blue flamingos

Like Pegasus Triple A, But With Added Unwarranted Imprisonment

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis/Stargate SG1

Category/Rated: Slash, NC-17

Year/Length: 2008/ ~5805 words

Pairing: Larrin, Cam/John

Spoilers: SGA season 4

Disclaimer: No, I don't own them, for which I should think they're profoundly grateful.

Summary: A woman's voice says, "Please tell me that's not who I think it is," and John slumps against the back of Cam's seat with a groan

Series: sequel to Stranded

Author's Notes: Credit for the idea for this goes to [info]dracotelitha; For [info]14valentines Day 14: V-Day and International

Beta: by [info]domtheknight

Feedback: Yes please. Even if it's bad. Especially if it's bad.


Cam's at the jumper controls at the time, John in back of the ship, poking through their depleted stores for something that isn't chicken surprise MREs. It takes him a few seconds to realize that the energy readings on the screen are telling him, though nowhere near as long as it would have three and a half weeks ago.

"Uh, John, I could be wrong, but I think something just dropped out of hyperspace right behind us."

Something clatters to the floor as John drops what he was doing and joins him in staring at the screen, which is showing a large ship behind them, where there wasn't one a minute ago.

"Any idea what it is?" Cam asks, trying to keep the apprehension out of his voice. It could be the Apollo come to rescue them, but past experience says it's far more likely to be the Wraith.

"It's a ship," John says slowly. "I think – it looks like an Ancient warship."

"That could be good, right?" Cam asks. Better than the Wraith, at least – they've got more of a chance of negotiating with the Ancients than the Wraith.

John makes a thoughtful face. "We don't have the best luck with stranded Ancients," he says.

"Nobody does," Cam points out. "It's got to be better than another four days in this thing."

"You're sick of me already?" John asks. "I'm hurt."

"I'm sick of these four walls and our fascinating view of outer-space," Cam corrects. He wants to say something about Atlantis having actual beds, which have *got* to be more comfortable than the jumper floor, even if they are a notoriously tight squeeze for two, but they haven't mentioned the city since they left the midway station after the gate failed to dial.

"Fine," John says huffily, and hails the ship.

There's a pause long enough that Cam starts to wonder if there's anyone left alive on the other ship to answer – and wouldn't it be just their luck if there weren't – then a woman's voice says, "Please tell me that's not who I think it is."

John slumps against the back of Cam's seat with a groan. "Larrin."


The debate over whether they want to be rescued by Larrin and the Travelers is over before it really begins, mainly because the door to their ship closes with the jumper on the inside while Cam's still pointing out that it's unlikely the jumper will be able to outrun an Ancient ship with a hyper drive.

"You're going to regret this," John says darkly.

"It's got to be better than another four days in here," Cam says. Not that he minds endless hours with nothing to do but have sex with John in increasingly creative ways, but the idea of doing it in a bed, without the constant fear that everyone they know is dead, is starting to appeal.

Plus, they're running low on condoms.

"You only say that because you've never met them," John says.


Cam's read the reports on the Travelers, so he's prepared for the two black-clad guards who escort them through the ship. He's even prepared for being unceremoniously deposited in a cell; the inability to stop looking around at everything that isn't the inside of the jumper – all the space, all the corridors that go someplace they can't see, even the people who aren't John Sheppard – well, that's a little more unexpected, but he's done his share of imprisonments in windowless cells, so it's not that much of a surprise.

What is a surprise is the woman who, ten minutes after the guards leave them, strides down the corridor toward them.

"Larrin?" Cam asks John quietly. Beneath the dominatrix outfit and killer heels, and the mass of curls, she looks pretty pissed, though not as pissed as Cam thinks he'd be in her place.

"Uh-huh," John mutters back, His expression doesn't change, but there's a definite air of trepidation around him now.

"Sheppard," Larrin says, leaning against the bars to their cell – Cam's not sure if he's flattered or insulted that they apparently don't rate a force shield as well. "You should have said last time that you wanted to bring a friend."

