The second the big almost-naked guy covered in sea-shells says it, Aiden looks to Teyla. Why shouldn’t he? She’s the only woman on the team, so clearly, if the angry naked aliens want them to have sex to undo the great wrong of McKay refusing to drink their sacred orange juice, she’s going have to be part of it.

In truth, Aiden wouldn’t mind all that much if he had to be, too. Though he’d never say it out loud, he finds Teyla to be probably one of the sexiest women he’s ever met. She’s terrifying at times – so self-assured, so perfect. He doesn’t know if he’d even know what to do with a woman like that, if she ever ended up in his arms. But that doesn’t stop him from wanting it.

But, even when some nights he finds himself stroking himself, thinking about her, as disgusted as he is turned on, he’s glad he never has to think about it – never has to know how she would feel or taste, or maybe how she’d sound rejecting him. They’re a team and that’s far more important.

Teyla gives Aiden a slight smile, then turns to Major Sheppard, eyes tinged with regret. “I am sorry, Major. I would volunteer for this ritual.” She looks down at her clasped hands, suddenly shamed. Aiden can’t tell what for – a woman like her has nothing to be ashamed of. “But it is the time of the lunar cycle in which I am most fertile and I do not feel as though it is my right to risk a child I could not care for.”

Aiden wonders if Major Sheppard has any condoms in his kit. Aiden wouldn’t be so presumptuous, but maybe Sheppard might. He’s had offers on several of the planets they’ve traded with.

Sheppard just shakes his head, smiling a commander’s smile – reassuring and confident, but not soft. “It’s okay, Teyla. I wouldn’t have asked it of you anyhow.”

“If you feel as though you must somehow cater to my femininity, Major, then you are mistaken.” Teyla is prideful and enraged, but regal. Aiden loves her like this.

Sheppard looks slightly bewildered, but recovers himself quickly. “No, no, Teyla . . . it’s not that. It’s just that you’re right about the whole pregnancy thing. It’s just not worth the risk.”

She nods.

Aiden steps closer to Sheppard. He agrees about not forcing Teyla into anything – for her honor as much as for the reasons she’s given. But tactically, he isn’t sure they can make it out of this without shooting. There are two guards outside the tent, at least three at the Stargate, and a ton of possibly armed natives in between.

“So, what’s the plan, Sir?” He grips his P90 tightly, not looking Sheppard in the eyes, trying not to look like they’re plotting.

Sheppard sighs and runs his fingers through his hair. “We give them what they want.”

Aiden feels his eyes widen. “But, Sir, Teyla . . .”

“They said that two of us have to have sex, Ford, and judging by the pictures on the walls of the sacred temple, it doesn’t matter if it’s a man and a woman.”

Aiden gulps. He’d been trying very hard not to look at those pictures. It’s sacrilege, after all – depictions of unclean acts that he really didn’t need to see. He doesn’t need to know what God finds so wrong about it, only that it’s something he’ll never have to experience, because he’s a good guy and good guys aren’t tempted by that stuff.

But then again, it’s probably a hell of a lot easier than fighting their way out. God’ll forgive him if aliens make him do it, right?

“Yes, Sir.”

Sheppard’s jaw clenches uncomfortably. Good, at least Aiden’s not the only one wildly uncomfortable with this. In fact, it makes it that much better, because being ordered to do something gross or terrifying or horrible is part of being a soldier. And Sheppard’s reluctant but stalwart eyes and his clenched jaw have carried them through so much. He can understand Sheppard like this, can follow him wherever he goes, because he always comes through.

Sheppard turns to the priest, who’s looking at him greedily. Aiden had noticed that look before. He’s seen it directed at the major a lot of times. Normally it’s more subtle, on the soft face of a woman; an old tribal leader, half senile but still flattered by the major’s charming little smiles; on the pale face of a blushing youth, watching them out of the corner of her eye. He’s seen it on the faces of men, too, from these naked pagans to the hard eyes of the Genii commander. Sheppard is a beautiful man, Aiden admits. If he were . . . like that, which he most definitely isn’t, he’d want Sheppard.

“We’ll do it,” Sheppard says to the priest, a prickly quality to his voice. He’s pissed, and he’s letting the guy know it. But even Sheppard’s anger can’t overcome the lust in the guy’s eyes. He’d been watching them the entire time – maybe even wanted this.

