John stalked through the Gate, skin feeling like it was stretched too tight over his bones. He needed to get out of his tac vest, out of his uniform, and into the shower. As soon as fucking possible.

“Colonel,” Sam said. “We need to –”

Teyla neatly cut in and started talking to her, subtly moving her in the opposite direction. John made a beeline for the transporter; whatever expression was on his face backing people off without him having to say anything. Ronon glared at anyone who was feeling brave enough to approach.

“Thanks,” John managed to get out through clenched teeth.

The door slid shut before almost immediately sliding back open again, depositing John not far from his doorstep. Once he was inside his quarters, he felt he could get a little of his breath back.

“What the hell happened?” Rodney asked. “You look like shit.”

“Later.”

John started shedding his clothes, making his way unerringly to the bathroom. The shower kicked on before he was even through the door, and he mentally adjusted it hotter than he normally liked. He stepped under the water, hissing a bit until he got used to the sting of it, and braced himself against the wall so the spray hit him right between the shoulder blades.

“Ronon said things went sideways,” Rodney said hesitantly, standing just outside the shower.

“How’s your hand?” John countered.

“My fingers are still broken, if that’s what you’re asking. They didn’t magically repair themselves while you were gone.”

The water, and Rodney’s familiar snarky tone, helped John let go of some of the tension in his shoulders. His jaw was sore from all the clenching.

There’d been an accident during some ‘jumper maintenance, and Rodney had broken two of the fingers on his dominant hand. Everyone had agreed he should hang back in Atlantis, that John, Teyla, and Ronon could handle what was supposed to be a milk run without him. If the mission had been first contact, they’d have stood down until Rodney was able to go with them.

Just a milk run. Was that even really a thing in Pegasus?

“Do you want me to come in? The hand’s been waterproofed, you know.”

Did John want Rodney to join him in the shower? Just five minutes ago he’d have said no.

“Yeah.”

Rodney didn’t waste any time shucking his clothes. He yelped when he got in, and John mentally turned the hot water down. Rodney burned easily.

“Are you trying to parboil yourself? It’s not a good look, you know.”

In the next moment Rodney was soaping John up, washing his back and shoulders with brisk, capable hands. No coddling. No caresses. For all that people complained how socially unaware he could be – and he really, really could – with John, Rodney always knew what to do.

John let out a deep breath and widened his stance as Rodney soaped up his thighs, his calves, his ass. There was nothing sensual about it, because that’s not what John needed. He needed to feel clean.

"Your what now?" Shitty asked as Bitty screamed at practically the top of his lungs, "Derek Malik Nurse!"

Derek felt his face go flush as the registration nurse looked at them with disinterest. Derek squirmed for a minute, but Will, who was high on pain killers, tugged on Derek's sleeve. "You're on your own for this one, babe," Will said as someone with "TRANSPORT" on their namebadge showed up. "I'm on drugs," Will said quite giddily. "Did they tell you I've been given drugs?"

The transporter looked about as disinterested as the registration nurse did. "I'll just take him back for X-Rays," he said, then turned Will's wheelchair around and started off.

"That was my husband," Will said, his voice carrying even as he disappeared down the corridor. "Isn't he pretty? He's in so much trouble right now..."

Betrayed by his own husband. Well, and that was the whole problem, wasn't it?

"It's chill," Derek said when the registration clerk dismissed them, though the expression on their friend's faces said it was anything but chill. He took a deep breath as eyes bored though his chest. "So, like, we were going to tell you?"

Bitty sucked his teeth accusingly, then shook his head. "Telling your friends that you got married is, maybe, something you should have done, oh, I don't know when you got married, maybe?"

"Yeah, bro," Lardo said. "Like, you know we would have been there."

The only way Derek could feel worse was if Chowder was there, but Chowder was at his own pre-season debut game with the Schooners. But Derek knew that he'd never hear the end of it once Chowder found out.

"So, like," he said as he looked over his friends's glares, "we just got married a couple of days ago in case anything happened to Will during a game. So that," he gestured with flailing arms, "if something like this happened, I'd be able to take care of him. Legally."

"Oh," Shitty said. "So act of logic, not act of passion." When Derek nodded, Shitty added, "So it was Will's idea then."

"Yeah," Derek replied, but a split second later, sputtered. "Wait, wait. If it's logical and Will did it, it's okay? But if it was a spur of the moment, passion thing, I did it and it's </em>not</em> okay?"

"Duh," Lardo replied as Shitty, Eric, and Jack nodded their heads.

"That is so not chill," Derek replied.

"Neither is getting three of your teeth knocked out in your first NHL game," Jack replied. He looked at Derek. "He's never gotten injured until now, has he?"

Derek, whose arm still ached from time to time from when he broke it playing for Samwell, nodded. "And let's hope it's his last."