John offers her an incredibly fake smile. "Larrin. Always a pleasure."

"Haven't we already discussed why you shouldn't lie to me?" Larrin asks.

"No, really." John's smile changes to a look of wide-eyed innocence, both of them ignoring Cam. "You drag me through your ship, lock me up, threaten me with bodily harm – there's a routine. It's nice to have a consistent ally."

Larrin looks at him for a moment like she can't decide which part of that she's most insulted by, then turns to Cam. "So, are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Cam Mitchell, Larrin –" John pauses with a frown. "Actually, what is your last name? Or is Larrin your last name?"

"Five years, Sheppard, and you still haven't figured out if you're calling me by my family or my given name. Are you sure you're really the military commander of a city?" Larrin gives him a suspicious look from the corner of her eye, and Cam fights down the urge to laugh. They're pretty entertaining to watch, but he can't help thinking he's safer not being noticed.

When John doesn't answer, Larrin extends one hand through the cell bars for Cam to shake; it's one of many Earth customs that appears on a whole bunch of worlds, for reasons Cam's sure the anthropologists can explain, and equally sure he's not interested in. He returns the handshake, letting her cool hand squeeze his for slightly longer than is strictly polite. "Larrin," she says. "Commander of this ship."

"And the rest," John mutters.

"Pleasure to meet you," Cam says, giving her his most charming smile. "Nice ship you've got here."

"Yeah, what's the decorating scheme this year?" John asks, not quite under his breath. "Scavenger chic?"

"And you've got how many warships of the Ancestors at your disposal?" Larrin asks. John makes a face, looking like nothing more than a sulky teenager. It's a surreal sight.

Larrin ignores him in favor of giving Cam a slow look up and down, leaving him torn between apologizing for the less-than-spotless appearance of his uniform and zipping his jacket like an offended virgin.

"He's pretty," Larrin says finally, looking at him but addressing John. "Care to tell me where you found him?"

Zipping his jacket suddenly seems like the more attractive, not to mention the more prudent, course of action.

"Larrin," John groans in what Cam's pretty sure is real irritation. His face has gone faintly pink.

"I'm not judging," Larrin says innocently. "Though you might have gone for someone younger. Unless you like them with... experience." She raises a single eyebrow, making it clear *exactly* what kind of experience she's talking about. Cam really hopes he's not blushing as well.

"He's not –" John says, then takes a deep breath and straightens from his slouch against the cell bars. "If you're just going to make jokes about our relationship, we've got a city to get back to, and it's not exactly a short hop, so maybe you could let us out and we can get back to our ship and rescue ourselves."

"Relax, Sheppard," Larrin says. "I can do both. Though I'm not impressed that you've managed to lose your planet *again*. What's this, the third time I've had to help you out of a jam?"

"If I hadn't got this ship operational for you in the first place –" John starts.

"And brought the Wraith down on us," Larrin interrupts, and Cam hears himself, before he's really thought about it, say, "If you can't play nicely..." the way he does with his baby cousins.

They both stop, and look at him, then at each other, their expressions clearly saying that they both think he's gone crazy. Cam thinks they're probably right, and that if they are, he's blaming them for it. He's sure he was saner when he stepped onto this ship.

Larrin sighs. "I suppose we can find a couple of hours to put you back where you belong."

"Great," John says with an insincere smile.

"Please, don't be so grateful," Larrin says dryly. "You're making an embarrassing spectacle of us all." John just looks at her flatly until she sighs again. "There's a world with a gate about six hours from here with our hyper drive. I assume you can manage to dial your own world from there without help?"

"Yes," John says. "Thank you."

Larrin nods back. "You're welcome," she says, with exactly the same amount of sincerity as John used. She turns to go, then turns back. "Given what happened the first time you were on this ship, Sheppard, I'm sure you'll understand why I'm inclined to leave you in here until we reach the planet. I expect the two of you will manage to find something to keep yourselves occupied." She swivels sharply on her boot heel and strides away, the door into the body of the ship sliding smoothly closed behind her.

