Fic: M9J-203
Jun. 20th, 2011 02:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: M9J-203
Summary: John takes part in a ritual that changes everything.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Word Count: 10002
Rating/Contents: NC-17, torture, BDSM, infidelity
Pairing: John/Rodney, John/OMC
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sgareversebang. Thanks so much to my betas, shadowen and cesare!
PART ONE
The last time Rodney sees him, John is chained to a wall in the public square. It's raining, dense, foggy rain, and the sky is beginning to darken, casting a purplish glow on the whole scene. John is naked, and there's a clean white cloth tied around his face; Rodney can already see the first bruises starting to form on him. John looks young, lost; he looks expectant, somehow. There's someone standing over him, casting a long shadow on the wall, but Rodney's too far away to even see who it is.
John strains forward as they drag Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla away, as if to stop them, as if to say goodbye.
--
M9J-203 was just like so many other planets, at least at first. The biggest settlement was far enough from the gate that they had to take the jumper; Rodney watched the trees pass underneath him, red and brown and gold, broken up by stands of tall evergreens that looked so much like pine trees.
John set the jumper down gently at the edge of town. Clearly, they'd been spotted; the welcoming committee was waiting for them, standing carefully out of the jumper's path. A diminutive elderly woman in a bright green robe seemed to be the ringleader. She waited for their approach, letting them array themselves in front of her before she spoke.
"You are the survivors," the woman said, holding out her hands to them. Teyla was first to take them; the woman tilted her head, meeting Teyla's forehead with her own.
When Teyla stepped back, the woman held out her hand palm down to Ronon; he shied away from her, surprised, before putting his hand underneath hers, palm up. Together, they flipped their hands over.
"I haven't," Ronon said, hesitantly, still looking at their joined hands. "Not in a long time."
"We have seen many travellers here," she told him. "Though it has been many years since we saw one of your kind here." Ronon just nodded, looking overcome, and stepped away from her.
After that, it seemed anticlimactic when she took Rodney's hand, shaking it firmly. She lingered over John, holding his hand for just a little too long, looking deeply into his eyes. But just like that, the moment was over, so fast that Rodney wondered if he'd imagined it. John's uncomfortable expression told him he hadn't.
"You have come on an auspicious day," the woman said, loud enough for the assembled crowd to hear her. "We are preparing for a feast. Will you join us?"
"We do love a good feast," John said, but he sounded off enough that even Rodney picked it up.
"Come with us, then," she said approvingly, turning and walking towards the village.
Rodney nudged John with his shoulder. "Free food," he said, waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly.
"My favorite kind," John returned, but he still sounded shaky.
They followed the woman into the village.
--
The rest of the team spends the next twelve days in jail.
On the first day, Ronon produces a knife out of nowhere, picks the lock somehow, and disables the guards; they're practically to the jumper before they're overtaken by thirteen or fourteen of M9J-203's finest. Ronon probably would and could kill half of them before they took him down, but Teyla puts a hand on his arm to stop him.
On the second day, Teyla reaches through the bars and chokes out the guard who brings them food. They steal out of the jail dressed in pilfered uniforms; she's negotiating for a ride out of town when they're spotted and chased down. Once again, they're escorted back to the jail and politely yet firmly imprisoned.
On the third day, Rodney's attempt never even gets off the ground; they send in a woman to sit in the cell with them and watch them up close. She just sits there, heavily pregnant, and embroiders all day, and none of them have the heart to do anything to her. The inhabitants of this planet are really more devious than Rodney expected.
On the fifth day, Rodney finds a piece of charcoal on the floor. He takes a perverse glee in marking out the days in hash marks on the wall, convict style; that being done, he bombards anyone who spends more than ten seconds within earshot with questions. The nice pregnant lady just smiles at him a lot, looking sort of like Rodney's aunt, and says nothing. When one of the guards finally cracks and yells at him, all he'll say that isn't profane is that John and the jumper are safe.
Rodney doesn't believe either of those things.
They don't exactly give up after that; it's really just that they run out of options. The Jerans are prepared to take anything that the team can throw at them, and they're out of things to throw. So Teyla spends a lot of time meditating, and Ronon spends most of his time looking pissed off and staring daggers at the guards, and Rodney alternates between mind-numbing boredom and sheer terror at the whole situation.
Rodney marks the days off one by one; they pass without further word of John.
--
They called themselves the Jerans. The name didn't ring a bell for Teyla or Ronon, which was a little strange; it wasn't strange enough to stop him having thirds of the ridiculously delicious fried meat kabob things that they served at the feast. He also maybe had thirds of the sweet wine that was going around. It was totally not a big deal; it's not like he had to fly home or anything.
"You have arrived just when we needed you," the old woman- Naca- told them. "We have reached the most holy days of our calendar."
"That's, uh, nice?" Rodney said uncertainly.
Naca laughed at him. "Yes, doctor, it is nice. Regretfully, we have no one to fill the lead role in our ceremonies. But now you have come to us, and perhaps the rains will come again after all."
"The society of the Lanteans is," Teyla said delicately, "very restrained. We would need to know the details of the ceremony before committing to anything."
"Of course," Naca said soothingly. "The ceremony is long, but not onerous. We will trade generously for your participation, Colonel Sheppard." John looked up, startled. "It is of the highest importance that we begin tonight."
"We'll see what we can do," John stammered.
Naca smiled. "I am sure we will come to an arrangement." She held up a hand, signalling a man at the other end of the table; he was dressed all in gray, looking rather more sedate than the rest of the villagers. His hair was neatly combed, and, except for the long scar down the side of his face, he reminded Rodney more than anything of an accountant. "This is my son, Carus," she said, as he approached. "He will be conducting the ceremony. He can explain everything."
With that, Naca, Carus, Teyla, and John went off to negotiate. Rodney had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing; he looked over at Ronon, who didn't look much more excited about it than Rodney. Ronon took another plate of meat sticks, eating as ravenously as usual, but he didn't take his hand off his gun.
--
After the imprisonment comes the ritual bath, which Rodney sort of hoped would happen. It's not like he has a lot of respect for ritual cleansing; he's just starting to smell like a goat after so many days wearing the same clothing.
The clothes they give him fit terribly; his ass is too big and his legs are too long and his head barely fits through the neck hole. Still, unless they're dressing him up in order to sacrifice him, it's a step in the right direction. Of course, then they fit him with handcuffs, which is decidedly the wrong direction.
When he rejoins Teyla and Ronon, they're similarly outfitted and looking just as uncomfortable and worried as he feels. They've been herded into a sort of tent, the kind that Rodney thinks he might have seen near the town square. There's certainly noise outside, the sound of a lot of people milling around and trying to look they have a reason to be there.
The tent flap is pulled back, and Naca enters. Ronon looks at her murderously, like he's going to lunge at any second. "Here you all are," she says.
"Are you here to tell us just what the fuck is going on?" Rodney demands.
Naca laughs, and now Rodney wants to lunge at her. "It is time for the high point of the ceremony," she tells them. "Come with me."
Rodney is beginning to understand that he doesn't have a choice in the matter.
--
Teyla and John didn't return, even when it was long past time to turn in. Ronon made noises about going to sleep in the jumper, all of which were pointedly ignored by their hosts. Truth be told, Rodney didn't do much to help him out, imagining a good night's sleep in an actual bed- or at least on a nice mat or something. Surely Teyla and John would be done by the morning.
Maybe they were, maybe they weren't, because Rodney never saw the morning. When he came to, it was already late afternoon, and his nice sleeping mat was long gone.
Ronon eyed him. "You're up."
"Apparently," he said, patting himself down. Everything was missing, including his jacket and his boots. "Did we just get rolled?"
"Yeah," Ronon said. "And kidnapped."
"Any sign of John and Teyla?"
"Teyla's across the hall," Ronon told him. "No word on Sheppard."
Rodney ran his hand through his hair. "I guess they got what they wanted, then."
"Could've been a distraction, saying they needed him," he said, shrugging. "Could be using him as collateral so that we'll work for them. Could want the jumper. Or they could have sacrificed him by now."
"You're such a ray of sunshine," Rodney groaned, holding his fingers against the spot where he could feel a headache forming.
The door to the room opened; Ronon took down three of the guards before one of them knocked him out. They carried and dragged him and Rodney away, through the building and out into the town square. Rodney caught just a glimpse of John before they took him away.
--
The crowd parts for them as they're escorted through it. It's weird, though, because nobody they pass seems to care about them; they accept the intrusion and ignore it as fast as they can, in favor of what's going on at some indeterminable point ahead of them. They're craning their necks and standing on their toes, and Rodney's just a little too short and having too much trouble walking to figure out what in the hell is going on.
He doesn't have to wonder for all that long. They're led towards the center of town, where there's a big freestanding wooden dais. People are ringing it, pressing in on all sides, jockeying to get closer.
When Rodney finally sees John, he's taken aback. He's kneeling, still naked, on the dais, and they've got him tied up with thin black ropes, his arms stretched back and attached to a thick wooden post. He's really bruised now, his skin mottled with it; it's worst on his shoulders, but he's marked up all over. There's a livid red mark across his throat, right where a collar would sit, and it makes Rodney's neck hurt just looking at it.
A figure climbs the stairs up to the platform, dressed in a long gray robe; he pushes his hood back, and, unsurprisingly, it's Carus. There are acolytes behind him, dressed in blood red, carrying a large wooden chest. They set it down next to the post that John's tied to, and Rodney knows with a weird, uncomfortable certainty that he's not going to like what's inside of it.
Carus raises his hands, and a hush falls over the crowd. He pushes back his sleeves, flicking a hand at the acolytes, and they set to work. One of them opens the chest, pulling out a bowl full of something; the other one puts his hands in it, filling them with some kind of white paste. He kneels in front of John, smoothing his hands over John's chest, up his arms, down over his legs, working the stuff into his skin. It melts on him, leaving his skin shining and smooth, making the welts on his flesh stand out even more.
The acolyte stands up and nods to Carus. Carus says something Rodney can't hear, and the other acolyte nods, going for the chest again. She comes up with a- Rodney doesn't know what it is, but it looks for all the world like a riding crop- and hands it over. Carus swishes it through the air a few times, testing it, and Rodney feels sick to his stomach.
Carus ducks under the ropes that attach John's arms to the post, standing behind him. He surveys John's back for a moment; Rodney can't see his expression, but there's something approving about his body language, like he's proud of his handiwork, the way he's ruined John's skin.
He brings the crop down on John's back, just smacking it lightly, almost tapping it; John doesn't even flinch, even though it must feel like hell on all those marks. The crop stutters across his skin, and Rodney can't stop following its every movement.
Without warning, Carus hauls off and hits him, hard, hard enough that the sound of it rings out in the silence of the square. John jumps at that, straining forward, but he corrects himself almost immediately, holding still for more. Carus gives it to him, hitting him again in the exact same spot. John hangs his head and just takes it, arching his back for more, and Rodney wants to throw up, he wants to run, he wants to take that crop and beat the living shit out of Carus and anybody else he can get his hands on. Ronon and Teyla are dangerously quiet beside him, and he can tell without asking that they feel exactly the same way that he does.
Carus is still hitting him, loud slaps all over his back and down to his ass and thighs, and the square is still reverentially quiet. It occurs to Rodney then that there's something off about this whole scene, something unexpected; there's no muttering, no jeering, no laughter. They've got John naked, humbled, beaten, but they're not humiliating him, not really.
Rodney doesn't know what to think about that.
