Ronon opened his eyes, taking in the dimly lit room that had been his home for weeks, his mind quickly processing what he saw. Reclined on the bed, he was connected to a variety of medical equipment. Glass windows curved around one wall before abruptly ending near a sealed security door, a sight which caused Dex to frown.
Carefully, Ronon's hand explored his body, seeking the injuries that would have landed him in the infirmary's most secure area. At first, he didn't remember being hurt, but slowly he latched onto the images of his last mission and being scratched by some small animal. Dex moved his legs and arms, noting the soreness of his muscles. No, he was physically uninjured, even the scratches on his leg had healed, and that was good enough for him.
Breathing slowly, Ronon closed his eyes. Isolation room, he thought, confused.
Reaching for the IV line on the back of his hand, Dex tugged off the tape and pulled the needle free. Next, he plucked away each of the circular pads stuck to his forehead, then yanked the discs on his chest away and sat up. Instantly, his machine companions whined their alarm, flashing numbers and information at Ronon that he didn't understand, or care about. He wasn't hurt, so he didn't need to stay.
"Oh my God," the shocked cry caught Ronon's attention, his eyes fixed on his visitor.
"Sorry Doc," Ronon shrugged at the mess of wires and tape surrounding him.
Seconds passed before a pale Dr. Carson Beckett made a move towards Dex's bed. Ronon quirked his head to the side, watching Carson's face as the man stepped closer.
"What have ye done?" Beckett said, fully in control of himself.
Ronon smiled sheepishly, like a child caught in the midst of mischief. "Feel fine. Just wanted to get out of here."
"Get ... bloody fool!" Carson flared as he silenced the monitoring equipment. "Lad, you've been unconscious for weeks, and now ye wake up and are ready to start ye day?"
"Yeah," Ronon smiled.
Carson expelled his breath, and Ronon caught the flicker of a smile play at his lips. Beckett wasn't angry, but he wasn't expecting Dex to be awake.
"Doc, why am I here?" he asked curiously.
"Lay back and let me look at ye, then I'll answer ye questions. All right?"
Ronon nodded and lay back on his bed. Two nurses had joined Carson, and together they took notes on his patient chart, asked him questions, and drew blood for their tests. Dex noticed the women wouldn't meet his eyes, and their hands touched him only enough to gather the information needed before withdrawing as if burned. Then they left the room in a blur.
"What's wrong?" he asked, puzzled, when he was again alone with Beckett.
Ronon waited until Carson scribbled a few notes of his own, then the doctor closed the chart and looked at him with warm, blue eyes.
"What do ye remember, son?"
He had sparred with Carson. The doctor had surprised him, showing up in the gym for survival training one morning. Ronon was always professional, even when the trainee in front of him happened to be the man he'd begun to have feelings for. His feelings had shocked him at first. Carson was handsome, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. But the Scot was also strong and brave, giving everything he had to save the lives of anyone who needed his care. Ronon was drawn to him soon after he met the man, and after enough time had passed and his feelings grew, Dex watched Beckett for signs the man might be open to more than friendship.
Smiling widely, Ronon allowed the memory of kissing Carson on the floor of the sparring room to wash over him.
"I kissed you," he said not bothering to hide the smoldering interest in his eyes.
Carson's eyes dropped to the floor as a hint of red touched his cheeks. Ronon's smile deepened. He was glad Carson had reacted positively to the information. Then the doctor stiffened slightly.
"Aye, ye did," he proceeded cautiously. "But what else do ye remember?"
Ronon concentrated on the question, his hazel eyes focused and clear as his last mission flashed into his mind. The team was on a basic recon. The trip was a wash. No Ancient technology was discovered so they'd headed back to the 'gate. Then the animal, startled from its grassy nesting place, had attacked him. It scurried away so quickly Dex hadn't been able to shoot it.
"I came back from a mission with some scratches," Ronon said. "But the rest doesn't make a lot of sense."
"Like what?"
Again Ronon flipped through the memories in his head, and paused when he hit the first confusing block. He was agitated when they returned to Atlantis. He felt more alert, but not in a good way. Tension had corded his muscles, and his body felt too warm. Sheppard walked him to the infirmary, but he'd felt fine.
"You treated me," Ronon told Beckett. "But ... "
Dex looked at Carson's hand as it rested at the physician's side. Ronon stared at it as he continued to rummage through his muddled memories.
"No, you tried to treat me," he began, "but I stopped you. I ..."
