the first day

The first time Stackhouse saw him, Markham had given him an overly confident smirk in the SGC. Stackhouse was still wondering what business he had going to another galaxy and Markham looked as though he already knew where all the cool places would be. Like someone had slipped him a map of all the good bars in the Pegasus galaxy.

The smirk was pretty much wiped off twenty-four hours after they landed in Atlantis, met the Wraith, lost their ranking military officer and were now under the command of the man who had shot Sumner. Actually, everyone's smirks had been wiped off. Most of all Sheppard's.

The next morning, Sheppard began organizing teams to do sweeps, take stock of personnel and equipment and by evening, people were being assigned living quarters. It only struck him then that they were here for the long haul with a possibility of no return to Earth. This was not what he'd signed up for.

But still. A new galaxy. It was the stuff of dreams. He couldn't help but smile at the thought. Maybe one day everyone on Earth would know and they'd all be heroes.

"Stackhouse."

He turned and saw Markham striding down the corridor, grin on face and vest in hand. He gave a silent nod to the other man.

"What are you doing down here?" Markham asked.

Stackhouse cocked a thumb at the door behind him. "My quarters."

Markham grinned. "No kidding. I'm across the hall. Looks like we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

Stackhouse gave a nod, watching the other man grin and disappear into his quarters. It seemed the smirk had returned in no time at all.

Markham was true to his word that Stackhouse would be seeing a lot of him. In fact, every time Stackhouse opened his door, he saw Markham involved in something. The man's door seemed permanently open. He was mostly to be found stripped to his boxers and doing push ups. Other times he was just sprawled on his bed in full view, lost in thought or reading.

A lot of times he was passing by and would offer Stackhouse one of those smirks. The kind that had so many enamored with Major Sheppard.

Before he knew it, Stackhouse was returning the smirks, standing in Markham's doorway and carrying out inane conversations and watching every flex of muscle as Markham pushed up from the floor. Before he knew it, he was enjoying the other man's company way too much.

One day, they stood on one of the hundreds of balconies of the city, drinking Athosian beer and standing with a respectable amount of distance between them, and Markham smiled. Not that bright-eyed smirk, but a gentle smile.

"Why'd you snap at Teyla like that?" he asked.

"Like what?"

Markham shrugged. "You know, like she was telling you to hurry your ass through the gate?"

Stackhouse scratched his neck, frowning and feeling awkward. "I dunno. You were doing your best. We all were. Nobody wanted to see the Major die."

"That was cool, you know," Markham said with a nod. "Really cool."

Stackhouse stared long and hard at the other man, whose cheeks were slightly flushed and hair ruffled. With that smirk and hair, he could have been a certain Major.

"Well, we're friends. Aren't we?" Stackhouse asked.

Markham nodded slowly, looking down at his glass of beer. "Yeah. Damn straight, we are."

So they drank, like friends. And they watched the sun setting, also like friends. They walked back to their quarters, like friends. And they went to sleep in their own beds.

And in the middle of the night, someone knocked on his door and Stackhouse woke up, feeling hot and bothered, stifled by the heat, which was too much for the hour.

He opened his door and Markham stood in the corridor, wearing nothing but boxers, tags and the same tense expression he had in the jumper, when they thought Sheppard was going to die.

Looking back on it later, Stackhouse found the whole thing odd. The way Markham stepped inside without a word and the way Stackhouse let himself be kissed. The way he let himself be guided back to the bed and in no time they both had their hands in each other's boxers. How in no time, there were no boxers. Just them two on Stackhouse's narrow alien bed, moving hurriedly against each other and kissing noisily.

It was good, too good. In the middle of that hot, irritating night, away from Earth, it was great to be lying on top of Markham who cursed when he came, smiled when he slept and kissed like he meant it. It was all great. It felt frighteningly right. Even when he woke up in the morning, in his empty bed, it still felt right.

And no one knew it. To everyone, they were just Stackhouse and Markham, good buddies. Not two guys that were sucking each other off during the scorching nights. No, everyone was too busy looking for the Wraith to catch their hidden glances and secret smiles.

And when they were alone, it was okay to bring the secret out, air it a little. It was okay to touch, kiss and fuck because in the morning, they were just two friends again.

When they found their own balcony, it was even okay to spend their down time together. It was an out of the way balcony, with a miserable view of one of the dark enclosed spaces of the city. No one ever went there. Expect for Stackhouse and Markham.

One dark evening, Stackhouse sat against the balcony, Markham between his legs, leaning against his chest, both of them without their military skin and dressed in civvies. Pretending to be a couple, spending an evening after the movie. Just sitting there on the floor talking about everything and nothing.

"Imagine if we never made it back," Stackhouse said, after a long silence.

