Into the Light

The door swings open, and after so many days in the dark, the light blinds him.

"Jesus Christ. John." Then, more loudly, "Lieutenant, over here—"

Rodney's voice. Thank god, Rodney. John scrubs at his eyes, he can't open them, there's too much light and it hurts. A hand touches his shoulder and it startles him.

"Shhh. It's all right. Come on, we're getting you out of here."

Eyes finally open, despite the burning and the tearing, and it's definitely Rodney. Such a welcome sight. John tries but he can't speak, his throat is too tight, he can't find any words to express the joy and relief. Ford is in the doorway, he's talking to John, but John's not listening, he's just staring at Rodney, Rodney in his combat gear and boots and big gun and the expression as he looks John over silently—the expression that says maybe his throat is a little too tight, too.

"Doctor, we'd better get moving—" Ford is peering down the hall.

"Are you hurt? Can you walk?" Rodney asks.

John nods. "I'm good. Just get me the hell out of here." His voice is rusty and unused, and the sound of it makes Rodney scowl.

Rodney tugs him to his feet. He feels shaky but Rodney slips an arm around his waist, supporting him, and the touching is nice, very nice. He stumbles away from the gray stone walls of the cell that has been his prison for days and days, he doesn't know how long. He had left it only once since they locked him away, to stand in front of a camera and tell Elizabeth that he was okay, he was being treated fine. Just fine. He carefully kept his eyes away from the armed guards, stun guns at the ready, standing just out of range. No, really, it's like being at Club Med. Give my regards to Rodney. I'll send a postcard as soon as I buy some stamps.

"So, the negotiations went well, huh?" he asks, remembering Elizabeth's tense expression, her tight, clipped words as she asked him questions he wasn't allowed to answer.

"I prefer this kind of negotiation, sir," Ford says. He motions for them to wait, and they do, John trembling a little as he leans against Rodney, Rodney's hand on his back, steadying him. He wants to ask Rodney for a weapon, but then Ford moves them along.

Running now, a steady trot down the long, featureless corridor, Rodney's fingers wrapped around his forearm. No shots fired—a smooth rescue operation. But it would make him very happy to shoot someone right now, like that big guard with the sloping brow and no sense of humor whatsoever.

Teyla meets them at the stairwell, P90 at the ready, and smiles beautifully at him. "Major," she says, her voice warm and welcoming. "You are well?"

"Kinda," is all John can manage, because right now he's incredibly proud of his team. She touches his shoulder, then watches their six as Rodney determinedly hauls him up the stairs.

Climbing is difficult and frustrating. He's not used to being so weak, but he hasn't had much food in the past few days. After two flights, everything around him fades to gray and he hears the blood rushing in his ears, but hands hold him on either side, keeping him going. He doesn't fall. They make it to the roof unaccosted. Fresh, clean air, blinding sunlight, and he stumbles over something solid—a guard, either dead or unconscious. Dead, he hopes with vicious satisfaction.

"Come on now, Major. Almost there." Rodney pulls him away, making him run again.

He concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other, letting Rodney do the rest, letting him lead the way. Then he's flat on his back, staring at the ceiling of the puddle jumper as his head clears. "Cool," he says to the ceiling. He's free. He's been rescued. Life is good.

The door thumps shut, and he feels the vibration of the engines powering up. "Good to see you, sir," Stackhouse calls out from the front of the jumper.

John raises a hand in a weak wave. "Hi." He wants to fly home, wants to feel the controls under his hands; he wants to make the jumper jump. When he tries to sit up, Rodney is there again, getting him settled against the storage bin even though that's not what he wants. He points to the front of the jumper. "But—"

"That's right, Stackhouse is flying us home." He pats John's leg. "Not you." He hands John a bottle of water and peels the wrapper from a chocolate bar.

Sitting with Rodney is just as good as flying. John's is aware that he's pretty ripe—he hasn't showered since forever—but even so, Rodney lets him lean in close without blinking an eye or wrinkling his nose, and it's wonderful, the touching, the connection after being alone for so long. Ford is up front and Teyla is apparently monitoring planetary communications, so they're basically all alone in back of the jumper. Their faces are close, and Rodney's eyes are so bright that John can't stop staring, ignoring the half-wrapped candy bar being pressed into his hand. He doesn't care if they're being obvious. It's impossible to look away from such raw emotion—something Rodney doesn't reveal easily. Even when they're making love, there's always a wisecrack somewhere, a joke, another barrier. Even when John fucks him there's a distance, as if Rodney is afraid of showing too much of himself when all John wants is for Rodney to stop hiding and let go.

