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It’s ridiculous to be both a Runner and a mental case. Half the time he doesn’t even want to escape them. Let the fucking Wraith come, at least that way he can be with Gerard and Frank. His brother and boyfriend were both taken away. He didn’t see either of them die on that disgusting ship of flesh, but he can’t stop seeing it in his head. Frank with his shirt ripped open, a cruel mockery of their past impatience. Gerard withering like a month old sestel in the sun. He sees it when he has a minute to sit down, sees it when there’s a black haired villager when he raids for supplies, sees it every time he falls asleep.

The only thing that keeps him running is knowing how pissed both would be if he surrendered. Wrong word, really, more of an assisted suicide. They would both kick his ass for it, in their own special way. Gerard would rant, hold his rolled tabacco in one hand and not even notice as he waved his arms to express himself that Mikey was dodging to not get the embers on his skin. Frank would be more straightforward, he’d probably punch Mikey half a dozen times and spit in his face for such cowardice. So he keeps going, hoping one day he’ll be able to imagine them without aching.

The only time his crushing loneliness gets better is the few times he runs into another Runner. It calls double the amount of Wraith, but for an hour, or a day, or even a week depending on what else the Wraiths are dealing with, he can have human company. Usually that comes with mutual satisfaction. Sexual orientation hardly matters when you only see one person every three months or more.

At least this man is sexy. His thighs are well muscled under his pants, toned from never being able to stop moving, and his hair falls halfway down his back, dredlocks the way they’re supposed to be, not like the one summer Frank grew his pathetic imitations. He says his name is Ronon, and at this point there’s really no reason left to lie. Ronon smells like sweat and fruit. If they have time Mikey will ask if he remembers what planet he just came from. The last few he’s been on he’s made due with chewing on the jerky he stole planets ago. It’s painfully spicy, and rock hard with age, and Mikey can’t help but worry about what happens if he cracks a tooth. Dentistry isn’t particularly available in a forest.

His cock is heavy on his tongue, his hands the same on Mikey’s shoulders. He remembers when this act used to have emotion attached, passion, joy, need. Now it’s nothing more than scratching someone’s itch. Mikey sucks because it will make Ronon’s life slightly more bearable. Ronon drops to his knees for the same reason.

After they’re done, Ronon asks if he wants to rest while he’s sentry. Against his better judgement Mikey finds himself falling asleep head pillowed on his arm, Ronon beside him with his gun balanced on his knee. When Mikey wakes up with a shout Ronon doesn’t say anything, just offers him a container of water. He takes it, understanding the silence. It’s probably better that way.

*

“It has come to my attention that overdue females give birth with less difficulty if they are relaxed due to orgasm.”

For a moment Mikey is confused at why the Wraith is telling him this. He’s obviously not a woman. He was captured in little more than a pair of pants, one of the other Athosians lent him a shirt when it became obvious they’d be here for a while. He sincerely fucking hopes there’s nothing in his demeanour that has the Wraith thinking he’d be willing to chat casually. Even if he was open to chatting with a psychotic alien, he doesn’t know anything about pregnancy anyway. His marriage to Pete doesn’t necessarily preclude eventual offspring, with frequent cullings producing children is essential regardless of orientation. But he and Pete haven’t made a commitment to a widowed woman yet, let alone had a child with her.

Just before he sneers -Pete would say something sarcastic that would get him hit, but Mikey’s always been more close mouthed than his husband- at the suggestion that he have a conversation with the thing that kidnapped his people, he remembers the object of the Wraith’s attention. Michael’s meaning suddenly hits him all too clearly.

“I can’t. It’s rape. I can’t.”

Unsurprisingly, the Wraith doesn’t show a thread of compassion or morality. “You will, or I will use you for my experiments next. I am always in need of more bodies.”

Mikey would like to believe it’s not just for his own sake that he complies. He and Pete are very strongly bonded. It’s extremely likely, if not a straight certainty, that if Mikey dies, Pete will end his own life. Surely hurting an acquaintance is less of a evil act than pushing a loved one into suicide.

His last salvation; the inability to get hard for the horror on the horizon, quickly turns to dust. When his body cannot achieve the state he requires the Wraith injects him with something, and it’s only moments before he’s being shoved into the room Teyla is confined to.

“I’m sorry.” he could say it a million times and it wouldn’t be enough, but it’s all he can do. “I don’t want this. I have a husband.”

