Stargate: Atlantis fic:

Adventures in an Astrophysicist's Life

By Elayna

Notes and other information at the bottom of the page

Rodney McKay was torn between embarrassment and arousal, and given the extremely advanced level of his intelligence, couldn't help wondering how he always managed to get himself in these situations.

Well, not this particular situation, but some sort of situation where things weren't working out quite right, generally to his embarrassment. This particular situation was brand spanking new: trapped in a strip joint with three female scientists, two of the secretaries – oops, administrative assistants – and Radek, desperately trying not to ogle young male bodies. He was pretty sure he'd been set up, tricked into this stupid dare by a few carefully chosen taunts and his own big mouth. The only question was whether Radek had been involved in the scheming, or had simply gone along for the entertainment value of watching Rodney squirm.

And squirming he was. Not that he didn't appreciate male bodies. Indeed, he did, though he generally downplayed that fact at the lab, wanting to be known more for his brilliance than his sexuality. His personal life was his own, thank you very much, and no one needed to know it consisted primarily of too much work, a cat that ignored him except at mealtimes, and a sister who called him every birthday and Christmas.

A woman at the table next to theirs leaped up and hooted enthusiastically, and he flinched. The music was already loud enough; the hordes of screaming, whooping women made everything worse. He fumbled for a sip of his beer – god, Bud, he couldn't believe he'd even bothered ordering it – and really wished he could leave. Radek was sitting across the table, not looking uncomfortable at all, more a combination of perplexed and amused, as if he were a social scientist and found this exposure to a different culture fascinating.

Rodney glared at Radek, who simply smiled and shrugged his shoulders. Oh yes, Radek had no problems. But then Radek was straight, and probably hoping to score with one of these hyperactive harpies in the audience. Rodney slugged back half of his bad beer, and told himself firmly that he could do this. He could handle this farce. Play it like Radek. Look unconcerned and amused.

He leaned back in his chair, turning his attention again to the stage, where a blond with too many rippled muscles, wearing only a g-string, was coming to the end of his dance with some sort of macho flourish, kneeling on the edge of the stage and clenching one fist in the air as people – women – applauded.

Christ, they were all so young, these strippers, good-looking and far too plastic. College-age at the most. They looked like they should be busboys, not strippers. Yes, his dick was half-hard, fascinated by the signals received from the most primitive areas of his brain, but his intelligence screamed that these were puppies, not sex objects.

Puppies, yes, think puppies and kitties, and revoltingly sappy pictures of pets with big eyes, and he could get through this, get out of here without making a fool of himself. He hadn't yet made a fool of himself in this city, and was hoping to avoid it. Blondie ran off the stage, and the crowd was left dangling for a few minutes. Rodney took the opportunity to order another bad overpriced beer from a passing waitress, hoping that a slight buzz would help him survive this night.

Then something that Rodney thought might have been the theme song for "Top Gun," except that he made a concerted effort not to get sucked into banal popular music, began playing, and another puppy came on the stage, dressed in a gray flight suit and a white helmet. This puppy seemed more hesitant, less polished than the previous ones, and the audience quieted in anticipation. He grasped the pole in the middle of the stage with one hand, both feet at the base of the pole and leaning away, swung around it, almost idly, before pulling off the helmet and tossing it backstage.

And at that point, Rodney completely lost awareness of the noisy crowd, his co-workers, or anything except that this puppy was a man, an honest-to-goodness man and he was hot. God, hot. Messy black hair that his hands begged to play with, piercing green eyes that seemed to look straight at him, and a handsome face that showed experience and character.

The man danced, more masculine than the others, like a heroic figure who knew that because he was so freaking hot, he could just strut and didn't really need to work it, and the flight suit started to come off. First the zipper inched slowly down, revealing a strip of golden chest with dark hair. Not a perfectly sculpted chest, but a muscled one nonetheless, the chest of a man who worked hard at life, not in the gym. Rodney couldn't decide what he wanted to touch first, the hair or the chest.

But then the flight suit came off one shoulder, and down one arm, and there was an arm, a luscious arm with biceps that simply needed to be nibbled. The man rolled his shoulder, and women screamed, bringing Rodney to awareness that others shared his sympathies, finding this one equally attractive. It almost made him mad, the thought that anyone else was seeing this unveiling of masculine perfection, except that he was too preoccupied with staring to be distracted by anger.

The dance continued, the flight suit slipping from the other shoulder until the man was strutting on the stage bare-chested, the suit flopping around his waist, threatening to drop off lean hips. Radek shoved a handkerchief into his hand and yelled, "You're drooling!" Rodney looked blankly at him, and then back at the stage, crumpling the handkerchief in his hand. Once again, he could swear that the man was looking directly at him, a connection that he hadn't experienced with any of the other dancers.

The man fell, rolling onto his back, raising one foot in the air to pull off his boot and sock, tossing them offstage, and the extremely small part of Rodney's brain that was still rational had to wonder about the fact that this dancer wasn't well organized. The others all had clothes that were designed for yanking off, but this man was having to work at it, especially the boots. Not that Rodney or the rest of the audience minded, because instead of appearing amateurish, it came off as more manly, more real.

But then the other boot and sock were flung off, and the man rolled back onto his feet – Christ, he might not be a pretty boy dancer, but he was flexible – and shimmied out of the rest of the flight suit. That shimmy should be illegal, and Rodney wanted to be the arresting officer. The man wasn't wearing a g-string like the rest, but white briefs that revealed that he was quite nicely, really extremely nicely endowed, and had incredibly long legs.

Rodney tried to burn every image into his brain, the man's face, the lopsided quirk to his lips, like he was finding the whole experience entertaining, that lean body, those shoulders and hips and oh my god, that underwear and those legs. He wanted to remember everything, every single inch of golden skin, every strand of black hair trailing down that manly chest and coating muscled legs, and he almost moaned in pain when the song ended as the man gave a bow and ran offstage, disappearing from Rodney's sight.

