(no subject)
Title: Rodney's Bad Day, 4/4
Author: boochicken
Length: ~33,000 words
Rating: Slashy and NC-17 in this chapter; consider yourself warned.
Spoilers: General for season 2 of SGA
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. Stargate Atlantis is the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This was written for fun, definitely not for profit.
Rodney spent the next few days dealing with the fallout from the previous two. Without his supervision, or even the cheap facsimile offered by Zelenka, some of the lab monkeys had gotten themselves into trouble. He spent half a day helping a contrite Simpson rewire their secondary desalinization equipment, and the better part of another trying to poke holes in Kavanagh's latest proposal. Infuriatingly enough, the man had actually produced a solid piece of work, and he reluctantly had to tell the greasy ponytailed asshole that yes, his hypothesis was plausible, and he could allocate lab space and time for his experiments.
Kavanagh hadn't needed to smirk like that, though.
He also scheduled a deeply unpleasant meeting with Elizabeth.
"Carson came to see me," she said, with her desk chair pushed as far back from Rodney as possible. "And Colonel Sheppard."
"And presumably they told you the same thing." Rodney tapped a nervous hand against his knee.
"That Colonel Sheppard... instigated the event," Elizabeth said slowly, and Rodney snapped, just a little.
"If by 'instigated' you mean shoved his arm in my face and told me to bite him, then yes, that's exactly what he did," he said harshly. "I didn't want to bite him, I don't want to bite anyone else, and I'd just like to forget that this whole thing ever happened."
Elizabeth nodded, looking vastly relieved. "That's the impression I got from both Sheppard and Carson. So you don't want to do it again?"
"God, no," Rodney said, and it wasn't even really a lie. Sure, thinking about what had happened in the cave did keep him awake, and the reheated not-a-cow's blood tasted dead and stale after the vital, technicolor savor of Sheppard's. He could hear Elizabeth's pulse beating just a little too fast across the room, and half a dozen other people full of live, warm blood had just walked past her office. But he wasn't an animal. "No, once was quite humiliating enough, thank you."
"Well, good." Elizabeth paused. "That you're not going to make it a habit, I mean."
"Not the humiliation, right," Rodney sighed, and hoped that she wouldn't ask what precisely had been humiliating.
Thankfully, she didn't. "I don't see any reason why anyone else should know what happened if you don't want them to --"
"I don't --"
"So let's consider the matter closed and confidential," she said, and smiled a little. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, I feel fine." He busied himself by drawing a conic figure on his knee with his fingernail.
"Really?"
No. "Really," he said instead. "We're all alive, the Iulians didn't blow themselves or anyone else into their component atoms, neither the Wraith nor the Genii got involved -- doesn't that make this mission a success?"
Elizabeth looked a little sad. "I suppose you're right," she said, and he knew she was thinking about the expedition's original goals, of the discoveries and innovation they'd anticipated. "Just the same, do you want to talk to Dr. Heightmeyer?"
"No!" Rodney blurted. "No," he said again, more calmly. "I don't think that's necessary, and I don't want anyone else to know."
Elizabeth frowned. "She's bound by patient confidentiality -- "
"And I don't care," Rodney finished. "I just don't, okay? It's not necessary."
"Rodney -- I hope you'll go see her, if you need to." Elizabeth folded her hands together and gazed solemnly at him. "We're all worried about you. I don't want to make that an order."
"There's really no need, but yes, fine, I'll keep the option open," Rodney said hurriedly, and stood. If he timed it right he could get from Elizabeth's office to the lab without passing three sunny windows, the gym, or the armory.
He wasn't proud to be avoiding Sheppard, he thought, ducking into the lab. But he also wanted to put off the inevitable "that was nice, but we can never do it again" conversation for as long as possible. He was under no illusions on that count; Sheppard was career military, which meant he'd drunk repression with his mother's milk. Besides, he had half the SGC breathing down his neck, just waiting for him to screw up. The sight of his insulated coffee mug reminded Rodney that that Sheppard had ended up in Antartica as some sort of punishment, and that no one, perhaps least of all Sheppard himself, had expected him to make Lieutenant Colonel and be appointed the military head of Atlantis. "Heavy lies the head that wears the crown," he muttered to himself, and began prying apart an Ancient artifact with perhaps a little more force than necessary.
"Rodney?" Zelenka, of course. Carson had released him from the infirmary a couple of days ago, with a sad little bald spot where he'd hit his head and needed stitches. The female scientists had all cooed over him until Rodney had yelled that there were no martyrs in his lab and to get back to work already.
"What?" he snapped. An ancient coupling snapped in his clenched grip; he stared at it for a moment, then laid it and the artifact carefully on the table. Perhaps he'd be better off with theoretical work today.
Zelenka's eyes widened. "Oh, nothing," he said after a moment. "Just to tell you that I reject monarchy in all its forms, so no crown for you. Also, please stop breaking equipment because you are grumpy."
"I am not grumpy." Rodney pulled his databad toward him and tried to focus on the scrolling lines of code. "And clearly you're still concussed."
Zelenka picked up the coupling and pushed the pieces together. "This can be fixed, I think," he said thoughtfully. "With precision welder that Simpson found while you were away. Now, what is wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," Rodney emphasized, and stabbed at the keyboard. "I'm fine, thank you for your concern."
Zelenka, damn him, snorted. "Right, because Rodney McKay normally breaks Ancient artifacts and does not care. Whatever you may think, I am not stupid."
"I never thought you were," Rodney said honestly, and it was true. He'd said it a number of times, but he'd never actually believed it. "And I'm fine. I'll be fine."
Zelenka perched on the nearest lab stool, his eyes darting curiously behind his Coke-bottle lenses. "Something happened on Iulia, no?"
"I don't want to talk about it --"
"You would rather break things, right," Zelenka said. "Something with the Colonel, I am guessing?"
"Shut up!" Rodney hissed furiously, scanning the thankfully empty lab for listening ears. "Do you have any sense of discretion whatsoever?"
"So I am right," Zelenka said calmly, and began ticking points off on his fingers. "You go to Iulia to rescue the Colonel, things go spectacularly wrong, as usual -" Rodney glared, but couldn't deny it "-and a day later you two return, and are not speaking. I am right, and the problem is with Colonel Sheppard."
"I told you, there's no problem -" Rodney began, and sighed. It really wasn't that complicated, after all. "Haven't you ever wanted something that you just couldn't have?"
Zelenka frowned a moment, his eyes widening in comprehension. "Oh, Rodney. Of course. I am sorry -"
"Yes, well." Rodney turned back to his computer, since he thought he might break a few more ancient devices if Zelenka looked at him with pity. "I'd like to point out that you didn't ask and I didn't tell, and that has to be the end of it. Okay?"
"Okay," Zelenka said slowly, and turned back to his own lab table before he paused. "I think you should know, though --"
"Know what?" Rodney asked, exasperated. It was almost enough to make him think longingly of his cave.
Zelenka leaned in close. "I do not think Colonel Sheppard is happy either," he said quietly, and walked away.
***
Zelenka's words rattled around Rodney's head for the rest of the afternoon, even as he managed to finally straighten out the algorithim that controlled the flow of fresh air through a good third of the city. He also helped Miko figure out that a small, spheroid object was the Ancient equivalent of a Speak n' Say. When she showed it to the linguists, they made noises that Rodney had previously only associated with bad porn; he really hadn't needed to know that much about Fraser, and besides, it just brought his thoughts back to the last time he'd been that orgasmic.
So Sheppard was unhappy. Well, good, he thought, viciously stabbing at his laptop until it powered down. This whole situation was his fault -- had Rodney asked to bite his stupid arm and drink his stupid blood? No and no, and in fact he'd said exactly the opposite, but as usual Colonel Impulsive had leapt blindly into the abyss and been surprised by what lurked at the bottom.
Although -- Rodney had been surprised, too, by the intensity of the experience. Granted, he'd learned all he knew about vampires from Hollywood and the expedition’s pirated version of wikipedia, both highly dubious sources, but weren't vampires supposed to have sensual powers of some sort? Movie vampires were always sinking their fangs into the necks of scantily clad maidens. And while literary interpretation was a pseudo-discipline for people who couldn't even handle anthropology, he reflected, walking down the hall, that the whole vampire thing was rotten with erotic imagery. Pointy phallic teeth breaking through fragile skin, the exchange of bodily fluids, bodies pressed close enough for sex.
But fine, he'd let Sheppard be surprised by the somewhat obvious fact that blood would be a big turn-on for a vampire. But "weird?" Sex with Rodney McKay most certainly was not "weird." Not that he was likely to have the same level of experience as Sheppard the intergalactic slut, but he knew what he was doing. He snorted and palmed the door controls to his quarters. Unlike some people, he hadn't been so narrow-minded as to restrict his sexual experiences to one gender. Some people were drawn to men of genius, some people liked a bit of padding on a romantic partner, and one girlfriend had compared his eyes to the Aegean.
