wrapped in a red ribbon

"If I have to listen to 'Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer' one more time, I'm getting you to shoot out the speakers," Rodney declared as he dropped into the diner booth across from Sheppard. He set his briefcase on the red vinyl bench next to him. It was four forty-seven in the morning and the neon lights of Atlantis City still defied the night. "I mean, you're a cop. Playing that has to be a crime."

"Sorry, no shooting innocent speakers," John said. He didn't look up from picking at his French fries. "I could probably bust Santa, though. Hit and run."

A lock of dark hair drooped over John's forehead. Rodney suppressed the impulse to brush it back, the way he always did. John needed a shave and he'd jerked his tie loose. Pretty much how John Sheppard always looked at the end of the night shift. The shadows under his eyes and the pallor weren't as normal. The latest case had begun to obsess him. At least, he was still eating. Rodney had seen John drop pounds over the course of a bad case. His own hypoglycemia made him more conscious of it than he otherwise would be, but someone had to keep an eye on John. The end-of-shift breakfasts had started out as Rodney's way of making sure a good detective didn't burn out or collapse. After three years, they were the best part of his night.

He wouldn't say anything when John started losing weight and sleep. Rodney knew him in every way but one and he knew John hated being fussed over. Rodney always wanted to do more, the same way he wanted to have more, but that was his problem. Meanwhile, he'd do his job and help John do his and appreciate what he did have.

"Sheppard?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll get him."

"It would be a hell of lot easier if you guys in the lab would come up with something I could use to track this perp down," Sheppard said. He popped a French fry into his mouth and chewed, while their regular waitress stopped by and filled Rodney's coffee cup.

"Same as always, Dr. McKay?" she asked.

"Yes, yes, do I ever order anything else?" Rodney demanded.

"Don't pay any attention to him, Oma," Sheppard told her and smiled as she topped up his cup.

"Do I ever?" she replied, smiling too, then sashayed back to the kitchen.

"Do you have to flirt with anything in a skirt?" Rodney asked and snatched one of Sheppard's fries. He'd spent all night analyzing an anomalous breakdown of chemicals found in the bloodstream of the latest victim from the murderer the Atlantis City PD were already privately calling 'Red Ribbon Killer'. Not that he'd made much progress.

Sheppard rolled his eyes and jerked his plate out of Rodney's reach. "Yes?"

Rodney snorted and opened his briefcase, pulling out a thick file. "Biro sent over the autopsy report on Lydia Dumais. It's official — she definitely died before any of the other victims, even before Eugene Bates."

Sheppard flipped the file open and began reading, still nibbling French fries, apparently unmoved by the graphic photos of the partially decomposed body, recently uncovered in an empty lot behind a condemned building. Red ribbon had been found wrapped around her from head to foot, just like all the other victims. He frowned. "Here it is again."

"What? The drug? It's been present in every body except Bates'," Rodney said, sitting back to let Oma set his plate of eggs, sausages, waffles, toast, hash browns and fruit cup before him. Sheppard was too caught up in the autopsy report to give Rodney his usual look of mock horror. Rodney began eating immediately, still talking. "It's unlike anything I've come across before, must be a designer one, but completely fresh, not a tweaked version of the regular X and speed and downers. I'm not even sure what it does, though it looks like it may accelerate the metabolism based on some of the breakdown products also present—"

"No, I meant the restraint marks."

Rodney paused and swallowed a mouthful of waffle. "Oh, that, yes, the marks could be attributed to the killer restraining his victims, but the marks don't gibe with that, really. Dumais has scars of a less than recent vintage. So did, uhm, Martin — "

"Markham."

"Yes, whatever, Markham and the Canadian fellow. Campbell, right, not that the name matters. Anyway, my point is that the killer uses duct tape and electrical cords to restrain them."

Sheppard flipped back through the photos and squinted at one of Dumais' back. He shoved it toward Rodney. "Do those look like — "

"Hey, I'm eating here!" Rodney protested, closing his eyes. Why did everyone think that just because he headed the night shift of the Atlantis City PD's forensic lab he had an iron stomach? Really. He worked with evidence, not dead bodies. Those were Biro's bailiwick.

"Suck it up, Rodney," Sheppard said.

Rodney snapped his eyes open so he could roll them at Sheppard. "Suck it up? I'm more likely to chuck it up." But he pulled the file the rest of the way across the table and stared down at the picture. "What?"

"Do those look like whip scars to you?"

Rodney frowned and lifted the picture to change the angle and get rid of the glare off the shiny paper. "Hunh. Yeah. I saw...Torin Magen had similar scars, but they weren't new. In fact they looked like they were deliberate."


"He was a masochist who liked getting whipped, according to the interviews Mitchell and Carter did."

"Yeah, how did you get day shift's all-star duo to do interviews for your case?" Rodney asked.

"Oh, they still owe me for closing out the Lavin case."

"You?" Rodney exclaimed. "I'm the one who figured out he was using GHB injected into the cherry centers of the chocolates he gave all those women!"

"I'm the one who said it had to be dear old Lucius, the guy everybody loved," Sheppard said.

"Hmph." Who would have thought Lucius Lavin was a serial rapist? The guy acted cuddly and funny and completely harmless. A little irritating, sure, but no one suspected him except Sheppard, who had even been stuck with a reprimand from Caldwell after Lavin accused him of police harassment. "Okay."

"So, I've been doing a little poking into Lydia Dumais' background since you got me the ID on her body," Sheppard told him, "and it seems Lydia had some kinky tastes. Maybe the same kinky tastes Torin Magen had."

"And Sgt. Bates?" Rodney couldn't help asking.

"Bates is the anomaly, but I think he's dead because he was a cop. He must have seen something."

"Like maybe Lydia Dumais' murder," Rodney agreed.

"Maybe," Sheppard said. He closed up the file and handed it to Rodney. "Keep this for me." A quick look at his watch made him frown. "And could you hurry and eat at your usual light speed? Lorne is supposed to be here in a minute. We've got an actual lead. Except for Bates, all of the victims were members of Ascension."

Rodney frowned. John usually dawdled over his meals. "I've heard of it. Fetishes. Every variation of BDSM, very exclusive. And very discreet."

"Right," Sheppard said. "And we won't find out a damn thing from the owner, who happens to be Torin Magen's sister, even if we go in there with search warrants. So Lorne and I are going undercover. Eldon's getting us in and we're supposed to meet Ms. Magen here for an interview in five minutes. So scram."

Rodney shoveled in the last bite of his toast, closed his briefcase, and said, "Fine, but I expect you to tell me everything about —"

"Excuse me," a soft, faintly foreign voice said. Rodney looked up — not very far — and snapped his mouth closed.

She was caramel and bronze, with slanted brown eyes and a cool smile. She was Teyla E. Magen, now sole owner of Ascension, standing in Oma's Diner, tiny and hot as a Saturday Night Special in her miniskirt and custom-tailored gray merino blazer. The blazer clung to her and plunged down between her breasts, showing off cleavage and hinting there was nothing beneath but more gorgeous skin. The outfit probably cost several thousand dollars. Her eyes measured them both, withholding judgment while she waited for them to respond. A brute with dreadlocks and a sneer stood behind her, also dressed in a good suit.

Beautiful woman, Rodney reflected, the kind he used to want in a theoretical way that was completely different from the way he wanted John. The way he felt about John, if he was honest with himself.

John's quick glance at Rodney could have been a request for permission to speak or the warning to play along Rodney knew it was. Rodney nodded. "Ms. Magen," Sheppard said.

"I am Teyla. This is Ronon," she said.

John stood and, belatedly, so did Rodney.

"You are John?" she asked. "Eldon described you."

John nodded. "And this is — "

"Rodney," he said.

Teyla raised an eyebrow and surveyed them both. Rodney knew he'd pass muster anywhere: he was wearing his usual, perfect suit. Since he didn't have any family to waste his money on and had patented several processes now used in labs all over the world, he saw no reason not to look his absolute best. Off-the-rack clothes didn't help compensate for his desk job waistline, either. It assisted him when he was on the witness stand and when dealing with the police department brass. Not that he needed to wear clothes that cost more than a detective's monthly salary when he had his towering intellect to browbeat them with, but some people found appearances important.

Sheppard was in his usual black suit, white shirt, and dark tie. The thing about Sheppard was that he could have bought the suit off a rack at JC Penney's or had it custom fitted in Milan. He made everything look equally good. Maybe because he didn't care. The charisma of confidence, Rodney often thought enviously. John couldn't help it, didn't do it deliberately, but it affected everyone who met him.

Not just women, either, though Teyla looked as unaffected as anyone Rodney had ever seen. He relaxed a little. As far as Rodney knew, the only woman John had been truly interested in and pursued had been Chaya Sarathar. Their relationship had fallen apart after Rodney uncovered that she was a very high priced call girl. That had been the only time Rodney's jealousy had got out of control, investigating Chaya's background had been over the line, even if he had been right. John had eventually forgiven him, though, and Rodney had forced himself to repress most of his feelings as John went back to dating a new woman every week, all of them gorgeous, there and gone again from week to week.

Teyla probably had someone of her own and wasn't interested in poaching on someone she thought was taken. Of course, John wasn't trying. Still...John didn't try with Rodney either, didn't even have a clue that Rodney felt anything more than the friendship John felt for him.

"You wish to join my club?" Teyla asked.

Sheppard closed his eyes for a second. Obviously Eldon had described Sheppard to Teyla and not his partner Lorne, names hadn't been used, and Teyla thought Sheppard and Rodney were an item.

"Yes," Rodney said, before Sheppard could correct her.

"And he is your slave?" Teyla concluded with a smiling glance at Sheppard. Sheppard froze, while Rodney's mind raced in a thousand different directions. The thought of Sheppard acting like a slave to anyone was just laughable; the guy could barely pretend he obeyed Lt. Caldwell's orders. That was part of why he'd been exiled to the night shift - aka Antarctica.

"Yes," Rodney said.

Teyla tipped Sheppard's chin up and examined his face. "No collar?"

Rodney huffed, trying to ignore the temper glinting in Sheppard's eyes. "Of course not. That's for amateurs. John knows who he belongs too. Neither of us can afford to make displays in our professional lives. That's why we're interested in becoming members of Ascension."

Teyla seemed to consider that, taking in John's leashed, silent tension and Rodney's faked confidence. She opened her small purse and withdrew a card, handing it to Rodney. "Present this tomorrow night along with the initiation fee for yourself and John."

Rodney knew better than to ask how much that would cost.

"Thank you," he said, turning the deep purple card in his fingers, feeling the expensively embossed, elegant Pegasus in the center. There were no words on it at all. Anyone who had been given that card would know exactly what it was and no one else would ever be able to guess.

Teyla nodded to him, patted Sheppard's cheek and left. Ronon, who hadn't spoken once, followed her. Once they were out the door, Rodney slumped back in his seat and Sheppard stared at him.

"Well, shit," Sheppard muttered.


John groped for and found his phone, squinting against the dim, almost orange light making it way through the curtains of his bedroom. Late afternoon light, he identified through the last shreds of sleep.

"Sheppard," he rasped into the receiver. He hadn't made it to his apartment and his bed until noon. Setting up Rodney to go undercover with him instead of Lorne had taken forever to clear with the brass. The go-ahead had finally come down through the new day shift guy, Landry, from Chief Hammond himself. It was worth the risk, if John could get a line on the Red Ribbon Killer. Everyone wanted this case closed: Eugene Bates had been a good cop, a real hard-ass, but the kind of officer you wanted covering your back.

"They found another one."

John groaned.

"This one's fresh," Lorne went on. "Looks like his latest. Even got an ID on her already — Marin Olles. Carter caught the call, pegged it for our perp immediately."

John slumped back against his pillow and glared at the cracks in his bedroom ceiling. "Yeah, well, it's hard to mistake a vic wrapped up in red satin Christmas ribbon like a mummy."

Lorne chuckled.

"Man, I cannot believe you're going undercover as McKay's slave."

John sighed. "If you'd showed up on time for once..."

"Oh, come on, this Magen woman was early. What kind of dominatrix shows up to a meeting before dawn?"

John shrugged. "One that's been up all night, just like the rest of the night shift."

"Hunh. Guess you have a point. Think she's the one?"

John thought about Teyla Magen. No. No way. There was something...serene about the woman. He didn't buy that she'd done in her half-brother or even Eugene Bates, even if he had busted her once, when she first started working in Atlantis City. Besides, she was just physically too small, though that bruiser of hers, Ronon, could have pulled off the murders without breaking a sweat.

The background check they'd run on Ronon Dexter had come back clean as a whistle. He was from L.A. and had done seven years in the US Army Rangers. Some kind of wound that left a piece of shrapnel in his back had got him out of the army, but surgery later had removed it. Apparently, Ms. Magen had paid for the surgery and thus earned his undying gratitude.

"Nah," he said.

"Carter and Mitchell are handling the Olles case for now, they'll copy everything to the night shift," Lorne went on.

"Great."

"Hey, Detective Doran left a message. Said to meet her at Vittorio's Leather World at seven. Man, you have the strangest dates."

"It's not a date," John snapped. "Vala's..." He grimaced. "Picking out my undercover gear for tomorrow night."

Lorne's laughter did not make him feel better. John harbored no illusions that Rodney had either the skill or inclination to do undercover work, but they were going to have to wing it anyway. He'd been surprised a little at how quick Rodney had been in the diner, though he knew Rodney was smart. It was just that he was so easily flustered, too. Still, Rodney always pulled out a win in the end, finding the evidence to put away more than one crook that would have walked otherwise. John trusted him, even if he'd never tell him in a million years.

