Unearthed
by Deirdre
November, 2005

Tuvar is a beautiful baby, round-cheeked, with skin the color of milky tea, and silky black curls. He grins at Carson, waving his chubby fists, grabbing for his dangling stethoscope and Carson can't help but smile in return and tickle him beneath his chin, just to hear the little burble of laughter.

"Ah, he is a bonnie wee lad," Carson says warmly, and picks him up from the makeshift exam table, gently placing him in the arms of his beaming mother. "Healthy, and strong. Gaining weight just as he should. Everything looks wonderful, Adhi."

Five months ago, he wouldn't have said the same thing. He vividly remembers the frantic call from the mainland to Atlantis-in the middle of the night, of course, because all such calls come at that time-and then the mad, high-speed jumper flight with Colonel Sheppard through a driving rainstorm that he's sure put even more grey in his hair. They'd found Adhi sweaty, bloody, and exhausted, the baby breech, the midwife unable to turn him.

With time slipping all too rapidly away, he thought he'd lose them both, but fortune had smiled on them, and blessedly, he'd been able to deliver Tuvar via Caesarian section, safe and sound. Carson suspects it was due more to the inherent hardiness of the Athosian people than his skill; they're one of the toughest groups he's ever had the privilege of treating.

Adhi shifts the baby to one hip, then reaches up to curl her hand over his shoulder. "Thank you, Dr. Beckett. Without you, neither of us would be here. There are no words strong enough to express our gratitude."

Carson lets her pull him down, lets her press her forehead to his for a moment in the Athosian version of a hug. It's a lovely gesture, though he feels his cheeks warm with embarrassment; he's never quite known what to do with the free and easy expression of emotions the Athosians have.

"Aye, well. Just continue to be happy and healthy, and I'll be the grateful one." Adhi steps away, and Carson smiles and waggles his fingers at Tuvar, getting an enthusiastic wave of both hands. He's still smiling when they leave, and he turns to look at his assistant, who's grinning at him.

"Not a word," Carson says with mock severity, and Hamas grins even wider. He's one of the new ones from the Daedalus, a smart, sharp lad who's quickly become a staff favorite.

"Of course not, Dr. Beckett," Hamas replies, all wide-eyed innocence that doesn't fool him for a moment, and Carson knows that he'll be on the receiving end of teasing for his softheartedness when they get back to Atlantis. He doesn't really mind, because he'll always have a soft spot for Adhi and Tuvar; not all cases have such a wonderful outcome. "I think that's the last of them. All that are left are the ones working on the irrigation project."

Carson rubs at the back of his neck. He can feel a trickle of sweat snake down his spine; it makes him want to scratch, and he twists a little, shrugs his shoulders. "Hopefully none of them will keel over with heatstroke. It must be at least thirty-five degrees." A life lived mostly in chilly Scotland and Europe, time spent in frigid Antarctica, and then in Atlantis, cooled by ocean breezes, hasn't really left him prepared for heat. He'd forgotten how easily the hot stickiness can sap a man's strength.

"More than likely, yes," Hamas replies, packing up their bags. "But they're probably fine. The Athosians are accustomed to the heat, and well, the others are Marines, who should be."

"Aye, you'd think so," Carson says, and wipes down the dining hall table he'd been using for exams with antiseptic cleaner. "However, it's been my experience that male ego will often drive them further along than they should go. We should swing by and do a quick check to be certain that none of them have actually fallen over."

Carson shoulders his duffle and picks up his medikit, Hamas picks up his own bags, and they step out of their makeshift clinic. Outside, the sun hammers them, and by the time they walk out to the fields beyond the Athosians' settlement, Carson's covered in sweat, his white shirt wet and dark with it, clinging clammily to chest and the small of his back, and he's given up on dignity and pulled the zipper down as far as he can to get a breath of cooling breeze.

"They're completely barking mad to do this in summer. Why they couldn't have shown some common sense and waited until cooler weather to undertake this project, I'll never know," Carson grouses. Hamas doesn't look affected, but then, he's easily ten years younger, native of a hot climate, and under his breath, Carson curses his resiliency.

"I actually asked," Hamas replies. He tries to snag the medikit from Carson, who'll have none of that; he's hot and tired, but not decrepit, thanks ever so. "Erdan said that cooler weather brings quite a lot of rain, and it's much easier to move dirt than mud. Makes sense, really."

"Aye, I suppose," Carson says crossly. They finally come to a halt beneath the sketchy shade of feathery spice trees at the edge of the fields. The air is fragrant with their cinnamon scent, and Carson's reminded of the sticky buns his mum made every Sunday for breakfast as he grew up. He puts the thought out of his mind; the last thing he needs is a bout of homesickness. His throat is dry and raspy-feeling, and so he sets down his medikit and duffle, finds his canteen, and drinks deeply.

The field swarms with men and women, stripped down to as much as modesty allows, and Carson thinks Athosian modesty allows much compared to that of humans, because good lord, there's quite a lot of bare tanned skin amongst them. The Marines have kept on their BDUs and boots, but most of them have stripped off tee shirts in deference to the heat, and the sun glistens in the sweat slicking muscular backs and shoulders. It's a lovely, inspiring sight, one to fuel many a wanking session, but he doesn't let his gaze linger. Carson's mouth feels suddenly dry again, and he drinks once more.

In the midst of them stands Radek, uniform shirt sleeves pushed up, hands waving as he talks with Dr. Parrish from Botany, who looks just as animated. Carson knows they've been here three days working on the irrigation project; before they'd left for the mainland, he'd seen Radek in the mess hall, busily sketching between bites, attention focused wholly on the problem. Although they haven't yet found an elusive ZPM, Parrish and Major Lorne have brought back a wheat analog from one of their away missions and an almost-corn from another, and Parrish had thought it would work for the Athosians, if they had sufficient moisture. Elizabeth had presented the problem to Radek, who'd tackled it with enthusiasm. Carson has to admit that the thought of bread, fresh from the oven and hot ears of something-like-corn slathered in butter, is a great incentive.