Unless it had been weird, he thought abruptly as he stripped out of his uniform and reached for a t-shirt. Because Sheppard was the Casanova of the Pegasus Galaxy -- was he laughing in the locker room with his Marine buddies, joking about sad little Rodney McKay and his weird blood fetish? Except that Sheppard wouldn't be talking about it, of course, given the repressive nature of the American military. But what if he wanted to?
He got a grip on his thoughts as he tied his sneakers and grabbed a towel. Abortive sexual encounters aside, he had to believe that Sheppard was a good guy. He was probably just as embarrassed. And as Rodney scanned the empty hallway and started for the gym, he had to admit that he wasn't so much angry as disappointed. It was one thing to want something unattainable; somehow, having it for only a few minutes was even worse. Whoever came up with the old saw about it being better to love and lose had obviously never done either.
***
The gym was mostly empty when he got there, with only a couple of Marines lifting weights at the far end and one of the chemists doing some sort of martial arts routine in front of the mirrors. He threw his towel down next to the sparring mats, glanced around and started to stretch. He hated stretching in front of Ronon and Teyla, both of whom put cooked noodles to shame with their absurd flexibility. He'd asked Ronon once, half-seriously, how he managed to lace his boots around his bulging pecs; the other man had smirked, but Rodney swore he'd swung the sticks especially hard that practice.
He heard the Ancient doors whoosh open as he reached fruitlessly for his toes and smelled the hair gel a second later; and really, he should have known that he couldn't avoid Sheppard forever. And that was Sheppard telling the Marines that they had opened one of the precious crates of Coca-Cola in the mess, and the chemist that her simulation had finished, and now Sheppard was walking towards him.
"It isn't nice to lie to your subordinates." Rodney looked intently at his knees. "Or other people's -- Ling Xiao's going to be pissed, and she actually does know jujitsu."
"I wasn't lying," Sheppard said mildly. "There is Coke in the mess, and Radek asked me to pass on the message to Dr. Ling."
"And that's the only reason you're here. When you're supposed to be organizing rosters with Lorne."
Even without looking, Rodney could tell that Sheppard was scrubbing a hand through his hair and looking sheepish. "I told Ronon I'd spar with you today."
"Well, thank you so much for taking my feelings into account." Rodney pushed himself to his feet and glared. "Did you think that maybe I'd prefer to have my ass handed to me by Ronon?"
He could hear the blood rushing to the surface of Sheppard's skin as he flushed bright red. "Oh, that's flattering," Rodney snapped. "And about as mature as, say, cornering me in the gym!"
"You've been a little hard to find these past few days, McKay," Sheppard said, his ears still pink, even as he moved to take down two pairs of Athosian sticks from the storage rack. "I haven't seen you in the infirmary or the mess or the labs -- if I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me." He tossed a pair of sticks to Rodney, who caught them automatically. They felt stiff and foreign in his hands.
"Do you find that weird, Colonel?" Rodney asked maliciously, drawing out the word, and Sheppard winced.
"No, I can see why I wouldn't be your favorite person at the moment," he said, and clacked the sticks together before dropping into a defensive stance. "But we need to talk."
"I don't see why," Rodney retorted. It felt weirdly right to face off like this with Sheppard, the anger thrumming under his skin seeking an outlet. He smacked his own sticks together and circled right. "I have a good idea of what you'll say -- I'm sure the words 'misunderstanding' and 'code of conduct' and 'still friends' will be prominently featured." He feinted right and lunged, tapping Sheppard's knee smartly before he danced out of range again.
"You're smart, not psychic." Sheppard whirled a stick lazily behind his head, his eyes sharp. "Unless there's something else about being a vampire that you haven't told me?"
"Fuck you, I didn't know that would happen!" Rodney sputtered, and fended off a flurry of strikes from Sheppard, their sticks clacking together like castanets. He put a bit of force behind the last stroke, sending Sheppard staggering back across the mat. "I'm new at this! And - oh yes - I didn't want to bite you in the first place!"
"That was my fault, I get that," Sheppard said irritably, and blocked a side-swipe from Rodney. They were both playing defense now, circling warily around each other, sweat beading on Sheppard's brow. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Yes, mission accomplished, the vampire is healed, and surprise, said healing comes with a side of sex." Rodney parried forward, Sheppard meeting him stroke for stroke. "It's not my fault you couldn't deal."
Sheppard scowled and pressed forward himself, using one stick to block and the other to strike a flurry of blows at Rodney's shoulders, the small of his back, his shins. "Who said I couldn't deal? You wouldn't let me say anything!"
"Because I knew what you were going to say!" Rodney nearly shouted, and threw his sticks clattering to the ground.
"You give me a hell of a lot of credit, McKay!" Sheppard shouted back, and dropped his own. They were standing barely a step apart, Sheppard's chest heaving with anger or exertion, Rodney couldn't tell. He looked pissed, tired and a little sad, and Rodney gave up, his anger flowing away like water. If he got this over with, maybe they could still be friends.
"Fine," he said abruptly, and looked up and into John's eyes. "What would you have said?"
Sheppard blinked at him, startled. "Oh. Um."
Rodney sighed and pressed his fingers between his eyes, hard. "Oh, for Euler's sake, just say it already."
"I would have said," Sheppard said after a moment, "that I wasn't expecting that to happen. But that I wouldn't be opposed to it happening again." He stepped forward, so they were standing toe-to-toe.
"Oh," Rodney said stupidly, and stared at the corner of Sheppard's - John's - mouth. "Really?"
"Really," John said, his face focused and intent, like Rodney was a puddlejumper or some really cool Ancient weapon. If this was how he looked at the city - God, no wonder she loved him.
"I may... have leapt to conclusions. A bit."
"A bit," John agreed solemnly, and stroked a hand lightly over Rodney's shoulder, his hot callused thumb stroking his collarbone. Rodney just managed not to arch up into the touch like a cat.
"Now, will you please stop avoiding me?" John asked. "Because I'm starting to feel like a stalker."
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Rodney said quickly. "But wait - you don't mind about the thing? The vampire thing?"
Sheppard raised an eyebrow at him. "D'you mean the part where you biting me nearly made me come in my pants? Or the part where I don't have to worry about you stealing my fries anymore?"
"Shut up," Rodney said happily, and thwapped him in the shoulder. "Be nice to me, I don't have to breathe anymore."
"And your point would be -"
"Blow jobs," Rodney said smugly, and laughed at the stunned, speculative look on John's face.
Epilogue
Murphy and his little law could just go to hell, Rodney thought furiously. Of all the unfair things that had happened to him in his life - and there were a lot - the worst had to be the timing of Atlantis’ lastest string of near-disasters. Not five minutes after Colonel Sheppard had admitted that he hadn’t minded the sex-in-a-cave, and would consider sex-in-Atlantis, both their headsets buzzed with the news that the primary water tanks were clogged with a quick-growing purple algae.
“Ten bucks says it's hallucinogenic,” Sheppard said brightly, and Rodney smacked him in the shoulder for jinxing them. And of course it was, so they ended up with an infirmary full of botanists, all rapturously describing the whorls of their fingerprints to a bemused Carson.
Fifteen hours later, the botanists were headachy but sober, and Rodney and Radek had identified the protocol that would prompt the city to sanitize and filter the tanks. Which was good news, in that they’d been about to resort to Marines in hazmat suits; but bad in that it left them temporarily dependent on their smaller, secondary water supply. Rodney groaned as Elizabeth’s voice echoed over the city-wide intercom, regretfully informing everyone that for the moment, showers and laundry were off-limits.
“How did it get into the water in the first place?” he wondered, tapping his fingers against his lab table and resolutely not thinking about the way Sheppard’s ass looked in his BDUs.
Radek blinked at him with the gaze of the very tired and highly caffeinated. “Simpson and Miko traced algae back to washing machine; someone did not bother to decontaminate off-world clothes.”
“Can we find them?” Rodney asked seriously, because as soon as they could take showers again, he wanted to make sure the culprit took a cold one.
“They are working on it,” Radek said darkly, then muttered viciously in Czech as their headsets buzzed simultaneously. This time it was word that a troop of Marines, taking their usual run around the city, had spotted a new and alarming tilt in one of the eastern towers.
“What is this, Pisa?” Rodney said aloud, even as he chivvied the engineering staff into the nearest transporter.
“Too bad it isn’t,” McClernan muttered, and shouldered his toolkit. “Then we could get pizza.”
“Please do not mention foods that I will never taste again.” Rodney smiled pointedly and hit their destination on the console. The engineers shuffled away from him like sheep away from a strange dog. Radek just rolled his eyes.
