Rodney's not sure exactly what's going on when the doors slide open to Lab Four and he hears yelling, but he's certainly curious enough to find out and put an immediate stop to it, because a.) it cuts down on productive work time, and b.) yelling is his prerogative. One voice bellows in what sounds like German--and is, because ouch, he remembers that particular epithet from a convention he'd attended in Munich--and the other voice shouts in Czech. The latter voice he knows, and well; Radek's cursed at him often enough he recognizes the tone and the accent, if not the words.

Most of the people in Lab Four have scattered, the spineless cowards, not wanting to witness the altercation, but a hardier few stand around, watching the whole thing with interest. And probably placing bets on the outcome, if Rodney knows them at all, and he does, though anyone who's foolish enough to bet against Radek winning is entirely too stupid to be working on Atlantis. Radek seldom loses arguments, unless it's to Rodney, who can, on a good day, out-scream a banshee, a talent he's honed to sharp, sharp perfection over the years. Rodney unashamedly uses his size to shoulder through them easily, muttering, "Working, working, I'm not seeing any working going on here," to the heart of the commotion.

It's Reinhardt who's toe to toe with Radek--wow, so not a surprise there--and they're both flushed with argument, arms and hands waving in complex patterns that even he can't interpret. Reinhardt's evidently decided that since logic (probably specious, Rodney thinks) and volume (definitely loud) aren't working, he'll try physical intimidation, because he's right into Radek's personal space, trying to use his greater height to intimidate Radek. Rodney snorts in derision. He knows from long experience starting back in Antarctica that it is a totally pointless move, as Radek never allows his slight stature to determine the outcome of an argument.

From the moment Reinhardt stepped off the Daedalus he's been nothing but a pain in everyone's ass: smug, superior, arrogant, bullying. Not that Rodney finds those things particularly hindering--he's fully aware that he has those qualities, and in spades--but he at least has the brilliance to mitigate them to some degree, and Reinhardt, while undeniably intelligent, isn't anywhere even remotely near the same league of genius as Rodney, so he gets no slack.

Rodney waits until one of them pauses to draw a deep breath, then bellows, "What the hell is going on here?"

They both jump, startled, so caught up in their argument that neither has seen him approach. Radek recovers first, and crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes flash dangerously behind his glasses, his mouth sets into a straight, uncompromising line, and his chin lifts to a belligerent angle. That's a familiar sight, and it never bodes well. Rodney can't remember if Radek always did that, or if it's the result of years of working with him in Antarctica and Atlantis. It's probably a combination of both, as they've picked up habits from one another; he now has a disturbing tendency to hum show tunes--damn Peterson to hell for introducing Radek to the American movie musical, anyway--while he's concentrating.

His focus on Radek, Rodney sees movement peripherally, but he's too late and he can't shout a warning fast enough: with Radek distracted, Reinhardt has drawn back a beefy arm, and drives his fist right into Radek's face. The impact is enough to send Radek flying in a pinwheel of arms and legs, and then he hits the decking with a sickening thud, and doesn't move.

Rodney's horrified; violence happens offworld with dismaying frequency, but dammit, not in the relative safety of Atlantis, and certainly not in his labs. "You fucking idiot…" he begins, rounding on Reinhardt, but then all hell breaks loose as Reinhardt goes down when Lena Koch, proving that a common country of origin with Reinhardt doesn't necessarily indicate blind solidarity, jumps him from behind in a flurry of enraged curses, flying blonde hair and thumping fists.

He's glad to leave Reinhardt to his fate; he'd not go up against that screeching Valkyrie--she scares the hell out of him. Besides, Jelavich and Zheng have joined the fray, and Rodney knows they're getting a bit of their own back, because Reinhardt has been a complete ass to them, as well. He'll turn a blind eye to it without overly taxing his conscience, and clear them with security later. Instead he turns to the people gathered around Radek, pushing them out of the way, keying his ear comm, demanding a security detail and a medical team to the lab as soon as possible.

Rodney kneels down beside Radek, who looks disturbingly like a cast-aside rag doll. He's breathing easily, unlabored, and he's pink, so the ABCs of quick assessment Carson had taught them for fieldwork--airway, breathing, circulation--are intact. His glasses are nowhere in sight, which isn't really surprising, given the force with which Reinhardt hit him. There's blood on his mouth, on his chin, bright red--and Rodney never gets over his surprise at how shockingly intense the red of fresh blood is--and Radek's face is tipped away from him. Rodney resists the urge to turn his head, afraid he might've hurt his neck in some way; there's no immediate life-threatening crisis, such as unfriendly natives armed to the teeth, or big slavering things with teeth, so he doesn't move him. Beckett's team can take care of that with neck collars and whatever else they do to transport someone safely to the infirmary.

It's just...odd to see him so still. He's seen Radek in the labs, weary and fighting sleep, so tired he blurs English into Czech and back again, but he's never actually seen him asleep. It's a surprise, really, how much vividness he loses, because Radek is one of the most vital, kinetic people he knows; his mobile face, his deft hands are never still. He reaches out and puts a hand on his chest, and beneath his palm, Radek's heart beats steadily, reassuringly.

And then the med team is there, led by Beckett, who is all calm blue eyes and soothing brogue and quick sure hands, whisking away Radek to the infirmary almost before Rodney can blink. A few seconds after Beckett's arrival, the Marines are there as well. Sergeant Stackhouse, the new head of security, is calm and collected and serious, trying to sort through everyone talking all at once, until he tires of it and yells for everyone to shut up right now, and he'll ask the questions. Rodney's rather impressed; Stackhouse has always seemed a quiet sort, made more so by the loss of Sergeant Markham in the days right before the siege.

Rodney gives him the succinct version: Radek and Reinhardt were arguing, Reinhardt hit Radek while Radek was distracted, then Koch, Jelavich and hey, when did Pienaar get in on the action? He must've tag-teamed with Zheng--jumped in to prevent Reinhardt from further assault. It's no one's fault that things got...a bit out of hand. It really doesn't look good for Reinhardt's case that he is almost fifteen centimeters taller and twenty-two kilos heavier than Radek; good to know that the old chestnut about not hitting someone smaller than you is still in effect. It also helps that Radek is generally well-liked, even amongst the military contingent; if you want something done, Radek's widely-known as the go-to guy, which spares Rodney endless whining from the peons around him and eases his own workload from impossible to merely overwhelming.

Stackhouse and a couple of his men drag off a subdued Reinhardt, who might actually look worse than Radek does, to the infirmary, and Koch, Jelavich, Zheng and Pienaar, all uninjured, are confined to their rooms for the rest of the day. On his way to the infirmary, Rodney calls the mess and has the best possible meals sent to them, including bottles of Athosian ale and the last of the chocolate cake.

Loyalty should be rewarded, after all.

By the time Rodney gets to the infirmary, they've hustled Radek in and out of medical scanners, into scrubs, and into bed. As far as Rodney can tell, he still hasn't regained consciousness, which is rather disturbing. Elizabeth stands at the side of the bed, one hand on the railing, and she looks up as Rodney approaches.

"Sergeant Stackhouse told me what happened," she says, and runs her free hand through her hair. She looks tired, and Rodney doesn't think she's had a chance to catch up on rest since she came back from the very long negotiation sessions with the Adeni.

"Yes, well, I wish I could say I was surprised, but unfortunately, I'm not. Dr. Reinhardt has been a..." he wants to say a royal pain in the ass, but refrains, "...thorn in my side since his arrival. I had a feeling that this would happen at some point. I'd just hoped it would be further down the line, when we'd actually gotten some use from him."

Elizabeth makes a thoughtful little sound. "Obviously, this can't go unaddressed. I can't have the science division assaulting one another. Radek has the right to press charges against him, if he so desires." Her green eyes move from Radek's still face to Rodney's. "I just have trouble imagining anyone hitting Radek, of all people."

Rodney shrugs. "I sincerely doubt that Radek will want to press charges, as long as we can ship Reinhardt back to the SGC." Rodney folds his hands behind his back and his mouth crooks into a frown. "Actually, I do feel a tiny bit responsible for this whole mess, as it was my decision to take on Reinhardt, knowing that he he's had anger control issues with past employers. But he's so very proficient in his field that I rather hoped he'd behave himself. Evidently, I was wrong." Rodney doesn't like to admit he's wrong, but he'll do it if he is, and he might be, in this instance. v

"Radek didn't...provoke Dr. Reinhardt into hitting him, did he? Not that I think such a thing, really," she adds when Rodney blinks incredulously at her, "but I just have to double-check for the sake of impartiality."

"I know you've been to the labs, Elizabeth," Rodney replies. "Half our communications are done screaming at one another. But no, to answer you directly, Radek didn't provoke him. He's a bit smarter than to pick a fight with someone so much bigger. He's more the sneaky revenge type." Rodney can't completely disguise the admiration in his tone; Radek's the master of untraceable revenge. It might actually be more punishment to leave Reinhardt here to Radek's decidedly creative and often-vindictive nature.

Elizabeth sighs. "I guess that when Radek wakes up, we'll see what he wants to do. It seems a given that Dr. Reinhardt will return to Earth, but whether with criminal charges in place or not remains to be seen. In the meantime, I'll have him confined to quarters, unless you feel he's a menace to the safety of others. In that case, I'll have him remanded to Sergeant Stackhouse, and the brig."

It's very tempting to have him tossed in the brig, but Rodney's not quite that petty. "No, confined to quarters in the interim works for me."

"Good. And have you addressed the matter of the other scientists involved in this? We can't have random brawling going on in the labs."

"Yes, yes," Rodney replies with a dismissive flap of his hand. "You don't have to worry about it, as I've taken care of it. Have you spoken with Carson?"

"Carson tells me that preliminary scans show some hairline fractures of jaw and cheekbone, but nothing that requires surgery, thank god. A couple of teeth loosened, cuts on the insides of his cheek from his teeth. No neck injuries."

"Then why is he wearing this collar?" Rodney points at the stiff blue and white collar around Radek's neck, ending just beneath jawbone and chin. It's been preying on his mind since he first entered the infirmary, because Radek unable to move, to use his quick, clever hands? The thought is unbearable.

"It's merely a precautionary measure," Carson says into his left ear, and Rodney jumps, startled, alarm spidering down his back and arms. For a man his size, Beckett makes almost no noise as he walks. It's creepy, really.

"Dammit, Carson, are you trying to give me a heart attack? For god's sake, announce yourself instead of sneaking up on people!" Rodney raises a hand and smoothes down the hairs at the nape of his neck; they're standing on end.

