Variably Vacationing: Missing Scenes

Missing Scene One:

Summary: Going to the lake is the best thing that's ever happened to John. Or the worst. He hasn't decided yet.

Author's Note: Set after the first chapter of VV. Hey, they got those bathing suits, might as well use 'em. Plus, it's an opportunity for all that sexual tension to combust.

Going to the lake is the best thing that's ever happened to John. Or the worst. He hasn't decided yet.

They get there early, before the sun really starts beating down, because Elizabeth insists that it's the only way to snag a patch of the actual sand. Rodney eyes the more-gray-than-golden stretch of beach skeptically, arms wrapped around the thick book he's holding, and John leans closer to the other boy to say, "If you don't want to—"

"It's fine." Rodney smiles, but it looks a little tight. John feels himself frown, but before he can say anything else Rodney is stomping across to where the others are already dropping their bags. Ronon is spreading a sheet out, securing the corners with shoes and the jug of water they brought along.

By the time John catches up, Rodney has his sandals kicked off, his book settled safely near the middle of the sheet. Rodney has his hands balled up at the hemline of his shirt, watching the others shuck their extra clothes. Teyla is twisting her hair up and back into a sloppy bun, Elizabeth smearing on sunscreen with assistance provided by a very intent Ronon, and John sets down their bag, tugging his own shirt over his head.

John nudges Rodney, still not moving, in the shoulder while palming their bottle of sunscreen, the highest SPF the store was selling. He says, "C'mon, I'll get your shoulders," and Rodney stares at him for a half second before sighing and making a face.

Still, the shirt comes off, Rodney balling it up and dropping it on top of their bag. Rodney isn't so thin as he was anymore, and John stares right up to the point where Rodney crosses his arms and awkwardly starts to shift around. Then John shakes himself and says, "Right," to no one in particular.

Ronon laughs, trying to cover it with a cough, and John spares a second to glare at the back of the other boy's head. Teyla is already down by the water's edge, stepping in with one foot and calling over her shoulder, "It is not that cold at all!"

Rodney chooses then to snag the sunscreen out of John's hands, squeezing an insane amount out and rubbing it over his chest. John blinks rapidly, biting his bottom lip hard, and forcing himself to move before he's further tempted to give into the urge to just tackle Rodney.

Rodney's shoulders are warm under John's hands when he manages to get himself to touch them. The sunscreen makes everything slick, and smells strongly of coconut. John swallows heavily, spreading it around, concentrating hard on what he's doing. He wouldn't want to miss a spot and have Rodney burn.

After a moment, John notices that Rodney has stopped moving, gone completely still under his hands. John pauses, his fingers brushing against the nape of Rodney's neck, his other thumb sliding back and forth against the dip of Rodney's spine. He asks, his voice weird and thick, "Rodney?"

"Hm?" Rodney sounds sleepy, and pushes back expectantly against John's hands. And John figures that he could pursue the sudden stillness, or he could keep touching Rodney. He shrugs, and slides his hand down the line of Rodney's back. He's run out of sunscreen, is just moving his hands over Rodney's slick skin. He doesn't ever really want to have to stop.

Experimentally, he slides his hands a little forward, fingers slipping across Rodney's ribs at his sides. Rodney sucks in a breath, head tilting forward, so the darker curls at the back of his neck are all John can see. John finds himself easing a little closer, flattening his palms on Rodney's sides, sliding down, his fingers curling against the sharp jut of Rodney's hips.

The fabric of Rodney's swim trunks is startlingly rough, and John shakes himself, blinking rapidly. He blurts, "Right. Um. Right. It's all—it's rubbed in," and steps back, feeling dizzy and shaken.

Rodney shakes his head, moving jerkily when he starts rubbing the sunscreen in his hands over his arms. Rodney keeps his head down when he says, "I—yes. Of course. Thanks." All John can do is not mutely, and then Rodney is stretching forward on the sheet, continuing, "I'm just going to, you know, read for a while. Go splash around."

John bobs his head again, attempting to casually hold his hands in front of his swim trunks when he hurries down to the water's edge. Luckily, Ronon is the only one of the others that seems to be paying him any attention, and John doubts that his present condition is exactly a surprise to the other boy to begin with.

Teyla lied. The water is almost freezing, but, really, right now that's probably for the best.


The water temperature isn't so bad once John gets used to it. Elizabeth runs back up to the blanket to get the Frisbee she'd brought along, and they end up throwing it back and forth in chest deep water while the lake gradually fills up with other people.

John keeps most of his attention on Rodney, making sure no one comes too close to him, and gets smacked in the head with the Frisbee enough times that it has to be intentional. Ronon isn't even trying to hide his grin when John glares at him.

For his part, Rodney seems absorbed in his book, ignoring the increasing bustle around him. The only time Rodney looks up it's to glare at the screaming toddler a few blankets away. Luckily, the kid's parents take it up to the concession stand a few minutes later, and John relaxes again.

John asks Teyla, in a break between Frisbees, "How long does that stuff last? Before you have to reapply it?"

For a half-second, Teyla just stares at him. And then she smiles, looking far too impish for John's comfort. She splashes him in the face, saying as he sputters, "Several hours at least. Perhaps you should see if he will join us for a while?"

John hesitates, but only for a minute. It can't actually hurt anything to ask Rodney. Best case scenario, Rodney will join them, and even if he doesn't, it means that John will get a break from being hit in the head. It's starting to get annoying.

Rodney looks up when John flops down on the sand beside him, not wanting to get the sheet wet. Rodney's curled up around his book, and blinks at John before smiling, marking the page with his finger. John grins back, ignoring the burst of warmth that comes from Rodney focusing on him.

John manages to say, after a moment, "You want to come in for awhile? It's warmed up some," though still not a lot.

