Lost But Not Little Boys

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis does not belong to me. I did not write this to make money, nor did I profit from this work in any other way. It belongs to Sci-fi, Gekko film group, and a whole bunch of other smart people.

Part One

Disclaimer: I got the transcript of Lost Boys from the great people at gateworld.net. I did not profit.

Doctor Rodney McKay sat in the chair at the head of the table in Ford’s cave. He watched with disgust as the guard named Rothgar injected himself with the Wraith enzyme. “Oh, do . . .?”

Rothgar smiled. “Want some?”

Sarcastically, he replied, “No, I’m good, thanks.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, pretty sure.” His mind was racing because of the enzyme still in his system, or because he was in a cave with two enzyme-rattled warriors who would kill him at the first sign of betrayal on Colonel Sheppard’s part, he didn’t know. He had to stand. “Look, don't you think that they should be back by now, huh?” He paced nervously, almost unable to speak. “I mean, how long does it take to fly there and fly back, you know? I mean, I say, uh, it's a minute from, uh, here to the Gate, uh, ten tops from their Gate to the hive ship, um, twenty to get in and lay a charge and then, then, what? Like, ten more to get, get back out and home, right? So ...”

Rothgar’s annoyance was evident in his tone. “Worrying really isn’t going to do anything.”

“Yeah, well, I subscribe to a different school of thought.”

The other guard sitting with Rothgar, Ishmael, the tall quiet one, spoke up. “They’re fine!”

McKay got into Ishmael’s face. “You can’t possibly know that.” The common sense of some people, really.

The guards exchanged looks and smiled confidently. Rothgar said, “I got a gut feeling.”

Oh, that explains everything, you inbreed. “Yeah, well, I have a different gut,” he said and folded his arms.

Both men stood and walked up to Rodney, standing threateningly close to him.

“. . . Feeling,” he finished.

Five minutes later

“I mean, what if they were captured? What if they--they, you know, didn’t make it? What if they’re being used as Wraith food right now?” babbled Dr. Rodney McKay. The two guards' efforts to intimidate him into silence had failed.

“Shut up!” yelled the one named Rothgar who sat in a chair.

“Well, shouldn’t we be doing something? They could probably use our help. What if the Wraith found out about your little cave? What if –”

“If you don’t shut up, we’ll find something that will shut you up,” warned the taller one named Ishmael who stood.

“Don’t patronize me! You’re both pumped full of that macho Wraith enzyme. I’m the only one thinking clearly here, and as the smartest one here, I think –”

“Alright, that’s it! I’ve had enough of your whining. I gave you fair warning, and now it is time for you to shut the fuck up!” shouted Ishmael. “Get on your knees.”

“What?” asked McKay in disbelief and confusion.

“He said get on your knees,” Rothgar said, suddenly standing behind Rodney.

“No.” Rothgar kicked his knees out from under him, forcing him to the dirty cave floor with a painful thud.

“That is it; you are going to get it so bad,” said Ishmael in front of him. “Do you have any idea how stiff you get when you’ve taken as much of the enzyme as we have?”

For the first time since arriving at the planet, Rodney responded in a quite tone. “What do you mean?” He had a feeling that stiff was slang for a word he didn’t want to think about while in this position. Rodney himself had noticed a sense of increased . . . excitement while high on the drug, and hoped that that was not what the maniac was talking about.

Rothgar pulled his arms behind his back painfully, immobilizing him. “Ah-ow! What are you doing?!”

Ishmael continued, ignoring McKay’s continuous whining. “You know, the one thing I’ve always disliked about joining up with Ford was that I haven’t been able to get with a willing girl for months. And it’s taken all of the self-control I have to not corner that nice piece of ass, Teyla.”

McKay’s stomach sank. What was he supposed to do in this situation? The man was standing right in front of him with a huge bulge in his pants. Oh, God! He was undoing them. He closed his eyes tight and turned his face. Shit! Think, McKay! You’re a genius. Do something! “Don’t, please! I’ll do anything you want, just don’t!”