"Is she going to help pick out something for Doc McKay or does he already have his own stuff?" John could hear Lorne slapping a desk or table as he cracked up.

Christ, he hadn't thought of that. Rodney wouldn't have anything but thousand-dollar suits in his closet. He didn't even do casual wear, much less whatever 'masters' were supposed to wear to Ascension. He'd better call him and make sure he met with John and Vala at Vittorio's.

Well, at least he could afford it. John didn't really want to think about what this case was going to do to his own bank account, let alone what the reimbursement paperwork would look like. He quirked an unseen grin at the ceiling. Since McKay was going to be his master, maybe he could get him to pay for everything. That sounded about right.


Rodney presented the card at the door of Ascension and was ushered inside by a stone-faced woman. He snapped his fingers and John followed him inside. They were taken directly to an office where the financial details were presented and Rodney found himself writing a twenty-five thousand dollar check that bought full memberships for John and himself.

Once his money proved good, Teyla appeared. She seemed to find them and their clothes acceptable, John in the clothes Vala Doran had picked out and Rodney in another Italian suit, since he'd balked at even the prospect of wearing leather.

She guided them around, introducing Rodney to other members. John stayed a step behind and to the side of Rodney. Rodney asked questions, trying to guess what John would want to know, while John kept his mouth shut, watching and listening. Ascension was a little like an elite men's club. There was a dance floor, but there was also a dining room, library, and gambling. All very elegantly appointed, the dance floor all shining dark mirrors and black metal, angles out of a Frank Lloyd Wright design, the library filled with gilt-spined books, green leather club chairs and brushed-steel shaded reading lamps. The floors were parquet and covered with rich, red-themed Turkish carpets. Only the clothes or lack of them would have raised eyebrows, at least until you reached some of the specialty rooms.

Teyla took them into a room where a blond girl on a rack was being whipped. John jerked and looked wide-eyed at Rodney. Rodney set his hand against John's back, abruptly conscious of the heat and smoothness of John's skin under the black silk tee-shirt Vala had picked out for him. They'd gone for sexy but restrained for this first visit. Plus John had demanded boots so he could at least carry his back up gun. Tiny shivers were running up and down John's back and through Rodney's fingertips as they watched the girl writhe under the lash. The man using the whip on her wore a full face mask with a zipper over the mouth and goggles over his eyes.

It freaked Rodney out too. He didn't even want to think about marring the expanse of John's back — glimpsed while they were trying on Vala's selections the night before — even with welts that would heal. Anything that would scar would be a sin.

God, John's skin was hot. Rodney flexed his fingers against the silk covering it without thinking and heard John suck in his breath.

Teyla heard it too and leveled a knowing smile at both of them. Rodney prayed he wouldn't blush. John was better at undercover than he was and leaned back into Rodney's touch like he wanted more of it. He hoped John would interpret his actions as acting. Of course, when would he ever have the opportunity again to grope John without giving away how much he wanted him?

He slid his hand over John's hip instead, knowing the gesture looked possessive. For once he got to be possessive of John. He wouldn't take advantage, that was just wrong, but he could enjoy the privilege of touching John for once. John, who was so straight he didn't have a clue Rodney cared more and wanted more than friendship offered. It wasn't like Rodney was obvious about it, but even if he had been, John might not have noticed. He seemed oblivious even to most out-and-out come ons.

They left the room and Teyla knocked lightly on the next door.

It opened a moment later.

"Elizabeth," Teyla said. "May I introduce Rodney?" She rested a hand on John's wrist. "And this is his slave, John. They have just joined us. I am showing them around tonight."

"Just getting acquainted," Rodney said in a tight voice. He knew one of the protocols of Ascension was never acknowledging any connection to the outside world, but it still felt bizarre to see Elizabeth Weir of the Mayor's office, dressed in a demure, almost Victorian frock, holding a flogger in one hand, while her partner bent bare-assed over a padded apparatus that reminded Rodney of a gymnastics horse.

Elizabeth's partner made a questioning noise and Rodney realized he was blindfolded.

"Shush, Simon," Elizabeth said.

Simon subsided.

Elizabeth eyed John with a hungry expression. "Perhaps we can get better acquainted." She ran the loose ends of the flogger up John's arm.

John twitched back toward Rodney while Rodney narrowed his eyes at Elizabeth. No way, he thought, would he share John with anyone. Provided John was actually his to share. The rigid muscles under his hand told him pretty clearly that John wasn't interested in getting a spanking from Elizabeth either. Or anything else.

Teyla must have picked up the tension in both of them, because she kissed Elizabeth's cheek and ushered them out again.

"As you see, we have facilities devoted to whatever punishment your slave is in need of," Teyla murmured, showing off several more rooms. "We also have a licensed physician on the premises at all times, if you would care for an introduction.

John caught Rodney's eye and gave a tiny, nearly invisible nod.

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

After the check he wrote on arrival, it had better not be too much trouble. At least the membership included both him or John separately. There had been a second option, that allowed him to bring a 'guest', but only in his company. Rodney had paid the extra fee to provide John with access without him. It was going to be hell getting the department to reimburse him.

"Of course," Teyla said. "Janet's a bit of a martinet, but a marvelous doctor. She prefers to get to know everyone here anyway. In fact, before you can make use of some of our more esoteric practices, you'll both need to undergo complete physicals."

"Blood work?" Rodney demanded.

Teyla nodded. "We insist on practicing safe sex at Ascension, but there is always the danger of faulty prophylactics or one of the members becoming too enthusiastic. And, of course, there are those who wish to indulge in blood play. We can't take the chance of spreading any STDs."

Rodney nodded. "That's good. John and I are both tested regularly as part of our professions."

John glared at him.

He ignored that and focused on the matter that had been bothering him since he examined the Red Ribbon Killer's first victim. The drug that had produced the fascinating breakdown products in the bodies.

"What about drugs?" he asked bluntly.

Teyla raised an eyebrow at him. "What about them?" she replied.

"What's your policy on them?"

"We do not offer any illegal drugs for sale at Ascension. The bathrooms stock simple, over the counter remedies such as aspirin and Alka-Seltzer, anything stronger Dr. Fraiser will supply if necessary," Teyla said. "Beyond that, what members bring themselves is not regulated, though once again, illegal substances are not welcome."

"Ah, good, just wanted to get that straight," Rodney mumbled.

After that, they met Dr. Janet Fraiser, who was diminutive and intimidating. Rodney had thought Teyla packed a lot of personality and force into a small frame. Dr. Fraiser was even shorter and had enough attitude to qualify as a pocket Napoleon rather than a pocket Venus. She looked the two of them over and declared, pointing at John, “Vitamins, more sleep, less beer, and think about a massage once a week. You're tense as a violin string.” Her gaze settled on Rodney and she added, “Halve your coffee intake, stop yelling at your subordinates, no more donuts and stop hunching over a computer all day if you don't want to have back surgery in the next five years. Also, your cholesterol and blood pressure must be out of sight.”

John barely muffled his chuckles as Rodney spluttered at her. “Oh, get them out of here, I don't want to see them unless they've broken something interesting — ” Fraiser declared, waving them out of her office.

Teyla brought them back to the public portion of the club. The flickering lights caught in John's hair and his eyes. He smirked at Rodney for an instant, before reverting to the blank expression he'd been wearing all night. Rodney let himself smirk back as a new song started, the speakers turned so loud he felt the bass in his bones. “Do you like it here?” he asked John.

John cocked his head and shrugged.

“We should dance,” he said.

Rodney let John drag him out onto the dance floor and laughed when John plastered himself against him. The noise and ever-flickering lights offered near privacy. No one could overhear them or read their lips. Of course, Rodney had always been a lousy dancer. But he'd seen John on the dance floor at Landry's daughter's wedding and knew John was no Fred Astaire either, so he went with it and tentatively rested his hands on John's hips, while trying to keep a tiny bit of distance and dignity.

"Hey," John whispered, leaning so close his lips brushed Rodney's earlobe. "Aren't you supposed to be my master? Telling me what to do?"

"Yes, of course," Rodney blustered. "I just don't dance with other men often — at all, I mean — and I really don't want you punching me after we get out of here."

"I'm not going to punch you for keeping up our cover, Rodney," John murmured. He wrapped his arms around Rodney. Rodney reciprocated and they moved with the music for a while.

"What do you think?" John asked .

"I still think you're right, there's definitely a tie between Ascension and the killer, but I don't think Teyla has anything to do with it," Rodney whispered back. John's head rested on his shoulder and Rodney had his nose in John's hair. He closed his eyes and tried to memorize how it felt to hold John so close, the heat of their bodies bleeding into each other, music driving their heartbeats into matching rhythms. He could smell John's sweat and the shampoo he used, both things he'd never let himself get close enough to notice before.

"Yeah," John mumbled into Rodney's neck, warm damp breath making the hairs at Rodney's nape stand up. He tightened his grip on John and was surprised when John leaned into him and breathed something else, something he couldn't hear, against his neck.

"Time to go meet some more members, I guess," Rodney said reluctantly when the song ended.

John pulled back and nodded, then followed Rodney off the dance floor. He fetched a drink for Rodney and sipped water himself, while several men and women introduced themselves. They weren't very interested in Rodney, which didn't surprise him, but were very interested in John, which also didn't surprise him. He could see Torrell imagining John on his knees, tied up and at his mercy, and men like Sumner or Cowen imagining what it would be like to make John follow their orders, while women like Elizabeth Weir wanted to own him. It made Rodney a little sick to his stomach, comparing that to the way he felt about John. Yes, he thought of John as his, but he didn't want break him down or control him. Where was the fun in that?

He enjoyed a glass of wine with a dark-haired woman in a scarlet dress who introduced herself as Allina and found himself discussing religion of all things, especially the growing popularity of the Origin cult, but found himself wishing John could join in, instead of standing silently at near attention just behind him.

"John," he said.

John stepped forward. Rodney handed him his empty wineglass. "Get me another glass. You can drive us home."

John's fingers brushed his as he took the glass. He glanced at Allina and raised his eyebrows. She waved at her own, half full glass. "No thanks."

After John walked away, garnering more attention as he moved through the crowd, Allina leaned forward. She tapped Rodney's hand. "Don't look, but to your left, that's Kolya. He's had his eyes on your John all night. I don't know if you share or not, but don't share John with him if you give a damn about him."

Rodney didn't look directly, instead finding a mirror along one wall that showed him a tall, intense man with a pockmarked face staring at the bar. A quick glance showed that John was the object of that stare, leaning against the bar top, smiling at the bartender, the glossy black PVC pants Vala had picked out for him showing of his ass and legs. Rodney suppressed a shudder.

"Why's he so bad?" He tried to sound casual.

"Kolya likes to use knives on his...pets. I heard that one of them threw himself off the top of the Proculus Tower after Kolya ruined his face."

"Nice," Rodney commented as John arrived back with his wine. He pulled John in close and turned to stare at Kolya as arrogantly as he knew how. "I don't share," he added, loudly. "And I don't need to mark my slave for him to know who he belongs to. That's for amateurs."

With that, he raised his glass toward Kolya and then took a deep drink.


John thought it would be hard, faking interest in Rodney, not looking at some of the incredibly beautiful, half-naked women wandering around Ascension. It wasn't.

Not after the dance.

He wasn't much of a toucher. He liked his physical distance, had even before he'd become a cop. He just wasn't touchy-feelly.

He didn't think he'd ever had that much body contact with Rodney before. Aside from training in the police academy or wrestling down a perp, he'd probably never been that close to another man and the circumstances were pretty different.

It had felt...really good. He didn't know what to think about that. It made it easy to stay in close contact, to lean into the solid heat of Rodney's body when he reached out to reel John in closer. He was glad he didn't have to make conversation, because Rodney's hands were distracting him over and over again.

That had started even before the dance floor, when Rodney rubbed his hand up John's back. He'd relaxed so fast he'd shocked himself. Every time Rodney had casually stroked his thumb of John's hip or his waist since, John had wanted to shiver. He didn't know what to think.

He wanted to believe it was just the ambiance of the club getting to him. He didn't think it was, though.

And then there were the looks Rodney kept giving anyone who came to close to John. Stay away looks. Don't touch looks. Possessive, jealous looks. Looks that kept giving John a shameful thrill, because it felt good to be wanted, but better to be cared about, and he knew Rodney cared about him. He just hadn't guessed Rodney cared about him that much. But they were the same damn looks Rodney had given Chaya and every other woman John had dated since meeting Rodney.

John hadn't seen it before. He wished he hadn't noticed it now.

Except he didn't.

He pressed closer to Rodney and closed his eyes as Rodney swept his hand up John's thigh.

He wasn't going to think about it anymore. He had a case to concentrate on. He needed to listen to the talk around them.


"Whoa, nice outfit, Shep!"

John gave Sgt. Stackhouse the finger as he walked past the front desk of the stationhouse. Lorne looked up from his computer when John dropped into the seat across the desk from him. He blinked and then grinned, sitting back in his rolling chair.

"Nice look. How much do you figure you could make selling it on the street?"

"Enough to pay for your funeral," John replied, logging onto his own computer and starting the report.

"So how'd it go? How'd McKay do?"

"McKay was fine. Some people are sick. I got felt up and at least two offers to pierce parts of me I like whole just fine."

Lorne started laughing.

"So where is the doc?"

