Fic: Impossible (SGA: Rodney/Elizabeth)
Title: Impossible
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Rodney McKay/Elizabeth Weir
Rating: R at most
Warnings: Urophilia/watersports. (Peeing kink in other words.)
Notes: Yes, I know there are no SGA people on my flist, but this fic needs a new home so I'm posting it here anyway before I forget about it again. *shrug*
The only way to discover the limits of the possible is to go beyond them into the impossible.
-- Arthur C. Clarke
There are times when Rodney knows this is all impossible.
Oddly enough, it's not when his mouse hand slips idly into Solitaire to soothe him through another set of calculations that only take a fraction of his brain to work on, and he thinks, 'I'm playing this in another galaxy'.
It's not when he stands and just stares, up and out of the city, remembering the underwater glow, the glide and flow of water sleeting over its surface, the icy fireworks of the Wraith attack.
Instead, it's when she clears her throat in just that way. The way that he knows, god knows how, that when he looks up that clear gaze will be on him, not the departing backs of his team, or whatever trade delegation they've had to smile and nod at for the past couple of hours. When he's almost falling over his own feet to get back to the labs and see how many things have gone wrong in his enforced absence, but just a tiny quirk of those lips and maybe a hint of a raised eyebrow and he'll forget all about that when he remembers what this means.
It's one hand on her belly, one on the soft swell of lips, just fingertips feeling their way. The little gasp from above him, next to him, the heat of breath and flesh in the bathrooms that never quite lose their chill or their echo in the way of bathrooms everywhere.
It's smoothing his hand over pale, flawless skin, over muscles that tremble; and reassurance has never been his thing, but he's the only one that can do this, because it's their little secret. That's how he finds the words for this, the 'Let it go, Elizabeth' that she needs, the 'Yes, yes' that he can't restrain when he feels her tense and relax under the weight of his hand. It's how he knows before it happens, before her warmth spurts and trickles over his fingers, how it barely reaches him before his other hand is on his cock, because this may be their only intimacy, but he's not sure he's ever known a better one.
It's racing to come before the hot, wavering stream of piss on fingers, wrist, cock, dries up to a few stray drops; it's clutching at her hips, tongue seeking out that multitude of tastes, salt and musk and all of it forbidden as she shudders her own release against his mouth.
It's the 'Thank you, Rodney' afterwards, the awkward pat on his hair when they pull apart, and washing up alone in lukewarm water, almost reluctant to lose the sharp, pungent smell of her on his hands. It's knowing that whether it's tomorrow or next week, or the week after, they'll do this again.
And as he walks around this improbable city in an unlikely galaxy, it strikes him that even with the constant threats, the sleepless nights, and let's not forget the Wraith, he's still the most content he has ever been.
Sometimes, that's the most impossible thing of all.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: Rodney McKay/Elizabeth Weir
Rating: R at most
Warnings: Urophilia/watersports. (Peeing kink in other words.)
Notes: Yes, I know there are no SGA people on my flist, but this fic needs a new home so I'm posting it here anyway before I forget about it again. *shrug*
The only way to discover the limits of the possible is to go beyond them into the impossible.
-- Arthur C. Clarke
There are times when Rodney knows this is all impossible.
Oddly enough, it's not when his mouse hand slips idly into Solitaire to soothe him through another set of calculations that only take a fraction of his brain to work on, and he thinks, 'I'm playing this in another galaxy'.
It's not when he stands and just stares, up and out of the city, remembering the underwater glow, the glide and flow of water sleeting over its surface, the icy fireworks of the Wraith attack.
Instead, it's when she clears her throat in just that way. The way that he knows, god knows how, that when he looks up that clear gaze will be on him, not the departing backs of his team, or whatever trade delegation they've had to smile and nod at for the past couple of hours. When he's almost falling over his own feet to get back to the labs and see how many things have gone wrong in his enforced absence, but just a tiny quirk of those lips and maybe a hint of a raised eyebrow and he'll forget all about that when he remembers what this means.
It's one hand on her belly, one on the soft swell of lips, just fingertips feeling their way. The little gasp from above him, next to him, the heat of breath and flesh in the bathrooms that never quite lose their chill or their echo in the way of bathrooms everywhere.
It's smoothing his hand over pale, flawless skin, over muscles that tremble; and reassurance has never been his thing, but he's the only one that can do this, because it's their little secret. That's how he finds the words for this, the 'Let it go, Elizabeth' that she needs, the 'Yes, yes' that he can't restrain when he feels her tense and relax under the weight of his hand. It's how he knows before it happens, before her warmth spurts and trickles over his fingers, how it barely reaches him before his other hand is on his cock, because this may be their only intimacy, but he's not sure he's ever known a better one.
It's racing to come before the hot, wavering stream of piss on fingers, wrist, cock, dries up to a few stray drops; it's clutching at her hips, tongue seeking out that multitude of tastes, salt and musk and all of it forbidden as she shudders her own release against his mouth.
It's the 'Thank you, Rodney' afterwards, the awkward pat on his hair when they pull apart, and washing up alone in lukewarm water, almost reluctant to lose the sharp, pungent smell of her on his hands. It's knowing that whether it's tomorrow or next week, or the week after, they'll do this again.
And as he walks around this improbable city in an unlikely galaxy, it strikes him that even with the constant threats, the sleepless nights, and let's not forget the Wraith, he's still the most content he has ever been.
Sometimes, that's the most impossible thing of all.