This story is an AU of the second season episode, "Lostland." The title of the story is a line of dialogue from the episode. Emerald, Chance, and Meli betaed this beastie and betaed it well. Any flaws that remain are the sole property of the author, as each of the betas will be happy to tell you. This story was remixed by D in the second annual Remix Redux. Check out her remix here.

"Put it down, Miguel!"

He knew without looking that one of his opponents stood in the doorway, and it was only the hostages he held at his sword's point that kept the enemy from attacking. He would prefer to turn and fight rather than ransom himself with innocents, but he did not think he would be allowed an honorable victory. He was a lone warrior on the enemy's ship. They had only to wait to isolate him and overwhelm him with numbers.

He could not risk it. Lunging forward, he grabbed the blonde boy by the wrist and jerked him around. The woman cried out in alarm, but it was already too late. He had the boy tucked in close against him, his sword against the boy's throat. He turned to face the man in the doorway, who held up his hand in a placating gesture almost identical to the one the boy had used only moments before.

"Easy, Miguel. Just let Lucas go, all right?"

Lucas, yes. That was the boy's name. Lucas was not an enemy, Lucas would help him. But first, he had to get them both out of there.

Moving slowly, keeping the sword at Lucas' throat without allowing it to touch skin, he eased them both around and up the stairs by the moon pool to the open hatch. Pulling Lucas even closer, he ducked through the hatchway with his prize. Once on the other side, he slammed the hatchdoor shut with his foot and pressed his lips to Lucas' ear.

"Bolt it," he whispered. Lucas shifted against him.

"Miguel, don't--"

"Bolt it." He did not change his inflection, but he knew Lucas heard the warning clearly enough. Shaking hands reached out and slid the bolt home. He did a visual scan to make sure the other hatch was locked, then guided Lucas down the stairs and over to the wall where the pressure door controls were. He reached out long enough to activate them, then turned with Lucas to watch the heavy metal door slide down, sealing them off from the other side of the room. Now no one could get in, not through the hatches and not by diving into the moon pool.

"Miguel, please, you have to listen to me. You can't hide like this forever, Brody will find a way through. You have to--"

"Mr. Ortiz," a voice boomed over the ship's com. "This is Captain Bridger. You are ordered to release Mr. Wolenczak and surrender to the nearest security personnel, or you will be shot on sight."

"Oh, God," Lucas breathed. "Is the whole ship going crazy? Miguel, please, you have to give up."

Some small part of him understood "shot on sight" and knew Lucas was talking sense, but the rest of him could not conceive of surrender. Roughly, he pulled Lucas into a side corridor where he knew of a route that would take them around the men looking for them. He had no intention of running forever, but he had to give Lucas time to help, and he wanted to choose the ground upon which he made a stand.

"Where are we going, Miguel?" Lucas gasped out as they moved deeper into the bowels of the ship. "Do you think Brody won't find us? The captain gave orders to shoot you, Miguel, damn it! Don't you care?"

Lucas was growing more agitated, and there was some comfort in realizing most of that worry was for him. Lucas knew himself to be safe, but also knew the ruthlessness of the enemy. He wanted to reassure Lucas, clever, beautiful Lucas, but the only words that would come to his mouth were ones of rage. He would not unleash those on one not his enemy, and he would most certainly not unleash those on one so nearly....

Loved?

It was a remarkable thought. He pulled them both to a halt in the corridor, staring into Lucas' startled eyes. Loved, yes, and Lucas didn't know. The thought had remained unspoken. Why was that? Unbidden, an image rose in his mind's eye. The man, the man he had not meant to attack but the rage had been upon him and the man sat so close to the helmet, too close. He knew he should know that man, could hear his voice in memory, speaking with hushed guilt of love and hunger and Lucas....

Ah. The other man was a comrade then, not really an enemy at all. And this comrade loved Lucas, as he did, and so they were bound together in secrecy. Because his comrade named it sin and fought it, and because he himself had no wish to hurt one so close to a brother. He unconsciously tightened his hold on Lucas' arm, his eyes locked on that fine-boned face.

"Miguel?"

His comrade was not here. He was here, and Lucas was, and less gentle emotions were mixing with his newly acknowledged love. He had taken Lucas captive, the spoils of a war he was still fighting. Was this how he thought Lucas could help him? The battle-lust that had consumed him was rapidly transforming to lust of a different kind.

