Archive of Our Own

The first time it happens, Jennifer doesn't think much of it. Well, she thinks about it, but that's totally not her fault. She's a professional. She's done a lot of prostate exams. It's perfectly routine for a male patient who's turning forty, only most forty-year-old asses don't look quite as good as John Sheppard's.

So she's doing her best not to think about the fact that she has her gloved finger up an objectively extremely attractive posterior when she hears it. It's just a tiny noise, a grunt more than a moan, but it goes straight to her gut and makes her finger twitch inside him. Then he does it again, and the sound is soft and breathy and it makes her forget what she's doing for a good ten seconds.

Then she realizes she still has her finger in him and she finishes up hurriedly -- he's totally normal, thank God -- and pulls out. She doesn't even think about lingering because she's being totally professional and those noises he was making couldn't possibly be what she thought they were. But as he straightens and pulls his scrubs up he turns just enough for her to get a glimpse of him tucking himself in, and wow, she didn't remember him being quite that big. Unless she's not making this up and those noises really did mean what she thought they meant and he's a grower as well as a shower.

"We done here?" he asks, looking at her kind of funny, like she's staring, and whoops, she kind of is.

"Oh, yeah. I mean, we are. Of course. Everything's just fine. Clean bill of health and all of that."

"Great," he says, and it sounds sarcastic but he's a little wide-eyed and his package is still really obvious in his scrubs. "I'll just get changed."

"Okay," she says. Cool. Totally professional. "Let me just, you know, draw the curtain." And she does, she's good, she's not thinking of him getting dressed in there, certainly not about the fact that he has to get undressed first, and of course she's not listening to the sounds of sliding fabric and belt buckles.

She busies herself at a workstation before he comes out so he won't think she's been spying on him, which she hasn't, because she'd never do that. Really.

He doesn't really look at her, just tosses off a "See ya, Doc" as he goes.

"Hopefully not too soon," she says, and it's nothing, just stupid doctor humor, but his head jerks around and his eyes tighten and wow, for a minute there she forgot he was the military leader of the base and not just some guy with a hot ass she'd just stuck her finger up. "I mean, you know," she says, stumbling all over her words, "usually when you end up here, it's not for anything good."

"Right," he says, and gives her one more sideways look before he turns and heads out the door.

*

She doesn't give it another thought. Well, not professionally, and her personal thoughts are her own business now that she's broken up with Rodney and has only her extensive collection of vibrators to answer to. And anyway, she's seen a lot of asses in her life. It's not like the colonel's is anything special, except for how it kind of is.

Still, she's not expecting to see him in the infirmary. Well, she's really hoping not to, because she knows how dangerous offworld missions are, and while she loves her job, she hates seeing anyone hurt. But a week later, he's back.

He walks into the infirmary on his own, which means it can't be anything too serious, but her trained eye spots a catch in his step, a kind of squirm when he stops in front of her.

"Colonel," she says, keeping her voice matter-of-fact. "What seems to be the problem?"

He shoves his hands in his pockets with another squirm and leans in, speaking softly. "Do they have poison ivy here in Pegasus?"

"Oh, my," she says, and then he squirms again and she doesn't have to ask where it is. "I better take a look at it."

She gets him behind a curtain and she's about to suggest changing into a gown when he turns to face the exam table, undoes his belt, and drops his pants.

"Wow," she says, and she knows that's not an appropriate thing to say, but his ass is flaming red all the way across his cheeks and into the crack. "Um, what happened?" she asks, snapping on a pair of gloves.

"I was on the mainland," he says, and of course he's not looking at her because he's still facing the table. "Think I sat on something."

"You weren't wearing any pants?" she says, and okay, that's even less professional.

"Nope," he says, and that means he must have had his pants off for some reason. For some all-too-obvious reason. Jennifer feels her cheeks going warm. She doesn't even know who he went with, except she vaguely recalls seeing Ronon picking up sandwiches in the mess this morning.

"I'm going to need to take a look," she says. "Bend over, please."

Sheppard puts his hands on the table in front of him and leans forward, exposing his gluteal cleft. Jennifer places a gentle hand on him to get a better look. He's pretty red in there, too, but she's not going to ask how it got there. At least the rash isn't blistered or weeping like poison ivy. It looks more like someone spent a good half hour slapping him, and oh, God, she did not just have that thought.

"Does it itch?" she asks.

He squirms right in front of her, like the mention of it is enough to make it worse. "Like fire," he says.

"I'm going to have to swab it," she says, and she gets one ready.

She could take her sample from anywhere, of course, but she can't help herself. She runs the tip right over the reddest part of his buttock and then, yes, slips it into the cleft.

"I'm going to need to run a few tests on this," she says. "You can pull your pants up. Or...not," she adds, when she realizes that would probably be uncomfortable for him.

"I'm good," he says as she slips through the curtain, and when she takes one last glance, she doesn't see him reach for his pants.

So maybe it's a little distracting to be thinking about him and his lack of pants while she runs the tests, but it's not like she makes a mistake or anything.

"It's not poison ivy," she announces when she comes back. He's leaning casually against the exam table with one hip, his pants pulled up but his belt and fly unfastened. He has one hand holding his pants together so she can't see anything, but it's still suggestive as hell. "But it's something pretty similar. I'm afraid I'm going to have to clean the area thoroughly." And she hands him a gown.

He looks down at it and swallows visibly, but he doesn't say a word when she leaves him and by the time she's back with cleanser and a basin he's ready for her, with the gown tied in the back. He's facing her and there's a suggestive fold in the gown right over his crotch, but she does her best not to stare and tells him to turn around and bend over.

The rash really doesn't make his ass any less pretty. It's a good color on him. Jennifer touches it gently with her cloth, but he flinches anyway.

"Oh," she says awkwardly. "I'm sorry. Does it hurt?"

"No," he says, and that might be a lie but she's pretty sure she has to honor it.

"Okay," she says, and gets to work. She starts on the upper part of his buttocks, working her way down around the nicely rounded cheeks. She saves the cleft for last, and when her cloth slips into it, he makes that noise, the little breathy grunt he'd made when she gave him the prostate exam.

It makes her go hot all over. She moves the cloth gently, wiping all the way down to his anus, and he grunts again, louder this time, and his hips twitch. He's sensitive there -- well, of course he is. He has a nasty rash, and she's touching highly innervated tissue. But she really does need to make sure there's no trace of the irritating oil her tests found there, so she washes him again. And why not a third time?

