Wraithbait

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The temptation to go get lost was nearly overwhelming.

Staring down at the black ocean, his ears filled with the soothing lull of the waves, John contemplated just walking out onto the sand. Disappearing. Let the beach and the water wash him out.

Clean, wash him clean. That's what he meant.

His eyes lifted from the surf to the moon. It was full, which was how he'd been able to navigate through the town's streets and out onto the beach at 3 in the morning.

The moon had been full when he'd gotten back a few weeks ago, which meant it was time for him to leave again. Make his self-appointed rounds. The ocean would have to wait for him. He had other things to do.


***

The outside world had never been good at judging Rodney. It was a select group of people who knew the man well enough to actually claim to know him at all - a group that was now painfully small. John watched Rodney closely as the scientist came into his lab at the SGC, jabbering at an assistant for a moment before he caught sight of his guest. John alone caught the flicker of emotion that went across Rodney's face before his usual semi-arrogant expression fell into place.

"Colonel Sheppard."

"Rodney."

The assistant was waiting, oblivious, until Rodney snapped, "Thank you." The young woman blushed and scurried away. Rodney went to his desk and sat down. "How are you?"

John was sitting on the opposite side of the desk. He picked up an indistinguishable piece of wiring and crystals. "Same as always."

Rodney's eyes darted over the dark circles on John's face and his forehead wrinkled briefly.

John toyed with the mechanism. "How about you?"

Rodney reached over and took the thing away from him. "Busy. Several of the pieces we salvaged still won't function at all. I think removing them from-" He choked briefly. "Bringing them here has somehow impaired the functionality. We're trying to simulate the original operating conditions but there are too many variables to have any hope of total accuracy."

John shrugged. "You don't need perfection, though, right? Just enough to get the gadgets working again?"

"Hopefully." Rodney started to fuss with some papers. After an awkward silence, he asked, without looking up, "Have you seen her?"

"Not since last month. You?"

"No. But I called her Tuesday."

"About what?"

Rodney looked up, slightly amused and slightly embarrassed. "I made up an excuse. She knew."

John cleared his throat. "She's smart. Not as smart as you, but then, who is." He said it without a trace of humor or sarcasm and Rodney nodded in absent agreement.

"So, when are you here till?"

"Just a couple days."

"Ah." If Rodney was disappointed, he didn't show it.

"That new football movie opened last Friday, you know."

"You want me to see a movie about American football?" Rodney protested with a disgusted twist of his lips.

"I watched three Monty Python movies with you last time. Three."

"But you like them!"

He pulled out his best command glare, feeling like himself for the first time in three weeks. "Three."

"Oh alright."

**

After hamburgers and the movie, they sat on Rodney's couch and drank beer while watching the early news. The fabric on the couch was not conducive to relaxing, in John's opinion. He'd had a girlfriend once who had a couch that was made for napping – and other things – with big soft pillows and fabric you wouldn't mind being naked on. He hated Rodney's couch with its itchy upholstery.

Fortunately, when the beer was gone and Rodney clicked off the news, he stood up. He didn't even bother with the pretense of asking if John wanted some sheets for the couch, he just walked to the bedroom. John followed silently, grateful they had graduated from doing this on the couch.

Rodney turned on the light next to the bed. He looked John up and down and nodded once. John took off his clothes, tossing them onto a chair. Rodney tugged the sheets on the bed down, and watched John.

"Lie down," Rodney waved at the bed, when John was naked. John stretched out on his back but Rodney made a spinning motion with his finger. "On your stomach."

John rolled over, feeling the first twinge of uncertainty since the evening had started. He propped his chin up on his folded hands and watched as Rodney stripped. He hadn't regained the size he'd lost in those last months in Atlantis, but he was still bulkier than John.

He remembered the moment when he'd realized Rodney was bigger than him. It had been during a particularly hairy mission, when Rodney had knocked John on his ass with the ease of a pro linebacker in order to get him out of the line of fire. When John was reviewing the mission for his report, it suddenly dawned on him that Rodney, though not much of a fighter, could take him out just from size.

When the clothes were out of the way, Rodney reached into the bedside table and grabbed something, then climbed onto the bed, straddling John. It gave him a weird thrill, being pinned under Rodney, face down like this. He wondered if Rodney had done this before with someone else or if, like John, he had done some discreet research to prepare for this visit. John squirmed a bit, which caused the sheets to chafe at his erection. Meanwhile Rodney's fingers were stroking up and down John's back, fondling his ass. Then there were lips on his neck, teasing at first, then biting, and fingers probing between his cheeks. John began to writhe in earnest.

