Warnings: Non-con (het), Occasional foul language
Word Count: apx. 3000
Notes: Sadly, this is still a wip I started posting on fanfiction.net. I've set a goal for myself that I will add one chapter a day to LiveJournal, and by the time I'm caught up I must have a new chapter. The gears are finally moving in my head, so I think I might just manage to make it happen! However, I will be going on vacation tomorrow, and I do not know if I will have an internet connection while I am gone. If I do, I will continue to post. Otherwise, I'll pick up where I left off when I get back in a week.
Summary: A visit to a village covered in mud leads to a captured Colonel, and an unexpected alliance with an old enemy. Shep whump.
Time lost all meaning as he drifted in a haze of ecstasy. He would float and things would feel good. Every now and then something would shoot out of him and he would feel really good. Hands glided across his body, and he yearned for the touch. Heat surrounded him, and everything was perfect.
His eyes opened and closed of their own volition. He didn’t care if he could see or not, he just wanted that good feeling to continue to suffuse his soul. Sometimes when he opened his eyes, he saw the blonde woman with the nice breasts. Other times he saw another woman with red hair that reminded him of the Wraith Keeper. He thought that should bother him, but everything she did was just too pleasurable.
He knew there were other women too, but he didn’t remember if he had seen them or not; it was all just a jumble of wonderful sensation. He just knew that sometimes the hands felt different. The blonde had such soft hands. They were nice. Most of the women had rough hands. They hurt if they moved too quickly.
It had been a long time since the last time he had shot off, but the woman who was now giving him such pleasure would not leave him alone. She kept rocking against him, with part of him in her. She was squeezing him so hard, it was starting to hurt. Why wouldn’t she let him be?
He tried to open his eyes, but lacked the strength. She played with his nipples again, and closed her mouth over his. Earlier he would have arched into this touch, but his limbs felt like lead. So tired. He just wanted to sleep, but she kept moving, until finally, finally, he let something loose. It couldn’t have been much, but it left him panting hard, his lungs almost too tired to circulate more air.
Lips brushed against his in a tender kiss as he drifted off into an exhausted slumber. “Thank you John,” she whispered.
He didn’t know how long he slept, but it was a deep sleep without dreams. When he awoke, it was with a fuzzy head and bleary eyes. His eyes blinked several times without his direction, giving him a view of solid white. Deciding that was okay, he drifted off again.
“They’re coming to steal your babies John.” Tom walked towards him down the narrow hallway of his apartment, waving a beer bottle at him. “You have to stop them, kill them first, before they take them.”
“What?” He felt fifty miles an hour too slow. “I like puppies.”
“Not puppies, mud men.” The bottle morphed into a knife. “Kill them!”
The dream shifted, and John forgot Tom.
He was in an Ancient city, but not Atlantis. Ancients were standing over stations in one of the Science Labs, identical to one of the ones Rodney preferred. Two of them were discussing the readings from their scanner, the one he had held in the village.
“Soil composition is perfect for herbs, but absolutely useless for staples. We can use this planet for specialty items, but we cannot depend on it for sustenance.” An older man was arguing with a younger woman.
“We could try adding betrimen fertilizers to supplement the missing nutrients.” She suggested.
“To do so,” he countered, “Would negate the special properties that make this soil so unique. These herbs will grow nowhere else.”
The woman raised her head from the consol for the first time, and looked right at him. Her blue eyes burned holes into his brain. Blue eyes, like Rodney’s eyes. “Anyone who regularly eats the food grown on this planet would quickly become immune to any effects of the herbs, no matter how you mix them. They could not rely on the herbs for any necessary medicines.”
“Then it can only be an outpost.” He agreed.
“Too much food negates the herbs.” She repeated.
The dream shifted again, and McKay was with him.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat as little as you do.” He poked him between the ribs. “See! No meat. You should eat more.”
They were in the mess, and McKay’s overladdened tray was already half eaten, whereas Sheppard’s sparse tray remained untouched. The contents of the trays held not the usual Atlantis food, but the crap the Nultarans had been providing.
“Are you Beckett now?” he asked.
“I don’t have to be. Everyone knows you should eat more.” As he watched, the blue kernelled bread turned into a delicious looking turkey sandwich. McKay took a big bite of it to emphasize his point.
Sheppard stared at his tray, until his food too, became turkey. With a smile, he dug in. McKay grinned.
Hands were moving across his body again, and this time, it made him pissed. With a jerk, he opened his eyes and slammed his forehead into whoever was mounting him this time.
A yelp of pain met his attack, and Sheppard found himself too exhausted to continue it. He tried to swing his arms into punches, and nailed himself in the chest, not having believed he could move them. Someone had removed the restraints. Suddenly he had the energy to bound off the bed and run towards the door, nakedness be damned. It was locked, but that didn’t stop him from hammering his fist on it a few times.