"Miguel, come on, talk to me. What's going on?"

He pulled Lucas after him more gently this time. He needed a place they wouldn't be disturbed, a place to show Lucas what he could not currently speak. He smiled as it came to him. The brig. Not one of the cells, but the guards' lounge. With no one currently confined to the brig, there might not be any security in that area, and it was among the last places the enemy would think to look. They would be found eventually, but there would be enough time. He would make sure it was enough.

The route to the brig was shorter than his original course, but it seemed long as Lucas finally fell silent. He mourned the loss of that voice speaking to him, calling him by a name he could not quite feel was his own, gentling the rage within him. But his own supply of language gave him no words for conversation. He could only hope Lucas would begin to speak again when they reached their destination.

The brig was as deserted as he'd hoped. Lucas came more and more reluctantly, as though beginning to suspect things were not as safe as they seemed. Some part of him knew what he planned could wound as badly as the sword, but he could not imagine stopping. He needed too badly, and Lucas needed to know. Whatever the consequences, he had to do this.

"What are we doing down here, Miguel?"

There was fear in Lucas' voice now, controlled but undeniable. He wanted to give reassurance and knew it would be a lie. It was not love that ruled him now. Love would mean giving Lucas the option of refusing.

Lucas stopped on the threshold of the guards' lounge, resisting him even when he brought the sword back up to Lucas' throat.

"No, Miguel. You tell me what the hell is going on or you use that thing. Why are you doing this?"

Twisting Lucas around to face him, he stepped forward and pressed his mouth hard against that tempting mouth. Lucas jerked in his hold, stumbling backward, and he followed the movement into the room. For a moment, soft lips clung to his and he breathed Lucas' gasping breath. He reached back blindly with his sword hand, finding and slamming the door, and dropped the sword to grab Lucas with both hands as the young man began to struggle.

He backed Lucas into the wall, capturing both slender wrists and raising them up until they were pinned against the wall above Lucas' head. Gathering them into one hand, he brought the other down to Lucas' face as he continued his merciless kisses, plumbing the depths of the hot, sweet mouth against his. Lucas was making noises now, desperate noises that might have been pleas to stop or pleas to continue. Whatever they were, they made him hungrier. He slid one thigh between Lucas', rocking slightly to let Lucas feel him down there. His reward was a low moan he swallowed whole.

He moved his hand from Lucas' face to the bottom of the sweater Lucas wore, pushing his hand up under it until he reached Lucas' waist. There he encountered more fabric and recalled Lucas' penchant for layers. Lucas bucked against him, and he pressed his captive harder against the wall as he unbuckled Lucas' belt and began working the tee-shirt free of suddenly loose jeans. At last his hand brushed smooth, soft flesh, and Lucas sobbed into his mouth. Swallowing that too, he finally moved on to other territory, letting Lucas breathe freely.

"Miguel, don't do this. Please don't do this. Ple--"

Lucas' voice choked off as he dipped his hand down inside Lucas' boxers and touched hardness there. He began suckling the spot where Lucas' neck and shoulder met as he pulled his hand back out to work at Lucas' fly. It was not a one-handed job. Changing tactics, he removed his mouth from Lucas' body and pushed the sweater up. As if released from some spell, Lucas began to plead again.

"Miguel. Miguel, talk to me. Tell me what's going on, let me--"

This time it was the sweater that cut Lucas off, covering face and hair. He made sure it didn't stay there long, pushed it up further until it only trapped Lucas' arms, but by that point Lucas was panicked, fighting.

"This isn't happening! No! Damn it, don't, Miguel. God, don't."

Lucas' distress touched him deeply, though it could not sway his course. He recaptured Lucas' mouth, trying to soothe his captive even as he reiterated his intentions. That Lucas was untouched was a distinct possibility and so he would take this slow and be sure of Lucas' pleasure. But he would take this.

