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29 July 2007 @ 04:24 am
Fic, "Vorago," (lantean_hive) NC-17  
Title: Vorago
Fandom: SGA AU for lantean_hive
Characters: Carson/John/Elizabeth, Others
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2910

Warnings: Explicit sex, slash, het, dubious consent.

Notes: This is set in the lantean_hive universe, where John never gets cured of the Iratus retrovirus and begins to spread it around. My timeline and events have a few different elements from that universe, to honor a fic request for the auficathon. Credit where it's due to The Proclaimers, for a couple lines of lyrics.

Summary: Carson wants to help. So do John and Elizabeth.
Disclaimer: Stargate: Atlantis, its characters, and the lyrics of the Proclaimers are not mine. No profits were made. Just having some fun.
Requestor: the_rushingwind

Atlantis is silent down here. Deep within the city, on the sub-sub levels beneath the surface of the ocean, Carson's panicked breathing sounds like thunder in his own ears.

He rushes down corridors that are dim and devoid of life. He’d managed to get Ronon on a secure channel before the comms went dead. Ronon had better meet him soon, before unconsciousness settles over Carson.

Two more canisters in Carson‘s sweaty hands, two more drop sites to key points in the ventilation systems and the antidote to the retrovirus will be delivered.

He’s not going to make it.

Carson sings under his breath, trying to banish fear, to keep awake and moving, “and I would walk five hundred miles and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door,” off-key and breathless, out of rhythm with his rapid footsteps.

He sees the yellow light on Ronon’s gun before he sees the man himself. Ronon’s blocking his path, filling the passage with his bulk, tense and still. Carson slows and stops, sets down the canisters and lifts his hands in the universal gesture of I won’t hurt you.

“They haven’t gotten to me yet, I swear,” Carson says. He hopes to hell the same is true for Ronon.

Ronon refuses to lower the weapon. It’s a good sign. It means he may not yet be compromised.

The air swirls a bit before Carson's eyes. He thinks it might be a good time to rest, and just like that his arse hits the floor. He falls the rest of the way in slow motion, and finishes sprawled out on his back.

The floor is damp. Ronon’s at his side in an instant with a big hand on Carson’s sweaty brow. “What happened to you?”

“Lorazepam,” Carson murmurs, voice thick, and he chuckles dryly. “It’ll muddle my thinking enough to confuse them now, and erase my short term memory if I manage to wake up.” His laughter becomes hysterical. “Though your results may vary...heh...wouldn‘t do for the others to find out what I‘ve been up to now, would it?” He squints at Ronon’s face and form and it all swims before his eyes. “I may have dosed myself a wee bit high.”

Ronon swears under his breath and starts to lift Carson to his feet. Carson slaps his hands away and points in the direction of the canisters. “Those--take them now.”

“They got Radek,” Ronon says. “They’re probably shutting the plan down right now.”

Carson heart sinks over that news, but he shakes his head, so dizzy. “We anticipated...used Asgard transporter tech...canisters move around in random patterns...as they pump the cure through the system...”

Ronon tries to lift him again. Carson musters all of his energy, shoves at Ronon, screams, “Go!” putting as much command and authority into it as he can, but he only sounds desperate and terrified. For an instant, Ronon looks stricken, but before Carson can do something daft like apologize, Ronon snatches up the canisters and takes off down the corridor, leaving him alone.

Carson’s outburst gives him adrenaline, buys him more awake-time. He rolls and props his back up against a wall.

Damp floor. Dim hallway. No sound.

The silence becomes a lucid nightmare. The lights flicker and dim further. What happens next is worse.

tap, tap, tap-a tap
tap, tap, tap...

There are insects that tap within the tunnels of the earth to sense nearby prey. A biologist told him that once, and Carson's unfortunate enough to retain it in his file cabinet of a brain.

tap, tap, tap...

Carson’s body is a beacon, something solid for the echoes of the tapping to surround, to identify.

tap, tap, tap...