At first John thinks Rodney is going to say no, but then he turns the book over, pushing up, saying, "Sure, of course, yes. Why does Ronon keep hitting you with the Frisbee?" And John makes a face, shrugging, following Rodney back down to the water.


The Frisbee game doesn't last very long once Rodney joins them. The first time Ronon nails John in the temple, Rodney snatches the toy and throw it out across the lake, past the swimming area. For a half second, John even thinks the situation might come to blows, Rodney going tense and angry, glaring hard at Ronon.

Then Ronon raises one hand, sliding back a step, and Rodney nods, grabbing John's hand under the water and threading their fingers together. John isn't sure if he should like Rodney's oddly protective streak as much as he does, but he can't help it. He squeezes Rodney's hand, and Rodney turns to smile at him, wide and happy.

After that, Teyla attempts to teach them all how to properly do the dead man's float, and, for the most part, they all fail miserably. John sinks like a stone every time he tries, not sure if it's something in his body chemistry causing the problem, or if he just can't hold his breath properly. And, if he reacts rather badly to seeing Rodney floating face down in the water, no one says a thing when he grabs the other boy and pulls him up.

Teyla actually looks guilty, and John wonders what's showing on his face, trying to slow his heart rate back down, reassuring himself that Rodney is breathing and that everything is fine.

And that's when they all seem to remember that John is stronger than average. He spends the next hour throwing them, one after another, out across the water. They all laugh delightedly, and Rodney doesn't ask to be thrown, instead floating beside John on his back, eyes closed, expression peaceful.


They slog their way out of the water for lunch. Ronon had insisted on being left in charge of food duties, though John had packed extra for he and Rodney, just in case. He hadn't really been prepared for Ronon to lay out a whole spread.

There are sandwiches, fruit salad, cole slaw, chips, and baked beans in an insulated container. John boggles down at all the food, while Rodney asks, "Your mom made all this?" sounding surprised and a little awed. John feels his spine stiffen, something low and bitter filling up his gut.

It worsens when Ronon shakes his head, handing out plates, "I did. I like cooking."

John glares at the other boy, and then catches himself. They all fill up their plates, settling back on the sand, John feeling uncomfortably irritated, though he isn't quite sure why. He's poking at his food when Rodney takes a happy bite of his sandwich and says, "John's a great cook. He makes me cookies."

For a moment no one says a word, Elizabeth ducking her head and, John is sure, grinning behind her hand. Ronon and Teyla keep straight faces, and John can feel the tips of his ears staining red, while at the same time some of his upset fades to pleasure.

Rodney continues, swallowing, "And he makes the best pancakes. And macaroni and cheese. And the," Rodney gestures with his sandwich, eyes distant, "the hamburgers? So good," he makes a pleased little sound, and John feels himself grinning like an idiot. He scoots a little closer to Rodney, until their thighs are all pressed together.

Rodney says, "Here, try this," and picks up a deviled egg, raising it to John's mouth. John opens his lips automatically, feeling Rodney's thumb brush against the corner of his mouth. John doesn't even taste the food, nodding mutely when Rodney asks if it was good a half-second later.

John spends the rest of the meal in a pleasant daze, especially when he decides that Rodney feeding him means it's perfectly alright for him to feed Rodney back. He might go slightly overboard with all the fruit salad, but Rodney doesn't complain, and John doesn't mind the stickiness on his fingers at all.

The others all wander off down the beach after awhile, but John barely notices them go. The food is mostly gone, and John leans back beside Rodney, the warmth of the sun beating down on him and his full stomach making him feel drowsy.

Apparently it's having the same effect on Rodney, because he tugs at John's arm, forcing John to recline all the way on the sheet and then sprawling out beside him. A half second later Rodney is pillowing his head on John's shoulder, making a soft grumbling sound, and then looping an arm over John's chest.

John spares a thought to worry about how this is almost certainly going to result with him being tanned different colors, and then decides he doesn't care. He presses his own hand over the small of Rodney's back. Rodney's skin is warm, soft, and the boy hums, squeezing John just a little and then relaxing against him.

John has just enough presence of mind to grope around for one of the stray towels, and balls it up over his lap in the hopes of not traumatizing any of their fellow beach patrons with his hard-on. And then he closes his eyes, and sinks down into a light sleep.


John wakes up to Rodney poking him in the shoulder, saying, "Wake up, I need you to get my back."

John's mind feels thick and slow, but he manages to sit up anyway, blinking the last vestiges of sleep away while Rodney pushes the sunscreen tube into his hands. John manages to get it open and squeeze out a bunch into his palm on autopilot, and Rodney hums approvingly, rolling over onto his stomach.

Rodney's shoulders are already darker than they had been, even with the judicious application of sunscreen. There are, in fact, tiny little freckles spreading across the other boy's pale skin. John brushes his thumb over a cluster by Rodney's neck, and Rodney shivers.

John blinks, swallowing heavily and spreading it around. Rodney's skin is very, very warm. John finds himself stroking up and down Rodney's spine, the other boy's head pillowed on his arms. Rodney might be asleep again, John isn't sure, and can't quite make himself focus enough to ask.

There's something insanely fascinating about the way his skin contrasts with Rodney's. He's darker than Rodney, and Rodney's skin is so, so soft. John braces his free hand by Rodney's ribs, watching the slow slide of his fingers up and down Rodney's spine, breath hitching when his fingers brush against the waistband of Rodney's swim trunks.

Rodney makes a little questioning sound, shifting back and forth, and John realizes he'd paused. He starts stroking again without even thinking about it, and Rodney resettles with a pleased hum.

John does not in any way intend to slide his fingers just a little lower the next pass. It's completely accidental. He swallows heavily, watching the way just the tip of his little finger disappears beneath the light blue trunks. He curls his finger up, rubbing across Rodney's skin, letting out a shuddery little breath.