"He had to check into the lab. He does have other work besides this case. Just like you do," John answered. He started filling in the form, listing and describing everyone they'd met inside Ascension. He bit his lower lip and narrowed his eyes. Reports were a pain and even computers didn't make them much better. It didn't help that compared to 'I Could Have Been a Secretary' Lorne's touch typing, his own speed verged on hunt and peck.

Lorne kicked his feet up onto his desk and eyed John. "So, I've always figured McKay must be some kind of real genius for you to put up with him — "

"I don't 'put up' with Rodney."

" — because he's a real pain in the ass."

John stopped typing for a second and nodded to himself. "Yeah, Rodney's a real pain in the ass, but he's an honest pain. That's why he's here in Antarctica."

Lorne made a 'go on' gesture. John rubbed his nose.

"Back when the Gould crime family was really expanding, Jack O'Neill and Carter had this informant, a gangbanger called Tee."

"Jack O'Neill?" Lorne asked. "The guy that took the job in DC with the Feds?"

"Yeah." John rolled his eyes. He couldn't imagine putting up with the red tape the Feds did. "You want to hear this or not?"

"Hey, sure, keep going."

"The Goulds framed Tee up and got him sent to death row. Carter was doing everything she could think of to get the conviction overturned. She figured she could get the evidence, but not in time. Tee had about four hours left before they gave him a lethal injection." John stopped and thought about it. She'd gone all out for Tee. He kind of liked that about Carter, even if she was a know-it-all the rest of the time. "Anyway, she tried to muscle Rodney into fudging some lab reports so she could use them to get the Governor to stay the execution."

"Oh, boy," Lorne said, sitting up and setting his boots on the floor. "I bet that went over — "

" — Like a lead balloon," John finished. "Yeah. Rodney wouldn't budge. The evidence said Tee was guilty, the lab hadn't screwed up and he wouldn't lie."

"So Tee got the needle?"

John shook his head. "Nope. Guy named Quinn showed up with some new evidence at the last minute, O'Neill broke the speed of light getting it in front of the governor, and Tee eventually was cleared." He frowned at the computer screen. "Carter pulled some strings somewhere, don't ask me with who, and got Rodney exiled to the night shift. That was about three years ago."

"The same time you came on," Lorne said.

Sheppard managed a small, tight smile. "Yeah, only I got sent here because no one wanted to work with a guy who had lost three different partners." Holland, Mitch, Dex Dixon. He'd been an absolute mess when he came on the night shift and there were three cases he'd have fucked up royally if Rodney hadn't handed him the evidence for the arrests and convictions on a silver platter. He'd never forget that first night. Rodney had stomped into the squad room, grabbed him and dragged him down to the labs, saying, I've got something you need to see, Detective.

Sometime after that, they'd ended up in the habit of rendezvousing at Oma's Diner at their end of their 'day.' John never had been one for following the herd and by the time he heard all the stories about what a monster Rodney was to work for in the lab, or how he'd almost got an innocent man killed, or just that he was obnoxious, arrogant and twitchy, John had already started thinking of him as a friend. It had reached the point now that he felt like something was missing if he didn't get his daily dose of sarcasm, egomania, and sneaky humor.

That hadn't changed after he got assigned Lorne as a partner. He liked Lorne. Lorne was a fine cop and John had never asked how he got assigned to Antarctica, but they just weren't as close as they might have been. A lot of cops, especially the ones who weren't married, were closer to their partners than anyone else. But John's best buddy was Rodney and he couldn't even say why.

"Hunh. Guess four's your lucky number," Lorne said.

John shrugged.

Lorne gave up needling him and John finished his report and took the chance to read the new file on Marin Olles. He shook his head as he went over it. She'd been young, worked for the city chamber of commerce, pretty, and now she was dead. He pulled out the forensics report and began reading. Zelenka, the squirrelly DNA expert who acted as Rodney's second in command of the lab had been doing double shifts and had signed off on it. John sighed in relief. He knew all the night shift people and trusted their work more than the day shift people. They might be misfits and troublemakers, weirdos and wackos, but no one worked for Rodney McKay who wasn't topnotch at their jobs. The day shift people were more presentable, but they were slackers in comparison.

He frowned at the findings in the report. Marin Olles had the same breakdown chemicals in her bloodstream. Zelenka had also extracted what he thought might be a sample of the actual drug. Only it didn't look exactly like a drug.

John picked up his phone and hit the speed dial for the lab.

"What? I'm a busy man," Rodney answered.

"So am I," John replied. "So tell me, what the hell is an artificial enzyme?"

"Oh, you read Zlenko's report."

"I'm looking at it right now."

"Look, this thing is something out of a cutting edge medical research facility, not a meth lab in the back of some redneck's trailer," Rodney said. John could hear his fingers clacking over a keyboard as he spoke. "We need to check if any of the victims is connected to — Yes. There it is!"

"There what is?" John asked.

"Lydia Dumais worked for ATA - Alternate Technology Associates," Rodney crowed. "It's a biomedical firm founded by Dr. Carson Beckett. They design gene replacement therapies and artificial hormones and enzymes. I'd bet whatever this thing is, it came out of ATA."

"So we need to find out if Lydia Dumais was tied into Ascension somehow."

"Yeah, about that," Rodney said. "If we went in there tomorrow night, maybe I could get into the offices, hack the computers and pull a membership list."

"Fruit of the poisonous tree, McKay," John reminded him. "I want to put this guy away, not see him get off on a technicality."

"Yes, I know," Rodney replied, words spilling out fast and high, "but if you had a list, that told you where to start to find the evidence you need... And, and, you wouldn't even have to see the list. I could just tell you and on the witness stand, you just say you had a hunch, no need to say it's a hunch based on what I said, right?"

"Rodney."

"Okay, okay, we'll just, we'll think about it."

"It's too dangerous."

"But we're going back there tomorrow night, aren't we?"

"Yeah," John said. He didn't want to. The place had made him feel weird. On display, freaked out, dependent on Rodney, and once weirdly turned on. It was out on the dance floor, when he realized they were so close to the same height, close to the same strength, which was just too confusing. Then while Rodney was flirting with Allina, he'd felt... jealous and relieved when Rodney wrapped his arm around John's waist, pulling him close. "Yeah, we need to go back in, maybe ask about your 'friend' Lydia — who mentioned Ascension to you. Since no one uses last names, you'll have to be careful. Hopefully, I can get a chance to talk to some of the 'slaves.'" He rolled his eyes, a habit he'd picked up from Rodney.

"Okay," Rodney said. "I'll pick you up at your apartment, that way you can dress there."

"Yeah, great, don't remind me," John muttered before hanging up. He didn't bother with goodbye. Rodney never did either. God, those clothes were going to give him hives. He should have ignored Vala and followed Rodney's example, just wearing something that looked good without terminally embarrassing him. He felt like an idiot wearing leather pants.


"I'm pretty sure I spotted a camera monitoring each play room," Rodney whispered into John's ear. He slid his hand down and squeezed a handful of John's ass through the leather pants he had already had on when Rodney arrived at his apartment. John was all smooth muscle that flexed under Rodney's fingers.

"Your hand is on my ass, McKay," John hissed back.

Rodney leaned closer and murmured, "Just doing my best to make this look real. You should try remembering you're supposed to be my slave. A few 'Masters' wouldn't hurt, you know."

"I guess I'm just a really bad slave," John replied. "Master."

Rodney laughed and said loud enough for Cowen and his companion Sora to hear: "You know what happens to bad slaves, John."

Cowen chuckled. "Try Room Fourteen," he suggested.

Rodney tightened his hand on John's butt cheek. "You know, I think we will. Come along, John."

John didn't say anything while they were in the hall and Rodney said, "Cameras," before he could turn on him once they were in Room Fourteen.

'Bastard,' John mouthed and Rodney had to admit to himself that he was having too much fun with this. Not the master/slave thing so much as just keeping John off-balance. He looked around the room. There were any number of restraints, paddles, blindfolds, dildos, vibrators, and more varieties of whips than Rodney had ever imagined. He spotted a simple wooden ruler and wondered how many kinks could be traced back to Catholic school and corporal punishment from nuns. John was turning and looking around the room with wide eyes, too.

"Calm down, John," he said. If this had been real, if John had really been a slave and Rodney a master, he'd definitely have taken it slow.

"You calm down," John said. "I really don't like being tied up."

That wasn't surprising. Rodney had figured out a long time ago that the laid-back demeanor John projected hid a control freak on par with Rodney himself.

"Well, you don't get a choice tonight," he said. He waved John over to a set of restraints hanging from the ceiling. Rodney checked them over carefully. They were made of butter soft leather and wider than most restraints, which would distribute any pressure over a greater expanse and leave shallower marks. "Hold out your hands," he instructed.

After a beat, John obeyed, but that beat said it all: John was choosing to obey. There was no compulsion that Rodney could use that could force him to submit. Rodney buckled first the right and then the left restraint around John's wrists, snapped them together and attached them to the chain leading up to a pulley near the ceiling. Neatly wound through the chain was a black wire leading to a red push button. Teyla had shown them how it worked the night before. In case of an emergency, where a slave was gagged and couldn't get out a safe word or the master ignored it, the person in restraints could push the button. It sent an alert to the club's security center, insuring someone would come to the room immediately to check on the occupants.

"Nothing nonconsensual is practiced here," Teyla had stated with an underlying steel in her tone. She had shown them rooms where every kink and fetish could be indulged, mentioning that the doors could always be unlocked from inside and that security had overrides and would check each one in the event of a fire or other evacuation situation.

Rodney tucked the emergency button into John's right hand. "Just in case," he said.

"Just in case what?" John asked. They were standing so close Rodney felt the warmth of his breath on his cheek. He smoothed his fingers over the buckles on the binders. He stepped back and found the pulley control, starting the chain tightening, until John's hands were pulled up over his head, just taut enough he still had his weight on his feet.

"Rodney," John said, a warning laced through the syllables.

"I'm just going to snoop around. If you're with me someone will notice. This way I can say I'm teaching you a lesson."

"One you couldn't teach me at home?"

"No handy-dandy restraints with chains there," Rodney said with a grin, then slipped out, keying the door shut behind him

"Watch out for Kolya," John called as it fell shut. "I saw him watching us earlier."


"So," John said to himself after Rodney closed the door. "I'll just be hanging around."

What had possessed him to let Rodney do this again? He tugged at the chain holding his arms up. Right. He'd been curious. This was supposed to be a turn on?

Because he really didn't like it.

He took his time and really looked around the room. Whips. Who the hell got off on that? Not him. He understood it intellectually, release of responsibility, control, catharsis, endorphins, the whole idea of the internally generated high, but viscerally it freaked him out. He didn't like pain and didn't want to mix it with sex.

Apparently he had an exhibitionistic streak, though, because having people watch him, watch Rodney touching him all evening had got him half hard. Knowing Rodney wouldn't let any of them near him had been the heart of it. Even on display like a piece of meat, he had felt safe. Safe enough to do what he'd never done before and touch back. He'd begun with Rodney's fingers and moved on to tucking his hand beneath the waistband of the gray trousers Rodney wore.

He even leaned in close enough to brush his nose against Rodney's hair once and jerked back once he realized he wanted to stay there.

He'd been a little worried that Rodney's insistence on wearing 'normal' clothes would make him stand out, but Ascension's members wore everything and nothing. There were more people wearing formal evening clothes than musclemen decked out in black leather straps and chaps and dog collars. Rodney's restrained choice had let John wear clothes that clung but covered up everywhere, too.

He tipped his head back and looked at the pulley. Being tied up and left alone didn't make him feel safe, it made his skin crawl. Rodney had definitely taken this unofficial cop thing too far. It bugged John that Rodney was out there, trying to poke around Ascension, without John there with him. Anything could happen.

He could run into that asshole Kolya. Or security. Ronon was a pretty intimidating character.

John curled his hand around the emergency button. The room didn't have a clock and he didn't have a watch. He had no idea how long he'd already been in here. How long should he wait? He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. This could be hard on the shoulders after a while.

And he had a itch, right under one shoulder blade.

The click of the lock opening came as a relief. He was opening his mouth to tell Rodney to let him loose when Kolya stepped through the door, followed by three others.

John jerked at the chain holding him in place and hit the emergency button.

"It looks like your master has been neglecting you," Kolya said, smiling. "That's a shame. Maybe we can have some fun instead."


Rodney made it into an empty office and even cracked the security on their computer system without much trouble. He wanted to know if Teyla had been telling the truth about not allowing illegal drugs, because there were vials of something amber being palmed between people out on the dance floor the night before.

Of course, if it was the substance the autopsies had found, it wasn't illegal. Yet.

Nothing in the records he checked showed any sign Teyla had lied.

He checked his watch. John would be fuming by now. He needed to get back to Room Fourteen. He'd needed a break, away from John, though. All night, John had been crowding close to him, fluttering his eyes closed whenever Rodney came in contact with him, and the act had got to Rodney.

It had been get some distance, tell John to lay off, or find a washroom and jerk off.

He closed out the files he was reading and shut off the computer.

The police needed to take a very close look at Kolya and his business. Teyla's notes on the man revealed he was a sadist and voyeur. She'd put him on probation once for hurting another club member's slave and once for selling drugs. Kolya apparently had a thing for taking away subs from whoever they came in with as some twisted proof he was more dominant.

The kind of money he was paying to bring in three and more 'guests' every night didn't come from a medium-sized import/export business, either.

