by lamardeuse

Rated:  NC-17

Pairing: McKay/Sheppard

Warnings (highlight to view):  explicit sex

SGA Flashfiction challenge:  City Exploration

A/N:  Thanks to misspamela for betaing this first effort in the fandom.  I appreciate her help and her skills as a pimp.

John tried not to read any meaning into the fact that Rodney tended to interrupt him right when he was in the middle of jerking off.

Well, okay, so that had only really happened twice now, and part of the problem was that John had been jerking off a lot more frequently these days, ever since the Chaya thing. The—melding or merging or whatever the hell they’d done—had been excruciatingly intense in a way that sex should be but seldom was, and it had the unfortunate effect of reminding him that he hadn’t had any really good sex in approximately forever. And with the constant threat of imminent death and the responsibility and the long hours and the plain old stress, it wasn’t like he had a lot of opportunities to seek it out. Masturbating in the shower was a poor substitute for that elusive connection his mind continued to seek, but it was an acceptable stopgap measure, like a pressure bandage on a gaping wound. It kept the frustration from straying beyond the edges of his consciousness, kept it from backing up on him to the level where he might, say, start screaming incoherently and beating his fists against the control console of the puddlejumper in the middle of a flight.

As he strode down the corridor on one of the heretofore unexplored upper floors, he reflected that Rodney was to blame for about ninety percent of his frustration these days. Since the Chaya thing he’d been even more pissy than usual, and completely insensitive to the need for John to have a few minutes of down time every once in a while to do things like, say, jerk off in the shower. Of course, there was no evidence a guy like Rodney appreciated the need for down time, or mediocre orgasms.

Reaching the door McKay had specified, he pressed his palm to the control and watched it slide open. Idly, he wondered if Rodney ever jerked off in the shower.

Then he nearly stumbled over his own feet, because his brain had just helpfully supplied him with a vivid image of Rodney McKay, stark naked and glistening with soap and water, lazily running his hands down his surprisingly firm chest to his cock, which was really—

“Major? Are you having some sort of seizure?”

John snapped back to reality like a rubber band launched across a room. He blinked at Rodney a couple of times, and Rodney stared back, a half-annoyed, half-concerned line bisecting his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, tearing his gaze from McKay to survey the room. It was about fifty feet square, with low, wide oval benches piled high with cushions placed randomly throughout. The warm lighting and décor created an intimate and soothing atmosphere in what could have been a cavernous space. There was also a low-level buzz of energy vibrating through the air, plucking at his awareness.

“What is this place?” John asked, surprised when his voice sounded strained and hoarse.

“I brought you here to tell me that,” Rodney said. “I’ve been poking and prodding at the controls on the wall for days, and they aren’t responding.”

“I thought you were working on the defense systems.”

“I still am. I’ve been coming here in my spare time.”

John cocked an eyebrow at him. “You’re telling me this is what you do for relaxation?”

Rodney’s lips thinned dangerously. “Well, I’m sure it’s more productive than what you do to relax.”

John tried not to choke on his own tongue. “Oh, I don't doubt it,” he said with his best smirk.

“So,” Rodney said briskly, “if you’ll just come over here—” He began walking toward the far wall, obviously expecting John to follow him. Tamping down his frustration, John did just that.

He got about five feet before one of the benches…called to him.

“What are you—”

“Shh.” John held up a hand, and Rodney, amazingly, silenced himself. With the same hand, he traced the edge of one of the cushions. The energy field he’d sensed since walking into the room wove itself around his fingertips like threads of fine silk.

“You’ve been focusing on the wrong thing,” John murmured. “It’s here.”

“On this bench?”

“On all of them,” John answered, with a certainty that unnerved him. “They’re the devices.”

“O-kaaay,” Rodney drawled, “so what do you—”

John sat on the bench, swung his legs up onto it and lay down.

“Wait!” Rodney protested. “We don’t know—”

John had just enough time to think, Will you please shut the hell up before every nerve ending in his skin exploded.

He didn’t hear the noise he made, but it must have resembled a scream because he could hear Rodney’s panicked footfalls as he ran toward him, heard his, “Major, please, get off of there, you have to—”

And then everything settled down to a manageable level, the sensation not unlike the one generated by those Magic Fingers beds you stuck a quarter in at a seedy motel. John opened his eyes to see Rodney’s horrified face hovering over him, and held up another hand.

“It’s okay. I’m okay. Wait.” He took a deep breath, then another. “I think it was just too much too fast.”

“Did it hurt? Are you hurt?”

John shook his head. “No. It was—too intense. Sensory overload.”

“How do you feel now?”