It's easy to repeat the slow movement, over and over again. He thinks they should probably do this a lot, as often as possible, and starts trying to come up with excuses to convince Rodney to let him do this at home. Maybe offering backrubs would work.

There's movement above them, and John looks up, still feeling mostly distracted and focused on Rodney. A woman he doesn't recognize is standing above them, leaning over, her arms crossed tight beneath her impressive bosom when she says, smiling, "There are children here, you should both be ashamed of yourselves."

For a moment all John can do is frown, trying to make sense of her expression coupled with the iciness in her voice. It jars him out of the almost giddy good mood he'd been in, and he stills his hand low on Rodney's back, scowling up at her, "What?"

The woman just shakes her head, straightening and walking away with a flick of her hair over her shoulder. Rodney pushes up onto one elbow, eyes sharp as his tone when he asks, "What was that about?" John shrugs, rubbing his thumb back and forth absently. Rodney frowns for another long moment and then slumps down, mumbling, "If you want to go back to the water you can. I, um, I might be a few minutes."

John swallows heavily, staring down at the bunched up towel. His voice comes out tight, "Yeah. I might. In a while." And he starts concentrating on thinking un-sexy thoughts.

A few minutes later, Rodney raises his head again, looking thoughtful when he says, "Where the hell did everyone else get to, anyway?"

And that is, of course, when the screaming starts.


The concession stand building is burning. Thick black smoke is pouring out of the doors and windows of the building. People are stumbling out, one woman on fire, screeching as she runs wildly across the sand, throwing herself into the water as John and Rodney run up.

The heat is insane, and John grabs Rodney's arm when the other boy tries to run even closer. Rodney's expression is twisted up in concentration, darkening with frustration when he gasps and sags down, panting, "I can't, there's nothing for me to do."

And then someone screams from inside the building, and John shakes Rodney hard, staring down into the boy's wide blue eyes and shouting, "Stay here!" Rodney yells for him when John starts for the building, so John runs faster, automatically raising his arms over his face when he steps through the blazing door.

Flames dance across John's skin, but don't do anything. The smoke is so thick he can barely see anything, he bats at it uselessly, trying to follow the panicked shouts he can hear from further inside. Everything is melting and burning all around him, including his swim trunks, which he pulls away from his skin, trying not to think about how he is now naked.

There are two people hiding in the tiny walk-in freezer in the back of the building. One of them is already burned, curled up on their side, the second trying to help them while sobbing. They're both kids. John looks at them, looks at the flames everywhere, and curses, because he doesn't know that he can carry them through this without catching them inadvertently on fire.

The uninjured kid, a girl with soot smeared all over her face, looks up then. Her eyes go wide, a sob choking off in the back of her throat, and John draws up his shoulders. He can't just leave them here. He says, pulling the freezer door completely out of the way, "I'm going to get you out," and he must sound more sure than he feels, because the girl nods shakily, tears streaking down her cheeks.

John swallows heavily, kneeling beside the injured boy. The boy's skin is blackened up his neck and across one cheek. Thankfully, the kid also appears to be unconscious. John sucks in a deep breath, in the process of pulling the boy over his shoulder when he pauses, staring at the back wall of the freezer. There's an idea jumping up and down and shouting for attention in the back of his head.

John turns his head to look at the girl, demanding, "Where does that wall go?"

For a moment he thinks she won't answer, but then she blurts, "Outside, I think? By the bathrooms maybe?" And that's good enough. John settles the boy back on the ground, crossing to the back in two steps, yanking the shelving away, ignoring the food that bounces off of his feet, slamming his shoulder into the wall.

It bows out. John grits his teeth, turning to get a running start this time. The girl is watching him with huge eyes, her mouth hanging up, and John flashes her a sharp grin. He hits the wall with everything he has, and then punches the thinnest point of impact. His fist goes through to open air.

John laughs a little, widening the hole, grabbing the metal and yanking. It bends and warps and then it's big enough. John turns, yells at the girl, "Go!" and scrambles back to grab the boy. The girl is already out, coughing on the sand, by the time John manages to carry the boy through.

People are running up, and John hears himself yelling for a doctor, for Rodney without even thinking about it. And just like that, Rodney is there, hitting John and yelling, "Holy fuck!" Rodney is wild eyed, and John wraps his arms around the other boy, holding him close for a long moment before remembering that he's naked, and wow, this is about to end really badly.

Thankfully, the others choose then to run up, Teyla carrying a towel, Elizabeth raising her hands, the temperature plunging. John sits down when Teyla thrusts the towel at him, wrapping it around his waist and watching Elizabeth do what she can for the fire.

Mostly all John is aware of is the way Rodney is still trying to wrap around him. One of Rodney's arms is around John's neck, and John says, "It's okay," blood pounding with adrenaline as he pats at Rodney's arms and shoulders. "I'm fine." Rodney nods, quick and jerky, but doesn't relax his grip at all.

That's for the best, because John really doesn't want him to let go.


Missing Scene Two

Summary: Teyla and Carson discuss their future plans.

Author's Note: Set after the end chapter three of VV.

The school is dark and quiet now. The parking lots are mostly empty, though Mr. Jackson's car is sitting in one of the back lots. No one else is there, but Teyla parks on the other side of the school, just in case. For a moment they just sit beside each other when she turns off the engine, and then Carson tilts his head to the side, smiling at her and offering her a hand, "Walk with me?"

Teyla grins at him, squeezing his hand briefly before sliding out of the car. The night air is warm and balmy, the car's engine making little settling sounds. Further away there is a cricket making a racket, and the slow, lazy, wind is stirring the branches of the trees set around the property.

Carson comes around the car to take her hand again, threading their fingers together and leaning down to kiss her softly. Teyla smiles against his mouth, turning into him, and sliding an arm around his neck. When they slide apart after a long moment, they stay close, foreheads pressed together.