By the time she's done, she can hear his breathing, soft and steady but definitely elevated. "I'm going to put a medicated cream on it," she says, going for brisk and not quite making it. "Just stay where you are."

She grabs the cream and turns back to him, and wow, he really is a sight like this. She wishes she'd never thought about him looking like he'd been slapped, even if it will be fodder for her special time with her vibrators tonight, because right now she wishes she could do more to him, wishes she could slide a finger inside and see if he would make even more noise.

Of course she restrains herself. She's a doctor, and a damn good one. There's nothing the least bit inappropriate in the way she smoothes the medicine all over his buttocks and into the cleft, and if she slides her finger around his anus twice, well, that's just being thorough.

Although she's pretty sure that was a gasp.

"Well," she says, when she finally has to step back. She pulls off her gloves smartly. "That should help a little. I'll give you some calamine lotion you can apply as needed, and I'll need to see you in twenty-four hours to see how the rash is progressing."

Sheppard straightens and turns around, but he has his hands strategically in front of him, so she can't see if he's tenting his gown. Although she can't quite figure why he has his hands like that if he doesn't have something to hide. "Fine," he says.

"Oh," she says, "and don't wear your favorite underwear when you use it. It might stain."

"Fantastic," he says sarcastically, but she's pretty sure his ears are pink.

She really doesn't want to go right now, but she's out of excuses. "I'll just leave you to get dressed, then," she says. "You'll need to wear scrubs and wash your clothes thoroughly before you wear them again." And she hands him a pair of scrub pants that should fit before she retreats through the curtain.

When he finally comes out, he just takes the bottle of lotion and barely says good-bye to her, but she doesn't really care. She has her vibrators tonight, and tomorrow she's going to get to enjoy the view again.

Life in Pegasus does have its occasional perks.

*

Sheppard's ass is still bright red the next day, and she can tell he's still itching, even though there are only a few scratch marks. He must have iron self control.

But right now Jennifer's the one in control. She takes her time with the medicated cream, spreading it evenly across his skin and using extra care at the gluteal folds.

She saves the cleft for the last, smoothing cream from the top down, and she's almost to his anus when she realizes he's holding his breath. Trying to keep from gasping like last time, no doubt. It's kind of sweet and more than a little hot, and she almost takes pity on him. But it's hard to tell if the rash extends to the mucous membrane, and she really does need to be thorough.

The instant her finger touches the puckered skin she hears his breath escape him in a single, quiet puff. She circles gently with her finger and he makes another noise, an intake of breath that almost sounds like "fuck."

"Sorry," she says, but doesn't pull her hand away. "I just need to make sure I get everything."

He doesn't say a word, like he didn't say a word when she handed him a gown to change into instead of scrubs. He just buries his face in his arms and spreads his legs a little more. He can't have any idea how hot he looks like this. Actually, he'd probably hate her for thinking that when he's so miserable, and she feels a little twinge of guilt, but then she takes another look and decides she'd have to be made of stone not to find him sexy like this.

She gives his anus one last brush with the tip of her finger and then pulls back and takes off her gloves. "So," she says, watching as he pulls the gown back over his ass with one hand and slowly straightens. "I'm afraid I can't tell you how long this is going to last. But I need you to come in every morning that it's still itchy, okay?"

It's not, strictly speaking, necessary. But it will keep him a little more comfortable and she has no idea how long the rash will last or whether there will be complications. It's better to be safe than sorry.

"Whatever you say, Doc," he says, and he's being sarcastic again, but he forgot to cover up, and this time she sees he really is tenting his gown.

And, wow, it's quite a tent.

She clears her throat and drags her gaze back up to his face. "So," she says, and bounces a little awkwardly on her heels. "You'll probably need to come back tomorrow."

"Looking like it," he says, and that's when she realizes she needs to give him some privacy to change.

"Right, well, I guess I'll just see you then," she says, and ducks out with her heart beating just a little bit too fast. But honestly, an ass like that and a dick to match? It almost seems unfair to the rest of the guys in the galaxy.

*

She takes her time that night, even lights a candle and lines up her toys on her nightstand. She usually uses the rabbit when she's in a hurry, but tonight she's going for the multi-purpose massager with its interchangeable heads and adjustable speeds. She selects a smooth dildo to insert, and on a whim, a small plug as well. She has plenty of bigger ones, but she's learned from experimentation that this one's the best for double penetration, maximizing sensation and minimizing discomfort.

She starts with just the massager, circling her whole vulva and getting warmed up. The dildo is next, and she slides it in and out a bit, thinking of the tent in Sheppard's gown. John's gown. Hey, she's had her finger up his ass. She can call him whatever she wants. In her head, anyway.

She's pretty sure the dildo she's using is smaller than he is, but she could take him. She's never had a boyfriend who's huge, but her toy collection is varied as well as extensive, and she's tried every single one more than once.

She pushes the dildo in a little faster, trying to imagine it's Shep-- John. She wonders what he'd be like in bed, if he's the kind who always has to take the lead, or if he'd agree to follow her every once in awhile. If he'd have his one favorite position, or if he'd like to change it up a lot.

He'd be a little shy in bed, she decides, completely arbitrarily. He wouldn't ask for anything unusual and they'd do it doggy style all the time and she would have to stretch every single time to take him all the way.

No, that would get boring. Eventually, anyway. So she'd have to nudge him a little. Subtly, of course. Maybe push him down on the bed after a few beers and joke about having her way with him. She'd pretend to be drunk, too, and maybe she'd be fondling his balls and just happen to let her hand slip a little lower.

She wonders if he'd gasp. If his hips would twitch. If he'd just lie there and stare at her, wide-eyed, as she ran her finger in a little circle around his hole. But, oh, God, she'd love to see his face when she slid her finger in.

She's more than ready for the plug, now, and she rolls a condom onto it, slicks it up, and slips it in with the dildo still inside her. It takes a little push to get it past the sphincter, but then she's deliciously full and ready for the vibrator again. She can't help wondering if John has ever felt like this, if anyone's ever filled him.

She can't help imagining pushing two fingers into him, or even a little plug. She'd start small -- she has plenty of little ones -- and then move up, just to see how much he could take. She'd tease him about that, about how he really ought to be able to take one as big as his cock. Certainly if he wants her to take it. He really ought to know what it feels like.