Realization dawned and Ronon's eyes shifted uncomfortably on the bed. He could see Beckett's hand in his, crushed. A surge of satisfaction had filled him as he watched Carson's eyes widen in shock and fear.
Looking at Carson, Ronon saw the man knew what he remembered. As their eyes locked, every memory fell into place and the story those memories told was disturbing. Carson tossed across his room, food and furnishings scattered. Teyla fighting him until she, too, lay crumpled beneath him. Carson and Sheppard falling in love before his eyes. Carson and Sheppard kissing. And all of it was steeped in deep rage that made Ronon shudder.
Getting gut-shot did not hurt Dex as much as remembering what he had done to his friends. More than once he'd hurt Carson, beat the man he'd begun to see as a possible companion. In his mind's eye, he saw each time his fist connected with Beckett's vulnerable flesh.
"No," he murmured, trapped in the horrors behind his eyes. "Impossible. I'd never ..."
"Easy, lad," Carson crooned, reaching to comfort Ronon, but the soldier waved him off.
"I hurt you. Several times," Dex said, disbelief firmly in his voice. "I hurt the others. There's no honor in what I've done."
"Nae, Ronon, ye were reacting to an infection that caused ye testosterone level to spike out of control," Beckett said soothingly. "What happened was nae your fault."
The faded scars over Carson's eyebrows and cheeks told Dex a different story. Ronon knew how they got there and the thought sickened him.
"Leave," Ronon said, twisting away from Carson.
"Ronon, we should ..." Carson stammered.
"Leave!" Dex hurled the word at Beckett with such force the Scot stumbled back.
"We'll talk when you're ready," Carson said before walking hastily out the door.
Ronon watched him go, feeling a knot of guilt tighten deep within his soul.
Carson rushed from the isolation ward and through his infirmary at a near run. He managed to mumble an excuse to one of his nurses before disappearing down the long corridor that led to a transporter. In seconds he was on the personnel level where his quarters were located. Someone, a scientist maybe, called after him, but Beckett wasn't in the mood for small talk. He thought his door open as he neared it, then closed it firmly behind him. The cool, hard door pressed against his back as he leaned all his weight against it. He was breathing heavily, and a thin sheen of sweat coated his skin.
When he'd entered Ronon's room to find the Satedan awake, Carson felt a surge of joy pass over him. It had been too many weeks since he last saw Ronon awake, and the sight of Dex sitting up in bed almost made Beckett rush over to him and embrace the man tightly. The doctor in him tempered the outburst before it could surface, and he was able to do his duty for his patient.
No one had been able to guess what Ronon might remember when he came out of his coma, but Carson watched as Dex's memories played across his face. In that handsome face, Carson saw disbelief and repulsion dawn. He wanted to take the shock away and replace it with warm reassurances and comfort. But Dex's reaction, shutting him out, stung.
"This is insane," Carson whispered, shaking his head at the unfairness of it all.
He'd waited weeks for Ronon to come to. Weeks, Carson thought miserably, of clinging to a dream. In his heart, he still felt himself pulled to Dex, but even now the sensation from the first kiss they'd shared had faded. This was nae fair at all.
"We would have been happy," Carson said aloud, reaching for an empty glass on his nightstand.
He poured himself a dram of Scotch, then returned the almost-empty bottle to its hiding place inside a drawer. Beckett swirled the amber liquid in the glass, careful not to slosh the contents over the rim.
"Is there any point to this?" he wondered before taking a swig of his drink.
Away from his support network of friends and colleagues, Carson had asked himself the question many times. He was always alone when he did, afraid one of his more opinionated pals - which pretty much meant Rodney - would answer it for him. He grimaced knowing what their answer would be.
"Nae, it's hopeless, they'd say," he concluded grimly. "Move on. Get over him. Find someone else."
Carson laughed without humor. The sound mocked his pained, confused heart. He took several large gulps of the liquor in his hand, and laughed again when the burning sensation landed in his chest. Despite the Scotch, he felt cold inside.
Beckett laughed at his feelings for a man he hardly knew, at the pain he'd suffered, and the sympathetic words of his friends. He laughed at John Sheppard and his constant confusing presence.
Carson laughed at the reality of Ronon regaining consciousness, only to watch the soldier push away the man who'd pined for him for weeks.
"Aye, lad, I missed ye, too!" Carson shouted before he succumbed to more mirthless laughter.
His chest tightened as his lungs protested the lack of oxygen caused by his hysteria. Only then did Carson feel the first tear drop splash the back of his hand. It was followed by another, and another, until his body was racked by sobs he couldn't control.
