Author's Notes: Written for Annette who won me in the Doctors without Borders auction for David Hewlett's birthday. She asked for 'an SGA slash, McKay/Sheppard fic. First time, I'm good with either romance or angsty (though not too angsty). I'm a big fan of h/c (John hurt), and I love Denial!John. I'm happy with PWP's too, and any rating.' A couple of days later while on my way to a temp job, I couldn't find anything on the radio I wanted to listen to so I pulled a tape out of the center console without looking at it and popped it into the tape player. That tape ended up being a-ha'sStay on These Roads. And the song that was playing was There's Never a Forever Thing. I was surprised I actually remembered the words; it had been years since I'd last listened to that tape, and this song just spoke to me. I emailed Annette with the words and we agreed it worked just perfectly for this pair and the episode The Last Man. This is set during the 700 years John was in stasis. Does anyone really think that Rodney wouldn't have programmed something to keep John's mind occupied so it wouldn't atrophy? There are some minor spoilers for The Prodigal in the form of dialogue and the knowledge that John and Rodney are indeed twelve year old boys trapped in the bodies of forty year old men. I also took some dialogue from the end of The Last Man.

Warnings: Dom!Rodney, sub!John, OOC Rodney

Spoilers: The Last Man, Outcast, The Tower, Trinity, The Kindred I and II and Doppelganger

John's POV:

The last thought I have as the stasis chamber engages is that O'Neill was right: being put into stasis is one hell of a weird-ass feeling. One minute I'm looking at 'old' Rodney's sad face, and the next I'm waking up in the most comfortable bed I've ever been in. My face is buried in the softest pillow, and a sheet of the finest Egyptian cotton is draped over my naked hips. The sound of waves crashing against a shore and the salty scent of the breeze that's caressing my naked back and shoulders tell me I'm either at the beach or still on Lantea. But as far as I know none of the bedrooms have bedding like this, I think, a frown of confusion crinkling my brow as another thought occurs to me. And why would I wake up from stasis in a bed like this? Much as I want to just keep laying there, enjoying soft bedding the likes of which I haven't felt since Earth – not to mention a bed big enough that I can spread my arms without touching the sides – the answers don't magically appear, and I sigh. Might as well find out for sure, I tell myself, turning over and blinking my eyes open. Sure enough, behind the Arabian Nights motif is Ancient architecture. This only adds to my confusion, which isn't helped any by the arrival of a young man who appears to be in his late teens/early twenties, carrying a tray and wearing a pair of sleep pants that are slung so low on his hips they're in danger of falling off.

His face breaks into a wide grin upon seeing I'm awake. A grin that's very familiar, one that I would know anywhere. "Ah, you're awake at last," an even more familiar voice says in an oddly formal tone, considering that I best know that voice when it's snapping irritably at someone to get out of the way.

When he reaches the bed he sets the tray down and I sit up, making sure the sheet continues to cover what it's supposed to cover, and peer over at what appears to be a pile of fresh fruit, cheese and crackers.

"You don't recognize me, do you?" he asks, drawing my attention once again to his face where the left corner of his mouth is turned down in a frown of frustration.

I'd never be able to forget you, I oddly want to blurt out, but I somehow manage to swallow that one down. "Rodney?" I venture instead, praying I'll wake from this dream before he sees the effect his youthful good looks have on me. "You're so young," I blurt then duck my head as I feel a flush explode across my upper torso and up into my face. Young, hell. He's just this side of fucking jailbait.

"I figured since you saw how I'll look twenty-five years in the future you should see how I looked at twenty," he tells me simply, perching on the edge of the mattress. "Don't you like how I look?" he asks, telling me that he didn't notice my blush. He hastily adds, "I can always make myself look like how you best remember me."

That explains a lot. So he can change his appearance… yet another hologram. But where the other one was old and sad, this one is so exquisitely young that it makes me briefly irritated at the thought of my own age, and I notice the corner of his mouth dip right after I absently frown at myself. "No, the way you look now is fine," I reassure him. More than fine, so very much more than fine. He has no idea how much this 'him' appeals to me. But dwelling on that line of thought reminds me that I don't have any pants on right now, so I fall back into old habits and decide to get the story behind my surroundings. "Care to explain just where we are?"