“Don’t do what?” Ishmael teased.

“What ever it is you’re going to do. Please, just don’t!”

“What is it I’m going to do?” Ishmael continued.

“I don’t know,” Rodney half cried half whispered.

“Yes you do, genius. Say it.”

“No.” Rodney refused to be humiliated further.

“Com’on, genius. You said you’d do whatever I wanted. Say it.”

“Please, don’t do this,” Rodney pleaded, smelling the musky scent coming off of the man. He struggled to get away, but Rothgar’s grip was too strong.

“I warn you, I give you chances. You still keep yapping that pretty mouth of yours. I’m going to have to give you this lesson, genius. It’ll do you good.”

Rodney heard Rothgar laughing behind him and then felt the horrifying sensation of the tall man’s harness on his cheek. Rodney whimpered and clenched his mouth shut in response. Just keep your mouth shut. They can’t do anything with your mouth closed tight.

But Rodney misjudged the power of the enzyme. The harder he fought and clenched his mouth, the harder Ishmael’s fingers worked, bruising McKay’s face until the brute had his thumbs firmly implanted in his mouth. “That’s it, genius, I want a good struggle. Make it good for me.”

Rodney began to cry fervently. This was all Ford’s fault. That little puke was going to get it. He’d—he’d . . . he’d shoot him in the heart the next time he saw the bastard. Oh, God!

He was in his mouth. The hard, thick mass made its way all the way to the back of his throat in one swift motion. Bite, damn it! Make it stop! He tried, but Ishmael only laughed.

“Oh, genius! You have no idea. You’re so hot. You’re mouth is soo sweet,” he moaned. “Oh, yeah. Suck it, genius, suck it. Yeah!”

Frustrated, angry, hurt tears streamed down Rodney’s red cheeks.

Part Two

He gagged. The phallus in his mouth and ramming, literally ramming, at the back of his throat triggered the involuntary response with guttural noises. He would have gagged even without the involuntary reaction, but it did not stop the Lost Boy Ishmael from thoroughly enjoying himself at Atlantis’ top scientist’s unwilling expense.

Rodney McKay fought hard, struggling at the overly strong Rothgar who held him down on the cave floor with his arms held painfully behind his back and kept his head from moving too much. His attempts to free himself, or even to close his own mouth, were thwarted by the Wraith-enzyme high bastards.

His body was tingling all over as panic-sweat released itself from every pore. The clammy wetness on his face mingled with the moisture of his tears as they streamed from his red eyes.

Rodney tired to think of something, anything besides the fact that he had a super warrior holding his mouth open as the man repeatedly forced his throbbing penis down his very sore throat. He tried to recall a mathematical equation to take his mind away from the humiliation and pain, but could only hear the grunts of Ishmael through the ringing in his ears. He tried to spell his name, got as far as “R,” but forgot the attempt entirely when he felt the very unsettling sensation of Rothgar’s tongue on the back of his neck, tasting him.

Then the taste of something most foul diverted his attention back to his mouth. The sour bitterness increased as Ishmael’s thrusting and grunting became more fervent. Seconds later, a final hard thrust poured hot semen down his throat.

Rodney’s gags then became productive, and thankfully, Ishmael pulled out, and Rothgar let him go in time to heave several times onto the ground. Under normal circumstances, the shaky arms, knotted stomach, taste of bile and undigested food, burn in his throat, and cold sweats would have been a bad thing, but for Rodney, it was a cleansing. He wanted to continue to do it, but the gags stopped producing after about four heaves.

He spit what chunks he could find from his mouth and allowed the tears to fall to the puddle. The smell was overwhelming, and he finally lifted his head.

Still reeling from the events, he cried out as Rothgar took hold of his short hair and brought him to his feet. He whispered in Rodney’s ear, “My turn.” Still holding Rodney, Rothgar flung the chair he had previously occupied across the room. Then Rodney found himself staring up with the ceiling above him with his back flat on the table.