Carus stands back, studying John carefully; he ducks back under the ropes and walks around in front of John, slapping at him intermittently, catching him across his arms, his stomach, landing a particularly vicious blow right across his left nipple. He looks pleased with himself, and Rodney wants to wipe that smile right off his face. He motions to the acolytes, holding out the crop to them and asking for something else.
What he receives is a long, thick rod with a bulb at one end; Carus presses a button, and the bulb lights up, blue-green. Just the color would let Rodney know that it's Ancient, but Rodney doesn't have to wonder. He's seen one before.
"Oh my god, no," Rodney says.
"Rodney," Teyla says urgently, "what is it?"
He swallows hard before speaking. "It's a cattle prod."
--
They found it years ago, in a dusty storage container in a back room near the greenhouses. The botanists had been terrified of the box and refused to go near it, until Rodney braved it and found that the contraption on top was a milking machine and not something worse.
It was all farm equipment, something they'd never found before and always wondered about. There were lassos and shears and, at the bottom of the box, this weird looking rod.
"It is my turn," Zelenka insisted, reaching for it. "Move please."
"The hell it is," Rodney said, shoving him over. Rodney grabbed one end just as Zelenka grabbed the other; then Zelenka screamed something that wasn't in English and fell to the ground.
"Guess we know what that's for," Rodney said, helping him up.
Zelenka swore, still not in English. "We will label it immediately, and you," he put his finger in Rodney's face, "you will forget where we put it."
"Why should I forget?" Rodney said. "I've already had my fun with it. Nothing can top my fond memories of our time together."
Zelenka glared at him and very carefully reached for a bag to store it in. Rodney put it gingerly into the bag, and that was the end of it.
--
Carus is speaking, and Rodney can't even hear him over the sound of his own pulse racing. Carus says something to John, and John tilts his head up, looking at him. John opens his hands and strains forward, begging for it, the perfect picture of supplication.
Beside him, Ronon starts struggling and yelling, growling at the guards and kicking wildly. He tries to break for it, but he gets three steps before Naca pulls a capsule from her pocket and crushes it in front of his face; he goes out like a light, slumping against the guards.
Teyla has her eyes closed; she looks the way she does when she's at her most dangerous, disturbingly peaceful except for the frown on her face. Rodney can't stop looking at John, horrified and transfixed.
Just like the crop, Carus starts off slowly; he brushes the prod gently across John's stomach, barely touching him with it. Every muscle in John's body goes tense, but he doesn't react otherwise. Rodney is torn between being sickened and impressed by John's fortitude; he'd probably have passed out from the sheer exertion of being terrified by now.
Carus ups the ante. He sweeps his way up, holding the prod against John's arm for a long moment. John's mouth falls open and his head falls back; he looks transported, completely gone. It's his neck, next, and John starts shaking, trembling.
Someone is screaming. It takes Rodney a while to realize that it's him.
It's only then that Carus starts with the really heavy stuff. He presses the end of the rod against John's nipple, holding it there for long enough that Rodney loses count of the seconds. John is breathing heavily, panting, but when Carus finally takes the prod away, he goes ramrod straight again, waiting for more. Carus gives it to him, tagging him right on his other nipple, and then John starts screaming. What gets to Rodney, what really gets to him, is that parts of it sound satisfied.
Carus lifts the prod, and John falls forward, the ropes taking his weight. He looks wrung out, exhausted; there's sweat rolling off of him, beading up on the still-slick surface of his skin. Rodney knows what's coming, he knows where all this is going, but still he can't look away, he has to see.
Carus presses the end of the prod to the tip of John's dick- John's hard, John's been hard this whole time- and John shouts and comes all over himself, shooting onto his chest and stomach. A collective, relieved sigh goes up from the crowd.
The worst part of Rodney, the darkest and cruelest part, the part of him that wants to be the one holding that cattle prod, that part of him is seething, envious, hate-filled.
He's never been able to get John to do that for him.
--
John laughed as Rodney pushed him down onto the mattress, holding his wrists so that he couldn't get away- not that he wanted to. It didn't last long, not when Rodney's next move was to bend down and bite at his shoulder, sucking hard; John started to moan, biting it back reflexively at the last second.
"You know you can let me hear it," Rodney said, pausing to blow across the skin he'd just marked. "We're six corridors from the ass end of the city in a soundproof room. Nobody's going to hear us."
John squirmed, the bad kind of uncomfortable, so Rodney didn't press it, going back to biting at John's skin, keeping it up until John was whining. He pulled back, long enough for John to start thinking that part was over, only to dive right back in and mark up his other shoulder. This time, John didn't catch himself, groaning loudly; Rodney grinned, kissing the side of his neck. "That's good," he said approvingly. All of a sudden, he let John go, slapping him on the thigh. "Hands and knees."
He got up from the bed, making sure to enjoy the sight of John naked and moving, in that carelessly graceful way of his. He was certainly something to see, up on the bed with his elbows planted and his legs spread just so, parted enough that Rodney could see his hard, heavy cock between them.
As hot as it was, Rodney had other plans to attend to; he walked over to the wall, pressing his hand to the print lock carefully concealed behind a panel. All their toys were improvised, jury-rigged affairs, made of bits of rope, old clothes, and carefully hoarded duct tape. Rodney rifled through them, trying to decide what fun torture he was going to visit on John tonight. He came up with a flogger that he was quite proud of; he'd made it out of strips of a worn out pair of jeans, and John squirmed appealingly any time Rodney used it.
Rodney twirled the flogger theatrically, in that way that he really wished someone was there to see, because he was really quite good at it. He could see John tense up at the soft swish of the falls through the air; he paused to stroke him reassuringly, smoothing his hands over his back, down to his ass and thighs.
"Get ready for it," he said, stepping back again and readjusting his grip on the flogger. He smacked John lightly with it at first, letting him relax into the sensation; just as John was starting to get into it, Rodney caught him off guard, hitting him harder, right across his ass. John jumped a bit, but that little, unconscious wiggle he did told Rodney everything he wanted to know.
Rodney let himself fall into a good rhythm, hitting John nice and hard, building his way up. It took him a while, but John relaxed, holding still for more. Rodney kept it up until John was moaning softly, until his skin was just starting to get nice and pink.
He put down the flogger, kissing the marks he'd just left, making John squirm and laugh. He did it again for good measure, just restraining himself from blowing a raspberry- funny, but not exactly what he was going for here.
Rodney walked over and reached behind the questionable Ancient sculpture against the wall, pulling out his cane, the one that John wasn't ready to admit was totally his favorite; he didn't have to say anything, not when his eyes lit up and his ears went red every time Rodney pulled it out.
Today was no exception; John bit his lip when Rodney waggled it in front of his face, taunting him. "I read that somebody called it the 'rattan vibrator,'" he said casually. "Let's see if it holds true."
John turned his head, watching as Rodney went to stand behind him. "Are you saying you want me to-"
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Rodney teased. "But if you don't want to come, I guess you don't have to."
"Hell with that," John said, turning back towards the wall and lowering himself onto his elbows. "If you think it'll work, let's do it."
Rodney patted his ass. "That's a good boy," he said, before pulling back to hit John lightly with the cane, just sprinkling little taps all over his ass.
"Come on," John said, frustrated. "I'm ready to take it, just do it."
"You know that when you say that, it just makes me want to spend all night warming you up," Rodney said, but he hit John a little harder this time. Before John could say one more sassy thing, Rodney pulled back and hit him hard, enough to make him hiss.
"Is that what you're looking for?" Rodney said, thumbing over the spot he'd just hit.
John said something like, "Flubgr," and put his face down against the mattress.
"I see," Rodney said, hitting him again, the cane whistling through the air. He wasn't a traditionalist at heart, but he still gave it to John in sets of six, counting them out slowly and evenly, letting John get used to the rhythm. He got to what he was sure John could take, then he counted out six more, feeling it out.
"God, Rodney," John groaned.
Rodney stopped. "Is that too much or not enough?"
"I don't know," John said fuzzily. "I just- do what you want, I don't know."
Rodney carefully gave him six more, backing down on it a little just in case. It didn't seem like he was doing the wrong thing, not if the way John's dick was leaking all over the mattress was any indication.
"I can't," John said, sounding frustrated and a little sad. "I want to, please, please make me come."
"You can do it," Rodney coaxed. "Just a little bit more."
John thrashed his head. "I- I- please, Rodney-"
Rodney finally took pity on him, wrapping his hand around John's dick and stroking; he'd barely moved his hand before John went off. Rodney wanted to get inside him so badly, but there was no time at all, especially not when watching his come splash out over John's welts was so fucking hot.
Panting and sated, he curled up next to John, holding him and steadying him, petting the parts of him he hadn't just put marks all over. Rodney was distantly disappointed, though, that he couldn't quite pull it off, that John wouldn't quite give it up for him, not entirely.
He felt like an absolute shit for thinking it, but that didn't stop him.
--
After that, the crowd disperses; they're led- in Ronon's case, carried- back to the jumper. John is waiting for them, standing stiffly next to the open door, wearing his uniform, his sunglasses, and a blank expression. Naca says a few words that Rodney doesn't listen to; he has the overwhelming urge to touch John's wounds, to make sure it's really him.
The guards unlock their handcuffs, and just like that, they're all free to go.
PART TWO
Carson keeps John in the infirmary for three days after it happens. John knows he'd rather keep him under observation for longer, long as he could get away with, but there's nothing wrong with John, not that Carson could fix. There are no broken bones, no damaged organs, nothing but well placed, precise, painful bruises.
Just like John expected.
--
As Naca led them down the hall and away from the feast, Carus put a hand on John's arm. "Let the women negotiate," he said. "I will explain the ceremony to you, if you are willing."
With no little trepidation, John followed him into a side room, where he indicated a pair of comfortable-looking chairs. John sat uneasily, wondering where all this was going.
"Allow me to be direct," Carus said. "You have a rare ability, one that we need desperately. It has been a generation since new candidate appeared, and our allies are unable to assist us this year."
John sighed in relief. "So, what is it? Big thing, lights up kind of blueish-green? A chair, a temple, something like that?"
Carus frowned in confusion. "I don't follow you."
It was John's turn to frown. "So, you don't-" He waved a hand. "Ignore me. What do you need?"
"You have the ability to withstand pain," Carus told him. "I do not mean in terms of simple tolerance, as anyone may accomplish that. You have the ability to enjoy it."
John gave him a hard look, trying to mask how uncomfortable he felt with where this was going. "And what makes you think that?"
"A chosen few of my people have a gift, one that my mother and I share," he explained, tapping himself lightly on the forehead. "We can see into the thoughts of others."
John narrowed his eyes. "I really don't appreciate people messing around in my brain."
"If you will forgive me for saying so, I did not dig into your mind," Carus said. "Your thoughts were very close into the surface."
John thought about what he and Rodney had done the night before, and his face grew hot. "Yeah, well. I'd still like a warning."
"My apologies," Carus said gravely. "We sometimes forget that not everyone shares our abilities."
"I still don't know where all this is going," John said.
"Our ceremony requires a," he stopped, looking for a word, "centerpiece, if you will. Someone who can take our pain and sadness from the last year and offer it up, change it into something different, something better. When the gods see our willingness to accept the good and evil they visit upon us, only then will they allow us to proceed into the coming year."
John blinked.
"There is a little time to consult with your cohort before the ceremony begins, but it must begin tonight," Carus said apologetically. "We will not proceed without your willingness, but we would be eternally indebted to you for assisting us."