He concentrated on this kiss as he had not on the others, turning it into its own seduction. Lucas resisted him with clenched teeth and tight lips, but he slid his hand down to the back of Lucas' neck and tipped that mouth up for better access, teasing and imploring and coaxing with lips and tongue. Lucas twisted in his grip and shoved against him. He held on, shifting his leg to stroke skillfully between Lucas' legs, encouraging the hardness he felt there. Lucas sucked air through his teeth but held fast against the sensation. So he took a risk, removing his hand from Lucas' neck and gliding it down over the tee-shirt. Predictably, Lucas jerked away from the kiss, turning his head aside to avoid another assault. And then his hand was under the tee-shirt, gliding up, up over silken skin, and his fingers found a nipple. He rolled it lightly between thumb and forefinger, smiling as Lucas' eyes dipped closed and then opened wide. Close. Very, very close.

He shoved the tee-shirt up enough to close his mouth over the nipple's twin and lap at it lightly with his tongue. Lucas gasped out his name, arching into the contact. He raised his head and brought his mouth down hard on Lucas', then slid his hand down to cup Lucas through his jeans and begin stroking, overpowering any remaining resistance. For a handful of breaths, Lucas remained unyielding against him. He increased the pressure of his hand and bit down gently on Lucas' bottom lip. Lucas sobbed once and thrust into his grip, and he knew he was going to win.

Holding Lucas immobile with deeper kisses, he raised his hand to work the sweater free from Lucas' arms, still gripping Lucas' wrists with his other hand. He dropped the sweater as soon as it was clear. He could feel Lucas tensing against him again as he touched the bottom of the tee-shirt, but he held on tight as he removed that, too. Now Lucas was bare-chested for him. It was a small triumph. The rest of their clothes would be more of a challenge.

There were rungs built into one wall of this room that led up to a hatch on an emergency tube. It would frighten Lucas more, but it was a solution to his dilemma. Pulling the belt free of Lucas' jeans, he dragged Lucas over to the rungs and turned him around to face them. He forced his captive's hands against the rung just above his head and almost lost his hold as Lucas yanked down, trying to break free. He managed to bind Lucas' wrists to the rung with the belt, then tried to keep Lucas still as he began jerking at the binding.

"This isn't happening...this can't be happening...oh, god...."

Time to give Lucas something to focus on other than fear, he decided. Pressing his chest against Lucas' naked back, he reached around and plunged his hand down the front of Lucas' jeans. His fingers closed on naked flesh and Lucas gave a choked cry, going completely still. He was right, surely no one had ever touched Lucas like this, not when that flesh responded so quickly to his touch, hot and heavy and eager even as Lucas shook in his hands. He buried his face in Lucas' neck and knew he smelled arousal with the fear. He began kneading the flesh in his hand, ghosting his mouth over Lucas' skin, and waited for the arousal to grow stronger. When Lucas' hips began moving with his hand, he closed his teeth delicately on one ear. Lucas gasped, and that golden head rolled back against his shoulder. He indulged himself a moment longer, then with a final nip to Lucas' ear, withdrew and stepped away.

It was a risk and he stripped out of his own tee-shirt quickly, prepared to restrain Lucas again should it become necessary. But Lucas only shuddered and leaned against his bound wrists, breathing raggedly as he whispered, "Damn it, what is wrong with you?"

He couldn't be sure if that question was directed at him or not. He had no answer in any case. He moved swiftly toward the head situated off of the lounge, turning his gaze from Lucas long enough to spot the small bottle of hand lotion sitting by the sink. It was an unexpected boon, and perfect for his needs. He snatched it up and returned his attention to his captive, who had turned toward him as much as possible, but who still could not see where he had gone. Desire caught him full in the gut at the taut curve of that bare-skinned back, at the light tangling in that golden hair and catching in an eye that was mostly pupil. He stepped back across the room and raised one hand to touch that beauty, and Lucas flinched at the movement, trembling a little as he pressed his palm flat against heated flesh.

"Why, Miguel?" Lucas said, his voice raw and throaty. "At least tell me why."

For an answer he set the lotion on a table and slid his arms around Lucas, brushing his fingertips over the tight nipples before lowering his hands to unzip Lucas' jeans. Lucas shifted against him, and he deliberately slowed his movements, his hands lingering at Lucas' crotch. He pressed forward until Lucas could not help but feel his hardness, until his bare chest was tight against Lucas' back and he was breathing once more into Lucas' ear. He flattened his hands to either side of Lucas' hardening cock, his thumbs hooked in the waistbands of jeans and boxers. Now Lucas couldn't even breathe without brushing against him in some way. He waited until Lucas' breathing turned harsh and heavy again, then slid the jeans and boxers down, letting them puddle around Lucas' ankles. He traced Lucas' calves and thighs as he stood back up, ending the movement by cupping Lucas' now bare and very hard erection.