He heard a small popping sound and then felt the lubricant being spread along his ass. John had never done this before, but he felt more curious than anything. It felt good, the sheet warm under him, getting bunched up a bit around his cock, while fingers rubbed up and down the cleft of his ass. Rodney's mouth found his earlobe and sucked hard and John moaned.

One finger slowly pushed into his anus and John paused. It hurt, and it was weird, but he didn't protest. He just waited. The finger withdrew a little and then pushed in again, and it was still weird, but not hurting as much.

John hitched himself up and craned his head. Rodney got the message and they kissed, John sucking on that talented tongue aggressively. When they came up for air, two of Rodney's fingers were buried in John's ass and he felt a distinct heat, a jangle of nerve endings that was totally new and definitely worth exploring. He pushed back against Rodney's hand and heard a sharp intake of breath from the other man.

Two fingers became three and John was starting to get what some of the websites he'd read were talking about. Rodney had propped himself up with one arm, and John felt Rodney's erection pressing up against the underside of his ass. He ground himself against the hot flesh and up into the fingers, every direction bringing a different kind of gratification. The move was apparently too much for Rodney and all of a sudden the fingers were gone and John groaned in disappointment.

He heard a slight chuckle. More cool liquid was spread over him and he felt Rodney's weight shift. For a moment it seemed like no amount of preparation could get anyone open enough for this. John reached out, hands clenching the pillow in front of him, consciously relaxing against the pressure, and in short order he was moving again, thrusting backwards and being shoved down into the mattress over and over, burning heat radiating out of his ass. He managed to get a hand down onto his own cock as Rodney's moaning got more pronounced. His hand had barely acquired its target when John came seeing black spots in his vision, dimly aware of Rodney slamming into him and yelling words John couldn't make out.

John lay awake, listening to Rodney's snores, which were somewhat muffled because the man had his face pressed against John's back. It occurred to him that Rodney didn't talk much. Had he thought about it before all this started, John would've pegged Rodney as being the kind of guy who couldn't shut up ever, not even in the middle of sex. He couldn't tell if Rodney talked less now overall or if it was exclusively when they were in bed that he became monosyllabic.


***

John got out of the rental car and regarded the house for a minute before going up the walk. Approaching the front door, the glass in the screen reflected his image, including the gray now streaking his hair. Part of him wanted to get back in the car and fly back to his tiny town in California, to his surfing and his charter business flying tourists along the coast and over the mountains and forget that Colorado existed. But there were things here that needed his attention.

He rang the doorbell, but no one answered. This had happened a couple times in the past. He walked around the house, pushing open the gate into the backyard.

Elizabeth was sitting on the back patio, her knees drawn up under her chin. Her eyes were staring off into the distance. A very great distance, he would guess. John paused several feet away. With no other way to make noise, he deliberately coughed.

She jumped. No, she leapt, right up out of the chair, whirling around with her fists clenched. He could see the red flush of the adrenaline in her face, and saw her eyes widen in recognition.

"Oh."

"Hello to you to."

He watched as she visibly forced herself to relax. "I wasn't expecting you."

"You say that every time." The small grin on his face was matched by Elizabeth's raised eyebrow.

Some things didn't change.

***

He had expected her to go back to Simon. When they returned to Earth, after the interminable debriefing period where John started to go a little nuts at being kept confined and isolated under millions of tons of Colorado rock, he thought Elizabeth would go find Simon, maybe get married and put their misbegotten trip to another galaxy behind her.

Instead, she bought a house not far from Denver and holed up there, working as a consultant for the SGC. He had no idea if she even went to see Simon, but it was clear she wasn't moving on.

That probably wasn't good, but he was selfishly glad of it. Glad that she couldn't let it go so easily. He would hate to think Elizabeth could be that callous. She was – had been, rather – the leader. He'd seen her take every single setback as a personal failure, and respected her more for it. It wouldn't be like her to just go forward with her life as if Atlantis hadn't meant everything to her.

He knew at some point she needed to move on, but it was obvious she wasn't there yet. He could tell by the shadow that crossed her face from time to time. They ate bland Chinese take out and watched bad sports movies and made fun of the cheesy dialogue and kept score of the clichés being used repeatedly.

Elizabeth cracked open her fortune cookie. Her face paled. He took the tiny strip of paper from her. "You will overcome all obstacles to achieve your dreams."

He reached over and opened the other cookie. "Friends are a blessing never to be taken for granted."

He winced, the laser sharp image of Aiden Ford's face flashing through his mind. It looked in his memory like the young lieutenant was waving them goodbye from the sea of bodies in the control room. His brown eyes were full of agony and determination, while his other arm was crossed over his chest, pressed against the black stain of his blood which was spreading across the entire front of his uniform.