Or, God, God, could he do it? Could he fuck her with a plug inside him? Not a little one, a big one, big enough that he could feel it with every thrust, so that every time he pushed inside her he'd know that she was inside him, too?

Jesus, she'd do it. She'd make him do it. And he'd love it, she'd make him love it, she'd make him beg for it, so hard.

She's coming before she even thinks she's close, curling up off the bed, full and buzzing, with John in her head and a whole new appreciation for her toy collection.

She never knew it could play such a delightful double role in her fantasy life.

*

She's not disappointed to see the rash starting to fade. Of course she isn't. John-- Sheppard seems a little more at ease, but that's probably simply the physical discomfort. Jennifer smooths cream on him anyway, and by the time she gets to his anus the urge to push just the tip of her finger inside is almost overwhelming. It's a testament to her own self-control that she doesn't, but she makes up for it a little by taking her time around the whole perineal area. He manages to hold his breath this time, but she feels a quiver in his muscles as her finger passes over his anus the second time. He's good at holding back, she'll give him that. But not good enough to fool her.

*

She spends some more quality time with her toy collection that night. It's getting more of a workout than it has in months, but she's inspired, and this time she imagines stashing a plug in the infirmary and taking it out during an exam. She'd show it to him first just to see his eyes go wide. And then she'd tell him it's a necessary part of the procedure.

Not that she'd force him. She'd make him ask for it. Dare him to take it. Tell him she could take it, no problem. And maybe she'd even prove it to him, while he watched in amazement, the tent growing under his flimsy gown.

She comes hot and hard, her blood singing in her veins, and it's good, so good. It's the best fantasy material she's had in years, and if it makes her look at the military commander of Atlantis a little differently when she sees him in the weekly staff meeting, well, it's not like anyone's going to notice.

*

She's surprised when he comes into the infirmary the next day. She was pretty sure he'd be just about healed already.

"Colonel," she says, closing her memo to the nursing staff too quickly and probably forgetting to save it. "Is something wrong?"

"It still itches," he says, and his face is unreadable.

"Okay, well, I guess I better take a look at it, make sure there's no new problem," she says, but when she has him bent over the exam table, his skin is only a little pink. There are a few more scratch marks, though, so she tsks a little and tells him to keep his hands off it and puts cream on him. She doesn't use the medicated one this time, just a moisturizer, but she doesn't tell him that and he doesn't say a thing. Except he kind of sighs when she gets to the sensitive spots and the sound of it gets her right where it counts.

It's his own damn fault, she thinks, as she rubs right over his anus, then goes back and does it again. If he didn't want to be embarrassed, he shouldn't have come today. The itch can't be that bad, and he's supposed to be the stoic, manly type. Really, it's not her fault if she's getting ideas. She rubs his anus again, pressing a little harder, and this time he groans, loud enough for it to be unmistakable.

"Sorry," she says, not feeling sorry at all, and she gives his buttock a little pat before stepping back and stripping off her gloves. She waits for him to straighten and turn around, but he doesn't. He doesn't even reach back to cover up his ass.

"Colonel?" she says, almost slipping and calling him John. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he says, and his voice is growly and breathy and made of pure sex. He stands up very slowly without turning around and the gown falls down over his ass but doesn't quite cover everything. She can still see a bit of pink skin and the shadow of his gluteal cleft.

"I, um, don't think it's going to bother you much more," Jennifer babbles at his back. "You shouldn't need to come in again."

"That's good," he says, and it's still all low and breathy, and she knows. He's so hard he thinks he can't hide it if he turns around.

"I'm sorry, I'll just, um, leave you to it," she says, and backs out of the curtain. She allows herself one last glimpse of the gap in his gown. She is still human, after all.

He's still hard when he comes out. He's wearing briefs but she can see the ridge of it through his baggy BDU pants, and yes, it really is that impressive. She readjusts her mental assessment -- the purple dildo. Yes, he's definitely as big as the purple one. And here she'd been thinking the pink was pretty big.

"Can I go?" he asks, and whoops, she's staring again.

"Of course," she says. "Here's where I say I don't want to see you again soon."

"Right," he says, and he almost smiles, but he doesn't stick around, just heads straight out the door, and she's left there with a surprisingly strong sense of letdown, because what are the chances he'll do something stupid to his ass again anytime soon?

*

It's four days later when it happens. John comes in with Ronon and he's limping and wincing pretty badly.

"Another sparring accident?" Jennifer says, giving Ronon her best glare.

Ronon doesn't seem the least bit intimidated. "He lost his concentration."

"Hey," John says. "You just got lucky."

Ronon shrugs, but there's a smile lurking around his eyes. "Whatever, old man."

John shoots him a glare and Jennifer finds herself smiling. "He's not that old," she hears herself say. After all, she's dated Rodney. But Ronon looks like he's going to make another wisecrack, so she adds, "C'mon over, I'll take a look at it," and John follows her to a curtained area.

Ronon gives him another amused look and John tells him to get out of there and then it's deja vu all over again, because as soon as Jennifer pulls the curtain closed, John is turning around and pulling down his pants.

"Oh, God," Jennifer says, because it's really not what she was expecting. He has a welt across his buttocks, bright red and raised, and a couple of lighter marks that are going to be bruises in their own right. "What on Earth were you two doing?"

She can see John's shoulders lift, though he doesn't raise his head. "Just sparring. We get kind of intense sometimes."

"I can see that," Jennifer says, gently touching the skin next to the welt. "You're going to be lucky if you can sit next week."

"I'm pretty used to standing," he says, and right, with that rash he probably wasn't spending a lot of quality time in his chair.

She runs a hand along the skin above the weal, watching him for a reaction, but he doesn't even flinch until she touches the top of his cleft.

"Sore there?" she asks, and he says, "A little."

This isn't exactly hot for her -- she's really not into pain -- but she gets a flash of an idea, and then she can't stop herself. And it's not like it's completely medically unwarranted.

"You may have broken your coccyx," she says. "I'm going to have to check on it."