He hesitates for just a split second. It's so brief, in fact, that I wonder if I'd actually seen it at all. "Oh, isn't it obvious?" he hedges, turning his attention to pouring a red liquid into a goblet. This is definitely different. He's not oozing the usual arrogant McKay genius and he's not explaining everything to the nth degree, and that catches my attention. He's just calmly sitting on the edge of my bed – a bed I'm still naked in, by the way – and offering me liquor. "Wine?" He holds it out to me, but when I reach for it, he pulls it back.

"What game is this, Rodney? I coulda sworn you just offered that to me," I huff. "I'm not really in the mood for any guessing games right now."

He doesn't get irritated and he doesn't hand me the cup. He's still that same calm that's doing weird things to me; on one hand it's starting to get on my nerves, and on the other hand he just seems so… in control. "No game, John. I created this world." He pauses, and I get a brief flash of the real McKay. "Sort of."

One eyebrow climbs my forehead at that. "Sort of? How do you 'sort of' create a VR?"

"Well, I put the parameters into the stasis chamber's memory banks. The rest was up to you."

So he's saying that it was my idea to wake up naked in a really nice bed in Atlantis? "Except for your appearance," I point out.

He nods. "I put pictures of myself at different ages from eighteen to when we met. This is the 'default' appearance." Well, that's oddly a relief, because I don't know what the hell I'd have done if I'd woken up to an eight-year-old supergenius barging into my room.

I squash that thought down and go back to learning my options. "Can I just think of you at any age and your appearance will change?"

He nods his head to the side. "More or less, yes."

I just blink at him, at a loss for words. Then a thought hits me. "Why did you do this?" Why, indeed, had Rodney McKay programmed something like this? I would love to consider the possibilities of why I'm naked in this lovely bed while a nubile young Rodney offers me wine, but again, no pants, so I slouch casually and wait for an answer that hopefully won't make me drop a pillow on my lap.

He gives me a familiar smug scoff. "Do you have any idea what kind of VR the Ancients put in these things?" He seems offended by the very fact that it exists. "Talk about boring."

"So the way the room's decorated?" I wonder, indicating the gauzy thin drapes and the pillows everywhere, like I woke up in an Ancient's idea of a harem.

"Is all you." He smirks at me.

Oh, no. My subconscious programmed my bedroom to look like a courtesan's quarters, and now Rodney knows about it. I do my best to derail that train of thought and stick to business. "And you're here because…?"

His next words make me freeze: "I'm here to give you whatever you want. Or more importantly, what I know you need."

No. He can't… He can't possibly know that, can he? I shake my head at myself. Of course he doesn't. No one does. I never even told Kate, and I told her things I'd never told another living soul. There's no way he can know.

"So. Wine?" He brings me back to his presence at my bedside, holding out the goblet like I'm not sitting there wondering what it's going to do to my best friend to know that I, Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard, actually have a pretty damn good reason why I'd picture myself as a harem-boy.

Yeah, alcohol sounds wonderful. Once again when I reach for the goblet he pulls it away. That does it; the last few minutes have been more than a little stressful with the knowledge of what Rodney did with the stasis chamber and what I did with my own chamber, and whatever smug game he's playing suddenly becomes downright annoying. "Damnit, McKay!" I explode. "I'm fucking thirsty."

"Then drink." Just like that. He doesn't frown, doesn't growl back at me, just… remains so perfectly calm, like he's humoring a small child. 'Drink.' Such a simple command and yet I have no idea how to obey it. A snicker has me lifting my gaze to meet his amused one. "Think about it Colonel 'I coulda been in Mensa'," he taunts. Oh, great. Give it a rest, would you? I want to groan. I have regretted telling him I passed the Mensa test every day since I let it slip.

Heaving a sigh, I contemplate the situation, and after several seconds it hits me. He wants me to trust him enough to drink while he holds the goblet. Leaning forward, my eyes locked with his, I place my lips on the rim. I see him swallow and wonder how I look to him right now. Slowly he tilts the goblet until some of the liquid, a very fine wine indeed, slips past my lips. I take a sip and lean back to signal I've had enough for now.

Rodney cocks his head. "That's all? Just one tiny sip? Surely you're thirstier than that. It was extremely hot outside when you went out there."

I've stopped thinking about how weird this all is. I'm used to weird, after all. "Have you ever tried drinking from a glass someone else was holding? It's damned awkward."