“Stop, please stop!” An older voiced called to him. “I assure you young man, I am not here to molest you. I was just removing the restraints.”
Panting, Sheppard turned around. If this woman was lying, he would have a problem. Ford’s grandparents were younger than this crone. “What do you want?” he tried to ask, but all that came out was a croak. Now that the adrenaline was ebbing, he realized his throat was parched to the point of making him dizzy. His thighs were also cramping, and the rest of him was all-out sore, particularly down south.
Noticing his problem, the woman proffered him a glass of water. No, they weren’t drugging him again! No more drugs! Was that their solution to everything?
It doesn’t take a voodoo expert to know you need to eat more. Rodney’s voice whispered in his ear, and John felt the tug of a memory. A dream?
He reached out a trembling hand to take the glass. The woman motioned him to drink up. An image of blue eyes piercing through him somehow gave him the courage to drink. He started with a small dribble and swished it around his mouth. His eyes fell in relief.
Screw it. He chugged the water as fast as he could and wanted more. His throat was still parched, and the dizziness was turning into a headache. He looked at the table, or more specifically the pitcher of water resting near the woman’s withered hand.
She followed his gaze and beckoned him. “Come, it’s alright, my bark is worse than my bite.” She didn’t smile; John liked her just for that. All the women on this planet kept smiling at him. Knowing exactly why made his skin crawl.
He staggered over to the chair and collapsed into it. She took the cup from him and refilled it. After watching him down that one in a blink, she passed him the pitcher. He took it in both hands and let it fall down his aching throat.
Finally, half the pitcher later, he could drink no more. He could feel the water just sitting in his stomach, swishing like it was in a canteen. He lowered the pitcher, and felt his head spin. Holding still seemed to help, and after a moment the vertigo passed. His headache however, increased.
“You should eat.” She passed him a bowl of steaming soup, containing thin and completely unrecognizable vegetables. He just stared at it. You should eat more. Too bad it wasn’t turkey.
“Who are you?” his voice was scratchy, but working. He suddenly remembered he was still naked, and feebly tried to cover his groin with his hands. Heat started to radiate from his cheeks, and he knew he was blushing. Looking around, he didn’t see any trace of his clothes.
She scowled at his reaction. “Young man, I have raised enough boys of my own to know what you look like. There’s no need for blushing here. Aren’t you military types beyond that kind of thing anyway?”
It was one thing in war, when everyone in your command had to get naked in front of everyone at some point, or in the communal showers at the base. But after last night, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of exposure and vulnerability it caused.
Finally, she let it go. “You may call me Anka.” She frowned at whatever she was thinking. “Senzen has demanded I stay here and take care of you.” Sheppard never thought he’d be so happy to find someone so reluctant to be in his company. It was a welcome relief.
“I can take care of myself just fine, thanks.” He wasn’t two after all.
She snorted. “I cooked this food, and brought the water. Be thankful, I have other things to do with my time. How are you physically? I heard Dala and some of the other girls whispering about how ‘drop dead gorgeous’ the foreign Ancestor is. I know some of them can be quite enthusiastic about getting what they want.”
Sheppard gulped. He really didn’t want to think of them right now. He could still feel phantoms of their hands on his skin, and imagine their heat taking him inside. It should be a pleasant memory, but it made him feel sick and used. Is this how a girl feels when a guy doesn’t get the message?
“How many were there?” he asked.
“Last night, how many girls were there?” he repeated, not sure if he really wanted to know.
She shrugged. “Don’t know for sure; I’ve got better things to do than listen to boasts about raping drugged men.” Sheppard really appreciated that fact. “If I had to guess though, I’d say seven or eight.”
Seven or eight. God, he hoped none of them got pregnant. Then again, that would just mean he’d have to go another round with them. “Senzen said Nultaran women get pregnant easily. Just how easily did he mean?” How many kids might I have just made last night?
She laughed, though it sounded more like a bark. “Not that easily. One girl will probably turn up pregnant from last night. Not that it matters for you though. They intend to keep coming until they know for sure they’re pregnant.” She sighed, grieving for the young man. “It’s not going to get any easier for you boy, so buckle down and eat up. You’re going to need the energy.”
Sheppard stared at the wall in front of him, trying to imagine another night like the last. “No offence, Anka, but I don’t think I’ll be able to do that again just on a bowl of soup.”
With a snort, she pointed to the soup, “All your other food’s been drugged, do you really think that’s any different?”
The spoon fell instantly from his hand, making a small splash in the bowl. He pushed it away, stood up, and restarted his pacing, his pace slower than yesterday. He became tired far too soon for his likes, and had to lean against the wall.