Here, like this, it is so easy for Teyla to feel what Carson is feeling. He's intentionally pulled back his defenses. All the warmth and affection washes over her. She closes her eyes, smiling giddily, basking in all that he's showing her.

Teyla says, into the space between them, "I love you, too," and he tilts her chin up, kissing her again.

Carson pulls back after a long moment, bringing his hands up, brushing his thumbs across her cheeks. He's watching her, eyes bright and happy. She leans into his touch, and he whispers, soft and thick, "Come on, let's walk awhile."

The grass is dry under their feet when they step off the parking lot. Carson's hand in hers is warm and strong, his fingers curling up over her knuckles. For a time they walk in relative silence, bats occasionally winging by overhead, the lone cricket joined by others of its kind in an increasingly noisy chorus.

Finally Teyla asks, swinging their arms, "I would very much like to hear you say the things you are thinking about."

Carson makes a soft sound, ducking his head and blushing. She can feel his rush of embarrassment, but it's muted beneath his affection and happiness. They keep walking, passing over a patch of burnt earth that Teyla remembers far too well. She shakes herself.

Carson tightens his grip on her hand, squeezing until she looks up at him. His expression is soft and mournful, "I wish I could have been here with you." And Teyla just shakes her head, because as much as she had wanted him, to hold onto, to stand beside, when everything had turned to screams and fire, she had been relieved that he was safely away from it all.

He's not a warrior, not the way she sometimes feels the rest of them are becoming, some more reluctantly than others. That is part of the reason she loves him as much as she does. The fact that he means it, that even though the thought of hurting another person makes him physically ill, he would do it to protect her, only makes the knot of emotion in her chest tighter.

He says, when the silence between them has stretched out again, "I miss you so much," soft and mournful.

"I know," Teyla stops walking, wrapping her arms around him and resting her head on his shoulder. "I wish you were with me always." She wonders if that sounds too much, if she might be freaking him out. But he only nods, his arms slung low around her waist, leaning his cheek against the top of her head.

"My parents won't be able to control my life forever," there's a hopeful note in his tone, and Teyla nods, tightening her arms around him. He takes a deep breath, "I—I hope you'll still have me. I thought, perhaps, we could spend a year abroad, before college? Together?"

Teyla sucks in a surprised breath, skimming along his mind just to make sure he's serious. Everything she gets from him is sincerity and hope. She twists her fingers in his shirt, turning the thought over in her mind, testing it out. Carson blurts, "If you don't want to, I—"

Kissing him quiets the back-peddling.

Teyla says, half-breathless, "I would like that. Very much." He smiles at her wildly for a moment before leaning back in, his hands sliding up to tangle in her hair when they kiss. He speaks quickly between the kisses, telling her of all the places he wants to go, excited descriptions cut off when their lips meet again.

Teyla listens, and feels the nameless, twisting, worry from the fair finally ease.


Missing Scene Three

Summary: She smells like his, like the pieces that he's been missing his entire life.

Author's Note: Set towards the middle of chapter three of VV, when they all get drunk in Elizabeth's new apartment, and she takes Ronon down the hall. You see where this is going?

Ronon can see perfectly well in the darkened bedroom. There are boxes set in stacks around the room, the bed leaning against the wall, the mattress on the ground. The blankets are already messy. Ronon can smell Rodney on them, though the other boy's warmth faded from them hours ago.

Elizabeth twists back to look at Ronon, one foot braced on the mattress. She's smiling, looking up at him through her eyelashes, her hair tangled around her face. She has her fingers wrapped up in the hem of her shirt, twisting them back and forth while she watches him. He much prefers smelling her to anything else in this room, in this building, in this town, anywhere.

His gifts don't work on a level that anyone else seems to understand. Ronon has never been able to explain what she is, what he knows about her. He doesn't really want to. She smells like his, like the pieces that he's been missing his entire life.

At first, he had been confused by the way her attentions were distracted by another boy. It was so obvious to him, but he'd learned over the years that most of the things that were so clear to him were not so blatantly evident to others. She couldn't just know that they belonged together. No more than Rodney could smell how much John wanted him.

So he'd been patient. There'd been no way to ignore the way she called to him, but he'd made an effort not to push too hard. And when that bastard that had dared touch her had walked in smelling like another woman it had taken every bit of control that had been beaten into Ronon over the years to restrain himself from just beating the hell out of the other boy. But he'd controlled himself then, as well.

And now they are here, her scent filling up the room, want and desire surrounding him and leaving him feeling drugged. She swallows, licking her bottom lip, extending one hand to him, palm up, her eyes big and soft and gentle.

Ronon goes to her. Their fingers tangle together, hers small, thin, pale, cool, his large, thick, dark, warm. They are a study in contrasts, and for a long time he just examines the way their hands fit together. And then she takes another step back onto the mattress. He can feel the vibrations through the air when she adjusts her weight to stay balanced on the unsteady footing.

He looks up. She is still shorter than him, even with the extra inches the mattress gives her, but she is closer to his height now. She wraps an arm around his neck, the touch of her skin against his making him groan, the slow slide of her fingers across the back of his neck sending shivers down his spine.

Elizabeth smiles, softly, pulling on him just a little. Ronon sways towards her, caught up and tangled in her. Her kiss feels as though it might kill him, the taste of her on his tongue, bitter with alcohol but so sweet beneath. He flattens his hand on her back, feeling her heartbeat like his own, feeling her skin raise in gooseflesh, picking up the tiny vibrations through the air when her eyelashes flutter closed and she moans against his mouth.

They tangle together like that, the world going still and distant. Ronon loses track of the sound of traffic down below them. He can no longer hear the soft conversation Rodney and John are having out in the living room, or smell the thick, aching, surge of their want for each other. All that exists is Elizabeth.