“That is a most wise decision, Major,” the guy says. It’s pretty cliché bad-alien English. Aiden doesn’t find that at all comforting. “Come with me.”

Sheppard sighs, unhooking his P90 and handing it to Aiden. He looks down at it curiously as both the major and Dr. McKay strip off their tac-vests. He wonders when they came to an agreement about how it was going to be them.

“Major?” Not that Aiden’s exactly jumping in line for sins against god or anything, but McKay’s a civilian. Sheppard can’t just order him to take one for the team. If it has to be anyone, it should be the two of them, because they’re military and they’ll handle it like professionals.

“Relax, Ford,” McKay says sarcastically. “You’re clearly about to have an aneurysm even thinking about someone’s cock up your ass.”

Aiden can’t help flinch.

“But it’s not anything I haven’t done before.” McKay is being patronizing.

Aiden’s jaw drops. That’s another thing he could’ve gone his whole life without knowing about his teammates. C’mon . . . he (on rare occasions) has to share a tent with McKay and, like, shower with him and stuff.

“Oh, puh-lease, don’t act so surprised. Women are nice, but they’re normally way too high maintenance.” McKay somehow manages to make unbuckling his thigh holster seem like a glare.

“It’s better this way,” Sheppard says quietly. “Military policy and all . . . if shit hits the fan, we don’t both get screwed.” Or maybe it’s not that – maybe Sheppard really does trust McKay more than he does Aiden. That thought burns.

Aiden nods, still staring at McKay, all fluttering hands and piercing angry glares. He sees McKay’s huge mouth, imagines how easily it’d fit around another man’s cock. He plays back in his head the teasing banter, the short but intense looks, and suddenly he knows – McKay wants this. He’s wanted Sheppard for a long time and now he’s going to get him, forced onto his knees, taking one for the team. It’s not fair. His CO shouldn’t have to do that . . .

“It’s okay, Major. Let me do it. If one of us gets in trouble for this, it should be me, not you.”

McKay looks horrified. Maybe he thinks Aiden will mistreat him or something – the way he sometimes looks at Aiden like he thinks Aiden is either going to hit him or do something incredibly stupid. They’re probably equally horrifying scenarios in the gigantic McKay-brain that Aiden knows he will never fully understand.

“No, Lieutenant. I’m the team leader. This is my responsibility.” Sheppard’s eyes are cold, determined and inflexible with the sort of righteousness Aiden has come to associate with him and battle. Sheppard still believes in a Just War. He still believes in rules of engagement, in honor and bravery.

Aiden believes in duty, so he’ll follow. “Yes, Sir.”

Except the whole thing turns out to be moot when the priest walks impatiently back into the tent. “No, the fat one will not eat of the sacred offering. It is most necessary for the ritual.”

“Oh . . . okay.” Aiden gulps. Sure, he offered, but he wasn’t ever really expecting to have to . . .

Sheppard turns to Aiden slowly, asking like he didn’t bother asking McKay. “You can say ‘no,’ Ford. We’ll figure something out. There’s nothing weak in it.”

But there is. Sheppard will do anything for his team. He’ll take one for the team, no problem. And if the major does it then Aiden can too. He wants to be that dedicated. He wants Sheppard to pat his arm and tell him that he did good, just like he did after the Wraith-bug incident and the storm with the Genii. He wants to do all the things Sheppard thinks are good and right, because Aiden doesn’t know much more than that God loves him and the marines are the best damn corps on Earth or elsewhere and that John Sheppard is a good man.

“I’m sure, Sir.”

Sheppard sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re sure, you’re sure?”

What? It’s not like he’s a little kid. When he says he’ll do something, he’ll do it. But he doesn’t say that. He just says, “Yes, Sir.”

“Okay, then, let’s get this show on the road,” Sheppard grins, nervously.

Dr. McKay looks stricken. Aiden tries not to be disgusted.

They follow the priest out and Aiden’s muscles tense, like he’s readying for battle. At least it’s better than the shaking shiver that he feels radiating outward from his core. The ceremonial fuck-tent, or whatever the major’s not going to let him call it, isn’t particularly elaborate or intimidating. The off-white canvas is threadbare, the dirt on the ground just like the rich clay color of the rest of the settlement. There’s a raised pallet in the center, two bowls resting on a stump of wood nearby. Other than that and the shells that ring the doorway, the place is empty.

