Maybe It Was the Hair

by The Grrrl

Title: Maybe It Was the Hair

Author: The Grrrl

Author's email: thegrrrl2002@gmail.com

Author's URL: http://thegrrrl2002.slashcity.org/

Archive: Ask first.

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Pairing: Sheppard/McKay

Summary: John's mission didn't go too well.

Notes: Written for the lj community, advent_atlantis's "Whump Day". Thank you to Kylie Lee for the beta.

Rodney checked the infirmary first, but John had been already released. He found the man in his quarters, lying in bed, with his right eye and a good portion of his face covered by a chemical cold pack. Rodney waited, frowning, with his arms crossed over his chest, wondering what the hell had happened during the supposedly peaceful trading mission.

John opened one eye. "Rodney," he said, with a hint of wariness.

"So," Rodney began without preliminary, "let me get this straight--"

"I don't care what you've heard," John said quickly. "They weren't midgets. They just weren't very…tall. "

"Yes, yes, of course." Rodney frowned, and approached the bed with short, quick strides. "Not midgets. Little people. Pygmies. Or maybe Munchkins?"

"Very funny. Call them whatever the hell you want. I'm just saying they weren't tall. And they carried sticks. Very big sticks." John raised his arm and punctuated the last sentence with a pointed finger.

"Okay, okay." Rodney nodded. "So, little people, big sticks."

John let his arm drop back down to the bed. "Very big sticks."

"And despite the big sticks, you somehow let your guard down?" Rodney waved his hand at John's face, indicating the damage. "That's not like you. What the hell happened?"

John closed his eye, the fight leaving his body with one long sigh. "I don't know. It was all some kind of misunderstanding. And damn it, they moved quick."

"Obviously." Rodney sat on the bed and gently lifted one corner of the cold pack from John's face. Peering underneath, he saw the purple bruise on John's cheek and a faint discoloration surrounding his swollen right eye. "Ouch."

"Yeah." John scratched his head, and Rodney noted more bruises on his forearm. "They were just so--so *cute*. Little people, smiling and singing. They had flowers in their hair, for god's sake." He seemed utterly bewildered.

Rodney bent down and kissed John's cheek, carefully, just below the bruise. The skin felt cool and damp to the touch. "You didn't tell them the Ferris wheel thing, did you? Because they could have been escapees from a carnival freak show, and just the mere mention of--ow!" He broke off, grinning, as John thumped his shoulder.

"Shut up. I didn't tell them anything," John snapped. "I was going to let Teyla do the talking. But before she could, something set them off, and they ran at me, swinging those sticks and yelling. It was like some kind of weird horror movie."

"I can see that. Attack of the Singing Killer Munchkins." Rodney tamped down his grin at the mental image. "Very creepy."

"I had to run all the way back to the Gate. Uphill. You wouldn't believe how fast they could go."

"Swinging their sticks, and--"

"Yelling. Apparently they're not too fond of outsiders. I didn't do anything, honestly. Teyla, they were fine with. I think they just didn't like me."

Rodney clucked sympathetically and settled the cold pack back into place. "Well, I like you," he said reassuringly, because John was beginning to look downright sullen. "Even though, on occasion? I do have the urge to hit you with a stick."

John scowled, so Rodney quickly kissed him, lips lingering on John's mouth even though John's lips remained in a firm, stubborn line, his one good eye open and glaring. Still, Rodney persisted, pressing kisses to John's lower lip, then moving to the corner of his mouth, small, nibbling kisses because he liked John's lips and, damn it, he didn't like it when John went offworld without him.

It wasn't long before John's mouth softened, and then, with a reluctant huff, he parted his lips, returning Rodney's kisses. When Rodney licked his mouth, John made a small, eager sound and touched his fingers to Rodney's neck. When Rodney finally raised his head, John's hand lingered on his neck, and he no longer looked sullen--a little dazed, maybe distracted, but not sullen. Rodney slid a hand up John's chest, then eased it back down, over his ribs. He stopped short when John winced.

"Ooh, sorry, sorry. Did they--"

"It's fine, just another little bruise," John said, lifting his shirt. "See?"

The bruise wasn't little; it was long and nasty, a diagonal slash of color a good ten centimeters in length. The rush of anger and protectiveness that Rodney felt was unnerving. John was supposed to be a hell of a lot tougher than he was, but hell, John was his, John's chest was his, and little crazy Munchkins weren't allowed to just whack at him as they pleased.

"Damn it, John." Rodney pushed John's shirt up, hand caressing John's chest, and he kissed alongside the bruised area. "Does it hurt?" he asked, because he didn't know what else to say.

"It's--it's, uh, okay," John said. "It feels nice when you do that, though."

Rodney sighed, rubbing his lips over John's skin. John's skin, still smelling faintly of soap, was warm and sleek to the touch. Rodney drifted along John's ribs, nuzzling and licking, while his thumb grazed John's nipple. John made a contented sound, so Rodney rubbed it again, lightly, his fingers circling the pointed flesh, until it tightened and grew hard. John shifted, fingers ruffling through Rodney's hair encouragingly. Rodney finally reached up and closed his lips over the nipple and sucked.