He stared down at the table for the next two numbers, hearing the different songs being played, but not caring to watch. He didn't even see the fake wood top of the table, but only the replay of that dance in his mind, because no other dancer could match the pilot's sexiness. A hand clasped his shoulder and he jumped, startled, glancing up to see the man from the stage looking down at him. The flight suit had been replaced by well-worn jeans that clung to his hips, a white t-shirt, and a black jacket, making him look even more edible to Rodney.

As another song started, the man leaned over, speaking into his ear. "I'm John."

Rodney shuddered at the feel of his breath. "Rodney!"

"You looked like you might like to buy me a beer." Up close, his eyes were hazel rather than green, the brown flecks more apparent.

Rodney nodded dumbly, and stood up, following the man as he walked toward the bar in the next room. He dimly recognized that his co-workers were watching him and making jokes. One of them called something about the car arrangements and he yelled back, "Cab! I'll get a cab!" Oh yes, he was so screwed at work, he'd never live this down, but time with John was worth being eternally tormented by co-workers. And then they were in the other room, where it was quieter, if still not quiet, and John was already standing at the bar.

"Beer, you wanted a beer," Rodney fumbled over his words. "They have crap beer here, but whatever you want."

"What do you want, Rodney?"

He was intelligent, damn it. Probably more intelligent than anyone else in this dive, if not this city or even this state. This country. But English – indeed any form of communication beyond abject staring and drooling – had completely deserted him. How could he answer such a question? I want you? Did he have the nerve? Bluntness wasn't usually a problem for Rodney, but in a sexual situation, his Canadian soul hesitated to be too crass. One of John's hands cupped his cheek, long fingers curling on his stubble, bringing their faces close together, and he seemed to be reading Rodney's mind. "Do you want me?"

Honest, he could do honest. "Oh god, yes."

"What do you want?"

Hearing the question again jerked Rodney's brain into functioning. He thought of everything he wanted, to run his fingers in John's hair, to kiss those smiling lips, to feel that body, to see what was under those white briefs… "I want to suck you."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"The alley," John said, one hand slipping under Rodney's jacket to curve over his hip, guiding him toward the door.

"I don't – I don't have a condom," Rodney stuttered, as they walked out of the building, the thump of the loud music and the flashiness of spotlights cut off, supplanted by sounds of evening traffic and dim streetlamps.

"I knew you were a bright one." John smiled, and his amusement disturbed Rodney for a second. "Don't worry, I do." Then his hand curved around Rodney's back, pulling Rodney into an embrace, kissing him with a passion that made Rodney's knees as weak as his dick was hard. Rodney moaned and forgot about that quiet amusement.

They walked to the alleyway, John's arm still curved around Rodney's back, Rodney just trying to keep from tripping over his feet, because he seemed to have lost all coordination. John stopped in a patch of darkness, sheltered from the streetlights by the building's overhang, and kissed him again.

Rodney kissed him back, desperately, frantically, wanting to know every inch of his mouth, the feel of his tongue, the evenness of his teeth. He slid his hands under John's jacket to caress his back, the cotton under his hands covering muscles that felt as lean and hard as they had appeared on stage.

"Hey," John laughed a little. "We've got time. Take it easy."

"No." Rodney shook his head. "I can't. Do you know how much I want you? Condom, where's the condom?"

John pulled it out of his back pocket, pressing it into Rodney's hand. Rodney grabbed at it gratefully, holding the package in his teeth, and dropped to his knees, his hands working on John's belt, the button and zipper on his faded jeans. He tugged them down to John's thighs, and then let his hands wander over the white briefs. He needed to touch everything, not just the front, but how the soft cotton material curved around his hips and clung to his buttocks.

"You really want me, don't you?"

"Everyone in that club wanted you," Rodney answered, speaking with the condom still in his teeth. "Except maybe not Radek. He's straight." The briefs joined the jeans, and oh…John's cock was just as long and lean and gorgeous as he the rest of his body. Not fully hard yet, but definitely interested.

Okay, now the condom had to go carefully into his jacket pocket, because he wasn't going to risk ending this by losing the package in the dark. Rodney buried his face in the crinkly hair on John's groin, breathing sweat and man and cotton. His hands rested on John's upper thighs, squeezing the lean muscles, wondering if John was a runner. He had the right type of legs, long and sculpted. If not a runner, clearly an athlete of some variety. Rodney rolled John's balls into his mouth, one and then the other, pleased to note that John's cock was definitely getting with the program, filling with blood, and arching out.

Rodney's hands shook with nervousness as he took the condom out of its package and rolled it on, smoothing it carefully, and then oh yes…he had John's cock in his mouth. He loved this, the length and feel of a hard cock in his mouth, the power and passion of the man, all his to explore. John groaned, long and low, the sound pleasing Rodney because there was nothing amused about that groan. He began bobbing his head forward and backward, sucking and releasing John's cock, and John's hips began to thrust, out from the brick wall into Rodney's mouth.

Rodney fumbled to undo his own pants enough to release his cock, stroking himself in time with his sucking. His free hand fondled John's body restlessly, from his thighs to bony hips, up under his white t-shirt to stroke his abdomen, appreciating the softness of his skin and the underlying hard muscle. He spread his fingers wide, the better to touch and absorb every sensation. John's hands were moving too, caressing Rodney's short hair, patting his shoulders, touching his cheek, feeling the edge of Rodney's lips stretched around his cock.

It couldn't last long, certainly not on Rodney's part as he'd been hard since seeing this man, and he moaned painfully, blissfully around John's cock as he came, his come falling to the ground and hopefully not on John's white sneakers. He sucked even harder, no longer releasing, but an intense greedy suction, trying to draw all of John's cock into his mouth. His reward was John's harsh moan and the throbbing in his mouth that said John had come too.