John turned it over in his brain, weighing his options carefully, considering what the rest of his people would say. Elizabeth would tell him to- actually, Elizabeth would say something like, "We're not going to force you to do anything you're not comfortable with," but what she would mean was, "Suck it up and take one for the team."
Teyla and Ronon and Rodney, well, he could ask them himself, but he was pretty sure he already knew their answers. Teyla would carefully try to hide her glee over the fact that John was actually considering being a decent citizen of the Pegasus galaxy for once. Ronon would give him a point by point threat assessment, followed by a gruff, "Up to you," because Ronon really wouldn't care if John found himself in the middle of a questionable porno, just as long as he was relatively safe about it.
And Rodney, Rodney's eyes would get wide and kind of glassy at the whole proposition; he'd catch himself at the last minute before he said something completely inappropriate, stammer something about good relations and building friendships that was almost as inappropriate coming from him.
John already knew what he himself really wanted to say, but he wasn't about to blurt that out. "I'll need to talk to my team before we go any further," he warned.
"Of course," Carus said. "I welcome it. Shall we see if the negotiations have finished?"
"Lead on," John said.
And what do you know, Teyla said exactly what he expected to hear; Rodney and Ronon were already asleep, but Ronon muttered something about "little to no threat, stop poking me, asshole." After a quick consult at the gate with Elizabeth, John made his decision.
And just like that, John became the new chew toy of M9J-203.
--
Rodney is waiting in his room when he comes back from the infirmary. John's barely seen him since the mission; it's something they'd decided, no questionable sitting by bedsides for non-life-threatening injuries, but Rodney's been scarce, even for that.
"I think we should talk," Rodney says nervously, standing up from John's chair quickly enough that it rolls away forlornly.
John winces a little when he sits down at the edge of his bed, the deep bruises on his ass still pulling and pressing a little. "What's there to talk about?"
Rodney doesn't react, no sarcasm and no indignation, which tells John this is serious. "I want to- I need to talk to you about what happened."
--
As soon as he got back into town, two hooded figures met him at the town square.
"We are here to take you to the investiture," one of them said.
"Carus sent us," the other one added, just in case John thought some other group of ceremonialists was kidnapping him.
When they showed him in to the temple, he expected a big crowd- maybe because this was a big deal, or maybe just because that's the way it had always played out in his head- but there were only a few people in the room. He recognized Teyla, of course, plus Naca and a few other people he'd seen at dinner. The room was very quiet, a nervous kind of hush settled over it.
Carus's assistants led him to a small pedestal in the center of the room; one of them whispered into his ear to kneel on it, which didn't surprise him, really. The big doors on the opposite side of the room opened suddenly, and Carus stepped in, looking rather unassuming despite his grand entrance. He carried with him a collar, placed on his outstretched hands; he walked slowly over, nodding to Naca as he passed.
He approached John finally, standing over him. "Do you give us your free consent?" he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
John swallowed. "I do," he answered, loud enough to mask his doubt.
Carus leaned down, snapping the collar around John's neck, and the tension seemed to go out of the room. "Rest now," Carus said. "The ceremony will recommence at dawn."
--
"I spoke to Kate," Rodney says carefully, slowly, like he's afraid of something, of John's reaction. "She said-" He bites his lip; he is really starting to freak John out now. "Victims of- of what you went through, it can be hard-" He takes a deep breath. "If you want to break up with me that's fine but please don't," he says, all in a rush.
John frowns. "Why would I break up with you?"
"Kate says- and this is Kate talking, not me, but I believe her," Rodney says, showing the same trust in his psychologist that he never shows in other doctors, and he starts to pace up and down. "She says it can be hard for victims to have, you know- when someone feels violated, it can be hard to-"
"I don't feel violated at all," John says.
"You don't have to say that," Rodney tells him. "Really, you don't. I understand wanting to put on a brave face and everything, but-"
"I'm not," John insists. "I'm telling you the truth. I don't feel like a victim."
"But are you sure?" Rodney says. "Kate says sometimes, people don't want to admit stuff like that, but I swear to god, John, you can tell me."
"I am telling you," John says. "I'm sorry if you're upset about it, but I'm not."
"How can you not-" He stops suddenly, whirling around to face John. "No, no, no," he says. "Don't- You couldn't- With the pain and the- Don't tell me you got off on all this."
John says nothing.
Rodney makes an incoherent noise of rage. "I can't believe you. We leave you alone for five minutes and you start acting out the Story of fucking O."
"It's not like that," John protests, even though it was a whole lot like that.
--
The night passed uneventfully, or at least as uneventfully as it could when one was trying to sleep in one's clothes curled up in what looked like a big dog bed covered in furry blankets. The morning, too, was less torturous than John expected. Carus said a couple of ritual greetings to the sun, then he turned John back over to his apparently nameless acolytes.
Of all the things John was expecting, a spa day was not one of them. The obligatory ritual bath was first. John had had plenty of them, but this one was quite nice; there were even bubbles this time. Carus's assistants got a little handsy, but that wasn't particularly new either; at least it wasn't like M9J-392, where the appointed bathers had a really unnecessary interest in washing John's ass.
When they were finished, the acolytes took all his clothes away, giving him a small towel that just barely hid his dignity. After that, they took him into the temple's luxurious gardens and gave him a nice long massage, smoothing scented oil into his skin and working out his knots in a way that was completely unfamiliar and totally satisfying.
They kept on pampering him like that, feeding him lunch, playing with his hair, until the sky started to cloud over, a misty rain starting to fall. Just as they were about to go inside, Carus appeared at the doors; the acolytes bowed hurriedly and turned John over to him.
Carus led him inside, taking him to a small room with little furniture; when Carus sat down, John knelt in front of him without being asked- he'd already figured this thing out, at least a little.
"I trust you were well taken care of," Carus began.
"Can't complain," John said, his mouth crooking into a smile.
"Unfortunately," Carus said somberly, "now, the most important parts of the ceremony must begin."
"Don't sound so excited," John drawled, still feeling kind of loose and honest.
"That is not my intent," Carus said, missing the point, but John let it slide. Carus reached down beside his chair and pulled a wooden chest towards John. "This box has housed the tools of the ceremony for many generations," he informed him. "Normally you would not be shown its contents, but you have never seen our ceremonies before, and I don't wish to surprise you."
John leaned forward as Carus opened it, peering inside; there were an assortment of whips and things- scary, but not that weird. "A majority of the items I will use should not be unfamiliar to you," Carus said, "but there is one thing I must show you." He reached into the chest, taking out a long rod with a bulb at one end. John recognized it as Ancient immediately, though he'd never seen one before.
"This is the most critical implement used in the ceremony," Carus told him, handling it gently. "At the culmination of the final day, you will be expected to endure it."
John took a deep breath. "How bad is it?"
"Hold out your hand," Carus said, and John offered it to him. "Do not take your hand away until I say so." He put the bulb end into John's hand; the longer John held it, the more he could feel the energy in it, the kind that only really came from Ancient tech.
Carus suddenly lifted the staff away, and the thing zapped John hard, hard enough that he pulled back and immediately started shaking his hand out. "Jesus Christ."
"So much of the old magic has gone out of it," Carus said sadly, "but I still thought it best to warn you."
"Glad you did," John said.
"Come," Carus told him, standing and taking a chain from his pocket; he attached it to the ring on John's collar. "Leave your wrap behind. We must begin."
Reluctantly, John discarded his towel and let himself be led out of the temple. Now there was a crowd waiting for him; John focused on looking at Carus's shoes, which was preferable to staring down all these people, especially when he was completely naked.
Carus took him towards the wall of the temple and up onto a small platform. He positioned John in front of himself, making sure he was in place before standing beside him.
"This one has given himself up," Carus said loudly. He grabbed John's bicep and pinched hard, hard enough that he knew he'd have a bruise there; John wanted to wiggle out of his grasp, but he had the feeling that wasn't what he was supposed to do. Carus let him go, hitting him in the same spot; when that didn't get whatever reaction he wanted, he leaned down and bit John's arm, sucking hard. John couldn't hold it back anymore; he squirmed, caught between trying to get more and trying to get away. Apparently that was what Carus and the crowd had been waiting for. Carus patted his arm soothingly as the crowd gave him a round of applause that- well, John could only describe it as a golf clap.
He could already tell this was going to be a weird couple of days.
Carus tied a pure white cloth around his mouth and led him to the wall. "You may sit," he said quietly; when John did, Carus clipped the end of his leash to an eye bolt on the wall.
The chanting started then, in a language John couldn't understand; the gate translation failed like that sometimes, especially during rituals. John was glad no one could see his mouth, because he couldn't help laughing a little- it said something very strange about him that he was looking forward to the torture, if it'd get him out of the chanting.
Just once, he thought he saw his team in the crowd; he strained forward to look, but just like that they were gone.
--
"Then what was it like, Sheppard?" Rodney demands, and John flinches- Rodney hasn't used his last name like that in a long time.
"It was a ritual," John says plainly. "Just a bunch of ceremonies put together. It's no big deal."
"No big-" Rodney stops, rubbing at his temples. "How can you even say that?"
"Because that's the truth," John says, even though he knows that it isn't.
"Don't give me that," Rodney says sharply. "Don't even fucking try, because we both know that's bullshit. This is a huge fucking deal."
John runs a hand through his hair, nervous. "I didn't do it because I wanted to."
"No," Rodney replies. "You didn't do it just because you wanted to. There's a difference."
John doesn't have an answer for that.
--
The days fell into a kind of rhythm, so much so that John almost forgot to count them.
Every morning he'd awaken at dawn and listen as Carus told the sun everything they'd been up to. After breakfast, the acolytes would take him away for more pampering, fawning over him like he was their new puppy.
Then after dinner, Carus would take him away and beat the shit out of him.
He started out slowly, feeling John out. John wasn't sure if his limits even mattered in this situation, whether or not Carus would stop if it got to be too much; but he didn't push, not at first. It took four or five nights before Carus got into the really heavy stuff.
Like the nights before, the acolytes led him into what John privately referred to as the torture chamber. Tonight, they'd left him with a pair of white shorts to wear, which was a nice change from being so naked all the time. They left him standing in the middle of the room; John knew from experience that he had a few moments to get his mind right before Carus came in.
He heard Carus before he saw him, his shoes making soft noises on the stone floor, and John readied himself. As usual, Carus walked around him, surveying his bruises and marks before coming up to stand behind him. Before it had mostly been flogging, pinching, easy stuff, but this time Carus upped the ante right away. He grabbed John by the hair, biting him hard, right on the side of his neck. He didn't stop, chewing at his skin, leaving teeth marks, sucking until the skin was mottled with red and purple. When he was satisfied, he turned around and did it again, on his shoulder this time, and it was kind of amazing how something so simple hurt so much.
Carus stepped away; John could hear the chest opening, a sound he had become familiar with. Despite the warning, it still surprised the shit out of him when something hit him on the back, something very stingy that made John want to jump out of his skin. It took John about five hits to realize that it was a kind of whip, one with a forked tongue; it took ten before he realized that Carus wasn't going to stop any time soon.
It hurt, it hurt so bad, and John really hated it, but he couldn't do anything but stay still and take it. It brought him down hard; he'd thought was so ready for this, totally confident in his ability to take whatever this planet could throw at him, but he'd been totally wrong about that.
