Letting It Go

a Stargate: Atlantis story

by dirty diana


mad beta love to sffan.

Dr. Weir was frowning. She spun her blue ink pen around on her fingertips as she thought in silence. John watched it go, round, round, round.

"Let me see if I understand," she began. "You don't like the job that Captain Johnston is doing with his team?"

It was cold in her office. John leaned forward in his chair, and shook his head. "No, that's not it. I think he's doing a fine job."

The pen jumped, performing a flawless somersault before Weir caught it again, easily with one hand. Round and round. "But you'd like to take over his command because..." Her voice trailed off, waiting.

He chose his words carefully. "Because I think it's time to experiment. You know. Mix things up a little. Johnston and my team would get along great."

"Oh." Weir put down the pen. She crossed her arms. "I see."

"You do?" John asked, frowning.

"Yes. I think I do. Major, I know that Dr. McKay isn't your favourite person, but you're going to have to learn to work with him if..."

John cut her off. "I like McKay."

She raised her eyebrows.

"I do," he protested. "I mean, he's a pain in the ass. But so is everyone else around here."

Elizabeth's eyebrows rose in amusement at the implication. "I see."

"You keep saying that," John said. He wondered if Elizabeth didn't have any other work to do.

Weir nodded and put down her pen, propping her elbows on her desk. "I have to say that I'm surprised. You and Teyla have always seemed to get along. I know that she's not one of us, but..."

John sighed. "I don't have a problem with Teyla."


"No," John said, too quickly.

Weir raised her eyebrows. "From what I can tell, Lieutenant Ford is doing a good job."

"He's doing an excellent job." John played with the cuffs on his shirt. "I don't want him moved off my team."

"You'd rather that you be moved off your team?"

John shrugged.

"I see," she said, and John almost groaned out loud.

"Do you?" he asked.

"Yes." Weir picked up her pen again. It performed a double flip in the air. "It's not going to happen."

"Wait a minute. I'm..."

"...the ranking military officer on Atlantis," Elizabeth said. "And as such all decisions regarding military personnel rest with you. I know. But I would ask you to consider, John, how such arbitrary dismantling of a well-performing team..."

John's mind began to drift, as he rubbed cold hands together. He watched her pen doing somersaults.

"Especially over what is undoubtedly a minor personality difference," Weir concluded.

"Undoubtedly," John said.

He ran into Lieutenant Ford in the commissary. Ford's eyes widened nervously, and then he walked away.

Sheppard stopped to think about it, and then he followed him.


Ford stopped, still in his tracks. He didn't turn around. "Sir?"

The door to the storage closet on this level was constantly jammed. McKay said that fixing a broken door was beneath his high skill level, but really John suspected that he didn't know what was wrong with it. He pushed on it twice before it opened. He gestured inside. "A moment of your time," he said.

The storage room was full of medical supplies. Syringes, medicines, bandages. John sat down on a pile of hastily labeled cardboard boxes, and watched Ford, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stood to attention.

"At ease," John murmured finally.

The kid didn't relax.

John breathed in, and began. "I just talked to Dr. Weir about transferring one of us to Captain Johnston's team."

Ford's eyes widened. John wondered how on earth he'd even made it through basic, with a face that gave away everything.

"Do I start on the captain's team right away, sir?"



John was fast losing his patience, for reasons he couldn't explain. "Lieutenant," he snapped, "I'm not having you transferred."

John was almost certain that he saw the trace of a smile on Ford's young face.

"That doesn't mean what you think it does," he said.

"Of course not, sir," Ford said, but he was watching John, still trying not to smile.

It had only been a few seconds. Not a lingering touch by any definition, and maybe Ford hadn't even thought about it before his hand moved. So it hadn't been the contact of hand to thigh that had caught John's attention. It had been the expression on Ford's young face.

John could have ignored it. Anyone else would have ignored it. But John liked Ford, and anyway, they were going to be here a long time.

Maybe that was the problem.

"Do you know why I didn't have you transferred?"

Ford shook his head.

"Because when we get home, you're not going to want that on your record."

"What if we don't..."

John cut him off. "We're getting home, Lieutenant."