John adjusted his shirt and ran his hand through his thick, black hair. On the other side of the door he faced, Ronon was awake. When Dr. Biro told him of the long-awaited event, Sheppard rode a wave of relief and dread all the way to the infirmary. Now, outside the isolation room, he reigned in his emotions and stepped into the room.
Ronon looked up from the broth he was eating and nodded. John smiled in that easy-going manner of his, clearly thrilled to see his friend well enough to be eating.
"If I'd known you were hungry, I'd have smuggled something better from the mess to you," he said, earning a grin from Dex.
"They won't let me have anything but this," Ronon replied, looking disdainfully at the small bowl.
"Yeah, well, you know doctors," John shrugged.
As Ronon continued eating, John assessed the man. He looked healthy, if not a little smaller from his diet of intravenous food. Ronon's skin lacked its usual warm glow, but that was likely due to weeks without fresh air and sunshine. No, John concluded, he's better.
"How do you feel?" he asked finally.
Ronon threw back his head and swallowed the last of his broth.
"I'm fine," he answered, but John wasn't convinced.
"No, uh, sudden urges to throw stuff, or ..." Sheppard asked, wishing he knew how to phrase the question so it wouldn't set Ronon off.
"I'm fine," Dex frowned. "I'm over it."
John expelled the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"That's great, big guy. Glad to have you back."
Ronon's frown remained, and John was sure he could hear the wheels turning in the Satedan's mind.
"Look," he began, "that germ, or poison, or whatever it was kind of messed you up for a while. You, uh, had us worried."
"I know," Dex replied.
"What do you remember?" John asked, but he wasn't sure he wanted to know.
"Everything," Ronon said gruffly, locking eyes with Sheppard's. "All of it."
All of it. The words echoed in the recesses of John's mind as he debated what to say next. Dex looked conflicted, as if he struggled with an inner demon he didn't want to face. For John, it wasn't unlike the battle he'd waged the entire time Ronon was unconscious.
"I need to explain something," John finally choked out. "Something I did while you were sick."
Ronon only stared, so John dragged a chair beside the man's bed and sat down. They looked at each other for a moment, both men uneasy with the coming conversation.
"We've been friends a long time," John said, "and I trust you with my life. We're like family. I believe you feel the same way."
Ronon nodded.
"So, what happened to you ... I'd do anything to help you, to get you back," John continued. "There was a plan. It ... there was a risk, and I wouldn't have done it if I didn't believe it might work."
Sheppard trailed off, and Ronon waited patiently.
"You, uh, and Beckett like each other. A lot," John said, pressing on. "He figured out the best way to get that poison out of your system was to ... we had to push you over the edge. Make you so mad that you'd sort of blow a fuse."
"Blow a fuse?" Ronon said, puzzled.
"Ah, the hormone in your system had to top off, and the only way we knew to do that was to play on your feelings for Beckett," John said.
Leaning forward, Sheppard braced his elbows on his thighs and drubbed the back of his neck. Face it like a man, he thought miserably.
"We made like we were into each other when you were around," John said, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "I turned on the old Sheppard charm. Beckett pretended to reciprocate. It worked. You blew a fuse, which is why you ended up here."
Ronon waited, but John didn't want to say any more. The soldier eyed the pilot, and John suddenly felt his hands go cold and clammy. He needed to be honest with Ronon, and that meant filling in all the blanks.
"And ... there's something else," he said, softly.
John steeled himself and looked into Ronon's hazel eyes.
"You finally snapped when you saw me kissing Carson in my room," John said, holding Dex's gaze. "He was hurting and I tried to comfort him. It was stupid as hell, but at the time it seemed like the right thing to do."
When Ronon hadn't blinked, John frowned. You should hate my guts, he thought.
"I remember," Ronon said, crossing his arms.
"I'm sorry, buddy," John said, meaning it. "I'd never do that to you, or Carson. He loves you, by the way. A whole lot. He was in here every day while you were under. You two could have a real good thing, and I guess I just wanted to tell you I won't get in the way."
The long pause was excruciating, but Sheppard was determined to wait Dex out. There was a lot the man had to absorb.
"Do you want him?" Ronon asked. John couldn't hide his shock.
Do you want him? If that wasn't the million dollar question, John didn't know what was. He no longer denied what he felt for the doctor, but he didn't feel ready to join a gay pride parade just yet. Lust and love were very different emotions. Wanting Carson was one thing. Being in love with Carson, as Ronon probably was, wasn't something John believed could happen after one kiss.