Carus was downright mean with the thing; he found one little spot on John's ass, and he just kept hitting him over and over right there, until John was sure he was going to break the skin. He finally stopped, running his hand over John's abused flesh; John had just started to relax when Carus slapped him right in the same spot, and John couldn't hold back anymore. He screamed, the sound reverberating off the stone walls.
"Very good," Carus said approvingly, and then he hit John again, picking a new spot this time. John didn't even realize there were tears streaming down his face until they rolled off his chin and splashed onto his chest. Under it all, though, John did and didn't want to get away; he wanted it to stop and he wanted to take more of it, wanted to take everything.
Finally, finally, Carus stopped, dropping the whip back into the chest. He ran his hands over John's body, scratching lightly over the welts and bruises that dotted his skin. "Hush, hush," Carus said softly, walking around to stand in front of him. He ran his hands down John's chest, soothing him gently.
Carus produced the handcuffs that had been in John's tac vest, snapping them shut around John's wrists. "You may kneel," he said, which John had already learned wasn't a suggestion. He folded up at Carus's feet, and suddenly it as all too much.
"I can't-" He held up his wrists, turning his face away. "The cuffs, I can't-"
Carus pulled out the key, unlocking them swiftly. "Forgive me. I thought they would be familiar to you."
"Too familiar," John said, unable to explain better than that.
Carus rubbed at John's wrists, checking them; finding nothing, he let them go. "We must continue," he said.
John rubbed the tears from his face and nodded.
The next thing that came out of the chest looked like a doubled-over belt, and John swallowed, anticipating a series of hard swats. Instead, Carus began hitting him lightly, rhythmically, all over his back, his shoulders, his arms. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as the whip had, and John soon lost himself in the rhythm of the thing. He hurt everywhere, but it was starting to matter less; he was floating up, letting Carus take him into that headspace, the place where everything was okay. There were all kinds of great explanations John could give for it, endorphins and all that, but none of it mattered in the moment.
Carus just kept on hitting him, right up to where it became uncomfortable and past that, but then, before John realized what was happening, it was over. "You may stand up when you are ready," Carus said, resting his hand on John's head.
"Don't wanna," John told him, his voice slurred. "Don't wanna come down."
"You don't need to," he replied, stroking John's hair. "All you need do is stand up and come with me."
After forever, John finally made it to his feet. Carus led him to his bedchamber, pulling the blanket over John as he curled up in the bed. Carus sat down next to him, humming something foreign and soothing; he was still there when John fell asleep.
--
"So you spent two weeks as this guy- what was his name? Oh wait, I don't give a fuck what it is- as this guy's pet," Rodney says, spitting the last word out like it's an insult. "And you left us in jail the whole time. Good game, Sheppard."
"You weren't supposed to be in jail," he says. "Teyla was supposed to-"
"Look, whatever," Rodney says, cutting him off. "We'll come back to that. Right now I'm too pissed off thinking about what you did with that guy."
John wants to protest, to insist that Carus was good to him; but he knows anything he says at this moment will be used against him, so he keeps his mouth shut.
"Did you let him fuck you?" Rodney asks, crossing his arms over his chest, his mouth set in an unhappy line.
John stills. "What kind of question is that?"
"A perfectly valid one," Rodney insists. "Did he fuck you? It's yes or no, John. I think even you can handle that."
"Where do you get off asking me that?" John challenges.
"Where do you get off getting off with other guys?" Rodney fires back. "Either answer my question or I am walking out that door: did he fuck you?"
John looks away, unable to meet Rodney's eyes. "Yes."
--
One night, after Carus was finished with him, the acolytes took him away, giving him a soft bench to rest on; he lay on it face down, avoiding the welts all over his backside. He was barely even there, floating peacefully, loose and wrung out. After a while, someone walked up behind him, their footfalls soft as they approached.
"I am here," Carus said, running a hand up his back, petting him gently, steadying him.
"Hey," John said muzzily, leaning into it like a cat- all that was missing was the purring, and John was pretty sure he wasn't far from that.
He leaned down next to John's ear. "May I have the privilege?" he asked softly.
"Oh, yeah," John replied, spreading his legs in invitation.
Carus kissed the back of his neck before getting into position behind him. There was only spit, but John didn't even care, not when he was so relaxed. It felt so good when Carus pushed into of him, moving incrementally forward until he was buried all the way inside. He slid carefully in and out, moaning deep in his throat.
"Come on," John murmured. "I can take it."
Carus stilled for a moment, hesitating, but he took John at his word, rocking into him harder. He curled his hand around John's hip, right over the bruise he'd put there, and John groaned, pushing into it. Every movement only reminded John of the welts covering his ass and thighs, every shift making them pull and burn, and it only made it better.
It didn't take long before Carus was driving into him hard, making the best, most wrecked noises John had ever heard. He was only just holding back, and then suddenly he wasn't, holding John down and really making him take it, pumping in and out of him hard enough to hurt, just how John wanted it. John moaned unreservedly, trying his best to push back for more, take as much as he could.
Carus pulled his hips up, positioning him just so, so that he could push in harder and deeper. And god help him, John came just like that; nobody'd told him not to, and he wanted it, wanted all of it, wanted nothing more than that moment. Carus made a lost, desperate noise, but he kept right on going, fucking John all the way through it and further, until finally, finally, he slammed all the way in and stayed there, crying out. John could feel his cock pulse inside of him, and he wished desperately that he could get hard again, because it was just about the hottest thing that ever happened to him.
Carus sighed, bending over John far enough that his face brushed against John's back. John could only hear him breathing as he recovered, soft even in the hush of the room.
After an eternity, Carus pulled carefully away from him. "Thank you," he whispered, taking John's hand and pressing a kiss to it.
John snorted a laugh. "My pleasure, trust me."
"Sleep well," he said. "Tomorrow is the final day."
John nodded; he didn't realize he'd drifted off until the acolytes came to carry him to his room.
--
"Let me make sure I'm up to speed, here," Rodney says, listing off points on his fingers. "You let somebody else beat on you, which I pretty much thought we had agreed was my job. You let somebody else fuck you, which is, again, my job- and I'm guessing safer sex technologies haven't come to M9J-203 yet? That's just great- thanks for adding extraterrestrial STDs to my list of concerns, Kirk." He snorts unhappily. "I'm so glad you got to go on your little bondage adventure while the rest of us were in jail," he sneers.
John sighs. "Rodney-"
"Do you know how-" Rodney stops, making a frustrated noise. "Do you know how scared we were? Do you even care about that?"
"I swear I didn't know," he insists. "If I'd have known-"
"If you'd have known, how do I know you would have done anything different?"
John stepped back. "I can't believe you'd even ask me that."
There's a look on Rodney's face, like he knows he'd just gone too far, but he stands his ground anyway. "Well, I just did."
--
John was pretty sure he'd never flown higher than he did during the final ceremony. After the acolytes pulled him down, they'd had to all but carry him away; John couldn't do much but stumble, tripping over his own feet.
They deposited him in Carus's tent, wrapping a soft blanket around him, Carus was right on their heels, coming in to sit with him, his arm around John's shoulders. John leaned heavily on him, letting Carus soothe him.
Before too long, the tent flap opened, and Naca and her retinue appeared. "May we enter?" she asked her son.
"Proceed," he replied.
She came over to stand by John, leaving her assistants and advisors in her wake. "The ceremony is complete," Naca said happily, ruffling John's hair. "Your friends are being released now, and you may all return to your world."
Carus whipped his head around to look her in the eye. "What do you mean, released?"
"We had some difficulties gaining their cooperation," Naca said, like it was no big deal at all. "They were not harmed."
John went from blissed out to pissed off in about fifteen seconds. "Excuse me?"
"We held them for the duration of the ceremony," she said patiently, as if John was the one being unreasonable. "They made attempts to interrupt the proceedings."
"Mother," Carus said, in a warning tone.
John turned to face him. "How could you know not know about this?" he demanded. "You're a fucking mind reader."
Carus flinched back. "To use my gift to look into my own mother's thoughts is a terrible sin," he said, scandalized. "I had her sworn word and no reason to question it." He folded his arms over his chest. "Or I thought I did."
John stood up, despite the fact that his legs still felt like jelly. "Well, I've had a great time, but this wasn't it," he said sharply. "Give me my clothes. I'm leaving."
Carus looked sick to his stomach, dumbstruck, so much so that John had to look away. Naca snapped her fingers, and attendants appeared with John's clothes. He slid his sunglasses on first, grateful to have that barrier between him and these people.
He dressed and went back to the jumper, then he got his team the fuck out of there.
--
"I did what I had to do," John says stiffly.
Rodney laughs, mirthlessly. "I'm pretty sure you went above and beyond the call."
"Rodney-"
"This is all just fucking perfect for you," Rodney says tightly, and John can tell that he's just barely holding back from screaming.
"No," John says.
Rodney frowns, obviously thrown. "What the hell do you mean, no?"
"It wasn't perfect," John tells him. "It wasn't perfect because it wasn't you."
Rodney's mouth drops into an O of surprise.
"Yeah," John says, shifting uncomfortably.
--
It was late, very late when Carus helped him back to his bedroom; John walked unsteadily, turned to mush by Carus's very skilled application of what felt like an evil stick. Carus put him to bed, which was still a little weird, but comforting at the same time.
John was caught between floating and sleeping, suspended somewhere in between. "Rodney," he said sleepily, and his eyes flew open; he bit his lip, unsure how Carus would react.
"You will see him soon," Carus said softly, patting him on the shoulder. "I know he will be glad to see you."
--
"Oh my god," Rodney says. "Oh my god, I'm such a fucking bastard." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands.
John feels completely lost, helpless, so he does the only thing that seems to make any sense. He slides to his knees in front of Rodney, putting his hands on Rodney's thighs. "I was thinking about it, the whole time," he confesses. "I wanted it, but-" he swallows around the lump in his throat- "I still wanted you. It only would have been perfect if it had been you."
Rodney looks down at him, the first hint of tears in his eyes. "I don't see why, not after I was such a dick about the whole thing."
John wants to go there, to turn it around and push this on Rodney; he can't, though, not when they both know that he's the one who fucked this one up. "You weren't being a dick," John tells him. "Harsh, yeah, but, y'know, I gave you a good reason to be."
"You kind of did," Rodney says, and he sounds a little apologetic, which rips John up.
"I want-" John stops, taking a deep breath, trying to push through his sheer terror at the thought of pushing through all this emotional bullshit. "I want to make it okay, and I can't. I really fucked up bad."
"It's not like that," Rodney says. "You did something good for Atlantis. It was just bad for us."
"What good is it?" John says. "They might trade with us, but Elizabeth is never going to let us go back there again. I'm never going to let us go back there again."
"I'd have thought you'd want to go back, since you had such a good time," Rodney snaps, but he deflates. "Sorry. That was me being a dick."
"Yeah, that time it definitely was." John sighs. "I really wish I knew what to say right now, but I don't have any idea what that is."
"I wish you did too," Rodney admits. "Look, come up here and just, just sit with me for a while."
John gets up from the floor, sitting down on the bed next to Rodney, wrapping a tentative arm around his waist. It feels so good just to be sitting by him; up this close, John can smell him, the soft Athosian soap that he insists is the best thing that ever happened to his hair, the tinge of ozone that follows everyone who works with Ancient tech.
"Are you sniffing me?" Rodney asks suddenly.
John shifts. "Maybe a little."
Rodney snorts a laugh, pulling him closer, and even though John knows it's not all right, for a minute it feels like they might be okay.
Summary: John takes part in a ritual that changes everything.