With this many backs bent to the task, to his untrained eyes, it looks close to completion. He sees Radek turn and spot him, raising a hand in greeting, and Carson waves in return. Radek begins to pick his way over and around piles of dirt and ditches. He stops to listen to something one of the Athosians says, and Carson hears him laugh; the free and easy sound tugs at something in his chest, but he pushes that away with the ease of long experience.

Radek's truly filthy. He looks rather like someone picked him up by the collar, dunked him into the mud and swished him around in it; it streaks over his clothes and skin in dried dark tan splotches. His too-long hair flies everywhere, as if he's been electrified, and his face, where it isn't covered by the beginnings of a substantial beard, is sunburned. But his smile is big and bright, and his pale eyes behind the lenses of his glasses sparkle. Carson has a momentary urge to measure the huge dimple in Radek's left cheek with his thumb. He keeps his hands firmly on the canteen.

"I take it things are going well?" He can't resist smiling back.

"Ah, yes. Very well, indeed. Should be finished today, I think. Halling has promised us a huge party with food and music and dancing and much alcohol. Well," Radek says reflectively, "what they call alcohol, at any rate. Lovely people, abysmal brewers." He scrubs at his cheek, and dirt flakes off.

"What's all this about?" Carson reaches out, but doesn't quite touch the long smear of dirt on Radek's sunburned left forearm.

"Apparently, my reflexes are not what they were thirty years ago," Radek replies with a rueful smile. "I had forgotten just how quick small boys are. And how accurate their aim with clods of mud."

Carson grins. "And did you deport yourself with honor?" Radek blinks at him, and Carson rephrases. "Did you nail any of the little buggers?"

"Very few. I am afraid that Atlantis' honor is very much besmirched, as I am myself." Radek's narrow, sloping shoulders rise in a shrug, then his eyes glint. "Perhaps they might find a white shirt more attractive as a target, yes?"

"No!" Behind him, Carson hears Hamas snickering. He turns to him and raises one eyebrow. "Hamas, son, perhaps you'd like to be the one stuck doing the next round of prostate exams?" he asks, his voice deceptively mild. " I'm sure I could arrange that."

The gleeful expression fades, but only a little. Too bad Hamas has no idea that he's serious. "Um, no, Dr. Beckett, thanks. I think I'll just…find something to do right now, okay?" He nods at Radek. "Dr. Zelenka, nice to see you again."

"Good lad," Carson says, and grins at his retreating back as Hamas makes his way down into the field to check on the workers.

"You are a very evil man," Radek says, and Carson turns his attention back to him. "I admire that in a person." He waves one hand, indicating Carson's body, and grins approvingly. "You appear sweet and kind on outside, but within lurks a manipulating schemer. Very good."

"He needs to toughen up a wee bit, anyway," Carson replies. Radek reaches for his canteen, and Carson pulls back a little. "I'm sure you don't want to drink after me."

Radek rolls his eyes, and snags the canteen. He's surprisingly strong, and wins the little tug of war. "You are healthy, yes?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"No need to worry, then," Radek says, and tips his head back to drink. Almost mesmerized, Carson watches the movement of his throat as he swallows. He realizes he's staring, and makes himself look away, but glances back in time to see Radek wipe his mouth with the back of one hand. A little curl of heat coils low in his belly.

Radek blinks at him again, and glances back over his shoulder, as if he's looking for someone standing directly behind him. There isn't one, of course, and when Radek turns back, Carson can see the rapid snicksnicksnick of thoughts slotting into place, as neatly as the numbers in an equation.

Bloody hell.

The corners of Radek's eyes crinkle, as if he's just discovered something amusing, and Carson hopes his expression wasn't as open as he'd thought it might be, though he knows it probably was. He's never been particularly good at concealing his thoughts when he isn't dealing with patients, and he's an abysmal liar. An open face has been both blessing and curse his whole life.

He's quite accomplished at sidestepping issues, though. Carson clears his throat and takes a very large verbal side step, hoping that Radek, in the time-honored male tradition of not talking about anything remotely emotional or personal, won't say anything about what he might've seen in Carson's expression. "I suppose I should collect Hamas and head back to the city. We've finished with our physicals for the day, and I'm certain Dr. Biro would be glad to go off duty."

"No, you should stay for celebration," Radek replies. He shakes the canteen to judge how much is left, then tips it back and swallows the rest of the water. A little trickle escapes from the corner of his mouth and threads down his throat, and Carson absolutely doesn't want to lick it away.

Absolutely.

Radek looks at him over the edge of the canteen, pale blue eyes intent. "Besides, do you not have Dr. Franka to relieve Dr. Biro? Three doctors, yes? I think perhaps they might allow you more time here. You must eat, after all, and it is exceedingly foolish to pass up the opportunity for fresh food. And it is not as if you have not been on duty yourself, correct?" He sounds very reasonable. Of course he sounds reasonable; this is the man who keeps Rodney McKay grounded, who helps to work out the practical applications of those flights of genius.

"Aye, true enough, I suppose." Carson rubs a hand through the close-cropped hair at the back of his head. He can see he's being herded, sharp little nips to his heels to get him going in the direction Radek desires, but can't really find it within himself to be overly perturbed.

"Good. It is settled, then." Radek almost succeeds in not looking smugly satisfied. "You and your young man will stay. Eat, drink, go back with hangovers and face unsympathetic staff. It is certainly my plan."

"He's not my young man," Carson replies mildly. "He's my PA." Radek tips his head inquisitively. "Physician Assistant. More than a nurse, less than a doctor."