"Oh--oh, that's--oh, do it again."

Rodney breathed over the wet skin before complying. John's fingers tightened in his hair, his back arching. When Rodney raised his head John was staring at him, breathing heavy, lips parted. The cold pack had slid from face, revealing the vivid discoloration on his cheek.

"I have another bruise on my thigh," John told him eagerly.

"Really?" Rodney didn't know whether to be worried or amused.

John nodded, his hands already at work unfastening and tugging down his pants. "Let me show you."

Rodney assisted, sliding John's pants and boxers down past his knees, revealing lean, hairy thighs and a nice thick cock. Rodney's own cock rose at the sight of it.

"Right there," John told him, raising his leg and pointing to a small bruise across the top of his thigh.

"Oh." Rodney kissed John's knee. "They were vicious little monsters, weren't they?" He briefly entertained the idea of visiting the planet with his own stick.

"Yes, yes they were. Little and vicious."

Rodney kissed his way up John's thigh, nuzzling the bruised area gently before licking the crease where thigh met hip.

"You know, while you're down there, if you don't mind, you could..." John's voice trailed off as Rodney nibbled at his skin.

"What?" Rodney finally asked, ignoring the hard, sleek cock pushing against his cheek. "I could what?"

"Do exactly what you are doing, just--just over to the right a little," John said. "Just a little."

"Mmm, you mean here?" Rodney kissed John's cock. He loved the feel of it, how warm and silky the skin stretched over it felt. He rubbed it with his cheek, then nosed at the base, burying his face in dark, wiry curls.

"Right there." John's voice was a rough whisper, and just like that, Rodney wanted to hold him tight, wanted to climb inside his skin, wanted to keep him safe in ways that he was completely incapable of.

He sat up, pulling at John's pants, and John obligingly lifted his legs so Rodney could remove them. There were two more bruises on his shin. It was all so wrong, even though John was watching with his typical hopeful and horny smile, as if nothing at all untoward had happened. It wasn't even supposed to have been dangerous mission. Rodney climbed between John's legs, kissed his flat stomach, then slid his arms under John's hips and lifted, closing his mouth over John's cock.

"Oh, Rodney," John moaned, with something that sounded like relief. His hips rose up, and Rodney sucked hard. "Oh man, I'm almost--that is so good."

Rodney listened to the broken phrases as he moved his mouth on John's cock, keeping it slow and deliberate. He let the head push against the roof of his mouth so that he could licked at the underside, tasting the smooth, hot skin, feeling the blood rush underneath. He cradled John's ass in his arms. John's body was a heavy, squirming weight--vibrant, alive, wanting. John was already on edge. Rodney knew because of the way John's hands rubbed at his shoulders, the way he grabbed fistfuls of shirt, the way words became vague, desperate noises. Then with a gasp John's body jerked--one, twice--and he came into Rodney's mouth, flooding it with spurts of warm liquid, and Rodney swallowed it down with the same thrill he felt every time he made John come.

John's body relaxed and grew heavy, so Rodney reluctantly released him, sitting back on his heels and wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve. Shirt pushed up, pants pulled off, and a big happy grin, John was so beautiful that Rodney could almost ignore the bruising. He let himself be pulled up into a wet, enthusiastic kiss, while trying to avoid lying directly on John's sore body.

"Hmmm. Nice. That was nice," John sighed against his cheek. "You're always so nice."

"You are ridiculous when you're postcoital, you know that?" Rodney told him, rolling off to one side. He eyed John's face, frowning, then picked up the cold pack and laid it back over the bruised eye.

John grinned up at him. He hooked an arm around Rodney's neck and pulled him back down for another kiss. "And I'm fine, Rodney, so you can stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" Rodney frowned. "I wasn't looking at you like anything." He adjusted the cold pack to cover more of John's bruised cheek.

"All worried and concerned."

"Oh, right," Rodney said easily. "John, they were midgets."

"Munchkins," John corrected. "And it's sweet that you worry. Plus I got a hell of a blow job out of it." Sleepily smug, John patted Rodney's thigh.

"Like that was a hardship."

John slid his hand up and pressed it over Rodney's erection. "Let me return the favor?"

Rodney shook his head. "When you're feeling better."

"I feel fine," John protested, but as Rodney pulled the blanket up he yawned a huge, face-splitting yawn. "Ow," he complained, rubbing his cheek.

"Exactly." Rodney returned the dislodged cold pack to John's face.

"Stay here?" John asked, closing his one open eye. "For a little while, at least?"

"Of course I will." Rodney kissed his unbruised cheek. "You owe me a blow job."

John let out a huff of laughter, then leaned against Rodney, his breathing growing slow and steady.

Rodney stretched out beside him and watched.

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