Fandom: Stargate Atlantis
Word Count: 10002
Rating/Contents: NC-17, torture, BDSM, infidelity
Pairing: John/Rodney, John/OMC
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Written for
sgareversebang. Thanks so much to my betas, shadowen and cesare!PART ONE
The last time Rodney sees him, John is chained to a wall in the public square. It's raining, dense, foggy rain, and the sky is beginning to darken, casting a purplish glow on the whole scene. John is naked, and there's a clean white cloth tied around his face; Rodney can already see the first bruises starting to form on him. John looks young, lost; he looks expectant, somehow. There's someone standing over him, casting a long shadow on the wall, but Rodney's too far away to even see who it is.
John strains forward as they drag Rodney, Ronon, and Teyla away, as if to stop them, as if to say goodbye.
--
M9J-203 was just like so many other planets, at least at first. The biggest settlement was far enough from the gate that they had to take the jumper; Rodney watched the trees pass underneath him, red and brown and gold, broken up by stands of tall evergreens that looked so much like pine trees.
John set the jumper down gently at the edge of town. Clearly, they'd been spotted; the welcoming committee was waiting for them, standing carefully out of the jumper's path. A diminutive elderly woman in a bright green robe seemed to be the ringleader. She waited for their approach, letting them array themselves in front of her before she spoke.
"You are the survivors," the woman said, holding out her hands to them. Teyla was first to take them; the woman tilted her head, meeting Teyla's forehead with her own.
When Teyla stepped back, the woman held out her hand palm down to Ronon; he shied away from her, surprised, before putting his hand underneath hers, palm up. Together, they flipped their hands over.
"I haven't," Ronon said, hesitantly, still looking at their joined hands. "Not in a long time."
"We have seen many travellers here," she told him. "Though it has been many years since we saw one of your kind here." Ronon just nodded, looking overcome, and stepped away from her.
After that, it seemed anticlimactic when she took Rodney's hand, shaking it firmly. She lingered over John, holding his hand for just a little too long, looking deeply into his eyes. But just like that, the moment was over, so fast that Rodney wondered if he'd imagined it. John's uncomfortable expression told him he hadn't.
"You have come on an auspicious day," the woman said, loud enough for the assembled crowd to hear her. "We are preparing for a feast. Will you join us?"
"We do love a good feast," John said, but he sounded off enough that even Rodney picked it up.
"Come with us, then," she said approvingly, turning and walking towards the village.
Rodney nudged John with his shoulder. "Free food," he said, waggling his eyebrows exaggeratedly.
"My favorite kind," John returned, but he still sounded shaky.
They followed the woman into the village.
--
The rest of the team spends the next twelve days in jail.
On the first day, Ronon produces a knife out of nowhere, picks the lock somehow, and disables the guards; they're practically to the jumper before they're overtaken by thirteen or fourteen of M9J-203's finest. Ronon probably would and could kill half of them before they took him down, but Teyla puts a hand on his arm to stop him.
On the second day, Teyla reaches through the bars and chokes out the guard who brings them food. They steal out of the jail dressed in pilfered uniforms; she's negotiating for a ride out of town when they're spotted and chased down. Once again, they're escorted back to the jail and politely yet firmly imprisoned.
On the third day, Rodney's attempt never even gets off the ground; they send in a woman to sit in the cell with them and watch them up close. She just sits there, heavily pregnant, and embroiders all day, and none of them have the heart to do anything to her. The inhabitants of this planet are really more devious than Rodney expected.
On the fifth day, Rodney finds a piece of charcoal on the floor. He takes a perverse glee in marking out the days in hash marks on the wall, convict style; that being done, he bombards anyone who spends more than ten seconds within earshot with questions. The nice pregnant lady just smiles at him a lot, looking sort of like Rodney's aunt, and says nothing. When one of the guards finally cracks and yells at him, all he'll say that isn't profane is that John and the jumper are safe.
Rodney doesn't believe either of those things.
They don't exactly give up after that; it's really just that they run out of options. The Jerans are prepared to take anything that the team can throw at them, and they're out of things to throw. So Teyla spends a lot of time meditating, and Ronon spends most of his time looking pissed off and staring daggers at the guards, and Rodney alternates between mind-numbing boredom and sheer terror at the whole situation.
Rodney marks the days off one by one; they pass without further word of John.
--
They called themselves the Jerans. The name didn't ring a bell for Teyla or Ronon, which was a little strange; it wasn't strange enough to stop him having thirds of the ridiculously delicious fried meat kabob things that they served at the feast. He also maybe had thirds of the sweet wine that was going around. It was totally not a big deal; it's not like he had to fly home or anything.
"You have arrived just when we needed you," the old woman- Naca- told them. "We have reached the most holy days of our calendar."
"That's, uh, nice?" Rodney said uncertainly.
Naca laughed at him. "Yes, doctor, it is nice. Regretfully, we have no one to fill the lead role in our ceremonies. But now you have come to us, and perhaps the rains will come again after all."
"The society of the Lanteans is," Teyla said delicately, "very restrained. We would need to know the details of the ceremony before committing to anything."
"Of course," Naca said soothingly. "The ceremony is long, but not onerous. We will trade generously for your participation, Colonel Sheppard." John looked up, startled. "It is of the highest importance that we begin tonight."
"We'll see what we can do," John stammered.
Naca smiled. "I am sure we will come to an arrangement." She held up a hand, signalling a man at the other end of the table; he was dressed all in gray, looking rather more sedate than the rest of the villagers. His hair was neatly combed, and, except for the long scar down the side of his face, he reminded Rodney more than anything of an accountant. "This is my son, Carus," she said, as he approached. "He will be conducting the ceremony. He can explain everything."
With that, Naca, Carus, Teyla, and John went off to negotiate. Rodney had an uneasy feeling about the whole thing; he looked over at Ronon, who didn't look much more excited about it than Rodney. Ronon took another plate of meat sticks, eating as ravenously as usual, but he didn't take his hand off his gun.
--
After the imprisonment comes the ritual bath, which Rodney sort of hoped would happen. It's not like he has a lot of respect for ritual cleansing; he's just starting to smell like a goat after so many days wearing the same clothing.
The clothes they give him fit terribly; his ass is too big and his legs are too long and his head barely fits through the neck hole. Still, unless they're dressing him up in order to sacrifice him, it's a step in the right direction. Of course, then they fit him with handcuffs, which is decidedly the wrong direction.
When he rejoins Teyla and Ronon, they're similarly outfitted and looking just as uncomfortable and worried as he feels. They've been herded into a sort of tent, the kind that Rodney thinks he might have seen near the town square. There's certainly noise outside, the sound of a lot of people milling around and trying to look they have a reason to be there.
The tent flap is pulled back, and Naca enters. Ronon looks at her murderously, like he's going to lunge at any second. "Here you all are," she says.
"Are you here to tell us just what the fuck is going on?" Rodney demands.
Naca laughs, and now Rodney wants to lunge at her. "It is time for the high point of the ceremony," she tells them. "Come with me."
Rodney is beginning to understand that he doesn't have a choice in the matter.
--
Teyla and John didn't return, even when it was long past time to turn in. Ronon made noises about going to sleep in the jumper, all of which were pointedly ignored by their hosts. Truth be told, Rodney didn't do much to help him out, imagining a good night's sleep in an actual bed- or at least on a nice mat or something. Surely Teyla and John would be done by the morning.
Maybe they were, maybe they weren't, because Rodney never saw the morning. When he came to, it was already late afternoon, and his nice sleeping mat was long gone.
Ronon eyed him. "You're up."
"Apparently," he said, patting himself down. Everything was missing, including his jacket and his boots. "Did we just get rolled?"
"Yeah," Ronon said. "And kidnapped."
"Any sign of John and Teyla?"
"Teyla's across the hall," Ronon told him. "No word on Sheppard."
Rodney ran his hand through his hair. "I guess they got what they wanted, then."
"Could've been a distraction, saying they needed him," he said, shrugging. "Could be using him as collateral so that we'll work for them. Could want the jumper. Or they could have sacrificed him by now."
"You're such a ray of sunshine," Rodney groaned, holding his fingers against the spot where he could feel a headache forming.
The door to the room opened; Ronon took down three of the guards before one of them knocked him out. They carried and dragged him and Rodney away, through the building and out into the town square. Rodney caught just a glimpse of John before they took him away.
--
The crowd parts for them as they're escorted through it. It's weird, though, because nobody they pass seems to care about them; they accept the intrusion and ignore it as fast as they can, in favor of what's going on at some indeterminable point ahead of them. They're craning their necks and standing on their toes, and Rodney's just a little too short and having too much trouble walking to figure out what in the hell is going on.
He doesn't have to wonder for all that long. They're led towards the center of town, where there's a big freestanding wooden dais. People are ringing it, pressing in on all sides, jockeying to get closer.
When Rodney finally sees John, he's taken aback. He's kneeling, still naked, on the dais, and they've got him tied up with thin black ropes, his arms stretched back and attached to a thick wooden post. He's really bruised now, his skin mottled with it; it's worst on his shoulders, but he's marked up all over. There's a livid red mark across his throat, right where a collar would sit, and it makes Rodney's neck hurt just looking at it.
A figure climbs the stairs up to the platform, dressed in a long gray robe; he pushes his hood back, and, unsurprisingly, it's Carus. There are acolytes behind him, dressed in blood red, carrying a large wooden chest. They set it down next to the post that John's tied to, and Rodney knows with a weird, uncomfortable certainty that he's not going to like what's inside of it.
Carus raises his hands, and a hush falls over the crowd. He pushes back his sleeves, flicking a hand at the acolytes, and they set to work. One of them opens the chest, pulling out a bowl full of something; the other one puts his hands in it, filling them with some kind of white paste. He kneels in front of John, smoothing his hands over John's chest, up his arms, down over his legs, working the stuff into his skin. It melts on him, leaving his skin shining and smooth, making the welts on his flesh stand out even more.
The acolyte stands up and nods to Carus. Carus says something Rodney can't hear, and the other acolyte nods, going for the chest again. She comes up with a- Rodney doesn't know what it is, but it looks for all the world like a riding crop- and hands it over. Carus swishes it through the air a few times, testing it, and Rodney feels sick to his stomach.
Carus ducks under the ropes that attach John's arms to the post, standing behind him. He surveys John's back for a moment; Rodney can't see his expression, but there's something approving about his body language, like he's proud of his handiwork, the way he's ruined John's skin.
He brings the crop down on John's back, just smacking it lightly, almost tapping it; John doesn't even flinch, even though it must feel like hell on all those marks. The crop stutters across his skin, and Rodney can't stop following its every movement.
Without warning, Carus hauls off and hits him, hard, hard enough that the sound of it rings out in the silence of the square. John jumps at that, straining forward, but he corrects himself almost immediately, holding still for more. Carus gives it to him, hitting him again in the exact same spot. John hangs his head and just takes it, arching his back for more, and Rodney wants to throw up, he wants to run, he wants to take that crop and beat the living shit out of Carus and anybody else he can get his hands on. Ronon and Teyla are dangerously quiet beside him, and he can tell without asking that they feel exactly the same way that he does.
Carus is still hitting him, loud slaps all over his back and down to his ass and thighs, and the square is still reverentially quiet. It occurs to Rodney then that there's something off about this whole scene, something unexpected; there's no muttering, no jeering, no laughter. They've got John naked, humbled, beaten, but they're not humiliating him, not really.
Rodney doesn't know what to think about that.