Resting his head on John's thigh, Rodney zipped his pants as he regained his breath, thrilled. The curse of being a workaholic with no personal life was that he'd never managed to do that very often, certainly not as often as he'd have liked, but he was pretty damned sure from John's moans and groans that he'd done it very well.

"Wow," John said, struggling to control his breath while taking care of the condom.

"Did that surprise you?" Rodney said smugly, standing up and rubbing his knees. Next time would be some place with a softer surface, if John would let him have another time.

"You wouldn't believe how much." He put his clothes to rights, his eyes on Rodney's. "Your profile says you're straight."

"My profile?" Rodney frowned. "What profile?" It clicked in Rodney's mind that something was wrong, very wrong, but John's fist was swinging fast, connecting with his jaw, and Rodney crumpled, unconscious.

~~~~

He was curled up with his head in someone's lap, and his hair was being stroked. The experience was very nice and relaxing, someone's hand playing in his hair, brushing on his forehead, down the line of his hair to the nape of his neck, starting again, like his lover was exploring his face as he took a nap on a pleasant sunny day after a lunch in the park.

Only there wasn't any sun on his face, and he could feel smooth leather and even smoother motion under him, like he was in a car, being driven to some destination.

Rodney jerked to a sitting position, realizing that his head had been pillowed in John's lap, on John's well-worn jeans, and that he was in the back of some sort of luxurious expensive car. He made a noise of dismay and fear, which he was afraid came out like, "Mwargh!" instead of an intimidating growl.

"Hi," John said easily, as if kidnapping people was an everyday activity for him, which perhaps it was, Rodney thought fearfully.

"Hi? Hi! Who the hell are you? Where am I? I'm a very important scientist. I'll be missed."

"I'm John, and that's Ford," he pointed to the chauffeur, who stuck one dark hand up in acknowledgement, "and you're in a car going to a secret location, so no, I'm not going to answer that second question. We're almost there."

"You knocked me out! You kidnapped me!"

"It seemed easiest."

It was hard to see his expression in the dark, but Rodney rather thought John was smiling genially like that was supposed to be reassuring, and not at all repentant. "What are you going to do with me?" The car's windows were tinted, but there appeared to be forest outside, which meant he'd been unconscious long enough that they'd left the city and suburbs behind. They were on a road, not a freeway, so either John and Ford were planning on killing him and dumping his body where it wouldn't be discovered, or taking him to one of the private residences in this area.

"We're not going to hurt you." There was a crunching noise as the car turned off the road and onto a graveled driveway. "We're here," John said unnecessarily. "Elizabeth will explain everything to you."

So at least he wasn't going to be killed immediately. He'd been kidnapped for some sort of purpose, the brilliance of his mind presumably, as his bank account was woefully deficient. Research for the purity of expanding scientific knowledge never received the funding it deserved. "I'll wait then to talk to the boss, shall I? Since the hired muscle isn't capable of providing explanations." Rodney sneered, furious at this man who'd clearly used Rodney's attraction to him to take advantage. The disappointment was worse than the fear, bitter and strong, like that last half cup of coffee that had been sitting in the pot since morning that he finally drank because he was too wrapped up in an equation to make more. He thought he'd connected with a really hot guy who was interested in him, who truly wanted sex with him, and maybe, just maybe, even a little bit more, only to find himself duped and shanghaied.

"I could explain," John answered, and his tone was less laidback, a little more clipped. Good. Rodney hoped he'd pissed him off. "But Elizabeth prefers to." The car stopped and Ford clicked the locks open.

"You're straight, aren't you?" Rodney accused, flipping open the door and stalking out. The car was parked in the forecourt of a pretentiously large house, almost a mansion, and Rodney kept going toward the front door. Though he'd been brought here under false pretenses, he was going to proceed on his own terms.

"I've been a lot of things in my life," John answered laconically, following as Rodney shoved the mansion's front door open.

"And what is the relevance of that statement? You can't choose to be straight and then choose to be bi or gay. That's not how it works." He stomped into the foyer as he talked. The place was definitely impressive, if one cared about interior decorating. Rodney had a vague impression of an antique side table with a porcelain statue on it, marbled floors, and a Chinese rug, but he'd never paid much attention to such superficialities, and so he focused on searching for the mysterious Elizabeth.

"I thought you were an astrophysicist, not a biologist." John opened a door off the entryway, motioning Rodney to enter.

Rodney stomped past him, coming to a stop in the middle of the room, which matched the elegance of the foyer. "I thought your little profile covered the breadth of my knowledge," he snipped back at John, while studying the dark-haired woman who sat behind a desk in the corner, typing on a laptop.

"Dr. McKay." She rose and crossed the room, offering her hand. Tall and slim, she was dressed in a maroon top and dark blue slacks, appearing refined and dignified, and fortunately not threatening or thuggish. Maybe he'd get out of this with his life and finances intact. "I’m Elizabeth."

Rodney shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers, pointedly ignoring her hand. "I'm tired and angry and what do you want?"

His aggression seemed to startle her, a fact that pleased Rodney. It was true he was tired and angry, but also scared. People in his world simply didn't get kidnapped. More importantly, he was hurt by feeling duped, and wanted someone else to be rattled, since he couldn't seem to make much more than a tiny dent in John's calm. Elizabeth's expression switched to sympathy as she sat down on the couch. "I want to reassure you that no harm will come to you."

Her quiet manner made Rodney relent enough to sit down in the armchair opposite her, which was a tactical mistake he realized as the adrenaline seemed to flood out of his system, leaving him lightheaded. He needed food before his hypoglycemia kicked in. "No harm?" He struggled for his fire. "I've been punched, kidnapped, forced to perform fellatio – "

Elizabeth's eyes went sharp, her face hard as she glanced past Rodney, to where John stood in the doorway. "Forced fellatio?"

John moved with startling speed and stealth. One moment Elizabeth was asking, "Forced fellatio?" and the next, John was looming over him, one hand on the chair's arm, the other on the back, and John glared intently down at Rodney, with a very 'I'm really pissed off and you don't want to fuck with me' expression on his face, proving that he could look other than laidback, amused and sexy. "There was no force involved."

Rodney tightened his lips and gave John his best 'you're an asshole' glare, but he didn't really think it matched up to John's glare.

"There was no force involved," John said again. Angry John was more intimidating than Rodney had imagined. John spaced out his words as if Rodney had hearing problems. "Nothing happened without your consent. And willing participation."

"Fine," Rodney snapped, breaking. "There was no force involved. Just duplicity and deceit."