“Nice,” Sheppard says with a forced smile.

The priest nods, sitting himself down on the ground. Aiden’s eyes bulge as much as the guy’s loincloth.

“Um . . . I hate to break it to you, chief, but I’m not so sure I perform particularly well under this kind of pressure.” Sheppard drawls, his slightly-sarcastic but relaxed trading voice, drawing the priest into his confidence. Aiden doesn’t believe him for a minute. He’s probably hoping to get the priest to sit outside so they can fake it.

The priest shakes his head, dark hair waving, shells clacking together noisily. “I will leave once the two of you have spilled your seed and the young one,” he points a menacing, gnarled finger straight at Aiden, “is no longer a virgin.”

Hey now, Aiden isn’t a virgin. Yeah, he’s fallen off the whole sacred-marriage horse a couple of times, but he’s never slept with a girl he wasn’t really serious about, that he didn’t want to marry one day. But he’s never had just a one-night-stand. He’s never done this. Though he supposes it’s no stranger than half the things that seem to happen to him in this galaxy. It’s not like he didn’t sign up for it and all.

“What do you mean by that?” Sheppard snaps, eyes going hard. Aiden notes that the priest makes no mention of Sheppard’s so-called honor.

“One like you must certainly know what I mean,” the priest says, licking his lips, gaze not leaving Sheppard’s.

“Now look here, I know that McKay offended you with his whole anaphylactic shock speech and everything, but we’re good people, explorers, possible trading partners. Do you really want to risk that so you can get your rocks off?”

“You will do it, or we will kill the loud one for his trespasses.”

Sheppard’s eyes widen in horror, then he glares. “I don’t react well to threats.”

Aiden can see where this is going. He knows the look on Sheppard’s face just before he becomes unhinged, going cold and deadly. It’s a look he’s learned to dread.

“It’s okay, Sir. I can handle it.”

Sheppard turns slowly, and the look on his face isn’t one Aiden sees often, but when he does, it’s normally directed toward him: pity.

“Okay.”

Then Sheppard’s making quick work of all his clothes – fast and mechanical, a soldier disassembling his gun. Aiden does the same, Basic coming back in a rush. Surprisingly, it’s a comforting memory, if not a particularly good one.

“You ever, um . . . done anything like this? With a girlfriend?”

Aiden shakes his head. He’d only had 4 serious girlfriends and they’d all been plain vanilla types – good Christian girls who were charming and sweet and always so perfectly feminine and tender.

Sheppard sighs, reaching out and pulling Aiden over to the pallet, laying him down on his back. He sounds put-upon in a way that reminds him very much of Dr. McKay. It’s obvious to Aiden that Major Sheppard would be as adventurous in bed as he is in life – a thrill-seeker, a try- anything-once kind of guy, the kind of guy who could get any kind of girl he wanted.

Aiden takes a moment to look at his CO now. He’s seen Sheppard naked a hundred times before in the showers, not that Aiden’s really looked. Pretty much all he’d noticed on those occasions had been that Sheppard was really hairy and that his dick was pretty long. Now, though, he takes the time to check him. That long shaft looks huge and Aiden forces himself not to shudder thinking about where that’s supposed to go. McKay would be better for this – he knows how to bend the laws of physics.

Sheppard himself is skinny, but with a belly starting to develop over his abs. His skin is a harsh white in stark contrast to the dark hair that dapples his chest, pointing down like an arrow to his groin. He’s not in the same kind of shape Aiden is – 25, with daily workouts, all defined musculature and tight skin. Sheppard looks soft to the touch but strong at the same time – wiry muscles overlaid with velvet. He smiles slightly, high cheekbones and narrow chin, features feminine enough that Aiden could kid himself if it comes down to that.

Sheppard is looking him over, appraisingly, calculatingly, as he does while strategizing. He licks his lips. “Well, I think I know where to start.”

He leans over Aiden, who’s trying not to shake. He’s not worried about Sheppard fucking him, because he knows in his heart of hearts that this man would never hurt him if he could move the world to prevent it. What he’s afraid of is that Sheppard will try to make this something it’s not, that he’ll use the startling femininity of his features and the pleasing curve of his body to fool Aiden into thinking that he likes it – that this is something to cherish instead of a sin. He’s afraid Sheppard will kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Instead he just looks into Aiden’s eyes and winks before . . . oh god, mouth on his cock! A couple of Aiden’s girlfriends have tried to do this for him, but they always gagged or spit or told him ‘sorry but they just couldn’t do that’.