Carus stands back, studying John carefully; he ducks back under the ropes and walks around in front of John, slapping at him intermittently, catching him across his arms, his stomach, landing a particularly vicious blow right across his left nipple. He looks pleased with himself, and Rodney wants to wipe that smile right off his face. He motions to the acolytes, holding out the crop to them and asking for something else.
What he receives is a long, thick rod with a bulb at one end; Carus presses a button, and the bulb lights up, blue-green. Just the color would let Rodney know that it's Ancient, but Rodney doesn't have to wonder. He's seen one before.
"Oh my god, no," Rodney says.
"Rodney," Teyla says urgently, "what is it?"
He swallows hard before speaking. "It's a cattle prod."
--
They found it years ago, in a dusty storage container in a back room near the greenhouses. The botanists had been terrified of the box and refused to go near it, until Rodney braved it and found that the contraption on top was a milking machine and not something worse.
It was all farm equipment, something they'd never found before and always wondered about. There were lassos and shears and, at the bottom of the box, this weird looking rod.
"It is my turn," Zelenka insisted, reaching for it. "Move please."
"The hell it is," Rodney said, shoving him over. Rodney grabbed one end just as Zelenka grabbed the other; then Zelenka screamed something that wasn't in English and fell to the ground.
"Guess we know what that's for," Rodney said, helping him up.
Zelenka swore, still not in English. "We will label it immediately, and you," he put his finger in Rodney's face, "you will forget where we put it."
"Why should I forget?" Rodney said. "I've already had my fun with it. Nothing can top my fond memories of our time together."
Zelenka glared at him and very carefully reached for a bag to store it in. Rodney put it gingerly into the bag, and that was the end of it.
--
Carus is speaking, and Rodney can't even hear him over the sound of his own pulse racing. Carus says something to John, and John tilts his head up, looking at him. John opens his hands and strains forward, begging for it, the perfect picture of supplication.
Beside him, Ronon starts struggling and yelling, growling at the guards and kicking wildly. He tries to break for it, but he gets three steps before Naca pulls a capsule from her pocket and crushes it in front of his face; he goes out like a light, slumping against the guards.
Teyla has her eyes closed; she looks the way she does when she's at her most dangerous, disturbingly peaceful except for the frown on her face. Rodney can't stop looking at John, horrified and transfixed.
Just like the crop, Carus starts off slowly; he brushes the prod gently across John's stomach, barely touching him with it. Every muscle in John's body goes tense, but he doesn't react otherwise. Rodney is torn between being sickened and impressed by John's fortitude; he'd probably have passed out from the sheer exertion of being terrified by now.
Carus ups the ante. He sweeps his way up, holding the prod against John's arm for a long moment. John's mouth falls open and his head falls back; he looks transported, completely gone. It's his neck, next, and John starts shaking, trembling.
Someone is screaming. It takes Rodney a while to realize that it's him.
It's only then that Carus starts with the really heavy stuff. He presses the end of the rod against John's nipple, holding it there for long enough that Rodney loses count of the seconds. John is breathing heavily, panting, but when Carus finally takes the prod away, he goes ramrod straight again, waiting for more. Carus gives it to him, tagging him right on his other nipple, and then John starts screaming. What gets to Rodney, what really gets to him, is that parts of it sound satisfied.
Carus lifts the prod, and John falls forward, the ropes taking his weight. He looks wrung out, exhausted; there's sweat rolling off of him, beading up on the still-slick surface of his skin. Rodney knows what's coming, he knows where all this is going, but still he can't look away, he has to see.
Carus presses the end of the prod to the tip of John's dick- John's hard, John's been hard this whole time- and John shouts and comes all over himself, shooting onto his chest and stomach. A collective, relieved sigh goes up from the crowd.
The worst part of Rodney, the darkest and cruelest part, the part of him that wants to be the one holding that cattle prod, that part of him is seething, envious, hate-filled.
He's never been able to get John to do that for him.
--
John laughed as Rodney pushed him down onto the mattress, holding his wrists so that he couldn't get away- not that he wanted to. It didn't last long, not when Rodney's next move was to bend down and bite at his shoulder, sucking hard; John started to moan, biting it back reflexively at the last second.
"You know you can let me hear it," Rodney said, pausing to blow across the skin he'd just marked. "We're six corridors from the ass end of the city in a soundproof room. Nobody's going to hear us."
John squirmed, the bad kind of uncomfortable, so Rodney didn't press it, going back to biting at John's skin, keeping it up until John was whining. He pulled back, long enough for John to start thinking that part was over, only to dive right back in and mark up his other shoulder. This time, John didn't catch himself, groaning loudly; Rodney grinned, kissing the side of his neck. "That's good," he said approvingly. All of a sudden, he let John go, slapping him on the thigh. "Hands and knees."
He got up from the bed, making sure to enjoy the sight of John naked and moving, in that carelessly graceful way of his. He was certainly something to see, up on the bed with his elbows planted and his legs spread just so, parted enough that Rodney could see his hard, heavy cock between them.
As hot as it was, Rodney had other plans to attend to; he walked over to the wall, pressing his hand to the print lock carefully concealed behind a panel. All their toys were improvised, jury-rigged affairs, made of bits of rope, old clothes, and carefully hoarded duct tape. Rodney rifled through them, trying to decide what fun torture he was going to visit on John tonight. He came up with a flogger that he was quite proud of; he'd made it out of strips of a worn out pair of jeans, and John squirmed appealingly any time Rodney used it.
Rodney twirled the flogger theatrically, in that way that he really wished someone was there to see, because he was really quite good at it. He could see John tense up at the soft swish of the falls through the air; he paused to stroke him reassuringly, smoothing his hands over his back, down to his ass and thighs.
"Get ready for it," he said, stepping back again and readjusting his grip on the flogger. He smacked John lightly with it at first, letting him relax into the sensation; just as John was starting to get into it, Rodney caught him off guard, hitting him harder, right across his ass. John jumped a bit, but that little, unconscious wiggle he did told Rodney everything he wanted to know.
Rodney let himself fall into a good rhythm, hitting John nice and hard, building his way up. It took him a while, but John relaxed, holding still for more. Rodney kept it up until John was moaning softly, until his skin was just starting to get nice and pink.
He put down the flogger, kissing the marks he'd just left, making John squirm and laugh. He did it again for good measure, just restraining himself from blowing a raspberry- funny, but not exactly what he was going for here.
Rodney walked over and reached behind the questionable Ancient sculpture against the wall, pulling out his cane, the one that John wasn't ready to admit was totally his favorite; he didn't have to say anything, not when his eyes lit up and his ears went red every time Rodney pulled it out.
Today was no exception; John bit his lip when Rodney waggled it in front of his face, taunting him. "I read that somebody called it the 'rattan vibrator,'" he said casually. "Let's see if it holds true."
John turned his head, watching as Rodney went to stand behind him. "Are you saying you want me to-"
"If it wouldn't be too much trouble," Rodney teased. "But if you don't want to come, I guess you don't have to."
"Hell with that," John said, turning back towards the wall and lowering himself onto his elbows. "If you think it'll work, let's do it."
Rodney patted his ass. "That's a good boy," he said, before pulling back to hit John lightly with the cane, just sprinkling little taps all over his ass.
"Come on," John said, frustrated. "I'm ready to take it, just do it."
"You know that when you say that, it just makes me want to spend all night warming you up," Rodney said, but he hit John a little harder this time. Before John could say one more sassy thing, Rodney pulled back and hit him hard, enough to make him hiss.
"Is that what you're looking for?" Rodney said, thumbing over the spot he'd just hit.
John said something like, "Flubgr," and put his face down against the mattress.
"I see," Rodney said, hitting him again, the cane whistling through the air. He wasn't a traditionalist at heart, but he still gave it to John in sets of six, counting them out slowly and evenly, letting John get used to the rhythm. He got to what he was sure John could take, then he counted out six more, feeling it out.
"God, Rodney," John groaned.
Rodney stopped. "Is that too much or not enough?"
"I don't know," John said fuzzily. "I just- do what you want, I don't know."
Rodney carefully gave him six more, backing down on it a little just in case. It didn't seem like he was doing the wrong thing, not if the way John's dick was leaking all over the mattress was any indication.
"I can't," John said, sounding frustrated and a little sad. "I want to, please, please make me come."
"You can do it," Rodney coaxed. "Just a little bit more."
John thrashed his head. "I- I- please, Rodney-"
Rodney finally took pity on him, wrapping his hand around John's dick and stroking; he'd barely moved his hand before John went off. Rodney wanted to get inside him so badly, but there was no time at all, especially not when watching his come splash out over John's welts was so fucking hot.
Panting and sated, he curled up next to John, holding him and steadying him, petting the parts of him he hadn't just put marks all over. Rodney was distantly disappointed, though, that he couldn't quite pull it off, that John wouldn't quite give it up for him, not entirely.
He felt like an absolute shit for thinking it, but that didn't stop him.
--
After that, the crowd disperses; they're led- in Ronon's case, carried- back to the jumper. John is waiting for them, standing stiffly next to the open door, wearing his uniform, his sunglasses, and a blank expression. Naca says a few words that Rodney doesn't listen to; he has the overwhelming urge to touch John's wounds, to make sure it's really him.
The guards unlock their handcuffs, and just like that, they're all free to go.
PART TWO
Carson keeps John in the infirmary for three days after it happens. John knows he'd rather keep him under observation for longer, long as he could get away with, but there's nothing wrong with John, not that Carson could fix. There are no broken bones, no damaged organs, nothing but well placed, precise, painful bruises.
Just like John expected.
--
As Naca led them down the hall and away from the feast, Carus put a hand on John's arm. "Let the women negotiate," he said. "I will explain the ceremony to you, if you are willing."
With no little trepidation, John followed him into a side room, where he indicated a pair of comfortable-looking chairs. John sat uneasily, wondering where all this was going.
"Allow me to be direct," Carus said. "You have a rare ability, one that we need desperately. It has been a generation since new candidate appeared, and our allies are unable to assist us this year."
John sighed in relief. "So, what is it? Big thing, lights up kind of blueish-green? A chair, a temple, something like that?"
Carus frowned in confusion. "I don't follow you."
It was John's turn to frown. "So, you don't-" He waved a hand. "Ignore me. What do you need?"
"You have the ability to withstand pain," Carus told him. "I do not mean in terms of simple tolerance, as anyone may accomplish that. You have the ability to enjoy it."
John gave him a hard look, trying to mask how uncomfortable he felt with where this was going. "And what makes you think that?"
"A chosen few of my people have a gift, one that my mother and I share," he explained, tapping himself lightly on the forehead. "We can see into the thoughts of others."
John narrowed his eyes. "I really don't appreciate people messing around in my brain."
"If you will forgive me for saying so, I did not dig into your mind," Carus said. "Your thoughts were very close into the surface."
John thought about what he and Rodney had done the night before, and his face grew hot. "Yeah, well. I'd still like a warning."
"My apologies," Carus said gravely. "We sometimes forget that not everyone shares our abilities."
"I still don't know where all this is going," John said.
"Our ceremony requires a," he stopped, looking for a word, "centerpiece, if you will. Someone who can take our pain and sadness from the last year and offer it up, change it into something different, something better. When the gods see our willingness to accept the good and evil they visit upon us, only then will they allow us to proceed into the coming year."
John blinked.
"There is a little time to consult with your cohort before the ceremony begins, but it must begin tonight," Carus said apologetically. "We will not proceed without your willingness, but we would be eternally indebted to you for assisting us."
