anxiousSummary: Rodney's feeling guilty and seeks atonement
Rating: R (?)
Penance
"I need --" Rodney stopped, unable to say the words aloud.
"What?" asked John, his tone communicating all of his frustration and barely leashed anger.
Rodney winced. "I need -- to make this right, somehow. I know you're pissed off, and you're right -- and it's all my fault. I need to atone so we can get past this."
John stared, his hazel eyes narrowed as Rodney's intent started to come clear. "You want me to beat you," he said flatly."
Rodney shrugged nervously. "I want to get past this. He glanced at his shoes, the right corner of his mouth turning up in a grimace. "I think that you need to get this anger off your chest." He took a deep breath and raised his chin, looking John in the eye for the first time in days. "And I know I deserve......something. Some kind of punishment. Your marine took a beating for me."
John's lips thinned, and his glare sharpened, if that was possible. "What do you take me for, McKay? I don't beat my lovers."
"I know, I know.........and I'm not suggesting that this is something we should ever do again. But right now......" His voiced cracked and he resolutely shoved the thought of Jarrod's bruised face and ribs out of his mind. Swallowing hard, he finally said, "It seems fair, I guess. That you should.....punish me. Like he was punished by the Lisse."
Rodney held his breath, sucking his teeth behind compressed lips to keep from rambling. John's stare flickered over the scientist's face, gaging his seriousness. His need for absolution.
"Okay," he ground out. "But not here."
"Of course." Now that the decision was made, Rodney felt oddly removed from the proceedings. The cold knot that had resided in his stomach ever since the events had unfolded on that god-awful planet tightened, twisting his guts and limbs so that he moved stiffly in John's wake.
They walked silently through the corridors, the tension surrounding them like a bubble that kept everyone they passed at arms-length. Rodney glanced at John's set face, trying to read beneath the anger there. But John was inscrutable, and any feelings beyond anger tinged with disgust were well hidden.
It had been at least 15 minutes since they crossed paths with anyone when John finally stepped to one side and gestured for Rodney to precede him into a smallish room. The furniture and closed doors that presumably led to connecting rooms suggested that these had once been used as living quarters.
"Okay, you've had the walk to think about it." John looked hard at Rodney, as if trying to see behind the vaguely panicked blue eyes. "We don't have to do this. If you've changed your mind, now would be a good time to leave."
Rodney took in John's implacable stance, the cool gaze devoid of his usual laughter, and knew that he *did* have to do this. He had to make amends, and he couldn't think of any other way that could even come close to healing this rift between them.
"Let's just do it," he said, wishing his voice hadn't cracked on the last word. "But..." he hesitated, wanting to know but afraid to ask. He searched John's face, his eyes pleading. "This will take care of it? Things will go back to the way they used to be?"
John's eyes softened a just a little. No matter how angry he was, he had missed Rodney, too. Dinner had been too quiet, the evenings too long, the sparring and workouts with his men no replacement for grappling with Rodney in his bed. For the first time since he had watched the Lisse pound the crap out of Jarrod, John's anger started to ease.
"Yes," he said. "This will be enough."
Rodney's head jerked in an approximation of a nod. "Good." He closed his eyes and braced himself for the first punch. When it didn't come, he squinted in John's direction, surprised to see him still standing across the room.
"What?"
"Not like that," John ground out. "I'm not going to lay into you with my fists."
He gestured to what looked like a couch. "Here. Over the back of this." He started unbuckling his belt.
Rodney swallowed hard. "You mean to whip me?" Somehow that seemed harder to take than a few punches. There would be no pretending that this was a fight between equals. It was punishment, delivered by someone who he tacitly acknowledged had the right to take issue with his behavior -- and in this instance, to correct it.
"I'm not going to risk injuring you, Rodney."
"Right." He swallowed again and moved behind the couch, reaching to brace himself on the draped upholstery.
He heard the leather of John's belt slide free of the loops, followed by a sigh. "Drop 'em, Rodney."