John took a quick inventory. “Okay. My skin feels—tingly.” More than that, it was as though his body was being suffused with a sense of—peace, for lack of a better word. It felt like the weight of his whole life was lifting off his shoulders.

Rodney’s face tightened. “Tingly? Is that the best you can do?”

John sighed; so much for peace. “If you’re in need of eloquence, next time call me when I’ve had some fucking sleep. Here, you try it. There’s enough room for two people on this thing.”

Rodney eyed the inviting space next to John as though it housed a nest of vipers. “Will you come on, already?  It’s perfectly safe.”

“How do you know?” Rodney demanded. “The bloody thing could electrocute me the minute I sit down.”

“Because there’s no way I’m going to meet death surrounded by pink satin pillows, Rodney. It’s just not happening.” Rodney rolled his eyes at this but moved around the bench to the unoccupied side. John shifted onto his side to watch him slowly sink into the cushions.

When Rodney was completely stretched out beside him, John propped himself up on one elbow. “Still alive?”

Rodney closed his eyes. “Hm.” John watched a small, uncharacteristically contented smile twitch at the left corner of Rodney’s mouth, then turned his attention to the dark circles radiating under the fan of Rodney’s eyelashes. A light, hollow feeling assaulted him, as though he’d just been cored like an apple.

Christ, John thought, his heart skittering in his chest as the surge of what could only be termed tenderness swept over him and dragged him under. In the next moment, though, he was bravely fighting the undertow, because there was just no way that this could be the connection he’d been yearning for. If the sight of Rodney McKay in a vulnerable moment was enough to trigger that desire, it was just further proof of John’s utter desperation.


Clearing his throat, he asked, “So what’s your expert opinion, Doctor?”

Rodney shifted a little against the pillows. “Tingly.”

John chuckled in spite of his unease. “You’ll have to do this more often. I like it when you’re practically nonverbal.”

Rodney opened his eyes and blinked up at him muzzily. The tiny, lopsided smile was still there, and John couldn’t have looked away if his life depended on it.

“Your hair is wet.”

John frowned at the non sequitur. “I was taking a shower when you called me.”

“Oh.” Now it was Rodney’s turn to sigh. “Sorry.”

“Wow, now you’re apologizing,” John marveled. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” He lifted his hand and placed the back of it against Rodney’s forehead as if to gauge his temperature.

And suddenly the edges of the room dissolved around him and he was no longer at peace because he was imagining—no, he was seeing and hearing and Jesus, feeling what it would be like to have every inch of Rodney’s naked body pressed up against every inch of his—

Rodney gasped and his arms stiffened at his sides. His hips bucked helplessly into the air. John yanked his hand away but the images and sensations continued to flood his consciousness, exciting him beyond reason. Come on, this is Rodney, he tried to tell himself, attempting to regain control, but it wasn’t getting him anywhere because his body was telling him that a naked Rodney was a very, very good thing.

“God!” John’s voice, or so he thought; he wasn’t sure of anything right now. His vision kept flickering between the real Rodney and the naked Rodney, like a weird porno version of the cheap holograms they stuck on the sides of kids’ cereal boxes. The distinction got complicated when both Rodneys started gulping in lungfuls of air and moaning out their pleasure in a broken, keening voice that nearly made John come just listening to it.

“Wh—what’s hap—happening?” real-Rodney finally managed.

Touching Rodney right then seemed like both a really bad idea and the best damned idea ever. After a split second of indecision John reached out and cupped the side of Rodney’s face in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture. Rodney groaned, leaning into the touch like he’d been dying without the pressure of John’s skin against his.

“I—don’t know,” John panted, “but I think—if we want this—to stop—we have to get off this thing.”

Rodney’s wide, startled eyes locked with his, and they breathed shallowly together for several stuttering heartbeats.

“Yeah,” John gasped, levering himself up and settling over Rodney’s shaking body, “me neither.”

Once both of them got into the business of removing Rodney’s clothes it only took about a minute for dream-Rodney and real-Rodney to merge, and then there was just one panting, sweating, naked man under him, and it was fucking fantastic. John felt as though he knew exactly where to touch Rodney, where to press to make him moan, where to stroke to make him beg, where to kiss to make him his. And he must have been right, because Rodney moaned and begged and came with a hell of a mess and John’s name on his lips, and then he rolled John over and stripped off John’s t-shirt and kissed him roughly and rubbed him off right through his pants, and that was about a million times better than doing it alone.

Too bad, then, that thirty seconds after the best orgasm John could remember having the room’s energy field died completely, leaving John sticky and shivering and drained and Rodney stammering and blushing and mortified. He wiggled into his clothes and rushed out before John could summon the strength to lift his head.

“Shit,” John murmured, staring up at the ceiling as the drying sweat and come chilled his skin. “So much for relaxation.”