Markham shrugged.

"You don't mind?"

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I like it here," Markham said simply.

"What about your family?"

"They have their good kids. They don't need me," Markham said.

"What? What does that mean?"

"You ever seen those people that turn up at rallies with signs to let you know that homos burn in hell? Well, that's my family, right there. You should have seen my father's face when I told him I was signing up to defend the country. He looked like he'd seen someone grow two heads."

"Doesn't mean he hates you," Stackhouse said.

Markham laughed. "As long as I don't tell him I like taking it up the ass, sure, he doesn't hate me."

Stackhouse sighed and just sat there quietly for a while, feeling how still Markham's body had gone. After a while, he splayed his fingers across the other man's stomach, moving his hand in a slight circle. "I like you. Even if you do take it up the ass."

Stackhouse felt the laughter welling up in Markham's stomach before he heard it. The other man shifted slightly, turned his face up and angled for a kiss.

Like many nights, they ended up in Stackhouse's bed. Lying in a sweaty heap, their bodies refusing to cool in the summer heat. Stackhouse couldn't help wondering; what if Pegasus was hell?

"What are you thinking about?" Markham whispered in his ear, pressed too tight behind him, making him want to run from the heat.

"Stuff."

"What stuff?"

"My folks."

"Yeah? What are they like?" Markham asked with a kiss to the shoulder.

"They're good people. Generous. Warm. God fearing. God loving. Go to church every Sunday. We all used to go. And it wasn't so bad, thinking there was this God person looking over everyone. Of course, then I found out about the people God hates. Men who fuck men to be precise."

"Please tell me this has a happy ending," Markham said and Stackhouse could see the rolling of eyes.

"Well, I met this guy. And I thought about him. I thought about sin too. Talked to God too."

"Yeah? What did he say? No room at the inn?" Markham asked with a bitter tinge.

Stackhouse was quiet for a long time, his heart feeling heavy. "He didn't say anything. I always do the talking. He never says anything."

"What do you ask him?"

Stackhouse thought back to the questions. Always the same questions. He didn't tell Markham what they were. He wouldn't understand.

As if figuring them out for himself, Markham sat up, grabbing Stackhouse and turning him onto his back before straddling him, his hands tight around Stackhouse's wrists.

"Tell me you don't think this is wrong because that would piss me off."

Stackhouse swallowed, trying to pull his wrists from the grasp.

Markham kissed him hard, savage and angry. Stackhouse made a broken noise and pulled away, Markham watching him closely. The next kiss was tender and soft, but Stackhouse closed his mouth against it.

"Does that feel wrong? Because if the answer's yes, we can't do this anymore. I won't hate myself and I won't be with someone who thinks this is all wrong," Markham whispered. "People like us are not sick. We're not ill. We're not evil. I told my parents that and I walked out on them because I believed it. They're wrong. Not me."

Markham's eyes shone bright and maybe Stackhouse even felt an escaping tear burn his chest. Markham got up and left, leaving Stackhouse's body cold and bereft. He stayed there in bed, lying still. He didn't go after Markham. He didn't go after God either. He just lay there in the middle, like always.

He stayed in the middle for the next few days, well aware that Markham was purposely avoiding him. Sometimes he didn't blame Markham for avoiding him and other times he hated him a little for not understanding. It wasn't a hard thing to understand. People could easily be torn in two.

And then someone had to notice. So much for secrets.

"Hey, man, what's with you and Markham?" Ford asked, appearing at his side as they headed towards the jumper.

Stackhouse gave a quizzical frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you guys look a little tense around each other."

"We do?"

"I'm not the only one that noticed."

Stackhouse looked back to see Major Sheppard rolling his eyes as McKay spoke at great length with wild gesticulations, Teyla walking on his other side with a smile.

"Why? Did someone say something?"

"Actually, Major Sheppard sent me down here to find out. He wants to know if everything's okay with you guys."

Stackhouse nodded. "Yeah, sure. He was just talking about Earth and it made me a little homesick. It's hard to stop thinking about it sometimes."

Ford gave an understanding nod. "I know what you mean, man."

They both talked about home on the way to the jumper and then nodded to Markham, who stood guard. The tension seemed worse somehow.

In the middle of the night, under the unbearable heat, it finally got to Stackhouse.

He pulled on a T-shirt and sweats and walked across the hall, banging on the door that was uncharacteristically locked these days. It slid open and Markham stood there looking tired and restless, his hair scruffy and his clothes rumpled.

"What?" he asked.

"Shut up," Stackhouse said, pushing him into the room and stepping inside. "I can't believe you. You're such a jerk. I think I hate you."

"I'm a jerk?" Markham looked genuinely surprised.