Radek's hand waves in a generally dismissive manner, and Carson wonders how much of that bit of body language is constant exposure to Rodney, and how much of it is Radek himself. "Ah, I see." Something catches his attention to Carson's right, and Carson half-turns to see one of the Marines-Sergeant Michaels?-standing beside the well and machinery and pipes, waving to get his attention. "Apparently, they wish to review pressure settings, so I am needed. I merely mention the possibility of explosion from excessive pressure, and they fret like old women."

Carson wonders if he should worry, in spite of Radek's grin. "Well, now, is there actually a chance of that?"

"The universe is infinite. There is possibility for almost anything. But here, now? Not so much worry for an explosion. However, with that potential outcome in mind, now they will be more alert, and treat my beautifully-crafted system with care. It works." He shrugs carelessly, then hands the empty canteen back to Carson. "But we will share a victory drink later, yes?"

"Certainly," Carson says, and with a nod, Radek's on his way to Michaels, threading through Marines and Athosians, looking short and slight in comparison to most of them, though he isn't, really. Carson knows from previous physicals that Radek is surprisingly solid and strong, though he hasn't seen him lately; he'd handed off Radek's physicals to Dr. Franka when he'd realized he had more of an interest in Radek than a doctor/patient relationship.

Damn medical ethics.

Not that he has any intention of acting on that interest. He values both his comfort and his sanity, and he'd have neither if he intrudes on what is clearly Rodney's territory, because as much as he likes Rodney, Carson has to admit that he's a possessive bastard when he's claimed something for himself. Rodney and Radek are as close as any married couple; they fight and bicker, they finish one another's sentences, and when they are on, their synergy is incredible. He's never seen any two minds click so well, spiraling upward so quickly, pushing one another to new heights of brilliance.

Carson tries not to listen in to gossip, to speculate what might go on in off duty hours, and mostly he's successful, but sometimes, his mind wanders off on paths best left unexplored. Rodney and Radek have admittedly less time off than anyone else in Atlantis, even himself, but it seems clear to him that if they aren't involved on a more personal level, aren't sleeping together yet-and he believes they are-then they will be, and soon. They complement one another too well for it not to happen eventually, and he's been watching long enough to see the glances exchanged between them, full of excitement and intellectual passion. He's also honest enough with himself to acknowledge the little squirm of envy when he sees them together.

Carson watches as Radek bends to work on the motor for the irrigation pump, some solar-powered affair that Carson knows he wouldn't understand even if Radek explained it to him, step by step. He understands the workings of biological machine that is the human body, but an actual machine, no. He and Earth machinery are engaged in a circle of hate and mistrust on the best of days; the machinery of the Ancients terrifies him with its unbelievable power.

Objectively, Radek isn't really anyone's physical ideal, and is certainly different from anyone else Carson's found attractive, either male or female. Caught up in the busy, complicated world between his ears, Radek doesn't seem concerned with how he appears to others. He has a perpetual five o'clock shadow, his brown hair is long and fuzzy, and if he has any other clothing than the plain, serviceable blue and khaki science uniform, Carson's never seen them. He's intense, intent, a workaholic absorbed in his work, with a temper to match Rodney's when crossed, though he still manages to be light-years beyond Rodney when dealing with others.

But. He also has a wicked, sly sense of humor, he's personable, even charming when he chooses to be, has a lovely accent, piercing pale blue eyes, deft, clever hands, and Carson has spent far too much time contemplating the curve of his mouth. On his way home from the infirmary late one night, Carson had once stood unnoticed in the doorway to Lab Four, Radek's lab, watching him work, wondering what it would be like to be the focus of such intensity, to have that inventive mind brought to bear upon him. The thought had made him shiver, had made his stomach take a slow plunge to the level of his knees. Maybe that was the moment when he'd thought, oh, aye, I want him. Perhaps so.

But, ultimately it doesn't matter. For all his surface friendliness, Carson actually knows little about him. Radek isn't exactly forthcoming on personal issues, and certainly not about anything as private as sexual preference. As CMO, Carson has access to Radek's personal files, but hasn't looked at anything not directly related to medical issues. No matter how curious he is, it's a violation of Radek's privacy, and he's not willing to go down that road, no matter how strong his attraction to him.

It's just a crush, and an incomprehensible one at that. He spares one last look at Radek, dirty and disheveled, who is gesturing rudely with a spanner at a laughing Sergeant Michaels, his face bright and passionate with argument, and sighs before shouldering his medikit and trudging back to the village.

Later in the evening, the celebration is in full swing. Carson's full from the barbequed is-it-sheep-or-is-it-goat, skewers of spicy roasted blue and green and red vegetables, an

d honey-sweet flatbread. His head spins a little from the mugs of hard cider the Athosians keep putting into his hands. Radek's right-it's not strong, but have enough of it, and a man's head gets a little light. He's not drunk, just pleasantly buzzed, enough to laugh at the Marines dancing to the Athosian music, and to join in himself when Halling pulls him into one of the circling dances, set to drums and flutes and what Carson swears are bagpipes.

Before the party started, Carson had filled his pockets with condoms, and as the party went on, he's stopped and spoken to every Marine, pressed the crinkly little packets into their hands. The official stance is simple: Don't fuck the indigenous peoples. But these are healthy, hale young men in their prime, practically swimming in testosterone, and the Athosians are a generous, giving, sexual people, so the unofficial policy is: We know you're going to fuck the indigenous peoples regardless of policy, so just don't get anyone pregnant. Carson's only too happy to remind them of unofficial policy, and supply them with the means to prevent it. He'd rather not have to deal with the Athosian version of STDs, or make another terrifying trip to the mainland in the middle of the night ten months from now.

He's caught glimpses of Radek-not that he was looking for him, really-as he's circulated, but after a while, he'd lost track of him. Carson tells himself he's glad if Radek found an opportunity for some relaxation and enjoyment, and neatly squashes the little wriggle of jealousy in the pit of his belly.

After a while, the parents herd their children off to bed, and Carson feels a tug of loneliness as he watches the adults drifting off in pairs. He looks around for Radek, and is surprised when Sundar, a husky young man of Hamas' age, approaches him.