When Elizabeth pulls back, Ronon slowly opens his eyes, watching her. Her skin is flushed red, he can hear the increasingly fast pounding of her heart, can taste her want for him. It's heady. He feels dizzy, and breathing deeply just pulls more of her into his system.

Before he can get completely lost, she is biting at her lips, tilting her face down and to the side when she grabs for the hem of her shirt again, pulling it up and over her head. She'd called it her work shirt, earlier, baggy and too big, nearly threadbare. It smells like her and her laundry detergent to the point that Ronon has to concentrate to tell what it's made out of.

He'd liked her wearing it. He likes it better now that she's not.

Ronon doesn't consciously remember stepping forward, but he's before her, bending to kiss and lick at the curve of her neck. Her skin is soft and slightly cool. Ronon rumbles, feeling her gasp. She grabs at his shoulders, supporting herself as he kisses out towards the edge of her shoulder.

By her bra strap, he pauses, nudging it with his nose. The cotton is dark against her skin, plain and unadorned. Elizabeth says, "Ronon," soft and throaty, and he slides a hand up her arm, hooking a finger in the strap by the dip of her collarbone and pulling it to the side.

When Ronon makes his way across to her other shoulder, he bends further, trailing his mouth over the swell of her breasts, feeling her gasp, her heart pounding like a freight train. He feels out of control, off balance, needy enough that it frightens him, or would, if he could think of anything beyond the here and now.

Ronon pulls the other strap off of her shoulder, and frowns when the bra doesn't just fall off. Elizabeth laughs, soft and breathless, taking her hands off of his shoulders. She grabs the bra under one of the cups, twisting it around, pulling clumsily at the clasps when she gets to them, making a soft, crowing, sound of victory when they give, and the bra tumbles down to the bed.

When he drops to his knees, nuzzling against the soft, smooth, skin between her breasts, she laughs at him. It's a delighted sound, and Ronon feels himself smile, turning his head to the side and pressing an experimental kiss to the slope of one of her breasts.

Her breath hitches, heard and felt, so he does it again. She's so soft here, firm at the same time, and her nipples are hard. Ronon blows breath across one and hears her moan, feels her fingers twist in his hair. She's shifting her feet constantly on the bed, like she can't be still.

Ronon circles the outer edge of her nipple with his tongue, running his hands up her back. She's so small, his hands fit perfectly against her shoulder blades. She leans before back into the touch, then jerks forward when he closes his lips around her nipple and sucks, just a little.

Elizabeth is making little gasping sounds constantly now, one of her arms wrapped around Ronon's head, like she's trying to hold him in place. He slides his own hands down, arms curling around her waist, thumbs tucking into the waistband of her jeans.

He stays there, determined to spend as much time as she'll allow him with his mouth on her skin, licking and sucking and listening to the sounds it pulls out of her throat. She's leaning heavily into him now, breathing in ragged gasps, her hips rocking against empty air in front of his chest.

When she shudders, Ronon pulls back, blinking, feeling like he's waking from a dream. Elizabeth's eyes are squeezed closed, her lips parted, cheeks and throat stained red. She sags down against him, going limp and sated, and Ronon takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and letting himself memorize this.

Elizabeth says, after a long moment, where he's cradling her against his neck, "Have you ever done this before?"

Ronon shakes his head, not even considering lying to her. He couldn't do this, with anyone but her, he doesn't think. Anyone else would have smelled wrong, would have tasted bitter and rotten on his tongue. She makes a soft, pleased, sound, and leans away from him.

She sinks down slowly to the mattress, keeping her gaze on him the entire way. Ronon watches, breathing hard, watching her slide her hands up over her ribs, down the tight skin of her stomach. She has to push her hips up to get her jeans over the swell of them, squirming back and forth on the mattress and then kicking them the rest of the way off with soft laughter.

Her panties are plain white, and wet. Elizabeth pushes herself up onto one elbow, her breasts shifting softly with the movement. Her voice is very soft, "Take your clothes off, it's okay."

For a long moment Ronon can't even look away from her, but then he manages a nod. He feels like he's burning up in the clothes anyway, tearing his shirt over his head and throwing it aside. Yanking his pants off is slightly more difficult, but he manages, even though the button goes spinning somewhere across the room, prompting another delighted laugh from Elizabeth.

And then he's naked. He slides down, stretching out beside her on the mattress, painfully aware of her, groaning helplessly when she arches up again, sliding off the last little piece of her clothing. Elizabeth rolls towards him then, wrapping an arm around his chest, bringing their naked skin into contact in all kinds of wonderful places.

They kiss deep and messily, lying on their sides, legs tangling together. When the head of his cock slides against her stomach, Ronon sucks in a deep breath, seeing sparks behind his eyes. She grins, pressing a kiss to his neck, rubbing up against him, pressing closer. He grunts, words nearly failing him, "I want—"

Elizabeth nods, kissing him again, her tongue slipping past his lips. She rolls, and Ronon follows, because he can't bear to be not touching her. He finds himself staring down at her, breathing raggedly while she winds her arms around his neck and shifts.

The insides of her thighs brush against Ronon's hips, and he gasps, biting his tongue hard. The way their bodies are pressed together he can feel her, hot and wet against him, his cock pressed against the curve of her hip. She says, "I want you to."

She does. He can almost taste how much she does, and there's no lie in her expression. It's nearly overwhelming for him to shift. His fingers feel stiff and useless when he tries to get where he needs to be. Elizabeth gasps when he accidentally brushes his fingers over the hot, wet, folds of her body, her hips rising into the touch.

Ronon completely loses track of what he had been doing. It seems slightly unimportant when he repeats the motion and she arches up against him, spreading her thighs wider. Ronon drops his forehead down to her shoulder, sucking on her soft skin, touching softly, listening to the way it makes her breath catch, the rising tension he can feel in her muscles.