Rodney's mouth does something that makes me freeze, again, just short of licking my lips, a sort of darkly lecherous grin that again makes me wish, for the love of God, for pants. His voice doesn't help either, dropping into something that strikes me as offhandedly sultry. "Well, there is another way, but I figured it was too early for that."

The weird doesn't leave me alone for very long. His attitude and demeanor are completely confusing me, and I need to know exactly what the hell is going on. "What do you mean, Rodney?"

His young face gives me an all-too-familiar 'Why are you questioning the genius?' frown. "C'mon, John. We both know just what it is you need from me but are too afraid to ask for out there," he tells me, waving one hand in a vague circle. "Or rather, what you can't ask for because of DADT."

My brows lower over my nose and my eyes narrow on his face. It was one thing for him to hint at it, but to just barge right into it like this makes me instantly defensive. "Just what is it you think I need from you?" I demand. Hell if I'll just roll over and spill my deepest, darkest secret to him without first knowing for sure what he's getting at. I mean, I know what he's getting at, but… it can't be true. No. I'm not like that.

Rodney is so totally calm and in control that I can't help but listen to him. "You need someone to make you let go. To make you give up control if just for a little while. Let me be that someone. In here, DADT doesn't exist."

Oh, this is so not happening. "What a pretty speech, but what about the 'real' Rodney McKay?"

Rodney sighs and slouches a bit while absently twirling the wineglass between his fingers. His new position brings Rodney's beautiful young shirtless body back to my attention and I'm having a hell of a time ignoring that and concentrating on keeping my defenses up while I listen to his explanation. "While I admit he set this program, there's no way for anyone outside of here, and most certainly not back in the 'present', to know about this. If you take advantage of this offer you'll be perfectly safe from any and all consequences. Of course that means you'll have to decide if you can live with the knowledge of this whenever you see him."

Oh, great. So I won't be left wondering about the deeper parts of my subconscious anymore. I'll just have to live the rest of my life in a state of constant denial. "If I say no?"

"You can create whatever kind of world you want. My program will adapt. When you woke up and chose this one I felt sure you'd already decided you were ready to let go and let me catch you."

I didn't choose anything, at least not consciously, but after having lived this long in the line of fire I've learned to trust my instincts. After several minutes of silent debate, I decide that if he's not right, at least I'll finally have the answer and I'll be able to stop wondering about it. I have been trying to find a way around DADT to get what I need from Rodney, and I can't honestly think of how I'd ever get a safer opportunity. Or – sparing the quickest of glances at Rodney's youthful torso – a more appealing opportunity. And hey, I've been under a lot of stress lately. I could use a vacation.

So, it's settled. Sort of. I do my best to ignore the part of me that's screaming indignantly about how wrong this is and I look up. "How does this work, Rodney?" I ask in a small voice.

If he's pleased by the response, he doesn't give much of an indication. It's like he was just waiting for me to catch up to him. "Well, first you need rest. So today I'll just take care of you."

Well, that's a start. I nod at the drink in his hand. "And that includes holding the goblet while I drink?"

"Among other things. Once you're comfortable with that, we'll move on to the next step."

"And just what is the next step?"

"Don't worry about that right now." Oh, like that's going to reassure me. He sets the goblet back on the tray and then shifts until he's sitting next to me on the bed, leaning back against the headboard with the tray of fruit and cheese on the other side of him. Oh yeah, this has to be a dream. Two men and a fruit platter couldn't possibly fit on the glorified bunks that the Ancients called beds even if we were all piled on top of each other. Compared to the real Atlantis, this bed looks like it's big enough for a small orgy. "Hungry?" he asks calmly, despite somehow knowing I am.

Maybe the program lets him know automatically when I'm hungry, and that's a little irritating, too. "McKay…" I warn, just as my stomach reminds me I haven't eaten in some time.

Rodney just gives me something like a chipper grin. "It's Rodney. For now at least," he scolds, reaching for a cracker and piece of cheese.

I can feel the tightness in my shoulders ease a bit at the hard note that creeps into his tone. Can he actually give me exactly what it is I need? Can he dominate me so completely I lose myself in him? Forget where I end and he begins? Considering how long I've pretended that I've never once entertained thoughts like this, I feel a strange thrill at what's being offered here.

He holds the cracker and cheese out to me, and after a brief hesitation I lean forward and open my mouth. Instead of putting the cracker in my mouth he raises one eyebrow, silently demanding I close those scant few inches. The smile I get when I lean in and close my lips around his fingers has a different kind of tightness unfurling low in my belly. This is a smile I haven't seen since he found the Arcturus Weapon.