It took them three hours to figure out that one of the tower sensors had malfunctioned and detected a non-existent earthquake. The tower had moved to compensate for the motion, “except of course there wasn’t any,” Rodney explained to Elizabeth over his headset. “Unless there was an earthquake and I was up to my elbows in purple algae and didn’t notice. Was there an earthquake?”
“Not that I know of.” Elizabeth sounded tired. “Can we fix it?”
“We should be able to get it to move back. Which is good, since if it leans any further it’ll fall on top of the Eastern defense installation. And then,” Rodney promised, “I am going to hit that particular sensor with a hammer.” Because it deserved it.
“Rodney, let me talk to Radek,” Elizabeth said firmly.
Of course, it took them another three hours to figure out how to convince the tower’s internal sensors that another earthquake had occurred, moving in precisely the opposite direction from the first. As the tower groaned back into verticality, Rodney tried to work out how long he’d been awake.
“Has been twenty-one hours since first crisis.” Radek had a smear of grease across his face that made him look vaguely like a pirate. He shrugged at Rodney’s look. “What? You spoke out loud.”
“Oh hell,” Rodney said feelingly. “The water filtration isn’t done yet, is it?”
“No, should take another three hours or so.” Radek pursed his lips. “I know - we are all in need of showers.”
“You have no idea,” Rodney sighed, shoving away a mental picture of Sheppard smirking and lounging against his shower wall, water beading down his perfect skin.
Although maybe he was getting ahead of himself, he thought, dragging himself down one of Atlantis’ endless shining corridors and towards his quarters. He had to keep reminding himself that Sheppard was military - if he had any sexual experience with men, it was probably of the quick and dirty sort, groping in seedy bar bathrooms or the backseats of cars. Could he see Colonel “rules were made to be broken” Sheppard fooling around under the homophobic radar of the Air Force? Yeah, he could - but that didn’t mean that Sheppard had.
No, it was enough that he had Sheppard’s interest. It was more than he’d ever thought he’d have, and he wouldn’t push. He leaned his forehead against the lovely cool surface of his door, hoping that it would read his mind and open; when it didn’t, he waved vaguely in the direction of the control panel and let momentum carry him into his room. He justified splashing some water on his face by the fact that he wouldn’t be drinking any, and fell face first onto his bed. His prescription mattress rose up to meet him like a welcoming orthopedic cloud, and his last thought, before slipping into blissful unconsciousness, was that if anything went wrong in the next twelve hours, Kavanagh would have to pull his weight for once.
***
He woke to the intoxicating smell of a warm mug of blood on his night stand and Sheppard’s quiet voice. He blinked; the lights had been dimmed, but Sheppard was perched on the corner of his desk, long legs dangling, and talking into his headset.
“Right, swap teams 3 and 4 - remember, Fitzpatrick’s allergic to that flowering vine thing - and send me the duty rosters. Thanks,” Sheppard clicked off his headset and grinned at him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Rodney scrubbed at his eyes and tried to remember if he’d locked the door. Then he remembered that it didn’t matter; Sheppard could walk through any door in Atlantis if he asked it nicely enough. “How long did I sleep?”
Sheppard shrugged. “Twelve hours or so. Elizabeth’s given anyone who worked on the tanks or the tower the next twenty-four hours off. She said you could all use it.”
“No kidding.” Rodney pushed himself up and yawned widely. Except for the insistent growling of his stomach, he felt rested and almost content; there were no pending crises, Sheppard was voluntarily in his quarters, and a blissfully empty twelve hours stretched before him..
“Did those hurt?”
Rodney blinked. “Did what hurt?”
Sheppard gestured vaguely towards his own mouth. “The teeth - did those hurt, growing in?” He looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s probably rude to ask - I’ve just wondered.”
Rodney thought a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t remember. There’s a big gap in my memory between charging into that temple and waking up over Ronon’s shoulder, which is probably just as well.”
“Yeah.” Sheppard paused, and chewed his lip a little. “We thought you were dead, you know.” Rodney looked up sharply at that, because no, he hadn’t known, but Sheppard was staring down at his hands. “I mean, you ran out into the sun and caught fire, and after Ronon threw his coat over you - “ Sheppard shrugged again. The tight hunch of his back looked painful. “You were just dead pale. No pulse, no respiration, no movement. The villagers wanted to take you away themselves.”
“To burn,” Rodney said flatly. Because they had known, even if his team hadn’t at the time.
“Yeah.” Sheppard wove his long, callused fingers together, then pulled them apart. “Which was obviously out of the question. I didn’t think you were dead, somehow - it was just too close to Dracula.”
“Thank goodness for bad movies.”
The glare Sheppard shot him was half-hearted. “Hey, I read the book.”
“And Winona Ryder was pretty good in the movie,” Rodney said soothingly. He scooted down to the end of the bed, laid a tentative hand on Sheppard’s warm knee, and squeezed. “I’m not dead, you know.” Sheppard gave him a skeptical look. “Well, not technically.” Sheppard raised an eyebrow at him and Rodney sighed. "Fine, if you're going to stick to the "needs to breathe, has a heartbeat" definition --"
Sheppard smiled, just a little, and slid from the desk to the bed. He nudged Rodney over so that they sat side by side. “Trust me, I’ll take technically-dead over actually-dead any day.”
“Well, obviously,” Rodney said. There was a prim inch of space between them, but he was still acutely aware of Sheppard’s body heat, bridging the gap like the mirages that sometimes shimmered over hot asphalt. “Besides, technical death does have advantages.”
Sheppard turned to look at him, a decided glint in his eye. “Such as?”
If that wasn’t an invitation, Rodney wasn’t a genius. “Well, there’s the obvious,” he said, catching Sheppard’s hands in his own and pushing him back onto the bed. “Strength, speed, agility.”
Sheppard wriggled against the bed and his hold, a stupid little grin on his face. Rodney smirked and swung a leg over, settling his weight on Sheppard’s thighs. “Super senses. Sight and hearing,” he said, and leaned forward to bury his face in Sheppard’s collarbone. “Scent -” he inhaled deeply, breathing in soap, antiperspirant, the ever-present hair gel, and something that had to be uniquely Sheppard.
Sheppard looked a little glassy-eyed when he raised his head. “What about taste?” His voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know,” Rodney said, and he knew he was grinning wickedly. “I had better find out,” and he licked a broad stripe from Sheppard’s collarbone to his jaw.
Sheppard gasped a little, squirming up into his touch, but Rodney jerked himself back, breathing hard and unnecessarily through his nose, resting his hands safely on his thighs. Sheppard tasted like water and oxygen and salt, a vital, potent mixture wrapped up intimately with sex. Rodney screwed his eyes shut, but that was no good; Sheppard was splayed wanton and naked across his eyelids, just asking to be fucked, to be licked and sucked and bitten. Reaching for the mug on the nightstand was perhaps the hardest thing Rodney had ever done; he choked the lukewarm cow’s blood down, and forced himself not to compare it to what was beating hot under Sheppard’s skin just a few inches away.
He opened his eyes to the tentative touch of Sheppard’s hand against his own. “Rodney? Are you okay?” The other man had pushed himself up on one elbow, eyes open and curious, hair mussed like they’d already had sex.
“I’m okay,” Rodney said experimentally, then nodded when it seemed to be true. “I just -
“Needed a moment?” Sheppard leaned back against the bed, long limbs stretched out like a sacrificial offering, and met Rodney’s eyes steadily. “You know - if you wanted to bite me, I’d be okay with it.”
“I wouldn't,” Rodney said sharply. He had a sudden horrible thought - was this just some weird kink he’d fostered in Sheppard? Had he gotten off on the bite, and not Rodney? He swallowed down the sourness rising in his throat - vampires could be nauseated, who knew - and leaned down squarely into Sheppard’s space. “You are not food to me. I’m not biting you or anyone else, ever again. You’re not -“ and dammit, his voice was wavering, he hated when that happened “- you're just not, okay?"
“Hey, it’s okay.” Sheppard reached up and pulled Rodney down, pressing them chest to chest, Rodney’s face mashed into Sheppard’s throat, his warm hands moving in soothing circles down Rodney’s back. “I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again.”
“Thanks.” Rodney turned to scrub his hands against his face. "And wow, that was humiliating."
“Don’t worry about it," Sheppard said, and grimaced a little. "I didn't mean to push you."
“I thought I was the experienced one here,” Rodney grumped into Sheppard’s shirt.
He heard the chuckle start deep in Sheppard’s chest. “I’m not some sort of shrinking virgin.”
“With men?” Rodney asked frankly, tipping his head up to look at Sheppard. “Because your reputation with women precedes you, obviously.”