John's lips quirked in a rueful half-smile, and he gave a nod of resigned acceptance before backing away, returning to a position behind Rodney's chair. Rodney tried to hide his sigh of relief. Elizabeth gave John a look that made Rodney guess the fellatio discussion wasn't over between the two of them, which he found reassuring. Really bad people probably didn't care if their goons molested their victims. Then her attention returned to Rodney. "Dr. McKay, I apologize for whatever unorthodox methods John used to bring you here. From our intelligence reports, we were concerned about your safety, and we had to move quickly."

"Because I am so completely safe here?"

"Trust me, Dr. McKay, that no one here will mistreat you. The people we are protecting you from are known to use brutal methods to get what they want."

She did seem sincere, but Rodney had been in the cutthroat world of academia and scientific research since his teens. He'd learned the hard way that sincerity was frequently a facade used to dig the knife farther into his back. "So I was kidnapped for my own protection? Don't tell me, you're an official of the United States government?"

Elizabeth's face went from polite to neutrally blank. "I'm not at liberty to say who we work for."

"Which means, yes, you do work for the government," he snapped. "Because that is exactly the kind of plan a government bureaucrat would think logical, kidnap someone for their own protection. This is one of the many reasons I will never work for the U.S. government."

"Your disdain for government research isn't the issue here, Dr. McKay. You are in danger from a small group of very dangerous individuals. I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to tell you more than that at this time."

"Terrorists? You're protecting me from terrorists?" He rolled his eyes. "Do you think I'm Dr. Brown or something? That Palestinians with machine guns are going to attack me in a VW van?"

"It was Libyans, not Palestinians. Though you did get the van right," John said suddenly.

Rodney glanced at him, leaning against the wall. He looked good leaning…against walls or stripper poles. The man just looked good, damn it all. "Oh my god, you like that movie? No, of course you do. Why am I asking?"

"That was a good movie. And these people aren't Islamic extremists."

Rodney flung up his hands in exasperation. "No, just dangerous, whoever they are, and I'll take your word for it, because you work for some group that likes to protect people for philanthropic reasons of your own. And do I get to know what the terrorists want me for? I presume they have a specific reason? Or do they randomly collect brilliant scientists?"

"We were hoping you could tell us that," John offered genially. "Our intel only said that they were going to snatch you tonight."

Rodney gaped. "You want me to tell you why the mysterious dangerous terrorists want me? Do you people actually know what you're doing or did you get seconded from middle management?"

"We know it's likely to involve your work in wormhole physics."

"Oh yes? Because the terrorists think I can what – open up a wormhole to swallow America?"

"Terrorism isn't funny," John growled, which perversely sent a shiver down Rodney's spine and into his balls as he envisioned a pissed-off, demanding John, a man who'd shove him against the brick wall of that back alley and take what he'd wanted… Angry John was intimidating, but he also was really hot, perhaps even hotter than laidback John. Not that Rodney needed to be having these kinds of thoughts about this man.

"This farce isn't funny either," he snapped, leaping to his feet, his jaw thrusting out defiantly. That reaction proved to be a mistake as the dizziness walloped his balance, making him grope for the chair and sit back down.

John's tone softened as he asked, "Are you okay?" while Elizabeth parroted, "Dr. McKay? Are you all right?"

"I need food," Rodney lamented, his eyes shutting. He heard the sound of a door closing, and felt Elizabeth's hand gently patting his knee.

"John's gone to get you something to eat."

He nodded back, keeping his eyes closed, too tired for more verbal fencing. They sat in silence though Rodney's brain could have made a cacophony of noise from the speed at which it was cranking. Hurt feelings aside, he trusted John's sincerity. There was just something…all-American about him. Unconventional definitely, but also determined and straightforward, even if he couldn't be completely honest. Elizabeth seemed straightforward too, polite and sincere. So if he accepted they were the good guys, some covert part of American security forces, presumably an actually good part – then who the hell were they protecting him from? Why would 'bad guys' want him? True, his work was important and valuable, but it was theoretical. Nothing he did had weapons potential.

Rodney heard the sound of the door and the clink of glass on wood, and opened his eyes to see a sandwich, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of milk on the side table by him.

Belatedly, he said, "I'm allergic – "

"We know," John cut in. "No citrus."

Picking up the glass, Rodney said, "I don't normally drink milk."

"Somehow I didn't think you wanted a Miller." Rodney shuddered. "It's Ford's choice and we didn't stock the kitchen much. Elizabeth has some diet Pepsi." Rodney shuddered again. Soda wasn't worth drinking unless it was loaded with caffeine and sugar.

"This is fine." He began to eat the sandwich, turkey with mayonnaise on white bread, so wonderfully bland and comforting, realizing the full extent of his hunger. They'd left late from work, and bar snacks didn't cut it as a meal in Rodney's estimation. "I signed a confidentiality clause," he said between bites. "So I couldn't tell you about my research, even if I wanted to. Which I don't and you wouldn't understand it anyway."

John arched an eyebrow. He would make an excellent Spock, with his surprisingly elfish ears, if that hair could be tamed.

"You wouldn't!" Rodney finished off the first half of the sandwich and started on the second. "There are a limited number of people in this world capable of understanding my work and I know all of them. But I can reassure you that my work doesn't have any form of weapons applications for whoever your non-Islamic extremist terrorists are. I built a nuclear bomb once."

John noted wryly, "You still have a CIA file."

"It was a perfect working model," Rodney couldn't help but say with pride. He'd invested hours into that model, making each piece precise and functional, fascinated with the challenge and giving little thought to the consequences. "But the CIA were insane. I was twelve and they grilled me for hours. My parents' attorney had to threaten them with an international incident to get me released. I knew then that weapons research was more trouble than it was worth."

Elizabeth and John seemed content to listen to him talk while he ate, so he continued, picking at the chopped fruit, a lovely combination of apples, grapes, and other non-citrusy fruits. "I swore I'd never have anything to do with the CIA or any branch of the American government." Which was really a shame since John appeared to work for them. Could a grown man be expected to uphold pledges made as a child?

"We appreciate your stand, Dr. McKay. I wish more scientists shared your principles on weapons research. We might live in a safer world." Elizabeth's reassuring words made Rodney squirm, because it wasn't the fault of his fellow scientists that they could be tempted by obscene amounts of money dangled by the military and their contractors. It simply meant that the priorities of politicians were skewed. "But we're afraid that if these people got their hands on you, they might not allow you any choice, either in forcing you to give them the information they want, or forcing –"