“As do I. I understand. One day we will rend him limb from limb.”

They’re the last words spoken.

*

Mikey’s bored, so he radios Gerard. “Guess what just happened to me.”

Gerard’s answer crackles through seconds later, he must not be busy either. That or he knows whatever he’s doing is less interesting than whatever his brother is about to tell him. “Mikey, we’re in the Pegasus galaxy. That is never a safe thing to say.”

“No,” he corrects. “‘I wish something interesting would happen’ is not safe, ‘guess what happened’ is just, like, telling the story. Now shut up and come here and see. I’m in with Keller, she won’t let me leave.”

Five minutes later Gerard’s staring at him, a combination of shock and wonder in his eyes. Of course what comes out is negative, because older brothers are jerks like that. “What did you touch? Rodney McKay is going to kick your ass. And by kick your ass I mean ridicule you intensely, because McKay couldn’t actually fight a flea.”

Mikey would cross his arms, except that makes his back move, and he’s still not quite used to what happens when his back moves. He makes due with raising his eyebrows. “He touched an ascension making machine, he still wins the ‘oh shit shouldnta touched that’ competition.”

“Dude, you have wings. You’re pretty close.” Gerard can be cynical all he wants, Mikey knows in the weeks to come he and Lorne will have a rapid increase of winged figures in their art.

In fact, Rodney doesn’t immediately start to rant. Instead he just looks at the wings and asks speculatively, “what do you think your load capacity is?”

“I have no idea. I can fly, so a hundred and sixty at least. Why?”

“Could you lift double that?”

“I don’t know.” He didn’t exactly have much time to try stuff out. The machine turned on, flashed him, wings shot out his back, and he was escorted to the medlab. “Why?”

“I’ve always had a fascination with sex in weightless scenarios. Perhaps if you were willing I could find it in my heart to not write you up?”

Mikey rolls his eyes. “A, that’s blackmail, and Woosley’s too bureaucratic for it. B, do you really think you need to resort to it to get me to have sex? I have freakin’ wings, of course I’m going to test them out.”

“Oh, and what? I asked first so I get first dibs?” Rodney snorts.

He doesn’t bother to answer, just lets the silence grow long before crossing his arms. As his shoulder blades move the wings flare out to their full span before settling down again. It’s answer enough.

*

It’s not because of the Wraith, or the Genii, or the possibility of a disaster at any moment that keeps Mikey up at night, though he freely admits that his pre-breakdown self wouldn’t have reacted well to any of it. He was a different person then, he probably would have handled the stress with any drugs available, or by finding a mosh pit, or by making out with some androgynous body. Now he’s surrounded by the awesome that is Don’t Ask Don’t tell, and Athosian festivals are as close as he gets to a decent concert. Even his drugs wouldn’t meet past standards, just a standard anti-psychotic. Honestly, it’s still a complete mystery to him as to how he was one of the better candidates for going through the Stargate.

In almost every way the medication does what it’s supposed to. The only issue is the one symptom of insanity it deepens rather than relieves; insomnia. Before he left for Atlantis that was fine, there are a lot of things to do at five am in California. But with an ATA gene he can feel the city get upset when he can’t sleep, and nothing makes him feel more wide awake than someone nagging him to go to sleep.

Staying in his room is only going to make him twitchy, so he goes for a walk. Atlantis suggests a direction and he goes with the flow, to exhausted to put up a fight with his own mind. The reason for it is clear soon enough; Sheppard is leaning over one of the balconies, looking into the water.

Mikey doesn’t get rhetorical with an oh, awake too>, or murmur a hello. Doesn’t say anything, just bends into the calm blackness below them. It’s Sheppard that speaks first, and his words are surprisingly casual for a topic men aren’t supposed to discuss. “Are you one of those guys that gets sleepy after an orgasm?”

“Why?”

“Trying to learn if suggesting a jerk off session is inappropriate.”

Mikey shrugs, wired exhaustion making him more talkative than normal. “I don’t really masturbate. It’s too predictable.”

“Well okay then.”

Mikey’s expecting that to be the end of it, not for Sheppard to reach out and grope him through the worn pair of BDUs that he sleeps in. He’s hardly going to argue it though. Atlantis sighs in appreciation, and he’s too tired to find it creepy or manipulative. The city crawling through his brain is why he’s here.