"I don't know what makes you think she doesn't like you," Cam says, finally giving in to the grin he's been fighting, and John drops his head against the bars with a thump, and a groan.


"Not that I don't appreciate being rescued," Cam says after a while, seated on the floor, leaning against the bed and wishing for either of the books in his pack on the jumper, even though he's already read both of them.

"Assuming it's a rescue and not another kidnap," John mutters from where he's sprawled on the bed.

Cam ignores him. "But there's a serious disadvantage to being here instead of there."

"Yeah?" John asks. "What's that?"

Cam twists round to look at him and finds John's turned his head to look at Cam. "Much less privacy."

John's eyebrows go up, interest flashing across his face. "Seems pretty private to me," he says with an exaggerated look both ways down the short corridor outside their cell.

"Until the guards decide that now's a good time to come check we're not staging an escape," Cam points out, but it's a half-hearted protest at best – his body's had three and a half weeks to get used to regular sex, to John, and somewhere along there, enclosed spaces in outer space became synonymous with both.

John gives the best shrug he can while flat on his back. "If you've got a better way to kill a six hour flight..."

Cam doesn't even have a pack of cards. "Fine," he says, and climbs onto the bed (and what kind of person puts a *bed*, with cushions, in a jail cell anyway?), straddles John's hips and leans down to kiss him.

They've kissed enough over the past couple of weeks – one blow job for relaxation leading to reciprocation, leading to much more use of the auto-pilot than two space pilots should have been making – for the way John kisses to be familiar, for Cam to know exactly where to put his hands and how to run his teeth over John's lower lip to get a sharp gasp. It ought to be routine, maybe even a little dull, but it's nowhere close, and Cam's already starting to wonder how much he'll regret it when he and John are back in their separate galaxies.

"You have the attention span of a space slug," John mutters against his mouth, laughing.

"Space slug," Cam repeats. "Just what I want to be thinking about in bed. Anyway, you're one to talk."

"What can I say? I have this insane preference for *not* being crushed in a collision with space junk," John says, not quite refraining from rolling his eyes.

"You spend way too much time with McKay," Cam tells him. "You're even starting to talk like him."

He's not really surprised when John flips them so he's on top. "Take that back," he says, mock-menacing.

"What? It's true." Cam gives him his most innocent look, hoping to distract him enough that Cam can get his hands loose to fight back, but John's not easily distracted. His hands close tight round Cam's wrists, and he pushes Cam's hands down, above his head, pressing their bodies close together so they both draw a sharp breath.

Which is, of course, the moment that the door opens and Larrin strides in. "Well," she says, coming to a stop. "I was going to ask you to join me for our next meal, but clearly you've got other things on your minds."

John groans and drops his head against Cam's shoulder. Cam doesn't blame him, but he was brought up to be polite and he's never really managed to stop. "Not any more," he tells Larrin.

He's pretty sure she never laughs, but he does get a smile. "Great. I'll have the guards escort you. Just say if you need a few minutes first."

Cam closes his eyes against the flush he can feel on his face, listening to her heels depart. He feels John lift his head from Cam's shoulder, but it's still a surprise when John's mouth covers his in a hard kiss.

He blinks when John pulls away looking smug. "More than a few minutes," Cam says dimly, adjusts his pants, and gets up.


The prospect of food that doesn't come as part of an MRE is appealing right up until he takes his first bite of something brown and solid that could really be anything – given the taste, he'd rather not contemplate what it might be too deeply.

"Still haven't found a new chef, then?" John asks Larrin, making a face at his own food.

"I could have left you out in space," Larrin says blithely, chewing a mouthful of whatever this is happily enough.

"Actually, why didn't you?" John asks.

"Not that we're not grateful," Cam puts in. Larrin seems more unwillingly amused than irritated with John right now, but Cam's fairly sure that could change pretty quickly, and he really doesn't want to be back in the jumper tonight if they can avoid it.

"Right," John says. "Grateful, but mystified. You're not usually this nice."