Rodney opened the door a crack, peered into the hall to be certain it was empty and then walked out. The door locked behind him. He straightened his shirt and jacket and hurried toward Room Fourteen.

The keypad next to the door showed a green light, indicating the room was occupied and the door was locked when Rodney reached it. He swiped the key card through and stepped inside.

His stomach twisted in a ball of fear as he realized John wasn't alone in the room.

Kolya stood in front of him and as Rodney stumbled to a stop, two men shoved the door shut behind him.

"How nice of you to join us."

Three of them, plus Kolya. Rodney cataloged them the way he would for a report: three males, two Caucasian, one African-American, ages between twenty-five and thirty-five, armed and dangerous. The youngest, the African-American, grinned at Rodney and bounced on his toes, one hand wrapped around the butt of a cheap .38 pistol.

Plus Kolya, still standing there, with his creepy smile and hungry eyes.

"Ford," Kolya instructed, "please secure the door."

"Sure thing," the kid with the gun said.

Rodney grimaced and walked forward, trying to see John beyond Kolya. His heart was going to explode. He almost froze, but he had to see. Kolya's smile widened and he stepped to the side just enough for Rodney to see him run his hand down John's bare ribs.

His mind stuttered briefly. John had had a shirt on when he'd left. Then he realized Kolya must have cut it off and he gulped hard.

"Get your hands off him," Rodney heard himself snap. 

John still dangled from the chain, but it had been ratcheted up beyond his ability to stretch and support his weight on his feet. His head hung so that Rodney could only see his dark, sweat-spiked hair. Rodney wasn't sure if the red tinge to the light came from the lamp shades or the wave of fury and fear washing through him.

"Rodney, isn't it?" Kolya said.

"It is as a matter of fact, and that is my slave. Now get the hell away from him." He forced the words out, while watching John. He thought he saw John's head move, thought John was still conscious.

"Oh, very well," Kolya drawled out. He stepped back from John and Rodney saw the glint of the knife in Kolya's hand for the first time. It couldn't hold his attention, not when he could finally see John's chest. Blood matted the dark chest hair, trickling down to the waist band of his pants. There were red lines left where Kolya had carelessly cut John's shirt off and some design carved into John's torso. All Rodney could think was that he shouldn't have left John, should have heeded Allina's warning, and never left him vulnerable.

"I thought these rooms were secure."

"Not secure enough," Kolya replied with his creepy smile. He gestured with the knife to the smallest of his three pets. "Ladon is very good with electronics." He turned the knife from side to side, catching the light along the polished blade.

John lifted his head and Rodney saw that he'd been gagged. His mouth was stretched wide around a cruelly tight ball gag. That was just the last straw.

Rodney strode forward and hit the release on the pulley holding the chain up. It spun loose and dropped John, who made a muffled noise through the gag. He stumbled and dropped to his knees.

"You shouldn't have done that, Rodney," Kolya said. He sounded conversational, even casual, and Rodney knew he was completely crazy. "He needs to be punished, to learn his place."

"He was learning a lesson, one involving patience and trust, not involving carving up his flesh," Rodney snapped.

John struggled back to his feet and stood swaying. His eyes flicked from Kolya to Rodney to the other three men in the room, stopping on the gun and then the knife. The emergency button dangled just beyond his fingers. There was no way to know if John had chosen not to use it, lost it before he could or if Ladon had disabled it somehow. He wished there had been a way for John to carry a back up gun tonight, because he would have shot Kolya by now. The stupid, skintight leather pants and shirt had made it impossible to hide anything and Rodney hadn't even considered bringing his own weapon.

"You don't deserve to have a slave like this," Kolya sneered

Rodney glared at him. "You don't deserve to have anyone," he said, meaning every word.

"You know, I don't believe he's really your slave," Kolya said. He was close enough still to reach out and run a hand over John's shoulder. John jerked away from him, awkward and off-balance. Kolya was much too close to him and Rodney was too far away. Half way across the room. Ford, the one with the gun, hovered at his shoulder, reminding Rodney that even if he knew how to tackle Kolya and take away a knife, he couldn't.

"I told you not to touch him," Rodney stated.

Kolya chuckled. He held up the knife. "I'll do more than that, if you don't show me you can master him."

John glared at Kolya. If he hadn't been gagged, Rodney thought he would have spit on him.

"Why on earth would I care about proving anything to you?" Rodney demanded with every ounce of scorn he could summon.

Kolya angled the blade again. "Because I have the numbers here and my slaves have been very well-trained to obey. And if you don't, I'll do it myself."

"If I don't what? Hurt him? For your information, you insult to primates everywhere, I don't need to scar my slave to prove he belongs to me. He knows who he belongs to." Rodney jerked his chin up at the end and glared. Inside, he was panicking. John's hands were still bound, he was bleeding, and Rodney knew he didn't have a chance in a fight with Kolya and his three thugs.

"Hey, Kolya, could we get on with this?" Ford asked. He juggled the gun in his hand. "You promised me a good supply of Rip for helping you out tonight, I'd like to get mine and get out of here."

"Rip?" Rodney echoed.

"Oh, man, it's sweet stuff," Ford said, all enthusiasm and manic intensity.

"And expensive to manufacture, so I expect you to control yourself and do your job in return for it," Kolya told him.

"You're going to make a fortune on it anyway," Ford muttered. "And it was my girlfriend that got you the samples and told you how to make it."

John dropped down to his knees, before anyone else could speak. Ignoring everyone else, gaze locked on Rodney, John crossed the floor to where Rodney stood. The loose chain clicked through the pulley as he took up the slack, playing out in the otherwise suddenly silent room.

Rodney stood still and let him come. His heartbeat ratcheted up as John reached him and sat back on his heels, head bowed.

"He didn't do that for you," Rodney told Kolya. He rest one hand on John's head. His hair felt soft and the heat of his head warmed Rodney's cold hand. "You couldn't make him do that...for you." Under his hand, he felt John nod infinitesimally.

"It proves nothing," Kolya said. His expression wasn't as confident. Ford giggled. Ladon stared at the far wall. Rodney couldn't see the third guy, the one who hadn't been introduced. 

John leaned against Rodney's legs. A crazy section of Rodney's always-working brain protested the blood stains on his pants would never come out. He'd be burning this suit anyway, if they got out of this. He worked his fingers through John's hair, hoping the contact helped, then he pushed John's head away from him.

John's eyes were dark, the gold flecks lost and the green muddy in the dim light. They were narrowed in determination and anger. His nostrils flared as he tried to draw in enough oxygen while his mouth was still stretched obscenely around the ball gag. With a huff of disgust, Rodney unfastened the gag, worked it out of John's mouth, and dropped it to the floor. The flash of gratitude on John's face had him cupping one smooth-shaven cheek, his thumb rubbing the reddened corner of John's mouth. John's eyes fell closed for an instant and Rodney thought he pressed into the touch. He thought that was real, much more so than the obvious and premeditated kiss John pressed against his hand in the next moment.

He still wasn't prepared for John's next move, as he brought up his bound hands and opened Rodney's belt and fly. The fleeting pressure of John's fingers, awkward because his hands were still bound, accompanied by the rustle and clink of the chain, was exquisite and unbearable at once. In the darkness of his blacked out bedroom, he'd sometimes fantasized about John touching him. He'd wrapped his hand around his dick and stroked, pretending it was John. He'd never contemplated this reality, of John forced to do the thing Rodney wanted. The dichotomy of never wanting to force John and getting exactly what he'd dreamed of had Rodney both feeling sick to his stomach and rapidly hardening in his pants.

He stared at Kolya because he couldn't look at John's face.

John fumbled and peeled Rodney's pants open and then tugged them down, revealing his boxers and his hard on pushing them into a tent. He sucked in a harsh breath.

Kolya was watching avidly. Sweat beaded his forehead and his breathing came fast. Faster even than Rodney's. His hand kept moving over the flat of the knife in a distinctly sexual rhythm. Rodney tried to check the others discreetly. The biggest man was watching too, licking his lips. Ford jittered in place, his eyes moving away from them and then back like he couldn't control the need to look, but didn't want to be seen looking. They were all aroused, whether just by the prospect of a free show or the humiliation. Only Ladon, the smaller man, had his eyes directed at the floor.

John eased Rodney's boxers over his erection. The cool air of the room on his heated flesh made Rodney flinch. The whole situation was unbearable. The only thing worse than making John do this would be watching as Kolya did worse to him. He kept telling himself that. His eyes stung.

No one else was close enough to hear the hitching breath John drew in before he leaned in and took the tip of Rodney's dick in his mouth. They wouldn't have heard it over Rodney's involuntary whimper anyway. John's mouth was slick and soft and hot. Despite himself, his hips jerked forward. John had just taken in the head and the need to be in was overwhelming.

John almost pulled back and Rodney grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place.

"Fuck his mouth," Kolya said, his low voice even hoarser than before. He finally moved, pacing slowly around the room, examining their tableau from every angle. He still held the knife in his hand, but seemed to have forgotten it. Rodney shuddered, wondering at himself that he could even have an erection under the circumstances. No matter what John did, he couldn't forget they weren't alone and Kolya kept circling them like shark.

Rodney glared at him. He loosened his grip on John's shoulder, turned it into an apologetic caress. "Take your time, John. Slow and easy. You know how I like it," he said, giving John an excuse to ease into it and hide his inexperience. John had his eyes closed and that was probably for the best. Maybe he could shut out Kolya and the others' presence that way.

John breathed out through his nose and Rodney felt the warm air over his shaft like a ghostly caress. It made his balls tighten. The first tentative flick of John's tongue against the underside of his dick felt like heaven and then he took Rodney in deeper and began sucking. A babble of words, of 'oh, fuck, oh God, yes, like that, please, that's so good,' caught in his throat. He had to close his eyes just to deal with the overload of pleasure. John's mouth was perfect, so perfect. He opened his eyes and looked down, needing to memorize the picture of John like this, just this once, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks, lips stretched around Rodney's dick.

He began using his tongue again, between taking Rodney deeper and deeper, not quite as firm as Rodney wanted. John was being so very careful, not to gag or bite down, and it made Rodney crazy with pleasure and dismay. He looked up and found Kolya right in front of him, just behind John.

"That's enough, that's not what I want to see!" Kolya growled.

His voice broke the trance Rodney had fallen into. "What!?" he asked breathlessly. He'd been so damn close he'd have been coming down John's throat with one more stroke. The sudden return to reality had his cock softening, even though he was still in John's mouth.

Kolya grabbed John's hair and shoved him down onto Rodney's cock, making him choke and Rodney cry out as John's teeth scraped over him.

"If you won't fuck his mouth, you better fuck his ass right now," Kolya demanded. He held John's head to Rodney's groin, until Rodney could feel John shaking, gasping helplessly for breath that couldn't get past his throat.

Kolya let go finally and stepped back, rubbing his hand down over the obvious erection tenting his trousers. John pulled back immediately and leaned his head against Rodney's hip, drawing breath after breath. "Do it or I will," Kolya threatened. "Maybe I will anyway."

The shudder that ran through John was unmistakable. All Rodney could think was 'Over my dead body.' Considering the knife and the gun Kolya and Ford had, that wasn't impossible.

"Fine," Rodney snapped. Clenching his jaw, he pushed John off him. John's eyes were darker than ever and he was breathing hard. Rodney couldn't read what he was thinking.

"Not exactly good at that, is he?" Kolya taunted, with a nod toward Rodney's deflating erection.

"He's fine," Rodney snapped. "I am not a sub and I don't get off on taking orders or being threatened." A tiny, huffing snort escaped John. Rodney looked down. He couldn't help it, he had to look and checked John's crotch. He was at least half-hard, but that didn't mean a damned thing. John had to have enough adrenaline pumping through him right now to give him a hard on just from that. Human bodies sometimes got aroused at the strangest times, in the strangest circumstances, and there was no reason to think that was more than an involuntary reaction. It didn't mean John got off on taking orders or from giving Rodney a blowjob.

He caught John's gaze. When he had, he nodded toward a padded bench. "Get over there." John's eyes widened and he went a shade paler, but then he dipped his head in apparent assent.

Rodney ignored the urge to tuck his fading erection away from Kolya's gaze and the cool air and instead snapped his fingers.

"Lube. I have no intention of rubbing the skin off my dick fucking him dry," he said. "Well? Come on, this place is supposed to have everything."

"Ladon," Kolya said.

Ladon went to a bank of black cabinets along one wall and brought out pump top container and a condom package. He took it over the bench where John had come to a stop.

"Can we just get on with this?" Ford asked.

Rodney stalked over and elbowed Ladon away. He ignored Ford. He checked the contents of the pump bottle. He rubbed a little between his fingers. Hypoallergenic, clear, and very slick. "Stand up," he told John.

John did and craned his neck to see what Rodney was doing.

"Face forward," Rodney commanded.

John twitched and obeyed.

Kolya was watching everything they did. Ford still had the gun and the other goon still blocked the door. There was no way out of the room. Kolya theatrically touched the tip of his knife to a fingertip, drawing a drop of dark, glistening blood. Rodney looked away.

John's back was to him, smooth pale skin stretched over muscle, the hollow over his spine leading down to disappear in a shadow under the waistband of his leather pants. Rodney placed his hand flat between John's shoulder blades and rested it there briefly, wishing for the time and freedom to explore John's body without anyone else present, for a chance smooth his palm along John's back over and over. He wanted to press his lips to the vulnerable jut of a shoulder blade and then lick his way down. There was no time or freedom for that here and now. John's skin was sweaty and a minute tremor ran through him. Rodney rubbed his hand up to John's neck and closed it there for an instant, all the comfort he could provide with Kolya's hungry gaze on them.