Sheppard doesn’t. He just swallows Aiden down like some fucking porn star, swirling his tongue, rocking Aiden’s hips up into his mouth. Sheppard’s sucked cock before, a lot of times if his skill level is any indication – that’s something he never needed to know about his CO. But Aiden doesn’t really have time for a lot of these thoughts because, hey, he’s still young and . . . is Sheppard humming? Oh, god! He is and Aiden’s still 25. He’s still a boy in everyone’s eyes and he can’t hold on . . . not with Sheppard doing that, just a mess of soft hair tickling Aiden’s belly as he bobs up and down.

Aiden will remember this, he knows. But all he’ll remember is just a head of ridiculous hair. He won’t have to imagine that it’s Sheppard, with his cold hazel eyes and his sarcastic smile. It could be anyone giving him probably the best blowjob of his life.

Then Sheppard’s fingers do something, stroke somewhere, flutter, and Aiden’s coming and coming and coming, right down Sheppard’s throat. The man doesn’t choke or spit or even grimace when he raises his head, giving Aiden a slight smile, a stressed smile. Aiden can distance himself from linking the sensation to his commanding officer, but he’s going to be stuck with this image – the image of Sheppard wiping Aiden’s come from the corner of his mouth, lips full and almost bruised, that look of anger and pity in his eyes.

He flashes a glare at where the priest is seated on the floor. “Well, one down,” he snaps. The sound of that voice is enough to end the pleasant buzz of afterglow. Aiden’s anger usually coincides with the major’s, but Sheppard angry is far scarier. When Sheppard’s angry, he does things Aiden would never do – things he’s trained not to do. He admires this man, but there are things he never wants to know about him, needs to never know about him.

He’s seen them in flashes – like in that big storm, when Sheppard ordered him to leave the Wraith stunner behind, to shoot to kill. Objectively, he understands the strain on resources prisoners can represent, but with McKay and Weir in a hostage situation, leaving that kind of weapon behind was a big damn risk. Or when he killed their Wraith prisoner, taunted him, then agreed to use him as a lab rat. Aiden probably would have done the same, but the look on Sheppard’s face as he came out of each interrogation . . . if Aiden remembered his dreams, he’s sure that face would feature prominently among them.

Then the major’s attention snaps back to Aiden, the anger flowing seamlessly into a sort of patronizing softness – a tranquil mask that does little to cloak the calculating stare and the barely-leashed rage beneath. Sheppard smiles lopsidedly at him, patting him on the shoulder. “Good boy, Ford. It’s all downhill from here.”

Aiden doesn’t know if that’s supposed to be an encouragement or a warning, though the tension in Sheppard’s shoulders betrays his nervousness.

“You’ve done this before, Sir?” Aiden squeaks. He knows he’s not supposed to ask, but that seems like a moot point, considering that he’s about to have hard evidence . . . .

“I know what I’m doing, if that’s what you mean,” Sheppard says, sticking to the formality of half-formed questions and implicit orders, a language that Aiden has grown to know well. It’s a comfort, really.

He nods.

Sheppard’s voice is soft, cooing like he’s talking to a scared child – the way he talked to all the kids on Planet Playhouse. “Okay, now these nice people have so generously provided us with some oil to use for lubricant. I’m going to use as much as I can, but it might still be a little uncomfortable, okay?”

“It’s okay, Sir. I can take it.” Aiden says, ashamed of how shy his voice sounds.

Sheppard looks away then, mouth forced into a tight line. He clearly doesn’t appreciate the comment, but Aiden can’t figure out why.

“I’m sure you can, Lieutenant. Now flip over.”

“Sir?” Aiden doesn’t like the sound of that. Well, he knew that’s kind of what’s supposed to happen, but he doesn’t like the idea of not being able to see . . .

“Do you trust me, Lieutenant?”

“With my life, Sir,” Aiden says, without question, trying to mask the involuntary trembling of his muscles.

“It’ll be easier this way.”

“Oh . . . okay.” Yeah, it’d probably best if he didn’t have to look at Sheppard during it, so he flips over.