"Such a good boy," he praises, reaching for the tray again and holding out a piece of apple.

I munch on it diligently until something else occurs to me. "I have a question," I say around my mouthful. "Where'd this fresh fruit come from?" I swallow after my burning curiosity has been taken care of. Bad habits, I know, but at least he doesn't call me on it.

"Same place I did, John," he replies. Oh, that's helpful. "It's all part of the program Rodney McKay wrote."

So if Rodney wrote a stasis VR for me, then I can't help but wonder, "Is Carson experiencing the same things?"

"No, there wasn't any time to write a program for Carson."

"If there had been?" I'm not sure if I like the idea of Carson getting the Jailbait Rodney treatment.

The corner of his mouth dips the slightest bit. "No more questions," he orders briskly in that too-familiar Rodney McKay 'I don't feel like explaining it to you' manner, and he stands up and I see that the plate is empty.

A frown mars my forehead, and I can't help but ask, "When'd we finish the food?"

"Not we, John. Just you. Hologram, remember?"

"But…" I start, but he holds up a hand.

"Sleep now. When you wake we'll begin the next part." He fixes me with another look I know all too well. Despite Rodney's young face, there is no mistaking the look of his stubborn streak rearing its head.

I still want to know, though. "I don't…"

"I said sleep," he says flatly, and it's as if my brain is conditioned to take orders from him because right then I yawn so wide my jaw cracks and my eyelids get heavy.

Unfortunately, it's not the first time I've had this feeling. "You drugged the wine, didn't you?" I slur.

His answer surprises me. "Didn't need to. You need sleep, so sleep." He picks up the tray and turns to walk out.

"Rodney?"

"Yes, John?" He doesn't even look back at me.

Suddenly I'm exhausted and I can't really find the urge to think, but I just can't let it end like this. "You'll be here when I wake up?" I murmur, fighting the urge to let sleep pull me under.

"Yes, John."

"Good." Another yawn and then total blackness as sleep overtakes me.

When next I wake the moons have risen, and my bladder is demanding attention. Naturally I do what any normal man would do: I slip from the bed and make my naked way to the bathroom. With my more pressing issues taken care of, I return to the main room to find Rodney scowling at me from where he's standing in the middle of the room, his feet braced shoulder width apart, and his arms crossed over his chest. His stance brings his appearance to my attention, again, and this time I take a longer look. While I'm completely naked he's wearing a pair of sleep pants that are still in grave danger of falling off his hips, and nothing else. Even his feet are bare.

"Problems?" The rebellious part of me that always has me disobeying orders I disagree with raises its ugly head.

"You are not allowed to leave this room without my permission."

Since when? I wonder. "So I can't take a piss or shit unless you say so?"

"Pretty much."

I unconsciously mimic him and cross my own arms. "I'm an adult, Rodney. I've been potty trained since I was three." I just barely refrain from snarling at him.

He gives his head a little shake. "That is not what this is about."

"Then what is this about?"

"It's about you letting go and allowing me to take care of you."

"You're not my McKay," I blurt, and then I go silent as I feel what could only be a flush staining my cheeks.

His tone is still flat and irritated. "No, I'm not, but can you afford to ask him to do this? Are you willing to risk your career? In here you can get the release you need and go back to him, and Atlantis, a more relaxed commander, which will make you a better leader in the long run."

"You truly believe that?"

"Yes, and so do you if you stop and think about it. How long have you been wondering about this? How long have you thought that this would ease the tension in your shoulders? Allow you to actually sleep at night? Give you a clearer head with which to make life and death decisions?"

While he has a very valid point I can't quite bring myself to just give in completely despite wanting it with every fiber of my being. "How would you know?" I challenge, mentally wincing at the petulant tone.

Of all the reactions I'm expecting, the snort I get is not even in the top five. "I may be oblivious to someone flirting with me, Colonel, but I can spot a submissive personality a mile away."

A… what? Okay, I might entertain occasional thoughts of letting somebody else be in charge, but to just come out and say it like that… "How?"

"I had a boyfriend in college who admitted that he had control issues. We went to a counselor who suggested we see a dominatrix. She gave us a test that showed I'm a Dom and taught me how to spot a sub." He pauses, studies my face, and decides to give me a little more. "I have found over the years that people with high stress jobs tend to be submissives. You, Elizabeth, O'Neill, just to name a few."