She cries out, high and sweet, at the brush of his thumb. He's breathing hard, concentrating, trying to repeat the exact soft touches. She's rocking up against his hand, gripping at his shoulders, one of her knees hitching up.

When Elizabeth throws her head back, making a sound almost like a sob, he can feel all the muscles in under his touch jumping and twitching. Her scent is filling him up, want and need and sex. Sliding a finger into her just feels like the right thing to do, and she yells his name, her body clenching down around his finger.

Inside, she's hot and wet, tight. Ronon finally tilts his head to the side, sucking in desperate breathes, moving his hand with the slowed roll of her hips. After a long moment she reaches down, her thin fingers circling his wrist, her voice thick when she rasps, "Now, I want you to be in me now."

Ronon nods jerkily, sliding his finger out of her, shifting. She is watching him with dark eyes, her hair tangled and damp with sweat, her body spread out beneath his. Ronon gasps for breath, and eases himself into her welcoming body.

It doesn't seem as though it should all work, but he's watching it happen, so he can't really disbelieve it. Elizabeth moans, her hands gripping at his biceps, squeezing hard as he stares down at the place where they're bodies are joined together.

Around him, she is perfect and hot and wet and so tight Ronon can't breathe. She is all around him, in every single way that he can imagine. He can't think, he can't move, sure that this much pleasure will kill him.

And then she arches up, tangling one hand into his hair and pulling him down, kissing him sweet and needy. Ronon shouts, hoarse, body curling up over hers, unable to do anything but be tumbled by the force of his orgasm, shuddering, shaking, ripping apart.

Elizabeth holds him together through it.


Missing Scene Four

Summary: Rodney and John take the time to process some of their newest traumas.

Author's Note: Set between the last chapter of VV and the epilogue.

They can't keep Rodney in the hospital forever, no matter how confused they are over the amount of blood he lost, or some of the strange things that are turning up on their scans. They all know about healers, of course, but there's a big argument about how they need to be able to study the effects of Carson's gift on people with wounds as severe as his had been, in the pursuit of understanding how it happened.

Rodney doesn't particularly fucking care about their EKGs, tests, poking and prodding. He has no interest in being a case in one of their medical textbooks. He just wants to go home. John makes it happen, and that's all that matters right at the moment.

John's parents linger around the front hallway when John helps Rodney up the stairs. Rodney means to say something to them. A thank you. Possibly an apology. But he just can't, shivering again, the way that he can't seem to help since Carson and Teyla brought him back.

John says, "I've got you," soft and sure, his arm around Rodney's waist, walking him to their door.

The window in their room has been boarded over. All the broken glass is gone, and John winces when he looks at it, going pale. Rodney says, "Hey," and turns John back to him, away from the window, kissing him soft and slow.

After a long moment John groans, pulling away just far enough to whisper, "The doctors said you have to rest." John cuts a look towards the bed and Rodney feels something in his stomach flip. He kicks his shoes off and sits himself down on the edge of the mattress.

When he looks up, John is staring, hands fisted up by his sides, breathing faster than he had been a second ago. Rodney tips his chin up, twisting his fingers into the sheets by his hips and trying not to sound as shaky as he feels, "You too, come here."

John is to him in less time than it takes Rodney to blink, bending over in front of him, one hand braced on the bed by Rodney's hip, curling his other hand around the back of Rodney neck, breathing, "I want—" all dark eyes and intensity.

Rodney says, "Yeah," and John makes a rough sound, kissing him. Rodney falls into it, his hands finding their way to John's arms, sliding up to his shoulders, fingers clenching in John's t-shirt. It's so hard to think about anything beyond this. Rodney stops even trying, instead pulling on John, trying to get him closer.

John groans against Rodney's mouth, and when Rodney leans back, John comes with him. The mattress feels different, somehow, against Rodney's back. Or maybe that's just John's weight and warmth spread over him, twisting the world into something new and wonderful.

They've stopped kissing. John is just staring down at him, expression open and awed. Rodney feels his skin go hot, winding his arms around John's shoulders and pulling himself up enough to kiss the corner of John's soft smile. That gets things back on track.

They're only half on the bed, and Rodney is sure he should probably scoot up or something. But he doesn't want to move, not when John is bracing an elbow by his head, his other hand tangling in Rodney's curls, kissing him, pressing him down into the bed.

John rubs against him, solid warmth in all kinds of places that feel perfect, and Rodney gasps, grasping tighter at John's shoulders. When John rises up just a little, Rodney whimpers in loss, trying to pull him back down.

John is breathing raggedly, his cheeks flushed and his mouth red when he pants out, "Am I too heavy? Should I—"

"No. No, come back, I need—" and it's just as well John is kissing him before Rodney can finish the thought, because he doesn't know what he would have ended with. John shifts around, getting one knee on the bed by Rodney's hip, then making a frustrated sound when that separates their bodies and taking it off again.

Rodney feels like he might be going insane, lost in the feel of John's mouth, his body, needing more, and only vaguely sure what that more might be. He groans, tugging at John's shirt, and then deciding that John leaning back to take it off would be a bad thing. He works his hands up under the back instead, and John makes a ragged sound, grinding down against him hard.

And, okay, in the hospital Rodney had felt John's erection when they'd kissed. In the police station, too, though he hates even thinking about that. But not like this, hard against Rodney's hip, hot through the layers of their clothes. John must be able to feel Rodney's as well, poking against him, and the thought of it, that it's okay, that it's good, is enough to make Rodney kiss John more desperately, arching his spine up and trying to rub his whole body against John's.

In an amazing, perfect, wonderful, turn of events, John appears to be completely onboard with that. He sucks at Rodney's tongue, just briefly, hips pushing down. Rodney hears himself say John's name, though he barely recognizes his own voice, breathy and tight, wondering how they went from standing in the doorway to this in under a minute.