"Carson's a good man, and I care about him," John said slowly. "He wants you."
"You didn't answer the question," Ronon stated flatly.
Christ, why is this happening to me, John thought as he felt his stomach clench.
"I don't know," he said, feeling it was the weakest answer he could give. "I won't lie to you. Somewhere along the way things became confusing for me. I've never been into guys. I've never wanted to be with a man."
Ronon's frown deepened. "But you want to be with him."
It wasn't a question, John realized uneasily.
"Maybe. I don't know," he said, rubbing his face in his hands.
They remained silent for a long time, lost in their individual thoughts. For John, admitting to Ronon that he might want more from Carson was terrifying. That he could possibly go the next step with another man freaked him out more than risking Dex's ire.
"Does he know?" Ronon's voice was calm, but it still startled John.
"No," he said.
"You should tell him," Ronon suggested quietly.
John's head shot up and he stared at Ronon in disbelief. The man's face was somber, his eyes resigned.
"He doesn't want me, Ronon. He loves you," Sheppard growled, frustration slipping past his guarded emotions.
"That was before I tried to kill him. Twice," Ronon said tensely.
"Carson stuck by you through all of it!" John's anger flared as he stood up. "Anyone else would have told you to fuck off, but not him. You beat the shit out of him, Ronon, and he still wouldn't give up on you. Now you, what? Pass him off to the next guy 'cause you don't want to face up to what happened?"
"He deserves better than me!" Ronon growled from his bed.
John felt his retort die in his throat. Dex really was giving up Carson because of what happened. He was free to pursue the doctor, if he wanted to, but it left Sheppard feeling ill. This wasn't what he wanted. After everything Beckett had gone through, losing Ronon at the end of it could irrevocably break the kind-hearted physician. And what effect would it have on Ronon, or on any of their friendships?
"Don't do this," John said, noticing the determined look on Ronon's face.
Ronon turned onto his side and closed his eyes, effectively shutting John out. Sheppard hovered over him, waiting for the big man to speak. After 20 minutes had passed, the pilot sighed heavily and walked to the door. As John stepped through, a deep voice behind him whispered, "Take care of him."
Carson was miserable. For a week he had tried to speak to Ronon during his check-ups only to have the Satedan grunt brief replies to medical questions. Any attempts to take the conversation into personal territory were met with stony silence. Disappointed, Carson gave up, slipping reluctantly into doctor-patient mode with Dex.
On brief occasions when their eyes met, Carson tried to find the earlier signs of romantic interest they'd shared. But Ronon was a master of hiding his emotions. Carson's heart broke every time he saw Ronon's mask fall into place. He began to believe what they'd once shared - as fleeting as it was - had been completely destroyed.
So, Carson buried himself in work, taking on extra shifts even as his staff balked. Elizabeth, Rodney and Teyla tried talking to both men, but were soundly rebuffed.
When Ronon was released from the isolation room and moved into the main infirmary, Carson tried again to speak to him only to face the same treatment as before. It was worse when Sheppard visited Ronon and Beckett would turn up. All three would fall silent before Carson or John would beat a hasty retreat, leaving Ronon in the company of one of the other team members or nurses.
Shifting to a more comfortable position on his couch, Carson took a small sip of Radek's mystery brew. His Scotch had run out days ago leaving the throat-burning concoction from the scientist the closest thing to hard liquor in the city. One day Beckett planned to have the stuff analyzed, certain he'd find fuel or battery acid on the list of ingredients.
The door chime startled him from considering his drink, and he thought it open, not caring if he seemed inhospitable.
"Drinking alone, Doc?"
Carson's eyes widened as John walked into his room.
"Colonel, what are ye doing here? Is everything all right?" he asked.
John dragged a chair from Carson's dining table over and sat across from Beckett. They were close enough that John's boots touched the sides of Carson's sneakers.
"I need your help," John said, studying his hands.
"My help? To do what?"
"I've given this a lot of thought, and since I helped you with your plan, I figured you sort of owe me one," Sheppard replied, glancing at Beckett then away.
"Owe ye one? Are ye daft?" Carson laughed. "That plan of mine cost me the man I loved."
Beckett saw John flinch, but the military commander didn't look at him.
"Yeah, I know," Sheppard said. "I think I can fix that."
Curious, Carson leaned forward and placed his glass on a coffee table.
"What do ye have in mind?"
John chewed his bottom lip for a moment then looked at Beckett.
"You'll hear me out?" he asked, and Carson couldn't help smiling.