Rodney snorted. "I'm not doing anything 'bad guys,'" he mimed little quotes in the air, "would want. And I can't be made to be brilliant on command."

"While your work is theoretical, I understand that you are quite experienced in practical applications. Your second Ph.D. is in engineering." Elizabeth rose and walked around to her laptop, flicking through a file. "The incident in Vancouver –"

"Yes, fine." Rodney cut her off quickly, because he remembered that incident far too vividly. It had definitely been more embarrassing than being trapped at a strip club, thought at least it had only ended with a nasty insurance fight, not a kidnapping, and had precipitated his return to pure research, which was his preference anyway. "Yes, I am a genius at construction and design as well as research. But if terrorists were going to kidnap someone they could badger into making them weapons, well, they'd do better with some clutch-fisted ham like Dickie Kavanagh. Now there's," he pointed at Elizabeth in his excitement, "a scientist who'd sell out."

Something flickered in Elizabeth's eyes – did they have a dossier on Kavanagh too? And oh god, did they know about the Chicago cock-up? – but she said only, "Maybe the terrorists haven't done the proper research to distinguish the difference between you and Kavanagh. They may think you're the right man for them."

Somehow he'd gotten under her skin, because that comment was almost bitchy, and truly, she had a point. "Yes, maybe the terrorists' dossier isn't quite as excellent as your own. Why do you have a dossier on me? Because they do, or were you researching me already?"

Elizabeth smiled, inclining her head to indicate a point scored. "Very perceptive, Dr. McKay. Yes, we were already researching you, for the possibility of hiring you."

"Okay, this?" he waved a hand at her and the entire room, "is not a good recruitment interview."

She smiled again. "No, perhaps not." He liked her honesty, the way she acknowledged his points, even if it wasn't a communication skill he had, or ever intended to develop. She reminded him of the best lab manager he'd worked with, a fellow who could schmooze well with rich people who wanted to leave memorials and corporate execs to get funding but otherwise left the scientists alone to work. She shared that quiet diplomatic manner. "We had intended to call you and request an interview, but our concern for your safety led us to take action."

Rodney sighed. He was tired of this refrain. "The terrorists."

"The terrorists."

"So you don't know if they want me for my current work or because you want me?"

"It's possible that they want you for reasons connected to our project," Elizabeth admitted.

Rodney was disappointed, having started to think that her moments of honesty and caring meant she wasn't capable of that level of deviousness. "Oh you – you would have let me tell you about my work! You would have let me believe it was all my current research!"

Her answer to his accusation was a nod. "Frankly," she said, "I was curious to see if you would violate your confidentiality agreement."

"You were testing my character?"

"I couldn't hire you if you were unable to keep a confidence."

That offended him, because Rodney had never violated anyone's trust. "Like I'm going to work for you now."

"We hadn't actually made the decision whether to approach you."

And that was even more offensive, to think she needed an astrophysicist for a top secret project but wasn't sure if she wanted him. Of course she wanted him. He was the best. The question ought to be whether he wanted to work for her. "Obviously, you weren't interested in guaranteeing the success of your project then," he snapped.

"You know, I think we're all a little tired here," John suggested. "It's been an exciting night. Maybe we should pick this up in the morning."

"I want to go home." He was pretty sure he sounded whiny, but Rodney wanted it clear he wasn't capitulating with this kidnapping.

Squatting next to him, John rested his hands on the arm of Rodney's chair, his face serious and concerned. "Look, those guys are still out there, and believe me, if you find us irritating, you'd find them ten times worse. So why don't you get a good night's sleep here, and we can talk more calmly in the morning?"

His words were oh so reasonable, and Rodney wanted to do what John suggested, but… "My cat needs to be fed."

"Doesn't it have dry food?"

"Of course, but she likes wet food in the evening."

"How about we give her a double helping tomorrow morning? I promise we'll get her taken care of."

John smiled, and either he was a wonderful fellow out to protect Rodney, or the biggest faker in the world. "Oh, very well," Rodney said crossly. "First thing tomorrow."

"First thing tomorrow, we get the cat fed." He crossed his fingers over his heart. "Now let's get you settled in the guest bedroom."

They both stood. John nodded to Elizabeth who said, "Good night, Doctor. We'll talk in the morning."

Rodney inclined his head stiffly and followed John out of the room and up the stairs, feeling weary and drained but unable to stop himself from appreciating John's butt in his snug faded jeans. Anyway, after all this man had put him through, for his own good or not, he deserved to be regarded as a sex object, Rodney decided. Though it was too bad that John probably didn't regard him in the same light…

Quashing that notion, Rodney followed John into a bedroom, as immaculate and nicely decorated as the rest of the mansion. The bed was huge but the mattress was probably crap, since a nice appearance was no guarantee of practical functionality, and he'd wake up with kinks in his back, but Rodney was too exhausted to worry. Once he'd accepted staying the night, he felt dead on his feet.

"Look," John turned to him, "we're short staffed here. I don't want to make Ford stay awake half the night to guard your door. The security system in this house is to stop people getting in, not getting out. I'm sure you could bypass it if you wanted."

"I am a genius." Rodney didn't argue with John's assumption, rather pleased that John acknowledged his intelligence and that his skills lay not just in wormhole physics but also in practical engineering.

"You could probably hotwire the car too, but it's late and we're both tired and you don't know the way back to town."

"Funny, once you get on the freeway, there are these things on the side of the road, they're called road signs. They tell you what direction to go."

Rodney smirked. John looked tightlipped. "I know you can get away. I'm asking that you don't."

"And in return for my promise that I'll be a good little prisoner?"

John stepped closer, his hand resting on the lapel of Rodney's suit jacket, drifting slowly down, stopping around Rodney's waist, just…remaining there. "What would you like?"

Struggling to breathe, Rodney slapped John's hand away from him. He wanted – oh god, how he wanted what John seemed to be offering – but he wasn't going to be used again by a straight boy, even one with delusional visions of being his protector. "What's your last name?"

"Sheppard."

"Like with sheep?"

"No, S-h-e-p-p-a-r-d."

"Very well. You have my promise that I won't escape until I have at least six hours of sleep. More if that mattress is a decent support for my back."

"Thank you, Rodney." John hesitated, like he wanted to say more, but finally just added, "There are new toiletries in the bathroom for you."

Rodney inclined his head grandly, like he was indicating that John's audience was at an end. He waited until John had left the room, closing the door behind him, before he collapsed on the bed.

Never again. Never ever again was he going to let his big mouth talk him into getting dragged out with his co-workers. He'd been in too many fiascoes, and this one was hurting too damned much, and he didn't mean the pain in his jaw.