Carson grins unrepentantly at him, the bastard. "Maybe I'm drumming up business. Certainly I don't have enough to do around here, what with the normal run of accidents in labs and injuries from returning away teams and brawls amongst the science staff in addition to my own research, overseeing the care of the Athosians, and running entire medical department."

"You only wish you were as amusing as you think you are," Rodney says acidly, and Carson laughs at him. People think that Carson is sweet, but Rodney's known him since Antarctica, and knows the sharp edges beneath the honeyed exterior.

"At any rate, the collar is only until test results come back negative. I'm not anticipating any problems, but Dr. Reinhardt has a fist the size of a shank 'o mutton, and so it's best to err on the side of caution. Dr. Zelenka is a valuable member of the team, after all."

Rodney blinks, affronted. "You've never said that about me!"

Carson's teeth are very white, his dimples very deep. "No? I'm so terribly, terribly sorry, Dr. McKay. Must've been a wee oversight on my part."

Elizabeth evidently sees his eyes narrow, because she lays a hand on Rodney's arm, and he subsides, for the moment. "Gentlemen, focus, please. Carson, what about Dr. Reinhardt? What are his injuries?"

Carson sticks his hands in his lab coat pockets and rocks on his heels. "Minor. A few scratches and contusions. He'll have a lovely black eye. I'm told Dr. Koch did that?"

"I just saw the beginning of the second part of the fight--I'm not privy to the particulars," Rodney says, and makes a mental note to never cross Koch.

"I wasn't able to make out a great deal of what he was saying, but he did mention wanting to charge everyone involved," Carson says, and Elizabeth sighs. Rodney's really glad he doesn't have to deal with what she does on a daily basis; he has more than enough to annoy him and take up his valuable time.

Rodney allows an expressive eye-roll. "He has nothing. Fifteen people, including myself, saw him throw the first punch."

"Aye, well, however it might've happened," Carson says with a one-shouldered shrug. "Since there was a loss of consciousness, Dr. Zelenka will have to stay overnight for observation. I'll most likely release him tomorrow after he wakes up again--he was alert for a moment or two, but drifted back to sleep after the administration of a muscle relaxant. Dr. Reinhardt, on the other hand, is free to go at any time."

"Wonderful," Elizabeth says, and her tone indicates it is anything but. She straightens, and metaphorically armors herself for battle; Rodney can see it in the set of her shoulders and mouth. Her eyes sharpen, because Elizabeth likes Radek, and Rodney almost feels sorry for Reinhardt. But not enough. "I suppose I'd best go see what our charming Dr. Reinhardt has to say for himself."

"Do you need some swear words? I have several," Rodney offers with a grin.

"Thanks, but no. I happen to speak German fluently, so I know enough," she says, and with a nod to them both, turns toward the private room where Sergeant Stackhouse has placed Reinhardt pending his disposition.

Now that they're alone with a sleeping Radek, Rodney turns toward Carson. "You did all sorts of scans, didn't you? There's nothing wrong with his brain, right? I'd hate to see a mind like that scrambled by an idiot's show of foul temper. Not that Radek's as brilliant as I am, of course, but still, he's relatively bright and thinks quickly on his feet. If something should happen to me, I'd like to know that Atlantis would be in good hands, and Radek's my first choice, besides myself, to take care of things. He has at least a minimal grasp of the intricacies involved in keeping Atlantis running, and is the least likely to blow things up accidentally, unlike Andrews, who nearly caused a cascade failure of..."

Carson's hand, warm and strong, squeezes Rodney's shoulder. "Breathe, man," he says, and Rodney does. It helps stem the rising tide of...not worry, but manly concern. "He'll be fine. All scans are normal. Before long, he'll be back to himself, and you and he can shout at one another all you like."

"Yes, well. It just so happens that we work best at a rather high volume." Rodney waves his hands. He certainly doesn't question how Carson runs his department, though he knows that beneath his sweet, genial face and the charming, soft Scots burr, Carson is as much the iron-fisted emperor of his realm as is Rodney of his. Rodney's just much more straight-forward about it. He doesn't mind being called a tyrant--he's been called much worse in his career--and it saves time by keeping everyone's expectations in line.

"Try not to fret so, Rodney," Carson says, and Rodney frowns. "Things will work out."

"I'm not fretting, dammit--and who says that in these times, anyway? That sounds positively Victorian. I'm just concerned about a highly-reliable and productive member of my staff."

Carson rolls his eyes. "However you wish to express yourself, then. I've other things to attend to, but if you need me for anything, call."

"Yes, yes, fine, go torment others," Rodney says, and ignores Carson's grin as he saunters off.

Rodney turns his attention back to Radek, lying so still. The left side of his face is swollen, and already he can see how it will bruise, terribly. He's never really bothered to look at Radek before; there's always been too many things needing to be done this very moment to stave off a hundred different kinds of horrific death. Besides, it's Radek's brain that holds the most interest for him, not the carrying case, and if asked what Radek actually looked like, Rodney would likely say something about too-long hair and glasses and short. It isn't that Rodney's unobservant; on the contrary, he sees everything--but his highly-selective internal filters only let through the important things, and physical appearance has never been something he considered terribly vital. Well. Other than the Samantha Carter filter, which makes him very aware of curves and blonde hair and long legs. Radek has none of those things, so Rodney's never bothered to really look.

But now that he pauses to look, he sees that it's an interesting face, all surprisingly strong angles; he'd never really paid heed to the lines behind the glasses and beneath the crazy hair. Low, flat cheekbones, assertive nose and jaw, cleft chin. He'd noticed the chin before, the way it lifts, so similar to his own, has seen it set in stubborn determination while trying to bend mathematics and physics and engineering to his will. He's seen it sitting in Radek's hand as he's pretended to gaze out the windows of the mess, while surreptitiously watching Elizabeth walk or eat or talk. He's seen Radek countless times in front of a whiteboard or his notepad, eyes focused on lines and lines of equations, the fingers of one hand tapping an irregular tattoo on his chin as he thought.

It's an odd thing to notice about a person, he thinks. Most people appreciate eyes--he's not even sure what color Radek's eyes are, just pale, maybe blue, maybe grey or even green--at any rate, he's pretty sure they're not dark, and he almost lifts an eyelid to check. Or they look at mouths--he's been unfortunate enough to have been privy to a very disturbing conversation between Simpson and Zheng regarding the apparently perfect curve of Colonel Sheppard's lips--and Radek's is generous and surprisingly soft-looking, even with the swelling that puffs his upper lip.

Rodney realizes that he's staring at his sleeping colleague, and it's so odd, so out of character for him that he glances around to see if anyone's noticed. Elizabeth is still with Stackhouse and Reinhardt, there are a small number of nurses going about their duties, paying him no heed, and Carson is out of sight performing his arcane medical rituals. So, no one has seen anything. Good.

He straightens his shoulders, draws a deep breath, and turns away. Enough of that; he's a busy man, too busy to be standing around gawking at his friend. It certainly won't help Radek get better more quickly, and this whole unfortunate incident has put him so far behind schedule he's not certain he can get things back on track before morning. There's also the fact he'll most likely have to reassign at least part of Radek's work to his staff until he's more himself; Rodney knows from experience just how badly a concussion feels. He doesn't relish that little task, as everyone's already pushing the limits of what they can capably do. But, maybe for once they won't bitch so much about the extra workload, given it's Radek they're helping. He'd take it on himself, as Radek's projects are always interesting, but he does more work than any of them but Radek himself, and he's not sure he can manage anything additional.

At the doorway he pauses and something makes him glance back once more. A nurse has come to stand by Radek's bed, and she runs a hand through his messy hair, brushing it off his forehead. Radek's eyes don't open, but his mouth moves as he answers her question. Rodney wonders if Radek heard anything he'd said, wonders if he knew Rodney stood so long at his side, looking at him. It doesn't really matter, he supposes. He's been in the infirmary often enough from injuries gained in the labs and offworld and frequently woke to find Radek nearby, clicking away on his notebook, waiting patiently to fill him in on everything that happened while he was asleep or unconscious. It's only fair he returns the favor.

Rodney has a very good sense of time, of how long anything will take, and it is the next morning before he gets things straightened out and running to his exacting standards. Dawn's barely pinkening the sky when he stumbles from the labs, yawning and rubbing his gritty eyes. The few people out and about so early are easily ignored, as they're mostly military patrols, those going on duty, and a few hardy souls who like to jog. The latter thought gives him a sour taste on the back of his tongue. He doesn't run, unless someone's actively trying to kill him, or something big and nasty is trying to eat him. He'd never expected how often either would happen when he first signed on with the SGC.

He swings by the mess, and picks up a cup of coffee, and after a second's consideration, pours another, and turns his steps toward the infirmary, on the off chance that Radek's awake. If he's not, well then, Rodney has two cups of coffee, and that's not a hardship, by any stretch of the imagination.

The infirmary still has the night-time lighting, low and soothing; evidently they haven't switched shifts yet. He sees a nurse with a long red braid at a computer, and she glances up at his entry. She doesn't try to stop him, so he goes on until he reaches Radek's bed, off in a quiet corner, shielded by half-drawn curtains.

Rodney sets the cups of coffee on the bedside table. At some point during the night, they've removed Radek's collar, so evidently, they found no problems with his neck. That's a relief. The bruising has bloomed on his face, vividly scarlet and purple, and the swelling looks terrible, particularly around his left eye. He seems surprisingly peaceful, all things considered, his hands resting relaxed, fingers loosely curled, on his thighs.

He'll always deny the little squeak of surprise that escapes him when Radek's right eye opens without warning. At the last moment, he manages to transform it into a throat-clearing sound.

Radek's eyes are, apparently, very pale blue. He tips his head slowly toward Rodney, as if any movement hurts, and Rodney's been beaten often enough--a sad state of affairs for one who should be living a completely cerebral life--to know that it does hurt like hell.

"Rodney," Radek says, and his voice sounds rusty, though he doesn't lose the little trill to the 'r' sound that makes his name seem more than merely ordinary.

"You're slacking, Zelenka. I'd have shaken this off hours ago and been back to work, nobly and without complaint, because I'm just like that."

The non-swollen side of Radek's mouth curves upward, just a little, as Rodney had hoped it would. "We cannot all have your incredible fortitude," he says, slowly and painfully.

"A pity, that," Rodney says.

"I am sure that I had an unfortunate accident with an atom smasher, yes?"

"Might as well have been one," Rodney replies. "The question now is, do you want to press charges? Elizabeth says that you're perfectly within your rights to do so." Radek blinks at him, still a little muzzy, evidently. "Regardless of what you decide, Reinhardt goes back on the next run of the Daedalus. We're not going to tolerate behavior like that. We have enough trouble with the Pegasus galaxy trying to kill us without our own staff doing the same."