He’s weakened and alone in the bowels of Atlantis and they’re coming for him. In the gloom, he can just make out something dark, man-sized, crawling silent across the ceiling and down the wall.

"Carson," a voice suddenly whispers, right next to his ear. His breath gusts out of him and he goes rigid with fear. There's a cool touch on his cheek, then the darkness drowns him.


"Open your mouth, Carson."

He imagines water, lots of it, cool and hydrating, but something else is pressed to his lips: firm, dry skin, followed by liquid, something warm and rusty-salt flavored. Blood, he immediately knows. He flinches back and a hand grips his head and holds him there until he swallows.

It's sharper than ice water, stronger than caffeine. The drugs begin to dissolve from Carson’s veins.

"Quicker that way," John rasps.

Carson opens his eyes and stares into John's unseely yellow ones. He's breathless with fear, but the diagnostic part of his brain automatically takes in the changes, seeing all the things he expected but was dreading to see.

What he did not expect was the look on John's face. There's tenderness there, concern.

Carson takes a moment to look around. He's in a part of Atlantis he's never seen, a cavernous room with little sign of life, save the soft nest of mats and bedding they're on. The lights are very dim, and Carson gets the impression that they're still far beneath the main floors of the city. The air is damp and a little stale.

John asks, “Are you all right?”
Carson asks, "Are you still you?"

John smiles, and despite the weird yellow eyes, despite the indigo sheen to his skin, he's beautiful, still. Carson never told him that, wouldn't tell him in a thousand years. John drags his thumb across Carson’s mouth, and Carson feels the little tug of pain where his lip has split. Then John leans in and swipes his tongue across Carson's cracked, dry lips.

Infected blood and saliva introduced directly to a point of entry, and the transformation begins. There's no turning back.

Unless Ronon makes it.

"They're tracking Ronon now," John says.

Ronon would probably throw himself off a balcony before succumbing, might even shoot himself.
"John, please, let me help you," Carson begs.

“It won’t be long for you,” John whispers, still fascinated with Carson's mouth. “It’s easier for us, with the gene. Not as painful.”

John’s right there, smiling into his eyes, touching him, and Carson can’t hide. With every minute, it gets harder to hide.

John kisses him, gentle, exploratory, and Carson can’t stop himself from melting into it. John reaches down and cups Carson’s erection through his uniform.

“You want me."

"Oh god," Carson chokes. "Not like this."

John says, "Liar," but it's soft and fond. "You want me. I didn't know before. I had no idea. But now I can smell it." His lips brush across Carson's temple. "I can feel it. And I can hear it."

Carson's body betrays him. His hips stutter and push into John’s hand. John chuckles. He wraps strong arms around Carson and whispers in his ear, "Listen."

Carson starts to ask what he's listening for, and then...

...voices everywhere, a steady buzz, like an audience before a show, but he's not hearing them so much as feeling them. No single voice stands out at first, then a spike of pain, cold terror, and he's seeing through someone else's eyes. Radek is locked in a room with Miko. They clutch at each other. There are scratches on their hands and faces. It won't be long--

He comes to, shaking and babbling, "Don't hurt them, please, don't hurt them," and John is there to steady him.

"It's okay, they'll be okay. They have each other." John rubs his back, gentles him. "It was a rough ride for the first few of us, but we've been refining our technique."

He's shown pictures from before, of Laura's ordeal, and Evan's, of Rodney screaming, slamming his fists against the door, alone, changing, terrified...he realizes it's each of them showing him, telling him, we're fine now, more than fine, welcoming him--

With a gasp, Carson's shaking it off again. John's grip on him tightens.

"Don't fight it."

Carson's trembling, hot all over. His face is wet with tears. John kisses him again, and starts to pull off his clothes with confident hands. His smile is playful when he says, "I'll do my best to distract you."