Sundar presses his forehead to Carson's, then tips his head and brushes a kiss across his mouth; he tastes of honeybread, and his long blond hair smells of woodsmoke. "I would be most honored, Dr. Beckett, if you would share pleasure with me," he says, and Carson squeezes his biceps gently.

He's handsome, tall and broad-shouldered, young and strong. It would be so easy to give in, to lose himself for a while in Sundar's arms. But he isn't the one Carson wants. "Aye, and I'm flattered beyond words, believe me, but I'm afraid I'm not good company tonight. Perhaps another time, Sundar?"

"Perhaps later, then," Sundar says, and gives Carson's arms a squeeze before moving away, into the darkness.

The others have drifted off, and alone, Carson settles himself on a huge log before the fire. The night is really too warm to be so close, but it's comforting to watch the leap of red and gold flames. It's mesmerizing, almost like meditation, and he allows himself to sink into it, feels the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders begin to unravel. He's never been one for the outdoors life, a city boy who prefers his creature comforts, but this, he thinks, he could grow to like.

Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpses movement, and the melting peaceful feeling disappears as alarm skitters down his spine, sharp electric panic. Wraith, he thinks, and he's ready to bolt, to fight, reaching for a non-existent sidearm-and he'd be disturbed at how easily he'd done that, if he actually had time to think about it-when he sees a blue shirt, loose khaki trousers, the flash of firelight off the lenses of glasses.

It's only Radek. Adrenaline sings through his system, and he draws a shuddering breath. He's always been a little goosey, quick to jump at things at the edges of his peripheral vision, but living in the Pegasus galaxy has raised it to entirely new heights. It's a small comfort that he's noticed he's not the only one so jittery.

Radek pauses at the edge of firelight, and his head tips to the side. "Carson, are you all right?"

Carson scrubs a hand over the nape of his neck, smoothing down the raised hair, and dredges up a smile. "Oh, aye. A wee bit jumpier than I once was."

Radek's mouth curves, understanding. "As are we all. Occupational hazard of living here, nothing to worry about. However, I think for the moment we are safe enough, with Atlantis watching over us." He shrugs. "If you will share the fire, I will share the drink." He lifts one of the big earthenware mugs, and Carson nods, indicating with a wave of his hand that Radek should sit beside him on the log.

"Please do. Though I think I'll pass on the drink for now. I've had enough for the evening."

Radek settles close beside him with a little sigh, and their thighs are merely a hands-width apart. Carson could brush shoulders with him, if he so chose. Radek stretches out his legs and crosses his ankles. He's moving a little stiffly, and his sunburn looks terribly uncomfortable. For all of Rodney's whinging on about having a fair complexion, Radek's really is, and since he apparently didn't have enough sense to put on sunblock, he'll peel terribly, later.

"And I was under the impression that Scotsmen could drink any lesser man under the table," Radek says, and Carson can hear mild reproach. "Apparently, I was mistaken."

Carson tips his head to look, and finds Radek grinning at him. He can't help but grin back. "Oh, but we can. I have, in my wild and misbegotten youth, prevailed over RAF officers when honor was on the line."

"And lived to tell the tale, clearly," Radek replies.

"Just barely, believe me," Carson says. "After that trip to the hospital due to alcohol poisoning, and the worst dressing-down I'd ever gotten from the chief surgeon at my medical school once I'd regained consciousness, I never did that again. I shudder to think how many brain cells I killed during that little escapade."

Radek laughs, a warm sound. "Ah, sounds much like my days at University. Only for me, it was the honor of engineering school versus that of the physics school. A copious amount of vodka, and a handful of students in a bar, armed with markers and pens, who are honor-bound to defend their theories? Not a pretty picture. My father was very displeased to come to Prague to bail me out of jail. Both departments at school spent one day repainting the walls of the bar, because strangely enough, the owner did not like equations reeling drunkenly over them."

Carson laughs, because he's seen similar marker battles taking place before the whiteboards in the labs and in section meetings, usually accompanied by flailing arms and shouted technobabble in half a dozen languages. Any military man who thinks scientists are passive and mild-mannered should see them in their element. "I'd suppose not. Did you win?"

Radek's teeth flash in a surprisingly predatory grin that makes Carson's belly clench. "But of course."

It is too easy to imagine that smile under other, more intimate circumstances. Carson reaches out for the mug, and Radek gives it over. His slim fingers are warm as they brush Carson's. He drinks deeply, to prevent himself from doing or saying something foolish in that moment.

"I am a man more at ease with the workings of machines, than with people," Radek says, when Carson lowers the mug. "Machines are clean and precise and logical, and it is simply a matter of figuring out how they work, what goes wrong when they break, how to adapt them one to another. People, they are not so easy. Not so logical, so simple to figure out."

Carson sets the mug down on the ground beside the log. "Aye, true enough. 'People' and 'logical' are pretty much mutually exclusive, in my experience." Radek looks serious, thoughtful, and Carson wonders where Radek's going with this. Radek raises a hand and adjusts the glasses on his nose, then tries to tuck his hair behind his ear, but it won't be tucked, springing back as it was. Carson wonders if it is as soft as it looks.

"The point is," Radek resumes after a moment, his gaze fixed on the fire, "is that I am often neglectful of noticing people around me. Not oblivious, as is Rodney, but still, sometimes slow to notice anything other than the work. In example, until today, I did not notice how you watch me. But then I think, remember, and realize that it is not just today that I find you watching." He looks back at Carson, pale eyes gleaming.

It's like a blow to the solar plexus, and for a moment, Carson's completely speechless. He draws in a deep breath, blinks, and feels heat crawl up his throat and into his cheeks. He'd always thought himself quiet and discreet, careful not to draw attention to himself. He'd thought himself safe, that he had time enough to get over his little infatuation. "Radek. I meant no offense, no harm. I just look, I don't mean anything by it…." He can feel words tumbling up into his throat, and bites his tongue hard to keep them inside.

