Jul. 31st, 2008
Fandom: SG: Atlantis
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Most of the wounds heal fairly quickly, even with the infections. But the deep, vicious cuts in Rodney's stomach, the ones that his medical record says were deep enough to let people poke around in his organs, take longer. By the time the last stitches come out, Rodney has gotten so used to seeing them that it's a surprise to step out of the shower, look in the mirror, and find them gone.
The scars, of course, stay to remind him.
John doesn't talk about what happened. Rodney doesn't ask him to. Rodney doesn't remember all of what happened, but he remembers enough to know that the rest isn't something he wants to have to think about. The drugs had confused him and kept him complacent, but they hadn't knocked him out. He knows exactly what the blade of the knife felt like cutting into him, and he knows what the bite of the needles into his spine was, and he knows what the hammer felt like coming down on his fingers.
Rodney shakes himself, wrapping his towel around his waist and turning away from the mirror. The scars on his stomach are still red, but all the tiny dots down his spine are already fading to white. There's nothing he can do about any of them, no way to wash them away, as badly as he wants to.
John is sitting at his desk, staring hard at the door, his expression tense. That's John's default setting anymore, and Rodney doesn't blame him. He's not exactly sure what he and John are doing, now. John sleeps in his bed, curled around him, and follows him around most of the day, but they're not...well, they're not where they were.
Rodney takes what comfort he can in the other man's presence, and bites his tongue against asking for more. He nods at John, moving towards his dresser, and John reaches out, lightning fast to catch Rodney's wrists, holding on tight.
Rodney blinks down at him, saying, "Hey," without really expecting a response, because John doesn't say very much anymore. He's surprised when John hums softly, when John tugs him a step closer, John's other hand coming up to ghost over the fishhook scar low on Rodney's stomach.
John's voice is hoarse, "The stitches all came out." Rodney nods, shivering a little when John flattens his palm against the scar. And then John draws his hand away, and leans forward, pressing a feather light kiss against the ruined skin.
Rodney sucks in a surprised breath, the warm brush of John's breath against his skin making his toes curl up. The scar tissue is sensitive, and he shivers again when John's tongue darts out, licking across the bottom curve of the hook.
"John?" Rodney's not sure when his voice got breathy like that. He swallows heavily, his heart beating way too fast. John tilts his face up without moving away, his chin resting against Rodney's stomach. His eyebrows are raised and he looks curious, calm. "What are—I mean." Rodney takes a deep breath, "I don't understand."
John shrugs, "Me either," and goes back to the kissing. For a long moment Rodney just stares down at the top of John's head, and then he lets himself breathe out, reaching one hand up to hesitantly run his fingers back through John's hair.
The strands are coarse beneath his touch, and John hums, pushing up into the touch. Rodney says, "Oh," not really sure why, and repeats the gesture, his other hand coming up to rest on John's shoulder.
There's a lot of scar tissue for John to cover. By the time he shifts back, just an inch, Rodney's skin is reddened by John's stubble, and he feels shaky. John blinks up at him, eyes dark and warm, and then John turns his head to the side, pressing a kiss to Rodney's wrist, reaching up to take Rodney's hand in both of his.
There's no outward sign of Rodney's broken fingers. The skin had been broken in a few places, but it had healed up without scars. But they ache, constant dull pain that Rodney hasn't told anyone about, because he knows there's nothing they can do about it.
John kisses each finger slowly, reverently, before drawing Rodney's index finger into his mouth and sucking. Rodney breaths, "Oh," again, his heart beating faster, and by the time John has finished with his hand Rodney feels weak-kneed and dizzy.
John stands slowly, his body warm and familiar pressed up against Rodney's. For a moment they just blink at one another, and then John slides a hand around the back of Rodney's neck, drawing him into a soft kiss. Rodney finds himself gripping handfuls of John's shirt, holding on even though the kiss is little more than a brush of their mouths together, barely there and teasing.
When John finally draws back, he says, "Rodney," tone so sad and lost that Rodney leans back in and kisses him again, soft and hesitant until John makes a soft sound against his mouth and gasps, "Bed, bed now."
Rodney nods, walking backwards across his room, John staying pressed close, still trading kisses that are so feather soft they might not even be connecting. John stops them before Rodney's legs even hit the mattress, one of his arms wrapped around Rodney's back, the other curved against the towel around Rodney's hips.
John pulls away after a lingering kiss, turning Rodney, pushing him towards the bed with a soft touch between the shoulder blades. Rodney feels like he's caught up in a dream, crawling up onto his bed, easing down slowly to his stomach, arms folding under his head.
John crawls on after him, a point of weight on either side of Rodney's hips, one hand braced beside Rodney's shoulder, warmth radiating between them. The brush of John's lips against the back of his neck is not a surprise, but Rodney gasps anyway, and John croons something wordless to him, covering all the tiny scars with his soft touch.
By the time John starts kissing down his spine, Rodney is shaking and can't stop. His eyes are burning, and he buries his face against his pillow, breathing fast and shallow and not sure what half the emotions he's feeling are. John is still murmuring to him softly, his free hand stroking up and down Rodney's skin, and the gesture is so obviously gentling that Rodney almost thinks he should be offended. He isn't.
The brush of John's lips right above the towel makes Rodney's breath catch. The scars don't extend below the edge, and Rodney isn't sure what happens now. When John rocks back, Rodney whimpers in loss, squeezing his eyes shut against the sharp flare of emotion in his chest.
And then John is turning him, rolling him onto his side and sliding down beside him. Rodney sucks in a shuddering breath, grabbing automatically, and he doesn't really know which of them are pulling where, but it doesn't matter because they end up all pressed together in any case.
Rodney has an arm around John, and one of his thighs is over John's hip, the poor towel finally giving up its fight to stay on. He thinks it should be a little weird that he's naked, with John still dressed, but then John is sliding a hand around his neck again, drawing him close and the kiss renders everything else unimportant.
John gasps, "Rodney," and rolls, pushing Rodney's shoulders down against the bed, settling over him, heavy and familiar and comforting. Rodney tangles his fingers in John's hair and holds him close, the kiss changing to something deeper, to the groan in John's chest, to the way they might be melting together.
"I—" John cuts himself off to tilt Rodney's head back, sucking at the skin over Rodney's wildly beating pulse. They're rocking against each other slowly, and Rodney doesn't even remember when that happened, the drag of the fabric of John's pants against his cock enough to make him want to squirm away and press closer all at the same time. "I need you to know that—" he moans raggedly, shoulders curving over as he grinds down against Rodney's thigh. "You need to know—" John makes a sound like a sob.
Rodney tightens his hold around John's back, holding onto him as tightly as possible, and uses his other hand to pull John's chin back up. He gasps out, "I do. John, I do," and John makes that odd, tight sound again, and then kisses him, hard and deep and desperate.
Rodney can feel the burst of warmth when John goes tense over him even through John's pants, and that's enough, that's all it takes, to push him over the edge of his own orgasm. He tightens his hand in John's hair, and they breathe each other's air, holding onto one another.
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