~~~~

Morning came promptly at 6:00 a.m., because years of a screaming alarm clock had trained his body to accept the inevitable. He woke, aware only that he was comfortable and warm. As he shifted and stretched, yawning, the events of the previous night came crashing back, the hotness of John, the scare of being kidnapped, the obstinate politeness of Elizabeth, who was clearly not cut out to be a ruthless criminal mastermind, though did succeed at concerned government official, if that was her true role.

He rolled out of bed and spent a few minutes undoing the sheets to find the mattress tag, because contrary to expectations, his sleep had been deep and restful. He noted the name, deciding to order one soon. His current mattress was almost five years old, and he didn't like them to get worn before replacing them.

No one had yet poked his head in, and no, Rodney didn't want John to have woken him up and checked out his morning wood, no, he didn't, so he showered, shaved, and dressed in yesterday's shirt and trousers because these people could procure fresh toiletries but were not big on providing clean clothes.

Ford was sitting in a chair in the hallway, reading the newspaper when Rodney stepped out. Because the six hours were up and John didn't trust him? Their little dossier wasn't very complete if they thought Rodney would bounce out of bed and try to escape first thing in the morning before he'd had coffee. Besides, John had promised to take him home to feed his cat, and Rodney was counting on John being a man who kept his word.

"Morning, Doc," Ford said cheerfully, as if polite chitchat was standard with kidnap victims.

"Good morning," Rodney answered cautiously, taking his opportunity for his first good look at his other kidnapper or protector or whatever these people were. Young, perhaps a decade younger than Rodney, good-looking, short hair, close to Rodney's height, but definitely of a slimmer, leanly-muscled build. He didn't seem particularly thuggish, but then Rodney supposed that being apparently good-natured might be a benefit for a kidnapper, encouraging trust in his victims.

"The – John's on breakfast. You hungry?" Rodney's stomach growled, making Ford smile. "I take it that's a yes." Standing, he folded his newspaper, waving it to point downstairs.

John and Elizabeth were talking in the kitchen, looking intent but stopping and smiling when Rodney walked in. He wished the house's insulation wasn't so successful at preventing sound from carrying, as he would have liked to overhear what they were discussing. Part of him was still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the supposed protectors to reveal they were incredibly clever criminals, lulling him into helping them by a sophisticated subterfuge.

"Breakfast?" John asked easily, a charming host caring for a guest.

"Yes," Rodney answered. "And coffee." The kitchen wasn't as elegant as the rest of the house, but serviceable and comfortable, decorated in warm colors with plenty of work surfaces. The appliances on the counters as well as the pots and pans hanging on the wall were definitely top of the line. John snagged the pot out of the coffee maker and poured Rodney a cup, while Elizabeth pushed cream and sugar toward one of the empty places at the table. Ford hovered in the kitchen doors for a moment, then backed out. Having transferred his prisoner to the next jailer? Rodney slid onto a chair, as John began pulling items out of the refrigerator, working at the stove, obviously with a plan in mind, but Rodney never worried about interrupting other people's plans. "I'd like – "

"Two poached eggs, white toast, butter, jam – nothing with citrus – and bacon, soft cooked." John was wearing jeans again, just as snug but slightly less faded, and a green shirt that highlighted the green in his hazel eyes, not that Rodney was noticing such details.

"Yes." Christ, hot on stripper poles and apparently a mind reader in the kitchen, was there no end to the man's irritating perfection? Rodney busied himself with adding sugar and cream to his coffee. At work, he mostly drank it black, dark and intense to make his thinking sharp, but this morning he needed a fortifying dose of sugar and fat.

"Dr. McKay."

Rodney hadn't been paying much attention to Elizabeth – John had a way of crowding other people out of his vision – but something in her tone alarmed him.

"What?"

"Dr. McKay, we've received more intelligence this morning."

