Disclaimer: No I don't own them. Unfortunately.
Touch
Touch. He's always needed it, craved it, loathed it. To touch another person sets his whole body singing; but he can't afford that. Never.
To never touch is lonely - but safer by far. He has always been sensitive, and he never could control it. A single touch looses his inhibitions, makes him loose control. They can't afford that out here.
It's been too long since he could last let himself go, since he has let himself feel another person; another body against his own. Arms around him and legs tangled with his own. Clothing a barrier between them, yet a welcome one, keeping the feeling at bay, helping him hold onto a semblance of control. The last time was on Earth, before Atlantis, before Antarctica… before John.
It had been Radek back then, and only because they were friends. He had been vibrating, shaking, overloaded with sensation from being crammed on an airplane for hours on end. It had been a release; it reminded him of the real reason he doesn't like to fly.
Four long hours. Scratchy seats, the sterility of the air in the cabin, like, and yet so unlike the comforting air of his labs. The stranger sitting next to him, asleep within the first half hour, falling over onto his shoulder, his whole body vibrating from the pressure.
And now this.
They'd run on adrenalin and amphetamines for god only knew how long, adrenaline giving out after 36 hours, replaced with the drugs.
They'd dulled his senses, thank god. The brush of a body against his own in the hallway as they darted from disaster to disaster no longer enough to make him tremble. Blessed relief.
Then it was over. They'd been sent back to earth, panic and adrenaline holding off the need for a little while longer. But he knew it couldn't last.
Then they were back. He wonders abstractedly when Atlantis stopped being a city, and became home. That night he sits in his room, still awake, reminded that even home can be lonely.
The moon is out; he thinks the view from the pier might distract him.
The door opens, and John is there. Standing outside, looking as lost and alone as he feels. He looks at John, standing outside his door in the middle of the night, craving closeness, craving touch as much as he is.
John steps forward, crosses the threshold carefully, not sure if he will be welcome. His hand comes to rest on his shoulder, the weight of a palm pressing into the joint welcome, a pressure that sends shivers of emotion rocketing through his body. He reaches out, pulls the warrior into his quarters, arms coming up to wrap around another body; finally finally giving in. The need for touch realized. Two men, the soldier and the scientist facing off loneliness in the darkness of the night. Secure in each other's arms.