John had left him there, following Rodney and dragging a resisting Elizabeth through the wormhole with him.

He wondered, looking at her expressionless face now, if she would ever forgive him for it.

They watched the end of the football movie in silence. Elizabeth got up and he wasn't sure whether he should follow or not. She reappeared a few minutes later with a carton of ice cream – he'd learned long ago that she had an iron stomach – and they went to work on that. At one point, while they were discussing whether using a cliché automatically made the film cheesy, he noticed she had ice cream on the corner of her mouth. He reached over and wiped it off with his thumb.

Her eyes grew warmer and he almost kissed her, thought about kissing her and pushing her down onto the floor. They'd had sex on the couch before, as well as in her backyard, her shower, her bed and strangely enough in the backseat of her car, but not on the floor. But there was a noise from the tv, and she looked away from him and the moment passed.

When the second movie finished, near midnight, she insisted on cleaning the dishes. He followed her into the kitchen, tossing out the food cartons. He leaned against the counter next to her.

"I think I might get a dog," she said.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "For protection, you know? It's a little lonely back here."

Her eyes flickered up and met his again. He knew then what she wanted this time.

He grabbed her and spun her around, kissing her hard. The bowl she had been washing clattered into the sink. Her hands were still soapy as they tangled in his hair and the dishwater soaked into the neck of his shirt. He pressed his body against her, trapping her against the counter. She moaned into his mouth when his hands slid underneath her shirt. The small of her back was a spot he'd discovered a few months ago and stroking his fingers down the curve of her spine – just like that – never failed to drive her wild.

Elizabeth damn near tried to climb up his body and wrap herself around him, all the while kissing him frantically. Seeing her like this, completely abandoned in the moment, rubbing her hips against the bulge in his pants so shamelessly, made him just as crazy.

So they stripped off their jeans and he took her against the counter, hard and fast, Elizabeth hanging on to him and to the sink and moaning and cursing under her breath as he made her come.

Then he carried her into the bedroom, tucked her under the covers and watched over her as she fell asleep.


**

He was stretched out flat on his stomach, naked, quiet and calm. Elizabeth was awake. She sat cross-legged on the bed, wearing his t-shirt, staring at him. In the dim early morning light he couldn't read her expression.

"You're sleeping with Rodney too, aren't you."

There was no accusation in her voice, but John went completely tense. "How did you know?"

Her fingers ghosted over a raw patch of skin on his shoulder. Stubble burn. "It's the same kind of mark I get on my neck from you."

Her hand withdrew and John propped himself up on one elbow. He had no idea what to say.

Elizabeth picked at the hem of his shirt in her lap, not looking at him. "Why?"

He sighed a little. "He needs me." She nodded, biting her lip. He placed a hand on her calf. "Just like you do."

Elizabeth startled. She opened her mouth to deny it. She stopped, though, and leaned down so her face was closer to his. Her fingers brushed the hair back from his forehead and the tenderness in the gesture made him shiver.

"What about you, John?"

He closed his eyes. He thought of the ocean shoreline where he lived now, and of blue-gray waters that were millions of light years away. He thought of her tastefully empty bedroom, of Rodney's horrible scratchy couch, and of alien stained glass windows that somehow felt more like home than any other place. He thought of brown eyes, one pair warm and feminine and knowing, the other warm and male and grinning.

John looked up at Elizabeth, and his voice shook. "I need you both. I need you to survive this."

She kissed him then, pushing him onto his back and straddling him. He felt wetness on her cheeks. She was crying. But she kept kissing him, and her body was bare below the t-shirt and rubbing up against his own naked body. Her skin was soft and warm, and her mouth even warmer. John fell into all that warmth, wanting to get lost, wrapped up in it. When she took him in, the heat of her so intense, he yelled. They were still kissing, rocking into each other. John tugged on her hips, attempting to pull her even closer, his fingers bruising her skin. She didn't protest, only held on to him even more tightly.


**

It was late. John blinked, looking around the room. The blinds were all drawn shut but the light filtering through wasn't the soft shine of morning. It had to be around noon, if not later. His jeans were lying across the end of Elizabeth's bed and he tugged them on after a trip to the bathroom.

John walked into the kitchen and froze, his heart feeling like it would explode.

Rodney and Elizabeth were sitting at the table, eating sandwiches. They broke off their conversation when they saw him.

Rodney turned a little pink, but he kept eating. Elizabeth got up and kissed John on the cheek. "Good afternoon." She went into a cup board and grabbed a coffee mug, filling it and holding it out to him. He forced his arm to move, to take the cup, and then managed to sit down at the table with them.

