Culture Clash Challenge:- Skin by Sethoz
Title: Skin
Author: sethoz
Rating: R [for Adult Themes]
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Category: Angst/Slash
Challenge: Culture Clash
Notes: Hints at possible abuse. 647 words.
Summary: It was on the second night that he first discovered the scar.
Skin
It was during the second night they spent together as something more than friends that he first discovered the scar.
The body under him was new at the time, with flesh his fingers hadn't had time to fully explore. The first time had been too quick, a frantic touching of flesh, the relief that both had survived a brush with almost certain death. It had been over quickly, so quickly and he hadn't been sure if there would be a second time.
There was.
This time was slower, more careful. There had been no injuries, no near death to warrant the sudden and inexplicable need for each other, just a silent understanding that he wanted to feel the body under him again, wanted to hear the moans as the other man came.
They had rested in his quarters after the event, his fingers slowly tracking their way over his skin, relishing the warmth, such a change from the restricting material he had always felt if he had touched that part of the body before.
He let his hand memorise the arms, in case this wouldn't happen again, wanting something more than a memory that would fade over time. He had wanted the memory of skin. As the tips of his fingers brushed down the left thigh, they had touched something rough.
A quiet intake of breath was the only reaction from either of them. Slowly he had let his fingers trace the scar, following the jagged cut, the raised area feeling alien to his touch. He had opened his mouth, perhaps to ask when the other had suddenly pushed him away, slipping out of the bed and silently dressing. He had left without a word or backwards glance and for nearly a week there was nothing more.
This time, it was he who had been surprised as the other had come to his room, again silently, looking him in eyes and saying everything that needed to be said without speaking a word. They had removed each others clothes then, and he had used every inch of will power he had not to look down at the scar.
In the aftermath, he had let his fingers trace down there, in a lazy fashion, his eyes closed as if he wasn't really awake. He found the scar quickly, letting his fingers lightly brush over it, then moving on. The scar had a brother. He can't remember if it was there before, he hadn't had the time to check last time.
Both feel rough and raw, as if they were new. But he knows that sometimes scars feel that way, such as the one his Uncle Nick had on his chest. It had never seemed to heal and remained red. The body tenses under him in a warning and he removes his hand.
This time, they spend the whole night together, wrapped in each other's arms. It shouldn't be something that feels so comfortable, two men in an embrace. But it does.
They come together most nights now, and slowly things change. They talk more, when before the sex had been done in an almost shameful silence. They look into each other's eyes and smile. He plays with the scars, and after a while, he knows he can do it without the other leaving.
One night, as he kisses them for the first time, he glances up into his lover's eyes. They stare at him and plead. Plead for him to ask this time, to show that he does care about these marks. They tell him without words that he needs to tell someone about their origins, be it from an accident or design.
But John Sheppard can't ask. He's still military and the culture of 'don't ask, don't tell' is still firmly embedded in his brain, despite the fact that he sleeps with men.
And Rodney McKay doesn't tell.
::fin::
Author: sethoz
Rating: R [for Adult Themes]
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Category: Angst/Slash
Challenge: Culture Clash
Notes: Hints at possible abuse. 647 words.
Summary: It was on the second night that he first discovered the scar.
Skin
It was during the second night they spent together as something more than friends that he first discovered the scar.
The body under him was new at the time, with flesh his fingers hadn't had time to fully explore. The first time had been too quick, a frantic touching of flesh, the relief that both had survived a brush with almost certain death. It had been over quickly, so quickly and he hadn't been sure if there would be a second time.
There was.
This time was slower, more careful. There had been no injuries, no near death to warrant the sudden and inexplicable need for each other, just a silent understanding that he wanted to feel the body under him again, wanted to hear the moans as the other man came.
They had rested in his quarters after the event, his fingers slowly tracking their way over his skin, relishing the warmth, such a change from the restricting material he had always felt if he had touched that part of the body before.
He let his hand memorise the arms, in case this wouldn't happen again, wanting something more than a memory that would fade over time. He had wanted the memory of skin. As the tips of his fingers brushed down the left thigh, they had touched something rough.
A quiet intake of breath was the only reaction from either of them. Slowly he had let his fingers trace the scar, following the jagged cut, the raised area feeling alien to his touch. He had opened his mouth, perhaps to ask when the other had suddenly pushed him away, slipping out of the bed and silently dressing. He had left without a word or backwards glance and for nearly a week there was nothing more.
This time, it was he who had been surprised as the other had come to his room, again silently, looking him in eyes and saying everything that needed to be said without speaking a word. They had removed each others clothes then, and he had used every inch of will power he had not to look down at the scar.
In the aftermath, he had let his fingers trace down there, in a lazy fashion, his eyes closed as if he wasn't really awake. He found the scar quickly, letting his fingers lightly brush over it, then moving on. The scar had a brother. He can't remember if it was there before, he hadn't had the time to check last time.
Both feel rough and raw, as if they were new. But he knows that sometimes scars feel that way, such as the one his Uncle Nick had on his chest. It had never seemed to heal and remained red. The body tenses under him in a warning and he removes his hand.
This time, they spend the whole night together, wrapped in each other's arms. It shouldn't be something that feels so comfortable, two men in an embrace. But it does.
They come together most nights now, and slowly things change. They talk more, when before the sex had been done in an almost shameful silence. They look into each other's eyes and smile. He plays with the scars, and after a while, he knows he can do it without the other leaving.
One night, as he kisses them for the first time, he glances up into his lover's eyes. They stare at him and plead. Plead for him to ask this time, to show that he does care about these marks. They tell him without words that he needs to tell someone about their origins, be it from an accident or design.
But John Sheppard can't ask. He's still military and the culture of 'don't ask, don't tell' is still firmly embedded in his brain, despite the fact that he sleeps with men.
And Rodney McKay doesn't tell.
::fin::