He has no desire to fight John, knows he wouldn’t stand a chance, doesn‘t want to. Carson uses the last of his resolve to reason. "What if I said that I didn't want to change?"

"No one wants to at first," John soothes. "I fought like the devil, but I was alone. Let me help you. Listen, Carson. Again."

I want you too, Carson. Can you feel it? Can you hear it?

And aloud, John asks, "Can you smell it?"

John slides out of his clothes and they're kneeling up, chest to chest, and Carson inhales the spicy musk of him, forgets his fear for a moment and lets John plunder his mouth bloody and run possessive hands all over him. John's hands are rough and calloused, but they're gentle as they smooth over his shoulders, neck and back before traveling lower to splay long fingers over his ass.

John's squeezing and spreading him. Carson feels the cool air touch his most tender places and he shudders, his cock stiffening to the point of pain. He pushes his hips against John's, greedy and insistent, and finds him equally hard. John gives Carson's cock an affectionate squeeze. "This is not for me. Not today. But this," and here he smooths his fingers up the cleft of Carson's ass. "This is mine."

“Please, John,” Carson stammers.

Please, what? Please stop? Please, more? Laughter ripples around the hive.

Gentle but insistent, John guides Carson down to his hands and knees, spreads him wide and caresses him with his breath. His tongue slides a wet, white hot trail from Carson's balls to the opening of his body. Carson jerks and cries out, appalled and insanely turned on. John grips his hips to hold him steady and continues to work on him, opening him, pushing his way in and Carson can't stop himself from pushing back.

The voices are back, like a steady current under his skin, and they murmur their appreciation. Everyone knows what they're doing, he feels exposed and ashamed and aroused as all hell. He begins to distinguish separate voices, fuck, Carson, so hot...that would be Rodney...and Teyla purrs, Rodney loves to listen…Because he's whore, Laura supplies, and Rodney responds, fuck you both, but it's too sex-blissed to be hostile....and recognition is shocking but it fans the fire--

John's drags his nails lightly up the backs of Carson‘s thighs and hums when Carson sighs and shudders. He has something slick to ease the way when he replaces his mouth with his fingers. He’s easy and unhurried, careful with his nails, and Carson wants more.

When John replaces his fingers with his cock, Carson can't contain his sounds, begging, clawing frantic at the sheets, but John stills him with a hand on his hip and pushes into him patient and slow.

Then John freezes and says, "Carson, look." He gets his hands under Carson's arms and pulls him up and back, careful not to dislodge him.

He's deeper into the change, skull full of messages, body thrumming urge, and he wants to feel John's cock batter his guts, but Carson pulls it together enough to make out a distant figure in the doorway.

She glides toward them knifelike, striding the ceiling, walls and floor, with no regard for gravity.

What was prim is now sensual. What was restrained is now wanton. What was maternal is now deadly.

It's Elizabeth.

She was an exquisite thing before, Carson thinks. Now she's---

"She's herself," John breathes against his neck, voice thick with emotion and lust. It warms Carson’s chest and sends chills down his spine all at once.

Her skin is the color of the night sky and her eyes are feline gold.
She's thrown off her uniform in favor of a blood colored gown that Carson's never seen before. It's tight across her breasts and split to reveal glimpses of her smooth thighs as she walks. She's barefoot, and Carson knows that if he reached up under her skirt, he'd find nothing to bar his way.

She's a queen, our queen, a goddess in her glory, and she looks at him with open hunger.

The scene shifts in his head. For a moment Carson sees through her eyes, John's dark hands with their sharp nails stroking over his pale chest, dipping lower over his quivering belly to curl around his cock, cup his balls, keeping him hard, offering him up.

Heat rises to Carson's skin, both embarrassment and arousal. Both his captors laugh, though not unkindly. Elizabeth kneels in front of him, and takes his face in her hands. Her movements are slow and gentle, like she's dealing with a small creature that might bolt, something she could crush if she's not careful.