"True enough," Radek says, and raises a hand, gingerly touching his mouth. "I can't say I'm sorry to see him go. He is even more of an arrogant ass than you." His one visible eye glints.

"Hey," Rodney says mildly. "I'll have you know I'm a far superior ass."

Radek starts to laugh, but it chokes off almost instantly into a pained sound. "I wish to press no charges," he says after a moment. "I have no time for lengthy legal processes."

"It's entirely up to you," Rodney says. "But I'd be inclined to think the same way, in your position."

Radek tries to sit up but fails, and Rodney rolls his eyes and raises the head of the bed instead. After a bit of shifting, Radek settles, and Rodney places the extra cup of coffee on the overbed table.

"Ah," Radek says happily, or as happily as possible for his current condition. "I take back all the terrible things I said about you yesterday."

Rodney snorts. "I bring you fresh coffee, in fact, go out of my way after slaving all night in the labs to bring you fresh coffee, and all I get is a retraction of yesterday's insults? You have no appreciation for the sacrifices of your fellow scientist, I tell you."

Radek appears entirely unmoved. "More would require a fresh cinnamon roll. With that sticky white icing," he replies, and his fingers flutter in some sort of movement surely meant to be descriptive of drippy icing, but instead looks faintly spidery.

"Guess I'll have to settle for what I can get, then," Rodney says. He pulls a chair close and sits, making himself as comfortable as possible, which isn't very. He's sure Beckett scoured Atlantis for the city's most torturous chairs. It's probably fortunate though, because otherwise, he might fall asleep, and he's determined to sleep in his own sinfully comfortable bed.

Radek carefully sips his coffee. "What of my research? I have several ongoing experiments, and if I continue to feel this unbalanced..."

"Carson said he would probably release you later today if you're doing well, but I thought that I'd do some shuffling and reassignment of your projects, at least until you're back up to par. The naquadah equations went to Kavanagh, the computer engineering to Simpson, as those were the two most important ones, and the rest I divided up between Pienaar and Zheng and Werneke. Oh," Rodney says, snapping his fingers, "I gave your girlfriend the cybernetics work."

Radek tries to frown, and gives up. "My...girlfriend?"

Rodney grins. "Oh, come now. You don't have to play coy, Radek. I'm talking about Lena Koch."

"Are you quite sure you were not the one to suffer a concussion? Dr. Koch is not my girlfriend, as you say," Radek says severely.

"I'm not so sure of that. She jumped Reinhardt and beat the hell out of him for you."

"She did? I will then thank her the next time I see her. But she is most definitely not my girlfriend." Radek pauses. "She would crush me between her thighs. I am a small man."

Rodney almost snorts coffee, which would be both painful and a criminal waste. "It takes a brave man to admit such a thing, Radek. I'm proud to know you."

Radek blinks, then abruptly flushes as he understands what he's inadvertently said. "Oh, no, no, no. It is not like that, at all. In that area, as in so many others, I am gifted."

Rodney laughs, and wipes at his watery eyes. He's so tired that he's almost giddy. Not nearly as tired as he was during the siege--god, the number of hours they stayed awake and functional during that time still boggles him--but it's been a while since he's had to pull a thirty-six hour shift, and he's a little out of practice.

"You are miserable bastard," Radek says, but there's no heat in his words.

"Yes, that's true," Rodney admits, and downs the rest of his hot coffee without a flinch. It's a skill he learned long ago; caffeination takes precedence over taste buds and tender throat tissues. He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out a black leather glasses case, and sets it on the table in front of Radek. "Here. Thought you might want these. Your others were beyond repair--one of the lenses was shattered. I know you keep extra pairs around, and these were in your desk."

"My desk was locked," Radek says darkly, but picks up the case.

"The operative word is 'was.' It's a pathetic excuse for a lock, anyway."

Radek tries an eye-roll, but stops with a wince. He opens the case, and takes out his glasses, the silver frames glinting in the dim light. Holding them up, he peers through the lenses. "Smudges," he says fretfully, and with an exasperated noise, Rodney plucks them from his hands.

He wipes the lenses on a corner of the sheet and hands them back, and Radek carefully slips them on. He immediately looks more like himself, and he gives a half-smile. "Much better," he pronounces. "Still fuzzy, but not so much, now." He spreads his hands in an expansive gesture. "I am now pretty again, yes?"

"Yes, yes, you're the prettiest boy in Atlantis," Rodney says. He thinks the Radek of twenty years ago probably was pretty or at the least very striking, all carved angles and soft mouth; if he squints, he can almost see that youth beneath the work-weary man lying before him. He's not quite sure where that thought comes from, and wipes it away as irrelevant.

"You should not let Colonel Sheppard hear you say such a thing," Radek says, his voice sly and teasing. "It will make him very sad."

"I doubt very much anything I'd say of that nature would dent his ego. It would take naquadah, I think."

"Pot and kettle," Radek says and takes a sip of his coffee.

Rodney makes a little agreeing humming sound, because he's quite aware of the size of his own ego. It's justifiable, though; he is a genius, and his work has saved them and the city countless times.

He rubs his burning eyes just as Radek says, "You should go sleep now before you make even more calculation errors than you do normally, because I will not be there today to find them and save hours of valuable work time for everyone else."

"Oh, now, listen here, I'll have you know my calculations are never..."

Radek's hand flaps dismissively, and the uninjured corner of his mouth crooks upward. "Go, Rodney. I do not need babysitter. Dr. Beckett will release me later, and unlike some people, I will obey his instructions and stay in my room and rest. Honestly, I do not believe I will be capable of much else, as even talking makes my mouth and jaw hurt."

"I am tired, actually," Rodney says, and the admission seems to make him even more weary than he was even a moment before. He gives a jaw-cracking yawn, and stretches backwards, tight muscles and vertebrae protesting painfully.

When he straightens, he finds Radek watching him, his expression for once inscrutable before it slips into an amused tolerance.

"I'm sure I'll be back in the labs tomorrow," Radek says. "Most likely very cranky. There will be much swearing and waving of arms, and if you are fortunate, I won't have large spanner in my hand when I do so."

"In other words, back to normal," Rodney quips, and Radek gives him that little half-grin again. It's reassuring.

Rodney shoves to his feet. He flexes his stiff arms and hands, and when he glances back up, he sees Radek's gaze slip from his hands to the coffee cup on the table in front of him. "Okay, going now," Rodney says, and a little awkwardly, he reaches out, folds his hand over Radek's narrow shoulder, and gives it a gentle squeeze. He's not a particularly touchy-feely person, but he's seen how Elizabeth touches all the time to reassure people, and has even seen Sheppard, who is almost phobic about touch from anyone else but Rodney, touch his wounded men in a show of support, for morale. He can do no less for Radek.

"I never expected something like this to happen," he says slowly. "It was very...disconcerting to see you lying hurt on the floor. I...had some concern." It shouldn't be so difficult to admit such a thing, but somehow it is, and though he's uncomfortable, he thinks Radek, who might possibly be his closest friend on Atlantis besides Sheppard, should know.

Several expressions chase across Radek's face, too quickly for Rodney to catch, but the one he settles on finally is pleased. "Thank you, Rodney," he says simply, and his hand curls around Rodney's wrist and squeezes. His fingers, where they touch bare skin beyond Rodney's jacket cuff, are very warm.

Rodney's aware they probably stand like that a moment too long before he pulls slowly away. He can still feel Radek's warmth on his fingertips, on his wrist. He clears his throat again, as it feels a little tight. Curious.

"I'll see you later, then," Rodney says briskly.

"Yes, you shall," Radek replies, and with a nod, Rodney turns and strides from the infirmary. No one stops him on the way to his quarters, and he's glad; he's so tired he'd probably rip their heads from their shoulders at even the most innocuous question.

It isn't until he's showered, and in bed, willing his back to unclench, that he allows his mind to wander. It's foolish, but he thinks he can still feel the ghostly warmth of Radek's shoulder, the brush of his fingertips. Of course, he can't, he knows this, but still, his skin, his nerves, insist on retaining a trace imprint of sensation. It's rather disconcerting, really.

He pushes the thoughts to a far back corner of his mind; they serve no useful purpose. A few moments later, sleep rolls over him like a heavy dark wave, and if he dreams, he doesn't later remember it.

When Radek comes back to the lab, he's greeted with gentle hugs and back-pats and a lot of smiling. Rodney doesn't compare it to the times he's come back to work after recovering from injuries, because his morning so far has been good, and he doesn't want to corrupt it with the slight edge of bitterness he'd feel if he allowed it. He knows he has respect--his staff wouldn't stay if they didn't respect him, what he can do--but they don't necessarily like him, as they do Radek. So he simply doesn't think about it.

He actually thinks Radek looks worse than he did the day before; the bruises have ripened to vivid reds and purples and blacks, the swelling still present. Radek looks tired, but surprised at his reception, a little overwhelmed. But before Rodney can say, "Yes, yes, very touching, back to work," Radek gently wriggles free of the last hug and steps over to his own workstation for Lab One.

Rodney watches him out of the corner of his eye as he stops. Right beside his closed laptop, there's a thermos carafe of coffee, and wrapped in a napkin, one of the soft muffins they'd offered in the mess this morning, the really good ones that taste like spice cake, and have an almost-apple filling. Those always go very quickly, usually to the military, who get to the mess first, beaten only by scientists coming off all-nighters.

Radek unwraps the muffin, and then looks directly at Rodney. His mouth curves a little, and Rodney gives a one-shouldered indifferent shrug. He'd already been there getting his own breakfast, and through a combination of speed and bluster, had managed to snag two. It's not a big deal. Besides, Radek needs fuel if he's going to work with any effectiveness whatsoever, and he knows from long experience that Radek usually drags from bed to lab without bothering to eat, or to shave. Rodney's just looking after a valuable resource that apparently doesn't have enough sense to take care of itself.

When Radek starts to lag after six hours Rodney boots him from the lab. Rodney had actually been surprised that he lasted that long, but Radek is nothing if not stubborn. He insists that Simpson, Radek's second, escort him back, because he's a little wavery on his feet. Radek shoots him a grateful look; he doesn't complain about anything, and the only reason Rodney had noticed at all was the pallor and sweat darkening the curly hair at the nape of his neck when he leaned over Radek's shoulder to peer at his laptop screen.

After they've left, Rodney wonders if perhaps he shouldn't have gone, because Radek had been leaning heavily against Simpson, who is fairly small, and he's considerably larger and stronger than either of them. For a moment he fidgets on his lab stool, indecisive, and then decides that at least Simpson has enough sense to call for help if she needs it. Women are infinitely more sensible in that respect.