Then Sheppard’s fingers are moving over his ass, smoothing over the skin, caressing. They move upward towards his shoulders, massaging the tension away. Aiden’s so tight that he groans as Sheppard does it. Forgetting why they’re here, focusing on the warm hands sliding across his shoulder-blades and the fact that he just came spectacularly not that long ago. Those hands slide over him, pushing him deep into a tired bliss.

Then, hot breath in his ear, silky smooth. “I need you to relax as much as you can.”

He jumps a little bit at the masculine voice, at the slick, thrumming hardness that presses up against his thigh as Sheppard leans in. Sheppard getting hard for him – another thing he definitely does not need to know. But then again, this isn’t Sheppard. This is a purring voice and warm hands, hands that massage up his inseam, dip themselves somewhere no-one but Aiden and some military proctologists have ever touched.

“This is going to feel a little weird, but try not to tense up, okay?” Aiden remembers weapons training for the scientists – remembers Sheppard’s voice - excited, secretive, comforting. Sheppard was a good teacher. Aiden spent most of the time arguing with Beckett over the fact that yes, if there’s alien vampires out to get them all, he might be required to handle a weapon.

And then the finger is darting in and out, carefully, steadily. It doesn’t hurt. It feels weird, but that’s about it.

“You good?”

Aiden hitches in another breath, reminding himself to relax, to breathe. “Yeah.”

Then the stretching increases – another finger. Aiden grips the edges of the pallet, white-knuckled. He doesn’t listen to the tight little gasps Sheppard is making. He doesn’t need to know that having two fingers up Aiden’s ass turns his CO on.

Sheppard doesn’t ask when the third finger goes in, or when he rubs up against something . . .wow, what the fuck is that? Whatever it is, it’s surely a sin. Liquid sin, flowing down his nerves like lightning. He gasps, biting his lower lip.

“Like that, do you?” Sheppard gasps. Aiden can hear the grin on his lips. “Are you ready for . . .”

Aiden closes his eyes, surrounded by pleasure, a sin so decadent that he can’t wrap his head around it. He gasps. “Just do it, Sir.”

Then the fingers are gone, leaving sort of emptiness that Aiden didn’t even know he could feel. He ignores the feeling, tensing as he feels something soft but blunt up against his entrance – oh god.

Sheppard’s comfortingly large hand is resting on his shoulder, like that coveted back-pat. “You’re doing fine, Lieutenant.”

And then he’s being breached. He can feel the pressure, the skin giving, letting Sheppard slip in slowly and gracefully. He’s expanding, but it doesn’t really hurt – burns like a good workout. It’s intimate, but nothing like the violation he’d imagined – nothing like the assault he always secretly feared, like he supposes all good straight men have grown to fear.

Then, Sheppard stops, sucking in shallow little breaths. He’s in control. Aiden can imagine the look on his face – the intensity. Sheppard’s always so in control – except when he’s flying off the handle.

“Are you okay?”

Aiden nods back into the tickle of Sheppard’s warm breath on his neck, and then there’s movement, Sheppard angling and thrusting, hand moving against Aiden’s hips until . . . there. Aiden’s gasping and Sheppard’s just going to work above him, fast and wild and out of control, taking Aiden, as always, along for the ride. Aiden’s on his way to getting hard again when Sheppard comes in a whirlwind of grunts and panted breaths. Aiden’s just glad he doesn’t have to see his face when he does.

Sheppard pants a few times and then rolls off, covering his eyes with his hands and forcing his breathing to slow. Aiden’s already reaching for his boxers by the time he feels this slick wetness sliding down his inseam. He doesn’t need to know that feeling. He doesn’t need this disgust.

He wipes the stain away with this boxers and pulls on his fatigues commando, stuffing the sullied cloth into his jacket pocket as he dresses, just as efficient as Basic. “I’m going to go check on the others,” he says, not looking at where Sheppard’s still sprawled on the pallet.

He’s about to leave when he feels a cold hand gripping his wrist. He has to face the disarming intensity of Sheppard’s eyes. “Are we okay, Lieutenant?”

“Yeah, we’re okay.” It’s not like they have a choice. “It didn’t happen, right, Sir?” He tries not to sound to hopeful at the question, but fails miserably.

Sheppard sighs and nods. “It didn’t happen. Except I want you to see Beckett.”