"Good, because you do need a healthy dose of that."

The expression on Elizabeth's face didn't even flicker at the insult. Either she was getting accustomed to him or her diplomatic shield was stronger in the morning. "It appears that our initial understanding may have been incorrect."

"The initial understanding that – "

"That you were in danger," she added.

"I wasn’t?" Rodney asked blankly.

"No, our information may have been incorrect. There may never have been any intent to kidnap you. We may have needlessly scared you. And for that, we are very sorry."

"You're sorry?" Rodney asked stupidly, his brain not quite able to grasp the switch from 'the dangerous terrorists are out to get you' to 'oops, never mind.' That wasn't quite the shoe he'd been expecting.

"We are very sorry," John inserted, glancing over long enough to look shamefaced as he moved around the kitchen, continuing to work on breakfast. He was taking the heat for Elizabeth, Rodney realized, which angered him even more than the 'oops.' They fit well as a couple, both tall, slim brunettes, and John clearly respected her opinion and felt protective of her. Was that why John hadn't wanted to set guards? So he could sleep all night with Elizabeth? What would he have done if Rodney had accepted his subtle offer?

And then the full meaning of the 'oops' sunk in…there had been no reason for the stripper dance, the blowjob, the punch to Rodney's jaw… The explosion started, the ceaseless stream of words ripping up both John and Elizabeth's intelligence. Punctuated with pacing, hand waving, and finger pointing, it was monumental, lengthy, and extremely articulate, because Rodney's prowess with words was almost as impressive as his scientific knowledge. The small part of his brain that wasn't involved in the rampage wished Radek were here to watch. Radek would shake his head sadly but secretly enjoy it, so at least someone would. Rodney made damn sure that John and Elizabeth didn't, though they took it well, not trying to argue.

A perfectly cooked breakfast sliding in front of him finally ended the tirade as Rodney's stomach growled again. He sat down and tucked in while John and Elizabeth watched, still appearing repentant. He had to marvel a little bit at their willingness to accept his verbal retribution without protest, which made them both stronger and more self-controlled than anyone else he'd ever met.

"I want to be returned home this morning. My cat will be starving and I'm already late for work." Since they'd carpooled to the strip joint, his car was still at the office, but he didn't want to deal with the speculation of showing up in yesterday's clothes.

Elizabeth nodded, not objecting to the demand. "Ford will drive you, as soon as you're ready."

~~~~

After dishing out enough expensive cat food to appease Precious, quickly changing his clothes and making the cab driver stop at his favorite local coffee bar, Rodney approached work clutching a mocha grande with an extra shot of espresso, and a 'who the hell cares' attitude about what his co-workers might think. So they'd realized he was gay or bi. As far as they knew, he was late because he and John had been exhausted after fucking like rabid bunnies all night. Let them think he'd rated a guy that hot.

Still, he was relieved when he encountered no one from last night in the hallways. One or two people gave him odd looks, but no one said anything that required more than a grumpy grunt, which was pretty much his normal mode of communication before noon anyway.

The reason for the odd looks became clear when he reached his office. Pictures were taped to the door, undoubtedly taken by cell phones belonging to the overactive harpies that were his co-workers. The one in the middle had caught him gazing up with undisguised longing and lust. The one next to it was John as he'd crouched down by Rodney's chair, oh-so-casual and laidback with his tousled hair and sweet pouty lips. The pics around those two were John on stage. John with his flight suit half off, exposing his furry chest, John holding the stripper pole with one hand, leaning away from it, John in those white briefs that Rodney had once curved his hands around, cupping John's tight butt.

Carefully, Rodney took down the pictures, bending the Scotch tape to the back of the picture, keeping each one neat and pristine. He heard a titter from down the hall, confirming that he was being observed, but he didn't dignify the watcher by acknowledging her presence. They'd probably think he wanted souvenirs of his conquest, which was fine. They didn't need to know he wanted a photograph for the police if he got kidnapped again, because he didn't trust that what had happened last night was completely over.

Well…the good facial close-up could go to the police. The rest were going to be ripped to shreds for his humiliation, or added to the stash of porn in his closet. Because damn, straight boy was either deluded or a liar, but he was hot, and definite jack-off material.

Entering his office, Rodney booted up his computer and went looking online for John Sheppard, not sheep-related. He had a feeling that he hadn't heard the last of John or Elizabeth, and this time he wanted to be prepared.

~~~~

By late morning, he emerged to seek fresh coffee, cursing that even with his own brilliant research abilities, John Sheppard was way too common a name. His best guess was a major in the Air Force who'd gotten busted for disobeying a direct order in Afghanistan and undertaking a seriously stupid rescue mission, but there'd been no picture for confirmation. Still, a pilot would make sense and explain the not-easy-to-rip-off flight suit, as well as the fact that John moved and reacted with the alertness and efficiency of a military man. Time to load up on the caffeine before settling down to hacking into the Air Force mainframe to find the pilot's service record. Rodney didn't know much about military records, but presumably there would be at least one good photo for identification purposes.

Radek's office was locked, and Rodney banged on the door. "Come on Radek, I need coffee." The Czech always had the best pot of coffee brewing, which he would begrudgingly share with Rodney.

Receiving no answer, Rodney wandered down the hallway to the secretaries' desks, propping his forearms on the low modular wall, looking to see – damn, John in his white briefs tacked on Lisa's wall. "You have a picture of a half-naked man on your wall? Do the words sexual harassment lawsuit have any meaning in your small brain?"

Lisa gave him a dirty look, but he gave her a harder one back, and she took the picture down, slipping it into a drawer. "Did you need something Dr. McKay?"

"Where's Dr. Zelenka?"

"He hasn't come in yet."

"When is he expected in?" Rodney restrained his impulse to bop her on the head for not giving complete information.

"I don't know. He hasn't called in."