"Aye, lad, as ye did for me."
The smirk John gave him could have melted steel. Damn, but you're a fine man, Carson thought.
John got up and began pacing nervously. The doctor was patient, already knowing he'd agree to anything Sheppard proposed if it meant getting Ronon back.
"Okay, I'm listening," Carson leaned back on his couch so he could watch John more easily.
"Something happened when we kissed," John said, swallowing hard. "Not what came afterwards, with Ronon. During."
"What do ye mean?" Carson asked softly, not sure what Sheppard was alluding to.
John sighed. "I wanted to kiss you. I know we sort of agreed you were the kisser and I was the kissee, but the truth is, Doc, I wanted to kiss you."
Carson stared blankly at Sheppard until the words sank in. "Ye wanted ..."
"Yeah," John answered. "But that's not what I wanted to tell you."
"Go on," Beckett said.
"At some point during our Oscar-winning performances, I may have developed a, uh, crush on you."
Now Carson knew his mouth was hanging open as a shock wave passed through him. John Sheppard just said he had a crush on him.
"What?" he asked, eyes wide. "Are ye saying you've feelings for me, Colonel?"
"Hell, Carson, I don't know what this is," John tossed his hands in the air, then sat on the couch. "I'm not, or wasn't, gay when you came to me with your master plan. Now? I get ideas, and I have no idea where they came from, but it's making me crazy."
Sheppard looked so lost that Beckett couldn't help placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. So, he wasn't the only one who'd felt the attraction between them.
"What you're feeling is perfectly natural, John," he said, a gentle smile on his lips. "We're friends, and we were playing at feelings that have a way of clouding better judgment. You're not gay, son."
John leaned forward, laughing as his head rested in his hands.
"I see ye feel better hearing that," Carson laughed with him, glad he could relieve the man's worries.
But John shook his head and the soldier's laughter died away.
"Oh, shit, you don't get it, do you?" he asked.
"Get what?" Carson replied, confused.
Sheppard turned his head and locked his hazel-green eyes on Beckett's face.
"I jerk off thinking about you underneath me," John said, eyes blazing. "I wonder what it would feel like to suck you off. I don't know if I'm ready to let you shove your dick up my ass, but I wouldn't be opposed to fucking you. Sound gay to you yet, Doc?"
Carson didn't know whether to laugh, cry, or faint. John's admission was blunt, and he doubted if a Wraith suddenly appearing in his quarters would have stunned him more. That flirting and a kiss could have led them to this point seemed impossible.
"And what," Carson swallowed nervously, "did ye expect me to say to that? I mean, I'm flattered beyond words, and I'm stumbling now like a daft fool, but I never knew ye had developed these ... those feeling are ...."
"Pretty serious shit, I know," John said.
"Aye."
They sat in silence until Carson couldn't stand it any more. Sheppard had spilled his guts, now he had to come clean.
"I've also had ideas about ye, John," he said, barely managing to force his gaze away from John's face. "To be honest, I've been fighting my feelings for ye a while now. But ye have to understand that I never meant for any of this to happen. I'm so sorry."
"Hey, no apologies needed," John smiled weakly. "It scares the shit out of me, but I think I know what to do about it."
Carson frowned. "What do ye mean?"
Turning so his body faced him, Sheppard let out a slow breath, making Carson brace himself for what revelation was coming.
"We need to do what we did for Ronon. We have to get this out of our system," John said, carefully choosing his words. "Face it head on."
They had spent weeks playing mind games, flirting with their full arsenal of sexual experience. That he and John were left wound up and curious for over a month was the natural fallout.
"So we try kissing again, and see what happens? How we feel afterwards?" Carson asked, trying to wrap his mind around the idea.
"Right here, right now," John nodded slowly. "But if either of us feels uncomfortable, we stop. We don't ruin our friendship over this. No regrets, either."
Beckett played the scenario through his head. If he thought his plan was risky, John's experiment was downright dangerous. Neither had expected the attraction they'd developed, and under current circumstances, Carson wondered if his lingering curiosity about John wasn't partly responsible for Dex's reactions to both men. Ronon could have sensed it, he thought sadly.
"Carson?" John called quietly, placing a hand on the doctor's shoulder.
"I'm sorry, but I fail to see how us making out like a couple of teenagers will help me get Ronon back."
"If what we feel for each other is just our hormones in overdrive, then we'll get over it, right? Like Ronon? Clear heads will prevail and all that psychological mumbo jumbo," John said. "But if it feels ... right, somehow, like we fit ..."