"Of course. Sir."

"Do you know how old I was the first time I had a black mark like that in my file? Nineteen."

"Drill sergeant didn't like you, sir?"

"No." John picked up a small box, tossing it back and forth between his hands, wondering how he'd done that, stepped back into the past without thinking. "I was his favourite." John paused. "You don't want that."

It was impossible, from all angles, to tell how much the kid understood.


Ford's voice was uncertain, when he spoke. "It just kinda seems like the person most qualified to know what I want, is me."

John raised his eyebrows. "Yeah?" he asked. "So, tell me what you want."

The question caught Ford off guard. "Sir?"

"You want to suck my cock? Is that what you think you want?"

The kid actually blushed. He pressed his lips together.

"It's a simple question," John said. "You miss cock, Lieutenant?"

When Ford spoke, the word was barely audible. "Yes."

John dropped the box. It landed with a muted thud on the floor, and then he stood. "Why?" he asked.

Ford blinked. John was on the verge of letting it go.

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" he asked, and Ford nodded. "At least since we left Earth. You miss cock a lot, right?" The word flew off his tongue, harsh and sharp. His voice had grown louder, and now he lowered it, to barely a whisper, and had to move closer, speaking almost in Ford's ear.

He saw Ford flinch.

"Miss the taste of it? The smell of it?"

Ford was silent. The storage closet was tiny. John could hear him breathing.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes," Ford said.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

John sighed. He inhaled, and placed one hand n Ford's shoulder. Solid. Unresponsive. "Get down," he said.

The beat was unmistakable. "Sir."

"Get. Down." John spoke slowly. "If you want to suck my cock, Lieutenant, you're going to have to get down on your knees."

One Mississippi, two Mississippi. John counted to ten, and waited for Ford to walk away.

Ford didn't walk away. He knelt.

His fingers fumbled at John's waist, uncertain pressure as he pulled down the zipper.

"Hey..." John began.

Ford's thumb stroked the inseam of his thigh, the underside of his balls. Then, with only a second's hesitation, his mouth brushed the length of John's cock, stroking gently down.

John swore.

Ford took John's cock in his mouth.

John couldn't help himself. He watched him. Ford's eyelashes fluttered lightly, brushing his cheek as he concentrated. With one and he steadied himself, against the curve of John's upper thigh. His mouth was hot against the tip of John's cock, John's breath coming low and fast.

"You don't have to..." John began, but it was too late. He was already hard, pulsing against the strokes of Ford's tongue, struggling not to thrust deeper.

It had been a while. John had forgotten.

John watched Ford, sucking his cock, sweet mouth pressed gently against sensitive skin. Then opening again, to take John in deeper, as John released one single groan.

"Lieutenant," he opened his mouth to warn him, but didn't have time. The warmth in his belly overflowed, and John spilled over, spurting warm inside Ford's mouth.

Ford stood. He wiped his mouth. His expression was steady.

"Am I dismissed?" he asked quietly.

John quelled the urge to laugh. He glanced down. Ford's hand-on was obvious, straining against the fabric of his BDUs. "No."

Ford couldn't hide his surprise when John's hand began to undo his pants.

"Know what I miss, Lieutenant?"

"Miss?" Ford repeated uncertainly, and then skipped a breath as his cock slid against John's palm. "No, sir."

"Football." John pressed Ford against the wall with the length of his body, close enough to kiss him if he wanted to. He didn't want to. His strokes were rough, up and down Ford's thick swollen cock. "Playstation," he continued. "You ever play Grand Theft Auto?"

"No, sir," Ford answered, then moaned slightly.

"It's a good game. Good soundtrack."

Ford's breath was ragged, uneven. He thrust into John's hand, tiny hitching movements. "Popcorn. In'n'Out."

Ford breathed in. Then came, wet and sticky on John's fingers.

John reached out and wiped his hand on the hem of Ford's jacket. He zipped up his pants.

"I miss a lot of things," he said. "But I deal."

Ford's dark eyes met his, for the briefest of instants. It was still impossible to tell.

"Yes, sir."

"You're dismissed," John said, and then swung the door open.