Then John is rasping, "Yeah, Rodney, oh God," and shuddering over him. And that's John coming. That's John getting off. Rodney can just feel it against his thigh, can feel it in the way the muscles in John's back and shoulders tense up, and it's-it's-it's—

Rodney squeezes his eyes shut, clinging to John, trying to pull him down even further when he comes.

It's so much better than beating off. Especially the way John is just sagging down on him, breathing heavy and hot against the side of Rodney's neck, pressing kisses to the tingling skin there every now and then, murmuring almost silently, "Rodney, Rodney, Rodney, Rodney."


When they can finally move again, they disentangle themselves slowly. Rodney can feel himself blushing, especially when John steps out of his jeans. There's a big wet spot on the front of John's underwear, and after a moment Rodney realizes that he isn't sure if he should be looking at John's underwear or not, and drops his gaze to the floor.

Rodney ends up squirming out of his own pants, just to take his mind off of all the questions he has, and then pulling his socks off because he feels weird having them on all of a sudden. He curls his toes up, his own wet spot starting to go uncomfortably cool against his thigh, and John says, voice low and hesitant, "Do you want—I mean—do you want something else? To sleep in?"

Rodney looks up at him, forgetting momentarily to be embarrassed. John is standing by their dresser, already wearing new underwear. He looks rumpled, his hair a mess, his mouth still reddened from where Rodney was kissing him, his shirt twisted oddly around his arms. For a moment Rodney forgets what the question was. Hell, for a moment he forgets there even was a question.

Then he shakes himself, and nods. John smiles, really big, before blushing brilliantly and ducking his head down. He tosses Rodney a pair, and Rodney holds them for a moment, twisting them in his fingers before biting his bottom lip and managing, "Could you, I mean, maybe you could," he trails off, biting his bottom lip.

But John must understand him anyway, eyes going wide before he blurts, "Yeah, sure. Of course," turning to look at the wall. Rodney can feel himself blushing, kicking off his old boxers and almost falling over when he tries to pull the new ones on. He curses under his breath, and dives under the covers, hoping they'll hide the way he's pretty sure his entire body has gone red.

Rodney keeps his face buried in the pillow, twisting just enough to the side to mumble, "John? I'm cold," which is a lie, a horrible, huge, bold faced lie. He feels warm, bordering on hot, but he wants John to curl up beside him again.

Before he can spend too much time feeling guilty about it, John is there, sliding under the blankets, and hesitating for just a second before Rodney pushes into his space. And then John relaxes all at once, pulling Rodney close, snugging up behind him, until they're pressed together all over.

Rodney swallows, reaching back to grab John's hand and putting it on his stomach. The touch makes the muscles there jump, the way it always does, and Rodney shivers, pushing back against John's chest just because he's always wanted to. He says, his voice coming out weird, "Do you—the pillow?"

"No!" John's voice is surprisingly vehement and Rodney twists his head around as best he can to blink at the other boy. John tightens his hold on Rodney's waist, sliding one of his legs forward, until his knee is kind of almost between Rodney's. "I mean, no. No, I like this." And Rodney feels himself helplessly grinning, because he likes this too.

Rodney says, softer, feeling heavy and warm and content now, with John all wrapped around him, "I'm really tired."

John nods, squirming around just briefly, pressing his cheek up against Rodney's neck and then settling. He says, rubbing little tiny circles on Rodney's stomach, "You sleep for a while, okay? I'll be right here," and Rodney hums, falling asleep fast and deep.


Rodney wakes up feeling warm, content, and tingly. He moans, surprised by how loud it sounds in the quiet room, when John presses a kiss to the line of his neck. The skin there already feels sensitive, and John makes a tiny little pleased sound, nosing up into Rodney's hair and kissing the skin behind Rodney's ear. Rodney gasps, "Oh, god," grabbing at John's arm, still wrapped around his waist, trying to push further back against John.

John mumbles, voice muffled against Rodney's skin, "Sleep well?" He has himself propped up on one elbow, Rodney realizes after a moment, his arm tucked under Rodney's head. Rodney nods, though he can't really even remember being asleep at this point. He can feel John's smile against his skin, "Good."

Rodney twists his head back, gasping when John's fingers on his stomach slide down, skimming across the waistband of his boxers. John goes still, raising his head enough to meet Rodney's gaze, asking carefully, "No?"

Wasting time thinking about that question would just be irredeemably stupid. Rodney tightens his grip on John's wrist, pushing minutely down, his voice almost a whisper when he says, "Yes." John is still staring at him, so Rodney gets to see the way the other boy bites his bottom lip, squeezing his eyes shut for a long second, groaning loud.

John presses tight up against Rodney's back, and kissing him puts a weird strain on Rodney's neck, but it's worth it anyway. He can feel the slight tremble in John's body. He can feel the pads of John's fingers sliding under the waistband of his boxers. He can feel John's dick, hard, pressing up against him. God, it keeps surprising him how much he likes that.

Rodney feels the first brush of John's fingers against his cock like a jolt of electricity, Rodney gasping in surprise. It's...different, feeling someone else touching him like this. Definitely different good. John makes a low sound, kissing across Rodney's jaw, down to his throat, his hips rocking as he slides his fingers up the underside of Rodney's dick.

Rodney doesn't realize that he's saying John's name, over and over, just tumbling out of his mouth, until John murmurs against his neck, "I'm right here, Rodney, I'm right here, I've got you," thick and broken up with the way he's breathing hard.

For a moment Rodney tries to swallow the sounds back, but he can't. Especially not with John rubbing his thumb over the head of Rodney's dick, stroking up and down. It's a little clumsy, and their skin catches, but God, Rodney doesn't even care. He jerks forward into the touch, turning his face against John's arm.

John moans, sucking at the skin in the juncture of Rodney's neck and shoulder, pulling Rodney back against him, keeping them pressed tight together. Rodney reaches back, fisting a hand in John's hair and holding on, his body arching helplessly.