John turned it over in his brain, weighing his options carefully, considering what the rest of his people would say. Elizabeth would tell him to- actually, Elizabeth would say something like, "We're not going to force you to do anything you're not comfortable with," but what she would mean was, "Suck it up and take one for the team."
Teyla and Ronon and Rodney, well, he could ask them himself, but he was pretty sure he already knew their answers. Teyla would carefully try to hide her glee over the fact that John was actually considering being a decent citizen of the Pegasus galaxy for once. Ronon would give him a point by point threat assessment, followed by a gruff, "Up to you," because Ronon really wouldn't care if John found himself in the middle of a questionable porno, just as long as he was relatively safe about it.
And Rodney, Rodney's eyes would get wide and kind of glassy at the whole proposition; he'd catch himself at the last minute before he said something completely inappropriate, stammer something about good relations and building friendships that was almost as inappropriate coming from him.
John already knew what he himself really wanted to say, but he wasn't about to blurt that out. "I'll need to talk to my team before we go any further," he warned.
"Of course," Carus said. "I welcome it. Shall we see if the negotiations have finished?"
"Lead on," John said.
And what do you know, Teyla said exactly what he expected to hear; Rodney and Ronon were already asleep, but Ronon muttered something about "little to no threat, stop poking me, asshole." After a quick consult at the gate with Elizabeth, John made his decision.
And just like that, John became the new chew toy of M9J-203.
--
Rodney is waiting in his room when he comes back from the infirmary. John's barely seen him since the mission; it's something they'd decided, no questionable sitting by bedsides for non-life-threatening injuries, but Rodney's been scarce, even for that.
"I think we should talk," Rodney says nervously, standing up from John's chair quickly enough that it rolls away forlornly.
John winces a little when he sits down at the edge of his bed, the deep bruises on his ass still pulling and pressing a little. "What's there to talk about?"
Rodney doesn't react, no sarcasm and no indignation, which tells John this is serious. "I want to- I need to talk to you about what happened."
--
As soon as he got back into town, two hooded figures met him at the town square.
"We are here to take you to the investiture," one of them said.
"Carus sent us," the other one added, just in case John thought some other group of ceremonialists was kidnapping him.
When they showed him in to the temple, he expected a big crowd- maybe because this was a big deal, or maybe just because that's the way it had always played out in his head- but there were only a few people in the room. He recognized Teyla, of course, plus Naca and a few other people he'd seen at dinner. The room was very quiet, a nervous kind of hush settled over it.
Carus's assistants led him to a small pedestal in the center of the room; one of them whispered into his ear to kneel on it, which didn't surprise him, really. The big doors on the opposite side of the room opened suddenly, and Carus stepped in, looking rather unassuming despite his grand entrance. He carried with him a collar, placed on his outstretched hands; he walked slowly over, nodding to Naca as he passed.
He approached John finally, standing over him. "Do you give us your free consent?" he asked, loud enough for everyone to hear.
John swallowed. "I do," he answered, loud enough to mask his doubt.
Carus leaned down, snapping the collar around John's neck, and the tension seemed to go out of the room. "Rest now," Carus said. "The ceremony will recommence at dawn."
--
"I spoke to Kate," Rodney says carefully, slowly, like he's afraid of something, of John's reaction. "She said-" He bites his lip; he is really starting to freak John out now. "Victims of- of what you went through, it can be hard-" He takes a deep breath. "If you want to break up with me that's fine but please don't," he says, all in a rush.
John frowns. "Why would I break up with you?"
"Kate says- and this is Kate talking, not me, but I believe her," Rodney says, showing the same trust in his psychologist that he never shows in other doctors, and he starts to pace up and down. "She says it can be hard for victims to have, you know- when someone feels violated, it can be hard to-"
"I don't feel violated at all," John says.
"You don't have to say that," Rodney tells him. "Really, you don't. I understand wanting to put on a brave face and everything, but-"
"I'm not," John insists. "I'm telling you the truth. I don't feel like a victim."
"But are you sure?" Rodney says. "Kate says sometimes, people don't want to admit stuff like that, but I swear to god, John, you can tell me."
"I am telling you," John says. "I'm sorry if you're upset about it, but I'm not."
"How can you not-" He stops suddenly, whirling around to face John. "No, no, no," he says. "Don't- You couldn't- With the pain and the- Don't tell me you got off on all this."
John says nothing.
Rodney makes an incoherent noise of rage. "I can't believe you. We leave you alone for five minutes and you start acting out the Story of fucking O."
"It's not like that," John protests, even though it was a whole lot like that.
--
The night passed uneventfully, or at least as uneventfully as it could when one was trying to sleep in one's clothes curled up in what looked like a big dog bed covered in furry blankets. The morning, too, was less torturous than John expected. Carus said a couple of ritual greetings to the sun, then he turned John back over to his apparently nameless acolytes.
Of all the things John was expecting, a spa day was not one of them. The obligatory ritual bath was first. John had had plenty of them, but this one was quite nice; there were even bubbles this time. Carus's assistants got a little handsy, but that wasn't particularly new either; at least it wasn't like M9J-392, where the appointed bathers had a really unnecessary interest in washing John's ass.
When they were finished, the acolytes took all his clothes away, giving him a small towel that just barely hid his dignity. After that, they took him into the temple's luxurious gardens and gave him a nice long massage, smoothing scented oil into his skin and working out his knots in a way that was completely unfamiliar and totally satisfying.
They kept on pampering him like that, feeding him lunch, playing with his hair, until the sky started to cloud over, a misty rain starting to fall. Just as they were about to go inside, Carus appeared at the doors; the acolytes bowed hurriedly and turned John over to him.
Carus led him inside, taking him to a small room with little furniture; when Carus sat down, John knelt in front of him without being asked- he'd already figured this thing out, at least a little.
"I trust you were well taken care of," Carus began.
"Can't complain," John said, his mouth crooking into a smile.
"Unfortunately," Carus said somberly, "now, the most important parts of the ceremony must begin."
"Don't sound so excited," John drawled, still feeling kind of loose and honest.
"That is not my intent," Carus said, missing the point, but John let it slide. Carus reached down beside his chair and pulled a wooden chest towards John. "This box has housed the tools of the ceremony for many generations," he informed him. "Normally you would not be shown its contents, but you have never seen our ceremonies before, and I don't wish to surprise you."
John leaned forward as Carus opened it, peering inside; there were an assortment of whips and things- scary, but not that weird. "A majority of the items I will use should not be unfamiliar to you," Carus said, "but there is one thing I must show you." He reached into the chest, taking out a long rod with a bulb at one end. John recognized it as Ancient immediately, though he'd never seen one before.
"This is the most critical implement used in the ceremony," Carus told him, handling it gently. "At the culmination of the final day, you will be expected to endure it."
John took a deep breath. "How bad is it?"
"Hold out your hand," Carus said, and John offered it to him. "Do not take your hand away until I say so." He put the bulb end into John's hand; the longer John held it, the more he could feel the energy in it, the kind that only really came from Ancient tech.
Carus suddenly lifted the staff away, and the thing zapped John hard, hard enough that he pulled back and immediately started shaking his hand out. "Jesus Christ."
"So much of the old magic has gone out of it," Carus said sadly, "but I still thought it best to warn you."
"Glad you did," John said.
"Come," Carus told him, standing and taking a chain from his pocket; he attached it to the ring on John's collar. "Leave your wrap behind. We must begin."
Reluctantly, John discarded his towel and let himself be led out of the temple. Now there was a crowd waiting for him; John focused on looking at Carus's shoes, which was preferable to staring down all these people, especially when he was completely naked.
Carus took him towards the wall of the temple and up onto a small platform. He positioned John in front of himself, making sure he was in place before standing beside him.
"This one has given himself up," Carus said loudly. He grabbed John's bicep and pinched hard, hard enough that he knew he'd have a bruise there; John wanted to wiggle out of his grasp, but he had the feeling that wasn't what he was supposed to do. Carus let him go, hitting him in the same spot; when that didn't get whatever reaction he wanted, he leaned down and bit John's arm, sucking hard. John couldn't hold it back anymore; he squirmed, caught between trying to get more and trying to get away. Apparently that was what Carus and the crowd had been waiting for. Carus patted his arm soothingly as the crowd gave him a round of applause that- well, John could only describe it as a golf clap.
He could already tell this was going to be a weird couple of days.
Carus tied a pure white cloth around his mouth and led him to the wall. "You may sit," he said quietly; when John did, Carus clipped the end of his leash to an eye bolt on the wall.
The chanting started then, in a language John couldn't understand; the gate translation failed like that sometimes, especially during rituals. John was glad no one could see his mouth, because he couldn't help laughing a little- it said something very strange about him that he was looking forward to the torture, if it'd get him out of the chanting.
Just once, he thought he saw his team in the crowd; he strained forward to look, but just like that they were gone.
--
"Then what was it like, Sheppard?" Rodney demands, and John flinches- Rodney hasn't used his last name like that in a long time.
"It was a ritual," John says plainly. "Just a bunch of ceremonies put together. It's no big deal."
"No big-" Rodney stops, rubbing at his temples. "How can you even say that?"
"Because that's the truth," John says, even though he knows that it isn't.
"Don't give me that," Rodney says sharply. "Don't even fucking try, because we both know that's bullshit. This is a huge fucking deal."
John runs a hand through his hair, nervous. "I didn't do it because I wanted to."
"No," Rodney replies. "You didn't do it just because you wanted to. There's a difference."
John doesn't have an answer for that.
--
The days fell into a kind of rhythm, so much so that John almost forgot to count them.
Every morning he'd awaken at dawn and listen as Carus told the sun everything they'd been up to. After breakfast, the acolytes would take him away for more pampering, fawning over him like he was their new puppy.
Then after dinner, Carus would take him away and beat the shit out of him.
He started out slowly, feeling John out. John wasn't sure if his limits even mattered in this situation, whether or not Carus would stop if it got to be too much; but he didn't push, not at first. It took four or five nights before Carus got into the really heavy stuff.
Like the nights before, the acolytes led him into what John privately referred to as the torture chamber. Tonight, they'd left him with a pair of white shorts to wear, which was a nice change from being so naked all the time. They left him standing in the middle of the room; John knew from experience that he had a few moments to get his mind right before Carus came in.
He heard Carus before he saw him, his shoes making soft noises on the stone floor, and John readied himself. As usual, Carus walked around him, surveying his bruises and marks before coming up to stand behind him. Before it had mostly been flogging, pinching, easy stuff, but this time Carus upped the ante right away. He grabbed John by the hair, biting him hard, right on the side of his neck. He didn't stop, chewing at his skin, leaving teeth marks, sucking until the skin was mottled with red and purple. When he was satisfied, he turned around and did it again, on his shoulder this time, and it was kind of amazing how something so simple hurt so much.
Carus stepped away; John could hear the chest opening, a sound he had become familiar with. Despite the warning, it still surprised the shit out of him when something hit him on the back, something very stingy that made John want to jump out of his skin. It took John about five hits to realize that it was a kind of whip, one with a forked tongue; it took ten before he realized that Carus wasn't going to stop any time soon.
It hurt, it hurt so bad, and John really hated it, but he couldn't do anything but stay still and take it. It brought him down hard; he'd thought was so ready for this, totally confident in his ability to take whatever this planet could throw at him, but he'd been totally wrong about that.
