How far would you go to get everything you've ever wanted?

After a kiss with a mysterious stranger gets out of control, academic Rodney McKay is both frightened and excited by what dashing pilot Major John Sheppard does to him.

Would you have phone sex?

When John seduces Rodney on his cell phone, Rodney experiences something even more shockingly sinful. And he wants that kind of thrill again...and again.

Would you make him an offer he couldn't refuse?

Rodney knows John would make the perfect sex partner. His line of work requires him to be daring and impulsive - exactly what Rodney wants in bed.

Would you risk your life?

But when Rodney gets caught in the middle of the dangerous project John's working on, even the bold new Rodney isn't sure he can handle a man like John. That is, until John starts calling in some favors of his own...

With a grinding noise and quick jolt, the elevator stopped dead. Rodney McKay looked up from the messily folded spreadsheet he was studying, glancing blankly first at the ceiling and then at the only other occupant of the obviously substandard service elevator. The other man was leaning against the wall with an air of nonchalance and a crooked half-smile.

"Could be worse," he said. "The lights could have gone..."

The elevator was plunged into darkness.

"...out."

Rodney felt all the blood drain out of his face. He hated enclosed spaces. He didn't care much for the dark either, but being trapped in an elevator was right up there in his nightmare top ten with teaching his freshman Physics seminar in his Spongebob Squarepants boxer shorts. He took a deep breath and then wheezed it out again before letting himself slip down to sit on the floor, the spreadsheet falling away in a slither of pages, unheeded.

"Hey, are you okay?" The voice was soft and close, and Rodney jumped, only to jump again when a hand landed on his shoulder.

"Yes, yes - I'm fine. Just a bit claustrophobic. And the dark..." Rodney let his voice trail off as he tried to remember what the man next to him looked like. He'd really only glanced at him upon getting into the elevator - the readings for his latest simulations were off just enough that they looked right, but that idiot Kavanagh kept letting the grad students touch things and Rodney knew there were errors there, just waiting to be found and destroyed. So, the guy - Rodney recalled a lanky build and silly hair and light eyes - green, maybe?

"Are you afraid of the dark?"

Oh, a silky, deep voice, crackling with humor and a little sarcasm - that was nice. Rodney didn't note other peoples' voices much - he was usually shouting over them or ignoring them completely, tuning out shrillness and idiocy and blather. But this voice was nice - gentle, and it seemed to be hitting some heretofore unknown decibel level that had the odd side effect of making Rodney feel warmed from the inside.

Or maybe that was just mounting terror. "Not afraid," Rodney said, a little defensively. "I just don't really like it."

He heard the other man shuffling around, then breathed a sigh of relief as a thin beam of light fell on the elevator floor.

"Flashlight! Well done," Rodney said, looking at the floor. A pair of hiking boots, attached to a pair of cargo pants, were planted next to his own filthy cross-trainers and rumpled khaki trousers.

The flashlight was set on the ground, the beam pointed to bounce light off the wall, providing dim illumination without glaring in either of their faces. Rodney felt the hand move from his shoulder down his arm to reach his own hand.

"My name's John. John Sheppard."

Rodney clasped John's hand, feeling interesting calluses and restrained strength. "Dr. Rodney McKay."

John picked up the flashlight and shined it on the wall of the elevator for a moment before opening a panel beneath the buttons.

"Wait!" Rodney cried. "Should you be doing that?"

"Emergency phone," John said, lifting the handset. He punched a few buttons. "Yes," he said into the handset. "I'm stuck in an elevator in... Rodney, what building is this?"

"Richardson Hall," Rodney answered automatically.

"Richardson Hall," John repeated into the phone. He made a few "uh-huh" noises and then hung up, closing the panel with a quiet snap before easing down to sit next to Rodney on the floor.

"So, what did they say?" Rodney demanded, his fingers plucking nervously at the sleeve of his lab coat.

"Relax," John said. "This entire bank of elevators stopped; they're working on it. They said an hour at the most."

"An hour!" Rodney yelped. "Oh, no way. There's no way I can be trapped in here for an hour. That's too long. Sixty minutes - 3600 seconds - 3.6 billion microseconds..."

"And 3.6 trillion nanoseconds, I get the pattern," John said. "It's not that long."

"It is if you're claustrophobic," Rodney said, burying his head in his hands, trying to stave off the anxiety.

"How bad is it?" John asked. "Are we talking panic attack or what?"

"Maybe," Rodney said. "It could happen. I need to think of something other than the fact that we're in a small metal box suspended from pulleys and cables last replaced in 1972 by the lowest bidder and a crew of high-school dropouts with moderate to severe recreational drug habits..."

"Just breathe," John said. "Inhale, exhale - you need to calm down."

"Yes, thank you for the advice, Ben Casey," Rodney snapped, but he could hear his breath wheezing in his lungs, he could feel the constriction in his chest getting worse. And then, John put his big warm hand on Rodney's back and started stroking wide, smooth circles between his shoulder blades.

"Relax." John's voice was low and rich, and Rodney concentrated on it, clung to it like a lifeline. He closed his eyes and shut out the darkness, the walls closing in, the air that already felt just a little stale, and most of all the fear that was crawling up from his belly, and listened to John repeat the word "relax" in time to the warm path of his hand. Rodney's chest loosened a bit, and he pulled in a deep breath.

"That's it," John crooned. "You're doing great, Rodney. Just breathe. It'll be okay, I promise."

Rodney realized that 1) his breathing had calmed, and 2) that he was leaning against John's shoulder. The shoulder was firm and warm and belonged to a complete stranger in a stuck elevator and he was losing his freaking mind. Rodney sat up straight and wheezed impressively.

"Hey!" John said, grabbing Rodney by both shoulders. "Calm down. You have got to calm down!"

There was something commanding in his tone, something that said John was competent and unfazed and that he could be trusted, which was insane, because Rodney didn't really trust anyone. The hands on his shoulders were warm, though, and Rodney could feel John's breath puffing against his face, like a slightly minty breeze. Along with the mint, Rodney could smell a subtle cologne, and soap and a little bit of sweat and he suddenly realized that he was getting hard.

As usual, Rodney's timing sucked.