“You didn’t hurt me, Sir.” There’s a slight burn when he moves, a soreness, but it’s nothing worse than the day after an especially hard work-out.

“I want to hear that from Beckett.”

Aiden nods. Of course Sheppard would be concerned. He needs proof that he did the best he could. “Yes, Sir.”

Then they’re moving past the priest and the stain on the front of his loincloth. Aiden has the overwhelming urge to spit as he walks past, but he knows Sheppard’s glare is doing enough condemnation for the both of them.

Then they’re back in the room with McKay and Teyla. Aiden can feel the sticky remains of Sheppard’s come on his thigh. He can smell the thick musk of sex, incriminating. Teyla just smiles placidly and asks how he is.

McKay is a pit of jealous glares. When Sheppard approaches, McKay snaps something at him, and Sheppard blows up. “I don’t want to hear it, Rodney! Now, gather your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Aiden’s pretty much in a daze after that. Teyla promises to return to further the trade, though Aiden knows that he and hopefully not the major will be accompanying her. And then it’s back through the wormhole, facing the alert eyes of the security detail, forcing himself to not look away – to face their condemnation. Dr. Weir is waiting for them in the briefing room, and the look of knowing confusion in her eyes tells him that she knows.

“So, Major, how did the negotiations go?” She folds her hands in front of her diplomatically. Aiden hates her precision, like she’s doing some complicated dance around them, and doesn’t even know how he’s being manipulated.

Sheppard is the perfect figure of lackadaisical indifference, slouching in his chair, shrugging thoughtfully. “Same old, same old. Lots of talk, a little blessing ceremony and promises to return with a firm offer.”

Elizabeth nods. “What are they asking?”

“Medical supplies and some textiles. Teyla knows the details.”

Teyla smiles broadly and rattles off a list. Weir seems to approve. “I’ll get supply on this, but it seems reasonable. When do they expect us back?”

“In three days time, Dr. Weir. I believe it would be wise for me to return with just Major Sheppard. It is a simple matter of negotiation and Dr. McKay’s restlessness does not help with the trade.”

McKay is shifting nervously next to Sheppard, looking utterly conspicuous. “I’ve actually been wanting a chance to survey Simpson and Kavanagh’s mining operation on PX7-876. Ford and I could do a . . . um . . . surprise inspection?”

“They are your own staff, Rodney. Do you have to act like they’re the enemy?”

“Kavanagh is just as dangerous, Elizabeth. The man actually thought that he could modify the naquadah decay ratios to an inverse . . .”

Aiden lets McKay’s rant wash over him, successfully distracting Weir from the sudden need to split the team apart as far as their most-recent trading partners are concerned.

“And the blessing ceremony?” Elizabeth asks.

McKay falls utterly silent. Luckily Sheppard steps in. “It involved drinking some sacred tea and the eating of sacred not-oranges. Rodney refused, made the natives nervous, but they were all too glad to let us do a ritual apology and smooth it all over.”

Weir’s eyebrows quirk up. “So, no problems, then?”

“No problems,” Sheppard says with a ‘who me?’ innocent look.

Weir laughs at her own surprise and Aiden wishes, not for the first time, that he had Sheppard’s charm.

But, as weeks pass, he can’t get that charm, that small little smile and that knowing smirk out of his mind. He can’t stop thinking about Sheppard . . . about that warm mouth and those talented hands and the warmth spilling through him like nothing he’d ever felt before. He’s not gay, he tells himself. He’s not. What he feels for Sheppard – it’s still awe and admiration. It has nothing to do with looks or charm. Sheppard is a good man, and his commander. That’s it.

But then Sheppard looks at him, and he remembers, sees a small line of come dribbling out the side of his smirk. He supposes sin wouldn’t be sin if it didn’t feel so damn good. It only makes him determined to pray harder.

The thing Aiden hates the most about all this is the doubt. He prefers blissful ignorance to doubt.

When you work on a top secret military project, they give you the information you need to know. They tell you everything you need to stumble towards your objective; everything else is just rumor, coalescing around you, an army of whispers a thousand strong. You need to know that you’ll die for the man beside you, not his high school GPA, not the name of his wife or his boyfriend. You need to know who’s the enemy and who you’re fighting for, not why. You need to know that your mission is important, important enough to give your life for, not if they’ve planned for you to be a hero or a necessary sacrifice. You need to know that your CO is a fair man, a kind man, who will do his best no matter what, not who he fucks or why.