She should just pull out a hand scanner. She knows that; it would tell her everything she wants to know. But this may be the only opportunity she's going to get, and the scanner isn't going to tell her anything about his level of discomfort.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she's lubed up a gloved finger and pressed it against his anus, her other hand resting lightly over his tailbone. "Deep breath," she says, and he does more of a stuttering gulp, and then her finger is inside him. He feels tight and hot through her glove and she wants to find his prostate so badly she almost does it, but then she controls herself and concentrates on his coccyx.

He grunts a little, but it doesn't sound too bad, and she's not feeling any movement she shouldn't, even when she explores it extremely thoroughly. She leaves her finger in him as long as she can without giving herself away, and then slowly pulls out.

"I'm going to have to run the scanner," she says, and tugs off her gloves before reaching for it. But the display shows exactly what she expected -- some swelling, but no sign of a fracture.

He turns his head, even though he can't really look at her. "Bad news?"

"No, you got lucky this time," she says. "It's just bruised. But the next time you think of sparring with Ronon, you might consider wearing some pads."

He lifts his head, twisting off the table with his bare ass still pointing at her. "On my ass?"

"Well, you need to protect it somehow," she says, "because you're certainly not doing a very good job of that right now."

He flushes at that. She can see the pink in his ears and across his cheeks. "Are we done here?" he asks.

"Um," she says. She's feeling bizarrely cheated, and she doesn't even know why. Except that his ass was prettier with the rash, especially when she could pretend it was from a good spanking. This is more than anything she could imagine doing to him, and it makes her ridiculously cranky that he hasn't given her any new fodder for her evenings alone.

"There something wrong?" John asks, and she realizes she's just standing there staring at him.

"What? Oh, no. No, of course not. You can go. I'll just, you know." And she's out of the curtain and berating herself without so much as another glance at him.

*

The vibrators stay in their box for the night, and all she can think about is the red line across his ass and how much it must have hurt him. And why it's worse than an itchy rash she has no idea. There are probably some people who would find it hot. She'd even suspect Ronon, except she knows he's still with Amelia, so it has to be coincidence that he was there both times John experienced an ass-related injury.

But she watches John out of the corner of her eye in the mess and in the senior staff meeting. He's sitting surprisingly well for someone with a welt like that, like he doesn't want anyone to know he's hurt. And then his eyes flick up and meet hers, and she may be imagining it, but it looks like his ears go pink.

Well, right, of course. She and Ronon are the only ones who know he's injured. But it's still kind of odd that he's embarrassed to look at her. He never was, before.

*

And then there's an incident offworld. Jennifer doesn't even hear about it until Teyla and Rodney escort John to the infirmary, one on each side of him.

"He is in need of your assistance," Teyla explains, and Rodney adds, "Only because he's an idiot. I mean, seriously, who would even think that was a good idea? Hasn't he even heard of 'it's all fun and games until someone--'"

"Rodney," Teyla says reprovingly, and gives John a little push toward Jennifer.

"Hi," John says with an off-kilter smile, and he's not walking quite right. Jennifer's mouth drops open just a little because no. No, it's impossible. But when she asks, "What seems to be the matter?" he just jerks his chin toward the curtained-off exam table.

When he pulls down his pants she doesn't see anything obvious. The sparring bruises are mostly faded, and there's no new injury she can see. "So, um, what's the problem?" she asks, feeling like an idiot.

John sort of squirms and says, "Inside."

"Inside?" She stares, feeling her face go hot. "You have something inside you? How did it...oh, God, please tell me no one...because that's assault, you know, and you really should--"

"It wasn't assault," he says, and his ears are flaming. "It was just stupid, okay? And now I need you to get it out."

"You put something up your ass?" she says. "Are you sure no one forced you?"

"It was more of a dare," he says, and she realizes with sudden, hot-faced clarity that she doesn't want to know any more.

"Okay," she says. "I'm going to have to get you under the scanner."

The scanner shows an oblong object about three inches long and an inch wide, lodged firmly in his rectum. She's thinking, idiot, idiot, idiot, until she realizes one thing: she's the one who has to get it out, and he had to know that when he put it in there.

But no, no, he couldn't, could he? He's never shown the slightest sign that he's interested in her. Well, there are the gasps and the hard-ons, but that's purely a physical reaction, isn't it? Unless it actually means something?

Oh, God. She has no idea what to do. If she's wrong, she'll make a complete fool of herself and she'll never be able to look at him again. And if she's right, well, what if it's just some kind of weird medical kink? What if he just wants to go back to his quarters and jack off and doesn't give a damn who's poking their fingers up him?

She sends him back behind the curtain and has him get into a gown, and when she comes back he's in his usual position, bent forward over the table. There's nothing to indicate this has anything to do with her. And, yes, the view is pretty again, but she's too distracted to really enjoy it.

"I'm going to have to use a speculum," she says, and his ass twitches.

"You can't just use your fingers?" he asks, and wow, she's reading in but that sounds like he was actually hoping for it.

"Sorry," she says firmly, only regretting it a little bit. "I don't want to risk pushing the object further in."

She doesn't bother to warm the speculum although of course she lubricates it well, and when she eases it into him he makes a noise that isn't the least bit sexy. Well, okay, maybe a little bit. She squeezes the speculum open, sets the screw and turns her light on, and it's strange to be able to see where only her fingers have gone before, but she can't help thinking he's as pretty on the inside as he is on the outside. And then she sees it.

It's kind of aqua blue and looks like it's made of stone, which is totally not what she was expecting, but she's totally businesslike as she opens the speculum a little wider, grabs a forceps and inserts it carefully. She's concentrating on maneuvering the tips around the foreign object, so she doesn't really listen to the noises John's making. Even if he sounds like pure sex again.

God, it must be a medical kink. He'd probably love an enema. She almost wishes she had an excuse to give him one, but the tips of the forceps are in place, and all she has to do is gently draw the object toward her. It won't fit through the blades of the speculum, but that doesn't matter. She eases them both out together, and he sighs a little as it comes out.

She drops the object in a basin. It really is blue, but made of glazed ceramic rather than stone. It has a decorative pattern running over the surface and she has no idea what it is, but she sets it to the side and turns back to John's ass. He's still bent over with his head down like he's not sure she's done, and she's seized by an impulse so strong that she can't resist it.

"I'm going to need to check to make sure you didn't injure yourself," she says, and without any further warning, she slides a gloved finger into him. She gets a tiny moan as a reward, and she probes gently, ostensibly checking for tears. Of course she would have seen anything major when she had the speculum in him, but he doesn't have to know that, and his breath is catching in a way that is irresistible.

