“Oh, come on, Rodney. It's not that hard. Just keep your feet under you, your eyes on him, and shift your weight into the blows,” John instructed from his safe position against the sparring room's farthest wall.
“Great. Just what I've always wanted for Christmas – a Lieutenant Colonel Back-Seat Trainer, complete with an inexhaustible supply of hot air,” Rodney spat back without taking his eyes off of the true focus of all his brain cells – Specialist Ronon Dex. “I wouldn't need to shift my weight if this hairy Samurai didn't hit so fucking hard!”
Ronon sighed and shook his head. “Keep talking, McKay. You're giving away your position every time your lips move.”
Shooting Sheppard a disapproving sneer, McKay refocused himself on his sparring partner.
John smothered a chuckle low in his throat and shook his head for the fourth time that morning. In front of him, the scene of much amusement, was one Dr. Meredith Rodney McKay, intergalactic genius and team super scientist, getting his ass handed to him by fellow teammate and death-with-dreds, Ronon Dex. After a few too many close calls during off-world missions, John asked Elizabeth to make it mandatory for all gate travelers to participate in frequent self-defense training sessions. Scientists like McKay were the first to complain about the “military dictatorship of Atlantis,” but even Rodney submitted for the greater good; namely saving his own ass, if necessary.
It also meant John could start his days with a healthy dose of entertainment.
“That's it, Rodney, be one with the stick,” John mused, earning another death glare from the subject of his teasing.
Ronon shook his head again from behind the blindfold he wore. After several sessions with Rodney spending most of his time crumpled in a heap on the floor, the scientist had quipped that Ronon couldn't do the same ass beating with his eyes closed. So, Ronon agreed to conduct the next session without sight. It didn't really matter since John's not-too-helpful suggestions left Rodney brimming over with a steady stream of sharp comebacks.
Stealth was not the man's forte, Ronon thought.
Rodney stalked Dex at a distance, steadily circling the taller man. He smiled widely as he shifted direction and Ronon stood as still as stone. Dex's head no longer seemed to be tracking Rodney, and he had a moment of intense joy at the thought he would finally bring the attack to the well-trained warrior.
John saw the inevitable defeat before it even happened.
Dex hadn't hinted that he knew where McKay was. Instead, the soldier kept his breathing low and his hands relaxed as they lightly gripped the Athosian training sticks. With a speed that surprised the air force pilot, the scientist launched into a full attack aimed at the Satedan's turned back. In one fluid movement, Ronon spun to deflect the frantic blow of Rodney's dual sticks. He dropped into a low crouch, a move that instantly put the slower man off balance. Ronon's left arm shot out, his sticks clipping Rodney's exposed wrists.
“Ow! Ow, ow!” McKay yelled, his weaponless hands stinging with pain.
Without hesitating, Dex followed through with a move John had long-ago nicknamed Edward Scissorlegs. Ronon half spun, and with nary a warning, delivered a leg-lock scissor move that brought Rodney crashing to the floor. Ronon twisted again and was sitting astride McKay.
“Oof...” Rodney couldn't form any other words as all the air rushed painfully from his lungs.
Ronon bent low, close enough to Rodney's face that the smaller man blushed.
“Any other Earth games you want to play, McKay?” he asked, as he reached for the blindfold covering his eyes and removed it. When the scientist merely gulped, he continued. “Or I can teach you a few from Sateda.”
John started to clap in mock appreciation.
“Bravo, McKay,” he said, glancing at his watch. “You stayed off your ass for almost three minutes. I think you're getting better.”
“Get off me, you overgrown beast,” Rodney squirmed under Ronon. “You're depriving my ample brain of much-needed oxygen!”
Dex chuckled and looked at McKay thoughtfully. A moment later he extended a hand to lift himself and the battered Canadian to his feet.