Still, he's relieved when she shows up after about twenty minutes, goes to Radek's desk, and picks up his laptop and scrawled notes, and leaves, heading toward Lab Four, Radek's main lab. If anything had been wrong, she'd have told him. Rodney turns back to his own laptop and focuses on energy consumption curves. Those, at least, are elegant and straight-forward and not at all confusing.

It takes Radek a week to hit his stride again, and to fuss about the lighter work load. So instead of listening to him bitch about how his assignments are too simple, Rodney spends most of that week taking Radek with him when he goes all over the city to work. It isn't altruism on his part, because Radek's good company, bright and clever, his sense of humor wry and more than occasionally wicked. His hands are smaller than Rodney's, his fingers narrower, and when it comes to reaching into tight places to rewire circuitry or work with crystals--why the hell the Ancients would configure some of their crystal boards so that only a contortionist can reach them is beyond his understanding--he has to admit that Radek has the advantage.

Working with Radek is a joy, because he doesn't have to spend time explaining everything in minute detail to Radek, who easily grasps what he means. It's refreshing, decreases his frustration levels, and sometimes, Radek surprises him with inspired leaps of thought that cut down on hours of work. He likes how he doesn't have to finish sentences, likes how Radek always knows which tool or piece of equipment he needs at any given moment. He likes how Radek isn't afraid to argue things out with him; several of his best insights have come about in exactly that manner.

Rodney's actually sorry when he has to let Radek go back to his regular workload, because they tend to have different projects then. Their paths cross frequently, yes, but he'd gotten accustomed to spending most of his day working and arguing with Radek. He doesn't miss finding himself pressed shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh beneath consoles, doesn't miss getting tangled up with him while trying to reconfigure the crystals for transporter seven, doesn't miss his scent, an odd mix of sharp ozone of crystals, machine oil, that funky blue lubrication gel used throughout most of Atlantis, and peppermints that is uniquely Radek. He doesn't miss the little chin lift when Radek's certain he's right and Rodney is so very, very wrong.

Except, he does.

He's not at all certain how it's happened, or when it's happened, but somehow, his brain has constructed a filter similar to his Sam Carter one, and it's keyed specifically to Radek. He notices him now when he didn't before. He sees the furriness of his forearms when Radek pushes up his sleeves, sees the odd little bracelet, woven of colorful threads, tied around his right wrist. He sees his soft, rounded belly, sees how his often-wild hair is thinning at the front and crown, but is thick and a little curly at the nape of his neck, sees the bright smile that Radek flashes more often than he did in months past.

He sees him. He notices him. He's not sure he likes it, either. But maybe, he just might.

"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard says in that slow drawl that makes Rodney want to shake him and tell him to hurry up and spit out whatever he wants to say. He stands in a black-clad boneless slouch on the lowered back ramp of Jumper Nine, eating one of those lemon-scented blue fruits they'd traded for on M4C-982. Rodney's heard they're good, juicy and sweet-tart, but the scent makes his skin crawl, and even though they'd been declared citrus-free, he hasn't quite worked up the nerve to try one. "Doc Z's been waiting for you. He has half the console off and torn down already."

"Yes, well, thank you kindly for the update." He smoothes down his hair--it still feels ruffled from running his hand through it in annoyance--and shifts his duffle bag of equipment on his shoulder. "You can thank your jugheads who got themselves trapped in Gym Two and required me to dismantle the entire door circuitry to get them out."

"Jarheads," Sheppard corrects, and one corner of his mouth quirks into a grin. "You know better than that. I'm guessing you got them out."

"I meant exactly what I said, Colonel," Rodney replies with some asperity. "And of course I did, or I wouldn't be standing here. It's not exactly rocket science. Whereas what I'm about to do now? It's close enough to count. What are you doing here, anyway?"

Sheppard wiggles the fingers of one hand. "I've got the magic touch," he sing-songs, and Rodney rolls his eyes.

"Oh, as if I've not heard that one a thousand times already," Rodney says.

"And yet it still remains true," Sheppard replies cheekily. "Actually, I was coming out of Elizabeth's office, and Radek snagged me for ATA duty, since I happened to be the handiest one. Didn't have anything better to do at the time--well, just paperwork that Lorne refuses to do out of principle--so, here I am."

Rodney gives him the evil eye. "You didn't get sticky fruit juice all over my jumper, did you?"

"No, mom, I didn't. And who says they're your jumpers, anyway? I..."

"They are my jumpers, as I do most of the work on them." Radek's voice, coming from the depths of the jumper, sounds annoyed, and Rodney watches Sheppard's grin grow wider.

Sheppard pokes his head around the opening to the jumper. "Yes, Radek, they are," he says, sweetly, placatingly, and then turns back to Rodney. "Never piss off the man who does the maintenance. That's the golden rule for any pilot, if he wants to keep flying."

"Don't you have paperwork to do that you weren't able to fob off on Major Lorne?"

Sheppard's greenish eyes glint, which totally negates the patently false look of innocence he pastes on his face. "I think I should probably go check on the Marines who were trapped in the gym. Make sure they're handling the stress of having been trapped compounded by listening to you bitch at them while you got them out."

"I do not bitch at people. I merely refuse to censor my opinions for the far-too-sensitive masses." Rodney crosses his arms over his chest, and feels his chin lift.

"Right," Sheppard replies, and to Rodney's irritation, he manages to stretch out a single syllable into three. Sheppard hops off the ramp, waves the half-eaten fruit vaguely in Rodney's direction. "Oh, hey, don't forget, you're supposed to be out at the range tomorrow night for target practice."

"One of the hundreds of things I've probably got scheduled for tomorrow. I'll try and pencil it in."

"We've got a mission the next morning. If you don't show for practice, you don't go. That's the rule, Rodney."

Rodney splutters in indignation. "Oh, that is so not the rule. You just made that up!" When Sheppard just grins at him, showing teeth, Rodney knows further protest is completely futile and waves his hands in irritation. "Fine, fine. I'll be there. Just, go."

"I knew you were a man who'd listen to reason," Sheppard says with infuriating smugness, and swings toward the door in a loose, easy lope. "See you later." At the door, he pauses, and says, "And take care of Radek's jumper," before disappearing.

Rodney draws a deep breath to shout a rebuttal, but lets it out in an irritated huff. There's not much point in yelling at Sheppard; he's remarkably impervious. Instead, he stomps up the ramp, his boots loud on the grates.

Within, it's a mess of cables, computer notebooks, and pieces of Ancient tech seemingly tossed at random to the floor, to the chairs, to the benches in the back compartment. Rodney's mouth falls open, and he's ready to be completely outraged at the scattered bits and pieces, until he suddenly sees the order of it all. It's not random, by any means; Radek's laid out everything with meticulous precision. Every piece has a little tag, and as he squints at Radek's untidy scrawls, he can see that half of them are in English, and half are in Czech. He's tried to break Radek of the habit of writing notes in Czech, because the only other person who could understand them would be Radek's fellow countryman, Stan-something-or-another. Stanek. Elizabeth could interpret, but she's not an engineer like Stanek, and so most of the abbreviations would mean nothing to her. But Rodney suspects that it's a losing battle, because Radek makes the little notes while his mind races ahead to ten other problems.

Radek sits cross-legged on the floor in front of the main console--what's left of it, at any rate--humming to himself. And damn it if he doesn't recognize the tune when Radek sings "pum pum pum" under his breath; it's the Shall We Dance song from the movie musical The King and I. Radek's hair keeps falling into his eyes, and he swipes at it absently. As Rodney watches, Radek pulls a pen from behind his ear, scribbles something on a little note, and sticks it on the piece in his hands before setting it down to his left.

Almost three weeks after the incident, his facial swelling is gone, and the bruising has changed colors, to sickly greens and yellows. Even so, he looks better, and definitely more cheerful than he did.

"Jugheads," he says, without looking up, his mouth crooking in amusement.

"Well, they were," Rodney replies. "With maybe a single brain to share amongst the lot of them." He sets his duffle bag in the only available space in the back compartment, and winds his way through pieces to the cockpit, where Radek sits and sinks down onto his knees, resolutely ignoring the little popping sounds as he does so. "I wanted to leave them there, but Major Lorne was insistent that I get them out."

"Yes, I heard the conversation when the major called Colonel Sheppard," Radek says absently, sticking another incomprehensible note on yet another bit of Ancient tech. "When Cabrera couldn't get the locks to disengage no matter what he did and he called you for help, we suspected you would be very late, and started without you."

"So I see," Rodney says with a little wave to the area around them. "I only hope you can put it together as quickly as you took it apart."

Radek glances up at him and grins. It's impish, mischievous, and for some reason, it makes Rodney's heart patter a little faster, makes his chest a little tighter. "I find your lack of faith...disturbing," Radek intones seriously, his voice dropping lower than Rodney had thought possible, low enough that Rodney swears he feels the rumble of it at the base of his spine. It sends a little tingle coursing down his body to pool low in his belly. And fuck it all, he can feel himself stir, interested. No. Just, no.

Rodney blinks, tries shaking it off. "Oh for god's sakes, stop with the Vader imitation. It truly sucks."

"Radek, do not sing, Radek, do not quote popular entertainment, Radek do not take the last of the coffee, Radek, do not breathe without my permission," he says mockingly, waggling his head.

Radek, do not make me want you, Rodney thinks, but it's too late for that, because he does. Over the past weeks he's become painfully aware of Radek, of the way he smells, the way he smiles, the way he moves, light on his feet with that little bounce to his step, the stubborn tilt of his chin. He wishes he could turn off this awareness, to go back to the time when Radek was just Radek, simply someone else in his orbit, a hard worker, brighter than most. He doesn't need this--it complicates everything, changes everything in a life already too complex, too uncertain even on a good day.

When Radek looks up from his work, his eyes grow wide and startled behind his lenses. Rodney's not sure exactly what Radek sees in his face, but he knows it's undoubtedly damning, because his emotions always show so clearly, his expressions so transparent. What little discretion he possesses is only in regard to the projects and governments and organizations he's worked for most of his life. There's none left over for anything else.

Helplessly he watches as Radek flushes, a dull red that creeps upward from his throat to his cheeks. It makes his pale eyes even more striking in contrast. The tip of Radek's tongue peeks out, touches the center of his upper lip, and Rodney can't help but follow the movement. He wants to taste, to feel the slide of Radek's soft-looking mouth against his own. He's given up on trying to make sense of this; it just is, and he feels helpless against the strength of want that twists in his belly.

Rodney doesn't realize he's leaned forward until Radek bumps the back of his head against the co-pilot's chair. His own breath has quickened, and he can almost taste Radek's familiar scent, overlaid with something warm, animal, male, in the back of his throat.

