more. I felt his motions get easier and he glanced up at me with a smile. "Good." He pushed back on my fingers. "You can do that harder. Um, by which I mean, please, do that harder."

I did as he asked, while he kept his touch gentle in me. I was starting to like it in a kinda distant way. I could feel his fingers bend slightly and twist, and I tried to follow his movements.

"What you're looking for," he paused for a panting breath and rubbed his cock against my chest, twisting his fingers again till I jerked and gasped as an almost electric surge of pleasure shot through me from his fingertips. He chuckled, "is that."

"Wow," I managed, finally getting, in more than an abstract way, why this might be pleasurable for the guy who wasn't the top. I shivered and pushed back hard against his hand when he gently touched the same spot again. I pressed my fingers in, reaching for the equivalent spot in John that the sensations seemed to be emanating from in me. I knew that was the prostate but I wasn't entirely sure I'd know by feel what I was looking for. When he ground against me with a deep, drawn out moan and shivered hard enough to shake my whole body and the bed, I knew I'd gotten it right.

It was so hot that I was making him react like that -- the relaxed, sensual, almost wanton surrender to pleasure. My few times with other guys were all about getting off as fast as possible and the women, not that there were that many of them, only seemed to really let go in those few seconds of orgasm. I'd never, ever, made anyone respond like this before, never felt this intensity of physical stimulation and exhilaration myself unless I was coming.

I stroked again, deep and hard, loving the feel of all that hard, tight muscle and latent power writhing up against me, and the tremors and sounds of pleasure my touch was drawing out of him.

"God, John," I sighed, shivering from his touch inside me and around me.

"Good?"

"Uh-huh," I responded breathlessly.

"Mmm." I could hear and feel the quiet chuckle in his moan and he pulled me tight against him, his cock leaving a damp trail of pre-come across my chest as we moved against each other. "One more."

I nodded silently, pulling back and circling his opening with the third finger to slick it, before squeezing it together with the first two and slowly working them back inside John.

"Oh yeah. That's it. All the way in. Mm, that's good, Aiden, good." John's voice and body were both telling me how much he liked what I was doing to him. "Can you handle a third one?" he asked, spreading and twisting his fingers inside me as if to draw my attention to them.

I could still feel the burn but his touch felt so very good, too. "Um, I'm, um... not sure. I think so."

I felt his head move, nodding against my thigh. "Don't let me hurt you," he said softly, pausing for a shuddering gasp of pleasure as I kept my fingers moving in him. "Say the word and I'll back off."

"'Kay."

I felt the let down as he slipped his fingers out of me and I pressed mine deep, in compensation or encouragement, dragging them slowly and firmly across his prostate as they slid out and in.

I felt the pressure and stretch again as he entered me, tensing a little in anticipation of possible of pain.

"Just relax," he encouraged, pressing a wet kiss to my hip, keeping his touch slow and as gentle as possible under the circumstances. He reached between us to take my cock in his free hand.

When a few tight firm strokes had me panting in pleasure again, I started to relax and felt his fingers sink into me further. The increased pressure on my prostate made the stimulation more relentless and combined with his confident, steady jerking me off, pulled me quickly to the brink of overload. I rode that edge for a few moments, holding back by will alone. I wanted it, now. Wanted it so bad -- the joy, the release, the relief of coming -- but this amazing, strong, sensual man, writhing and moaning and giving himself up to me, had offered to let me inside him and I wanted that even more.

I shied away from him, the intensity of the pleasure almost a pain and managed to gasp out a reluctant "Wait!"

John stilled almost immediately, though that can't have been any easier for him than it was for me. And I knew, *knew* that it was far more than self-control that let him do that. I could feel the soft, warm, deep affection and concern he had for me even more in that lack of action than I did in the way he touched me and responded to me.

--

I knew then as I know now, that it wasn't a good idea at all to be falling in love, considering our situation and mission, let a lone with a man, a fellow officer, someone who was as much of a wild card and wounded soul as John, but I know, in spite of all that, I am. Actually, as I stand next to him on the steel ramp to a new universe, I kinda suspect it's gone way past the 'falling' stage.

My radio clicks off and I meet his bright open gaze momentarily as I turn and give the nod to the crew behind me. I let his strong presence at my side stabilize me as I turn back to the event horizon and listen to the shuffling of preparation behind me, still thinking about how to answer his half-joking/half suppressed terror question about 'Gate travel.

I turn back to face him, unable to keep my eyes off him for too long and feeling the need to give him the same reassurance and safety he gives me.

--

I felt him looking at my face as his movements stopped and I looked up to meet his gaze. So sweet. So frighteningly open, that I could see his near-desperate lust, his frustration that I might be ending it here and his tender determination to give me whatever I needed in spite of that frustration.

"Not having second thoughts," I reassured him, twisting my fingers in him to let him know I was still right there with him. "Just -- I'm going to come pretty quick if you keep that up."