He shudders when she touches his prostate, but she keeps her finger inside him. "Does that hurt?" she asks, and his voice is as low and breathy as she'd hoped when he says, "No," so she does it, she really does it, she rubs over his prostate again, and one more time, while he lets out tiny little moans and pushes against her finger like he's begging for more.

She doesn't want to stop, but she's already done a lot more than she should, and she has one answer, anyway. She pulls her finger out gently and strips off her gloves.

"Um," she says. He's still bent over, not showing any signs of wanting to stand up. "Do you want to keep this thing? You have to promise not to do a repeat performance."

"What?" he says, and then he lifts his head and sees the object in the basin. "Oh. Uh, no. You can have it."

Wonderful. So he goes offworld and plays stupid games, and she gets a bizarre souvenir. On the other hand, it has been up his ass, and it's ridiculous that she finds that sexy but she kind of does.

"I mean it about the repeat performance," she says, and it actually comes out kind of stern. "I don't want to see you here with another stupid injury, okay?"

He straightens slowly, and his whole face is flushed. He's also hard, and for once he's not even trying to hide it. "Okay," he says.

"Good," she says, keeping her eyes glued to his face by force of will. "I'm glad we've got that straightened out." And then she can't help it. It's totally not her fault. Her gaze drops to down to where his cock is poking against the gown, and she can almost see the outline of the head through the thin fabric.

John clears his throat. "Can I get dressed?"

"Yes. Yes, that would, um, be a really good idea," she says, and she has to get out of there before she says something stupid or does something stupid like reach out to touch him.

The curtains sway as she pushes through them, and she finds a computer so she can have something to stare at while she calms her heart down. It's totally unfair that he does this to her. Even if she seems to have exactly the same effect on him.

"Doc?" he says, and he's leaning against a gurney, dressed and ready to go and still hard, because yes, she did check.

"Did I, um, is there something else you need?" she says, and she hates herself for the way she sounds, so flustered and unsure.

"Yeah," he says, and just stands there. "I mean, I wanted to say...thanks. For, you know, everything."

"Oh," she says, because that wasn't what she thought he was going to say at all. "Um sure. I mean, you know, you're welcome and all of that."

He's kind of half-smiling at her and he looks almost dorky and she really didn't think it was possible to find him more appealing, but apparently it is.

"I'll see you around," she says daringly. "I mean, outside the infirmary for a change."

"Sure thing," he says easily, but his smile goes a little wider. "Later." And then he turns and he's gone.

*

Jennifer sits with Teyla at dinner. It's not totally weird -- Teyla's the one who smiles at her and beckons to the chair -- so she feels surprisingly at ease. And Teyla is warm and considerate and asks how her day went.

"Oh, you know," Jennifer says. "The usual chaos. I mean, if I wanted my day to be same old, same old, I wouldn't have gone into medicine."

Teyla smiles again. "There is a matter I wish to discuss with you. I hope it will not make you uncomfortable."

"Me?" Jennifer says, feeling her heart rate pick up. "No. I mean, I'm sure it wouldn't."

"It is about John," Teyla says matter-of-factly. "I hope that his recent behavior has not been distressing you?"

"Oh, God," Jenniifer says before she can think to swallow it. "Um."

"I am certain," Teyla says, "that he would never knowingly do anything to discomfit you, but he does not always see how his actions might be construed."

"Oh," Jennifer says again, trying to parse that. Was she trying to say John was interested in her, or just the opposite? "No, no he's fine. He's just had a few minor medical incidents recently. I'm sure it's not, you know, a problem. For anyone. Including me."

Teyla eyes her assessingly, and apparently accepts whatever she sees on Jennifer's face. "If you would ever like me to speak to him, you need only say the word," she says finally.

"Wow," Jennifer says, and whatever John feels or doesn't feel, she appreciates the offer. "Thanks. I'll, you know, let you know if I do."

"Of course," Teyla says.

"So," Jennifer says, "How's Torren doing?"

But Teyla is only halfway through a description of Torren's latest exploits when she pauses, her eyes focusing on something over Jennifer's shoulder. Teyla nods and smiles, and Jennifer turns to see John standing over them.

"Mind if I join you, ladies?" he asks.

Teyla lifts an eyebrow at Jennifer, and Jennifer does her best not to blush. "No, of course not. Please have a seat, Colonel."

"Call me John," he says, sliding into the chair next to her, and there's no hope for it. Jennifer is sure her face is bright pink.

"John," she says. "Sure." And she glances at Teyla, who's smiling indulgently.

"That's better," he says, and smiles at her. "So, how's the Salisbury steak tonight?"

The rest of the conversation is pretty inane. By the end of the meal, Jennifer has determined that she and John both like yala fruit but hate tava beans, and she prefers cake while he's more of a pie person. Teyla adds an opinion now and then, but mostly seems content to watch them babble. Jennifer's just glad she's not laughing, because the most pathetic thing about the conversation is how ridiculously enjoyable it is.

But all too soon dinner is over and John is standing up and saying good-night. He doesn't linger and he doesn't ask Jennifer what she's doing later. Not that she's expecting anything, because of course she isn't. But it would be nice to know if he's being friendly out of guilt or something else.

*

She doesn't see him again for four days. Well, she sees him across the room in the mess, talking earnestly to Rodney, and in Woolsey's staff meeting, and once she passes right by him in the hall. He smiles at her a couple of times but nothing more. It's like he's waiting for her to do or say something, and honestly, it's driving her more crazy than Rodney did when he took three months to ask her out. At least then she already knew he was interested. John is a mystery masquerading as an enigma, and she really wishes she had the guts to corner him and ask him what gives.

And then he comes into the infirmary. Walking funny again, and God, God, he couldn't have stuck something up his ass again, could he? Because that would mean he wasn't listening at all when she lectured him, and if she has to fish some bizarre object out with a forceps again she's going to slap him until he's as red as the rash that started all of this.

"So," she says, "what brings you here this afternoon?" and it's possible there's a bit of a challenge in her voice.

But he doesn't rise to it, just squirms again and says, "There's something I could, uh, use some help with." And that's when she realizes he's nervous.