Then he reached around and unfastened John's pants, pushing them down over his hips without any fanfare. John wasn't wearing any underwear and Rodney could smell talcum powder mixed with sweat and leather and a hint of musky arousal. Another detail to memorize for the lonely days that would inevitably follow. Because his friendship with John wasn't going survive this. No straight man would want to hang out with the man who fucked him. No one would want to be reminded of this scene, of the humiliation and pain Kolya was putting John through. Rodney, too, and if they survived he'd be making an appointment for twice a week sessions with a therapist, but John would try to deal by himself. He'd bury it until it festered and poisoned everything between them. It wasn't even the fact that Rodney was a guy that would leave the deepest wounds. It was the loss of control, the being helpless, that would leave the worst scars.

Part of him said get it over with fast, make it hard and believable for Kolya, so they could get out of here. Another told him to take his time, make it as painless and good as possible and hopefully not traumatize John any more than necessary. His dick was hard again. One step forward and he was rubbing against John's ass, wrapping his arms around him before he could jolt away.

"Be still," he said, reminding John.

John froze and stayed still, only one tiny tremble communicating through his body to Rodney's. Rodney slid one of his hands down and took John's cock in his hand, noting John was still half hard. He was smooth and heavier than Rodney had anticipated from John's slender build. He pressed closer and squeezed, using the same motion he used on himself. John sighed and leaned back, stiffening only for a moment when he felt Rodney's dick push against his ass.

Rodney looked over John's shoulder, at his hand on John's dick, watched it jerk as he swiped his thumb over the head, and kept working it, until John was gasping, squirming and rocking into his grip. "Gorgeous," he whispered in John's ear. John's head had fallen forward and he seemed to be watching Rodney jerk him off, too. His hands were curled into fists and the chain from the manacles swayed dangerously close to his erection.

The emergency button dangled from the chain too. It took Rodney a while to recognize it, because working John into a quivering wreck was so much better than anything he'd ever felt before.

"Hurry it up," Kolya ordered.

"What are you, a minute man?" Rodney griped at Kolya. "I like to take my time and savor the experience. No one's paying a bonus for speed."

John let his head drop back onto Rodney's shoulder and twisted enough to whisper against his neck. "Oh, Jesus, Rodney, please, just do it now." Those words told Rodney he'd made the wrong choice. John would rather hurt and have it over with faster. The wrong choice for John but the only one Rodney could live with afterward.

He let go of John's dick reluctantly and pushed him to bend over the bench, which shoved his ass against Rodney's groin and made his dick jump and leak. John struggled because of the chain and manacles, trying to brace himself on his hands. That didn't bend him over far enough and Rodney bit back a groan. A glance up showed him that John's awkward helplessness had Kolya even more excited than before. That was what Kolya wanted: John broken.

"Here, do I have to show you how to do everything?" Rodney said and leaned forward. He grabbed John's arms and bent them so John was resting his on his elbows and forearms. He took the opportunity to use the movement to slip the emergency button into John's hand. "Use it," he hissed into John's ear before moving back enough to grab the bottle of lubricant and pump a generous amount into his other hand.

He let the lube warm a little then ran his fingers between the cheeks of John's ass. John shivered violently. Rodney wanted to take it slow, but Kolya was glaring. He slipped one slick finger inside John's ass without warning. John tensed and grunted. Rodney worked the finger in carefully, just up to the first joint and rubbed gently. Gradually, John relaxed. Rodney reached around with his free hand and stroked him until he was completely erect again.

He didn't need any more stimulation himself, his dick was hard and wet at the tip and his balls ached.

Once John began to move into his hand, Rodney slipped his finger in deeper and stroked. John let out a strangled sound and pushed back against Rodney's hand. "Like that?" Rodney. He pulled his finger out and rested the entire hand on John's ass, kneading soft skin and taut muscle. A soft, hitching moan told him John had liked it. "Ready for more?"

John nodded and shifted his feet, spreading his legs and ass wider for Rodney.

"Good boy," Rodney crooned. A hysterical bubble of laughter lodged in his throat as he heard himself. He hoped John was rolling his eyes at how stupid he sounded. FORCED TO HAVE GAY SEX UNDERCOVER. It was the blaring headline of a National Enquirer article. Well, maybe something sleazier, like True Confessions. Sex wasn't a dignified act anyway and this was approaching the level of farce. Neither of them were exhibitionists and calling John a 'good boy' was ridiculous on about a million levels.

Ridiculous and horrible in equal measures. When this was over and he was alone, Rodney was going scream and break things. Fucking Kolya had turned Rodney's harmless fantasy into a nightmare that would cost him John and cost John things Rodney couldn't even guess. 

He pumped more lube into his hand and used two fingers this time, not waiting for the lube to warm.

"You're taking too long," Kolya complained. He was pacing again, circling in closer and closer, until Rodney knew he would reach out and slice one of them open with that shining knife he still held.

Rodney ignored him, pushing his fingers back into John's tight asshole, working more lube in and stroking the smooth channel. His dick kept jerking, because he was going to be inside John and the heat in his belly had completely overwhelmed the sick feeling he'd had earlier. He grimaced and put on the condom, then used more lube to slick his on erection, before pressing the tip against John's entrance.

John immediately went tense.

Rodney pressed closer and whispered, "Relax."

John whispered back, "Relax? Are you insane?"

He rested his forehead against John's neck then nodded, before raising his head and murmuring, "Just push."

"I'm not pregnant — " John's waspish comment broke off as Rodney thrust inside him. He bucked and let out a keening sound.

Kolya laughed.

"Sorry, sorry," Rodney said, pressing in deeper. He found John's dick with his lube-slick hand and began jerking it. John tensed again, then seemed to let go, opening and letting Rodney in until his hips were against John's ass. He hung his head and moved pliantly with Rodney's every thrust, panting breathlessly. His dick, secure in Rodney's hand, jumped and hardened further, precome mingling with the lube. He was so tight around Rodney, writhing back and then forward with every thrust, that everything else faded out of Rodney's consciousness. All he could feel was John in his arms, his dick deep inside, the urgent race to climax curling up from his toes and his finger tips like a brilliant wave. John was making the hottest sound Rodney had ever heard, an low animal keen that he couldn't bite back though Rodney could feel him try, and he was coming apart. Every time Rodney hit his prostate, John gasped and his dick jerked in Rodney's hand. Rodney bent his knees and with the change in angle began riding his erection over John's prostate with every stroke.

He squeezed his eyes shut and kissed John's back, speeding his thrusts, coming closer and closer, color blossoming behind his eyelids, nothing but John, one arm curled around him, barely able to remember to keep moving his other hand over John's straining cock, and cried out when John spasmed around him, warm come striping over the padded bench and dribbling over his fist. The sudden extra pressure on his own erection, the knowledge that he'd made John come, tipped him over the edge and he came, hips pumping in a stuttering rhythm against John's ass.

He was still inside John, plastered against his back and panting for breath through the last glow of the aftermath when the door to Room Fourteen slammed open. Ronon and a half dozen Ascension security men poured in, taking down Kolya's men in a smoothly choreographed assault that ended with Kolya face down on the floor with Ronon crouched on his back. Ford, Ladon, and the nameless one were hauled out. Kolya's knife was lodged in the floor only inches from his face, still quivering.

"You just broke the rules for the last time, asshole," Ronon growled and jerked Kolya up to his feet. "And your 'pets' too."

"I care nothing for any of them," Kolya gasped.

John shifted under Rodney. "Get off me," he said in a hoarse voice.

The last bit of pleasure drained out of Rodney. He pulled out of John with an audible pop, wincing at the pained grunt John couldn't hide. "John." He didn't know what else to say.

"Get me the fuck out of these things," John demanded.

Rodney squeezed his eyes shut briefly, then hurried to do that. John slid off the bench and down to his knees, as though his legs wouldn't hold him up any longer. The leather pants were tangled around his ankles, hobbling him if he had been able to stand. The club security men were herding Kolya's men out, the gun that one of them had held so menacingly now lay kicked in the corner.

Ronon secured Kolya's wrists in plastic restraints, the sort definitely not created for pleasure, then rose to his feet. Not without driving his knee and all his weight into Kolya's kidneys. Rodney highly approved.

Once on his feet, Ronon surveyed them, taking in the way Rodney's hands were shaking as he unbound John's wrists, John's unclothed state, the emergency button still locked in his fist. "John," he said.

John jerked his head up and looked at Ronon. His arms were wrapped around his torso. Rodney had never seen John do that. He'd seen John puking in the gutter over a particularly horrendous child murder. He'd seen John so angry he had to lock one hand around the wrist of the other behind his back to keep from decking a mouthy lawyer. He'd seen John depressed and sick and sad. He'd never seen him look broken before. He thought he'd be sick himself. Three years. Best friend. The man he wanted for a lover. All of it was history now.

John licked his lips and answered. "What?"

"You okay?"

"Define okay," John muttered.

Ronon nodded toward Rodney. "With him. Was he part of this?"

Rodney was fumbling with his trousers, pulling up his boxers, and froze. He glared at Ronon. "What do you mean? I didn't let that cretin in here — "

"He wasn't," John stated.

Ronon nodded. "Good." He lifted his hand to his coat lapel and Rodney noticed the small radio mic clipped there. He had a small, hearing aid-type earpiece too. Just like the Secret Service. "Teyla. We're clear. Better send for Fraiser, too."

Rodney finished closing his pants and knelt next to John. He hovered his hand over John's bare shoulder, unsure if any contact would be welcome or not. Some of the cuts on John's chest were still bleeding freely. "Where's the damned doctor?" Rodney demanded. "That lunatic cut him, God only knows where that knife has been or what he's done with it before, he needs stitches and — "

"Rodney," John said, turning his head very slowly to look at him. "Don't."

Rodney snatched his hand back. Before he could say anything more, Teyla strode in, followed by Janet Fraiser. Teyla fairly vibrated with rage. "Tell me what happened in here," she commanded. "Now."

Janet didn't even pause, just swept past Teyla to where John and Rodney were. She had a traditional black doctor's bag and set it down on the bench beside them with a thump. Rodney suppressed a very unstable giggle when he noticed how close the corner of the case was to the streaks of John's come drying on the bench.

Janet had John on his feet, the pants kicked off, with no fuss. She frowned over the cuts.

"Rodney, could you please begin?" Teyla said, drawing his attention away from Janet's ministrations.

He swallowed and began explaining. "I left John in restraints to teach him a lesson in patience," he told her. "I meant to get a drink at the downstairs bar, but changed my mind. Instead I just walked the halls. When I returned, I found Kolya in the room. He had gagged John and begun torturing him. When I protested, one of his slaves waved a gun at me." He paused and swallowed despite how his mouth went dry at the memory. "A gun." It had in fact been a Llama. A cheap knock off made in Spain that had probably gone through a dozen hands before ending with Kolya's man. "He then compelled us with the threat of violence to both of us to 'prove' John is my slave. I managed to get the emergency button into John's hands."

"I pressed it when Kolya came in the room," John said.

Teyla's eyes narrowed. She looked at Ronon. "I want to know why it didn't alert us then, but worked later."

"Every system blacked out for about a minute earlier. Looked like a blip, maybe a power fluctuation, according to Herman. Must have been when they came in." Ronon had pulled a PDA out of his jacket and begun making notes as he spoke. A lot more to him than the big silent bruiser after all, Rodney thought.

"What took you so long after the second time John used it?" Rodney demanded. Despair was setting in. If they'd just come sooner, he wouldn't have had to fuck John and maybe they could have salvaged something from their friendship. He had a feeling John would never be able to look at him after what had happened. He wasn't quite sure he could look at John, without being overwhelmed with shame because he'd been so turned on, came so hard, despite the circumstances. John wasn't stupid, he had to have figured out Rodney wanted him.

Ronon glanced up from the PDA. "Room coverage was looped to an empty room down the corridor. When the alarm rang we had to figure out which room it was coming from, restore the video feed and wait for a moment when we could come through the door without getting anyone shot."

"Oh," Rodney said. "Oh." All the adrenaline in his system was burning out, leaving him lightheaded. "I need to sit down."

Teyla patted his hand. "You have my apology for what has happened here, Rodney," she said and guided him over to a simple straight chair sitting near one wall. Rodney dropped into it gratefully. He let his hands dangle between his knees, only to notice the blood stains on one trouser leg. He had to jerk his gaze away and found it leveled on Janet Fraiser and John.

She was touching him, talking to him gently as she cleaned the wounds on his chest and bandaged them. John was white-faced, but shaking his head. In the absence of anyone else speaking, Rodney could hear her: "I just need to check for any tearing. I don't care how experienced you are, under the circumstances — "

"No!" John said sharply. He stopped, then turned his face away from the tiny woman. "I just want to get out of here. I just want to go home."

Rodney dropped his eyes to the leather pants and the shredded bits of John's shirt. He looked up and found Teyla's brown eyes on him. She looked sympathetic.

"He'll need some clothes," Rodney said. "Just something normal that he can wear until he's home."

Teyla nodded. "I will see to it. Again, you have my apologies. This should never have happened. I should have barred Kolya from Ascension before this, but I believed it was safer to have him indulge his tastes here, where there are safeguards, than on someone unsuspecting from the streets."