"You think this is easy for me?" Stackhouse snapped.

"Newsflash. This isn't easy for anyone," Markham snapped back.

"But it's not about everyone. It's about me. You can't expect me to be like you. I can't suddenly be proud of what I am just out of spite towards my parents."

Markham stared, a flash of hurt passing across his eyes.

Stackhouse felt himself backing down. "Sorry, I didn't mean that."

Markham lunged for him, fist poised to strike. Stackhouse wanted to roll his eyes. Of course this was going to happen. He was fast in realizing that Markham seemed partial to bypassing rational behavior and jumping straight to the acting insane part.

He avoided the blow headed for his face, twisting Markham's arm behind his back. They both struggled for what felt like forever, neither of them getting the upper hand, but latched onto each other in a tight grip. After a while it became too much.

"Look, you seem a little tired, so, I'm going to let go now," Stackhouse panted.

"Okay," Markham panted.

Stackhouse released his grip and straightened up. Markham punched him in the face and knocked him on his ass.

Stackhouse lay there panting and holding his jaw. "You've got to be the biggest asshole in this galaxy."

Markham sat down on the floor, leaning against his bed. "It's not out of spite. It's not about them. Don't make it about them, because it's always been about them and it makes me want to puke."

Stackhouse sat up and moved to lean against the wall. "You could just tell me that. Didn't have to hit me."

"Trust me, I did. Now go away. I'm still pissed off at you."

"You're not allowed to be pissed off," Stackhouse said, scowling. "You're not allowed, because, I was fine. I was coping. And then you turn up with your open door and your push ups and being half-naked all the time. I was fine."

Stackhouse swallowed, looking down at the floor, his jaw aching. He looked up at Markham, watching him, his face flushed.

"I was fine. I told myself this would all pass if I didn't think about it. I thought I could come here and never think about it. I was doing fine until you came along and ruined it all."

Markham shook his head. "Me? You're telling me all the other guys you slept with were easier to be with? I have to be the one that reminds you you're some kind of freak?"

"What other guys?" Stackhouse snapped. "There are no other guys. It's just you."

Markham's mouth opened and closed a few times. "What?"

Stackhouse shook his head. "You're such an idiot."

Markham was frowning. "I thought you...actually, it kind of makes sense."

"Shut up." Stackhouse said.

Markham was quiet for a while, as if looking for what to say. "Sorry. I wish you'd told me," he finally said.

"What was I supposed to say?"

Markham shrugged. "I've never been with a guy before?"

Stackhouse felt his cheeks warm. "It's not that easy."

Markham crawled over to Stackhouse and sat next to him, against the wall. "So, all this time, what, you were just ignoring it?"

Stackhouse shrugged. "I'd try not to think about it too much."

"I thought religion was supposed to give you comfort."

Stackhouse looked at Markham, finding genuine curiosity. "It used to."

Markham gave a nod, with a hint of surprise. "And now?"

"It's confusing." Stackhouse asked. "You believe in God?"

Markham shook his head. "No. There's too much wrong with the universe for there to be someone taking care of it."

Stackhouse frowned. "You don't ever feel someone out there might be looking out for us?"

Markham smiled, a little amused. "No. I think we have to look out for each other. But hey, if you need to believe in a man upstairs, you should. I just don't have time for someone that hates me simply because I like doing this."

Markham leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Stackhouse's mouth. "How the hell is that wrong?"

Stackhouse stared at Markham's mouth, his pretty, smiling mouth. Temptation; wrong. Lust; wrong. Want, need; wrong? So why make something if it was so wrong?

Stackhouse grabbed a hold of Markham's T-shirt in both hands, kissing him hard and wanting to whisper into his mouth that it was cruel, so cruel to make someone feel all these things and then call them wrong. But he knew the person he was asking the questions would never answer.

His hands pushed up the T-shirt, palms skimming warm, yielding flesh. His tongue toyed with Markham's as he pushed the other man to the floor, his heart a steady rhythm in his ears. He loved the feel of warm skin against his. He loved their bodies moving in time, fitting together. He loved Markham's fingers finding every part of him. His body was devoid of every ounce of hate, anger and spite. Markham drove every harmful, spiteful and vicious instinct from his body with kisses and touches.

How could that ever be wrong?

Moving over him, Markham trailed kisses from his mouth, across his cheek, along his jaw and to his ear. And as the sun began to rise in the sky outside, turning night into morning, Markham whispered in his ear.

"Then God saw everything He had made, and it was very good. Everything," Markham whispered so quietly it didn't even sound like his voice.

Stackhouse watched him move, slow, head pulling back and the sheen of sweat glowing on his flushed face, his eyes closing in complete bliss as he came and, still whispering, "Everything."

- the end -