I didn't see that one coming. "Elizabeth?"

"Yeah. Not with me, though. She's not my type."

"And O'Neill is?" I just can't see it.

The look that smartass comment earns me has me going weak in the knees. It's like he's picturing what I'd look like on my knees.

"By the time I met O'Neill Daniel had already claimed him."

No, I'm definitely not seeing it. I just can't picture the legendary General Jack O'Neill on his knees for a guy with glasses, not even the SGC's favored pet archaeologist. "If he hadn't?" I know I'm just delaying the inevitable but I can't seem to help it. The word 'Dominatrix' just conjures up images that scare the beejesus outta me.

Instead of answering my question, Rodney approaches me with a confident swagger I never thought I'd see on him. The image is so appealing that I just stand there and admire him closing the distance. "I know what you are doing," he purrs in my ear, so far into my personal space I can feel the heat from his body. How is that possible? He's a hologram.

My body doesn't seem to know or care that he's not 'real', and my stomach clenches in anticipation at the heated look in his eyes. Swallowing thickly I try to take a step back only to find myself unable to move.

"Rodney," I beg in a soft voice.

"I'm not keeping you here, John. How many times do I have to tell you that this is all you?" His voice has changed. It's deeper, rougher more confident. Is that my doing too? "Everything," he murmurs against my temple, letting me know that this Rodney can read my mind because he's basically…well…me.

My eyes flutter closed, and an unintentional whimper of need escapes at the feel of his lips on the skin of my neck. "Please, John," he whispers, his breath warm against my flesh. "Let me take care of you."

A tremor starts at my feet and races up my spine at the needy note in his otherwise commanding voice.

Something in me shifts, and I find myself nodding and replying "Okay, Rodney. I'll let you take care of me." This is obviously the right response because Rodney lets out a moan that has the blood rushing to my cock. It doesn't help when my brain decides to be helpful and gives me an image of this beautiful young Rodney naked and in bed with me and laying there while I do other things to make him moan.

"We'll start slow," he tells me, turning and walking away. "John," he commands when he notices I'm not following.

"I…" I falter, fumbling with the words. "I've…never…" Licking my lips I shift my weight from foot to foot. I can't seem to express the fact that I really don't know what I'm supposed to be doing right now.

Apparently he realizes that. "It's alright, John," he soothes, holding out one hand fully expecting me to take it. "I said we'll go slow."

"How slow?" I insist, though I do take his hand to show him that I'm listening and I'm not just being rebellious. If it wasn't for his young face I would swear that there is no way this is a hologram. His hand is warm and solid, and gives mine a little reassuring squeeze as though to prove it.

"As slow you need me to. Even if we've already moved on to the sex, if you need me to back off, I will."

Good to know. "How will you know I need you to slow down?"

"We can discuss that later. For now," he steps closer, "trust me."

"What do you have in mind?"

"John!" His frustration at my continuing hesitation is palpable. "Stop asking questions."

I swallow as his eyes take on a glint I've only ever seen on the field of battle. It doesn't take a man of Rodney's intelligence or even my own to realize that I'm in deep shit if I don't cooperate. I take a breath.

"One final question: where do you want me?"

He grins at that and drops my hand to point off to my left. Turning to look in that direction I see a massage table. Oh, God! I have to endure his hands on me before I learn how to control my reaction to his presence?

"Hop up," he instructs, patting the padded top of the table. "I swear you will enjoy this."

I'm sure I will too, or rather would, if I wasn't getting harder by the second.

"Do not make me tell you again, John." His continued use of my first name should be a clue but I have no idea what he's trying to tell me.

Steeling my nerves I climb up on the table and discover the top is the same Egyptian cotton as the bed sheets. He surprises me by covering me from shoulders to toes with a sheet. It's a surprisingly touching gesture, that he's trying to ease my nerves like this.

"Just relax," he murmurs, starting to rub tiny soothing circles on my back. "Shall we have some music?" he asks just before something classical and calming starts to play softly in the background.

Soon the pressure of his hands begins to increase. Just when I think I'll be able to get through this because he's not touching my skin, he folds the sheet down to reveal my back. His touch is just impersonal enough that I don't have a reaction. That's not to say I don't have any reaction, just not a physical one.

When his fingers find a particularly stubborn knot I can't help the grunt that escapes.