Rothgar’s left hand held Rodney firmly to the table while the right hand went to Rodney’s pants. “No! No! Please, no!” were all the words that Rodney could find to express his utter and complete panic and distress. “No!” Oh please, God, do something! I can’t handle this, he pleaded to his maker. The tears streamed down the sides of his face, filling both ears. The buzz of his heartbeat became even more thunderous as the tears muffled all other sounds.

Part Three

Rodney struggled against Rothgar with his right arm pushing at the hand on his neck, and his left arm trying in vain to deflect the Lost Boy’s other hand as it removed his pants. He cried out again as he felt the cold air hit his most private places.

Then Rothgar’s hand moved from his neck to his shoulder, and Rodney was rotated onto his stomach.

Standing across the table from him was Ishmael. Rodney prematurely thanked God that the table was too long for Ishmael to take his mouth again. Instead, Ishmael’s intention was to take both of Rodney’s wrists and held them tight across the table.

Panic overwhelmed him in a far more sickening way. He could not move and he was forced to lean over the table with his backside exposed to a man who should have been the star hillbilly in Deliverance.

Rodney tried to kick and wiggle his way free from Rothgar who Rodney could now tell had his pants down; he tried to pull at the hands that held his arms immobile, but it was all of no use.

He felt another wave of cold sweats wash over his body. Why did you have to open your big fat mouth, Rodney? Oh, god! Why me? Why do I have to annoy everyone? This is my fault!

“Please,” he begged, not really addressing it to anyone. It didn’t even sound like his own voice. It sounded low and forlorn like an old man pleaded with the grim reaper for another year, or in this case, like Rodney begging the grim reaper to take him all away from this.

Luckily for Rodney, the human mind can only accept so much torture before it begins to block out physical and mental pain. Rothgar’s feet spreading his own, and the hard member finding its way between the checks of Rodney’s buttocks was when reality took another direction for the tortured soul. Rodney vaguely noticed that Rothgar penetrating him felt like a metal rod shoving itself into Rodney’s intestines.

Rodney instead focused on testing Ishmael’s grip as the man watched his comrade take his pleasure from inside of Rodney. Rodney tried to make faces appear out of the shapes and shadows on the cave walls. He saw his cat’s face, thought about the way the little fluff ball would wrap itself around his leg and purr.

He heard Rothgar panting. Felt his body being thrown forward onto the table with every short but powerful and humiliatingly painful thrust. His rectum felt a hot, cold burning, and he knew that he was torn.

He hadn’t had time to see his cat when he was last on Earth. He didn’t have time to see his sister either. He would have to make sure that he did do that the next time he was home.

Rothgar vocalized his pleasures in a way that signaled to Rodney that it would soon be over. Rodney was pushed onto the table in one last, forceful thrust and felt himself tear further.

Ishmael laughed and let him go.

Rothgar poured his seed into Rodney’s abused body and rested his incredible weight onto the unmoving form. “You have no idea how good you are,” Rothgar whispered into his left ear before pulling out.

Rodney felt the cold air hit his backside again. The sensation brought him out of the thoughts of his cat and sister. He saw Rothgar taking a cloth and wiping himself of something red on his penis.

Rodney then felt the overwhelming pain in his rectum, and reached for his pants.

Part Four

Doctor Rodney McKay was quiet in every sense of the word. He sat on the dirty cave floor against a small alcove along the ridged walls. His knees were drawn to his chest with his arms hugging them closer. He stared blankly at a pebble and contemplated nothing.

Ishmael and Rothgar, having seen the damage they had inflicted upon him, had given him a shot of the Wraith enzyme. Then they had then left him to his solitude.

It was strange, the enzyme had stopped the bleeding, healed the bruises within minutes, but it had not stopped the pain. It had forced his body to produce unnatural amounts of adrenaline, but he was not pacing around the room like he had before.

His mind was not racing, but he was hyper alert.

It was amazing all of the small things you begin to notice when you are quiet, he thought. He realized that the Lost Boy’s hide out was filled with small lizard creatures that nibbled on pieces of wood. Then he realized that they were not nibbling on the wood, but tiny insects on the wood.