It's ridiculous. He's faced Wraith hive ships on his own, but he's scared of her? But it's undeniable, the way he has his hands clenched at his sides, the angle of his chin, the fact that he won't quite meet her eyes.

"Come on," she says, feeling breathless and oddly powerful as she leads the way to the curtained area.

She's not the least bit surprised when he unbuckles his belt and bends forward, and then he pulls down his pants and she is.

There's no rash. No welt. And no need for a scanner, because she can see it, nestled in the cleft of his ass. A flat, black, flared shape that after a heart-stopping moment she recognizes as the base of a buttplug.

Black silicone. And he wore it for her.

"Wow," she says before she can stop herself.

His head is buried in his arms. "Think you can...help me out?" he says.

She dares to reach for it. Dares to tug. It slips out surprisingly easily then and she sees why. It's not tiny, but it's not particularly big, either. A nice size for a warm-up. Or possibly for walking around the city in.

"I'm sorry," she says, feeling her pulse pounding in her ears. She positions the plug against his hole again. "I'm afraid I can't help you." And she pushes it back in, firmly enough that his hips jerk. "Not here, anyway."

He lifts his head, turning it to see her, and he's flushed and open-mouthed, like he doesn't quite believe she just said that.

She doesn't quite believe it, either. "If you really want me to take care of it," she hears herself say, "you can, you know, stop by my quarters tonight."

He swallows visibly and straightens, jerking his pants up over his hard-on. "What time?"

Oh, God, she just propositioned him, and he's going to take her up on it. "Maybe nine?" she says, and then wonders if that's too early. It's not like this is a dinner-and-a-movie sort of date. "Or ten. You could come at ten."

"Ten's good," he says, and he tugs his pants up a little harder. The bulge gets in the way, and he has to look down and tuck himself in properly. "I can do ten."

"Good," she says, and she can't believe she's doing this.

"Yeah," he says, finishing buckling his belt. "See you then." And as he's walking by her, he reaches to pat her shoulder for just a moment.

His hand feels surprisingly cool against her skin, but maybe that's because her skin feels so hot. She wants to touch him back, to put her hand over his or maybe even kiss him, but he's gone before she can get from thought to action, and she's left staring after him as he saunters out of the infirmary, no catch to his stride now, even though she knows what's in his ass.

And that ass is going to be hers to play with, tonight at ten.

*
She manages to get some dinner down, but by quarter to ten, the anticipation is killing her. She's taken a shower and fixed her hair and done her makeup. She's gone through her toy box and made sure everything is clean and all the batteries are charged and she has a good supply of condoms. Just looking at them makes her feel giddy. She's never had a boyfriend who liked ass play before, so she didn't even know she wanted that, but she does. Oh, God, she really does.

Her door chime rings three minutes early. She shoves the toy box under her bed just in case it's not John, but of course it is. He's wearing a snug black t-shirt and jeans and he's clean shaven and looks fantastic. He even smells good, like he's fresh out of the shower, and if he were a different guy, she'd be dropping to her knees and not even minding. But he obviously has something else on his mind.

"Hi," he says, and gives her a smile that is half-nervous, half-eager, and all charming.

"Come on in," she says, and he steps in and lets the door close behind him and sticks his hands in his pockets, looking around.

"This is nice," he says, as his eyes pass over the candle she lit and her wine-colored duvet and the rest of her meager attempts at decorating.

"Um," she says. "Thanks." And then she gets it. He's waiting for her to make the first move. It's nerve-racking and paralyzing, but she does it, she steps right into his space and puts a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him down into a kiss.

The tension goes out of him and he kisses her back, lips parted and eyes closed, like it's the only thing he's been thinking of. But Jennifer dares to wrap her other hand around his backside, and when she squeezes a little, his hips jerk.

"Are you wearing it?" she asks, and she feels naughty and dangerous for even saying it.

"Yeah," he breathes against her mouth, and she pulls back to look at him. His eyes are dark and his hard-on is really obvious in his jeans.

"Show me," she dares, and she can see his cock twitch through the fabric.

He turns away from her and drops his pants, bending forward over her desk so that she can see the base of the plug. It's the same one he was wearing earlier, but it looks like he added more lube because it's now shiny around the edge of the base.

"Have you been wearing it all evening?" she asks, because she has to.

He nods. "Took it out in the shower so I could clean up."

Wow, that has to mean what she thinks it means. And he did it for her. Jennifer puts a hand on his hip and his skin shivers, like he's just that sensitive, like he's so eager for this he can't bear it, and that makes her bolder. She reaches for the plug and tugs it out, then pops it back in again, fucking him with it. He makes a little noise and tries to spread his legs, but the jeans around his thighs get in the way.

There has to be a better way to do this. Jennifer pulls the plug all the way out and balances it on its base on her desk. It looks obscene there, the narrow neck and bulb above it all shiny with lube next to her businesslike laptop. "Maybe this would work better on the bed," she says a little tentatively.

He straightens, and for the first time he looks disappointed, like that wasn't what he wanted to hear. She does a mental rewind, and hears her voice, nervous and diffident, then checks his cock. It looks a little droopy, which means he liked it better before, when she was telling him what to do.

Oh. Oh, God. It's not just about his ass, then. He was getting off on the whole situation. On having her call the shots. And now he's watching her with narrow eyes, like he's trying to figure out if this is going to be a disaster.

"You liked it better before," she says, and she feels dumb saying it, but she needs to hear him confirm it. "When I was ordering you around."

His chin drops and he flushes, but his eyes come up to meet hers. "Is that a problem?"

"No," she says, as quickly as she can. "No, that's, uh, really good." Because it is. God, she can work with this. She just has to pretend she's knows what she's doing.

The thought makes her almost laugh out loud, because apparently this is what she gets for wishing he wouldn't be the kind of guy who always has to be in charge. "Okay, um," she says, trying not to flail. "So you like..."

He frowns, and his cock goes softer, and she gets it, she does. He doesn't like talking about this stuff. But she has to know -- this is important -- and if he can't do it, she can't play. "Look," he says finally. "I just like to be told what to do. And, you know. Stuff up my ass. If you can't--"

"Oh, I can do that," she assures him. "I'm good. It's good. We can...I can do that for you." And she can, she's sure she can. All she has to do is tell him what she wants. "Take off your clothes."