"You want this," he breathed across the back of Lucas' neck, the only words that would come without rage.

"No," Lucas said, with barely enough air behind it to make a sound.

He raised one hand and drew Lucas' head around until he could crush that word out of existence with his mouth. And the word was a lie, because Lucas pushed into his hands, opened to his questing tongue, begged without words for everything he wanted to give. Moving his hand from Lucas' hair, he grasped blindly after the bottle of lotion, never breaking the kiss. His hand closed on the lotion and he flipped the top open, upturning the bottle to spill thick liquid onto his fingers. Dropping the lotion back on the table, he pulled away from Lucas enough to speak as he maneuvered his hand down between them, probing at Lucas' opening with one finger.

"You want this," he repeated, and plunged his finger in. Lucas stiffened in shock, gasping, but he did not let up, seeking out that single spot.... Lucas arched as though lightning had touched him, screaming in soundless pleasure. It was a satisfying reaction.

He pulled his finger back out, circling the opening lightly before thrusting back in, once more touching that place that was his secret weapon, giving Lucas' erection a squeeze as he did. And now Lucas was breathless, leaning into him helplessly. After a few more passes, he added a second finger, reveling in tight heat. How he wanted to be inside that. Truly inside. He set up a steady rhythm as he loosened up his captive, a warning and a promise of what was to come.

When he judged Lucas sufficiently ready, he eased his fingers out and unzipped the jumpsuit hanging from his own waist, easing his hard cock free. He reached again for the lotion and pooled it into his hand. He applied a generous amount to his own penis, then positioned himself and began to press inexorably in. Lucas made a small sound of not-quite-pain and he turned Lucas' head with his free hand, claiming his mouth again. Gentle, as the other kisses had not been, and he pumped Lucas' cock carefully, slowly, letting Lucas adjust to him as he eased in until he was completely encased in hot flesh, so sweet and tight. He pulled back out enough to change his angle and knew he had succeeded in hitting that spot again when Lucas gasped into his mouth, pushing back against him to draw him in deeper.

He set a steady pace then, stroking long and deep with his hand and his cock, his mouth moving over Lucas' face and neck. He could pinpoint the moment pleasure outweighed pain, could feel Lucas tensing around him and in his hand. A few more strokes, and Lucas gave a soft, breathless cry and came. Warm fluid struck his hand and overflowed. That sensation joined with the feeling of Lucas' muscles tightening around him and pushed him over the edge. He buried his own cry in Lucas' shoulder, biting down to mark his prize.

His release left him dangerously lightheaded. Lucas slumped against the wall before him, spent and perhaps in shock. He pulled out as gently as he could, then reached up to unbind Lucas' hands. If Lucas decided to fight, he was not sure he would win, but he could not leave Lucas like that. If he did not find them a means of escape, the enemy would find them soon.

Lucas did not fight, but slid down the wall, eyes staring blindly at nothing. He waited a moment, then risked returning to the head to wash his hands. He came back to Lucas with a handful of damp toilet paper, all he could find. Lucas allowed the touch numbly and he cleaned the now-flaccid cock. When he tried to move beyond that, though, Lucas pushed him away hard, then began to jerk on clothes in clumsy, mechanical movements. He stayed where he had fallen, watching Lucas settle once more against the wall. Now those eyes were seeing him, were watching him, and he knew he had been named enemy. The world was greying around him and he wondered if he were being punished for what he had done to Lucas. He knew he'd had reasons, but they were no longer clear, and the look in Lucas' eyes was changing, Lucas was actually reaching out to him, but he didn't have the strength to reach back, didn't have the strength to tell him....

Oh, god, Lucas, what did I do to you? What happened to me? What--

Miguel stood outside Lucas' door and once more debated the wisdom of knocking. He hadn't made it past this point in three days, not since he woke up in medbay with Dr. Smith and a tall, black man standing over him with too much knowledge in their eyes. He passed the test that allowed him to live, but how could anyone possibly think that mattered? When Dr. Smith confirmed the reality of what he prayed was a dream, he knew his crimes were far worse than stealing any treasure of Atlantis. And they were not going to hold him responsible for it, anymore than they were going to hold Captain Bridger responsible for ordering his death, because they had both been under the influence of the curse.

