Latency by Zoe Rayne (city exploration challenge)
Title: Latency
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through "The Eye"
Challenge: sga_flashfic - City Exploration
Summary: He could make a fortune with this technology back on Earth. Of course, it would probably bring about the fall of western civilization at the same time, but who the hell cared?
A/N: I owe a lot to Century Hotel for the persistent mental image of David Hewlett face-down in bed. Thanks to sarren and cathexys for beta duty. Any remaining bad is my own doing.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were...well, let's just say they wouldn't have much time for missions.
Latency
by Zoe Rayne
The knock on his front door was quick and sharp, and Rodney didn't even have a chance to put down his bag of chips or push Cat off his lap before the door opened to reveal the grinning figure of John Sheppard.
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said, stepping inside and closing the door behind himself. "So this is your place, huh?" Rodney paused the TiVo out of habit, even though it really didn't matter in a virtual environment; still, the more realistic he kept things, the more comforting the scenario was.
He would be the first to admit that his id was a strange place. He'd been surprised the first time he'd tried on the thin metal headband that turned out to be the Ancient version of a VR interface and found himself standing in the middle of his apartment back on Earth, but that had at least made some kind of sense. It's not like he hadn't been aware of the niggling sense of homesickness that had begun to creep up on him whenever he hadn't been too engrossed in work to think about anything else--he'd just tried to ignore it. He hadn't been aware, though, that apparently his subconscious felt there was a lack of John Sheppard in his day-to-day life. That was a little weird, especially since he spent about half his waking hours with the man already.
"Yes, this is it," he said, gathering Cat into his arms and standing up.
"Rodney...." Sheppard frowned, like he wasn't quite sure how--or maybe even if--he should say what he was thinking. "You realize you're not wearing any pants, right?"
"Of course I am. They're just made of a special Ancient fabric that you can't see if your IQ is below 180," Rodney said smugly.
Sheppard seemed to think for a moment and then he nodded, seriously. "My mistake. The light's bad in here, but I see them now. Very nice."
Rodney almost laughed. This was what he enjoyed most about time spent with Sheppard--they could...play, for lack of a better word. Like when they'd been testing the personal shield and Sheppard had shot him and then tossed him off a balcony; there wasn't even a hint of malice in Sheppard's enjoyment of it all--which was more than Rodney could say for Peter, who'd seemed entirely too happy to throw a serious punch at his face.
Sheppard was still standing there, looking at him, and Rodney had the feeling he should be a better host, regardless of the fact that his guest didn't really exist, so he asked, "Can I, uh, can I get you something to drink?"
"I wouldn't say no to a beer, thanks."
When Rodney returned, beer in hand, Sheppard was browsing the titles on his bookcase, his head tilted to the side and one finger trailing along the spines as he moved from shelf to shelf. He looked up when Rodney held the bottle out to him. "Sorry," he said, flashing the conspiratorial grin that always made Rodney feel like he was back in grade nine, only as one of the cool kids this time, "I'm incurably nosy."
"Mi casa es su casa, Major." Rodney shifted Cat higher on his shoulder and was rewarded with an affectionate head-butt to the cheek.
"John," Sheppard corrected, reaching out and scratching Cat behind one ear. He grinned at the resulting purr. "Friendly," he said. "What's his name?"
"Cat." Rodney could feel the tips of his ears turning pink as Sheppard's eyebrows rose.
"Very...creative," Sheppard said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.
"Yes, well, it's not quite as ridiculous as it seems." Rodney wasn't sure why he was defending himself to what was essentially a figment of his imagination. Still, he continued, "He was named after a character on a television show--"
Sheppard laughed, and okay, so maybe the truth wasn't any less ridiculous than the common assumption, but then Sheppard nodded and said, "Red Dwarf," and Rodney felt himself starting to grin. Of course a sci-fi geek like Sheppard would get it.
"So, what're we watching?" Sheppard nodded at the television, where an image of starry space was frozen, waiting for Rodney to turn his attention back to it.