His eyes lock on hers, assessing her again, but then he starts to strip, still looking right at her. He doesn't even glance down to untie his boots, but apparently they weren't laced very tight because they're off in a few seconds, quickly followed by his socks. His pants join them in a heap on the floor, and Jennifer wrinkles her nose. She's not going to say anything because no matter what anyone says she's not a nag, but then she realizes the usual rules don't apply here.

"Well, don't be a slob," she says. "Go on, fold them neatly."

He looks down at that, surprised, but by the time he's done folding them, his cock is ramrod stiff again. It's like a barometer of his mood, she thinks giddily. "Shirt, too," she says.

He tugs off his t-shirt and folds it, then takes off his watch, so that all he's wearing are his dog tags and that black sweat band he always seems to have around his wrist.

"And that," she says, pointing to it.

For some reason, that makes him flush, but the sweat band joins the pile of clothes. His wrist looks oddly vulnerable without it, narrow under the dark hair.

"On the bed," she says, and it's an incredible rush when he does it without any hesitation, lowering himself onto his hands and knees, facing away from her. Ready for her, which meant she'd better get ready for him. She dives under the bed and pulls out her box of toys, then rifles through it, looking for the perfect choice.

"Jesus," John says, and she looks up to see him staring. "That's a hell of a collection."

"I've been working on it for a few years," she admits, half embarrassed, half smug. "You'd be amazed what you can order from Earth when it comes in a plain brown wrapper."

He's still staring. "You used those on Rodney?"

"What?" She tries to imagine that and fails. "Oh, God, no. He wouldn't have been interested."

"Ah," John says, but he looks a little happier, and she realizes that he was jealous. Jealous of someone she broke up with months ago, and that probably shouldn't make her stomach go all warm and squishy, but it does.

Jennifer picks one of her shorter dildos, the one with graduated ripples on one end and a curve on the other that can serve as a handle. She slips a condom over it, slicks it up, and looks up to see John watching her avidly.

"Think you can take it?" she asks. It's not huge, but it's definitely wider than the plug he was using.

"Yeah," he says, and she sees his cock bounce under his belly.

"Let's find out," she says, and climbs up on the bed behind him.

She's still fully dressed, and that's a tiny power trip, too, that she gets to choose when and how she's going to get naked, that she doesn't have to put on a show for him. No, this is about what she can do to him, and she wants to make it good for him. So good he'll want to come back.

She aligns the dildo and pushes the first ripple inside him, and he makes a quick, cut-off noise, like he thinks he still has to hide it.

"Oh, you can talk," she says, and slides the dildo in a little farther, so that the second ripple is stretching him wide.

He makes another small noise and she twists the dildo, just a bit. "Do I have to?" he gasps.

She thinks about making him. About demanding that he tell her everything he's feeling. But this is their first time, and it seems a bit much. She can try that next time, if she gets a next time. "Not if you don't want to," she says, and pushes the dildo until the second ripple disappears inside him.

"God," he says softly, like it's hard for him but he's trying. Trying for her, the way she's trying for him. It makes her want to hug him. And hear him beg.

"Think you can take more?" she says, and she can hear the smile in her own voice.

"Yeah," he says. "Please."

She pushes the third ripple in and he grunts. The fourth and last ripple is pretty wide, but she doesn't give him a breather, just presses again until he takes it with a groan.

"Not bad," she says, and she can't help wondering what he does on his own, if he has a toy as big as this one. If he's ever taken anything else up his ass. Strangely enough, the thought that he might be bi is really not a turn-off.

She eases the last ripple out again, then presses it back in, fucking him with the dildo as he drops his head and lets out a series of soft moans. She considers his anatomy and changes the angle a little, and the moans get louder. The dildo looks beautifully obscene, popping in and out of him, and she's starting to feel overwarm, like she has too many clothes on.

His moans change pitch as she fucks him, and she can see sweat breaking on along his spine. "Can you come from this?" she asks.

"Yes," he gasps, as she gives him a good shove.

"Don't," she says firmly, and he groans and drops his head again.

She fucks him a little more but then takes pity on him, because she's nowhere near done with the evening. She leaves the dildo all the way inside him, the curved end poking out like an X-rated tail, and stands up, stripping off her shirt and pants and underwear as fast as she can.

He doesn't turn his head to watch, but he's taking long, slow breaths like he's really that close. Jennifer folds her clothes -- no sense in being a hypocrite -- and when she turns back to him, he's put his arms down on the bed, his head pillowed one one forearm, his ass still high in the air.

She loves the way the dildo looks, but she's not sure he can hold it in for long enough, and anyway, she has a whole boxful of toys to try out. She crouches next to the bed and rifles through them, looking for the perfect plug.

She knows it when she sees it, the bright blue one. It has a pretty big head but she thinks he can take it, and better yet, it has nubs all the way around the narrow neck. She doesn't use it often herself because she finds it too distracting but that's not exactly a drawback, here.

She grabs a condom for it and the lube, and when she looks up, John is watching her, his face slack with want. A quick glance tells her his cock is shiny at the tip, so he really is that close. But she's pretty sure she can make him wait.

She eases the dildo out and positions the plug against him. "Don't come," she warns again, and presses it into him. It's wider than the dildo and takes more pressure, but he pushes back and slowly takes it, bulb and nubs and all, and then rocks his hips as the base settles snugly between his cheeks.

"Pretty," she says, and then realizes she hadn't meant to say it out loud. But it is. He is. And she still can't believe he's hers for the night.

She gives his ass a firm pat and then slips around the bed, leaning in to press her lips to the vulnerable spot right behind his ear. He reacts like a rocket going off, twisting around and finding her mouth with his, open and desperate and needy, like he's been thinking about kissing her the whole time she was fucking him.

"C'mon," she says, because it's her turn now, and she pulls back and slides onto the bed in front of him, spreading her legs. She can't get any more words out but she doesn't need to, because he buries his face in her crotch without a moment of hesitation.

Her hips buck when his tongue touches her clit because it's too much and she wants more and God, God, he's good at this, or maybe it's just his desperation spreading like a contagion.

"Finger me," she says, and his hand is there in an instant, two fingers sliding into her while his tongue keeps working its magic. It's amazing and she's not going to last and she needs more, right now.

"Slow. Down," she gasps, and he groans but he does it, slowing his tongue and fucking her gently with his fingers.