He grinned and released my cock with a final long slow stroke. "Quick is okay, but I want you to be in me when you do."

My cock throbbed in anticipation and I nodded back at him in what I'm sure must have been wide-eyed desire. "I want that too."

I shivered again as he pulled his fingers out of me, wanting them back almost as soon as they were gone. I never thought I'd want a cock up my ass, ever, but was starting to believe that with John around, I might never stop wanting it again.

"C'mere," he said, tugging on my shoulder to pull me up into his arms where his mouth could finally reach mine again. We kissed, long and hard and deep, drawing back briefly then devouring each other's mouths with all the overwhelming emotion we were both feeling.

He turned a little, onto his back, pulling me on top of him. He squirmed his legs out from under me so that I slipped between them, my cock pressing down and against his. He pulled his knees up and thrust his hips against me.

"Like this," he instructed. "I want to be able to keep kissing you, see you when you come. ...In me."

I shuddered and thrust helplessly into his hard hip. He pushed me back a little to rub more lube over the drying condom, stroking me back to full hardness, then guided the head of my cock back beneath his balls to slide and catch against his lubed opening.

I ran my fingertips down his flat stomach, stroked lightly over his cock and balls before reaching down to steady myself in position.

"Yes. Aiden," he sighed in a barely-audible whisper, giving me a nod of acquiescence and encouragement when I met his eyes.

I pushed, seeing those eyes go wide as I finally entered him. He laid a hand flat on my chest, stilling me while he adjusted and letting me know to take it slow when he angled his hips to let me in further.

He licked his lips and I wanted them. Leaning in to kiss him pushed my cock deeper inside him and I could see the complex physical and emotional sensations skitter and fight for dominance on his unguarded features. I couldn't name them all, but they were saying 'yes' to me before his eyes closed as our mouths met again.

I sucked hard on his tongue, then thrust mine as deep into his mouth as my cock was in his ass. The pulsing pull of his lips and tongue on mine encouraged me to try a few shallow thrusts inside him. His hips met my movements and I pulled my mouth from his with a wet, slow glide of lips, so I could raise myself on my arms and push into him harder and faster. I tried to feel for that sweet spot within all the sensory overload, shifting my hips and thrusts a few times till he gasped and arched, letting me know I'd hit it.

The tight, hot compression of John around me, the slide of his sweat-slick chest rising and falling beneath me, the press of one ankle against my ass, all merged together into the most amazing thing I'd ever felt. The most perfect thing I'd ever felt. His eyes, half-lidded in pleasure, his open gaze, the straining of his long, lean muscles; those were the most amazing and perfect thing I've ever seen.

I had to force myself to pause mentally for a second, pushing the intense pleasure I was feeling to the back of my thoughts. Was I just feeling this depth of emotion and connection because he was letting me fuck him, or was it something real? Then I had to stop for another moment to be blown away by the realization that *he was letting me fuck him*. And why? After all the unsettlingly intimate moments between us so far, there was no way I could look at this beautiful man giving himself to me, to *me* and think he was only doing this for fun, for the superficial, though amazing, physical pleasure, any more than I could attribute the way I'd responded to him from that tentative first kiss, hell, from the first hint of flirtation, to a desire to just get off.

The look of bliss on John's face outshined the one he'd had earlier when he talked about flying. I rubbed a thumb over one of his flat pink nipples and he arched so sweetly into my touch. I took his cock in my hand and stroked my thumb up over the smooth head, making his breath catch and his body tighten around me. I ducked down for another quick kiss then pulled back to watch him, letting my eyes convey the feelings I couldn't put in words just yet, but had finally accepted as real.

"John," I gasped, "can't last much longer."

"Me either."

He squeezed his hand hard around one of my biceps and then reached down to stroke his own cock in time with my thrusts. I leaned back further to watch, shifting my weight to my knees and hooked my arms around his legs to steady us both as I pushed into him again and again. I watched the glistening, flushed head of his cock slipping in and out of the tight channel of his hand, then looked to where we were joined. A full-body throb of near-orgasm shook me as I stared. His skin was so smooth and tight around my cock that it looked like I'd somehow managed to sink right through his skin and into him --my cock, dark and full, disappearing into his sweet, lean, pale ass. I had to touch that spot where we were merged, amazed.

"That's just beautiful," I sighed softly, in contrast to my hard, hard thrusts that were getting shorter and more erratic as I started to lose it. I could feel John's hand, moving against my abs as he stroked himself, getting faster, almost shuddering with the strain.

I felt the electric tingles spread out through me, pause and surge back into the center of my body in a tight hot ball of tension that finally broke as I exploded into him. I cried out, inarticulately, at my release, hating the necessity of the condom separating us and really loving the feeling of coming inside John anyway. Still shuddering and pulsing, I looked down at him in time to catch his tender smile. I could see -- feel -- every muscle tense and ripple, just before he breathed out a long sigh of relief, his come surging over his tight fist and stomach. I jerked inside him at the sight, spent, but overwhelmed with desire for him.