That's great. I'm sure it comforts Lucas to know he was raped by a madman, but I'm all better now.

Miguel knew the truth. He couldn't blame anything on the curse. It may have weakened his inhibitions and fueled his aggression, but it hadn't selected a target. Lucas would have been safe if not for him. His hunger, his desire had singled out Lucas as his victim. He hadn't even been holding the sword when....

Professor Obatu was wrong. The curse isn't broken. I made damn sure of that.

Three days and Tim hadn't spoken to him except as duty demanded. Three days and he'd only seen Lucas from a distance, watching him with an expressionless face and haunted eyes. Those eyes followed him into dreams, and he was getting used to waking up hard and guilty with the memory of Lucas writhing against him competing with the memory of pain in those eyes. The harsh truth was he was not nearly as sorry as he should be. The memories aroused him far too much.

Which was why, in three days, he had yet to knock on this door and even pretend he could make amends for an act he knew he didn't regret nearly enough.

Doesn't matter how sorry I am, I can't look at him without thinking about it. And he's not stupid; he'll know that. He'll see it in my eyes. But does that mean I shouldn't even try?

Miguel Ortiz was not a quitter, and despite the truth festering inside him, he felt he owed Lucas something. It wouldn't be enough, of course, but at least Lucas would know he wanted to be sorry, wanted not to remember soft blonde hair brushing his shoulder, overheated skin against his and that sweet, sweet mouth--

Enough, Ortiz. He cut the thoughts off ruthlessly. That's enough.

Before memory could betray him again, he raised his hand and knocked.

"We're not buying any!" Tony's voice, and Miguel had just enough time to wonder why he'd assumed Tony wouldn't be here before the door swung open and Tony was staring out at him, the seaman's cocky smile of welcome fading slightly but not vanishing. It was Lucas' decision how much the crew would know and, in typical Lucas fashion, he wasn't talking. Not even to his roommate.

"Hi, Tony." His own voice sounded weak to his ears, hesitant and guilty. It was the way he should feel. It was the way he did feel, but there was too much other emotion in with it, and he wasn't sure which was stronger. Beyond Tony, he saw Lucas hunched at the computer, long body stiffening at the sound of his voice. Miguel felt something primal stir at the show of fear and crushed it ruthlessly.

No, damn it. I'm here to apologize, not repeat the experience.

"Hey, Miguel," Tony said with just a hint of wariness.

"Mind if I come in?"

Lucas' fingers stilled on the keyboard. Tony glanced between them uncertainly, and Miguel saw the speculation rising in his eyes. The shipwide assumption that he had done nothing more than threaten Lucas with that Atlantean sword and manhandle him a bit was not going to last long at this rate. Lucas' withdrawal, his own obvious guilt, Brody's avoidance, Tim's silent treatment, and Dr. Smith's condescending pity all argued too loudly for something more traumatic. Lucas wasn't talking about it, but words were hardly necessary.

"No offense, Miguel," Tony started, still looking from Lucas to him, "but I don't know if-"

"Let him in."

Lucas did not look up as he said it, his fingers beginning to move once more. Tony hesitated a moment longer, then stepped back and Miguel moved down the few steps into the cabin. Awkward, smothering silence descended, broken only by the sound of the keyboard. Miguel wasn't quite sure how to proceed. He could not really talk to Lucas with Tony in the room, and while his apology to the seaman for attacking him had been shrugged off as unnecessary, Tony did not seem quite so forgiving when it came to Lucas.

If you only knew, Tony. You'd be the one chasing me down the corridor with a sword. Or anything else that would do the job.

"You'd better get going, Tony," Lucas said casually. "You don't want to miss your lunch date."

"She'll understand if I'm late."

"Like she understood when she threw that plate of spaghetti at your head?"

"She's still talking to me, isn't she? I'll make it up to her."

"I thought today was to make up for last time."

"Luc-"

"Tony." Lucas turned in his chair and looked Tony in the eye. "Go. It's cool, okay?"

Miguel held his breath while he waited for Tony's answer. Part of him wanted Tony to refuse to leave, wanted some kind of deterrent to his own impulses. Part of him wanted Tony to leave so he could say what he needed to, what he thought Lucas needed to hear. And part of him, the part that he was trying very hard not to listen to, wanted Tony to leave for entirely other reasons.