Sheppard went still under him. “I figure it’s the person, you know?” he said finally, and Rodney felt a warm little thrill that had nothing to do with blood. He ground his hips against Sheppard’s experimentally and was rewarded with a choked-off gasp; Sheppard squirmed under him, trying for more contact.
That was good, but he wanted more. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” he said firmly, sitting up. “Shirt, off.”
“I should have known you’d be bossy in bed,” Sheppard joked, wriggling out of his black t-shirt and reaching for the hem of Rodney’s. He nearly batted his hands away. Sheppard didn’t have rippling abs, precisely, but he had the tanned, rangy look of a long-distance runner, with just enough hair to be interesting. He didn’t think his own pale, soft belly would profit by comparison.
“C’mon already,” Sheppard said impatiently, hands fisted in Rodney’s shirt, and Rodney let him tug his uniform shirt up and over his head.
“Hey, different,” Sheppard said, but he didn’t look like he was particularly disappointed that Rodney lacked breasts, or the military-issue muscles of a Marine. Far from it, actually, if the way he was running his hands up and down Rodney’s sides was any indication. His fingers skated over a particularly ticklish spot on Rodney’s ribs, and Rodney bit back a laugh.
“Oh, no way,” Sheppard said, delighted, and somehow Sheppard ended up on top, pinning Rodney with his weight and tickling him mercilessly. Rodney laughed and squirmed and kicked ineffectually, but apparently he'd forgotten everything he'd learned, since Sheppard just smirked and zeroed in on the particularly sensitive spot right above his hipbone. Rodney kissed him out of pure self-defense.
“Mrmph,” Sheppard said, his eyes green and surprised, but he caught on quickly enough. He kissed like he flew, Rodney thought, dazed - under the casual veneer Sheppard knew precisely what he was doing. He licked and nuzzled at him, rubbing his stubble-brisk jaw against Rodney like a cat, sucking on his lower lip and grazing it with his white, blunt teeth. Rodney sighed his satisfaction, and Sheppard took the opportunity to swipe his clever tongue into Rodney’s mouth.
Rodney stiffened - he’d never been more aware of the lingering taste of blood on the back of his tongue, the needle-sharpness of his incisors. Then he looked up and into Sheppard’s grin.
“Relax, you taste like you just ate a hamburger,” Sheppard said, and bent and nuzzled at Rodney’s chest, running the tip of his nose along Rodney's sternum. “And I like hamburgers.”
“Ah, okay,” Rodney stammered, because whether Sheppard was grossed out by his liquid diet suddenly seemed unimportant, given that said Colonel was currently working his way down Rodney’s body. He ran a careful scalding tongue along the edge of Rodney’s ribs, licked and nipped a glowing trail down his stomach, and breathed hotly into his navel. He felt like every atom in his body was weirdly connected; he felt Sheppard’s lips brushing softly along his hipbone but also in his fingertips, the backs of his knees, his head of his cock. At that last he gasped and arched wordlessly against the mattress, which conveniently let Sheppard slip his boxers and uniform pants off his hips.
“No fair,” he managed to say. Sheppard looked far too smug for a man holding a pair of boxers patterned with Turing machines. “You’re still wearing pants.”
"Pants, right," Sheppard said, and kicked his boots into the far corner of the room. He rolled off and to the side, shimmying out of his BDUs with enviable speed; Rodney had a brief, uncharitable thought about how often Sheppard had been asked to take off his pants by nubile alien priestesses. He shook it off - what mattered was that Sheppard was taking his pants off with him - and watched greedily as Sheppard peeled them off and away, letting them crumple to the floor.
"There is no way," Rodney said, running a finger along the waistband of Sheppard's black boxer-briefs, "that these are military issue."
"You'd be surprised." Sheppard's voice caught, just a little, as Rodney traced a careful hand down his body, outlining his erection through the soft dark cotton.
"Surprised by what?" Rodney asked, inching Sheppard's briefs down by careful degrees. He gauged his self-control, then let his tongue trail down from Sheppard's navel, welcoming each new inch of skin.
"Oh Jesus," Sheppard said instead, and twitched as Rodney lipped the soft skin between his hip and thigh.
Rodney yanked the damnable briefs down to Sheppard's thighs and smirked. "Not hardly," he said, and licked his lips. Then he bent and took Sheppard into his mouth.
Sheppard made an inarticulate noise and arched halfway off the bed. Rodney would have grinned, except he was being so, so careful not to scratch Sheppard with his sharp incisors. Instead he groped for Sheppard's bony hips, cradling them in his hands and holding him still as he worked to remember every filthy trick that Leibnitz had taught him, those late nights in the labs.
Sheppard - no, John, he could think of him as John, given that he had his cock in his mouth - was breathing hard, hands clenching in Rodney's 300-thread count sheets. It was very flattering, Rodney thought, except that he was almost overwhelmed by his heightened senses. He could hear John's heartrate thudding in his ears, feel John's pulse throbbing against his fingers, smell the sweat across John's chest and thighs as he squirmed against Rodney's grip. If he'd had to breathe, he'd be gasping. As it was, John's skin felt astonishingly hot, just on the right side of bearable under his hands and against his tongue, and his own dick throbbed with unrequited interest. It took an embarrassing amount of willpower to not rub himself against the bed like a horny teenager.
Above him John was making tiny, muffled noises against the back of his hand, his eyes screwed shut. Rodney felt a familiar stab of distaste for the military - what, a man couldn't even enjoy a friendly blowjob? - and staged his own rebellion against the Man by taking as much of John as he could into his mouth. John groaned at that, and Rodney rewarded him with a particularly lascivious swirl of his tongue. He felt John pulling at his hair, his body tensing under Rodney's hands; Rodney ignored him, pressed a finger to a precisely calculated spot behind John's balls, and swallowed as John shuddered through his climax.
John lay so still for a moment that Rodney was vaguely afraid he'd broken him. When he finally moved it was to pull Rodney up the bed, settling him against his bony shoulder. "I do not want to know how you got to be so good at that."
"I reward my subordinates with sexual favors," Rodney said fondly, petting John's mussed hair. "Except for Kavanagh, of course."
John wrinkled his face in disgust. "Please, never mention Kavanagh again when we're naked," and Rodney's glee that he'd get to tease a naked John with Kavanagh in the future nearly outweighed the urgency of his erection, pressed hopefully against John's thigh.
He wriggled a little and John got the point. He smirked, gave his own palm a slow, torturous lick, and reached down. "Guess I should do something about that, huh?"
"Yes, it's generally considered polite to reciprocate orgasms," Rodney managed to say, bucking his hips up into John's too-loose grip. "And I won't break."
"Be nice." John had his tongue stuck between his teeth, his face intent like he was figuring out some new trick with the puddlejumpers. "I'm new at this."
"If you are, I have no idea how you survived adolescence - God, just like that," Rodney groaned, because John had gotten the message, and had apparently also spent his teen years in a long and fruitful relationship with his right hand. John's calluses were rough little points of friction along his skin, contrasting sharply with the hot damp heat of his fingers, the slow drag of his palm along his cock. "God."
"Like this?" John asked innocently, and Rodney could just tell that he didn't mean it as a question.
"I hate you." Rodney thumped his head twice against the pillow. "I really - do that again."
"Sir yes sir," John said cheerfully, and added a sly little twist of his wrist that strongly implied he was double-jointed. Rodney made an unmanly gasp and clutched blindly at John's shoulder. He wanted to prolong this just as long as he could, to listen to John's little huffs of concentration, luxuriate in simply being touched, but he was close, so close already. John shifted his whole body towards Rodney, speeding up the pace, and when he breathed hotly by Rodney's ear he came so hard that his vision blurred.
When he could focus again John was propped up on an elbow and looking at him, his expression somehow both worried and impossibly smug. "How'd I do?"
"Shut up," Rodney said, and flailed a hand vaguely at John. "Recuperating here."
"So, all right then." John flopped down next to him and grinned unrepentantly. Rodney poked him in the ribs. "Don't gloat, it's unattractive."
"Sorry," but John didn't look at all repentant. "So, now what?"
"Now what what?" He'd need a nap, Rodney thought, if John wanted another round.
But John was chewing on his lip and looking - well, not adorable, but uncertain. Charmingly uncertain, and frowning, and not quite able to meet Rodney's eyes. "So, are we cool?"
"Oh my God," Rodney groaned, and thwapped John on the arm. John glared. "Yes, we're cool. You're a sixteen-year-old girl, apparently, but we're cool."
John looked thoughtful for a moment. "You do realize that makes me Buffy, right?" he asked finally, and laughed and ducked the pillow Rodney threw at him.
Author: boochicken
Length: ~33,000 words
Rating: Slashy and NC-17 in this chapter; consider yourself warned.