"I did not say it bothered me," Radek replies. "It does not."

Slowly, Radek leans closer. Carson can smell the green-scented herbal soap he'd used to scrub off the mud, can smell woodsmoke and cider and a little tang of sweat. Closer yet, and he can see the fine lines beneath and at the corners of Radek's eyes, the silver threading his crazy hair, the way his eyes have grown darker, more intense. Oh, mercy, he thinks, as his heart seems to trip in his chest. Carson can feel himself stir, grow hard. "It doesn't." It's meant to be a question, but his voice sounds hushed as he speaks.

"No. However, I want to know now if looking is all you wish."

He's close enough to kiss; he can feel Radek's breath brush his mouth, and Carson's lips feel hot, tingle in anticipation. "No," he manages. "It's not all I want to do."

Radek's hand, small and strong, is warm on his shoulder, and he squeezes, gently. Their mouths are bare centimeters apart, and he can almost taste Radek when Carson realizes what he's doing, and stops. "Rodney," he says, his voice sounding rusty.

"Rodney is the last person on my mind," Radek says, and his fingers dig into Carson's shoulder. Carson pulls back, and Radek's hand drops away. Radek runs a hand over his face, scratches irritably at his beard. He looks up at Carson, a curious sidewise glance. "What? What of Rodney? This is a most effective mood-breaker, I will say."

"It's just. I was under the impression that you. That you and Rodney were." Although he's addressed lecture halls full of fellow doctors and scientists, Carson stutters to a stop, unable to go any further.

"Good friends? Yes. Mortal enemies? Yes. You think that we were, that we are…."

Radek has one of the most mobile, expressive faces Carson's ever seen, but when he understands just what Carson's been trying to say, Carson can't read him at all. Too many expressions flit over his face too quickly for Carson to catch any one of them. Radek murmurs something wonderingly in his native tongue, then rubs his hand over his mouth. Behind the flare of firelight on his lenses, his eyes are wide with amusement.

A laugh bubbles up from behind Radek's hand, then breaks free, deep and full. It tips back his head, stretches his mouth, makes his hands wave and shape things in the air Carson has no way to understand. Carson blinks, not sure whether to be annoyed or relieved, and he wavers on the cusp of both, ready to tip either way.

Radek pulls off his glasses, and rubs at his eyes with the back of his hand; he's laughed so hard they're watering. When he looks up at Carson, they're shining with warmth and amused affection.

"I take it from the reaction that no, you're not involved with Rodney," Carson says, unable to hold his tongue, and hopes it doesn't come out as stiffly as it feels in his head.

"Ah, no. Not at all." Radek sits forward, elbows on knees, hands loose, glasses dangling by one earpiece. His mouth twitches as if he wants to laugh again, and the dimple in his cheek is a deep shadow. "Rodney is quite, quite straight. I wonder how you can not have noticed this. He is so very noisy about it."

Carson clears his throat. He can't begin to count how often Rodney's nattered on about Colonel Samantha Carter, but he'd always thought it was more self-delusion than reality. "Well. There's an old saying that sometimes those loudest about something know the least about it."

Radek's teeth flash. "I once had the misfortune of sitting close by a large group of women on Atlantis. I had no desire to hear what I did, believe me, and I am scarred for life, I fear." Radek puts his glasses back on, and adjusts them. "Rodney is not good with relationships. In other things, he apparently has no problem." He shrugs one narrow shoulder. "But I have no wish to talk of Rodney's personal life. Am more interested to discover why you thought he and I were together."

"I hope I haven't offended you," Carson says. "Really, it wasn't my intention, at all."

Radek waves away Carson's concern. "No offense." His expression grows thoughtful, reflective. "Although I suppose that I can see why you would think such a thing. We spend much time together, are close. I know that such things happen. It has in my past, and most likely in yours." Radek slants a glance in Carson's direction, and gets a tiny nod of the head for it. "Yes. We are men of passion, but for Rodney and I, the passion is purely for work, for science. Not for one another."

Carson bites his lip before the Oh, thank God escapes, but from the way Radek looks at him, sharp and perceptive, he suspects he might as well have said it. "So, not involved with Rodney, then. That's…good to know. My life and sanity may possibly be safe." His brogue has grown stronger, as it does when he's stressed. He makes an effort to smooth it out, but isn't quite successful. Carson looks down and finds his hands knotted together, and makes himself relax. "Are you seeing anyone else?"

"Currently, no. Though perhaps there might be one I find interesting." Radek smiles. "If he would stop dithering and kiss me, I might know for certain."

Carson laughs, even as heat flushes through his chest and coils low in his belly. He'll never get a clearer offer, and he's not a stupid man. He leans in, tilting his head just enough to avoid the blade of Radek's nose, the press of his glasses frames, and brushes his mouth against Radek's, a light, teasing touch, just enough to feel the softness, the warmth of lips against his own. He can feel Radek's mouth curve in a smile, then Radek's fingers curl in his shirt collar, pulling him closer, and Carson can taste the amused sound he makes.

Very quickly, amusement fades, and need, want, rises in its place. Leaning in, he presses his mouth against Radek's, slightly parted this time, and licks across his full lower lip, seeking entrance. Radek opens for him eagerly. The kiss is soft and wet and warm, and Radek tastes of the fruity hard cider, and beneath that, of heat and desire. Carson's blood rushes hotly through his body, hums in his head, and his cock grows heavy and demanding beneath his uniform trousers. He suddenly feels vibrantly alive; he wants, wants, and can't help the tremor that sweeps through him.

Carson cups Radek's face in his hands, and his beard is soft-prickly against his palms. Radek shifts, pulls him even closer and deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue over and around Carson's at first slowly, languidly, but then with more intent, slipping over every surface he can reach, stroking, sampling, tasting. A hungry sound rises from deep within Carson's chest, because he's wanted this so much, for so long. He gives back as much as he takes, trying to show just how strongly this affects him, how much pleasure Radek gives him.