“Thank you.” Rodney quickly straightened his clothing and ran his hands over his hair. He wasn't about to give Sheppard any more ammunition than the man already had. “Now that the hurting Rodney portion of the day is over, I think I'll have Carson run a CAT scan to discern how much internal bleeding you've undoubtedly caused.”
He staggered under the weight of the friendly back slap Ronon gave him.
“You're funny, McKay.”
“Gee, thanks,” Rodney scowled. “I'm truly glad my pain and imminent bruising is a source of enjoyment for you. If you'll excuse me.”
Rodney limped out of the practice room with the sound of Ronon and John's laughter in his ears. The only thing truly hurting, they knew, was McKay's pride.
As soon as Rodney stepped into the infirmary, Dr. Carson Beckett took one look at his bent frame and stiff movements and knew it was another sparring session gone bad. The doctor helped McKay shuffle to an unoccupied bed then watched as he gingerly eased onto the mattress.
The Scotsman shook his head. “Oh Rodney, when are ye going to learn that ye cannae keep up with the likes of Colonel Sheppard and Mr. Dex.”
“I'm not trying to keep up, Carson,” Rodney explained, gingerly slipping his arms out of his shirt with the doctor's help. “In case you haven't noticed, we tend to get into trouble when we go off-world. I'm just learning to watch my own ass.”
“Aye, that's a good plan.”
Beckett grabbed his stethoscope and began the ritual of cataloging his friend's injuries.
“But Rodney, they're trained for that sort of thing. Fighting is what they do. Your a scientist, not a bloody super soldier!”
“If you went through the gate as often as I did, you wouldn't be standing here making snotty remarks, Carson!” Rodney spat back. “I know, why don't you leave the bedside manner for the Neanderthal Marines and just give me some Vicodin and Ben-Gay like last time. I've got work to do.”
Sighing, Carson continued his examination. When he was done, he retrieved some Tylenol and muscle relaxant from a medicine cabinet.
“Look, I'm saying this as your friend,” he captured Rodney's eyes in his own. “Don't be so hard on yourself, lad. None of us can expect to be a fighter overnight.”
Rodney nodded grimly. He took the medicines offered to him and slipped his shirt back on.
“I don't expect to be,” he said, moving slowly to the door. “But just once it would be nice to know I'm not going to get the shit beat out of me by some crazed alien if those two aren't around.”
“Aye.” Carson saw Rodney's point. He was scheduled for a self-defense session tomorrow himself.
Carson walked into the gym and was relieved to find it empty. He dropped his workout bag on the floor, unzipped it, and double-checked the medical supplies he'd brought – just in case. It wasn't that he expected to need any of the items, but after treating the bruises on Radek Zelenka's legs last night, Carson wasn't taking any chances.
The door slid open then closed behind him. Turning to look over his shoulder, Beckett wasn't surprised to find Ronon staring back at him.
“Ah, Mr. Dex, how are ye this morning?”
Ronon looked surprised. “You here to train, Doc?”
“Sadly, yes,” Carson stood and kicked his bag to the corner. “Doctor Weir and Colonel Sheppard felt I traveled off world enough to warrant a severe bruising, too.”
Ronon chuckled, deep and without the usual hint of danger behind it. Carson loved that rare sound. He wondered what else he could do to make the man laugh.
“So, should I just lie on the floor now, or would you like to throw me down yourself?” he offered Dex his most brilliant smile, dimples sinking into both cheeks.
Ronon answered with a smile of his own, predatory and slightly lewd. Carson felt the heat rise on his neck before it reached his cheeks.
“Do you have a preference?” Ronon asked, his head tilted so that his thick locks formed a cowl around his face.
Saints preserve me, Carson prayed silently.
For months, he'd pictured scenarios with Ronon that sometimes included a look similar to the one he was now receiving. But in all the time Beckett had known Dex, even befriending him when others were too frightened to be alone in the same room with the enigmatic man, Carson never picked up any signs Ronon was interested in him in that way. The Scotsman had imagined the various times he'd look up to find Dex's eyes on him was just part of the former Runner's always heightened awareness of his surroundings. For a gay man far from home, Beckett wanted those hard looks to mean much more.