Rodney bit his lip and reached for his zipper with jerky movements. This would all be over soon. It was worth a little pain and humiliation to get John to look him in the eye again. He slid his trousers and boxers down and felt them puddle around his boots.
John's hand came to rest between his shoulder blades, guiding him down until his stomach rested on the couch, his hands flat on the seat cushions. The impersonal touch softened for a moment, the fingers ghosting along his spine to the rucked-up hem of his t-shirt. A foot moved between his, nudging them as far apart as his clothing would allow.
Then John moved away and Rodney stared down at his hands, forcing himself to relax.
The first blow took his breath away, laying a stripe of fire across his backside that launched him away from the couch like a rocket.
Rodney pivoted without thinking, his right hand closed into a fist aimed at John's jaw. He might have connected if he hadn't gotten tangled up in the clothes sagging around his ankles.
"I'm sorry!" he gasped, bracing himself on his forearms on the floor at John's feet. "Really. I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."
John's hand appeared in his line of vision, the sight cutting him off in mid-babble. "It's good to see you have some reflexes for self-preservation," he drawled. Rodney took the hand offered, strangely glad to be guided back into place over the couch. John hadn't sounded nearly as angry as before. There was hope!
Any celebrations in his mind came to a swift halt as John pressed down on his back, holding him in place. "Hang on, McKay."
The strapping that followed was worse than Rodney had imagined a punishment could be. John pinned Rodney in place and worked quickly and silently, the only sounds his harsh breathing and the staccato crack of leather on flesh, followed by Rodney's high-pitched screams and smothered sobs. John let all of his fear roll through his arm and snap out of the belt in his hand. How could he keep McKay safe if the physicist wouldn't see sense and take reasonable precautions? What would Atlantis do without her chief scientist?
What would John do without Rodney?
The waves of pain moved down Rodney's ass to his thighs and back up again, only to start anew until Rodney was sure the flesh had been torn from his backside.
Finally, John's arm seemed to tire, and the assault slowed until at last he laid two sharp blows across Rodney's thighs before stopping altogether. He flung the belt away and braced his hands on his knees, head bowed as if in prayer, waiting for Rodney to notice the whipping was over.
It took a minute or two, but Rodney finally straightened up, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve and then reaching for the pants and boxers bunched around his feet. Gentle hands reached to help him, and John eased the material over Rodney's abused flesh, doing up the zip and buttons with quiet efficiency.
With his lover's clothes straightened to his satisfaction, John reached up to cup Rodney's face in his hands. Hazel eyes pinned reddened blue ones, and his grip tightened.
"You scared the hell out of me," he rasped. "Don't you *ever* do that again." And then his mouth swooped in to claim Rodney's, lips grinding against his teeth as if trying to force obedience.
Rodney held still, eyes drifting shut while he accepted this latest punishment, until the kiss gentled. John's lips traced his with feather-light movements, his tongue moving coaxingly against Rodney's teeth until he was admitted. Their tongues slid together, tasting of toothpaste overlaid with coffee and chocolate pudding. With a sigh, John pulled away and rubbed his stubbled cheek against the tender skin of Rodney's throat.
He nipped his way down McKay's throat to his collarbone, ignoring the other man's wince when he grabbed his buttocks and ground their hips together. He worried at the skin just below Rodney's collar, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. Then he returned to his lover's face, kissing away the tears and nuzzling at his ears. He rested his forehead against the other man's and watched until the lashes lifted to reveal ocean-blue eyes.
"I don't want to see anyone on my team get hurt because of thoughtless, avoidable actions," he growled. "I especially don't want to watch *you* get hurt or killed because you went off on your own, putting yourself at risk. There are already so many risks we can't control."
His voice softened, taking on a pleading tone that went right to Rodney's heart. "I love you, Rodney. I know I don't say it enough, and I sure as hell didn't do a good job of showing it this week. But the thought of you getting hurt or killed on some trading expedition just tore me up."
"I know," Rodney whispered, his hand moving up to caress John's cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for all of it."
John nodded, and holding Rodney's eyes, lowered his lips to set about telling his lover without words that he was forgiven, that his penance was complete, and that he was loved.