It’s not just about keeping it out of the press, or keeping it out of enemy hands, though that’s part of it. It’s about keeping you in place. It’s about maintaining a chain of command and a unit cohesion. It’s about keeping any one person from thinking too much, taking too much, being too emotional . . . it’s about keeping rash, passionate people like John Sheppard from thinking that they know the situation well enough to take control of it. Maybe, in the end, it’s about pride.

Don’t ask, don’t tell isn’t about hating homosexuals or even about helping them. It’s not about protecting people from persecution and protecting the military from fags. In the end, like all the rules, it’s about protecting ordinary soldiers from things they don’t need to know.

And you don’t experiment. You don’t sin, because each sin is a slippery slope that spirals right down toward eternal damnation. You don’t let yourself see how it is on the other side, because you never want to know what you’re missing – that you might be . . . that you could enjoy it.

He was turned on. He was up and begging for more from another man’s dick up his ass. Clearly, being forced by aliens to have someone fuck you while you calmly martyred yourself was something that could be pardoned. But to enjoy it? To take part in it?

Aiden doesn’t think he can deal with this anymore . . . this thing. He has to know . . . he has to know if he, too, is one of the sinners. If this is yet another cross he has to bear.

His first choice would be to talk to Sheppard. Even if Sheppard treats him like a kid sometimes, he’s always patient and reassuring, trustworthy. But he can’t talk to Sheppard, because he wants to pretend like nothing ever happened, and he can’t do that if he tells him and lets Sheppard keep beating himself up about it.

So, as much as he hates to ask McKay’s help about anything (fresh memories of the Broken Laptop Incident still in mind), he’s going to have to talk to him about it. He’s sure there are other gay people . . . other scientists, other Marines for all he knows, but he can’t tell them why he’s asking. He can tell McKay, even if it means a little teasing.

McKay’s alone in his lab, powerbar and coffee cup in one hand, typing rapidly with the other. He doesn’t look up. “When I say, ‘I’m busy, can’t sleep, one thousand brilliant things to do and if you’re not God swooping down with a basket filled with ZedPMs tied with a red velvet ribbon, don’t bother,’ what I actually meant was, ‘oh please, come have a party in McKay’s office with all your so-stupid-they’re-beneath-me problems and Toto too.’”

“Are you done?” Aiden asks, knowing that this is a scientist-only rant. McKay reserves special familiarity for his team members and usually something about having the brain of a toaster for Aiden himself.

McKay looks up – finally. “Oh, hey, Ford.” If McKay thinks its weird for Aiden to come around his lab this late at night, he doesn’t let on.

“Hey.”

They stand there for a moment before McKay snaps his fingers at him. “So, I assume you’re not interrupting my indubitably brilliant harmonic field research just to stand there and gawp at me, so spill. Chop chop, they don’t award Nobels posthumously so considering my probability of survival in this galaxy, the clock’s ticking.”

“Well . . . it’s . . . um . . .”

“Come on, Ford, spit it out.”

“It’s personal.”

McKay actually closes the laptop at this, serious blue eyes meeting Aiden’s. “You’re not gay, Ford.”

“Uh . . . Dr. McKay . . . um . . . how . . .”

McKay waves his hands dismissively. “You can’t be serious, Ford. What other personal question could you possibly want to ask me? What else do we even have in common?”

Well, he couldn’t exactly argue with that. Though, if Aiden weren’t gay and McKay was, then it wouldn’t be something they had in common, now would it? “But how do you know . . . how can you be sure?”

McKay sighed. “Easy. How many times a day do you have sexual thoughts about other men?”

“Well, sometimes when I see the major, I remember . . .”

“Yeah, yeah, but do you want to sleep with him again?”

God, no. Aiden shakes his head.

“So that’s a ‘no’ on the thinking about hotmalesex. Do you check guys out?”

“Sometimes . . . in the shower or something, I’ll um . . .”

“Check out the size of their arsenal?” McKay snorts.

“Yeah.”

“Well, the entire Marine Corps must be gay then, because clearly only homosexuals get into pissing contests over the size of their genitals. Sneaking a peak at another man’s package does not make you want to buy Barbara Streisand CD’s and a dildo.”

“Do you like Barbara Streisand?”