"That's better," she manages, still dying to come. But she has her priorities. She's going to do this right. "Can you feel me?" she asks. "That's me in your ass. Can you feel it?"

"Yeah," he says, and rocks his hips against the bed.

"Don't you dare come," she says, and tips her head back, breathing through her nose and riding the sensation like a shock wave. "Another finger," she dares. "In my ass."

"Fuck," he says softly against her, but he does it, he slides a third finger into her pussy and then out again, slipping it down to her ass and pressing inside. If she'd been fingering herself, she would have used lube, but apparently she's just that wet, because his finger slides in easily and then she has three points of contact and she's full and bright and wildly alive.

She rocks against his mouth and hand, pushing him deeper, taking it all. He's going slow but she's not going to last. Not like this. Not if he keeps it up.

"John," she says, and he lifts his head. His lips are shiny and swollen, his eyes soft. He'd do anything for her right now, and the thought almost scares her. "Roll over," she says. "On your back."

He pulls his fingers out and does what she says. His cock is still rock hard, long and thick and beautiful, and really, it would be a shame to waste it. She reaches down for yet another condom and rolls it over him, while he takes shallow, ragged breaths and watches her every motion. She checks the plug, but it's still securely in him, so she just gives it a couple a short, hard shoves, and then turns around and straddles him.

"Jesus," John groans as she wraps her hand around his cock, aligning it before she sinks down onto it. He feels even bigger than he looks, but she takes a deep breath and lowers her hips slowly, an inch at a time until she's taking it all, her pussy brushing his pubes.

His lips are parted, his chest flushed under the scattered hair. His dog tags have fallen to the side and he looks like something out of a porn flick, if only porn flicks had the sense to cast guys who look like him.

"Gonna ride you," she says. "Gonna ride you so hard. And John?"

His eyes are locked to hers, but the corners of his mouth twitch up. "Let me guess," he says. "Don't come?"

"Bingo," she says, and she's grinning back at him as she braces her hands on her thighs and does it, riding him up and down while he bites his lip and clenches his hands at his sides and fights to keep from coming.

She can't believe he's this good. That he hasn't broken. That he's doing this all for her. She wants to make him last even longer just to see how far she can push him, but she's not cruel. She sits up and slides a finger between her legs, circling her clit.

"Fuck," he breathes, thrusting up into her for the first time, and it's like the Fourth of July in Chippewa Falls, bottle rockets going off everywhere. "John," she says, and rubs her clit hard. "Oh, God John, you can, oh my God," because he's rocking his hips and she can't concentrate on anything else. She lifts up and sinks down and finds the perfect pressure with her finger. "You can come," she gasps, and tips over the edge herself.

She tries to keep riding him but he grabs her, pulling her down and kissing her hard while his hips shudder and jerk, driving him deeper inside her. She slides a hand up and into his hair and takes it until his thrusts finally slow and his mouth goes gentle against hers.

"Sorry," he says finally, and runs his hands up and down her back.

"What? No," she says. "God, no, that was amazing. I can't believe you could, I mean, wow."

He gives her a surprised and almost shy smile, and then kisses her again sweetly. She kisses him back for awhile, but then she realizes she's probably getting pretty heavy, so she slides off of him, holding the condom as she pulls his softening cock out of her, then slipping it off him and knotting it before tossing it in the direction of her trash can. Oh, and right, he still has the plug inside him. She reaches take it out, but his hand cups her arm.

"Leave it in?" he asks, and she can't help staring.

"Really?"

He flushes. "Want to feel you," he says. "Just a little longer."

"Okay," she says, and then adds, mock-sternly, "don't fall asleep with it in." Because he's been wearing a plug for several hours already, and she may be high on post-orgasmic bliss, but she's still a doctor.

"Okay," he says, and slides an arm around her, tugging her close.

She goes easily, kissing his neck and then his jaw, just because it's there. She still can't quite believe this is happening, that he's here with her. After all, what are the chances? It's pretty astonishing that he could have ended up in her infirmary so many times with ass-related injuries. And it's not like any but the last one were...no. Oh, God, no. He couldn't possibly have.

"Wait a minute," she says, lifting her head so she can see his face as the suspicion takes form and substance in her brain. "That sparring injury. Did you by any chance ask Ronon to hit you on the ass?"

His eyes fly open and then dart away from her, sheepish. "Uh," he says to the far wall, "sorry."

"Oh my God, you're an idiot," she says, smacking him on the hip. "You could have done serious damage! Not to mention you'd just recovered from a nasty...oh, no. Don't tell me. The rash, too?"

He clears his throat. "Ronon said it wouldn't be that bad. He lied, by the way."

She can't believe he did that. That he did any of it. He couldn't have just asked her out like a normal person? "You know, the next time you want to court a girl, you really need to go to someone else for advice."

"Trust me," John says, "I tried. Rodney was useless."

Jennifer laughs, trying to picture that, then laughs some more. "Okay, I get that. Just, you know, try not to hurt yourself, okay?" She runs a hand down his hip and squeezes. "It would be a shame if you'd given yourself scars."

His head rolls back and his eyes finally meet hers. "You're not mad?"

"I should be," she says, but she can't help it. She just wants to kiss him. And he's still wearing her butt plug. It's hard to be angry about that.

"I'll make it up to you," he says, and then realizes what he's said. "I mean, if you want. We don't have to, uh, again."

She smiles at him, feeling fond and giddy. He's impossible, but apparently he really, really wants her, and she's not about to say no to that. "Oh, I think we could try this again," she says, and tucks her head against his shoulder. "After all, I still have that big box of toys. It would be a shame to keep them all for myself."

"Sharing's good," he says, stroking her arm where it lies across his chest. "Good thing you know how."

"Oh, I do," she says, busily plotting what she's going to do to him next time, and maybe even the time after that. "Well, I'm good at sharing some things," she adds, just to be sure. "Or are you trying to tell me something?"

"What?" he says, and then gets it. "Oh, crap, no. I'm not seeing anyone else. I wouldn't do that to you, not without saying."

"Good," she says, and then can't stop herself from adding, "So your ass is mine?"

For a moment she thinks she's pushed him too far, but then she feels him smile against her forehead. "Yeah," he says. "If you want it, it's yours."

"Oh, I want it," she says, and she slides her hand around his hip and squeezes, possibly even possessively. "Believe me, I've got plans."