Rodney clasped his hands together. He could imagine what Kolya might have done in a less structured and controlled environment. He'd seen the results of that sort of acting out come through the crime labs more than once. It was very possible that despite his membership in Ascension, Kolya had practiced his sick games outside the club's confines too. Some of the victims and crime scenes Rodney had seen might very well have been Kolya's work. But Kolya hadn't dosed John or Rodney with the artificial enzyme the Ribbon killer used. He hadn't even had anything red on him. But the guy with the gun, Ford, had mentioned a drug. Rip. There had to be some connection to the killer, the coincidences were too great otherwise.

He wanted to tell Teyla that, but that would blow their cover and despite everything, that remained. He wouldn't invalidate what John had suffered for so little. Maybe, after this, Teyla would open up and tell them something, anything useful.

"What's going to happen to him?" he asked.

"He won't be a problem again," Ronon promised. The dark light in his eyes told Rodney more than he wanted to know as an officer of the law. "Ever."

"Good," Rodney said. He just hoped Ronon buried the bastard deep. He leaned back and rested his head against the wall, forcing his eyes to unfocus, and waited.


John was freezing by the time they left Ascension and it wasn't from the light rain that had started while they were inside. He felt like he might fly apart if he didn't concentrate on holding himself together, shake into pieces. Janet Fraiser's carefully clinical examination back in her office had skirted his breaking point. Hearing that Ronon's people had let Kolya's three 'pets' go hadn't helped, either. He just didn't know what would help. Every one of them had watched. Every one of them had seen him. It would drive him crazy if he kept thinking about it.

They didn't talk in the car. John looked away every time Rodney started to say anything. Rodney drove, one hand at ten o'clock and one hand at two o'clock on the steering wheel except when he shifted. He ground the gears a couple of times, something he did when he was nervous, and something John usually twitted him about. A sports car didn't deserve that sort of treatment. Not tonight. 

Tonight, John just sank back in the Mercedes' passenger seat and threaded one hand between the shoulder strap of the seat belt and his chest so it didn't rub against the bandages covering his chest. He hurt all over, enough that the discomfort in his ass barely pinged his radar. Until the next time he shifted and the soreness reminded him of what had happened in that room back at Ascension.

He kept his face turned to the window, watching neon signs and fluorescent-lit storefronts whiz by. Christmas decorations sparkled everywhere, fake snow, false trees, and electric candle light. He thought he might hate Christmas after this night. Have a holly, jolly Christmas...John could smell it on him, under the stinging scent of Fraiser's antiseptic, the musk and sweat of rank sex. The dashboard lights were just bright enough to make the glass a dark mirror that showed him his own face, eyes like dark holes, pale as a ghost, hollowed out.

They weren't one inch closer to catching the Red Ribbon Killer. Kolya was a sadist and, hell, maybe even a murderer, but his MO didn't fit the guy John was after. He kept turning it over in his head, because there had to be a tie and the tie had to be drugs. Kolya and drugs, the killer and drugs, the victims and drugs, Ascension and...the victims? He felt like he could almost fit it together and see the pattern if he could just think. But each time he tried to think about Kolya he felt those damn restraints close around his wrists and he had to fight not to just run, because the minute Kolya had walked into Room Fourteen, all John had wanted was to get away from him.

Kolya and the killer. Kolya and the other men. Kolya and Rodney...John shuddered again. Rodney and what he'd done to John in that room. God. John didn't want to think about it again.

Headlights shone through the Mercedes' interior periodically as Rodney steered them down the streets. The tires hummed over Atlantis City's pavement. Something classical played on the CD player, one of Rodney's mixes. John recognized the melody from hearing it in the labs. He reached over and switched it off, wincing because he had forgotten how stretching hurt. When he sat back he saw Rodney's gaze flick over him.

He couldn't look back. Couldn't look at Rodney without flashing back to it, choking on Rodney's cock with Kolya's hands tight in his hair, and he hadn't been able to do anything. 

"Look," he said and his voice cracked. "Just drop me off. We'll have to write something up for the report. In the morning." His stomach churned at the thought and he tasted bile, swallowing repeatedly and praying he wouldn't have to throw up before Rodney could stop the car. He didn't, but it was close and he began shivering all over again.

Rodney didn't say anything but he turned up the heat.

John closed his eyes until he felt the Mercedes come to a slow, smooth stop. "We're here," Rodney said. Headlights from passing car reflected from the rearview mirror into his face, bleaching his eyes electric blue. He looked bruised somehow, as though the light had illuminated invisible damage. One side of his mouth slanted down and his lips were pressed tight together, biting back the stream of words Rodney usually used in any situation, good or bad. The car - a beat up Chevy Nova — passed and left the interior of the Mercedes dark again, just the faint gleam of the dashboard lights and a diffuse glow from the street lamps outside.

"Thanks for the ride," John said, then choked. Down the street, brake lights flared red as the Chevy that had passed them pulled into a parking spot.

Rodney made a strangled sound and John fumbled for the door, opening it and then nearly garroting himself because he hadn't released the seatbelt. Without thinking anymore, he hit the release and bolted for his apartment.

"John!" Rodney yelled, but he didn't stop until he reached his door and realized he'd left his wallet and keys back in the Mercedes.

He braced on hand against the door and waited, listening, as Rodney caught up and quietly unlocked the door. "Here," he said, and handed John his wallet and badge case, leaving the keys handing in the door lock. "I'll sign whatever report you write up."

Then he was gone and John stumbled into his dark, empty apartment.


He stripped off the oversized tee-shirt Ronon had provided and the hospital-style scrub bottoms that Ascension apparently stocked as part of some fantasy role-playing scenario. What kind of...John swallowed hard, the nausea back with a vengeance. He made it into the bathroom before heaving up bile and the cup of coffee someone had pushed into his hand at some point. After Kolya. After Rodney. After Fraiser examined him and declared he was asshole whole.

Then he washed every inch of his skin that wasn't bandaged and brushed his teeth for five minutes, before he stumbled back into his bedroom, pulled on a pair of boxers and tumbled into bed.

It was actually still early for him and he couldn't keep his mind from spinning it all around again and again. Finally he dozed, jolting awake whenever he began to dream, sweating and shaking. Hours passed. He got up once and washed down several aspirin with a glass of orange juice. He tried the TV, but couldn't standing watching It's a Wonderful Life  one more time, not after the things he'd seen. Eventually, the night ended in a gray and drizzly dawn.

Sometime after first shift began, John called in to the stationhouse and asked for everything they could come up with on Kolya. Background, businesses, relatives, criminal record if he had it. Everything. There had to be a connection he wasn't seeing because he couldn't stop thinking of what he done.

He couldn't believe he had done that, got on his knees, sucked cock, then bent over and got fucked. He didn't want to think about it, except he couldn't stop. Somewhere in him, there was some part of him that had got off on it a little. Not the pain, not the restraints — he rubbed his wrists compulsively, still feeling the leather — sure as hell not the threats, but the giving it up. What the fuck did that say about his head? He hated that he'd liked letting Rodney take control. In other circumstances, not with Rodney, but no...Kolya had fondled him, rubbed off against him, and John had felt nothing but cold anger and disgust. But Rodney had made him shiver with arousal. No one else. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could almost feel Rodney's phantom fingers slipping down the crack of his ass and then working into him. He'd expected it to hurt, had been braced for it, braced to be revolted and sick, but Rodney had somehow made it good.

He wasn't gay. He couldn't be. He would have known that about himself, wouldn't he?

John rolled over and pressed his face into his pillow, as though that would block out the images in his head better than just closing his eyes.

It didn't, instead he kept imagining how he would have looked, pants pulled down and Rodney between his legs. He clenched his hands in the sheet. Tensed and told himself no, he wasn't going to get hard remembering the way Rodney had carefully opened him and finger-fucked him and how he'd started shoving his ass back onto Rodney's hands because it had felt so good he'd wanted more of it. He'd been biting his lip when Rodney had pulled his hand away, desperate to keep the words in his mouth from spilling out, 'Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, Rodney.'

He'd forgotten Kolya and Ford and Ladon at that point, closed his eyes and been lost. The curl of shame and humiliation in his belly expanded until it threatened to choke him. He'd come.

Jesus, he'd come, even with all of them in the room, watching him, wanting to see him submit and lose it. Had come despite that, because Rodney had made him forget them.

He rolled over onto his back. The ceiling cracks hadn't changed. He'd been here all day and nothing had changed inside or out. The day was dying and a deep, almost-red light seeped through his blinds. The acid sting of the bandaged cuts on his chest remained and a dozen wrinkles in the sheets managed to irritate him.

Cuts. Jesus. The whole thing, the whole thing had been Kolya's idea. The bastard had sat there with his knife and his drugs and his 'pets' and watched. John had kept thinking anything was better than Kolya touching him. Getting fucked had to be better than having that knife cutting him again. Then Rodney touched him and the worst thing about it had been that it wasn't all bad. He cringed remembering that he'd gotten hard where they all could see him, that they'd seen him like that. They'd seen that he liked it, liked having Rodney's cock in his mouth and then in his ass. It made  his skin crawl hours later, the way Kolya had looked at him, the way the bastard had put his hands on him between cuts from the knife, the way he'd been jerking himself off inside his pants, right in front of John as Rodney pushed into him.

He wished to hell Rodney hadn't made it feel good.

With a muttered curse, he got up and headed for the shower, stopping with another curse as he remembered Janet Fraiser, brown eyes snapping, telling him to keep the bandages dry. "Shit."

John braced his hands against the cool edge of the sink and slowly raised his head enough to stare into the mirror. It took more effort than he liked to look himself in the eye.

He didn't look any different. He'd had gay sex and liked it and he thought he should look different, like it would be tattooed on his forehead in a special fluorescent ink. Instead, he just looked bleary-eyed, unshaven and pale. His shoulders ached unpleasantly and so did his ribs. But he couldn't tell by looking at his reflection that he'd had his lips around Rodney's cock, that cock in his ass, though he could feel it when he moved.

The temptation to just pretend it had never happened hovered at the forefront of his thoughts. He could do it. Shove the whole incident into a mental box, lock it up, bury it and move on. Only that would mean giving up his friendship with Rodney. He knew Rodney wouldn't push the issue, would go along with however John chose to cope, but he knew himself at least well enough to realize he'd never manage to block this memory and still see Rodney every day.

There had been that moment, before they went to Room Fourteen, when he'd figured Rodney out, figured out that Rodney had wanted him for a long time, maybe since they'd met. But Rodney had never said anything. Because he'd known John didn't swing that way. But in that moment, John had thought he could. Because Rodney had kept how he felt to himself for the entire time John had known him and that meant Rodney cared more about not screwing things up with John than getting in his pants. John hadn't had many people care that much in his life.

Then Kolya had ruined everything.

Because every time he saw Rodney, he was going to remember all of it: Kolya and the fear his life was about to be bled away little by little, cut after cut, and the breathless relief he'd felt for an instant when Rodney came back, before worry took over. John stared at his reflection and then licked his lips. He would look at Rodney and remember how his hands had felt, pushing his cheeks apart, sliding his fingers inside...And when he did, he was going wonder if it would feel even better without the pain and the manacles and the freak watching them.

John stared at himself in the mirror. Out of everything that had happened last night, the only thing that had been bearable was Rodney. His best friend had fucked him, had apparently wanted to fuck him for years if John hadn't read it all wrong, and that should be enough to make sure he never wanted to see Rodney again. Except Rodney was his friend and closer to him than anyone else. He didn't even have anyone else he could even talk about this with except Rodney. Rodney was already so far into John's life, that cutting him out would be like cutting off a hand. He needed Rodney. Oh Jesus.

"I'm so fucked," he told his reflection and then began laughing. He needed Rodney. Rodney wasn't the only one who felt a hell of lot more than John had ever guessed. He couldn't stop laughing until he ended up on the bathroom floor, cold tile against bare skin, shaking and hiccupping —not sobbing because he was dry-eyed and a guy and he wasn't going to fucking cry — with his arms wrapped around himself, because he'd been scared as hell too.

He'd been scared and helpless and completely dependent on Rodney figuring something out. Gay? He could be gay. He didn't care. But he couldn't be out of control and at someone else's mercy.

It was all a damn mess.

He had to talk to Rodney. He had to talk to him just to convince him to censor whatever report he wrote up on last night. Having everyone at the station or some sleazoid defense lawyer know what happened would be unbearable.

When he'd pulled himself together enough he didn't think his voice would shake, he found his phone and punched in the number for Rodney's private cell phone.

No answer.

Then he tried Rodney's home number, the landline Rodney insisted was harder to eavesdrop on. It rang and rang until his answering machine picked up. This is Rodney McKay. Prove you're worth talking to and I'll call you back.

"It's John. Pick up."

Nothing.

Rodney always picked up for him. John frowned at his own phone and picked out the number for the lab. He sighed when the phone there picked up. He should known Rodney would go in, no matter what. Rodney found peace and sanctuary in his science. He'd been upset, too, and he'd gone to the lab.

"ACPD Forensic Main Lab. This is Zelenka."

"Radek?" John murmured and his voice cracked as a sick feeling uncurled inside. "This is Sheppard. Where's Rodney?"

"Rodney hasn't been in today or last night. I haven't been able to get in touch with him, only Detective Lorne, who said he was working on a case with you." Zelenka managed to sound miffed and worried.

"Call him again," John said. He cut the connection and dialed the stationhouse. Something was wrong. His instincts were shrieking louder with every second.


The sick feeling just got stronger about the time he reached Rodney's house. The chocolate brown Mercedes was parked out front and John could see the door — the steel core door with a deadbolt, security system electric locks and four other locks — hanging open from the street. He parked and bolted across the lawn.

