Lust
Part of the Seven Deadly Sins series – see Proverbs (Old Testament).
Definition:craving, usually of a sexual nature, which can involve bestiality, adultery, rape and incest.
Summary:The Atlantis crew travel to another new planet in the hope of securing trade agreements (WOW, what a novel idea for a story!) but they meet a race of people whose idea of what is tradable leaves a lot to be desired.
My first attempt at an SGA story and the usual disclaimers apply – the Stargate franchise belongs to some other very lucky people. I own nothing apart from my mistakes, my computer and two naughty cats so don't sue me. I promise to put the characters of Stargate Atlantis back in the toy box after playing with them since no-one will let me keep them.
This is set in season 3 pre-Sunday for obvious reasons...poor Carson, poor us!
Team fic with Elizabeth, OCs and whumpage.
All comments are welcome but please remember that I am not a professional writer and that this is just for fun.
TEASER
"Ronan…wake UP, you great useless lump of rat's-tailed lard…I can't find anyone else and I've been throwing up for what's probably been hours and will most likely go hypoglycaemic any moment now and you're just lying there, snoring!"
Rodney McKay had been shuffling again towards his team mate and now shook the leather-clad shoulder enthusiastically, at the same time clutching his pounding head and looking more than a little green about the gills. He'd wakened some time before to that same pounding headache and a stomach threatening to erupt from his throat and shake him by the hand, and after a fruitless fight with the darned organ had simply staggered to the nearest door and heaved onto the dusty soil as if it was the latest Olympic sport and he was going for gold.
Emptying his stomach of quite a considerable quantity had left him shaky and wretched and he longed for someone to share his misery with. After all, misery loved company. He'd cast a quick glance around for his team and apart from the snoring Satedan slouched across the table there was absolutely no-one around…neither team member nor even a single, solitary native of the planet they presently found themselves on. Or at least McKay had to assume they were still on the same planet, if only he could remember which one.
He sat down hard beside Ronan, lowering his fragile head onto cupped hands, and sighed. Try as he might he couldn't recall what had brought them to their current state. He had no idea where Sheppard and Teyla were or if anyone else from Atlantis should be there, too, and he really hated being sick, especially when Carson wasn't around with his good drugs. He shoved at Ronan's arm again, almost violently and definitely petulantly.
"C'mon…waken up already. The others could be in trouble…not that we're not!"
Persistence was rewarded with a gargantuan groan from the downed man and McKay wisely stepped back a foot or three as Ronan regained consciousness. Around his team mates he had gradually learned to be a cautious man when wakening them. Each and every one of them was capable of breaking his neck without any undue effort and it didn't pay to stand too close to a warrior when they might be surfacing from a nightmare. And if Rodney's imaginative view of his current awake state was to be believed, this WAS a nightmare.
The shaggy head rose slowly from where Ronan had collapsed across the table as he sat and McKay shared a modicum of sympathy, knowing that if Ronan felt anything close to how he himself had felt on first waking, that odorous pile by the door would shortly be added to. As if by mental command Ronan rose rapidly to shaky legs and just about made the door before tossing his stomach contents onto the street.
McKay wrinkled his nose in disgust and looked around for something they could both rinse their mouths with. He spotted a pitcher in the middle of the table and sniffed the contents suspiciously. It smelled pungent and something about that made him discard it instantly. They had no idea as to why they were so sick to the stomach and he wasn't too keen on imbibing unknown drinks. They'd just have to go without until such times as they could find a source of liquid that was beyond suspicion.
Ronan turned back from the door, his face ashen and drenched in sweat and Rodney totted up their chances.
'Screwed is what we are, totally and utterly screwed. Probably poisoned and the others could be dead or dying or even Wraith-bait for all we know.' His internal musings gave him little comfort and he wasn't good at waiting for others to come up with the soothing optimisms. Sheppard was Colonel Optimism, always telling him to try and stay positive, and right about now he was positive...that they were right royally screwed.
Ronan grabbed the pitcher McKay had recently spurned and before Rodney could tell him how wrong an idea it was the man had taken a long draught from it. McKay watched in horror, waiting for his only immediate companion to collapse again but Ronan hadn't spent seven years on the run not to have learned a trick or two. He merely rinsed and spat, thereby refreshing his mouth without swallowing.
It seemed to help and he nudged the pitcher under McKay's nose encouragingly. The ever-fastidious scientist wiped the edge with his sleeve much to Ronan's recovering humour and took a cautious swig, spitting out almost before he'd taken a spoonful. When he discovered he hadn't instantly keeled over he took a slightly larger mouthful and with great delight spat it out again, the resulting refreshment worth the risk.
Ronan shook his dreadlocked head carefully and seemed to rally even as McKay was finishing his oral hygiene.
"Where're the others?" he mumbled, still not quite as awake as McKay.
"Ah, my large shaggy friend, that's the million dollar question. Where, indeed?"