"Maybe I just wanted your pretty friend on my ship for a while," Larrin suggests. She smiles at Cam, who raises his eyebrows in return, hoping it conveys how much he doesn't buy that. From the one-sided shrug she gives him in return, it seems to have been successful.

"No, I understand why you picked us up," John says as if he wasn't just asking about that very thing. "Any opportunity to remind me that you got this ship instead of us, I get that."

Larrin doesn't say anything, just takes a large bite of her food. Cam gives his another try, but it hasn't improved in the last five minutes.

"I just don't see why you agreed to drop us at the planet so easily. We didn't even get to the tying me up part of the negotiation." This time, Cam looks at John for an answer, and gets a blank, innocent stare back.

"We're short of rope," Larrin says dismissively, but something changes in her posture, a new line of tension down her spine, like she's one step from telling John to drop it.

"Seriously," John says, leaning forward. "Larrin, if you're planning something dangerous –"

"Then your little ship's not going to be much use to me, is it?" Larrin asks, fixing him with a pissed glare. "We were going there anyway, don't feel like we're doing you a favor here, Sheppard."

"A favor would be feeding us something with taste," John says, taking another bite anyway.

"It has all the nutrients that the human body needs," Larrin says, like it's not the first time she's said it, relaxing slightly as it becomes clear that John isn't going to push it. Considering Atlantis is already at war with the Replicators on one front and the Wraith on the other, Cam can't help thinking they really don't need to get involved in whatever the Travelers are doing as well.

"Great – a long healthy life of food that doesn't taste of anything," John says. "Every boy's dream."


An hour later, they're back in their cell, only now they've got a pack of cards that one of the guards tossed them before locking them in again. Cam spread the cards across the floor – they're square and appear to have five suits (lines, circles, triangles, semi-circles and spirals), but other than that, they're a lot like Earth cards, with ten number cards and three equivalents to face cards, with pictures of what Cam fervently hopes are mythical rather than real creatures.

John picks up the long-toothed-blue-giraffe of lines card and studies it with a nervous expression. "Ever run into one of those in the Milky Way?" he asks.

"Nope," Cam says. "You?"

"Not yet." John gives it another look, then swaps it for a card that Cam doesn't see. "I'm sure it's only a matter of time though."

"I've had my life's allotment of strange alien animals," Cam tells him firmly. "Nothing but Earth-like animals from now until retirement."

"That's what they tell you," John says, turning the card to show Cam a blue and yellow spotted blob, which, not wholly surprisingly, also has vicious looking teeth. "And then you run into sentient kittens with murderous intentions while you're on a diplomatic mission and end up being laughed out of your own military briefing by three Marine captains."

"Not that you're speaking from personal experience or anything," Cam says.

John grins. "Nah, purely hypothetical," he says, and then they're off, trading stories of freaky, unpleasant or just downright unbelievable missions from their combined better-part-of-a-decade with the stargate program, something that Cam finds it a little hard to believe they didn't get around to while they were in the jumper.

They're both still wearing their watches, putting them back on every time they removed them to wash up, and Cam keeps an eye on their estimated journey time ticking away. He knows John's doing the same, would even if he didn't keep catching him peeking at his watch, from the way John gets quieter and quieter, until he's silent, the way he was when they first agreed to abandon the midway station, poking listlessly at the cards. Cam wants to say something reassuring, but he doesn't have anything to offer, not when he's feeling the same fears. It's hard to imagine that the world ended in the few minutes it took them to travel along the first half of the Inter-Galactic bridge, but if it didn't – the Daedalus was out for repairs when they left, but the Apollo was in the Milky Way, it could have gotten to Pegasus by now...

His thoughts are cut off by the door opening and one of their guards stepping through. "Larrin says we're close enough for you to take your ship down to the planet."

"We don't get a ride the whole way?" John asks, and Cam's fairly certain he's the only person on this ship who'll see that John's faint sarcasm is faked.

"We're not an inter-planetary collection service," the guard says, sounding like he's quoting someone – Larrin, presumably – and opens the door to their cell.