It occurred to him that the three of them hadn't been in a room together in months, and that it was wrong that this should feel so uncomfortable.

"I called Rodney this morning after you fell asleep," Elizabeth said, answering his unasked question. "We decided the three of us needed to talk."

John's head swiveled to look at Rodney, who swallowed audibly. "Even considering the events we've been through, it's obvious that this, ah, situation, is not healthy for anyone."

Elizabeth touched his arm. "I know you're not fond of psychologists, John, but of the three of us, you're the only one who has refused to go to counseling."

"How do you know that?" John finally found his voice.

She shrugged and he saw a glimmer of the old Elizabeth Weir in her face. "I still have some privileges of rank."

"The situation is what it is. Do you really think talking to an outsider is going to help?"

"It can't hurt, can it? John," her voice dropped lower, full of concern. "You can't keep doing this. You can't hold us together while you're falling apart."

He leaned back from the table, arms crossed over his chest. "I'm not falling apart. I'm alright. Besides, I think it's my choice how I deal with this."

"You're not dealing with it at all," Rodney snapped.

John glared. "I'm trying to help you."

"You're killing yourself. You're just doing it really slowly." Rodney's anger radiated across the table.

"You need help, John," Elizabeth added in her most persuasive voice.

He shook his head. "I have help. I have you-" the words died on his lips as he realized what she – what they were saying. "No," he whispered.

Elizabeth looked at Rodney, who looked down at his plate. Her face was full of remorse. "It was selfish, what we've been doing. We've both been using you and it has to stop."

"No," John repeated, almost desperately. He got up from the table, looking at them, panic running through him. He couldn't lose them. Not after everything else. His throat was tight and his voice sounded ragged. "I don't mind. I want to help. I need to help you."

Rodney looked at him. "You have," he said, with uncharacteristic gentleness. "Now it's our turn to help you."

"By sending me away to tell some fucking shrink about my problems?" His voice rose and he was powerless to control the hysteric edge of it. "You're the only two people on this planet who have any idea what's happened to me and you think cutting me out of your lives is going to fucking help me?"

Both Rodney and Elizabeth stood up, their faces stricken. "John, we're not cutting you out of our lives-" Elizabeth began.

"It's not like that," Rodney added.

John rounded on him. "I did everything for you. Everything I possibly could. But you won't do the same for me."

Rodney started to answer but Elizabeth put a hand on his arm. She regarded John calmly, as if he were an opponent in a trading negotiation. "What you do want, John?"

The question caught him off guard. All he could think of was his panic, that he was losing them, after all his struggling to keep them safe and alive, they didn't need him any more and that was it, he was going to be left, a victim of his own success. His anger seethed towards them, the two of them, looking at him like he was the crazy one, and it was worse because he was starting to wonder if they were right, that he had been the one in need of saving all along.

He stared at Elizabeth but she didn't back down. "Anything?" He loaded as much insinuation into the word as he could.

She glanced at Rodney, who looked less than certain but nodded. Her eyes came back to his without flinching. "Anything. We owe it to you."

"Yes, you do," he snarled, but some of the fight had left him.

They regarded each other for a moment, then John turned and went back into the bedroom. He sat down on the edge of the bed and waited.

They followed him. Elizabeth sat down on one side of him, and Rodney on the other. "Tell us what you want, John."

Their calmness, their willingness, made his hands shake. John closed his eyes, tried to say something, issue an order of some kind, but all that came out was a muttered, "God damn it." Tears started to form in the corners of his eyes and his body rocked back and forth a little.

Elizabeth's arm wrapped around his neck, and he felt her breath against his cheek. She rocked with him. John felt Rodney's hands, one rubbing up and down his back, the other on his thigh.

"Don't..." he started and then couldn't go on.

Rodney's arm wrapped around his waist. "It's okay."

"Let it out, John."

He squeezed, holding their hands in each of his own. He couldn't formulate the words, so he just sat there, absorbing their presence - the feeling of skin against his fingers, warm breath on his neck, the sounds of their breathing, the slight creak of the mattress under them, the heat against his thighs where their bodies were pressed against his, the mingled smells of all of them together.

"Don't leave me," he managed to get out.

"We won't," Rodney whispered.

"We're here," Elizabeth murmured in his ear.

It was going to be the three of them, from now on. It had been a mistake to separate the way they had. He had no clue what would happen next, but there was no way for them to go on except to go on together.

These were the only two people he had left, so he held on to them, as if his life depended on it.

He fell asleep, lying in between Elizabeth and Rodney on her bed.

***