Sad Rodney in glasses. :(
Title: I have known the eyes already
Summary: "This is the worst thing," he says, breaking off to catch her lips with his again, "that has ever happened to me."
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/Stargate SG-1
Word Count: 805
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, AU (...canon AU?), sadface
Pairing: Carter/Rodney (the alternate version from SG-1 10.13 "The Road Not Taken")
A/N: Here on Hate on Rodney Week, it is permissible to love on alternate Rodney, because he evinces so many unRodneylike characteristics, and also he is generally much less of a dick. Also I think we all know I stole the title from TS Eliot, cause that's just kinda how I roll sometimes.
"This is the worst thing," he says, breaking off to catch her lips with his again, "that has ever happened to me." She pulls his shirt off over his head, throwing it to the floor. "I mean it. Six months of marriage counseling, two years of therapy- all for nothing. I hope you're happy."
She stops his hand as he reaches to pull off his glasses. She's suddenly embarrassed, unwilling to explain, but he just snorts at her and leaves them on. She knows then that this is wrong- that to her, he is definitely not Rodney McKay, but that to him, she is the last breath of Sam Carter- but she doesn't dare stop.
His hands are strong and sure, confident like he knows everything about her; as he settles his mouth over her and slides his fingers inside, it occurs to her that he probably does. He's probably spent long hours learning her, mapping and memorizing every inch of a body very much like hers, and somehow that doesn't even seem fair.
She pulls him back up, hooking her leg around his waist; he turns his face away from her, but she takes it in her hands, kissing her taste out of his mouth. He groans, low and broken in his throat, and she can feel the vibration of it against her lips.
He reaches a hand down, lining them up, and just like that he's inside her. And oh, it's been too long, it's been forever, but it's perfect, the way he fills her up, makes her think of bizarre, vulgar metaphors about ports and plugs and pistons and sockets.
He rocks his hips into hers, unhurried and deep, sucking a wet line of kisses onto her throat. She suddenly wants to stay like this forever, just skin sliding over skin, anonymous and intimate all at once. It's like coming home to a place she's never been.
It doesn't last- nothing lasts- but by then she's impatient, thrusting back at him and clutching twin lines of fingernail marks into his back. When he finally touches her, circling two fingers around her clit, she comes, panting and shaking with it, barely registering as he stutters his hips forward and stills inside of her.
They lie together in his bed, side by side, his arms unflinching around her like she might disappear if he doesn't hold on; and for all Sam knows, she might.
"What was she like?" she finally asks, pointing directly to the elephant in the room, breaking the warm, calm silence that has settled over them.
"She's a bitch," he says fervently. "A total bitch. Did you know she fucked our marriage counselor?" She looks at him wide-eyed; that certainly doesn't sound like her. "Okay, it was like three months after we broke up, but still." He looks at her, combing his fingers through her hair. "You remind me of her- I mean, back before we got married and I turned her into a bitch."
She snorts, settling deeper into his arms. "No chance of that happening when I get back."
"How bad am I?" he prods. "Come on. If I can't feel superior to alternate me, who can I feel superior to?"
"Everyone?" she suggests.
He shrugs. "There is that."
"He's an awful, selfish, misogynistic prick," she tells him, grinning slightly at the absurdity of saying it, essentially, to his face. "I always feel like he's undressing me with his eyes."
"That gets old after you've seen it," he says, half to himself, and she punches him in the side lightly. "Not that you should let him see anything. Fuck that guy. Metaphorically, I mean." There is a long, comfortable pause. "Maybe yours and mine should have hooked up instead," he tells her, attempting to camouflage real sentiment with flippancy. "Let them drive each other crazy and leave us be."
She's starting to think she would have wanted that too, that she could have been in love with this person if only McKay had been him, that she could stay here in the circle of his arms and let him shield her from this ridiculous world where he lives.
"I think he might be gay," she says instead, something closing off within her. "Like, y'know, he protests too much." He doesn't reply. "No comment on that one?"
He sighs, looking a little uncomfortable. "Well, I wouldn't really be totally shocked or anything." She can't resist laughing.
"I see why she married you," she says, later, quiet against his skin.
"Yeah, well, that makes one of us," he grumbles, his face shadowed and sad for a moment, and she can't not press her lips to his.