The planet doesn't look inhabited, from what he can see as they fly over mountains and forests to the gate. There are no obvious signs of civilization near the gate either, which is usually a pretty strong hint that no-one lives there. The Travelers' ship is showing up on the screen as being round the other side of the planet, though, several weeks' walk from the gate, so maybe the population live there and doesn't use the gate at all.

"So," John says, holding the jumper level with the gate. There's a dialing device down there as well, another hope for them to try if the jumper's doesn't work. "You want to dial?"

"Your city," Cam says with a shrug that doesn't feel especially natural. "You dial it up."

"Right," John says. He takes a breath, his hand hovering over the symbols, then dials quickly with a barely perceptible pause before he presses the last symbol.

Cam can't hold back the sigh of relief when the wormhole whooshes into existence, blue and rippling and perfect. "That's a good start," he says.

"Yeah." John taps his radio ear piece. "Atlantis, this is Sheppard."

Still wearing his own, now turned to the Atlantis network, Cam hears the echo of John's words, followed by a whole lot of silent air. The sick feeling he got when the gate refused to connect to either galaxy at the midway station comes back in a rush and he can't look at John. Maybe they should have tried harder to talk Larrin into hanging around until they knew they could get back, that there was somewhere to get back to. Even with the jumper's database and John's contacts in the galaxy, they're days of jumper travel from anywhere that might take them in, weeks from Atlantis, where he knows they'll end up going, whether it's wise or not – John won't be able to not go looking for evidence of what happened to his people.

"Atlantis –" John starts again, and then there's a voice – Sam's voice – over-lapping his, saying, "John, is that you?" amazed and happy at the same time.

Cam can feel himself grinning like an idiot while John stares at the open wormhole, looking dumbstruck.

"Hey, Sam," Cam offers when it becomes clear that John needs a moment longer to recover from his shock. "Good to hear your voice."

"You too," Sam says fervently. "You've no idea how worried we've been."

"I think we could hazard a guess," Cam says, thinking about every nightmare, every dark of night what if that his brain came up with. "We okay to come through?"

Sheppard blinks and fumbles in his pockets. "IDC," he says into his radio, sending the code.

"You're clear," Sam says. "We'll meet you in the jumper bay."

She cuts the radio connection and John lowers his hands carefully to the controls, still looking at Cam. "Tell me it's not just me who's afraid there won't be anyone on the other side," he says, not meeting Cam's eyes.

"You're not," Cam assures him. He feels like he should have something to say, some profound words at the end of nearly a month in space together, but he's got nothing. "Not that you're not welcome to savor the moment some more, but they might be wondering what's taking us so long."

"Right," John says, and they slide into the wormhole silently.

Cam gets a brief glimpse of the gate room, full of stunned, happy faces above Atlantis uniforms before John takes the jumper up and into the bay, docking smoothly. "Welcome to Atlantis," John says dryly.

"Better late than never," Cam agrees.

He's used to Vala, who'll throw herself at someone who's been missing for a day, so he has a moment of cognitive dissonance when John's team just stare at him as the jumper door opens. It's barely long enough to register though, as a young boy throws himself at John's knees, arms up in the universal sign for 'pick me up', and it's like that was some kind of signal for the rest of John's team, who converge on him, drawing him into something not unlike a group hug.

Which leaves Cam with Sam, who walks into his arms without hesitation, hugging him hard. He breathes in the scent of her shampoo and soap, still familiar even though it's been years now since they served together, and lets the overwhelming sense of relief wash over him.


McKay, at least, is over any good feelings he's got at John's return by the time they've all been herded into the conference room, though he's the only one. Teyla's son, whose name Cam has either forgotten or never known, is still clinging to John, who in turn can't seem to stop looking at the people around him, drinking in the sight of them. Even Major Lorne, who Cam has never seen look anything beyond amused, is grinning, clearly glad not to be in charge of the military any more.