He skidded to a stop on the porch and drew his weapon, because Rodney's keys still hung in the lock and the security system's light blinked green.

"McKay?" he yelled. "McKay, it's Detective Sheppard." Rodney would mock him for that, but if there was someone in there, he wanted them to know they would be facing a cop, a presumably armed cop. "Hey, I'm coming in."

Nothing. John moved through the house the same way he would any potential crime scene, watching for anyone still inside, but he could feel the emptiness as soon as he stepped inside. Neither Rodney nor anyone else was there.

John returned to the open front door and stared at Rodney's keys, swallowing back panic. They'd been investigating Ascension because the Red Ribbon Killer's victims all had ties to it. Now Rodney was gone.

Oh, fuck.

He holstered his Glock and called it in: possible crime scene, possible kidnapping.


John pressed the doorbell then began a steady, loud police knock against the door to Ascension. The club appeared closed up tight for the day, but he knew from the reports that Teyla occupied a penthouse on the fourth floor and that Ronon reported residing at he same address. A small wreath dotted with red holly berries and gold garland hung over the unnecessary brass knocker on the door.

The door opened five minutes later, when John had tried kicking, pacing, and started thinking about shooting out the damned lock. Teyla, dressed in jeans and pale yellow tank top, stood looking at him. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her feet were bare and the nails painted a soft pink. She looked more like a high school girl than a professional dominatrix or refugee from a war-torn Central American country. "John? What are you — ?"

"Rodney's gone."

"What?"

John pulled himself up and forced the panic down deep. "Look, my name's John Sheppard, I'm a homicide detective with the ACPD, and a murderer's somehow been using your club to pick his victims. Lydia Dumais, your brother, Charles Campbell, Paul Markham, Marin Olles. I think — I'm afraid Rodney's been taken by him and I need access to your records."

Teyla stared at him, more thoughts than he could track flashing behind her smooth features and dark brown eyes. "Kolya?"

"It isn't him. I wish it was. I thought it was at first, but he's a different kind of crazy." He frowned. "But there has to be some kind of connection. I'm just missing it."

Finally, she nodded and stepped back from the door. "I expect you will produce a warrant that covers this request," she said.

"We'll get it," John gritted out. He would, but every minute lost ate at his composure.

"Good, I'll expect you to show it to me when you get it." She gestured him inside. "In the meantime, we'll go to my personal office. We can access all the records from there and talk to Ronon."

John let out a sigh and followed. "Thank you."

She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes were hard again. "My brother, Detective. I want who did this just as much as you do. Torin was a fool, but he was the only family I had left after our father died. He was the only one of my people who escaped our village after the government troops occupied it."


John's eyes were burning. He'd managed to access his own computer and the records on the case from Teyla's computer, using tricks Rodney had taught him on slow days at the lab. Teyla and Ronon sat at the same desk with him, combing through Ascension's records, looking for connections, looking for the killer.

"Anyone, anyone at all, ever have any kind of thing for red ribbons?" John asked. The ribbons had been part of the killer's MO they'd kept out of the media. It was a miracle some ambitious reporter hadn't ferreted it out yet, but the papers and TV had both been focused on the Kinsey Scandal. A senator and presidential candidate exposed as being on the payroll of the Gould Crime Syndicate was big news, bigger even than a serial killer operating in a small island city.

"I am not sure," Teyla said slowly. She was thinking about, trying to remember anything useful.

"Lydia," Ronon stated.

John glanced at him. Ronon had a sandwich in one hand, eating on automatic while he scanned through security footage. His brows were drawn together in a fierce frown.

"What?"

"Lydia wore a red ribbon around her throat. I remember."

"Dumais was the first victim," John said. "She has to be the precipitating factor. Teyla, tell me everything about Lydia." He opened up the file on Dumais and began reading it again, hoping something would jump out at him. Teyla's fingers danced over the keyboard of her own laptop as she accessed the club's records on Dumais.

"She bought a membership that included bringing a regular guest," Teyla read out loud. "A considerable financial investment, the less than the amount Dr. McKay paid for your joint membership. A credit check confirmed she could afford it. She had a very high-paying job with ATA and, I have made a note here, that it was Carson Beckett, the founder of ATA, who first introduced her to Ascension."

"Tell me about Beckett," John said, checking through Dumais' financials himself. Something was screwy. She hadn't been spending beyond her generous salary and benefits package according to the records, but she had too many acquisitions. Expensive items she'd apparently paid for in cash. A new Hummer, a two-week stay at a Swiss spa, condo in Aspen, jewelry and designer dresses in her closet. Dumais had had a second income from something.

"Carson Beckett is a gentle man with a ... fetish for being treated as a little boy. He craves punishment and comfort from an older, motherly figure." Teyla paused, then continued, "As far as I can tell, he is neither gay nor heterosexual. Perhaps he channels his libido into his work. He comes to Ascension to relax. I do not believe he could be your killer."

John didn't cross the man off his list, but he took Teyla's assessment seriously. Beckett probably wasn't the killer. He was a researcher, stuck in a lab much of his time, and definitely not tough enough to take down Eugene Bates. Though if he'd used the drugs he had access to...

John sat up straight.

Drugs.

There was a common source of extra income. Lydia Dumais could have been the source of the mysterious enzyme the labs found in the victims. There was the connection to Kolya, too. And someone else.

"You should check out Lydia's boyfriend," Ronon said.

"What boyfriend?" John demanded. There was nothing about a boyfriend in any of the reports on Dumais.

"The one she brought in as a guest," Ronon answered. "She said he was a sub, but he didn't like it. Looked like he was putting up with it to get something from her."

"Ronon," Teyla said. "Why didn't you say something?"

Big shoulders moved in a slow shrug. "None of my business. Figured he knew what he was doing. So did she. Looked like I was wrong last night. He was one of men with Kolya."

"Maybe not," John murmured. His stomach cramped as a flash of the night before played through his mind. Kolya and Ladon and the two others. He remembered the younger one, the black guy, had been jittery. He'd been the one waving around the gun, too. Ford. And he'd said, 'And it was my girlfriend that got you the samples and told you how to make it.' "This guy have a name?"

"Aiden."

"Last name?"

Ronon typed a query into his computer. "Ford." He looked up and grinned a fierce, white-toothed smile. "He worked for ATA too. Night shift security."

Security would be in a perfect position to help a shady drug operation nested in a cutting edge biomedical research company. If Ford had been involved in something like that, partnered with Dumais, he might have killed her over money and found out he had a taste for killing as well as the drug. He'd have access to the enzyme used on the other victims. And Dumais herself had introduced him to Ascension. If he really had disliked the club, he might be targeting members who fit the same bill as Dumais: masters and tops, dominants, successful figures who threatened Ford's vision of himself. If he hadn't had his attention drawn to Rodney, he might have turned his attention to Kolya.

Wouldn't that have been a tragedy, John thought.

But what was the tie to Bates? Bates wasn't a member of Ascension, wasn't into any kind of kinky sex, didn't have a tie to ATA or any of the victims. Had he just stumbled on something by chance.

He took out his phone and called the station. Lorne was out trying to find any clue as to what had happened to Rodney and so was most of the day shift, so he went through to Sergeant Stackhouse at the front desk.

"This is Sheppard," he said as soon as the phone picked up. There was Christmas music playing in the back ground, over the sound of phones ringing, and a drunken voice calling someone a son of a whore. "I need you to pull up Bates' file and check it over again."

He could hear Stackhouse typing through the phone pickup, the key clack louder than Jingle Bell Rock. Good guy, Stackhouse. "Detective, we'll find Dr. McKay," Stackhouse said. "Everyone's on it. Even Detective Doran came in. And Lt. Landry said something about consulting with the FBI, getting their crime lab to work the case. He says O'Neill owes the department."

"Whatever," John said. He had that feeling in his gut, the sense of almost flying, that he got when he was onto something. "Check Bates' file for anything on Ford, Aiden. I'll want a separate run on him, too. Every damn thing we can dig up — "

"Aiden Ford?" Stackhouse repeated, his voice rising in surprise.

John froze. "You recognize the name?"

"You bet," Stackhouse said. "He went through the police academy the year I lectured on explosives. Really gungho kid, but he washed out during training. Sgt. Bates was his training officer."

"Sonovabitch," John exclaimed.

Stackhouse was still talking. "Said the kid had weird thing about proving himself to everybody and started using uppers. Came out in a drug test. Bates griped about it, said Ford had all this potential, even if he was a little naive. Jesus."

There was the connection. The whole connection, drugs, resentment, and Bates...not that far from training officer to master. Both had authority over another. Dumais, the first victim, maybe over drugs, maybe over the sex games, maybe even dirty money, and then Ford had slipped the leash of sanity. So he'd immediately gone after Bates, blaming him because he'd kept him from becoming a cop. After that, Ford must have just kept acting out his psychodrama on anyone from Ascension that fit his twisted criteria. Pumping them full of the enzyme was just part of his MO by that point and the effects didn't mean much beyond fulfilling the ritual's demands.

"I want an APB out of Aiden Ford right now," he snapped. "He's the killer and he's got McKay. He was involved with Lydia Dumais, and had potential access to all the other victims."

"Yes Sir!" Stackhouse replied.

"Better consider him armed and dangerous. He's working security at a company called ATA and may have access to hazardous materials as well," John warned. He cut the connection and turned to face Teyla and Ronon. "Have you got an address for him in your records?"


John ended up pacing back and forth through Teyla's living room. She'd decorated it for Christmas and the lights on her tree twinkled, glittering off the tinsel and glass ornaments. Most of the work was being done by the officers out on the streets. All he could do was coordinate over the phone and fume. Officers had been dispatched to Ford's address, to ATA, even to interview his cousin and check out his grandparents' home, since they'd apparently raised him after his parents took off. Nothing had been found anywhere. Ford hadn't been to work at ATA for a week and was already out of a job.

Pictures of what had been done to the other victims kept playing in John's head, only he saw Rodney wound in bloodstained red ribbon, his blue eyes clouded over and blind in death. His heart trip-hammered in his chest every time his phone rang and he answered, waiting to hear that a body had been found in a ditch or construction zone, in an empty field or behind a dumpster.

His body still ached from the abuse he'd endured from Kolya. None of it even compared to what Ford did to his victims. He had been drinking Teyla's midnight dark coffee like he was Rodney and his hands were beginning to shake. He knew everyone at the stationhouse thought Rodney was already dead. The killer hadn't kept any of the other victims alive for long. John had no real reason to be convinced they could still save Rodney, nothing beyond the conviction that it couldn't end this way.

The guilt would eat him. All the victims he couldn't save because he wasn't there in time, he could live with, because he hadn't sent them into danger. It had happened, but it hadn't been him giving out orders. He'd chosen police work over going into the military for just that reason, years before. But he'd gotten Rodney into this.

Ronon loomed suddenly in the doorway to Teyla's personal office.

"I got something."

John was too impatient to wait. "Are you going to tell me or what?"

"I found Ladon. He says there's a condemned tenement on the east side. Kolya's been using it as a cook house, making up Rip," Ronon said.

John headed for the door. "Tell me where."

"Can show you."

"Fine, let's go," John said. He didn't slow down when he spotted Teyla waiting, dressed in commando black and a leather jacket.

"I'm coming, too," she said. He glimpsed the butt of a pistol in a belly holster under her jacket and said nothing. Teyla radiated competence the same way Ronon did and he knew that the ex-Ranger wouldn't tolerate his employer swanning around with a gun if she didn't know how to use it.

John drove, pushing his restored Mustang to its limits, blowing through red lights and around traffic. He punched in Lorne's number while he drove and tersely told him where they were going. "Get me back up," he finished.

"John, you need to wait for us — " Lorne said.

John cut the connection.


There were no Christmas decorations out in the east side, nothing but wreckage left by the flooding. "You know how to handle that?" John asked as Teyla clipped up the steps behind him, a .38 in her hands. Ronon had already circled around to the rear entrance.

She raised an eyebrow.

"In my village, we learned to fight before we went to school, Detective. My first gun was an AK-47 given to me by my father," she told.

John shrugged. "Stay behind me."

They slipped into the tenement's foyer by dodging around a rotten section of plywood that had once been nailed over a hole. Inside, shafts of gray winter light reached down from openings in the roof. John waited a beat for his eyes to adapt and then picked his way over the debris-strewn floor. Dirt swirled in random patterns over black and white tiles, bits of garbage left as flotsam when the flood waters sunk away.

It clearly showed the tracks of someone going in and out.

It showed multiple drag marks too.

John caught Teyla's eyes and nodded to the floor. "This is the place." He knew that he should wait for the backup that was on its way. But he couldn't. Something told him if he didn't get to Rodney soon, very soon, it would be too late.

Teyla nodded and they followed the drag marks. It made no sense, but John knew he could trust Teyla to have his back, and Ronon, too. Maybe it was stupid, misplaced gratitude for the way Ronon had barreled into Room Fourteen and disposed of Kolya. Maybe it was the way Teyla hadn't made him wait for a search warrant. Maybe not. He simply felt like he'd known them longer than he had, recognized something in both of them that knew him, too.

They heard Ford's voice first, while they were still on the first floor, words fast and too intense. "You got to believe me, Doc. This stuff will make you feel like a million dollars, better than you've ever been before. It's incredible. You don't think I know who you are, but I recognize you. You work for the forensics lab, you're the head of the night shift. Hah! You thought I was dumb, didn't you? Dumb and crazy..."