"Oh," Radek breathes, and Rodney's close enough he can feel the word against his mouth. He can feel Radek's lips move against his own as he says, "Rodney."

Rodney leans in the bare centimeter that separates them, and yes, Radek's mouth is just as soft, as warm as he'd thought it would be. Radek's beard prickles against his face, and that's definitely different, but not as disturbing as he'd thought it would be. It just becomes one more sensation as Radek's mouth opens willingly beneath his own, and he feels the tentative touch of tongue against his. It's so good; he hasn't kissed anyone for so long, and he'd forgotten how intimate it is. Radek's mouth is surprisingly generous and giving, and he kisses well, with rich intensity. Somehow he hadn't expected that. It's all hot, wet, slick pleasure, and the sweet taste of peppermint on his tongue slowly fades to something else, something that's uniquely Radek.

Rodney doesn't realize he's pulled Radek up from his sitting position to his knees until he feels Radek's chest, his belly, pressed tightly against his own. One arm circles Radek's waist, and his other hand buries in the thick hair at the nape of his neck, tipping his head to a better position so he can kiss him more deeply. In a span of heartbeats, the kiss shifts from exploratory to hungry and carnal, and Rodney can feel, can hear the muffled noises that rise from Radek's chest to his throat; they sound anything but protesting. He sounds as needy, as eager as Rodney feels. Radek, surprisingly strong, winds his arms around Rodney's shoulders and pulls Rodney closer until there's not a micron of space between them.

He's half-hard already, and when Radek shifts, with a slow roll of hips against his own, the press of Radek's erection against his belly sends heat tearing through Rodney's body. He goes completely hard so quickly it's dizzying. Want surges through him in pulses, thick and heavy and hot.

Only the clatter of something Ancient and irreplaceable as they move, straining against one another to get impossibly closer, breaks through the reddish haze. Reluctantly, he pulls away from Radek, their mouths parting with a lush, wet sound. It makes him immediately want more, so hungry for touch, for the closeness of another body, for the slide of skin against skin. He's been alone for so long, has almost forgotten how desire feels, heady and addictive. He manages a lick to the corner of Radek's mouth, a nip to the fullness of his lower lip before Radek's hands against his shoulders push him away.

Radek licks his lips, and Rodney never expected to see him like this, flushed, blue eyes heavy-lidded and dark, mouth wet and reddened, chest rising and falling rapidly. He likes it, likes the way Radek's hands grip his shoulders tightly as if he can't bear to let go. He likes the way Radek has to obviously struggle to gather his thoughts. He likes how Radek didn't push him away, how he responded, eager and hungry.

"Not here," Radek says, and his voice sounds husky. He clears his throat, and some of the distraction slides away from his expression. "Too public. Too crowded. Too many..." he lifts a hand from Rodney's shoulder to wave at the bits and pieces around them, the partially dismantled control console, "...too much at stake to accidentally break something."

"Not here, but somewhere else, sometime else?" Radek's hair is soft, and curls slightly around his fingers, clinging as Rodney pulls his hand away. He slides his thumb along the sharp edge of jaw, over the assertive jut of his chin, over the plushness of his lower lip, and Radek lets out a shaky breath. Heat surges and swells through Rodney's body, pooling low in his belly, and he's so hard, so full, he feels as if he'll burst.

"Oh, yes," Radek says, so fervently that Rodney can't help but smile, a completely masculine rush of pride that he's brought Radek to this point, made him want this as much as he does.

Rodney wonders if he shouldn't be more--disturbed? surprised?--at the speed of his response to something he's never really given much consideration before. He isn't really surprised, though; it's entirely his nature to be ravenously curious, to be open-minded to possibilities, to want to explore the new. The only reason he's never tried sex with another man is more the result of not even realizing he'd been hit on until the opportunity had long passed; he's self-aware enough to know he misses a lot of social cues, but self-absorbed enough to not care overly much.

But this isn't some random man, this is Radek, whom he trusts like few others, and he can't find it within himself to be disturbed over something as ultimately inconsequential as gender.

"Good," he says, and Radek smiles at him. When Radek pulls back and unashamedly adjusts himself, Rodney mirrors his actions. He aches, but it will fade in a bit as hormones stop effervescing through his bloodstream. A few deep breaths, and his head clears, higher cognitive functions returning to their proper prominence.

It takes a conscious effort to focus on the work before them, but eventually Rodney does, becomes absorbed in it. There's still a low thrum of awareness between them, elastic and almost palpable, buzzing along his skin. He knows Radek feels it as well, as often he looks up to see Radek watching him, and when Radek hands him things, his touch lingers a second longer than it should.

And then he realizes that there is nothing different here. Radek has always looked at him, touched him like this; his awareness, his interest, his desire, is nothing new for Radek. Rodney can feel the question bloom on his face: How long has this been going on? and from the curl of Radek's mouth he gets his answer: A very long time.

Anything else he might've asked gets lost as he hears a cheerful voice call from the foot of the ramp, and Radek answers back in Czech, his eyes never leaving Rodney's face.

"Come to my quarters tonight, if you wish," Radek says, so softly Rodney has to strain to hear him. "There, we will not be interrupted."

Rodney gives a jerky nod as Dr. Stanek picks his way through the pieces of the console, chattering in their native language. Color chases across the tops of Radek's cheeks, and his ears are pink. His overture, Rodney suddenly understands, is not a casual offer; it has weight and meaning beyond a simple roll in the sheets together. If that's all Radek had wanted, he'd have asked, because although Radek can appear shy and diffident to others he doesn't know well, or women he's crushed on, like Elizabeth, he's never been as such to Rodney. God, anything but shy--they've argued almost from their first days together in Antarctica. Rodney's eyes widen as he realizes that Radek's been subtly flirting with him all this time, and he never once picked up on it.

Stanek interrupts his epiphany by saying something irretrievably dense as he switches to English, and Rodney's off and running, correcting his faulty assumptions, snapping his fingers impatiently for a notebook to tap out the equations. From the look of it, Radek apparently has every extra one they have here in the jumper, and he can afford to share. Rodney's distracted for a split second by the sidewise glance Radek gives him, the upward curve of his mouth, but then he takes the computer and begins to explain the theory to Stanek, who leans over his shoulder and makes interested little sounds.

While equations and schematics and working out the practical applications of a half-dozen theories and work yet to be done today spin through the greater portion of his attention--the ability to multitask is a valuable talent he'd learned at a tender age--a small section remains keyed to Radek's presence, and the promise of touch and taste and heat.

When the door opens, Radek looks at him and says mildly, "I wasn't sure you'd actually come."

It's late, very late, in fact, and really, Rodney had given serious thought to simply not showing up. He'd waffled about it in the jumper bay after he'd realized how late it was, waffled about it while practically running back to his room, waffled about it through showering and shaving and dressing, waffled about it while making his way to Radek's quarters.

Rodney's chin lifts. "Of course I would. Did. Am. I had every intention of showing up. I just...lost track of time, working. You know how it is." His hands flutter; he's unaccountably nervous. He's also still standing out in the hallway, and while it's late enough that few people are about, Radek lives close to a heavily-used transporter, and he feels exposed, which ratchets up his nervousness another couple of notches. "Well? Are you going to let me in, or slam the door in my face?"

The corners of Radek's eyes crinkle. "The doors, they do not slam, only whoosh. Very anticlimatic."

He steps back, and Rodney steps in. The door slides quietly closed behind him, and Radek presses his palm to the panel to lock it. Although Rodney had taken pains with the clothing he chose, black trousers, and his favorite blue-patterned shirt over a light blue tee shirt, Radek looks more comfortable with his bare feet, his sweatpants, and a grey tee shirt with Engineer's Motto: If it isn't broken, take it apart and fix it on the front. Rodney's close enough to smell bath soap, to see that Radek's shaved, his cheeks and chin smooth and soft-looking. It makes him look younger, somehow. He's also made an attempt to control his wild hair--it's not a very successful attempt, but still, Rodney appreciates the effort.

This is the time when things generally fall apart for Rodney--the time when despite his superior intelligence he's not exactly sure what to say, as compliments and small talk are not his forte--the time before kissing and touching commences. Once that part starts, he's fine, he's good, but he's blown it often enough with women in this important interval that he's nervous. He shouldn't be, as this is Radek, who knows him for better or worse--mostly worse, Rodney admits--and who still wants him anyway.

"You are thinking far too much," Radek says, his deep voice gently scolding. "Stop it. Go, sit, and I will bring you something to drink."

Radek waves toward the couch, then turns on his heel and disappears into what Rodney assumes is his bedroom; Radek's quarters have a different layout than his own. Radek's place is very neat and cozy, remarkably sensual, all warm colors and textures, with fat chairs and a sumptuous couch, pillows like spilled jewels, soft-looking throws and colorful rugs that look like they came from the Athosians. Actually, he thinks, looking around, it looks like something Teyla would come up with for her own quarters. Not that he'd ever been invited, but still, he could imagine. He'd never have expected Radek, all cold equations and schematics and math--so much like himself, actually--to have a hidden hedonistic side. Rodney wonders if he really knows Radek at all. It would probably be very worth the effort, and he's sure it would yield a high results-to-effort ratio.

He starts to sit on one of the chairs, but thinks that with the potential for kissing, for more, that the couch would be a better choice, and so sinks down into it. It's just as comfortable as it looks, and for a moment, he allows himself to sprawl, to let his head lie against the back, allows himself to relax.

Until Radek reappears, and Rodney jerks himself upright, tense again. Radek has a green bottle and a clear bottle tucked into the crook of his left arm, and two small glasses in his right hand. He settles down next to Rodney, close enough that their thighs touch, and sets the bottles and glasses on the low table in front of them.

Radek's thigh is firm and very warm.

"Becherovka," Radek says, and the name rolls lovingly off his tongue. He pours a little of the wheat-colored liquid into a glass, then fills it the rest of the way with tonic water. The other glass he fills with a much heftier amount of the liquor and much less water. He slants a smile in Rodney's direction. "I am very selective with whom I share. Stanek would cheerfully strangle me for this, I think."

He hands the weaker drink to Rodney, who sniffs it suspiciously. "I'm supposed to be flattered by that, I take it." It smells strongly herbal--menthol, cloves, cinnamon. "There's no citrus in this, right?"

Radek gives an all-too-casual shrug. "Secret ingredients, but I think not. If you fall over, I'll be quick to call Dr. Beckett." He smiles, and Rodney thinks the dimple in his left cheek looks deep enough to measure with his thumb.

"I can't tell you how comforting that is," he replies tartly. But his sarcasm drains away as he watches Radek tip back his head and drink, watches the smooth play of muscles in his throat as he swallows. It makes him think of sex--oh, there's a surprise, really--and he thinks, what the hell, and sips. It's spicy, burns all the way down, and leaves the taste of cloves tingling warmly on his tongue.