For a moment, Cam feels an unexpected pang of homesickness for his team, and reminds himself to ask to send a message to them as soon as they're done here.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" McKay demands again, throwing himself into the seat opposite John and glaring at them both when Cam makes the mistake of sitting next to John and thus easily within glaring range. "You couldn't have waited five minutes for us to fix the problem, you had to go haring across the galaxy without even leaving us a message so we'd know where you'd gone –"

"McKay," Sam starts, holding up a hand, but it's John who actually manages to cut him off, talking over him to explain that they waited 24 hours, thank you, and they were hardly haring around the galaxy, they took a dead straight line to the next planet with a gate, and, also, isn't McKay supposed to be a genius, he couldn't figure out John would do that without a map labeled 'x marks the spot'?

"Yes, well," McKay mutters, subsiding, which Cam takes to mean he's conceding this one to John, though only because John's been missing for a month.

"And it's a good thing we did leave, anyway," John adds. "Since I don't see a lot of evidence of a galaxy wide search being launched for us."

Everyone looks down, so Lorne steps up. "It took us a week to get our gate working again," he says, carefully not looking at McKay, who mutters something vile about incompetent staff hampering his genius. "By the time we figured out the same virus had gotten into the gate bridge, and fixed it, you must have been out of range for us to send a subspace communication."

"And with our gate being down, we couldn't contact Earth to ask them to send a ship to pick you up, even if we could have known that they would have got here before you returned," Sam adds.

"Wait a minute," Cam says, putting it all together. He's never heard of gate viruses before, but the surprise is that it's taken this long for them to encounter one, not that they actually exist. "I thought you said you didn't know where we were."

"We didn't," McKay says. From the corner of his eye, Cam sees John turn to look at him as well, and McKay crumbles. "Not for certain," he says defensively. "It was jut a guess that you were on your way to that planet. You could have decided to fly all the way back to Atlantis."

"Only if we'd both been infected with space dementia, McKay," John says mildly. "So, what, you were just waiting and hoping you were right?"

"No," McKay says immediately. "The Apollo is on its way and actually if you hadn't got back three days earlier than we were predicting, it would have picked you up before you got here."

"That's good to know," John says dubiously.

"Actually – how did you get here three days early?" McKay asks. "If you've discovered hyper-space capability on the jumpers, Sheppard..."

"We got a ride. From the Travelers," John says, to raised eyebrows from Sam and an outraged snort from McKay.

"God, you're insatiable," he says. "You can't even get stranded in space without being picked up by hot aliens, some people have all the luck."

"Rodney –" Teyla says, trying to calm him down, or possibly to prevent him from saying something not appropriate for a small child's ears. Lorne looks faintly pained, but resigned with it, like he's sat through more than one similar conversation in the past and been forced to get used to it, whether he wants to or not.

"Right, all the luck," John says, rolling his eyes. "You try being stranded in a jumper for a month, wondering if everyone you know is dead, and see how you like it."

McKay looks chagrined for about half a second, then says, suspiciously, "You look very relaxed for someone who's been trapped in a jumper for three and a half weeks. Both of you."

Thankfully, that's when Sam decides that they can finish the debrief later, once John and Cam have showered and eaten real food and maybe even slept in real beds. Cam's not sure what makes him look at Ronon as she says it, but the look Ronon gives him says that he, at least, has figured out the answer to McKay's unasked question.


"Well, you certainly get a better view from the guest quarters here than you do in the mountain," Cam says three hours later, when John's team have finally let him out of their sight long enough for John to walk him to the quarters he's been temporarily assigned, until Atlantis is done debriefing him (or until Sam's soaked up the chance to be around one of her old team).

John leans against the closed door and grins at him. "We aim to please," he says.

Cam swallows down the half dozen inappropriate puns that immediately come to mind. He sits down on the edge of the bed and pulls off his boots. "God, I'd kill for some clean clothes right about now," he says.

"Oh, right. Here." John throws a bundle of clothes at Cam, which turns out to be a fresh uniform. "Should fit you okay."

"Great." Cam drags his shirt off and tosses it in the corner, hoping he'll never have to see it again. He's reaching for the zipper on his pants when he remembers that John's still leaning against his door, and hesitates, but when he looks over, John's watching him.