The grandmother looked at him with sympathy. “It’s not going to go away. Eat up, or they’ll make you.”
“That certainly seems to be the theme around here. It’s getting kinda old.”
“Stick to what works best, apparently.” She quoted, then shrugged. “Use the energy to fight back, for all I care. Fatigue serves no one, including yourself.”
Don’t have to be a voodoo doctor to know you should eat more.
That night when Senzen came for him, Sheppard was ready. At least, he assumed it was night; it was kind of hard to tell when you were living underground.
He had eaten Anka’s food, and indeed, it had revitalized him. His body felt strong, and definitely ready for a fight. Whatever drug Anka had stirred into his soup had his adrenaline and testosterone levels going through the roof; he couldn’t sit still, or stop moving. But, on a positive note, he was finally going to face his foe with a clear head.
Senzen, the little maggot, had brought four guards this time. The ensuing fight ended with the same result as the last one, but Sheppard was sure he delivered more blows this time. He had even heard a satisfying snap when he had twisted one guard’s wrist. The guard started to return the favor, but a sharp word from Senzen stopped him. If his arm slipped a few times and bung Sheppard’s hand against the wall harder than necessary to get it in the restraint, then so be it.
Senzen pulled out the familiar vile, and a different guard grabbed his chin to hold it open. This time he managed to wiggle around so that he was biting the sensitive webbing between the thumb and index finger. The guard grunted, but couldn’t pry him loose, even after the blood began to flow.
A sharp blow to his stomach left him gasping, and he released the hand, only to have the liquid immediately pour down his throat. He struggled, but with hands holding his mouth and nose shut, eventually he swallowed.
Thus became the pattern of his days. Every evening Senzen and four or even five guards would wrestle him to bed and drug him. The nights would be spent in an intoxicated bliss while women raped him. The next day Anka was always there to bring him food and whatever steroids (had to be steroids) were mixed in.
More embarrassing was when she brought cream one day and indicated his nethers. He hadn’t said anything, but it’s pretty hard to hide chaffing when you’re naked. It was smooth against his sensitive skin, and he was grateful for the relief it brought. Really, some of these girls needed to learn there was such a thing as too much.
“Why won’t you help me escape?” he asked her one night. He had been telling her of his life in Atlantis, and his love of flying. She listened with a sympathetic and even mildly interested face, and he couldn’t understand why she would help keep him prisoner here.
Anka had been dreading the question, but the arthritis in her fingers reminded her why every time she brought him his tray. “Boy, I may not agree with what they’re doing, but I’m too old to play hero.” She did sound remorseful about this, but no matter how much he cajoled, she would not budge.
Senzen was smart, and had sent his prettiest women to him first, probably trying to bribe him into cooperating. After the second night, the women weren’t so pretty anymore. In fact, most were not.
He knew Nultara didn’t have much in the way of food, but it was hard to realize just how bad it was until he saw these women naked. McKay and Beckett could never call him skinny again. He could count all the ribs on these women, plus make out most of their other bones. He didn’t know how they had the energy to go all night long.
During one of his more lucid moments, he knew that if not for whatever drug Senzen forced on him, these women would not be able to get him aroused. No one could get off sleeping with a scarecrow.
Dala and some of her companions from the first night were repeat customers. Actually, they came so often and were so enthusiastic, he had to doubt their ‘noble’ purpose for being there.
Sometimes he was aware of what was happening to him while they were raping him. As the nights wore on, he started to become more alert faster. The drugs were losing their power.
He struggled sometimes, but the restraints held him in place, and it hurt. Worse, it took him longer to come when he fought, making the rape last that much longer. He didn’t know what was worse, fighting it like the fighter he was, or being drugged, having no control, but not suffering.
He remembered his dream from long ago, about the Ancients in this city. He didn’t know where the dream came from, but he knew it was right. The more he ate, the less of an effect the drugs had. Even the energy from Anka’s meals was less, leaving him less prepared to start each night’s activities.
His body was weakening from so much exertion. Insufficient rest between orgies and poor quality food were taking their toll. Some of his ribs were becoming obvious, and his stomach was always grumbling. Worst of all, he was always tired. The possibility of escape was getting further and further away from him, as was his ability to think. He just didn’t have the energy to spare.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but it only took two guards to subdue him now, and he was starting to become accustomed to his nightly violations. He was by no means happy about them, he wasn’t anything. They happened, they ended, they started again. There wasn’t much variety to his day. How much mental stimulation does a breeding machine need anyway?
Atlantis wasn’t coming. He knew he’d been here long enough. If they were coming, they would have already. Strangely, he didn’t care. He ate, he slept, and he had sex. Life was pretty simple.
He missed the sky.