Carus was downright mean with the thing; he found one little spot on John's ass, and he just kept hitting him over and over right there, until John was sure he was going to break the skin. He finally stopped, running his hand over John's abused flesh; John had just started to relax when Carus slapped him right in the same spot, and John couldn't hold back anymore. He screamed, the sound reverberating off the stone walls.
"Very good," Carus said approvingly, and then he hit John again, picking a new spot this time. John didn't even realize there were tears streaming down his face until they rolled off his chin and splashed onto his chest. Under it all, though, John did and didn't want to get away; he wanted it to stop and he wanted to take more of it, wanted to take everything.
Finally, finally, Carus stopped, dropping the whip back into the chest. He ran his hands over John's body, scratching lightly over the welts and bruises that dotted his skin. "Hush, hush," Carus said softly, walking around to stand in front of him. He ran his hands down John's chest, soothing him gently.
Carus produced the handcuffs that had been in John's tac vest, snapping them shut around John's wrists. "You may kneel," he said, which John had already learned wasn't a suggestion. He folded up at Carus's feet, and suddenly it as all too much.
"I can't-" He held up his wrists, turning his face away. "The cuffs, I can't-"
Carus pulled out the key, unlocking them swiftly. "Forgive me. I thought they would be familiar to you."
"Too familiar," John said, unable to explain better than that.
Carus rubbed at John's wrists, checking them; finding nothing, he let them go. "We must continue," he said.
John rubbed the tears from his face and nodded.
The next thing that came out of the chest looked like a doubled-over belt, and John swallowed, anticipating a series of hard swats. Instead, Carus began hitting him lightly, rhythmically, all over his back, his shoulders, his arms. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as the whip had, and John soon lost himself in the rhythm of the thing. He hurt everywhere, but it was starting to matter less; he was floating up, letting Carus take him into that headspace, the place where everything was okay. There were all kinds of great explanations John could give for it, endorphins and all that, but none of it mattered in the moment.
Carus just kept on hitting him, right up to where it became uncomfortable and past that, but then, before John realized what was happening, it was over. "You may stand up when you are ready," Carus said, resting his hand on John's head.
"Don't wanna," John told him, his voice slurred. "Don't wanna come down."
"You don't need to," he replied, stroking John's hair. "All you need do is stand up and come with me."
After forever, John finally made it to his feet. Carus led him to his bedchamber, pulling the blanket over John as he curled up in the bed. Carus sat down next to him, humming something foreign and soothing; he was still there when John fell asleep.
--
"So you spent two weeks as this guy- what was his name? Oh wait, I don't give a fuck what it is- as this guy's pet," Rodney says, spitting the last word out like it's an insult. "And you left us in jail the whole time. Good game, Sheppard."
"You weren't supposed to be in jail," he says. "Teyla was supposed to-"
"Look, whatever," Rodney says, cutting him off. "We'll come back to that. Right now I'm too pissed off thinking about what you did with that guy."
John wants to protest, to insist that Carus was good to him; but he knows anything he says at this moment will be used against him, so he keeps his mouth shut.
"Did you let him fuck you?" Rodney asks, crossing his arms over his chest, his mouth set in an unhappy line.
John stills. "What kind of question is that?"
"A perfectly valid one," Rodney insists. "Did he fuck you? It's yes or no, John. I think even you can handle that."
"Where do you get off asking me that?" John challenges.
"Where do you get off getting off with other guys?" Rodney fires back. "Either answer my question or I am walking out that door: did he fuck you?"
John looks away, unable to meet Rodney's eyes. "Yes."
--
One night, after Carus was finished with him, the acolytes took him away, giving him a soft bench to rest on; he lay on it face down, avoiding the welts all over his backside. He was barely even there, floating peacefully, loose and wrung out. After a while, someone walked up behind him, their footfalls soft as they approached.
"I am here," Carus said, running a hand up his back, petting him gently, steadying him.
"Hey," John said muzzily, leaning into it like a cat- all that was missing was the purring, and John was pretty sure he wasn't far from that.
He leaned down next to John's ear. "May I have the privilege?" he asked softly.
"Oh, yeah," John replied, spreading his legs in invitation.
Carus kissed the back of his neck before getting into position behind him. There was only spit, but John didn't even care, not when he was so relaxed. It felt so good when Carus pushed into of him, moving incrementally forward until he was buried all the way inside. He slid carefully in and out, moaning deep in his throat.
"Come on," John murmured. "I can take it."
Carus stilled for a moment, hesitating, but he took John at his word, rocking into him harder. He curled his hand around John's hip, right over the bruise he'd put there, and John groaned, pushing into it. Every movement only reminded John of the welts covering his ass and thighs, every shift making them pull and burn, and it only made it better.
It didn't take long before Carus was driving into him hard, making the best, most wrecked noises John had ever heard. He was only just holding back, and then suddenly he wasn't, holding John down and really making him take it, pumping in and out of him hard enough to hurt, just how John wanted it. John moaned unreservedly, trying his best to push back for more, take as much as he could.
Carus pulled his hips up, positioning him just so, so that he could push in harder and deeper. And god help him, John came just like that; nobody'd told him not to, and he wanted it, wanted all of it, wanted nothing more than that moment. Carus made a lost, desperate noise, but he kept right on going, fucking John all the way through it and further, until finally, finally, he slammed all the way in and stayed there, crying out. John could feel his cock pulse inside of him, and he wished desperately that he could get hard again, because it was just about the hottest thing that ever happened to him.
Carus sighed, bending over John far enough that his face brushed against John's back. John could only hear him breathing as he recovered, soft even in the hush of the room.
After an eternity, Carus pulled carefully away from him. "Thank you," he whispered, taking John's hand and pressing a kiss to it.
John snorted a laugh. "My pleasure, trust me."
"Sleep well," he said. "Tomorrow is the final day."
John nodded; he didn't realize he'd drifted off until the acolytes came to carry him to his room.
--
"Let me make sure I'm up to speed, here," Rodney says, listing off points on his fingers. "You let somebody else beat on you, which I pretty much thought we had agreed was my job. You let somebody else fuck you, which is, again, my job- and I'm guessing safer sex technologies haven't come to M9J-203 yet? That's just great- thanks for adding extraterrestrial STDs to my list of concerns, Kirk." He snorts unhappily. "I'm so glad you got to go on your little bondage adventure while the rest of us were in jail," he sneers.
John sighs. "Rodney-"
"Do you know how-" Rodney stops, making a frustrated noise. "Do you know how scared we were? Do you even care about that?"
"I swear I didn't know," he insists. "If I'd have known-"
"If you'd have known, how do I know you would have done anything different?"
John stepped back. "I can't believe you'd even ask me that."
There's a look on Rodney's face, like he knows he'd just gone too far, but he stands his ground anyway. "Well, I just did."
--
John was pretty sure he'd never flown higher than he did during the final ceremony. After the acolytes pulled him down, they'd had to all but carry him away; John couldn't do much but stumble, tripping over his own feet.
They deposited him in Carus's tent, wrapping a soft blanket around him, Carus was right on their heels, coming in to sit with him, his arm around John's shoulders. John leaned heavily on him, letting Carus soothe him.
Before too long, the tent flap opened, and Naca and her retinue appeared. "May we enter?" she asked her son.
"Proceed," he replied.
She came over to stand by John, leaving her assistants and advisors in her wake. "The ceremony is complete," Naca said happily, ruffling John's hair. "Your friends are being released now, and you may all return to your world."
Carus whipped his head around to look her in the eye. "What do you mean, released?"
"We had some difficulties gaining their cooperation," Naca said, like it was no big deal at all. "They were not harmed."
John went from blissed out to pissed off in about fifteen seconds. "Excuse me?"
"We held them for the duration of the ceremony," she said patiently, as if John was the one being unreasonable. "They made attempts to interrupt the proceedings."
"Mother," Carus said, in a warning tone.
John turned to face him. "How could you know not know about this?" he demanded. "You're a fucking mind reader."
Carus flinched back. "To use my gift to look into my own mother's thoughts is a terrible sin," he said, scandalized. "I had her sworn word and no reason to question it." He folded his arms over his chest. "Or I thought I did."
John stood up, despite the fact that his legs still felt like jelly. "Well, I've had a great time, but this wasn't it," he said sharply. "Give me my clothes. I'm leaving."
Carus looked sick to his stomach, dumbstruck, so much so that John had to look away. Naca snapped her fingers, and attendants appeared with John's clothes. He slid his sunglasses on first, grateful to have that barrier between him and these people.
He dressed and went back to the jumper, then he got his team the fuck out of there.
--
"I did what I had to do," John says stiffly.
Rodney laughs, mirthlessly. "I'm pretty sure you went above and beyond the call."
"Rodney-"
"This is all just fucking perfect for you," Rodney says tightly, and John can tell that he's just barely holding back from screaming.
"No," John says.
Rodney frowns, obviously thrown. "What the hell do you mean, no?"
"It wasn't perfect," John tells him. "It wasn't perfect because it wasn't you."
Rodney's mouth drops into an O of surprise.
"Yeah," John says, shifting uncomfortably.
--
It was late, very late when Carus helped him back to his bedroom; John walked unsteadily, turned to mush by Carus's very skilled application of what felt like an evil stick. Carus put him to bed, which was still a little weird, but comforting at the same time.
John was caught between floating and sleeping, suspended somewhere in between. "Rodney," he said sleepily, and his eyes flew open; he bit his lip, unsure how Carus would react.
"You will see him soon," Carus said softly, patting him on the shoulder. "I know he will be glad to see you."
--
"Oh my god," Rodney says. "Oh my god, I'm such a fucking bastard." He sits heavily on the edge of the bed, putting his head in his hands.
John feels completely lost, helpless, so he does the only thing that seems to make any sense. He slides to his knees in front of Rodney, putting his hands on Rodney's thighs. "I was thinking about it, the whole time," he confesses. "I wanted it, but-" he swallows around the lump in his throat- "I still wanted you. It only would have been perfect if it had been you."
Rodney looks down at him, the first hint of tears in his eyes. "I don't see why, not after I was such a dick about the whole thing."
John wants to go there, to turn it around and push this on Rodney; he can't, though, not when they both know that he's the one who fucked this one up. "You weren't being a dick," John tells him. "Harsh, yeah, but, y'know, I gave you a good reason to be."
"You kind of did," Rodney says, and he sounds a little apologetic, which rips John up.
"I want-" John stops, taking a deep breath, trying to push through his sheer terror at the thought of pushing through all this emotional bullshit. "I want to make it okay, and I can't. I really fucked up bad."
"It's not like that," Rodney says. "You did something good for Atlantis. It was just bad for us."
"What good is it?" John says. "They might trade with us, but Elizabeth is never going to let us go back there again. I'm never going to let us go back there again."
"I'd have thought you'd want to go back, since you had such a good time," Rodney snaps, but he deflates. "Sorry. That was me being a dick."
"Yeah, that time it definitely was." John sighs. "I really wish I knew what to say right now, but I don't have any idea what that is."
"I wish you did too," Rodney admits. "Look, come up here and just, just sit with me for a while."
John gets up from the floor, sitting down on the bed next to Rodney, wrapping a tentative arm around his waist. It feels so good just to be sitting by him; up this close, John can smell him, the soft Athosian soap that he insists is the best thing that ever happened to his hair, the tinge of ozone that follows everyone who works with Ancient tech.
"Are you sniffing me?" Rodney asks suddenly.
John shifts. "Maybe a little."
Rodney snorts a laugh, pulling him closer, and even though John knows it's not all right, for a minute it feels like they might be okay.