Carson could see where the colonel's logic was headed. They'd danced around their own desires long enough to make them a distraction. To get Ronon back, Carson needed to focus on him, not secretly wonder about John.
"And if we fit?" Carson asked cautiously. He watched John bury his head in his hands.
"Then we're screwed," John grinned.
Looking into Sheppard's concerned eyes, Beckett smiled shyly before nodding his assent.
"Okay," John grinned, "so, how do we do this?"
Carson chuckled. "This was your bloody idea!"
"Right!" John said, nervously. Beckett watched the pilot fidget, and he rolled his eyes.
Leaning over, Carson captured John's hands in his own. He brushed his thumb over the soft skin, and waited until he felt John relax. For all his Kirking, Sheppard wasn't experienced with men. It was kind of sweet, Carson realized, that the man cared about him enough to want to purge their lustful demons despite not having a clue how to proceed.
Expelling a breath, Carson turned his head and lightly pressed his lips to John's. He move slowly, tenderly capturing more of the warm flesh with his own as he waited for Sheppard to respond. They went on like this for a few minutes, pecking and withdrawing, until at last John parted his lips to let Carson in.
Heat rolled over Carson's body as he claimed John's mouth. He teased the tongue he found there, rolling his own against it until it followed his lead. And Sheppard was a fast learner, expertly drawing his tongue against Carson's teeth and lips until Beckett moaned in pleasure.
So lost was he in John's kisses that Carson hardly felt the coaxing push of hands against his chest until he was reclined against his couch. Sheppard's long, lean legs straddled him, making their cocks touch through layers of fabric.
Carson captured the groan that slipped past John's lips. He tugged on John's shirt, wanting to rip the offending garment apart, but it was saved when John pulled it off and dropped it on the floor.
John's chest was covered by long, black hairs that tapered off to a seductive 'V' below his waistline. As a doctor, Beckett had seen Sheppard naked before, but never outside of a medical environment. Carson looked at the slender, muscled physique pressed against his hands and moaned in appreciation.
"Like what you see, Carson?" Sheppard asked, his voice low and teasing.
"You're gorgeous," Beckett said, awed.
His compliment was rewarded with a series of fiery kisses that left Carson light-headed. As his dick eagerly responded to the rhythmic thrusts of Sheppard's hips, Carson knew he could make this good for John. He could ease the soldier's pain, make him beg to be taken. John's first time with a man should be perfect. Sensual, gentle, and mind-blowing. Carson wanted to be the one to show John the pleasures two men could share.
Carson cupped John's face and smiled into the lust-hazed eyes staring back at him. They were hard, sweating, and ready. Carson glanced at his friend's swollen lips and tousled hair. He studied the sun-kissed skin noting the small lines around the eyes that bespoke John's age. The pilot was almost 40-years-old, like Carson, and he wore it well.
John had been through a lot in his life. He'd seen the harsh realities of war in two galaxies, and Carson guessed there were scars hidden behind the careful facade the American wore. If anyone deserved to be loved, it was Sheppard.
But Carson didn't love John. He wanted him, yes - wanted to show John pleasure, to lose himself in those strong hands. He could do it. All it would take would be Carson's complete submission to his desires. But it wouldn't be from love.
"Carson?"
Beckett blinked and looked into Sheppard's hazel-green eyes.
"Sorry," the Scot said, embarrassed.
"Don't be," John said warmly. "We were both lost there for a minute."
The pressure on his dick had stopped, Beckett realized absently. Sheppard still straddled him, but he had raised himself off of Carson's crotch. John stroked Carson's cheek, then ran the pad of his thumb across the doctor's bottom lip. They sat quietly, each lightly touching the other's face.
"I want you," Carson said, the words catching in his throat, "but I don't love ye, John. Not the way I need to."
"I know," John replied quietly.
"Your first time should be with a man who loves ye," Carson said. "I could take care, make sure it was good for ye, but ...."
John smiled.
"I love him, too, Carson," he said, surprising the Scot. "This ... this felt good, don't get me wrong. But, I can't do this. Not to Ronon. Not to you, or me. We're pals, all of us."
"Aye, that we are," Carson nodded.
"For the record, I think you're hot," John grinned. "But we had to try, right?"
Carson laughed. "Aye, we did. We'll have trouser burns tomorrow to remind us."
John leaned over and Carson lifted his lips to accept the feather-light kiss.
"We're good?"
"We are," Carson said, feeling the warmth of his friendship with John wash over him like a healing wave.
To Be Continued