Two more sips, and he's fairly certain it won't kill him, so he relaxes and begins to enjoy it. Not something he'd want on a regular basis, but not bad, either. And in all honesty, he's not completely averse to a little liquid courage, because he's on unfamiliar ground, and isn't sure what to expect from Radek, what Radek expects from him.

Radek's finished by the time Rodney's halfway through his, and sets his glass down on the table with a little thump. He half-turns to watch Rodney drink, his eyes gleaming, and Rodney's not sure if he's ever seen anyone look at him quite that way--like he's a particularly fascinating piece of tech or an equation close to solution. No, he amends after a closer look, another swallow of alcohol, it's not even remotely cerebral but wholly physical, more like Rodney's a banquet, and Radek's not quite sure exactly where to start, but that he's certain he'll enjoy every single course. It makes his skin flush warmly, sends heat swirling down his body, makes his dick stir and start to swell, makes him want. Rodney takes a bigger drink because now he's certain he'll need it.

Then Radek plucks the glass from Rodney's hand. "Enough socializing," he says briskly, and puts it on the table. Rodney has a moment to be surprised at the abruptness, then grateful, before Radek leans in and kisses him, a bare brush of mouth against mouth. He's more than willing to skip any remaining steps left from the nerve-wracking expectations of wretchedly painful small talk to get to the pleasures of kissing and touching.

And, evidently, he should expect Radek to be proactive. Very proactive, he thinks, as Radek slides a hand around the nape of his neck and pulls him close. Not that he has any complaints, no. He wants to kiss Radek like he did earlier in the jumper, to touch, to lie skin to skin with him, to come and watch Radek as he comes. The thought makes his stomach twist with need.

"Yes," Radek says against his mouth, as if he's heard Rodney's thoughts, and Rodney agrees and slides an arm around his shoulders to pull him closer. Radek's mouth opens for him, hot, wet, sticky-sweet and spicy, all at once.

Rodney deepens the kiss almost instantly, sliding his tongue over and around Radek's, at first leisurely, slipping over every surface he can reach, stroking, tasting, but it doesn't stay slow and easy for long. It quickly turns fierce and passionate, and Rodney has a moment to think, oh wow, oh yes, before he really stops thinking much at all. Radek's taste, warm and spicy from the becherovka still strong on his tongue, is addicting. Desire races through him, sending his blood rushing headlong through his body; it hums in his head, and his dick grows hard and heavy and demanding. He wants to press closer, to feel Radek's chest against his own again, to tangle his legs with him, to press his dick against Radek's, because it had felt so good to do it earlier. There's no hesitation in Rodney's mind that yes, this is what he wants, and there's certainly none in his body. It's been so long since he's been with anyone, and he aches for closeness, his skin so hungry for touch.

Radek breaks for air. Rodney feels him gasping, the heated movement of his breath steamy against his throat. Unwillingly, he pulls back a little and opens his eyes. Radek's eyes are almost black; Rodney can barely see the rim of pale blue around the hugeness of pupil, and he looks as flushed, as hot, as Rodney feels. Radek shifts, moving enough that he can wrap his arms around Rodney and when Rodney presses closer, Radek eases them both down on the couch, pulling Rodney on top of him. Lying half on him, Rodney can feel Radek quiver with excitement, feel the hard dick pressing into his hip, feel the slow rock of his hips against him.

Radek smells good, a combination of soap, cinnamon and cloves, and the musky scent of arousal. Rodney presses his nose to Radek's smooth neck and inhales before licking a wet stripe from the neck of his tee shirt to earlobe that makes Radek draw in a quick breath and moan when Rodney bites his ear. Radek's fingers grip Rodney's shirt tightly, pulling him closer, and Rodney rubs his face lightly against Radek's cheek. He feels the faint rasp of late night beard against his own.

"Different," Rodney breathes. "I like it." Radek makes a little humming sound of agreement or approval.

He knows he's heavy, and so with a little grunt he turns them both to their sides and manages not to roll either of them off onto the floor. He needs to touch; he has to touch. His hand lands on Radek's hip, on soft sweats material, and below that, he can feel the heat of his body. Working a hand beneath the tee shirt gains him skin, soft, hot skin, smooth against his fingertips, his palm. He runs his hand down and back, over the curve of buttock, and that's not much different, perhaps not as plush as a woman's, but still, it fills his hand nicely, and he squeezes gently. It takes him a moment to realize that skin and sweatpants are all he feels; Radek's commando, and just the thought of that drives a spike of excitement down his spine.

Dimly, he's aware of Radek's hands moving over his back, his shoulders, his arms, as if trying to memorize the shape of muscle and bone. The low, soft needy sounds Radek makes in his chest, in the back of his throat, travel a direct path from Rodney's ears down to curl low in his belly. It makes him ache and throb, makes his body demand more, more, now. He never thought it possible to be aroused by a sound that's so deep and masculine instead of feminine, but there it is, undeniable, evident in the hot swelling of his flesh. Unable to help himself, he rocks against Radek, who moves strongly, fluidly against him.

Radek's fingers tighten in Rodney's hair, pulling, tilting his head to kiss him again, and Rodney doesn't mind the little prickles of pain-they make the whole experience more physical, more real. All that matters, all that's important, is the sweetness of Radek's mouth, the tantalizing seductiveness of his tongue twining with Rodney's own, the sexy little sounds he makes, the roll and thrust of his hips.

"Rodney," Radek says, his voice thick, hot. "What do you want?"

"Everything. God, just. Everything." The words tumble so quickly from his lips he'd be embarrassed at the way his voice trembles, but he can't think beyond the clamor of his body, the tumultuous rush of blood, the way his hips want to move.

Radek's hand fists in Rodney's shirt and pulls him down, mouth parting for another kiss that's bold and aggressive, like a storm, wild and fierce and almost punishing in its intensity. It says mine, and Rodney couldn't agree more as he slides down onto Radek's body, one hand on the couch bracing himself, the other going into his wild hair, softer than it looks.

One of Radek's hands goes to his waist, gliding up beneath his shirt, beneath his tee shirt, running over his flank, fingers tracing along the valley of his spine. It's a surprisingly gentle touch after the ferocity of his kiss, and Rodney can feel the calluses from years of hard work scrape over his skin. Radek's other hand slips down from his hair to stroke the nape of his neck, tightening to hold him in place, though Rodney doesn't want to be anywhere else.

His body moves helplessly against Radek's, pushing his hard dick into the groove of his hip, into the softness of his belly, and it's one of the best things he's felt in ages. Radek's just as hard; Rodney can feel it against his belly, a thick, hot ridge of flesh pushing up against him. Vaguely, he's aware of a keening sound of need, and realizes that it comes from his own throat. Rodney can't settle on any one sensation when they all demand his attention: Radek's mouth, hot and wet and wicked; the sharp tug of teeth biting into his lower lip; the heat of Radek's breath on his cheek, in his ear; the wet drag of tongue on Rodney's neck; the way Radek's hand slides from waist to chest beneath his shirt, fingers splayed, thumb playing over his nipple, sending sharp, sweet sensation zinging down his body. It all combines to make his dick ache with the heated fullness of want, with the desperate need to come.

"Clothes, clothes," Radek says desperately, his hands tugging at the tee shirt still mostly tucked into Rodney's trousers. That's the best idea ever, Rodney thinks, and shoves his hands beneath Radek's tee shirt. Radek's skin is hot, hair thick and crisp-soft on Radek's belly, his chest. Nakedness, nudity, bare skin, yes. Rodney's good with setting and achieving goals.

Unlike in the movies, where clothes just seem to melt away, in real life there's a lot of uncoordinated flailing and pulling and tugging, the loss of a button or two, a fair amount of swearing in frustration, and an elbow that ends up connecting with Rodney's jaw hard enough to make him blink back stars from the corners of his vision. Radek apologizes profusely as Rodney pushes off him and sits up on the couch, rubbing at his aching jaw, waving off Radek's attempts to touch and comfort.

"Stop it, stop it, dammit. It's all right, I swear," Rodney says, and moves his jaw experimentally. It was a good, solid blow because Radek's stronger than he looks, but fortunately, nothing feels broken, no teeth loosened. Radek, his own tee shirt askew, rucked up over his fuzzy stomach, his sweatpants worked down low over one hip, shoves himself semi-upright. He evidently realizes he has Rodney's outer shirt bunched up in his white-knuckled hands, and gives it a toss over the back of the couch.

Rodney watches as Radek runs his hands through his hair, returning it to a normal state of messiness. Radek looks up at him and then, amusement blooms on his flushed face, and he laughs. Rodney's brows lower and he wonders just what is so funny, because he likes a good joke as well as anyone, but if Radek's laughing at his expense, there will be hell to pay. He'd like to think that Radek's smart enough to have figured that out after the years they've known one another.

Radek pushes his glasses to the top of his head and rubs at his eyes. "Ah," he says wryly. "Never have I been able to pull off smooth seduction. I am not certain why I thought I would be able to do so now." He rests his forearms on the tops of his drawn-up knees, hands dangling idly.

"Yes, well. Nearly knocking someone's teeth out does show a certain lack of polished seduction technique," Rodney says, and untenses a little at Radek's self-depreciation. His mouth curls up at one corner. "Unless you're a Klingon. Then, it's practically required."

Radek's grin spreads slowly and brightly, and his head tips to one side. "I could quote love poetry and throw furniture at you, if that would help."

"Do I look like Worf to you?" Rodney asks grumpily, but Radek's grin is too infectious to resist.

"Hmm," Radek says, and his eyes move over Rodney, lingering on the breadth of shoulders and the curve of biceps. Radek rocks up to his knees on the cushions, and he's suddenly very close again. "No, much better," Radek answers, and Rodney leans in for a kiss.

The kiss doesn't last long, because Radek slides his hand down Rodney's belly and palms his dick. Rodney jerks back with a muffled grunt, eyes widening. His erection had faded a little, but beneath Radek's stroking hand, it quickly grows hard again. Radek grins at him, unrepentant.

"Before further injury occurs, I think we should try this in my bed. Much more comfortable," Radek says. His accent has deepened, his voice lowered, and Rodney has a moment to wonder if the next time he and Radek get into an argument and Radek's accent thickens, he'll get hard, simply from association. It would certainly make the fight more interesting, at any rate.

Radek releases him and pushes himself off the couch to stand, tugging down his tee shirt. As hard as Rodney is, Radek's equally hard; the front of his sweats stretch in a full curve, conveniently at eye level. It's a little intimidating, as Rodney's always been careful not to look--well, not much more than a passing, comparative glance, anyway--at anyone in communal showers or urinals. But still, Radek's hard because of him, wants him, and the sheer headiness of that rolls over him in a warm wave. When he looks up, into Radek's face, Radek smiles down at him and cups Rodney's face in his hand, thumb rubbing gently over his lower lip.