"Am I hurting you?" he asks, easing up just a little.

"Not at all. Feels nice actually." Better than nice, if I'm honest with myself, at least. If this wasn't so arousing, I'd swear I was about to melt and start dripping off the table.

He goes back to trying to get the knot to submit, drawing a few more grunts and groans from me.

"This one's stubborn," he mutters, putting more muscle into it. Finally he seems satisfied that he's loosened it enough and moves to another area. By the time he's moved on to my legs, I'm mostly asleep. Until he starts on my feet, that is.

"Ticklish?" he queries when I jerk my foot from his grasp.

"Very."

"Too bad," he informs me, picking up my foot again.

"McKay…" I growl.

"It's Rodney," he snaps, slapping me hard on the ass. I yelp in surprise and glare at him over my shoulder. "I already told you. This is going to happen. Let it."

Sighing deeply, I lie back down. "I can't," I mumble to the floor.

"Sure you can."

"You don't understand."

"Oh, but I do, John. You don't think you'll be able to look him in the eye when you get out of here."

Say one thing about Rodney: when he knows something, he isn't ever shy about beating me over the head with the fact that he knows. "Not if what you want to happen, happens," I confirm, my voice getting softer. Somehow I don't think this is the time for this conversation.

"We can discuss that later. Right now all I want is for you to relax enough to get some much needed rest." He falls silent as he continues to massage my back and legs. "Turn over." He startles me by holding up the sheet so that it's hanging between us. As if he hasn't already seen all of me, I think as I do as instructed.

As soon as I'm on my back he lays the sheet back down so that it once again covers me from shoulders to toes. This time he starts at my feet working his way up to my hips. He then moves to stand at my head, removing the pillow thing I had rested my head on while on my stomach. He runs his hands up and down my chest through the sheet before sliding them under my shoulders and rubbing up into my hair. When I try to help by holding up my head he just gives a mini growl until I let him support my head and shoulders.

He gives a little put upon sigh. "What part of 'relax and let me take care of you' don't you seem to get?"

"Sorry, Rodney. Not used to letting someone else do these things."

"It'll get easier if you just let go."

"I realize that."

"But?" he prompts when I falter to a stop.

"No but," I insist drowsily. "You have very talented hands," I murmur as sleep once again hovers.

"Of course I do," he agrees smugly.

His remark has me throwing off sleep just long enough to look up at him and frown. "Why?"

"Because it's what you need. Now sleep, John," he commands and just like before, my body obeys without question.

The sun is just starting to peek over the horizon when I wake up sometime later. Remembering how Rodney reacted to my going to the bathroom on my own, I just lie there on the bed trying to ignore my full bladder and wonder how I ended up in bed when I fell asleep on the massage table.

Just when I think Rodney's decided to punish me by making me wait until I piss myself, he appears wearing the same sleep pants as before and looking even better, if that's possible.

"Good boy, John," he praises, stopping at the foot of the bed. "You may visit the facilities, now."

Terrified he'll change his mind, I roll from the bed and all but run to the bathroom.

Bladder once again empty, I return to the main room to find him sitting, or rather reclining, on a pile of pillows next to a low table covered with more fruit and cheese and some kind of meat-like thing. Oh great… The Ancient equivalent of SPAM.

"Come," he commands, patting a pillow to his left. "Sit and eat."

Slowly I make my way to his side wondering if he plans to hand-feed me again and hoping he doesn't. Being naked as I am I can't hide my reaction to the sensuality of the act.

"Um, Rodney," I begin. "I was…well…" I falter and rub one hand on the back of my neck. "I was wondering if I could either have some pants or maybe feed myself?"

He looks at me for what feels like eternity before saying 'no' in a flat monotone kind of voice that tells me there is no room for negotiation here.

"Why?" I can't keep from asking, crossing my arms over my chest and shifting all my weight to one foot.

"You don't need to know that."

"But…" I continue to argue.

"You. Do. Not. Need. To. Know. That," he talks over me stressing each word like he does with the stupidest of the scientists under his command.

The look in his eyes has me swallowing and trying once more to grab the reins. "Rod…"

"I could always move this to the final step," he once again interrupts me.

The warning in his voice has the desired effect this time, and I flop down onto the pillow next to him still as naked as the day I was born.

