Rodney was only human, but luckily he was a genius. The plague that had made vampires of the ATA-carriers had only hit natural gene-bearers.
There weren't many humans left. They'd kept Rodney alive to hack the quarantine protocols, trapping them in Atlantis once the plague struck. Trapped, and hungrier every day.
If Sheppard hadn't staked his claim, driving the others off, Rodney would be dead. He blinked sweat away and inserted a crystal. "Finally," he croaked as the gateroom doors opened.
"Not leaving you behind," said Sheppard. "Time to join the club." And he bit down hard on Rodney's neck.
Rodney's eyes widen when they bring John into the hall. John's dressed in a loincloth and too much jewelry. His wrists look wrong without watch or sweatband, just golden torcs.
John's eyes are unfocused, and when they dump him at Rodney's feet he folds to his knees in obesiance.
"What are you doing?" hisses Rodney. "Get up!"
John rises to kneel between Rodney's knees. His face is serene. It doesn't suit him.
"Fucking alien rituals," groans Rodney, pulling futilely at his bonds. "This sucks!"
"Yes, master," says John, "this one sucks," and he opens Rodney's pants and takes him in.
Rodney reigns supreme. The Trust hadn't dicked around this time, they'd gotten a snake into Rodney's brain, and in no time he'd distributed Lucius's potion.
Now everyone loves Rodney. Well, not Rodney, but the goa'uld was young and no match for his will. It gives him an edge. Ruthlessness he'd lacked, hampered by crap like ethics.
He runs a hand through John's hair. John shudders in pleasure, kneeling at Rodney's feet and gazing up adoringly. Rodney opens his legs. "Okay," he says indulgently. "Suck me."
John scrambles to obey, and Rodney beams at his subjects. "I was talking about Leadership…"