The sound John makes when Rodney presses back against him, surprised and pleasure drunk, goes straight down Rodney's spine. Rodney makes a hoarse sound, pressing back harder, rocking forward, jerky and without rhythm.

Apparently John doesn't mind, gasping, "Oh, oh, Rodney," like he's breaking, the ragged motion of his hand speeding up. And that's perfect, that's beautiful, that's the best thing ever. Rodney grunts, stretching one leg up and back, hooking his foot behind John's knee and pulling the other boy's leg forward, locking them closer together.

Rodney demands, breathless and feeling like he's pulling apart at the seams, "Kiss me, John, I—" and John is there, making a desperate sound, hips grinding against Rodney while he kisses Rodney messy and deep. Rodney feels his body jerk, overwhelmed, lost in all the sensation, coming over John's fingers.

John makes a wild, gasping noise, body tensing up, hips jerking forward hard, but Rodney barely feels it, more aware of the way everything has suddenly gone completely dark and quiet. He tries to make himself focus, breathing shakily, all tangled up in John, and doesn't have very much success.

Especially not with John humming contentedly, shifting enough to pull Rodney onto his back. John beams down at him, leaning over Rodney, ducking down to kiss him. Rodney groans, because this angle doesn't hurt his neck at all, kissing and kissing and kissing until he manages to gasp out, "Street lights are out. And—God, John—everything, everything is out, I think I—"

John says, "Don't care," settling over him, turning his attention to the side of Rodney's neck he couldn't previously reach. And Rodney means to point out that he should probably fix it, if he just knocked out the power in the whole neighborhood. It's hard to care with John pressed against him, his skin soft and hot when Rodney works a hand up his sleeve to trace his shoulders and back.

Rodney moans, and decides he'll have to fix it later. Or, he considers, as John pulls at the collar of his shirt, maybe he'll just let the goddamn electric company handle it this one time.


The next time Rodney wakes up, John is still sleeping, snoring softly. Rodney sits up and stares down at the other boy for a long time, his messy hair, the mouth that Rodney has become rather familiar with. One of John's hands is on top of the blankets, and Rodney traces his fingertips across the back of John's hand, shivering just a little in sense memory.

For a moment, Rodney considers waking John up. But he still needs to shower, to wash the smell of the hospital off of his skin. And he wants to look at the wound, the ugly stitches on his chest, where John doesn't have to see them. He's not sure he wants John to ever see the wound, even though he knows logically that it'll scar up and be there forever.

Rodney carefully slides out of bed. Downstairs he can faintly hear John's parents moving around, but no one is nearby when he makes a run down to the bathroom. He leaves the door ajar just in case John wakes up, and spends a long time under the hot water.

And somewhere, between trying to wash his hair one handed, because it hurts like a son of a bitch to raise his left arm, and realizing that his lips are sore from kissing John so much, he finds himself sitting on the floor of the shower, sobbing.

Rodney feels oddly disconnected from it, the tears sliding down silently, his breath hitching, his chest burning. He fumbles for the faucet, misses, and goes sideways, curling up on the ceramic tile and pressing his hands over his face.

For a while he had, somehow, pushed the memory of the pain away. It's back now. Twisting, ripping, tearing through his chest. He can remember struggling for each breath, feeling bubbles in the back of his throat, drowning in his own blood, trying to tell John, to tell John—

John rips the shower curtain down, wild eyed, falling to his knees and babbling words that Rodney just can't make sense of. The water stops, and Rodney wishes it hadn't, because at least it was washing the stupid, useless tears away.

And then John is pulling him close, shouting over his shoulder, "I said I've got him!" and then softer, rocking Rodney back and forth, "Hey, hey, you're okay. You're okay, now. I need you to focus on me, Rodney. C'mon, I know you can."

Rodney isn't sure he can at all, but he tries, trembling and coughing on snot, his chest burning. John reaches around, threading their fingers together, squeezing, and Rodney gasps, eyes jerking open, falling back into his own head.

The world goes quiet, and it's only then that Rodney realizes how loud it was. He gasps, still trying to breathe normally, "What happened? What did I do? John, what did—"

John kisses him, deep and slow, and Rodney feels himself melt into it. It's easier to think with his heart rate slowing down, the throb of pain in his chest going dull again. He can feel what he broke, cars twisted into all kinds of wrong shapes outside, and he sucks in a deep breath, pulling away from John and pressing his hands to the cool tile, concentrating.

It's so much harder to fix them than it is to break them, but he manages.

John pulls Rodney back down against him when Rodney finishes, pressing his face up against Rodney's wet hair. They sit in the bottom of the shower for a long time, and then John murmurs, soft and gentle, "I want to see it."

Rodney winces, starting to pull away, but John catches him, "Rodney. Please. I just—I need to, okay?" For a long moment Rodney stares at him. It's not like he can actually deny John anything. Rodney sighs, twisting around, pulling at the awkward bandages that he'd been doing his best to shield from the water.

The stitches are as ugly as he'd thought they would be. His skin is red and agitated, the three inch long cut set between two of his ribs. Rodney grimaces, starting to turn. John catches him, pulling him back, cupping a hand out around the scar and ducking his head, pressing feather light kisses against Rodney's lips.

John says, "I am so sorry," his voice cracking.

Rodney shakes his head, squirming around, "No, John, no, it's not—" and it's simpler to just kiss him, straddling him on the cold tile floor, his fingers sliding up into John's hair. He whispers against John's mouth, "It wasn't your fault," kissing John until some of the tension in his body eases, until John wraps his arms around Rodney and cradles him closer. They rock together, slow, breath hitching and catching, gazes locked when they fall over the edge.

And afterwards, John wraps around him, and whispers, "Better than anything," against the side of Rodney's neck.

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