The candy bar slides falls into his lap. John chooses to hold onto Rodney's hand instead. Rodney glances away and John is disappointed, until, after a brief look around, Rodney leans in and kisses him, hard and quick. John is touched and delighted. He leans in for more, but Rodney pulls back. His eyes, though—his eyes tell John everything he needs to know.

"You scared the hell out of me, getting captured like that," Rodney says accusingly, as if John had done it deliberately. He squeezes John's hand, then retrieves the candy bar. "Don't do it again, okay?"

"I'll try, I promise. It wasn't a whole lot of fun. I dreamed about you, you know." He had dreamed of Rodney sitting with him, chattering away, giving him shit about something or other, being his usual pain-in-the-ass self. Only John wasn't sure if he was awake or asleep and at times became convinced Rodney was actually in the cell with him. "It was nice. Comforting."

Rodney frowns. "Are you sure it was me?"

"Rodney," John starts, exasperated that Rodney just doesn't get it. But then Rodney grins at him and John realizes Rodney is yanking his chain. It makes him ridiculously happy.

"Here, eat something before you faint again."

John corrects him. "Passed out. I passed out. Almost."

It's an old joke by now, but Rodney is still grinning. "Right. Whatever you say, Major."

There's a loud whoop from the front section. They're dialing up, about to head through the Gate. Ford announces that's something really rank in the back of the jumper, Stackhouse wants to open some windows, Teyla laughs, and as the white glow of the wormhole fills the interior of the jumper, John realizes that he's actually going home and that Rodney just might love him.

***

Warmth. Flowing water, hot and steamy, raining down on them both, and silky, soapy skin glides against his body, touching him all over. After the cold, dark cell, hard dirt floor, and stone walls, he feels as though he'll never get enough of the warmth and the light. He tightens his arms around Rodney's waist and rubs a freshly shaven cheek against Rodney's neck. John is utterly content. It's a little embarrassing to be holding on this tight, but it feels so good—Rodney's hands sliding up and down his back, stroking him, petting him. He needs this. So he leans against Rodney and blots out all thoughts of prison cells and instead focuses on the way Rodney's heart is beating against his chest, and the hands, those talented hands, that sweep down to cup his ass.

"Hey," he murmurs, pushing his hips. His half-hard cock presses into Rodney's thigh. Rodney moves his hips in response and that's very nice, too.

"Thought you might be falling asleep," Rodney tells him. He sounds amused.

John raises his head and receives a kiss, slow and deep, a kiss that feels like it's never going to end, and he's good with that. He's home now, and Rodney is holding him. Rodney may not ever let go. They might stay in the shower together forever, he thinks contentedly.

Rodney nibbles on his lips and finally lets go. "I thought I'd never get you out of that infirmary."

John grins at the memory of Rodney hovering around his bed, getting in Carson's way. "I thought Carson was going to ban you from the area. And I was only there for four hours."

"Try six. You fell asleep." Rodney turns John around, facing him into the spray. "And you're supposed to be sleeping right now. Here, rinse off."

John luxuriates in the rush of hot water. His head tilts back onto Rodney's shoulder and he rubs his ass against Rodney's cock. A hand on his chest, and Rodney is kissing his shoulder, licking, sucking his way up John's neck, to that spot right beneath his ear, oh god, it's good, the warmth goes right to his cock and he wants and needs more than ever. He takes Rodney's hand and slides it past his stomach, down to his dick, and smiles when Rodney wraps his hand around it and pulls up, slow and sweet.

He's distressed when Rodney doesn't do it again. "What are you—why did you stop?" he demands, trying to spin around, only to have Rodney catch him when the floor lurches. "Whoa."

Rodney shakes his head. "You're a danger to yourself, you know that? A horny danger to yourself."

"You started it." Sulky now, and he knows it, but he earned the right, didn't he?