Spoilers: General for season 2 of SGA
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement is intended. Stargate Atlantis is the property of Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This was written for fun, definitely not for profit.
Rodney spent the next few days dealing with the fallout from the previous two. Without his supervision, or even the cheap facsimile offered by Zelenka, some of the lab monkeys had gotten themselves into trouble. He spent half a day helping a contrite Simpson rewire their secondary desalinization equipment, and the better part of another trying to poke holes in Kavanagh's latest proposal. Infuriatingly enough, the man had actually produced a solid piece of work, and he reluctantly had to tell the greasy ponytailed asshole that yes, his hypothesis was plausible, and he could allocate lab space and time for his experiments.
Kavanagh hadn't needed to smirk like that, though.
He also scheduled a deeply unpleasant meeting with Elizabeth.
"Carson came to see me," she said, with her desk chair pushed as far back from Rodney as possible. "And Colonel Sheppard."
"And presumably they told you the same thing." Rodney tapped a nervous hand against his knee.
"That Colonel Sheppard... instigated the event," Elizabeth said slowly, and Rodney snapped, just a little.
"If by 'instigated' you mean shoved his arm in my face and told me to bite him, then yes, that's exactly what he did," he said harshly. "I didn't want to bite him, I don't want to bite anyone else, and I'd just like to forget that this whole thing ever happened."
Elizabeth nodded, looking vastly relieved. "That's the impression I got from both Sheppard and Carson. So you don't want to do it again?"
"God, no," Rodney said, and it wasn't even really a lie. Sure, thinking about what had happened in the cave did keep him awake, and the reheated not-a-cow's blood tasted dead and stale after the vital, technicolor savor of Sheppard's. He could hear Elizabeth's pulse beating just a little too fast across the room, and half a dozen other people full of live, warm blood had just walked past her office. But he wasn't an animal. "No, once was quite humiliating enough, thank you."
"Well, good." Elizabeth paused. "That you're not going to make it a habit, I mean."
"Not the humiliation, right," Rodney sighed, and hoped that she wouldn't ask what precisely had been humiliating.
Thankfully, she didn't. "I don't see any reason why anyone else should know what happened if you don't want them to --"
"I don't --"
"So let's consider the matter closed and confidential," she said, and smiled a little. "How are you feeling?"
"Fine, I feel fine." He busied himself by drawing a conic figure on his knee with his fingernail.
"Really?"
No. "Really," he said instead. "We're all alive, the Iulians didn't blow themselves or anyone else into their component atoms, neither the Wraith nor the Genii got involved -- doesn't that make this mission a success?"
Elizabeth looked a little sad. "I suppose you're right," she said, and he knew she was thinking about the expedition's original goals, of the discoveries and innovation they'd anticipated. "Just the same, do you want to talk to Dr. Heightmeyer?"
"No!" Rodney blurted. "No," he said again, more calmly. "I don't think that's necessary, and I don't want anyone else to know."
Elizabeth frowned. "She's bound by patient confidentiality -- "
"And I don't care," Rodney finished. "I just don't, okay? It's not necessary."
"Rodney -- I hope you'll go see her, if you need to." Elizabeth folded her hands together and gazed solemnly at him. "We're all worried about you. I don't want to make that an order."
"There's really no need, but yes, fine, I'll keep the option open," Rodney said hurriedly, and stood. If he timed it right he could get from Elizabeth's office to the lab without passing three sunny windows, the gym, or the armory.
He wasn't proud to be avoiding Sheppard, he thought, ducking into the lab. But he also wanted to put off the inevitable "that was nice, but we can never do it again" conversation for as long as possible. He was under no illusions on that count; Sheppard was career military, which meant he'd drunk repression with his mother's milk. Besides, he had half the SGC breathing down his neck, just waiting for him to screw up. The sight of his insulated coffee mug reminded Rodney that that Sheppard had ended up in Antartica as some sort of punishment, and that no one, perhaps least of all Sheppard himself, had expected him to make Lieutenant Colonel and be appointed the military head of Atlantis. "Heavy lies the head that wears the crown," he muttered to himself, and began prying apart an Ancient artifact with perhaps a little more force than necessary.
"Rodney?" Zelenka, of course. Carson had released him from the infirmary a couple of days ago, with a sad little bald spot where he'd hit his head and needed stitches. The female scientists had all cooed over him until Rodney had yelled that there were no martyrs in his lab and to get back to work already.
"What?" he snapped. An ancient coupling snapped in his clenched grip; he stared at it for a moment, then laid it and the artifact carefully on the table. Perhaps he'd be better off with theoretical work today.
Zelenka's eyes widened. "Oh, nothing," he said after a moment. "Just to tell you that I reject monarchy in all its forms, so no crown for you. Also, please stop breaking equipment because you are grumpy."
"I am not grumpy." Rodney pulled his databad toward him and tried to focus on the scrolling lines of code. "And clearly you're still concussed."
Zelenka picked up the coupling and pushed the pieces together. "This can be fixed, I think," he said thoughtfully. "With precision welder that Simpson found while you were away. Now, what is wrong?"
"Nothing is wrong," Rodney emphasized, and stabbed at the keyboard. "I'm fine, thank you for your concern."
Zelenka, damn him, snorted. "Right, because Rodney McKay normally breaks Ancient artifacts and does not care. Whatever you may think, I am not stupid."
"I never thought you were," Rodney said honestly, and it was true. He'd said it a number of times, but he'd never actually believed it. "And I'm fine. I'll be fine."
Zelenka perched on the nearest lab stool, his eyes darting curiously behind his Coke-bottle lenses. "Something happened on Iulia, no?"
"I don't want to talk about it --"
"You would rather break things, right," Zelenka said. "Something with the Colonel, I am guessing?"
"Shut up!" Rodney hissed furiously, scanning the thankfully empty lab for listening ears. "Do you have any sense of discretion whatsoever?"
"So I am right," Zelenka said calmly, and began ticking points off on his fingers. "You go to Iulia to rescue the Colonel, things go spectacularly wrong, as usual -" Rodney glared, but couldn't deny it "-and a day later you two return, and are not speaking. I am right, and the problem is with Colonel Sheppard."
"I told you, there's no problem -" Rodney began, and sighed. It really wasn't that complicated, after all. "Haven't you ever wanted something that you just couldn't have?"
Zelenka frowned a moment, his eyes widening in comprehension. "Oh, Rodney. Of course. I am sorry -"
"Yes, well." Rodney turned back to his computer, since he thought he might break a few more ancient devices if Zelenka looked at him with pity. "I'd like to point out that you didn't ask and I didn't tell, and that has to be the end of it. Okay?"
"Okay," Zelenka said slowly, and turned back to his own lab table before he paused. "I think you should know, though --"
"Know what?" Rodney asked, exasperated. It was almost enough to make him think longingly of his cave.
Zelenka leaned in close. "I do not think Colonel Sheppard is happy either," he said quietly, and walked away.
***
Zelenka's words rattled around Rodney's head for the rest of the afternoon, even as he managed to finally straighten out the algorithim that controlled the flow of fresh air through a good third of the city. He also helped Miko figure out that a small, spheroid object was the Ancient equivalent of a Speak n' Say. When she showed it to the linguists, they made noises that Rodney had previously only associated with bad porn; he really hadn't needed to know that much about Fraser, and besides, it just brought his thoughts back to the last time he'd been that orgasmic.
So Sheppard was unhappy. Well, good, he thought, viciously stabbing at his laptop until it powered down. This whole situation was his fault -- had Rodney asked to bite his stupid arm and drink his stupid blood? No and no, and in fact he'd said exactly the opposite, but as usual Colonel Impulsive had leapt blindly into the abyss and been surprised by what lurked at the bottom.
Although -- Rodney had been surprised, too, by the intensity of the experience. Granted, he'd learned all he knew about vampires from Hollywood and the expedition’s pirated version of wikipedia, both highly dubious sources, but weren't vampires supposed to have sensual powers of some sort? Movie vampires were always sinking their fangs into the necks of scantily clad maidens. And while literary interpretation was a pseudo-discipline for people who couldn't even handle anthropology, he reflected, walking down the hall, that the whole vampire thing was rotten with erotic imagery. Pointy phallic teeth breaking through fragile skin, the exchange of bodily fluids, bodies pressed close enough for sex.
But fine, he'd let Sheppard be surprised by the somewhat obvious fact that blood would be a big turn-on for a vampire. But "weird?" Sex with Rodney McKay most certainly was not "weird." Not that he was likely to have the same level of experience as Sheppard the intergalactic slut, but he knew what he was doing. He snorted and palmed the door controls to his quarters. Unlike some people, he hadn't been so narrow-minded as to restrict his sexual experiences to one gender. Some people were drawn to men of genius, some people liked a bit of padding on a romantic partner, and one girlfriend had compared his eyes to the Aegean.