When Radek steps away, Rodney rises. His heart pounds in his chest, his ears, his dick. Sweat gathers at his hairline, on his upper lip, the middle of his chest. He's excited and terrified in almost equal measures, but stubbornness and sheer determination have carried him through more situations he can name and this is no different. He wants, so he'll have. "I. Radek, I, well. I've never. I mean, I might've thought about it of course, because hey, I have a naturally curious and passionate nature, and I fully believe that I should investigate all avenues of..." His hands wave helplessly, nervously.

"Rodney," Radek says, and before Rodney can work up a decent amount of outrage at being interrupted, Radek smiles. "Come with me now, and you may investigate anything you wish." And there it is, the bright, promising gleam in his eyes again. Radek turns and walks toward his bedroom.

And Rodney follows, because he's really, really not stupid.

He has a quick impression of Radek's bedroom as comfortable and lush--wow, he really is a closet hedonist, Rodney thinks--but the majority of his attention goes to Radek, taking off his glasses and putting them on the bedside table. When Radek turns back to him and holds out a hand, Rodney swallows hard, and goes to him.

Up close, he can see that beneath the want, the desire that practically shimmers over his skin, Radek's nervous. The need is flattering and ego boosting, but it's the nervousness that makes Rodney relax, makes him think he isn't alone in what he feels.

Radek's hands smooth over his sides, his belly, then his fingertips catch in the hem of his tee shirt and push it upward until Rodney takes over and pulls it off his head and arms. He feels Radek's hands settle on his waist before his head's even cleared the tee shirt, as if he can't wait a moment longer. His hands move slowly over Rodney's skin as if cataloguing and committing to memory each centimeter, ruffling through the hair on his chest, thumbing his nipples, sliding down his sides, fingertips bumping over ribs, his touch just firm enough to avoid tickling. Rodney can't help but arch into the touch like a cat begging for petting and stroking; it's been so long, and this is good, so good, he doesn't want it to stop. He only realizes he says it aloud when Radek smiles at him and murmurs, "It's good for me as well," before leaning in and pressing his mouth to the center of Rodney's chest.

Rodney has a moment to run his hands over Radek's shoulders, up his neck and into his hair, one hand cupping the back of his head gently as Radek rubs his cheek over Rodney's chest, before Radek eases back. When Radek's hands go to his belt buckle, Rodney kicks off his shoes. A moment later, Radek has him unbuttoned, and unzips carefully over the bulge of his erection, and god, what a relief to lose the constriction. His boxer-covered dick immediately surges into the opening of his unzipped trousers. Radek eases his hands in, smoothing over hips to spread his fingers over Rodney's ass. The trousers slide to the floor with a little chink of buckle.

Rodney feels awkward standing in the pool of his trousers, so he steps out of them, gives them a kick to the side, and pulls off his socks. He resists the urge to cross his arms over his chest, but can't stop the little nervous lift of his chin as, clad only in his red boxers, he allows Radek to look at him.

He knows he has nothing to be ashamed of. If he's not cut or ripped like someone from the military, his body is still solid and strong, and no one has ever had cause to complain--quite the opposite, actually--about the endowment currently tightly tenting the front of his boxers. From the darkness of Radek's eyes as they sweep over him from hairline to toes, the way his tongue flicks out over his lower lip as if he wants so badly to taste, he clearly likes very much everything he sees.

Radek had given him room to get rid of his socks, but now he's close again, touching, his hands leaving quick, fleeting little trails of fire, his expression intent and intense. "Always," he says so softly that Rodney has to strain to hear him, "always have I wanted to touch you. So many times have I thought of what I would do if ever I was allowed to see you, to taste you. Reality is so much better."

It's really...touching to hear that quiet declaration, makes something warm bloom in his chest. From anyone else it might be flattery or hyperbole, but Radek's always been relatively straight-forward, dealing with facts as he sees them, not given to saying what he doesn't mean.

Rodney's hand folds over his shoulder, thumb rubbing through the soft tee shirt along the arch of collarbone. "Then why didn't..."

Radek rocks upward and captures his mouth, and whatever Rodney was going to say is lost as Radek's body rubs against his, hands going to his ass, squeezing and kneading, pulling him closer. Rodney sticks his question in the not now but soon box in his mind, and goes with the obvious distraction.

When Rodney feels Radek's hands slide under the soft cotton and touch skin, he moans into the kiss and pulls away. He goes for Radek's shirt, tugging at it, wanting it off, wanting to equalize the amount of nakedness, but Radek shrugs him off and slowly eases down his boxers, over his ass, his erection, down his thighs, until they drop to the floor.

And there, he's naked. It feels more than a little weird, naked while Radek isn't, and heat crawls up his throat, which is embarrassing in and of itself, because he's not a gawky fifteen-year-old, not a blushing virgin--well, he'll maybe concede partially on that last count--but thankfully Radek doesn't seem to notice, because all his attention is now focused on Rodney's dick.

Rodney looks down his body as Radek curls his hand firmly around him, and Rodney can't stop the sound that rumbles up his throat, can't stop his hands from grasping Radek's shoulders, because it's been so long since another hand but his has touched him. Radek's grip shifts and he strokes smoothly upward, and oh god, that's great, wonderful. He's achingly hard, and already wet, and when Radek flicks his thumb on the underside, just beneath the head, then slicks over it, Rodney makes a strangled noise, his fingers digging into Radek's shoulders, his thighs trembling, because he's going to come humiliatingly fast if Radek does that one more time.

Radek makes a little shushing sound, strokes firmly downward, which sends Rodney up onto his toes with the urge to thrust wildly and come. But before he can, Radek's hand slips down lower and cradles tight balls in his hand giving them a little tug downward. Rodney squeaks, but the red haze of incipient orgasm fades a little.

"Oh my god, you just can't do something like that," Rodney protests even as Radek's hands curve on his hips and move him back, to the side before giving him a little push. Rodney doesn't even have time to flail for balance before he's sitting on the side of Radek's bed. "You're a vile, sadistic little troll…"

"Yes," Radek agrees far too easily, and snags the boxers hanging off Rodney's ankle, giving them an indifferent toss over his shoulder. "But one who shall soon make you feel very, very good."

Radek puts his hands on Rodney's knees and gently eases them apart, stepping into the space between his thighs. Rodney's not sure he likes this, sitting naked and exposed while Radek's still fully clothed, and his hands flutter uncertainly, unsure where to land, what to do. But this is Radek, who would never hurt him, never humiliate him. He's trusted his life to Radek since they came to Atlantis, and so he trusts him here and now, in this. Radek's eyes are wide and dark as he looks at Rodney, his strong hands warm on his thighs, fingers flexing easily, kneading. He looks so hungry, so needful, and Rodney can't deny the excitement that arpeggios down his spine from that raw look, can't deny that his dick, heavy and wet and red, arching toward his stomach, throbs with every beat of his heart.

Slowly Radek slides his hands up Rodney's thighs, fingers ruffling through the dark blond hair, thumbs skimming sensitive inner thighs, leaving little shivers in their wake. Rodney leans back on his hands, offering himself freely, licking his suddenly-dry lips as Radek draws closer. He craves touch, the heat of another body, wants to reach out and jerk Radek closer until they're skin to skin, but allows Radek play this out as he wishes, forces down his impatience and savors what he's been given, anticipates what he'll receive.

Radek runs his thumbs along either side of his balls, up through the crease of leg and body, up to rub lightly against the hollows of his hips. With a low, eager sound, Rodney allows himself to slide back, until he's flat on the bed, Radek hovering above him. Radek's smile is warm and intimate, and draws them together into a circle of complicity, makes this a time and place for them alone. He leans down and presses a kiss to Rodney's belly, and Rodney shudders at the warm slide of tongue over his skin. Unable to stay still, his hips lift just a little, and the head of his dick slides wetly over Radek's throat, over the soft flesh beneath his chin. Sensation sparkles through him, makes his breath catch, his stomach clench, and Rodney grabs handfuls of sheets to keep from knotting his hands in Radek's hair and pulling his mouth down where he wants it, grits his teeth to keep from begging.

"So brave you are," Radek murmurs against his skin. "Much braver than I am. Always I have thought this. Brave enough to know what you want, brave enough to come here tonight."

"Really, in an ideal world, such outstanding courage would be rewarded," Rodney says, his voice high and tight. His legs spread wider, seemingly of their own volition, and precome slicks his belly.

"And so it will," Radek says, and then licks down the trail of hair from navel to groin, Rodney's dick sliding along his cheek. Rodney lifts his head and watches as Radek buries his nose in the cloud of light brown hair and inhales deeply.

Rodney has a moment to think, crazy little Bohemian freak before Radek curls his hand around Rodney's dick and lifts it to his mouth. Rodney feels his eyes go wide, because god, yes, finally, but then has to close them at the first stroke of hot, slick tongue. He stutters out something--he's not sure what spills from his lips, only that it's a lot of encouraging vowel noises as Radek's tongue slips up and down his length, learning the curves, running down the veins, sliding around the head, bathing him in heat and wetness. Rodney lets himself thump back onto the mattress, fists clenching, trying desperately not to thrust.

He knows he won't last long, especially when Radek sucks him in without hesitation. Then it's all long, smooth strokes of his mouth, his tongue flicking, swirling, drawing lines, gentle at first, but then with growing suction and fierceness, drawing him in deep. He's eager, enthusiastic, and from the excited little sounds that escape him, he loves giving as much as Rodney loves receiving. Rodney reaches for him, needing to touch, to connect and complete the circle of intimacy, and one hand slides into Radek's soft hair, the other onto his shoulder, squeezing as Radek sucks him and works the shaft with his hand, his grip just right.

It's so fucking perfect, just the right combination of suction and friction, the hot swirl of tongue, that Rodney's breath goes ragged and he can feel his heart thundering in his chest as sensation roars through him. When Radek slips his other hand between his legs, under and behind his balls, pressing his knuckles upward, inward, it's like ignition, and Rodney comes with a deep, harsh cry, comes so hard he greys out.

When his eyes drift open again, he sees Radek straightening, wiping at his mouth and chin with the back of his hand. He looks pleased, happier than he's looked for longer than Rodney can remember.