Carson's not sure how long they stay pressed close together, one of his hands curved around the nape of Radek's neck, thumb rubbing gently at the bumps of vertebrae, soft hair tickling the back of his hand, the other smoothing over the bow of his ribs, but he doesn't want to stop, not even when his chest grows heavy and his head spins from lack of air.

But eventually, Radek's hand releases his collar and moves down over the top of his shoulder, pushing him back. Their mouths part wetly, and Carson gasps for breath even as he tries to pull Radek close again. His mouth tingles hotly and his lips feel swollen, but he thinks he could kiss for hours and never grow weary of it. Radek kisses with assurance, with skill and focus, and Carson had known his intensity would carry over into things other than work.

He lets Radek push him back, though every cell within him clamors for more, more. It pleases him that Radek, with his half-closed hazy eyes and wet, reddened mouth, looks as dazed as he feels. "Ano," Radek says, his voice low and husky. He clears his throat, opens his eyes, and licks his lips. "I think perhaps I have confirmed my interest."

"Good," Carson says, sliding a thumb up to slick over Radek's lower lip, "because aye, there's interest aplenty." He presses lightly against Radek's lip, slipping into his mouth, feeling the edge of Radek's teeth against his nail, the touch of his wet tongue against the tip of his thumb. Now that he's certain of how things stand between them, his confidence surges forward, and he leaves his hesitancy behind.

Radek reaches up and covers Carson's hand with his own, before turning his face and pressing a kiss into Carson's palm. The gesture is so gentle, so unexpected, that Carson feels warmth bloom in his chest. But when Radek looks up at him over the edges of his glasses, there's no sweetness there; his eyes are dark and hot, and the warmth Carson feels turns to fire and pours down his body, pooling in his cock. Radek's eyes don't leave his as he drags Carson's hand down his body, a too-quick tour of chest hair crinkling beneath soft thin fabric, hot skin, and oh, god yes, thick erection stretching the front of his trousers. Radek's eyes half-close as Carson's fingers move over him, learning his shape, his chest rising in a sharp intake of air as Carson's palm slides over the arc of him.

"I think," Radek says breathily, "that we have waited long enough." His voice drops as Carson slides his hand between his legs, cupping him. His hips rise into the rhythm of Carson's touch, and he murmurs something that Carson can't understand, but sounds like approval.

Carson doesn't answer, but slides his free hand over Radek's shoulder, pulling him closer, even though the angle's awkward. He slides his fingers into Radek's hair, fisting in it, guiding Radek's mouth to his. As hot as he feels, scorched by want, Radek's mouth is hotter, all teeth and wicked, wicked tongue that drives his own hunger higher. He wants to tumble them to the ground, wants to pull Radek out of his clothes, wants to wrap his hand around bare skin, feel the slip-slide of hard flesh moving in his grip.

Radek pulls Carson's hand from between his legs, leans away. "Stop, stop, or it will end here and now. It has been a very long time for me, and this is…almost too much." He licks his lips, swallows hard, then runs a hand over his face. "I must say, you are something of a surprise, Carson."

Carson draws a deep breath to clear his head; his higher thought processes are muddled by the strength of more basic drives. He scrubs a hand through his hair, and though he wants to adjust himself, he settles for shifting a little. "Surprise? In what way?"

"You have unexpected fire beneath a very cautious exterior." Radek smiles crookedly. "Had I noticed earlier, I might not have been so cold, some nights."

"Regretting the past serves a man naught," Carson replies. "At least, in instances such as this. All a man can do is look to the future, and hope to avoid repeating his mistakes." Carson runs his fingertips over Radek's cleft chin, and down the line of his throat, pausing at the hollow between his collarbones, where he can feel Radek's heartbeat, quick and steady and sure.

"I like to think of myself as intelligent, not prone to mistakes of the past. So. I have a tent to myself, and I see no logical reason to be alone tonight." Radek's head tips to one side, and his mouth curves. "If, of course, you also think it a good idea."

"I think it's a bloody brilliant idea," Carson says fervently enough that Radek laughs. "One of the best I've heard in ages, actually."

Carson stands, and Radek's eyes flick over him, lingering over the erection straining the front of his trousers. "I see your enthusiasm," he says, and rises to his feet. He reaches out, strokes his fingertips over Carson's stomach, light, fleeting, and Carson draws a quick, sharp breath at the touch. "Come now. We are wasting time." His voice is brisk, but his smile is slow and very, very promising.

The rest of the camp looks deserted, though Carson knows the Athosians would not leave themselves unguarded. They pass tents, and hear the sounds of people lying together, having sex, and Carson's body aches with need. Radek walks quietly beside him. Their arms and shoulders brush as they move. Radek slants a sidewise look up at him as they pass a lit torch, and Carson returns his smile.

Radek's tent is a short distance from the others. Carson's grateful for that much. Radek unzips the entrance and ducks in, and Carson follows. He fumbles with the closure in the dark, but manages, and the sharp whirr of the zip closes them in together, away from the others.

Even though Radek's unzipped the screened windows for a cooling cross breeze, the moon has already gone over, and there's little light. Too tall to stand upright in the small tent, Carson crouches a moment, trying to orient himself, then blinks when he hears a sharp click, and pale light washes through the tent. It's not a bright lantern, but it chases the darkness away into the corners.

"I would like to see you," Radek says simply. "I have never liked fumbling in the dark. That is for the young, the shy or the ashamed, and I think neither of us are any of those."

Radek's bed is a pile of sleeping bags and sheets on the tent floor; he's not bothered with setting up one of the narrow military-issue cots. He sits on the edge of his makeshift bed, and begins unlacing his boots. When Carson doesn't move, Radek looks over at him. "It has been a while, but I believe it works much better if nudity is equally distributed. Please remove your clothes, yes?"