Unless it had been weird, he thought abruptly as he stripped out of his uniform and reached for a t-shirt. Because Sheppard was the Casanova of the Pegasus Galaxy -- was he laughing in the locker room with his Marine buddies, joking about sad little Rodney McKay and his weird blood fetish? Except that Sheppard wouldn't be talking about it, of course, given the repressive nature of the American military. But what if he wanted to?
He got a grip on his thoughts as he tied his sneakers and grabbed a towel. Abortive sexual encounters aside, he had to believe that Sheppard was a good guy. He was probably just as embarrassed. And as Rodney scanned the empty hallway and started for the gym, he had to admit that he wasn't so much angry as disappointed. It was one thing to want something unattainable; somehow, having it for only a few minutes was even worse. Whoever came up with the old saw about it being better to love and lose had obviously never done either.
***
The gym was mostly empty when he got there, with only a couple of Marines lifting weights at the far end and one of the chemists doing some sort of martial arts routine in front of the mirrors. He threw his towel down next to the sparring mats, glanced around and started to stretch. He hated stretching in front of Ronon and Teyla, both of whom put cooked noodles to shame with their absurd flexibility. He'd asked Ronon once, half-seriously, how he managed to lace his boots around his bulging pecs; the other man had smirked, but Rodney swore he'd swung the sticks especially hard that practice.
He heard the Ancient doors whoosh open as he reached fruitlessly for his toes and smelled the hair gel a second later; and really, he should have known that he couldn't avoid Sheppard forever. And that was Sheppard telling the Marines that they had opened one of the precious crates of Coca-Cola in the mess, and the chemist that her simulation had finished, and now Sheppard was walking towards him.
"It isn't nice to lie to your subordinates." Rodney looked intently at his knees. "Or other people's -- Ling Xiao's going to be pissed, and she actually does know jujitsu."
"I wasn't lying," Sheppard said mildly. "There is Coke in the mess, and Radek asked me to pass on the message to Dr. Ling."
"And that's the only reason you're here. When you're supposed to be organizing rosters with Lorne."
Even without looking, Rodney could tell that Sheppard was scrubbing a hand through his hair and looking sheepish. "I told Ronon I'd spar with you today."
"Well, thank you so much for taking my feelings into account." Rodney pushed himself to his feet and glared. "Did you think that maybe I'd prefer to have my ass handed to me by Ronon?"
He could hear the blood rushing to the surface of Sheppard's skin as he flushed bright red. "Oh, that's flattering," Rodney snapped. "And about as mature as, say, cornering me in the gym!"
"You've been a little hard to find these past few days, McKay," Sheppard said, his ears still pink, even as he moved to take down two pairs of Athosian sticks from the storage rack. "I haven't seen you in the infirmary or the mess or the labs -- if I didn't know better, I'd think you were avoiding me." He tossed a pair of sticks to Rodney, who caught them automatically. They felt stiff and foreign in his hands.
"Do you find that weird, Colonel?" Rodney asked maliciously, drawing out the word, and Sheppard winced.
"No, I can see why I wouldn't be your favorite person at the moment," he said, and clacked the sticks together before dropping into a defensive stance. "But we need to talk."
"I don't see why," Rodney retorted. It felt weirdly right to face off like this with Sheppard, the anger thrumming under his skin seeking an outlet. He smacked his own sticks together and circled right. "I have a good idea of what you'll say -- I'm sure the words 'misunderstanding' and 'code of conduct' and 'still friends' will be prominently featured." He feinted right and lunged, tapping Sheppard's knee smartly before he danced out of range again.
"You're smart, not psychic." Sheppard whirled a stick lazily behind his head, his eyes sharp. "Unless there's something else about being a vampire that you haven't told me?"
"Fuck you, I didn't know that would happen!" Rodney sputtered, and fended off a flurry of strikes from Sheppard, their sticks clacking together like castanets. He put a bit of force behind the last stroke, sending Sheppard staggering back across the mat. "I'm new at this! And - oh yes - I didn't want to bite you in the first place!"
"That was my fault, I get that," Sheppard said irritably, and blocked a side-swipe from Rodney. They were both playing defense now, circling warily around each other, sweat beading on Sheppard's brow. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
"Yes, mission accomplished, the vampire is healed, and surprise, said healing comes with a side of sex." Rodney parried forward, Sheppard meeting him stroke for stroke. "It's not my fault you couldn't deal."
Sheppard scowled and pressed forward himself, using one stick to block and the other to strike a flurry of blows at Rodney's shoulders, the small of his back, his shins. "Who said I couldn't deal? You wouldn't let me say anything!"
"Because I knew what you were going to say!" Rodney nearly shouted, and threw his sticks clattering to the ground.
"You give me a hell of a lot of credit, McKay!" Sheppard shouted back, and dropped his own. They were standing barely a step apart, Sheppard's chest heaving with anger or exertion, Rodney couldn't tell. He looked pissed, tired and a little sad, and Rodney gave up, his anger flowing away like water. If he got this over with, maybe they could still be friends.
"Fine," he said abruptly, and looked up and into John's eyes. "What would you have said?"
Sheppard blinked at him, startled. "Oh. Um."
Rodney sighed and pressed his fingers between his eyes, hard. "Oh, for Euler's sake, just say it already."
"I would have said," Sheppard said after a moment, "that I wasn't expecting that to happen. But that I wouldn't be opposed to it happening again." He stepped forward, so they were standing toe-to-toe.
"Oh," Rodney said stupidly, and stared at the corner of Sheppard's - John's - mouth. "Really?"
"Really," John said, his face focused and intent, like Rodney was a puddlejumper or some really cool Ancient weapon. If this was how he looked at the city - God, no wonder she loved him.
"I may... have leapt to conclusions. A bit."
"A bit," John agreed solemnly, and stroked a hand lightly over Rodney's shoulder, his hot callused thumb stroking his collarbone. Rodney just managed not to arch up into the touch like a cat.
"Now, will you please stop avoiding me?" John asked. "Because I'm starting to feel like a stalker."
"I don't think that'll be a problem," Rodney said quickly. "But wait - you don't mind about the thing? The vampire thing?"
Sheppard raised an eyebrow at him. "D'you mean the part where you biting me nearly made me come in my pants? Or the part where I don't have to worry about you stealing my fries anymore?"
"Shut up," Rodney said happily, and thwapped him in the shoulder. "Be nice to me, I don't have to breathe anymore."
"And your point would be -"
"Blow jobs," Rodney said smugly, and laughed at the stunned, speculative look on John's face.
Epilogue
Murphy and his little law could just go to hell, Rodney thought furiously. Of all the unfair things that had happened to him in his life - and there were a lot - the worst had to be the timing of Atlantis’ lastest string of near-disasters. Not five minutes after Colonel Sheppard had admitted that he hadn’t minded the sex-in-a-cave, and would consider sex-in-Atlantis, both their headsets buzzed with the news that the primary water tanks were clogged with a quick-growing purple algae.
“Ten bucks says it's hallucinogenic,” Sheppard said brightly, and Rodney smacked him in the shoulder for jinxing them. And of course it was, so they ended up with an infirmary full of botanists, all rapturously describing the whorls of their fingerprints to a bemused Carson.
Fifteen hours later, the botanists were headachy but sober, and Rodney and Radek had identified the protocol that would prompt the city to sanitize and filter the tanks. Which was good news, in that they’d been about to resort to Marines in hazmat suits; but bad in that it left them temporarily dependent on their smaller, secondary water supply. Rodney groaned as Elizabeth’s voice echoed over the city-wide intercom, regretfully informing everyone that for the moment, showers and laundry were off-limits.
“How did it get into the water in the first place?” he wondered, tapping his fingers against his lab table and resolutely not thinking about the way Sheppard’s ass looked in his BDUs.
Radek blinked at him with the gaze of the very tired and highly caffeinated. “Simpson and Miko traced algae back to washing machine; someone did not bother to decontaminate off-world clothes.”
“Can we find them?” Rodney asked seriously, because as soon as they could take showers again, he wanted to make sure the culprit took a cold one.
“They are working on it,” Radek said darkly, then muttered viciously in Czech as their headsets buzzed simultaneously. This time it was word that a troop of Marines, taking their usual run around the city, had spotted a new and alarming tilt in one of the eastern towers.
“What is this, Pisa?” Rodney said aloud, even as he chivvied the engineering staff into the nearest transporter.
“Too bad it isn’t,” McClernan muttered, and shouldered his toolkit. “Then we could get pizza.”
“Please do not mention foods that I will never taste again.” Rodney smiled pointedly and hit their destination on the console. The engineers shuffled away from him like sheep away from a strange dog. Radek just rolled his eyes.