You learn what you're capable of, and you want to do it again. How sick is that, Ortiz?

Tony sighed loudly, and Miguel knew he was going to give in.

"All right, but I'm sending Dagwood to check on you in a few."

"Tony-"

"Catch you later, Miguel." Tony cut the brewing argument short, running up the steps to the door and shutting it firmly behind him. Miguel turned from watching his exit and caught Lucas' eyes. He didn't dare interpret what he saw there before Lucas turned away.

"So talk."

That was not encouraging. Taking a deep breath, Miguel drew on the part of himself that felt the proper emotions and said, "I know it's not enough, but I'm sorry-"

"Why are you sorry? It was the curse, right? You couldn't stop it. I couldn't stop it. We were both victims."

Lucas' tone was so flat, Miguel couldn't tell whether he believed his own words or not. Not that it mattered.

"It wasn't the curse, Lucas."

"What, you wanted it to happen?"

He didn't answer right away, letting the silence around them build with the absence of his words. Lucas met his gaze again at last, eyes widening with comprehension. Miguel felt something hit him hard in the vicinity of his heart, something that felt a lot like the rage and hope and desire and fear he saw in Lucas' eyes.

"I wouldn't have done it this way," he said, and he knew that Lucas knew now. Lucas could blame him now. It wasn't the ideal solution, it certainly didn't give him what he wanted, but it gave Lucas a way to start healing. So why did he look so devastated?

Lucas pulled back, turned away, wrapped his arms around himself and hunched over. He took a few shallow, shaky breaths and spoke in a voice that sounded suspiciously choked. "I don't think...I don't think I can hear this right now."

He's crying? I made him cry? "Lucas, I'm-"

"Don't." Lucas looked up at him, eyes overbright but dry. "Please, Miguel, just...don't."

There was a knock at the cabin door, and Lucas closed his eyes, turning away once more. "That's probably Dagwood," he said hollowly.

Miguel stood unmoving for a long moment, then felt conviction click into place inside him. Lucas needed time, and space, and Miguel very much doubted he would get it from anyone else on this boat.

But he'll get it from me. If I can't give him anything else, I'll give him this.

"I can take him with me when I go," Miguel offered neutrally. "As long as they know where I am, they won't worry so much about you."

"Yeah," Lucas whispered, then slowly unwound his arms from around himself and began typing again with precise concentration. Miguel knew he wanted to look both busy and unruffled for Dagwood's benefit, so no questions would be asked. Not now, at any rate.

Miguel forced a smile on his face and opened the door. "Hi, Dagwood."

"Hi, Miguel." Dagwood looked past him into the cabin. "Tony said I'm supposed to come check on Lucas. Are you okay, Lucas?"

"I'm fine, Dagwood. Thanks." Miguel had to wonder if his own smile was as strained as Lucas'.

"Mmmm." Dagwood seemed a little unsure of what to say next, then his face brightened. "They are serving pizza for lunch today. Would you like to come get some?"

Lucas hated brushing Dagwood off, Miguel knew, and so he intervened before Lucas had to come up with an excuse.

"Lucas was just telling me he's pretty busy today, Dagwood," Miguel said, crowding the larger man out the door as subtly as he could. Fortunately, Dagwood wasn't in an obstinate mood and gave way before Miguel was forced to barrel into him. "But how about you and I go snag some of that pizza, then you can sneak some pieces back here to the workaholic when I go on shift? That way he gets his work done, but you can make sure he eats."

Dagwood seemed to like that idea, but he sought confirmation from Lucas before surrendering entirely to Miguel's herding. "Is that okay, Lucas?"

"I'd appreciate it, Dagwood. Just make sure there are no anchovies, okay?"

"No anchovies," Dagwood repeated firmly. "I will tell Donna you are not Darwin, you shouldn't have to eat like him."

The parroting of his oft-repeated lament to the mess chief drew a startled, shaky laugh from Lucas. Dagwood smiled, and Miguel slapped down the brief, sharp surge of jealousy.

I should be glad anything makes him laugh right now.

Closing the door and ushering Dagwood down the corridor before him, Miguel held onto the memory of that laughter. And tried to ignore how the last echo of it had sounded so very like a sob.

~END~