Rodney turns the water off, and stands there, beautiful and wet, water droplets lingering on his eyelashes. "Petulant, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are." John kisses him. "Horny, too."

Rodney's cock twitches against his body. But he puts his hands on John's shoulders and says, "Come on, lets let you dried off," as he leads John out of the stall.

Despite his brusque manner Rodney is surprisingly gentle as he first towels off John's hair, then wipes his back, his front, his legs, everything, with the same thoroughness as when he had washed John in the shower. It occurs to John that despite all the talking, it's hard for Rodney to open up. All those words are for defensive purposes only. His actions tell another story. His touch is loving and concerned, and his fingers linger over John's ribs—more prominent now—as well as the bruises scattered across his chest and hip. "Damn it, John," he mutters softly, kissing his stomach before getting up and leading John to bed.

Beds are a wonderful thing, John thinks as he sprawls out on the cotton sheets. The late afternoon sun fills the room and he's warm and dry and oh so damn comfortable. Beds are even more wonderful with Rodney, especially naked Rodney, so much to touch and hold and he can't quite seem to get close enough.

"Go to sleep," Rodney tells him as his hands wander.

John shakes his head. "Sex first," he demands. He's tired, worn out, his cock soft and sleepy, but he wants Rodney to fuck him. He doesn't care whether he comes or not, he just needs Rodney's body moving inside of him, hot breath on his skin. He wants to hear those sounds Rodney makes, he wants to be connected. "Please," he says.

Rodney hesitates, and John panics. Maybe he's still in his cell. Maybe this is just a dream, another dream of Rodney, a vivid one this time. He can feel the softness of the bed and the warmth of Rodney's skin and all that sunlight, but maybe none of it's real. He shivers. Maybe only the cold, dark stone is his only reality now.

He grabs Rodney's arm, and it feels so real, so solid—it can't be a dream, can it? "Rodney, please, you have to do this—"

"Really, John you're not serious, are you? You've just—" Rodney looks worried and uncertain, and John can't understand what the problem is.

"Fuck me—will you please fuck me?" God he sounds pathetic, but he can't help himself, shit, Rodney isn't the only one with issues, is he? "I need this." He squeezes Rodney's cock. It's definitely awake and lively.

"You're nuts, you know that?" Rodney's expression grows gentle and there's affection in his voice. "Like I'd say no."

"Good." John nods as he pulls Rodney down over him. At least now Rodney is kissing him, warm mouth, sly tongue and that's better. It isn't long before Rodney's fingers penetrate him, and it's almost a relief. He arches his back and moans. Rodney's mouth is on his neck, moving down to a nipple, sucking and licking. Rodney is taking it slow but John can't wait. He pulls Rodney into place, between his legs, sliding his ass into Rodney's lap.

"All right, all right, take it easy—" Rodney's voice is uncharacteristically soft, but his cock is hard, and that's what John needs.

"Oh god yes," John gasps as Rodney pushes into him, thick cock stretching the ring of muscle and then pushing past, deep inside, to where it's so good that John can't even speak anymore. His legs curl against his chest, Rodney's mouth devours him and this is no dream. Rodney is inside him, all around him, his entire world is Rodney. Slow, steady thrusts, rocking him against the mattress, and now lips are moving against his cheek in a frenetic stream of words.

"…scared the shit out of me, waiting and waiting and waiting. I was sure I'd never see you again—I don't need this—damn it, this is all fucked up—"

"No," John says as it all sinks in. He grabs Rodney's head, lifting it. "This is the way it should be, this is right—this is us." He understands Rodney's fear; he's tasted it himself.

"We're both so fucked," Rodney says.

John smiles up at him. "Or in love."

Rodney blinks, and his hips still. "Maybe both?" he asks, with a touch a shyness that almost breaks John's heart.

"Definitely both."

Rodney glances down to where their bodies are joined. "I can live with that." He moves his hips once more, smiling when John cries out. A shift in weight, and he leans back. His hand wraps around John's cock. John writhes, eyes closed, moaning because Rodney is inside him and all around him, and it's safe to close his eyes now because it's the genuine thing.

"God, look at you," Rodney says, his voice full of wonder and when John opens his eyes and sees Rodney glowing in the sunlight, his body seizes up and he comes, hot liquid spattering his stomach and god yes, he's home now.