"Hello, Carson," she says, her voice a soft, dark whisper. "Don't be afraid."

Her eyes flick past his shoulder to John. They're communicating silently, and Carson can almost hear, feel, what they're saying. She reaches across him to caress John's face. Out of the corner of his eye he sees John lean into the touch and take her fingers in his mouth. He moans and sucks on them slowly, as he pushes his cock deeper into Carson.

Carson's head falls back on John's shoulder and he squeezes around him reflexively until John hisses. He feels Elizabeth's lips on his throat and she runs a hand down his body and for a few moments she and John are holding hands around his cock. Carson sucks in a whoosh of air and Elizabeth's mouth clamps down on his desperate sounds, inhaling them.

Abruptly she stands and removes her gown. Carson takes her hips in his hands and pulls her in. He presses fervent kisses to her rounded belly. He can feel the new life growing inside her, can sense its shape, this child of Elizabeth and John. All around him is the buzz of the hive, happiness, apprehension, questions. Will the child be healthy? Will Elizabeth be safe?

The hive reaches out to embrace him…You've saved all our lives without ever touching a weapon, with your brain and your hands and your heart. Did you think we'd forget that? We love you.

"I need you, Carson," Elizabeth says.

“We need you,” John says.

Their voices are soft, whisper-rough. Carson feels a stab of guilt. Why didn't he catch that before? It's hurting them to speak! They're ignoring the discomfort, offering him their voices to soothe him and help him through the process. "We're refining our technique," John had said. This is still his John, still his Elizabeth, never hurt you, and he's filled with affection and gratitude. He concentrates on sending it out to them and offers them the first thing he can think of.

Doctor, midwife, lover, servant, all things for you, not afraid--

He buries his face between Elizabeth’s legs, nosing through the soft curls and inhaling her scent. She runs her fingers through his hair as he delicately splits her with his tongue, teasing along the folds, tasting and stroking her clit while John slowly fucks him, and it's not long before she’s tugging at his hair, crying out, pulsing and spasming, flooding his mouth with her flavor.

John grips the base of Carson's cock for Elizabeth to sink down on, and they crush him breathless between them when they lean in to devour each other's mouths.

The hive celebrates. He catches glimpses of skin and sweat, torn clothing and blood, bodies stretching and writhing.

They're both so strong. John holds him up and Elizabeth moves over him powerfully. Carson strains between them, pushing up into her tight heat, pushing back to impale himself on John, until they take over, holding him immobile, grasping and snarling, and they're not fucking Carson, they're thrusting through him and into each other. He's a channel for their mating, sending their joy out to the hive, and when he understands this, he shivers apart like exploding stars.

No secrets any more. It should be terrifying, this perpetual intimacy. Instead, it feels like something natural, but long forgotten.

Carson thinks about what it would be like if Ronon takes the hive away, if he makes it to the final drop site. That's cause for distress, and his anxiety ripples through the hive. How could they make Ronon cooperate?

Make him understand that we're not like the Wraith. They are enemy, they are scourge. Our bodies are as strong as theirs now, and we're impervious to their attacks. We have the tools to defeat them.

The message spreads quickly: Find Ronon now.

mymatedave: atlantis radekmymatedave on July 29th, 2007 05:00 pm (UTC)
this continues to be one of my favourite effed up au's. Thanks for keeping it going.
Cat Latin: Bug!Johncat_latin on July 29th, 2007 05:14 pm (UTC)
Glee! I'm so glad you liked it.
The Windrushingwind on August 1st, 2007 12:10 am (UTC)

OMG, this fic is all kinds of awesome! It's so beautiful and hot and...mmm... :)

BTW, I'm sorry about your fic. It'll be posted by Thursday morning. :(
Cat Latin: Bug!Johncat_latin on August 1st, 2007 01:32 am (UTC)
Yay! She likes it, she likes it!

(Don't worry about the fic...take your time. I've been following your LJ; you've been busy and I *totally* understand.)