“Rodney, open the damned door before I kick it in!”

The door whooshed open obediently to reveal a scowling Rodney facing him, arms folded. “You couldn’t possibly kick this door in and you know it,” he gritted. “However, you could make an embarrassing scene in front of it until I get so frustrated with you that I want to strangle you with my bare hands.”

Determined to ignore the way his dick perked up at the thought of Rodney getting all alpha male with him, John pushed past him into Rodney’s quarters. “Welcome to my world,” he muttered. “You’ve frustrated the hell out of me since the day we met.”

“Well, it appears I took care of that,” Rodney snapped, managing to look uncomfortable and smug at the same time.

“I wasn’t talking about sexual frustration!” John roared. Deflating immediately at the startled look in Rodney’s eyes, he murmured, “Oh, hell, maybe I was and I didn’t know it. I mean, just because we didn’t figure it out before today—”

“Please spare me,” Rodney spat, and the coldness of it was like a slap. “You know perfectly well why we did what we did.”

“What, the ‘Ancients made us do it’ excuse?” John snorted. When Rodney remained uncharacteristically silent, he added, “Okay, I’ll admit that machine had—uh, a catalyst effect. The nearest I’ve been able to figure, it seems to have been intended as some kind of couples therapy.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “With a dozen of them in one room?”

“Yeah, so maybe they had fewer hang-ups than we do,” John offered lamely. God, Rodney had the unerring ability to make him feel like an idiotic six-year-old who’d just been caught with a mouthful of paste. The fact that he now apparently had the ability to give John spontaneous erections was not helping his mood. “So that’s the extent of your theory, then? It’s the Atlantean equivalent of a sex club?”

Rodney’s head jerked in a stiff nod. “Essentially. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m in the middle of a report—”

“You’re going to write a report on this?” John demanded, flabbergasted.

Rodney's lips thinned. “Heavily edited, but yes. I have to explain what those devices can do, so that others can be warned of the dangers.”

John couldn’t help it; he started to laugh. It took him a while to gather enough breath to say, “Are you nuts? You write even a ‘heavily edited’ report on what happened up there, and you’ll have to post a guard to keep people away. And then you’ll have to post a guard on the guards.”

Rodney scowled. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“It’s a Pegasus galaxy miracle!” John crowed. “Something the great Doctor McKay hadn’t thought of!”

And then John was shocked to see a flicker of something resembling hurt crossing Rodney’s features. “Why don’t you take your juvenile attitude and—”

Feeling a little dazed, John took another step toward Rodney, then another. “Don’t you need my side of the story for your report?” he asked. His voice had dropped to a level he usually thought of as seductive and his heart was pounding and his mouth was dry and he couldn’t believe he was this way because of Rodney.

But then he remembered Rodney naked and flushed and desperate under John’s hands, his mouth open against the side of John’s neck as he came, and it all started to make sense.

Rodney’s gaze focused on a point off John’s left shoulder. “As you say, there’s not much point in—” His mouth snapped shut when John’s hand connected with the place where his shoulder joined his neck.

“It showed me what you liked,” John murmured, his eyes riveted to the slow stroking motion of his fingers, his mind ignoring the inner voice that was telling him this was crazy, crazy, crazy. “What you wanted.”

“Stop it.” Rodney’s voice was cold steel. “You’re not the least bit amusing.”

John’s thumb glided up Rodney’s neck, tracing the jugular. “I’m not trying to be.”

Another eye-roll. John noticed Rodney still had his arms folded like a shield in front of him.

“Jesus,” John breathed, all of the clues adding up at once in his head. “You—me—”

“Tarzan. Jane,” Rodney drawled.

John’s hand slid to Rodney’s nape. “Rodney. Shut up,” he murmured, and then he pressed his mouth against Rodney’s softly, because he knew anything more would scare the hell out of both of them right now.

When they parted, John looked into Rodney’s eyes and noted they’d graduated from defensive to confused. Definitely a good sign. He dove right into another, more forceful kiss and felt Rodney’s groan vibrate against his lips.

When Rodney’s arms had finally loosened and his hands were clutching convulsively at John’s hips, John ventured his latest theory. “You didn’t just want anybody to touch you like that. You wanted me to touch you like that.”

Rodney’s hands immediately knotted into fists; quickly, John grabbed them and pulled them up to his chest, massaging the fingers. “Rodney. Hey. Relax. Relax.”

Rodney shut his eyes. “I don’t know if I can. I’m not very good at it.”

“Neither am I,” John admitted. He leaned forward and touched his lips to Rodney’s closed eyelids. “But I hear it’s one of those things that improves with practice.”


May 2005

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