Wraithbait

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Rodney winced as she held the wet piece of cloth against his cheek. There was no ice to be found, so cool water was the best she could do.

"Is it bad?" he asked worriedly.

Elizabeth shook her head. "You've had worse."

The bruise was already visible, but she thought it wouldn't get too large. It wouldn't interfere with his sight, which was crucial as Rodney's work was what kept them alive and in their (literally) humble abode.

In a galaxy inhabited solely by monsters and refugees, there was always someone looking to dump you out into the mud and take your shelter for themselves.

Elizabeth took the cloth away, dipped it in the water again, and put it back. She wanted to tell Rodney it hadn't been necessary, and that he shouldn't have let himself be goaded. Instead, she brushed her fingers across his temple, not seeing the gray that had seeped into his hair. "Does it hurt?"

He waved a hand, the gesture heartbreaking and comforting all at once. "I've had worse."

She smiled a little at that.

The man who had hit him was obviously newly arrived. None of the other men in their miserable approximation of a village would have been so brazen. A few had tried, early on. When it became clear that Rodney was smart enough to help eke extra food out of their farms and keep their limited equipment working and so needed to be treated well, and that Elizabeth belonged to him and him only, the danger to her had lessened considerably.

A galaxy of refugees, where females still able to breed were in dangerously low supply.

Elizabeth still never left the shack after dark alone.

The piece of cloth was from her old uniform jacket. It had been irreparably torn, so she used it for scraps.

She dropped the gray fabric into the bowl with a small, wet splash. Her fingers were cool against Rodney's skin as she feathered them over the swelling on his cheek.

Rodney was just looking up at her in silence. He'd run out of words years ago, like a slow, steady leak so that it didn't feel strange to see him quiet.

The Rodney she'd first met had hated and feared pain. This one hated it as well, she saw it in the blue eyes that were watching her, but his tolerance had grown enormously. Apparently it had risen in tandem with his ability to give pain.

When he'd appeared and thrown her attacker off her an hour ago, Elizabeth had been startled by the amount of rage in this man she'd known so long. For a moment he reminded her of Ronon: harsh, pure and lethal.

Rodney's opponent had gotten in one solid punch. Rodney had left him lying in the mud and turned his back contemptuously, Elizabeth's wrist pinned in his grip as the crowd parted before him.

Now his arm was a heavy weight across her thighs, holding her steady in his lap.

Elizabeth bent her head and placed a tender kiss against the bruised skin on Rodney's cheek. She felt his eyelashes as she leaned her forehead against his. Rodney's other arm wrapped around her, fingers slipping under her shirt and stroking across her lower back.

"You're sure you're ok?" he asked quietly.

"I'm fine, Rodney."

"Good. That's... good." He twisted his head slightly and kissed her. The affection they didn't dare show in public (affection could be used against them; they knew that all too well) poured through the kiss, through his hands on her skin, her fingers threading gently in his hair.

Elizabeth pulled away first. "You should eat something. Your blood sugar-"

"Later." Rodney kissed her again, more intently, lifting her to her feet as he stood and then drawing her to the pile of straw and two worn blankets that served as their bed.

He removed her clothing completely, and then his own, which was rare. But the door was barricaded and after his display earlier, it was unlikely anyone would think of challenging Rodney for a while. She'd grown accustomed to seeing him play the alpha male with their neighbors. He never did with her, though. In this tiny, ugly private space he still asked her what to do, still waited for her to decide and order as though she had command of anything any more.

She had woken up night after night, feeling him hard and pressed against her ass for months, waiting and wanting him to do something, before finally realizing he would never touch her first.

As Rodney trailed kisses down her neck, her body seeking his automatically, Elizabeth understood why he'd nearly killed a man today. This was all they had left. Not their survival itself, with no hope of reaching home, and no friends left to look for among the refugees. Hell, she didn't even know if they were themselves anymore, except perhaps in moments like this.

He touched her, wanting to bring pleasure to her body but making her ache as her circulation increased and brought pain into cold places. She offered herself up to him anyway. Rodney pushed into her slowly. It burned to feel him move within her, even carefully, but she didn't care. She closed her eyes and moved her body against his. The burning decreased, and need arose in its place.

"Elizabeth," Rodney said her name before kissing her. She heard the urgency in his voice, and she could feel the racing of his pulse under her fingertips. Her own heart was pounding blood through her veins.

If she lost this, Elizabeth would die. One way or another.

It was all they had left, and she didn't know how they hadn't both collapsed under the weight of everything that had been lost pressing on them. But when the moment came, they still fought to keep this.

Her orgasm was more like the ghost of one. Her body was too numb to do much better, but it was enough. Rodney wrapped himself around her when he had finished, his breath moist against her neck.

Rodney was warm. She pressed herself into his heat.

Something John had once said (to a Wraith) came back to her.

"Apparently we're too stupid to know when we're beaten."

***