Summary: "This is the worst thing," he says, breaking off to catch her lips with his again, "that has ever happened to me."
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis/Stargate SG-1
Word Count: 805
Rating/Warnings: NC-17, AU (...canon AU?), sadface
Pairing: Carter/Rodney (the alternate version from SG-1 10.13 "The Road Not Taken")
A/N: Here on Hate on Rodney Week, it is permissible to love on alternate Rodney, because he evinces so many unRodneylike characteristics, and also he is generally much less of a dick. Also I think we all know I stole the title from TS Eliot, cause that's just kinda how I roll sometimes.
"This is the worst thing," he says, breaking off to catch her lips with his again, "that has ever happened to me." She pulls his shirt off over his head, throwing it to the floor. "I mean it. Six months of marriage counseling, two years of therapy- all for nothing. I hope you're happy."
She stops his hand as he reaches to pull off his glasses. She's suddenly embarrassed, unwilling to explain, but he just snorts at her and leaves them on. She knows then that this is wrong- that to her, he is definitely not Rodney McKay, but that to him, she is the last breath of Sam Carter- but she doesn't dare stop.
His hands are strong and sure, confident like he knows everything about her; as he settles his mouth over her and slides his fingers inside, it occurs to her that he probably does. He's probably spent long hours learning her, mapping and memorizing every inch of a body very much like hers, and somehow that doesn't even seem fair.
She pulls him back up, hooking her leg around his waist; he turns his face away from her, but she takes it in her hands, kissing her taste out of his mouth. He groans, low and broken in his throat, and she can feel the vibration of it against her lips.
He reaches a hand down, lining them up, and just like that he's inside her. And oh, it's been too long, it's been forever, but it's perfect, the way he fills her up, makes her think of bizarre, vulgar metaphors about ports and plugs and pistons and sockets.
He rocks his hips into hers, unhurried and deep, sucking a wet line of kisses onto her throat. She suddenly wants to stay like this forever, just skin sliding over skin, anonymous and intimate all at once. It's like coming home to a place she's never been.
It doesn't last- nothing lasts- but by then she's impatient, thrusting back at him and clutching twin lines of fingernail marks into his back. When he finally touches her, circling two fingers around her clit, she comes, panting and shaking with it, barely registering as he stutters his hips forward and stills inside of her.
They lie together in his bed, side by side, his arms unflinching around her like she might disappear if he doesn't hold on; and for all Sam knows, she might.
"What was she like?" she finally asks, pointing directly to the elephant in the room, breaking the warm, calm silence that has settled over them.
"She's a bitch," he says fervently. "A total bitch. Did you know she fucked our marriage counselor?" She looks at him wide-eyed; that certainly doesn't sound like her. "Okay, it was like three months after we broke up, but still." He looks at her, combing his fingers through her hair. "You remind me of her- I mean, back before we got married and I turned her into a bitch."
She snorts, settling deeper into his arms. "No chance of that happening when I get back."
"How bad am I?" he prods. "Come on. If I can't feel superior to alternate me, who can I feel superior to?"
"Everyone?" she suggests.
He shrugs. "There is that."
"He's an awful, selfish, misogynistic prick," she tells him, grinning slightly at the absurdity of saying it, essentially, to his face. "I always feel like he's undressing me with his eyes."
"That gets old after you've seen it," he says, half to himself, and she punches him in the side lightly. "Not that you should let him see anything. Fuck that guy. Metaphorically, I mean." There is a long, comfortable pause. "Maybe yours and mine should have hooked up instead," he tells her, attempting to camouflage real sentiment with flippancy. "Let them drive each other crazy and leave us be."
She's starting to think she would have wanted that too, that she could have been in love with this person if only McKay had been him, that she could stay here in the circle of his arms and let him shield her from this ridiculous world where he lives.
"I think he might be gay," she says instead, something closing off within her. "Like, y'know, he protests too much." He doesn't reply. "No comment on that one?"
He sighs, looking a little uncomfortable. "Well, I wouldn't really be totally shocked or anything." She can't resist laughing.
"I see why she married you," she says, later, quiet against his skin.
"Yeah, well, that makes one of us," he grumbles, his face shadowed and sad for a moment, and she can't not press her lips to his.