When the tremors receded back to just my straining leg and arm muscles, I leaned down hoping one last kiss was acceptable before I had to steel myself to let him go, expecting he'd want that distance and privacy back now. He responded to the kiss, though, raising one hand to touch my cheek. He cupped the back of my neck as he held me in place to deepen the kiss, drawing it out, showing me against my expectations that the connection between us was still there -- still welcome. His other arm came around me, pulling me in closer, hand wet with his come against my shoulder blade as the rest of his release squelched between our abs. We kissed some more and my cock gave another weak pulse inside him, making me wish I had the stamina to keep going and feel all of that all over again. But the kissing and holding was really good too, so I wrapped my arms around him in return.

We fell over onto our sides and continued the kisses as I felt my spent cock slip out of him. I peeled off the condom, them let myself sink back into his embrace.

"Mmm, was good," he told me, drowsy from satisfaction.

I agreed, warm and relaxed, though sticky, "Real good."

We held each other for a while as our arms got looser and the kisses got slower... and slower.

"Can't sleep," I protested sleepily.

"Just for a couple minutes."

"Hm-mm. Mission. Military base." But I tucked my head in under his chin and nuzzled into his neck anyhow.

One hand drifted softly down my side and over my hip. "Tomorrow."

I woke a few minutes later to a mixed feeling of comfort in John's sleepy embrace and almost-nauseated alert tension at the sound of the Gateroom claxons.

"Wha..?" he groaned.

"Unscheduled offworld activation," I replied automatically, almost at the exact time the tech's voice announced the same thing over the PA system.

"Do we have to do anything?" he asked, blinking, though more alert.

"Don't think so."

There was some scuffling in the hallways and shortly the alarms and activity died down with a relieved all-clear signal.

John squeezed me and kissed the top of my head, finally pulling our sticky bodies away from each other. We both knew he should go, though neither of us voiced it. We sat up and ended up kissing again for several minutes, with less passion and more regret than before, but with just as much promise. I squashed down the returning arousal that we couldn't indulge any more, letting him go with a few lingering, sweet kisses.

"Tomorrow night..." he promised.

He found his boxers on my floor and wiped us both clean, as much as he could. He smiled at me then looked slightly puzzled by the damp fabric in his hand. With a shrug he shoved them into the gym bag. We kept kissing and nuzzling, slowly beginning to put the necessary physical and emotional distance between us as we got dressed.

We were both quiet. For my part, I didn't know what to say, because I didn't want him to go, though I knew he had to, and I was hoping with no concrete cause for confidence that, after we got to Atlantis, we'd have the opportunity to do this again, often. I was pretty sure, though, that he wanted it as much as I did, and between the two of us we would find a way. Tonight, I thought, had been amazing, and hopefully, just the beginning. Tomorrow, we'd have the Lost City of the Ancients, and that was going to be something amazing in itself.

Eventually though, John nudged me out of my contemplation and grinned. "Now *that's* a 'last night on Earth' celebration."

I smiled back. "Hey, there's still the 'First night in Atlantis' celebration." I blinked at him shyly. "And second night, and...?"

He grabbed my collar and kissed me soundly. "Count on it." He sighed, zipped the gym bag and swung it up on his shoulder. He did a quick check of his clothes and scruffed his hair into a slightly altered disarray. "Okay. Hallway security cameras." He raised an eyebrow and pointed toward them through my wall, then dug through a pocket and held up a worn deck of cards. "If anyone asks..."

I nodded. "Sure." As he reached for the door handle I asked, "Who won?"

"I did, of course."

As I stepped into the doorway to watch him walk out under the hallway cameras, we were both laughing, like good friends and nothing more. "What? Hey, I want a rematch."

"Tomorrow night." He hid a flirtatious smirk from the security system by turning towards me and waved the deck in a goodbye.

"Count on it."

John glanced back one more time as he walked away. "I do," he said softly.

--

The sparkling blue light of the open 'Gate highlights the paleness of his skin and the elegant angles of his face, and I finally admit to myself, if not to him, the truth I've come to realize in the last few minutes. I fucking love him. I love fucking him. I'm so screwed.

Or, at least tonight -- if we survive whatever Atlantis has in store for us this afternoon -- tonight I will be.

In another second, I'm going to have to be all business and focus but for this second it's just us and I'm going to savor it while it lasts. I lick my lips, seeing his attention flicker briefly to them.

"Hurts like hell, sir," I say, keeping my expression cool, watching his eyes as he tries to decide if feeding his teasing words from last night back to him is as much a tease or if I'm serious.

And then I can't hold back the delighted laugh at the memory of what we found together last night, the feeling of what we have at this moment and the thought of all that lies ahead. My eyes not leaving his, I decide to show him rather than explain, that at least this small part of the journey can be easy and fun. I leap backwards, grinning, through the event horizon, into a whole new galaxy. And just like last night, I may not be sure what's ahead but John's right there with me so I know it's going to be good.

--