Rodney also began to realize that no one really liked him as a person. They only put up with him because he was the head scientist of Atlantis. His arrogance had even killed a man. That same arrogance had ended his already shaky friendship with Colonel John Sheppard. His teammates, Telya and Ronan, thought he was a joke, but they are polite enough not to say it, he mused.

Really, what was he doing with a team of devoted, strong, reliable people? He didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air.

All he did was complain about . . . well, everything. The last conversation he had had with Carson, the most patient and caring man in two galaxies, was about how he thought that Carson had a worse bedside manner than Dr. Kavanagh. I shouldn’t have said that.

Then there was Elizabeth. He was constantly demeaning her. Always correcting her figures, always belittling her opinions. Let’s face it, he thought, when had her ideas ever turned out to be the wrong ones.

But the man who deserved far more credit than Rodney had ever given him was the brilliant Dr. Zelenka. Radek Zelenka had put up with more of Rodney’s crap than his own mother had. That man never complained. Rodney had even begun to discover that, during the science team debriefings, Radek was translating his discouraging speeches about how miserable the science teams were doing into more inspiring complements for the non-english speakers. Rodney now regretted putting him on double shifts as punishment.

The fact was, Rodney was not a people person; he was a scientist. Scientists don’t have manners.

But that wasn’t true. Carson was a scientist; Radek was a scientist.

Rodney was beginning to realize, with increasingly painful pangs of regret, that he was simply a bad person. The failed relationships, the rejections. It was all becoming quite clear now that he had shut up.

Part Five

Rodney’s two guards left him alone for hours after the incident, and for that he was grateful. He had to admit that the two guards had not been particularly brutal. They didn’t even fully undress him.

He hadn’t moved from his hiding place in the alcove adjacent to the area where they had taken him until he was interrupted from his thought by Rothgar. He was calling for Rodney from the dining area.

The sense of hyper-awareness, which Rodney had thought was out of his system, was back. As soon as he had heard Rothgar’s voice, the hairs on his neck and back stood on end. Rodney’s heart pounded, and his mind raced with thoughts of escape. He was also suddenly aware of the scent of cooked meat.

“Genius, don’t make me drag you in here,” said Rothgar, his voice gruff and stern. Obviously not caring that Rodney was in a state of panic once again.

The threat was all that kept Rodney from fleeing or hiding. He stood on shaky legs and entered the small dining cavern.

Rothgar and Ishmael had prepared a meal and were waiting for him to join them. For uncivilized, rapist brutes, the two had set a nice table.

The sitting Ishmael said to Rodney, “Take a seat,” and gestured to the chair at the head of the table.

Rodney was not prepared for how seeing his two assailants or being in the room in which he had been raped would affect him. His legs almost gave out and a cry of terror was caught in his throat.

Rothgar pulled at Rodney’s jacket and forced him to sit. Rothgar took the seat across from Ishmael.

Rodney drank deeply from his cup of water and felt it cleanse his body as it went down, spilling some in the process. He hadn’t had anything to drink since Sheppard had left, and it helped to relieve the taste of vomit and semen still in his mouth.

“Eat,” said Ishmael.

Still panicking, Rodney looked down at the plate in front of him. The meal was some kind of sausage, and his stomach lurched. All that Rodney could think of was Ishmael’s penis forcing itself into his mouth.

He whimpered and turned away. “Damn it! I said eat!” yelled Ishmael.

Rodney was terrified. He couldn’t eat that . . . that thing, and what if not eating it made Ishmael want to take him again. God, let me die!

The tension at the table was broken by the unexpected sound of Rothgar’s laughing. “If he doesn’t want it,” he used his fork, or whatever it was, and stabbed Rodney’s sausage, “all the more for me,” and placed the meat onto his own plate.

Ishmael began to laugh as well. The dinner continued with the Lost Boys eating their fill, and Rodney staying as quiet as possible.