It took them three hours to figure out that one of the tower sensors had malfunctioned and detected a non-existent earthquake. The tower had moved to compensate for the motion, “except of course there wasn’t any,” Rodney explained to Elizabeth over his headset. “Unless there was an earthquake and I was up to my elbows in purple algae and didn’t notice. Was there an earthquake?”
“Not that I know of.” Elizabeth sounded tired. “Can we fix it?”
“We should be able to get it to move back. Which is good, since if it leans any further it’ll fall on top of the Eastern defense installation. And then,” Rodney promised, “I am going to hit that particular sensor with a hammer.” Because it deserved it.
“Rodney, let me talk to Radek,” Elizabeth said firmly.
Of course, it took them another three hours to figure out how to convince the tower’s internal sensors that another earthquake had occurred, moving in precisely the opposite direction from the first. As the tower groaned back into verticality, Rodney tried to work out how long he’d been awake.
“Has been twenty-one hours since first crisis.” Radek had a smear of grease across his face that made him look vaguely like a pirate. He shrugged at Rodney’s look. “What? You spoke out loud.”
“Oh hell,” Rodney said feelingly. “The water filtration isn’t done yet, is it?”
“No, should take another three hours or so.” Radek pursed his lips. “I know - we are all in need of showers.”
“You have no idea,” Rodney sighed, shoving away a mental picture of Sheppard smirking and lounging against his shower wall, water beading down his perfect skin.
Although maybe he was getting ahead of himself, he thought, dragging himself down one of Atlantis’ endless shining corridors and towards his quarters. He had to keep reminding himself that Sheppard was military - if he had any sexual experience with men, it was probably of the quick and dirty sort, groping in seedy bar bathrooms or the backseats of cars. Could he see Colonel “rules were made to be broken” Sheppard fooling around under the homophobic radar of the Air Force? Yeah, he could - but that didn’t mean that Sheppard had.
No, it was enough that he had Sheppard’s interest. It was more than he’d ever thought he’d have, and he wouldn’t push. He leaned his forehead against the lovely cool surface of his door, hoping that it would read his mind and open; when it didn’t, he waved vaguely in the direction of the control panel and let momentum carry him into his room. He justified splashing some water on his face by the fact that he wouldn’t be drinking any, and fell face first onto his bed. His prescription mattress rose up to meet him like a welcoming orthopedic cloud, and his last thought, before slipping into blissful unconsciousness, was that if anything went wrong in the next twelve hours, Kavanagh would have to pull his weight for once.
***
He woke to the intoxicating smell of a warm mug of blood on his night stand and Sheppard’s quiet voice. He blinked; the lights had been dimmed, but Sheppard was perched on the corner of his desk, long legs dangling, and talking into his headset.
“Right, swap teams 3 and 4 - remember, Fitzpatrick’s allergic to that flowering vine thing - and send me the duty rosters. Thanks,” Sheppard clicked off his headset and grinned at him. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Rodney scrubbed at his eyes and tried to remember if he’d locked the door. Then he remembered that it didn’t matter; Sheppard could walk through any door in Atlantis if he asked it nicely enough. “How long did I sleep?”
Sheppard shrugged. “Twelve hours or so. Elizabeth’s given anyone who worked on the tanks or the tower the next twenty-four hours off. She said you could all use it.”
“No kidding.” Rodney pushed himself up and yawned widely. Except for the insistent growling of his stomach, he felt rested and almost content; there were no pending crises, Sheppard was voluntarily in his quarters, and a blissfully empty twelve hours stretched before him..
“Did those hurt?”
Rodney blinked. “Did what hurt?”
Sheppard gestured vaguely towards his own mouth. “The teeth - did those hurt, growing in?” He looked a little embarrassed. “Sorry, it’s probably rude to ask - I’ve just wondered.”
Rodney thought a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t remember. There’s a big gap in my memory between charging into that temple and waking up over Ronon’s shoulder, which is probably just as well.”
“Yeah.” Sheppard paused, and chewed his lip a little. “We thought you were dead, you know.” Rodney looked up sharply at that, because no, he hadn’t known, but Sheppard was staring down at his hands. “I mean, you ran out into the sun and caught fire, and after Ronon threw his coat over you - “ Sheppard shrugged again. The tight hunch of his back looked painful. “You were just dead pale. No pulse, no respiration, no movement. The villagers wanted to take you away themselves.”
“To burn,” Rodney said flatly. Because they had known, even if his team hadn’t at the time.
“Yeah.” Sheppard wove his long, callused fingers together, then pulled them apart. “Which was obviously out of the question. I didn’t think you were dead, somehow - it was just too close to Dracula.”
“Thank goodness for bad movies.”
The glare Sheppard shot him was half-hearted. “Hey, I read the book.”
“And Winona Ryder was pretty good in the movie,” Rodney said soothingly. He scooted down to the end of the bed, laid a tentative hand on Sheppard’s warm knee, and squeezed. “I’m not dead, you know.” Sheppard gave him a skeptical look. “Well, not technically.” Sheppard raised an eyebrow at him and Rodney sighed. "Fine, if you're going to stick to the "needs to breathe, has a heartbeat" definition --"
Sheppard smiled, just a little, and slid from the desk to the bed. He nudged Rodney over so that they sat side by side. “Trust me, I’ll take technically-dead over actually-dead any day.”
“Well, obviously,” Rodney said. There was a prim inch of space between them, but he was still acutely aware of Sheppard’s body heat, bridging the gap like the mirages that sometimes shimmered over hot asphalt. “Besides, technical death does have advantages.”
Sheppard turned to look at him, a decided glint in his eye. “Such as?”
If that wasn’t an invitation, Rodney wasn’t a genius. “Well, there’s the obvious,” he said, catching Sheppard’s hands in his own and pushing him back onto the bed. “Strength, speed, agility.”
Sheppard wriggled against the bed and his hold, a stupid little grin on his face. Rodney smirked and swung a leg over, settling his weight on Sheppard’s thighs. “Super senses. Sight and hearing,” he said, and leaned forward to bury his face in Sheppard’s collarbone. “Scent -” he inhaled deeply, breathing in soap, antiperspirant, the ever-present hair gel, and something that had to be uniquely Sheppard.
Sheppard looked a little glassy-eyed when he raised his head. “What about taste?” His voice was hoarse.
“I don’t know,” Rodney said, and he knew he was grinning wickedly. “I had better find out,” and he licked a broad stripe from Sheppard’s collarbone to his jaw.
Sheppard gasped a little, squirming up into his touch, but Rodney jerked himself back, breathing hard and unnecessarily through his nose, resting his hands safely on his thighs. Sheppard tasted like water and oxygen and salt, a vital, potent mixture wrapped up intimately with sex. Rodney screwed his eyes shut, but that was no good; Sheppard was splayed wanton and naked across his eyelids, just asking to be fucked, to be licked and sucked and bitten. Reaching for the mug on the nightstand was perhaps the hardest thing Rodney had ever done; he choked the lukewarm cow’s blood down, and forced himself not to compare it to what was beating hot under Sheppard’s skin just a few inches away.
He opened his eyes to the tentative touch of Sheppard’s hand against his own. “Rodney? Are you okay?” The other man had pushed himself up on one elbow, eyes open and curious, hair mussed like they’d already had sex.
“I’m okay,” Rodney said experimentally, then nodded when it seemed to be true. “I just -
“Needed a moment?” Sheppard leaned back against the bed, long limbs stretched out like a sacrificial offering, and met Rodney’s eyes steadily. “You know - if you wanted to bite me, I’d be okay with it.”
“I wouldn't,” Rodney said sharply. He had a sudden horrible thought - was this just some weird kink he’d fostered in Sheppard? Had he gotten off on the bite, and not Rodney? He swallowed down the sourness rising in his throat - vampires could be nauseated, who knew - and leaned down squarely into Sheppard’s space. “You are not food to me. I’m not biting you or anyone else, ever again. You’re not -“ and dammit, his voice was wavering, he hated when that happened “- you're just not, okay?"
“Hey, it’s okay.” Sheppard reached up and pulled Rodney down, pressing them chest to chest, Rodney’s face mashed into Sheppard’s throat, his warm hands moving in soothing circles down Rodney’s back. “I’m sorry, I won’t bring it up again.”
“Thanks.” Rodney turned to scrub his hands against his face. "And wow, that was humiliating."
“Don’t worry about it," Sheppard said, and grimaced a little. "I didn't mean to push you."
“I thought I was the experienced one here,” Rodney grumped into Sheppard’s shirt.
He heard the chuckle start deep in Sheppard’s chest. “I’m not some sort of shrinking virgin.”