It's the crooked grin that makes Carson laugh and move forward, avoiding bits and pieces of god-only-knows-what equipment and tools. He sits beside Radek and removes his trainers and socks, giving them a careless toss away. Still dressed, Radek looks at him hungrily, but there's also a little uncertainty in his wide eyes. Carson doesn't understand the hesitancy; his body thrums with want. He unzips his own shirt and strips it off, sending it sailing to wherever his shoes went. He can see Radek's adam's apple bob as he swallows, hard.

"Oh," Radek says softly. "You are very fine, Carson." He slowly reaches forward and lays his hand on Carson's chest, fingers ruffling through the dark hair. His mouth curves into a smile, one that Carson returns.

And then they're thrashing around on the pile of bedding, and Carson's not sure who moved first, and doesn't care, because god, yes, finally. They roll and grapple until they've pulled all the clothes from one another, kissing and licking whatever flesh they can, Radek alternately laughing and swearing in Czech when they're too much an enthusiastic tangle of arms and legs to sort out anything easily. Radek fumbles off his glasses and somehow, they end up out of harm's way.

When Carson, kneeling between Radek's legs, has him naked, one of Radek's arms flung carelessly to the side, the other curled up over his head, mouth soft and eyes hot, he looks surprisingly young and carefree, unlike the serious, work-worn man Carson knows. He lets himself look his fill after waiting so long for this moment, and Radek allows it, surprisingly unselfconscious, lying quietly in the rumpled blankets, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath.

Radek is a small man, narrow-shouldered, slim-hipped, with softness at belly and waist; he no longer has a young man's hard body. He's furry, coarse brown hair over pale skin, and Carson reaches forward and combs through it until his fingertips touch warm skin. A little curl of tenderness rises in Carson's chest at Radek's soft sigh, his open, expressive face. He's had truly lovely people in his bed, lovers with young, slim, graceful bodies, but somehow, Radek, imperfect, moves him more. Radek's eyes study his face, close briefly, then open again, dark and heavy-lidded, his need almost palpable.

His cock has a sweet upward curve, arcing toward his belly, head already darkened, slick-looking, and it twitches as Carson looks at it. Carson slides his hand from thigh to the gentle curve of Radek's belly, thumb resting in the dimple of navel. Radek makes a soft sound and shifts; his cock brushes against Carson's forearm, leaving wetness smeared over his skin.

"You have most expressive eyes," Radek says, voice low, his accent thick and rich. "A man can read you easily."

"I'm a quick read right now, aye," Carson replies, and slides his hand downward, fingertips brushing through the trail of hair from navel to the thicket around his cock. "Only one thing on my mind."

Radek's hips lift, seeking. Carson slips one hand down to cradle his balls and gently roll them between his fingers, and Radek murmurs, "Please, please." Carson wraps his other hand around him, and starts to stroke him slowly, foreskin sliding smoothly beneath his palm. Radek feels so good in his hand, but would feel better against his lips, his tongue. His mouth waters at the thought of tasting him, of feeling his lips slide down Radek's length, of inhaling his musk and tasting him, hot and bitter, as he comes.

Radek sighs, his hips rising and falling with a fluid grace to the rhythm Carson sets. "Yes. Is very good. I like that," he says, and shudders hard when Carson slicks his thumb across the wet head. Carson leans forward a bit and runs his other hand up to Radek's belly to caress the warm skin. Radek shivers, and his nipples pull up tight. Carson's breath catches when Radek brings down a hand and rubs his own nipples, pinching them lightly. His whole body undulates, rippling like a wave, as if it can't decide which sensation it likes more. His tongue, wet and pink, slicks out over his lips, and Carson remembers just how good it felt against his own. Heat flushes through him, makes his already hard cock throb against his belly.

Carson can't resist any longer. He has to taste him, to feel him hot and slick and thick on his tongue, in his mouth, and he bends and licks up his cock, a long wet swipe of tongue that makes Radek shiver, makes him pulse against Carson's lips. Carson wraps his hand halfway down Radek's length, and lets that be his guide, his goal, because he doesn't think he can take him entirely; it's been too long since he's tried. He watches the pleasure bloom brightly on Radek's face as his mouth slides down to his fist, as his tongue flicks over hot sensitive skin.

Radek's breath catches in a gasp, and his moans flow over Carson, surprisingly loud and deep. Carson loves it, likes his partners vocal; it lets him know what pleases and what doesn't. Radek writhes beneath him, hips thrusting up against him, his breath hitching, and Carson folds one hand around Radek's hip, thumb brushing over the wedge of hipbone, to hold him down. The taste, the heat, the heaviness of Radek's cock on his tongue, in his mouth, is fucking brilliant. The sounds that escape Radek, so needy, so hungry, sends desire coursing through Carson, makes him feel two sizes too large for his own skin.

One of Radek's hands slides down, slips through Carson's thick hair and curls around the back of his neck, touch firm, encouraging. It feels so good to suck him, to swirl his tongue along the underside of Radek's cock as he pulls back slowly. Carson lets his hand slip down a little further, and his mouth follows, taking more of him in. Radek's cock shines wetly, skin taut and fiercely red, as Carson pulls back slowly. He can taste the fluid that wells up in Radek's excitement, and he suckles the tip of his cock as he pulls away. Radek mutters something incomprehensible, but the urgency, that Carson understands.

Carson hums his approval as Radek's body arches, his expression caught somewhere between pleasure and pain. His legs shake, his hand tightens on the back of Carson's neck, and Carson knows he's close, so close. Two more slow glides down his cock, a flick of his tongue against the sweet spot right under the head, and Radek shudders and comes, bucking hard, curling up into himself. Carson hears him swearing, but then pays no more attention as he concentrates on swallowing. Radek gasps, a little keening noise, then all the tension drains from his body, and he folds bonelessly down into the bedding, struggling to catch his breath.