"Radek? Radek hasn't called?" And that was completely and utterly wrong. Radek was always at work before Rodney, coffee brewed, his email read and answered, and working on equations. And on those rare occasions when he called in sick, he left messages of abject apology on the voicemail for both their boss and their secretary.

"No, he didn't call." Lisa's expression was sly, and Rodney braced himself. "We thought he was with you two last night. You and the pilot guy. Since he left with you two."

"Radek didn't leave with us."

Lisa gave him an 'I'm not stupid' look. Or maybe it was 'you're so stupid.' He could never tell with her vapid features. "We saw you leave together, Dr. McKay."

"You saw – what did you see?"

"We were all leaving the club and you called to him. And he went off. That was a nice car. The pilot guy's, huh?"

"You saw me? Me?"

"Well, it was dark. We couldn't see you very well. But we heard your voice."

Heard his voice? Christ, heard his voice, and how easy would that have been to record? He called for Radek every day, several times a day. All the time John was kidnapping him, trying to protect him, and Radek had been the intended target, damn John's bad intel.

A part of him strongly registered offense because yes, if a brilliant scientist were going to be kidnapped, he was more brilliant than Radek and it should have been him. But most of his mind was occupied with the need to check Radek's place, hoping that his fears were unfounded.

~~~~

Rodney knocked cautiously on Radek's apartment door, still hoping that he was sick. Yes, that was it, Radek was so sick he'd gone back to sleep without calling in. He'd be miserable, runny nosed and blotchy face even more stubbled than normal, lanky hair a total rat's nest, and Rodney would stay well away from him to avoid contamination. Rodney hated being sick.

The door swung open at Rodney's light tap, sending his heart plummeting. Radek not calling in and leaving his door unlocked? That was unlikely as…someone like Dickie Kavanagh having an original idea.

Feeling uneasy, Rodney stepped into Radek's living room. Rats, no Radek hunched and shivering on the couch. He walked through the apartment, finding no one in the kitchen, the bedroom, the second bedroom/den or the bathroom. Nothing but lots of bookcases, plain furniture, interesting touches of decoration from the Czech Republic, and extreme tidiness. How did Radek live in such absolute cleanliness? And where the hell was he?

"Rodney?"

The voice saying his name made Rodney jerk and jump around to see John standing in the apartment doorway. "Is something wrong? You shot out of work like there was an emergency."

"Are you following me? Tailing me?"

"I’m keeping an eye on you for a few days. Frankly, our intel seemed a little unreliable. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Unreliable? Unreliable? You chucklehead! They were after someone – Radek!"

"Chucklehead?" John repeated with a quizzical smile, as if he found Rodney's choice of epithets amusing, making Rodney want to wipe the smirk off his face.

"Radek was kidnapped outside the club while you were 'protecting' me." Rodney waved his hands, miming little quotes. "You were wrong, get that? Wrong. There was a target. It just wasn't me."

John frowned, throwing a 'You sure?' at Rodney before he started prowling the apartment, unknowingly duplicating Rodney's path.

"I’m sure," Rodney snapped, throwing himself down in the armchair.

John came back to the living room, glaring at Rodney as if he'd kidnapped Radek himself out of contrariness. "This isn't good. We need to get him back."

"That's the understatement of the year, straight boy!"

John glared harder and started to pull up his sleeve, before suddenly jerking, his body twitching. Perhaps if Rodney had ever watched reality shows dealing with criminals, he wouldn't have been so horrified. But Rodney made avoiding such television a matter of principle, and had never seen a body shudder as electricity coursed through it.

Leaping out of the armchair, Rodney rushed to John, alarmed at the paleness of his skin, the wildness of his eyes, the spasms in his limbs. He reached out to John as he toppled forward. Rodney wasn't expecting John's sudden collapse, wasn't braced for it, and both of them crashed to the floor.

"John? John? What's wrong with you?"

"He's been tasered," an amused voice said. "You should watch more crime shows."

Rodney cradled John's still twitching body in his arms, glaring at the man. He looked like one of those puppies at the strip club, blond with a muscled form that filled out his suit undoubtedly better than his brains filled his skull, and a bad goatee, as if he were one of those men who couldn't grow facial hair. "Who the hell are you?"

"I work for the people that you were warned about. You should have listened. Bring the major," he snapped at a second man, an even bigger guy with brown hair and eyes, and the build of a moronic football player. John's limp body was lifted out of Rodney's arms like he was a little child and flung over the second guy's shoulder.

Feeling vulnerable, Rodney scrambled to his feet. "Where are you taking him?"

"Scientists do like to ask questions, don't they? The other one did too. And we're taking him the same place we're taking you." Now threatening and not-quite-so-amused bad goatee goon waved the taser in his hand, and Rodney obeyed the implicit instruction, following the goon carrying John out of Radek's apartment.

'The major,' the goon had said. Score one for Rodney's research ability and a big fat zero for his ability to avoid trouble. How did he keep getting into bad situations?

~~~~

As far as kidnappings went, and Rodney didn't relish the thought that he was becoming an expert on them, the first one had been infinitely classier. The limo had been an elegant touch, much preferable to sitting on the floor of a paneled van, an arrangement destined to create problems with his back.

Still, there were definite similarities, in terms of not knowing where he was being taken and a head on a lap, only now it was John resting on Rodney. A semi-conscious John, his striking hazel eyes wide and unfocused. Rodney took the same opportunity that John had, stroking his messy hair, hoping that John would find his touch reassuring.

John's lips moved, muttering quietly, and Rodney bent down, straining to hear. John seemed to be saying a series of numbers, which Rodney automatically memorized. "873451487345148734514."

"Hey!" Bad goatee goon had noticed John was talking and half-lunged out of the passenger seat in the front to kick him in the ribs. "No talking."

John's muttering subsided. Rodney touched him where he'd been kicked, lightly stroking. "You didn't need to do that," he said tightly. "He's not even making sen