"Wow," Rodney says, and he sounds a little drunk, still blissed out from the orgasm that's liquefied his bones, left pleasure thrumming just beneath his skin. He doesn't know if it's a better orgasm than anyone's given him before, or simply great because it's been so long since anyone has, and decides it doesn't matter. With his arms and legs sprawled everywhere, his dick lying spent on his thigh, he can't be bothered to move as he watches Radek grab the hem of his tee shirt and strip it off with a little wriggle, dropping it to the floor.

Radek's very furry. He'd guessed that from the glimpses he'd caught of Radek's bare forearms, from the little tuft of curls that sometimes escaped the V-neck of his uniform shirt, and when he'd run his hands up under his shirt earlier, he'd felt it, but actually seeing it is still surprising, and he has a moment of hey, I just had sex with a man. It's too late now to have any sort of freak-out even if he were so inclined, and besides, he's too filled with endorphins to really care. He wouldn't be surprised if Radek had actually planned it out that way. He's a conniving little bastard, Rodney thinks with no small amount of affection.

The hair, darker than that on his head, looks thick and soft, and runs from just beneath his collarbones, over the curve of belly, to disappear below the waistband of his sweats. Radek gives him a long moment to look, then hooks his thumbs in his sweats and eases them off.

Radek stands, seemingly unselfconsciously beneath Rodney's gaze, but Rodney notices the quick, nervous curl of his hands into fists at his sides before the forced relaxation. He's definitely a man, and yes, definitely gifted, as he'd once claimed. Dark, heavy, swollen, the flushed head shiny, his dick juts aggressively out of a thick bush of curls, and beneath, his balls hang full and tight. Radek runs a hand over his chest, down his belly, and Rodney can't help but track the unhurried progression of his hand, the way his fingers ruffle through the hair; it's almost mesmerizing. When he finally reaches his dick, he gives himself a slow stroke, from base to head, and Rodney sees him shudder. It's surprisingly hot to watch, and his stomach twists a little. In spite of having a good number of his brain cells temporarily shorted out by orgasm, Rodney's sharp enough to realize the intent behind Radek's display; this is sex with a man, this is sex with Radek. He won't later be able to deny that it was anything less.

Not that he would. But still, he appreciates Radek metaphorically laying out all his cards on the table. Rodney knows exactly what this is and exactly who he's sleeping with, and he wants it, fiercely.

Rodney shifts over, pulling himself fully onto the bed--bigger than his own, damn it--and leaves room for Radek to knee up and slide down to lie at his side. He almost feels the heat radiating from him, and when Radek moves closer, he can; Radek's so warm, and practically vibrates with need. Rodney slides his fingertips over Radek's smooth cheek, down the line of his jaw, over that pugnacious chin, and when Radek's reddened mouth parts, he can't help but cover it with his own, to kiss slow and hot and deep, to give back some of the pleasure Radek's given him. His flavor is sharp and bitter in Radek's mouth, on his tongue, but that's familiar; he's tasted himself often enough in the mouths of women, and it always gives him a little thrill.

Radek makes a low sound when Rodney's hand slides down his throat, thumbing over the arch of collarbone, when he fingers through chest hair. It feels strange to spread his hand out over a flat pectoral instead of cupping a soft rounded breast, Rodney thinks, but it isn't bad, just different. When his ring finger brushes across a hard little nipple nearly buried in the hair, the moan Radek pushes into his mouth is familiar enough that Rodney knows what to do. Surprisingly, Radek likes this, his fingers wrapping around Rodney's wrist to keep him in place, and he writhes slowly as Rodney circles and tugs and pinches.

When Rodney gets a little light-headed from lack of sufficient oxygen, he pulls away to bite gently at Radek's full lower lip, his chin, and then at the soft, tender flesh beneath. That leads quite inevitably to a line of sucking kisses down his throat, and the Adam's apple gives him a moment's pause, but honestly, it's not that much bigger than that of a woman he slept with in Siberia, who could bench press a truck. He likes the vibration against his tongue when he licks it and Radek moans softly in response. Running his nose over the little hollows above his collarbones, he likes Radek's scent, clean soap smell and heat and musk and fresh sweat, likes how the skin covering bone is soft beneath his tongue, likes how it feels, thin and tender between his teeth as he nips.

It is a little disconcerting to nose through soft hair to get to that tight little nipple, but Rodney knows he's nothing if not supremely adaptable in any situation. The wash of discomfort fades when he finds it, hot little pebble tasting of salt when he licks and then sucks, because the pleased rumble from Radek's chest, the helpless arch of his body toward Rodney, the way his hands clutch at Rodney's biceps, the roll of his hips against him, could very well prove to be addictive.

His hand slides down Radek's side, but there's no deep indentation of waist, no flaring curve of hip he would automatically expect; Radek is straight lines and angles, masculine and not even remotely feminine. But still, his skin is smooth and soft beneath his palm, warm and eminently touchable, and Rodney remembers how much he likes to touch. He's been alone and cold for so long, and to run his hands over warm flesh, to lick and suck and taste and bite, is almost a revelation.

Radek's not loud, but he makes hungry, eager noises with every breath and he moves restlessly, his hips rubbing against Rodney's thigh, his stomach, leaving behind little streaks of wetness. Rodney raises his head, licking his lips, which feel hot, a little abraded, and Radek's expression looks lost, soft and unfocused, wholly given over into pleasure. Warmth spreads through Rodney's chest, and he thinks, yes, yes, I did that. He wants to do more, to give more, and after a second of hesitation, his hand wraps around Radek's dick.

"Oh," Radek says, and his eyes open wide, huge and dark. His dick, thick and full and hot, jumps in Rodney's hand. It's an odd sensation, the weight of a dick other than his own in his hand. He'd once idly tried to calculate the number of hours he's spent over a lifetime jerking off, and the number is astronomical--but he's never before touched anyone else's. He's a little surprised at how much he likes it, though in all likelihood it's only because it belongs to Radek, because he's spent the past weeks wondering what it would be like, wanting to touch him. The realization that he can, and as much as he wishes, is heady.

His fingers tighten a little and he strokes up from thick base to wet tip and Radek shudders hard, a little gasping moan escaping him. Excitement effervesces through Rodney, sweet and strong. The smooth slide of foreskin, the heat, the slickness feels familiar, but the angle is off, different.

It doesn't seem to matter to Radek, who arches and thrusts and clutches at Rodney, his voice breathy, his words catching on little gasps, his body straining to get closer, closer. Rodney's certain that he's not ready to suck him, to let Radek fuck him yet--excitement shivers down his spine at that thought--and then realizes he doesn't have to do much, that Radek's more than willing to simply fuck his hand until he comes. He'll want to do those other things later, but for now Rodney knows from experience this will feel good enough, and so he wraps his other arm around Radek, draws him closer, kisses the corner of his mouth. Radek sounds progressively more desperate to come; he can take the time to explore, later. And there will most definitely be a later, because he likes this far too much to be a one-time occurrence.

He tightens his hand a little, whispers "C'mon, let go," and Radek does. Radek hooks a leg over Rodney's, winds his arms tightly around him, gives five or six hard thrusts and then with a sharp cry comes in a hot, sticky rush all over Rodney's hand and belly.

The look on Radek's face is incandescent as his body melts against Rodney. He presses his sweaty face into Rodney's neck, and Rodney can feel Radek's lips move, whispering against his skin as Radek's arms tighten around him in an embrace so tight that Rodney swears his ribs creak. Just when Rodney's ready to protest, Radek relaxes and releases him, his body going loose and boneless against the mattress, one arm still curled around Rodney's shoulders, as if he can't bear not touching him.

There's come all over him, on his hand and wrist and belly, and good god, how much spunk can one man ejaculate? It's vaguely disturbing to know that none of it is his--if he'd come as well and he couldn't differentiate between the two of them, it might not have bothered him as much. But then he looks at Radek's face, relaxed and pleased and sated, the corners of his reddened mouth turned up in a smile unlike any he'd ever seen on his face before, and surprisingly, his protest fades quietly away.

He wipes himself clean with the corner of the sheet, and then after a second's consideration, wipes down Radek as well. Giving in to curiosity, raises his hand to his mouth and delicately licks at his thumb. The taste is not much different than his own, salty and bitter, maybe a little tangier. It's definitely an acquired taste, though Radek had seemed to enjoy it well enough. Still, Rodney's learned to tolerate or even like many things he'd never considered he would, and as things go, it's not a deal-breaker. He is consummately adaptable, after all.

Rodney looks up to see Radek watching him, heavy-eyed, his expression faintly amused. His fingers gently stroke the nape of Rodney's neck, and it's soothing enough that the edge of anxiety melts away, leaving him relaxed and what passes for mellow in his nerves-fraught world. Rodney likes it, likes lying next to someone warm and friendly and generous with his body, someone intelligent and creative and willing, and Radek is all of those things. He knows Rodney, probably better than anyone on Atlantis, and more importantly, he gets Rodney in ways that few others do, and that's both comforting and exciting as hell.

He likes this. He deserves this. He risks his life on a daily basis, and so he should have some ration of happiness allotted to him as compensation. He wants this even if two months ago it had never occurred to him that this would be something he'd desire.

"Ah, again you think too much," Radek says, and his fingers wind in Rodney's hair and tug playfully.

"Hey! Cut it out," Rodney replies, and reaches back to smack at Radek's fingers. "And asking me not to think? So not helpful. You might as well ask me not to breathe."

Radek grins and pulls at his shoulders until Rodney gets the idea and rolls atop him, settling between his legs, holding himself up on his forearms. Radek, small and solid, fits just perfectly beneath him. This is really good, and gets even better when Radek twines one leg around him to hold him there. The other curls up along his side, knee rubbing against his ribs, thigh warm and furry and strong against him. At any other time, he'd find the way it rocks Radek's hips against his very interesting, but he's too tired to do anything about it now. Possibly--no, definitely--in the morning. He can't help the shiver as Radek's hands smooth down the planes of his back, spreading over the rise of his ass and squeezing lightly.

"I can't help but notice that you have your hands on my ass," Rodney says conversationally, though a bit breathier than he'd like to admit.

Radek's eyes glitter. "I'm truly astounded at your powers of observation. It's a very fine ass. I've found it of interest for a very long time, now."

"Clearly, you are a man of discerning tastes," Rodney says, and shivers as Radek bites at his neck.

"Mm. Yes. And fortunately, I also have a high tolerance for arrogance and bullshit."

Rodney opens his mouth to protest, but Radek laughs and pulls him down and kisses him until his thoughts are a scattered jumble of vowels and consonants echoing in his head, until he's sleepy and pliant and content, until they shift together, finding comfortable places against one another.

Rodney's just slipping off into sleep when Radek says drowsily, "bangwI' SoH."

He tucks his head under Radek's chin. "I'll throw furniture tomorrow," he replies, and falls asleep to the rumble of Radek's chuckle beneath his ear.