As they all took a seat to wait for Will, Derek realized that he and Will were surrounded by their amazing friends. He should have told them, but when your boyfriend - husband - is about to make his NHL debut, life comes at you fast.

He was still contemplating his life when Bitty's words brought him out of his thoughts. "So what kind of pie do y'all want when we have your reception?" He leaned close and looked Derek square in the eye. "Because we are having a reception, Derek," he said in his scary captain voice. "Mark my words."

They were standing in line at customs, passports and documents in hand, exhausted. They were all capable of sleeping anywhere at any time if they had a moment, and Jinwoo was genuinely concerned that Myungjun might fall asleep standing up. Minhyuk slid closer to Myungjun, and Myungjun tipped his head onto Minhyuk’s shoulder, eyes slipping closed.

When it was finally their turn, eight of them clustered in front of the customs and control officer’s booth, manager and interpreter with them.

The woman butchered pretty much all of their names, but her smile was pleasant, and she seemed to understand that they were tired.

“Business or pleasure?” she asked when it was Jinwoo’s turn.

“Both,” he said, because this was their first world tour, and while making and performing music was his job, they’d get to sightsee and try new things.

“Enjoy your visit,” the woman said, handing his passport back. “Welcome to America.”

Jinwoo bobbed his head automatically at her even though he knew that people in America didn’t bow to each other, and then he shuffled off to the other side of the customs line to wait for the rest of his teammates.

“I’m hungry,” Bin said, which was no surprise even though they’d all eaten on the plane and carried extra snacks besides.

“There’s a Koreatown, right?” Myungjun mumbled, clinging onto Bin while Minhyuk was still with the interpreter and customs officer. “I want some bibimbap.”

Dongmin frowned. “We’re in Los Angeles. We should eat something that’s a local specialty.”

Myungjun tugged on Bin’s sleeve and pouted. “Give me yukhoe bibimbap!”

He must have been so tired; he could barely keep his eyes open.

“We’re going for burgers,” Manager said. “I found a place near the hotel that’s well-rated but relatively quiet. Plus it’s later in the day than when most Americans have lunch, so you’ll be undisturbed while you eat.”

Jinwoo knew chances of them being recognized in LA were better than in other places, which had smaller Korean populations, but generally chances of them being recognized were low. He appreciated Manager’s thoughtfulness in giving them a chance to have a nice meal undisturbed after such a long flight.

Once all of them were done with customs, it was on to baggage claim, and finally to the van that was waiting for them.

They piled in, and Jinwoo was glad it was a comfortable vehicle, with plush leather seats. Minhyuk immediately set to messing with the television to try to find them something to watch on the drive into the city, but the menus were all in English, and Dongmin was too tired to focus on helping him.

“Look, it’s a used car lot!” Myungjun said, pointing out the window.

“They have those here,” Jinwoo said.

“I saw one of those in Transformers,” Bin said.

Myungjun pressed his face close to the window. “There are so many cars!”

Everything in America was...bigger. Buildings taller. More spread apart. Most of the people were bigger, too, taller and stronger-looking. Jinwoo was the shortest on the team, but he wasn’t used to feeling small, and he didn’t like it.

At least he could understand English pretty well, compared to most of them (except Dongmin, who could understand it and speak it much better).

Jinwoo looked out the window and huffed. “Hyung, that’s a parking lot.”

“Oh,” Myungjun said, and the others laughed.

They were all exhausted. Bin, Jinwoo, and Sanha were slumped on the back bench, singing nursery rhymes to keep themselves awake while Manager talked to the driver via the interpreter.

The burger restaurant was on a bustling street downtown somewhere that wasn’t quite Los Angeles proper. It was dimly-lit, and the interpreter asked the hostess to seat them in a back corner -- it was even darker -- before she had Manager departed to get a quick bite to eat elsewhere on their way to do more tour business.

“Of course, the princess must marry only the strongest,” the random courtier said.

John eyed the girl sitting high on the dais above them, resplendent in silks, reclining on a mountain of pillows while two servants held a massive canopy over her and two more fanned her.

She didn’t look like she cared about, well, anything.

John cleared his throat. “Well, the strongest among us is --”

“Ronon, of course,” Rodney burst out.

John blinked. Well, that was technically true, but --

“You don’t mind, do you, Ronon?” Rodney asked.

Ronon shrugged. “It’s just a single night, not a permanent marriage.”

Rodney practically shoved him toward the dais steps. “Congrats. Break a leg. All that.”

“Break a leg?” John echoed, but then the rest of the courtiers were herding John, Rodney, and Teyla back toward the banquet hall to await the celebration of the marriage, which came...after consummation?

When in Rome, John supposed.

“You know,” he said to Rodney in a low voice, “I’m pretty strong too.”

“Under no circumstances are you going to sleep with an alien princess,” Rodney hissed.

“Why not?” John asked, amused, though he’d been planning on suggesting that one of the local me duel Ronon (and Ronon throw the duel) so he could have the honor, as the strongest.