“Are you kidding? That woman is a crime against waveforms and the unfortunate eardrums that have to interpret them. But that’s not the point . . .”

“So maybe I am gay. I just don’t act that gay. Like you . . . or Major Sheppard.” If the major could be gay, then anyone could be. He was a hero, fearless and bold. He liked football and airplanes and guns! Could you get more macho than that?

McKay snorts, looking down his nose at Aiden, like he doesn’t even have the brain capacity to be gay. Then he steps forward and around the lab bench. One step, two steps, right up into Aiden’s face.

“Um . . . Doc, what are you doing?”

And then McKay seems to transform right before his eyes . . . like a Power Ranger or something. One minute he’s an arrogant, bumbling hypochondriac and then the next minute he’s all smooth hands and soft eyes and seductive smiles and kissing, kissing Aiden, which is another thing he really does not need to know.

McKay isn’t a bad kisser. He’s actually a great kisser – just the right amount of pressure, a quick tongue, delicate nibbles to Aiden’s lower lip. But it’s still McKay and it still feels wrong. Aiden pulls away, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

“Ew! McKay, what’d you do that for?!” he accuses, trying really hard not to panic.

McKay stabs him pointedly in the chest. “Not gay.”

“Or maybe just not attracted to you.”

“Come on, Ford. After a kiss like that, you’d have to be 100% straight to back away.”

Well, clearly the McKay ego is not solely limited to astrophysics and ancient technology. He thinks he’s a queer love god too. But, like most things involving McKay’s monstrous sense of himself, there’s not really anything to do but give in or let it steamroll you. “Fine, fine, I’m not gay.”

McKay smiles and hums happily at that. Aiden rolls his eyes.

“Look, Ford, you physically enjoyed it. It’s okay. It’s pretty hard not to enjoy someone else’s mouth on your cock, no matter what gender they are.”

“I . . . how’d you know?”

“We’re talking about Sheppard here – he’d make it as easy as possible.”

“Oh. But . . . the other stuff . . .”

McKay rolls his eyes. “Prostate gland, hello? Liking having someone touch an erogenous zone is not a crime.”

“Prostate gland?” That was just the thing that got cancer and killed people, right?

McKay gives him the ‘you are an idiot. If gorillas could carry guns, I’d prefer them’ look that Aiden hates so much. “I’m no biologist, but the long and the short of it is that it’s one of the places your seminal fluid comes from and when it’s stimulated it feels really good. Liking the feeling doesn’t make you gay.”

“Then what does?”

“Looking at a man and wanting him naked and writhing beneath you.” McKay is blunt, indignant.

“Do you . . . do you look at me like that?” Aiden has to know. He needs to know if he’s just some sort of eye-candy, asking for it.

McKay shrugs. “Sometimes, but don’t flatter yourself, Ford. I feel no overwhelming urge to rip your clothes off and have my wicked way with you. I’m sure you feel the same about a lot of women.”

Aiden nods. Yeah, like Dr. Weir, for example. He’s sure she’d look amazing naked, but he doesn’t want go there for real.

“And the major?”

He barely gets the words out and McKay’s already blushing, looking away and waving his hands. “Oh . . . well . . . we both know that Major Sheppard is a very attractive man, at least according to the Alien-Bimbo-Meter. And . . . yeah.”

“Did you know about him?” Aiden asks worriedly, knowing the easy way McKay volunteered to go, cataloguing look after longing look he can suddenly recall McKay giving Aiden’s CO.

“Of course I knew.” McKay seems almost disgusted by the question, but doesn’t elaborate.

“How?” Why didn’t Aiden know . . . why couldn’t he sense it?

“It’s kind of obvious when . . .” He trails off.

“When what?”

McKay’s satisfied smile goes tight and his voice gets high-pitched and stuttery. “When someone has hair like that . . . I mean it’s just unnatural, you know? Half the stylists in West Hollywood would chew off their own . . .”

And then something else clicks into place – the jealousy, the way they both just assumed they would be the ones to do it, the small touches and the witty banter, the way Aiden’s always felt that he has no chance of winning Sheppard’s admiration the way McKay has.

“Wait . . . are you and the major involved?”

“Do you really want to know the answer to that, Lieutenant?” McKay asks, eyes bright, pensive.

“No. No, I don’t.”

“Well, there you go.”

FIN