Rodney keeps me distracted with talk of things that interest me the most; planes, ferris wheels, helicopters, surfing and Johnny Cash. With each bite he moves his hand closer to his mouth, without me being aware, until the next bite comes from between his teeth. Without even thinking, I lean forward and take the piece of pear, our lips brushing slightly. A low moan breaks the spell he's had me under. Sitting back, I touch my fingertips to my lips amazed that they're tingling.

"Um…" My brain seems to have short circuited from the touch of his lips against mine.

"Still hungry? Or perhaps you'd like something to drink?"

"Do…do…" I stop to clear my throat. "Do I have to take that drink from your mouth?"

"Not yet. You're not ready for that."

My brows lower over my nose in confused anger. "I'm not ready to drink from your lips but I can take food from them?"

"Easy, John," he soothes. "All will become clear soon enough."

"Cryptic much, Rodney?" I snark earning myself a raised eyebrow. Barely refraining from rolling my eyes I let it go. "Fine. May I have something to drink?"

He holds the goblet out to me like before, and this time I take more than a simple sip.

"Now that that need is taken care of," he says once the goblet and plate are empty, "let's take care of another."

"Now wait just one goddamn minute!" I growl. There is no way in fucking hell I'm gonna let him assist with that!

"John!" he snaps, his tone reminding me of one of my Drill Sergeants from boot camp. She was five feet of pure command. Not a single man defied her after the first week, but then most recruits had to test the leash a little at first. By the end of basic all the recruits jumped to when we saw her coming, and if she gave any kind of order we all obeyed without question or hesitation. Hell, even some of the officers jumped when she said to. Looking in Rodney's eyes something in me shifts, and I decide to see just how far he's willing to go with this. But I'll be damned if I'll just let him hold my dick while I take a piss.

"Sorry, Rodney, but I just can't let you assist with that."

Rodney's brows come together over his nose in confusion before his face breaks into a wide grin, and he laughs so hard tears run down his cheeks. "I wasn't talking about that," he gasps, his laughs tapering off to chuckles. "I meant a shower."

A shower I can do, I think relief flooding me. "A shower sounds nice." A sigh escapes when he gets to his feet with a grace my Rodney doesn't possess before reaching down and pulling me effortlessly to my feet.

Following him into the bathroom I allow my mind to wander to the wonderful shower I'm about to have. I'm so lost in the daydream of a heavenly steam shower that I totally miss him stripping and stepping into the stall with me. Until I feel his body heat at my back, that is.

"What the fuck, McKay?" I demand, jumping back as cautiously as I can given the slippery wet floor of the shower.

"Did you really think I'd let you shower alone?" he questions, one raised brow telling me he's ignoring the 'McKay' versus 'Rodney'. For now.

"Do you wash your hair or your body first?"

"Hair."

Rodney smirks at me. "Kneel."

When I balk, he just rolls his eyes. "I can't reach your head with both of us standing."

Duh! I mentally slap my forehead and do as instructed. It's not as if he demanded I blow him.

As soon as I'm on my knees the water comes on, and he begins to massage my scalp.

Sitting there on my knees, Rodney's groin in my face, I do something I've never thought of doing before; I open my mouth and lean forward just enough that when he shifts closer to scrub at the back of my head the tip of his cock slips between my lips. I close them and begin to suck gently. Just as I'm getting lost in the taste and feel of him in my mouth, pain explodes against the left side of my head knocking me over onto my right side.

I blink up at him, confused as to what just happened. Luckily he doesn't leave me guessing. "I never said you could touch me," he snarls, his face distorted in anger.

"Sorry, Rodney," I stutter. I can't believe he actually hit me. And since when can he punch like that?

"Never say sorry. It shows weakness."

I dip my head in acknowledgement and start over. "Forgive me, Rodney. I just thought…"

Again he talks over me. "And that's your problem. You're still thinking. This is about letting go, John. Stop thinking, and let me take care of you."

"Will this include sex?" The question is out before I can even stop it. "'Cause I'm not sure I can do that."

"Do not concern yourself with that, John. If I want to fuck that sweet ass of yours then I will, and trust me when I say that by then you will be all but begging me to do so."

His words have me swallowing hard. While I have my doubts about his prediction, I wisely choose to keep them to myself, this time.

"Turn so I can rinse your hair."

I crawl forward until the warm water is beating gently down on my head. Crossing my feet under me I settle in with my head bowed and my shoulders slumped as I realize that Rodney lied. I can't change the scenery.