“Because you’re mine,” Rodney snapped, and snatched up a glass of wine.

Teyla stayed his hand and tested it for citrus first, and then Rodney drained the glass.

Later, while he was tipsy, John said, “So, I’m yours, huh?”

“Yeah. What’re you gonna do about it?” Rodney slurred.

John smiled. “Let you know that you’re mine too.”

Edited at 2021-08-13 03:17 am (UTC)

“Much,” Guy said, “I know I’ve been ill this winter, but the only way I’m going to recover my full fitness is if I practise. And I’m not going to get better if you keep letting me win. So, put your whole effort into this next duel.”

Much looked lovingly at Guy. He was aware how much being ill had taken it out of him, and he was trying not to let the man over-exert himself. Nevertheless, Much threw himself into the duel.

It wasn’t long before Guy was defeated and looking thoroughly downhearted. “You know, I think I liked it better when you let me win,” he admitted. “At least then I felt like I was making some progress!”

“Lan Sizhui, Lan Jingyi,” the deceptively calm voice of Lan Wangji called out, “What do you think you are you doing?”

Sizhui froze mid kiss, his mouth planted firmly on Jingyi’s and his hands still buried in the other’s tousled hair with the clan headband tangled into his fingers. It took a few seconds longer for Jingyi to catch up to the situation, but once he did, the speed at which he stood up from the bed and straightened his appearance was frightening.

Turning slowly to look at his fathers—Lan Wangji standing in the middle of Sizhui’s room looking as stern as ever, while Wei Wuxian remained leaning against the doorjamb, grinning approvingly.

To Sizhui’s horror, he was too stunned to remember that Jingyi had this habit of speaking his mind even in front of someone like Lan Wangji.

“We were kissing, Hanguang Jun,” Jingyi replied, bowing deeply, and being at least mindful enough to use the honorific title. “That is what people do when they are in love.” Sizhui heard Wei Wuxian barely stifle a snicker.

“I am aware,” Lan Wangji replied, not really sounding angry, but more... teacherly? “My inquiry was not aimed at the action itself but the technique.” Now that he dared to take a better look, Sizhui noticed his father was did not appear reproachful, but more concerned. Jingyi also lifted his head a bit, looking confused but curious.

“What my dear husband means,” Wei Wuxian interrupted, stepping beside Lan Wangji and giving him a big smooch on the cheek—which after a year of being married only got a slight crinkling of brow in return. Lan Wangji might be loving and passionate towards his soulmate, but preferably not in public.

“Is that you’re doing it wrong,” Wei Wuxian finished, flashing them a radiant smile. “Should we give them a demonstration?” he asked Lan Wangji teasingly, fingers tracing the cloud pattern on the lapel of his robe in a manner that caused Sizhui to blush and look away.

“No!” Lan Wangji and Sizhui hastily answered in unison, followed by a slightly hopeful “Yes?” from Jingyi. While Sizhui did agree that maybe their kissing had been more on the passionate side than experienced, the thought of his fathers giving them a visual lesson made his face red as a ripe apple.

“Since you have such a talent for talking,” Lan Wangji told Wei Wuxian before turning to leave, “I believe you are more than capable explaining things through words alone.” There was a hint of red colouring the tips of his ears, a feat that only Wei Wuxian could achieve. He walked to the door, stopping there for a moment.

“Finding your zhījǐ is a blessing, Ah-Yuan,” Lan Wangji said softly, glancing at Wei Wuxian with that certain warmth reserved only for his soulmate. “Treasure each other.” Then, in a flash of white robes he was gone.

“We will, father,” Sizhui said quietly in the silence, smiling. His father did not need to hear his answer to know what it would be.

“We will, father!” Jingyi shouted loud enough for the whole dormitory to hear, bowing at the doorway and grinning ear to ear. “I will treasure your son for all my life and mphh hm mm mph hh mmm!” Sizhui finally managed to get over his shock and move, covering Jingyi’s mouth with his hand before anything more spilled out. Wei Wuxian burst out laughing, unable to hold his amusement in any longer.

“Ah-Yuan, and you, cheeky little imp,” he said, smiling and pointing at each in turn, and then he rushed over and pulled them into a crushing hug. “Lan Zhan and I are both happy for you, you know that right?”

“Mm,” both boys answered with what little breath they had left.

“But now,” Wei Wuxian said, pulling back and giving them a mischievous look, “it’s time for your lesson on kissing.” Sizhui could already feel himself blushing again, but Jingyi’s eyes brightened at the prospect. Yet Sizhui couldn’t be happier. He had his soulmate, and he had the two best fathers in the world.

“You see, you’re not just supposed to smush your mouths together,” Wei Wuxian began, leading them to sit on the edge of the bed, and Sizhui could feel they were in for a lengthy lecture. “To start with, there are a lot more intricate ways to kiss, like for example...”