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… To Eat From His Hand by Inkscribe
Radek knew how to be patient, and now that John was an infirmary patient – spending seemingly endless days in recovery from his near-fatal Jumper accident – Radek expected his own patience would yield positive results. He decided to visit only occasionally, knowing full well that too often might raise suspicion, but also that too infrequent might allow the status quo to slide back into place, unmoving and unyielding without applying sufficient energy to be worthy of consideration in Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity. The scientist knew his method, knew to gather observable, empirical, measurable evidence to investigate new phenomena and acquire not, in this case, new knowledge, but John Sheppard. Lieutenant-Colonel John Sheppard – and therein lay the rub. The man turned personal denial and suppression into something more than a necessity, into something more akin to credo, all to meet the stupid demands of American military regulations. Radek knew stupid regulations. He’d been na vojnu like the other young men of his nation. When it came to stupidity, military was military was military – you shrugged and did your best to ignore the obvious fact that very little of it made sense, especially if you thought about it. John is delightfully American, Radek thought. To worry so much over mere expulsion from the military. In Radek’s time, being gay in the military wasn’t so much the issue as being gay, period. When he was na vojnu, homosexuality was illegal for military and citizens alike, with terrible consequences if caught. Radek smiled wryly to himself. Fortunately, one of the great advantages to living under the Soviet Occupation was an almost reflexive ability to maintain calm, quiet composure under even the most trying circumstances. To present a face to the public – or more importantly, to the authorities – that did nothing to raise suspicion or cause anyone to take notice of you. For that very reason, Radek did notice John. He noticed that for all John’s apparent casual American openness and laissez-faire, he rarely shared anything of himself. As though he were a man sprung fully formed into his role as a member of the military contingent of Atlantis, a man with no past to distract him from the present. It takes one to know one, Radek thought, observing John over their months together. He added his observations of John-with-alien-priestess, John-with-alien-princess, and John-with-arrogant-scientist, and felt safe in his conclusion that John needed more than a quiet invitation to come to Radek. Or come with him, or on him, or in him – it didn’t matter. Radek wanted John, for however much John would be willing to give – or take. Under systems theory, Radek predicted that given the correct pressures, John’s response would be in Radek’s favour. Change a parameter and the system must respond. Apply the correct stimulus, and the response? The response would be that John would be eating out of his hand. Or Radek might be eating out of John’s … it didn’t matter. There would be eating. And licking. And sucking and fucking and coming and whatever else Radek could coax from the man, whatever he could convince John was safe enough to take, safe enough to give. Radek rapidly realised that not only did John enjoy casual chatter and gossip, but in the mind-numbing boredom of life as a full-time in-patient in the infirmary, he was also prepared to allow Radek to tease out his astounding abilities in maths. Radek smiled to himself. In the infirmary, Radek handed John math, and John ate it greedily. On the third visit, Radek opened up his laptop and showed John the complex equation he’d been working on. He watched John closely. He observed the man’s gaze become distant and unfocused. He’s remembering, Radek thought. Radek remembered, too. Remembered inching his way through the torn innards of the Jumper, intent on reaching John, intent on releasing him from the jaws of death gripping him so tightly. Intent on being there to offer the comfort of touch – human, loving touch – if there was no way to remove him before he died. Part-way through, Radek snagged on something. He swore and cursed, gasping in pain as he tore himself bodily from the sharpness slicing into his back. He refused to be distracted by his own wound, or to be distracted by the decapitated head of the other soldier – a trainee, a woman. He would not fail John. He arrived, squeezing himself through the interstices of the the wreckage, finding himself between John’s splayed legs, his face near John’s groin. He had imagined this, more than once. Not this, not the colonel with exposed bones and lacerations and almost no colour or body heat. Not the colonel nearly dead and seeping slowly toward complete death. Ne, not that. He had squeezed the man’s hand for assurance before crawling beneath the ruined console with his tools, desperate to release John before he died, desperate to give him a real chance to live, with or without Radek and his imagination. Radek had imagined something else, of course. Something – something very personal. He forced himself to say it, a small joke to explain what was necessary, light humour to cover for the dark intimacy their relative positions implied. I am afraid I am going to get very personal for a minute or two, he had told John, white-faced and shocky above him. Radek might know how to apply stimulus to get response, but he would never take advantage of a man – a friend – by twisting the demands of the emergency to his own ends. No, Radek would seduce John through other means, sink between his legs for other reasons, at other times. He watched John come again to his senses, flash him a grin somewhere between oops and I’m not quite right in my head. John narrowed his eyes and looked closely at the laptop screen, scanning it line by line. “Oh, here’s your problem, I think. You’re assuming this is going to be a rational number here. But what happens if it’s an irrational number?” John queried. “That would be impossible, though, wouldn’t it?” “In wormhole physics? Hell if I know. Ask McKay,” John said. Radek considered the equation for a few moments, then flew into action. He began adding lines, modifying, removing bits, almost frantic. That John grasped such complexities, could see the gestalt so quickly – that alone was incredibly attractive to Radek. And John’s body isn’t hard on the eyes, either, he thought to himself. Speaking of eyes – Radek was peripherally aware of John’s on him, on his hands, watching him with absolute absorption as he worked on the laptop. Radek had strong hands, ano. Strong and fine – good for work requiring precision and a delicate touch. Radek wondered whether John thought about that now, how Radek might trail his fingers along John’s skin, brush them across John’s nipples. How he might slide his hands into John’s trousers, pressing and releasing, just as he did with the keypad. Strong, then delicate – always precise. His attention split between the beauty of the equation opening before him and the thought of touching – really touching – John, Radek made a sound deep in his throat, guttural. Wanting. From the corner of his eye, Radek saw John move ever so slightly. Not a flinch, ne. More an attempt at a subtle adjustment against discomfort. He smiled to himself. Ah, John, he thought. You liked that. You want it. He decided to apply more stimulus. “Oh, yes,” Radek almost moaned as he continued to tease the equation into new permutations. “This is ... oh, this is good.” “Radek,” John began, his voice not quite right. “If you don’t quiet down, Carson’s going to think we’re having sex in his infirmary.” Radek peered at John over the frame of his glasses, taking in the slight flush of the man’s skin, the dilation of his pupils, the tiny movements of discomfort centred at his groin. He smirked at John. “Oh, I would be much quieter than this if I were going to have sex in infirmary,” he said. John’s eyes rolled slightly into his head as though he were caught in a wave of imagined euphoria, then he blinked rapidly. Radek forced himself to ignore the display of obvious consternation. As John watched, Radek continued to type, making little pleasure sounds in his throat as he did so. Patience was its own reward, and patience would mean Radek would have John, and John would have Radek, and one would be eating from the other’s hand soon enough. Radek was patient. End, To Eat From His Hand Prequel, Wanting Him
Czech, in order of appearance: na vojnu - on required military service ne - yes ano - yes |
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Title: … To Eat From His Hand Sequel to: Wanting Him Pairings: preslash Sheppard/Zelenka POV: Zelenka Summary: Radek wants John. Challenge: Less is More Mini-Challenge by LiveJournal user justbreathe80 Rating: NC-17 Words: ~1500 Awards: Co-nominated for the SHEPPARD/ZELENKA category in the 2007 Stargate DiversiFICation Awards Author’s Notes: A scene remixed (again), with permission, from the second part of Sgatlantislight’s Having Your Cake … And Eating it, Too. Disclaimer: Anything you recognise is not mine; please don’t sue, we’ll both regret it in the morning. |
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