“With men?” Rodney asked frankly, tipping his head up to look at Sheppard. “Because your reputation with women precedes you, obviously.”
Sheppard went still under him. “I figure it’s the person, you know?” he said finally, and Rodney felt a warm little thrill that had nothing to do with blood. He ground his hips against Sheppard’s experimentally and was rewarded with a choked-off gasp; Sheppard squirmed under him, trying for more contact.
That was good, but he wanted more. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it properly,” he said firmly, sitting up. “Shirt, off.”
“I should have known you’d be bossy in bed,” Sheppard joked, wriggling out of his black t-shirt and reaching for the hem of Rodney’s. He nearly batted his hands away. Sheppard didn’t have rippling abs, precisely, but he had the tanned, rangy look of a long-distance runner, with just enough hair to be interesting. He didn’t think his own pale, soft belly would profit by comparison.
“C’mon already,” Sheppard said impatiently, hands fisted in Rodney’s shirt, and Rodney let him tug his uniform shirt up and over his head.
“Hey, different,” Sheppard said, but he didn’t look like he was particularly disappointed that Rodney lacked breasts, or the military-issue muscles of a Marine. Far from it, actually, if the way he was running his hands up and down Rodney’s sides was any indication. His fingers skated over a particularly ticklish spot on Rodney’s ribs, and Rodney bit back a laugh.
“Oh, no way,” Sheppard said, delighted, and somehow Sheppard ended up on top, pinning Rodney with his weight and tickling him mercilessly. Rodney laughed and squirmed and kicked ineffectually, but apparently he'd forgotten everything he'd learned, since Sheppard just smirked and zeroed in on the particularly sensitive spot right above his hipbone. Rodney kissed him out of pure self-defense.
“Mrmph,” Sheppard said, his eyes green and surprised, but he caught on quickly enough. He kissed like he flew, Rodney thought, dazed - under the casual veneer Sheppard knew precisely what he was doing. He licked and nuzzled at him, rubbing his stubble-brisk jaw against Rodney like a cat, sucking on his lower lip and grazing it with his white, blunt teeth. Rodney sighed his satisfaction, and Sheppard took the opportunity to swipe his clever tongue into Rodney’s mouth.
Rodney stiffened - he’d never been more aware of the lingering taste of blood on the back of his tongue, the needle-sharpness of his incisors. Then he looked up and into Sheppard’s grin.
“Relax, you taste like you just ate a hamburger,” Sheppard said, and bent and nuzzled at Rodney’s chest, running the tip of his nose along Rodney's sternum. “And I like hamburgers.”
“Ah, okay,” Rodney stammered, because whether Sheppard was grossed out by his liquid diet suddenly seemed unimportant, given that said Colonel was currently working his way down Rodney’s body. He ran a careful scalding tongue along the edge of Rodney’s ribs, licked and nipped a glowing trail down his stomach, and breathed hotly into his navel. He felt like every atom in his body was weirdly connected; he felt Sheppard’s lips brushing softly along his hipbone but also in his fingertips, the backs of his knees, his head of his cock. At that last he gasped and arched wordlessly against the mattress, which conveniently let Sheppard slip his boxers and uniform pants off his hips.
“No fair,” he managed to say. Sheppard looked far too smug for a man holding a pair of boxers patterned with Turing machines. “You’re still wearing pants.”
"Pants, right," Sheppard said, and kicked his boots into the far corner of the room. He rolled off and to the side, shimmying out of his BDUs with enviable speed; Rodney had a brief, uncharitable thought about how often Sheppard had been asked to take off his pants by nubile alien priestesses. He shook it off - what mattered was that Sheppard was taking his pants off with him - and watched greedily as Sheppard peeled them off and away, letting them crumple to the floor.
"There is no way," Rodney said, running a finger along the waistband of Sheppard's black boxer-briefs, "that these are military issue."
"You'd be surprised." Sheppard's voice caught, just a little, as Rodney traced a careful hand down his body, outlining his erection through the soft dark cotton.
"Surprised by what?" Rodney asked, inching Sheppard's briefs down by careful degrees. He gauged his self-control, then let his tongue trail down from Sheppard's navel, welcoming each new inch of skin.
"Oh Jesus," Sheppard said instead, and twitched as Rodney lipped the soft skin between his hip and thigh.
Rodney yanked the damnable briefs down to Sheppard's thighs and smirked. "Not hardly," he said, and licked his lips. Then he bent and took Sheppard into his mouth.
Sheppard made an inarticulate noise and arched halfway off the bed. Rodney would have grinned, except he was being so, so careful not to scratch Sheppard with his sharp incisors. Instead he groped for Sheppard's bony hips, cradling them in his hands and holding him still as he worked to remember every filthy trick that Leibnitz had taught him, those late nights in the labs.
Sheppard - no, John, he could think of him as John, given that he had his cock in his mouth - was breathing hard, hands clenching in Rodney's 300-thread count sheets. It was very flattering, Rodney thought, except that he was almost overwhelmed by his heightened senses. He could hear John's heartrate thudding in his ears, feel John's pulse throbbing against his fingers, smell the sweat across John's chest and thighs as he squirmed against Rodney's grip. If he'd had to breathe, he'd be gasping. As it was, John's skin felt astonishingly hot, just on the right side of bearable under his hands and against his tongue, and his own dick throbbed with unrequited interest. It took an embarrassing amount of willpower to not rub himself against the bed like a horny teenager.
Above him John was making tiny, muffled noises against the back of his hand, his eyes screwed shut. Rodney felt a familiar stab of distaste for the military - what, a man couldn't even enjoy a friendly blowjob? - and staged his own rebellion against the Man by taking as much of John as he could into his mouth. John groaned at that, and Rodney rewarded him with a particularly lascivious swirl of his tongue. He felt John pulling at his hair, his body tensing under Rodney's hands; Rodney ignored him, pressed a finger to a precisely calculated spot behind John's balls, and swallowed as John shuddered through his climax.
John lay so still for a moment that Rodney was vaguely afraid he'd broken him. When he finally moved it was to pull Rodney up the bed, settling him against his bony shoulder. "I do not want to know how you got to be so good at that."
"I reward my subordinates with sexual favors," Rodney said fondly, petting John's mussed hair. "Except for Kavanagh, of course."
John wrinkled his face in disgust. "Please, never mention Kavanagh again when we're naked," and Rodney's glee that he'd get to tease a naked John with Kavanagh in the future nearly outweighed the urgency of his erection, pressed hopefully against John's thigh.
He wriggled a little and John got the point. He smirked, gave his own palm a slow, torturous lick, and reached down. "Guess I should do something about that, huh?"
"Yes, it's generally considered polite to reciprocate orgasms," Rodney managed to say, bucking his hips up into John's too-loose grip. "And I won't break."
"Be nice." John had his tongue stuck between his teeth, his face intent like he was figuring out some new trick with the puddlejumpers. "I'm new at this."
"If you are, I have no idea how you survived adolescence - God, just like that," Rodney groaned, because John had gotten the message, and had apparently also spent his teen years in a long and fruitful relationship with his right hand. John's calluses were rough little points of friction along his skin, contrasting sharply with the hot damp heat of his fingers, the slow drag of his palm along his cock. "God."
"Like this?" John asked innocently, and Rodney could just tell that he didn't mean it as a question.
"I hate you." Rodney thumped his head twice against the pillow. "I really - do that again."
"Sir yes sir," John said cheerfully, and added a sly little twist of his wrist that strongly implied he was double-jointed. Rodney made an unmanly gasp and clutched blindly at John's shoulder. He wanted to prolong this just as long as he could, to listen to John's little huffs of concentration, luxuriate in simply being touched, but he was close, so close already. John shifted his whole body towards Rodney, speeding up the pace, and when he breathed hotly by Rodney's ear he came so hard that his vision blurred.
When he could focus again John was propped up on an elbow and looking at him, his expression somehow both worried and impossibly smug. "How'd I do?"
"Shut up," Rodney said, and flailed a hand vaguely at John. "Recuperating here."
"So, all right then." John flopped down next to him and grinned unrepentantly. Rodney poked him in the ribs. "Don't gloat, it's unattractive."
"Sorry," but John didn't look at all repentant. "So, now what?"
"Now what what?" He'd need a nap, Rodney thought, if John wanted another round.
But John was chewing on his lip and looking - well, not adorable, but uncertain. Charmingly uncertain, and frowning, and not quite able to meet Rodney's eyes. "So, are we cool?"
"Oh my God," Rodney groaned, and thwapped John on the arm. John glared. "Yes, we're cool. You're a sixteen-year-old girl, apparently, but we're cool."
John looked thoughtful for a moment. "You do realize that makes me Buffy, right?" he asked finally, and laughed and ducked the pillow Rodney threw at him.