"Don't stop on my account," he says.

"I wasn't," Cam assures him, crossing the room to stand right in John's personal space, hands on either side of John's shoulders. "I was just thinking there should be some reciprocal nudity going on here."

"Oh yeah?" John asks.

"Oh yeah," Cam says, and pulls John's t-shirt off, getting his hands on John's body again, finally, the arousal from their brief moment in Larrin's jail cell rushing back in like there hasn't been most of a day between then and now.

John pulls him close, kissing him hard, his hands tight on Cam's arms, holding him there. It's so familiar that Cam has to close his eyes against the weirdness of seeing something other than the jumper in his peripheral vision.

"Shower," John says, running his hands over Cam's shoulders and down his biceps.

"Later," Cam says. He kisses John again, getting his hands into John's hair and tugging gently. "Sex first."

"Conservation of water," John agrees against Cam's mouth. "No point showering then getting dirty again."

"Absolutely," Cam says, not pointing out that they're surrounded by more water than they could ever use. He doesn't care, as long as he gets John's clothes off and both of them on a flat surface in the next few minutes. "Wasn't there supposed to be reciprocal nudity?"

John gives him a look that emphasizes the pants Cam is still wearing. "You distracted me."

"My mistake," Cam says, and attacks John's pants with hands that tremble slightly – from relief, from arousal, hell, from simple exhaustion at this point. Zippers, fortunately, aren't that complicated, though there's a moment when they whole thing comes a little too close to farce, John's pants tangling in the boots he's still wearing. They're both of them nothing if not capable when they really need to be, though, and this is one of the moments when they *really* need to be.

They stumble gracelessly to the bed, landing in a tangle of limbs, Cam on his back, John half on top of him, still holding onto Cam. "Come here," Cam says and kisses him, touching every part of John that he can reach, feeling John's hands skate down his side, both of them frantic, like it's been days since they touched, not hours.

"Slow down," John mutters. "We've got time."

Cam shakes his head. "Later. Just – please." He gets his hands on John's sharp hips, shifting him so he's more firmly on top of Cam, their cocks brushing together. "Yeah, good."

"All right." John pushes his cock against Cam's, making them both groan, and from there it's one long slide of uncoordinated thrusts and gasps until Cam comes in a rush that leaves him breathless, clutching blindly at John as he groans and shudders through his own orgasm.

Cam's used to John either leaping right up to check the auto-pilot or passing out; he does neither this time, just lies against Cam, limp and relaxed, petting Cam's thigh absently, just hard enough that it doesn't tickle. In return, Cam finally gives in to the urge he's been carrying around for the last month, and rubs his hand through John's hair, like he would with a cat. The sigh it gets him from John just helps to reinforce that idea.

"Good?" John asks after a while, the word more of a huff of warm air against Cam's neck.

"Yeah," Cam says. He figures they're more or less cuddling at this point, so what the hell, and presses a kiss to John's forehead, getting a soft, affectionate laugh. "Shower?"

"Ugh," John groans. "Don't want to move."

Cam pokes him. "My quarters, my rules," he says firmly, trying not to think about how they'll almost certainly be getting sweaty again in the not-that-distant future. They've just returned from a month stranded in space, he figures they're due a bit of slack, and he's sure John's team will cover for them, if only because they won't want to lose John again. Cam's not above reaping the benefits of that for himself, if it comes to that.

"If you insist," John grumbles. He sits up and gives Cam a bleary-eyed look. "Come on then. Conservation of water, remember?"

"Dunno if you've noticed," Cam says, pushing himself up onto his elbows, "But I'm a little old to be getting it up again right now."

John shrugs, grinning like a kid with a secret he's burning to tell. Cam's not sure if it's incredibly disturbing or incredibly hot. Maybe a bit of both. "No problem," John says, leaning down to cup Cam's jaw. "Stick around. We've got plenty of time."

John kisses him again, and Cam thinks that those are the best words he's heard in four weeks.

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