John and Teyla steadily worked their way toward the back of the building. It took time, more time than John wanted to waste, to move silently and not give themselves away. At least, they were still on the first floor.

"I never thought you were crazy," Rodney snapped and John blew out a silent breath of relief. If Rodney could talk..."Though now that you mention it, kidnapping and murder are not common denominators of sanity! Or intelligence. You idiot, you didn't even wear gloves when you grabbed me. Zelenka will dust the front door and your ID will be all over the city."

"Doesn't matter, we'll be gone by then. I can't get back into ATA, but I figure your boyfriend can. He's got a badge. And once you've tried this stuff, you'll see why I've got to have it," Ford said.

So that was why Rodney was alive, when all the others had been killed within hours of Ford grabbing them. He meant to blackmail John into helping him get more of the drug and he had enough brains to know John would demand proof of life. John crept a little closer to the door and peered around it, catching sight of Rodney duct-taped to a wooden chair next to a rickety table littered with an empty vial and a syringe, along with an ominous roll of red satin Christmas ribbon.

That made John catch his breath. Rodney's lab would need to do a comparison but he already knew it was the same ribbon used to wrap all the victims. Ribbon that might have been used to wrap up Rodney's body if things had gone a little differently.

Ford paced back and forth in front of Rodney. He had a revolver in one fist and waved it at the broken out windows and Rodney indiscriminately. From the fevered, frenetic way he moved, John guessed he was high on whatever it was ATA had been brewing.

He caught a glimpse of motion through another doorway and identified Ronon. A quick dip of the head told him Ronon had seen him too and was ready to go in.

John chanced a second look around the doorway into the room and grimaced, seeing what he'd missed the first time: drums of chemicals, a generator, glass beakers and tubing and burners. No way to tell if Ford had moved the supplies in or if the abandoned building had been in use as a cook house before. Now it was a bomb waiting to go up. One spark in the wrong place...

"Think your boyfriend is looking for you yet, McKay?" Ford asked. He kept the gun in one hand and pulled out a cell with the other. "Give me his number."

"No," Rodney refused.

Ford strode forward and shoved the muzzle of his gun under Rodney's chin. "Give me his number!"

"Call the ACPD! He's a cop!" Rodney yelled back.

"You want to get me arrested!" Ford accused. He jerked back and the gun moved away from Rodney, aiming instead at barrel full of some unknown chemical. "I'll show you!"

"Of course I do, you maniac!"

There was no better moment. Ford's back was to the doorway, all his attention focused on Rodney. John jumped through the doorway and brought his gun to bear on Ford.

"Drop the gun, Ford!" he yelled.

Ford spun and stared at him.

"John!" Rodney shouted. "Get out of here! This place is a death trap! You need to send for a hazmat team!

John ignored him and concentrated on Ford. "Put it down!"

Teyla came in behind him, aiming at Ford too, sidling along the wall to bracket him and force him away from Rodney. Ford's eyes widened as he recognized her. "You're fucking kidding! Where's the rest of the Five-Oh? Couldn't get them out to save your boyfriend, so you had to bring her?"

"Hey! What are you talking about and why is she here!?" Rodney demanded, half hysterical, fighting the tape holding him to the chair and making jump and thump against the floor.

Ronon ghosted into the room behind Ford. He could move incredibly quietly. He reached Rodney and clapped a big hand over his mouth.

John didn't let his aim at Ford waver, despite the distraction of Rodney's eyes going wide.

"Maybe I didn't want to bring the other cops into this, Ford. Maybe I'm pissed off enough to want to just get rid of you. Why mess with a trial?"

"Not you, Sheppard," Ford said. "I heard about you. Bates talked about you. Said you were a good cop."

"Maybe, but you're a cop killer. No one's going to care much if I put a bullet between your eyes."

Ford's eyes widened and suddenly, finally,  he seemed to believe it. John didn't know why, he didn't know if he even meant it, but Ford fired at him, and as he dived to the side, toward a stack of barrels, again, wildly. John fired back twice. He saw Ford stumble and then fall behind the barrels, while his second shot ricocheted off a blue metal barrel with a spark and shriek that Rodney echoed, even through Ronon's hand.

Now Ronon was dragging Rodney chair and all, toward the doorway. "Get me out of this!" Rodney shouted, struggling against the tape binding him in place. "You've all got to get out of here now! It's going go up any second! John! Go!"

"No time," Ronon said and simply threw Rodney, chair and all, through the broken-out window.

John realized why as he pulled in a breath to yell. The air was full of chemicals, something spilling from one of the barrels, and they had to get out now. Either one of Ford's shots had hit something or the ricochet from his own shot.

He didn't wait to find out if Ford was dead, alive, wounded or even trying to shoot at them. He grabbed Teyla's wrist and ran for the window. Ronon jumped out with them and they fell, hitting the pavement as the room behind them exploded into flames. Broken glass and debris blew out over their heads, as John covered Teyla and Ronon shielded Rodney's head.

The wail of approaching sirens shocked John back into motion. He rolled off Teyla and stared back at the building. Flames rolled out of the window above them, while black, foul smoke boiled out of a dozen others. He coughed hard and then staggered to his feet.

He made it to Rodney's side, wincing as he saw the bruising and the bloody wound along Rodney's hair line. The chair was broken into pieces, but Rodney was still taped to the arms and legs. John knelt and began tearing the tape off. Rodney blinked his eyes open and stared up at John.

John's hands stilled. He could see the flames behind him reflected in Rodney's eyes. He thought if Ronon hadn't come, if he'd been any slower, Rodney would still be in there. Without Ronon and Teyla, Rodney would likely be dead. So many damn ifs.

That wasn't acceptable, he thought in a detached way, watching as he lifted his hand and cupped Rodney's rough, unshaven cheek, feeling the whiskers prickle against his palm.

Rodney was talking, but John couldn't hear him through the ringing in his ears. John bent and brushed a kiss over Rodney's mouth before he could think himself out of it, muffling the noise.

Behind them, something inside the tenement cracked and then exploded with a boom that flattened John over Rodney. He scrambled off Rodney, dazed, a breath later. A volley of coughs made his eyes blur and water as his lungs clutched and threatened to seize up entirely. They needed to get away from the fire and whatever was burning inside.

Actually, Teyla and Ronon needed to get away from the crime scene entirely.

He tore the last of the tape off Rodney's wrists and ankles and pulled him to his feet. Both of them swayed. Ronon had Teyla up too and they were both looking toward the street and the marked cars rushing toward the site of the explosion.
 
John kept one arm around Rodney's waist, but held out his other to them. "You guys get out of here. As far as I'm concerned, I came here alone, on a tip from an anonymous phone call."

Ronon looked at him and nodded. Teyla caught his hand and squeezed it. "Be well," she wished them both and then she and Ronon loped away, turning a corner and moving out of sight without looking back.

John squeezed Rodney a little closer, guiding him in the opposite direction, away from the burning building, toward the police and fire department vehicles he'd glimpsed approaching far up the street; lights shining red and blue almost like Christmas.

"C'mon, Rodney."

Rodney leaned into him. "I almost died, you know," he said.

"I know," John told him.

"You figure he's dead?" Rodney asked.

"Ford?" John said. "I don't know."

He hoped so. He really hoped so. He looked at the smoke and flames billowing out the broken windows. No one would be going back in there to find out for some time. If Ford had been wounded or trapped by the explosion, he was dead now, of burns or smoke inhalation. If he somehow escaped...John shuddered and pulled Rodney tighter.

If Ford had escaped, they would know when he killed again.


A Hazmat team going through the tenement's wreckage pulled a burned body out four days later. Zelenka called Rodney and told him. Biro had pulled a bullet out of the body's femur. Ballistics matched it to John's service weapon. Aiden Ford was really dead and Rodney could finally relax.

He told Zelenka he would relax when he was back on the job. After he put the phone down, he went back to swishing the wine in his glass around. He'd invited John to come over for Christmas Eve, well knowing John would end up in the guest room and they'd share Christmas too before heading in to work. Those plans had been made before. Rodney didn't anticipate sharing his evening or the next day with anyone now.

He hadn't seen or spoken to John since Lorne and the cavalry arrived. He hadn't had the guts to call him, not even to leave message for him.

He never expected John to be on the other side of his front door when he answered it. He'd been braced for anything from carolers to Jehovah's Witnesses, but not John. At least, not John looking sinful and bashful all at once, wearing a moss green sweater and black pants, with a red and white muffler around his neck and brightly wrapped package— no red ribbon — clutched in one hand.

John ready to yell at him. John finally exploding in anger over everything that had been done to him, maybe. Maybe that was why Rodney hadn't tried to talk to him.

None of it would have happened if he hadn't left John alone in that room.

"Can I come in?" John asked.

Rodney stepped back and gestured him inside, remembering to close his gaping mouth as he did so.

John shoved the package at him. "Here. Merry Christmas Eve and all that."

"You got me something?" Rodney squeaked. He took it and then held it, not knowing what else to do.

John gave him an odd look. "Well, yeah. Friends, right?" He shrugged and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Besides, I bought it before... you know."

Of course, Rodney thought. Before they stopped being friends. Only John had just said...Maybe there was still a chance to salvage something. It seemed like it, since John was here. He walked back into the kitchen that he'd spent several hours cleaning since he had nothing better to do, set the package on the sparkling clean counter, and pulled down a second wine glass. He poured it full from the open bottle he'd been morosely working on all by himself. He handed it to John and retrieved his own.

"Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," John echoed and sipped. His knuckles were white where he clutched at the wine glass so hard Rodney worried he'd snap the stem. His eyes widened when Rodney stepped closer to him, though he didn't flinch. Quite.

"Look, we can just pretend it never happened," Rodney said. He'd pretend that for John. He wouldn't forget, but he'd never bring it up. The last few days had been frighteningly empty, especially since he'd been given a mandatory weekend off from the lab. "Just don't think about it."

John shook his head. "Yeah, well, there's a problem with that. I can't stop thinking about it."

"I'm sorry. I — "

"I liked it, okay?"

Rodney set his glass of wine down and stared. He opened his mouth, didn't say anything, and finally licked his lips. "John."

John ducked his head and made a graceless gesture with one hand. "I — not the slave shit.” He coughed and finished nearly inaudibly, “What you did?" The tips of his ears were red. He gulped down the rest of his wine and set the glass down next to Rodney's. Light splintered through the crystal, dyed pink by the residue of wine in the glass. “When I — when I remember...that's the only part that makes it okay.”

"Okay," Rodney repeated carefully, afraid one wrong word would send John bolting out of the room and his life. He'd done his utmost to make sure John found some pleasure in what they'd been forced to do, but ever since he'd been afraid that that had been the problem. A lot of straight men couldn't deal with knowing they'd gotten off from being fucked. Didn't want to accept that they could have an orgasm whether they wanted it or not. John needed to accept that it had been a physiological response to sexual stimulation, not to mention the adrenaline and endorphins flooding his system that night.

"You know, it's all right."  Rodney waved his free hand, trying to semaphore 'everything' without articulating any of it, hoping John understood. "That you liked it. People don't — that is, people do that because it they like it. Because it feels good."
 
John gave him an impatient look. "Yes, I know it's all right. Did you think I was a homophobe?"

"No, no," Rodney said, waving his hands. He'd known John too long to think that. But that didn't translate into John wanting gay sex or even being able to deal with having had it.. "I just — the way — what happened. And you're straight. You know, Chaya and Mara and Teer and Norina and — "

"I want to do it again."

Rodney coughed and then stared. John stared back at him, almost expressionless. His throat moved as he swallowed though, giving away just how tense he was.

"Are you going to start experimenting?" Rodney asked. He wished he could take back the words immediately.

"What?" John took a single step closer to Rodney. "Can we just not talk about it anymore? I fucking missed you the last week." He took another step, one that had them within arms' length and set his hands on Rodney's shoulders. Rodney stepped back and found himself leaning against the kitchen counter. The cool edge of the tile cut into the small of his back. John followed.

“John,” he said, remembering the only kiss they'd had, the quick, dry brush of John's lips over his in an alley behind a burning building, moments after he had saved Rodney's life. Well, after Ronon and Teyla and John had saved his life. That hadn't been forced or part of any cover.

John hesitated long enough to pull in a deep breath then tipped his head and pressed soft, warm lips to Rodney's mouth. Rodney froze until he felt John's hands tense and then begin to lift away from his shoulders, his mouth start to pull away, and Rodney kissed John back. He closed his eyes while he stroked his tongue into John's mouth and closed his arms around John so tight he would never get away. He kissed John until he was breathless and his dick was hard and pressing uncomfortably against the confines of his pants. Better yet, he could feel John's hard on nudging against his hip as John rocked against him.

He doubted John even knew he was moving against him. His hands were locked tight on Rodney's shoulders. Rodney let John lead and moved with him. This was wonderful, but he didn't doubt John still had more issues than certainties. No one decided to be gay this quick, this easily, even without what he'd been through.

When they finally parted, John rested his forehead against Rodney's and laughed softly as Rodney rubbed his hand against the back of John's neck. "Did I say I liked that?" he asked finally. "Can we just do this for a while?"

Rodney pulled him closer. "Work up to the rest?" he murmured. He felt John relax minutely.

"Yeah."

Rodney smiled. "Slow and easy wins the race."

John frowned at him. "You've never been patient in your life."

"But determined I can do," Rodney said. "Let's go back into the living room. I'd like to try kissing you some more."