“You okay, Beckett?”
“Aye, lad, I'm fine,” Carson cleared the thoughts from his mind. “Bring on the pain.”
Ronon chuckled. “Grab your weapons and show me a defensive stance.”
Carson did as he was told. He felt stupid as hell standing like he had a bad guy in front of him, but that didn't stop his growing excitement as he watched Ronon casually walk around him, checking him out. Carson felt himself blush at the intensity of Ronon's gaze.
“You look good,” Dex said and Carson fought to keep his eyes from closing at the sound of that deep voice, or the double meaning he took from the words.
“Tha...thank you,” he stammered.
Ronon paused behind the Scot. “When faced with an opponent, the first rule to remember is, never let your eyes leave him.”
A strong hand touched the doctor's lower back before an arm snaked around his waist. “Keep your back straight and stomach tight. You'll keep your balance and absorb a hard blow if one comes.”
Carson's skin felt too warm and he didn't trust himself to try and speak, so he nodded his understanding. Dex released his grip but not before Carson felt fingers draw slowly across his abs and skim the top of his ass.
Twirling a stick with ease, Ronon returned to stand in front of Beckett. “I'm going to attack you, Doc. Ready?” Then, in a blur, the warrior moved.
A million tiny voices screamed one word in Carson's head – move! He reacted, placing a foot back to brace himself for what was coming. The first stinging pain came like fire on his side, Carson's abs absorbing the blunt thud. A second later, his backside stung from a well-placed slap of wood against fleshy skin.
“Bloody hell!”
“Keep your eyes on me, Doc.”
Cursing like a drunken sailor, Carson turned to stare at Ronon. The other man's face was a study in concentration and sharp focus. Okay, I can do this, the doctor told himself. A split second later, Carson was on his back with Ronon sitting on him.
“You okay?” Dex asked, concerned.
Traitorous blood flooded Carson's groin, pumping itself into his sex with single-minded purpose. He dared not move. Instead he looked up and prayed to every saint he knew that Ronon wouldn't notice his raging hard on.
But Ronon noticed, much to Carson's dismay. That was quickly replaced by the sensation of an even heavier, harder pressure solidly formed against his lap. Beckett's eyes never left Ronon's, and he saw the quickened rise and fall of the man's chest, his eyes lidded with arousal.
Dex leaned down and brushed his lips across Carson's. It was a controlled action, bittersweet in its lightness, but it pulled a soft moan from both men. Carson lifted his chin and tentatively let his tongue lick Ronon's lower lip. The perfectly pouting flesh parted slightly to give Carson access inside. Warmth and wetness welcomed the Scotsman's tongue, inciting a delicate dance of exploration and discovery.
Their lips parted and Carson opened eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed. Soft, hazel eyes sparkled above him. Before he could lift his head to retrieve the lost sweetness, Ronon shoved himself up and off of the shocked doctor. The door behind them opened a moment later, followed by a group of Marines wearing workout gear.
“Hey there, Doctor Beckett,” came the cheerful voice of Sgt. Fitzpatrick. “Looks like our friend, Mr. Dex, has made you a patient now.”
The group laughed as Ronon extended his hand to Carson, pulling him up from the floor. Dex was laughing, too, but his eyes never left Beckett's face.
“No, I'm fine,” Carson replied, then winced as he felt a dull ache in his left leg. “Or I will be fine, once I get myself to my infirmary.”
Everyone laughed again before one of the marines walked over and placed a hand on Beckett's shoulder and grinned. “Here, let me help you, Doc. I think your next group of patients over there are waiting for Mr. Dex to put them through their paces.”
Ronon stepped back and let the young man lead Carson to the door. Carson turned around and looked at Ronon, an unreadable expression on his face, before limping away with the soldier.