With a little grunt, Carson straightens from his crouch between Radek's legs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, leaving a sticky trail on his skin. Without thinking about it, he licks his hand clean, and runs his tongue over his lips and teeth, savoring the last of Radek's bitter, salty taste.

"Oh," Radek breathes, and his eyes are huge and dark as he watches Carson. His tongue flicks out over his lower lip, as if he wants to taste Carson's mouth, hot and swollen. "Here, here," he says, and his fingers wrap around Carson's arms, pulling him forward, then down onto his body. His mouth is warm and welcoming, and he licks his taste from Carson's mouth. Carson slides further onto Radek, both of them wet with sweat, letting him take his weight, and Radek's legs curl up around Carson's hips, the soles of his feet rubbing against the backs of Carson's calves. That movement makes Radek's hips rock against him, and it's bloody wonderful. Carson's cock throbs, hot and so heavy, and digs into Radek's belly when Carson sighs and grinds down against him.

It feels so good; it's been too long since he held anyone, and he aches to bury himself deep, to slide into Radek's body, to feel himself surrounded by tightness and heat. Carson feels the moan rumble up from his chest, and he presses his forehead to Radek's wet neck, breathing in deeply the scent of musk and sweat and spice, of himself and Radek, a scent wholly male, and it's almost enough to send him over the edge.

"Yes, yes, move," Radek says breathily, his hands curving along biceps, skittering over wet shoulders, smoothing down the breadth of his back, fingers dipping into the hollow of his spine, splaying over the rise of his arse and squeezing.

Carson lets himself move, a slow, gentle rocking at first, but it quickly builds in speed and power as his mind disconnects and his body takes control. Sensation rolls through him, delicious, incredible, intense, starting in the cock pressed so tightly against Radek, spreading through his belly and thighs and back, flowing into his chest. Radek's voice rises and falls, words he can't understand, and he can't spare any more attention to them, only feel them tumbling over him, sweet and dark.

It takes a moment for him to find the rhythm that suits him, and then he catches it, and it's there, perfect. Radek rocks back against him steadily, his body slick and strong. Carson can feel the tickle of sweat trickling down his face, his neck, his chest, his stomach, down his thighs, collecting in the places where their bodies touch, and the wetness makes it easier to slide against Radek's soft, furry belly.

Radek's hands tug at Carson, and his legs wrap tightly around his hips, pulling him in closer so he can slide his arms around Carson's shoulders. Carson mouths Radek's neck, the hot flesh salty-sweet beneath his tongue. He feels the tension of the tendons that arc down toward collarbones, and he can't help but bite down on Radek's shoulder and suck hard, moaning against his skin as pleasure overwhelms him, drives him toward release. He struggles to hang on, wants to feel like this forever, but he can feel himself swept inexorably toward completion. He can't bear it anymore, can't last any longer. He has to give in and he comes, orgasm slamming into him, a pleasure so keen it's almost painful.

Wet and boneless, he melts down against Radek. Little sparkles of light dance behind his closed eyelids, his blood thrums through his veins, and aftershocks of pleasure skim through him like ripples on a lake.

He's never felt so fucking wonderful in his entire life.

Radek works his hands between them and pushes, and Carson blinks slowly, realizes that he's heavy, and rolls off. "Sorry," he says, and he must've been making a fair bit of noise, because his throat is vaguely sore, his voice raspy. His whole body is wet with sweat, belly slick with come, but he can't be arsed to care much; he feels too good.

"No problem," Radek replies. He shifts, and the bedding bunches and pulls beneath him. Carson pries open an eye and sees Radek reach for the blue shirt he'd been wearing, watches as he gives himself a quick, indifferent scrub. He scoots closer to wipe down Carson, and his touch is gentler, more thorough; if Carson had been fifteen years younger, he'd have sprung to instant attention. Radek gives the shirt a careless toss, then flops down unceremoniously next to Carson, almost, but not quite touching in deference to the heat. He makes a little "mmm" sound, and he looks more at peace than Carson has seen in…well, ever, his mouth curved slightly upward at the corners. He fingers the place on his shoulder where Carson had bitten him; it'll bloom into a spectacular love bite, and Carson's satisfaction at that is juvenile, but genuine.

It's that little half-smile that makes Carson roll over, slide a hand over Radek's chest, and lick up his throat, tongue rasping over soft-rough beard. He bites at the edge of Radek's jaw, then licks into his mouth and kisses him, slowly and thoroughly. When he pulls back, Radek smiles at him.

"So much of a surprise," Radek says. "Most usually, surprises have way of being bad, particularly in the Pegasus galaxy, but you, ah, you are most pleasant, Carson."

"Glad I could meet your expectations," Carson replies with a grin, before letting himself lie back. He runs a hand through his wet hair. "I'd say you were most pleasant, as well." He tips his head to look at Radek's profile, the sharp line of nose, the softness of his mouth, the assertive jut of chin.

"But of course I was. Am." Radek waves a hand airily, and his grin is quick and sly. He rolls his head to the side to look at Carson. "Could continue to be, perhaps."

Not a one-off then, but perhaps more. Carson can't help but smile at the possibilities. "Aye, I think I'd quite like that."

"I do, however, admit curiosity as to why you chose me when you could have your pick of others-younger, more attractive. I like to think of myself as a pragmatic man, one who has firm grip on reality, who has no illusions about himself in that regard."

Radek isn't fishing about for compliments; Carson knows he isn't like that. "It's the person, not the packaging, that I find attractive," Carson says after a moment. "I very much like the way you look, but I'd be drawn to you even if you looked like Kavanagh."

Radek's laugh rolls smoothly over him. "I am most grateful that I do not." He turns to his side, pillowing his cheek on his folded arm. His eyes are warm and lively. "And most grateful that you find me as pleasing as I find you. I think perhaps we can work with this, yes?"

"Aye, love, I think we can," Carson replies, and leans over to kiss Radek's smiling mouth.