"Classic Trek. 'The Trouble with Tribbles,' actually." This time Sheppard raised a single eyebrow, more questioning than mocking, and Rodney said, "I'm counting my blessings. We may have to deal with an insane faux-Amish culture with cold-war-era weapons capabilities, but at least we don't have tribbles."
"True," Sheppard agreed, taking a drink of his beer, "but I think I'd rather fight Klingons than the Wraith. Especially the pre-prosthetic-forehead version of Klingons; they were wimps."
Sheppard had a point. Of course, television villains--no matter how horrific their creators tried to make them--were never as frightening as the real thing, even if the real thing was only a madman with a God complex and knife-wielding henchmen. Rodney shivered and dragged his attention back to Sheppard; if he wasn't careful he'd end up in a replay of his time with Kolya, and he'd really had enough of that in his nightmares to last him the rest of his life.
"Hey," Sheppard's voice was softer than Rodney remembered ever hearing it before, and then Cat was being lifted out of his arms and set gently down on the floor and Sheppard was hugging him. Which was really, really weird. Pleasant, yeah, in a way that Rodney hadn't thought being pressed up against another guy could be, but still weird. His id was a really strange place.
He cleared his throat. "Um...." he started, and Sheppard let go and stepped back half a pace--just enough to remain in Rodney's space without actually touching him. Rodney looked up at him, their height difference exaggerated by the fact that he was barefoot while Sheppard was wearing thick-soled boots.
"You know what my favourite Star Trek episode is?" Sheppard asked, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. When Rodney shook his head, Sheppard continued, "'The Naked Time.' I've always thought it would be nice to have an excuse to do something you really want to--something a little outrageous-- without worrying about the consequences."
Rodney had just enough time to open his mouth, enough time to think about telling Sheppard what a bad idea that was, because consequences happened whether or not you worried about them, before Sheppard leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't a friendly kiss, or a brotherly kiss, or even a tentative first-date kiss; it was a take-no-prisoners, where's-the-bed, spontaneous-orgasm-inducing kiss, and it left Rodney breathless and confused and with his cock twitching its way toward a full-on erection.
"Oh, God," he breathed, looking into Sheppard's dark, dark eyes and wanting more kisses like that and more touching and just more.
Wow. He could make a fortune with this technology back on Earth. Of course, it would probably bring about the fall of western civilization at the same time, but who the hell cared? So a dozen science-fiction authors would be proven right and the population would be turned into couch potatoes the likes of which had never been seen before; it would wipe out internet porn in one fell swoop.
"Bed. Now," Sheppard said, and Rodney's subconscious was apparently completely on board, because the apartment shimmered around them for a second and then they were standing in the middle of Rodney's bedroom, the bed rumpled and inviting. Sheppard blinked, but recovered quickly and reached out to tug Rodney's shirt off, pushing Rodney's hands away when he tried to return the favour, and then dropped to his knees in front of Rodney, pulling Rodney's boxers down as he went and oh, God....
Rodney was absolutely, positively certain he had never, ever thought about Major Sheppard's mouth wrapped around his cock, not even in the deepest, darkest parts of his subconscious.
It had to be something he'd thought about, though, something he'd wanted on some level, or imaginary Sheppard wouldn't be here. Unless Sheppard wasn't imaginary.... He reached up to pull the headband off and shut down the simulation, but Sheppard's hand caught his and stopped him, and then Sheppard sat back onto his heels. "Rodney, please," he said, his voice a rough almost-whisper that went straight to Rodney's cock. "Give me until the end of the episode? Or if you really don't want this, I'll go."
The need in Sheppard's eyes made Rodney's breath hitch, and he suddenly couldn't think of a single reason why sex with John Sheppard would be a bad thing. He dropped his arm back down to his side and was rewarded with one of Sheppard's crooked, flirtatious smiles.
Then Sheppard licked his lips. "Oh, yeah. The things I'm going to do to you...." And Rodney had to close his eyes for a second, because it was all too much, too real. When he opened them again, Sheppard had shifted a pillow from the head of the bed to the middle. "Lie down," Sheppard said, "on your stomach."
Now that he'd committed himself, it was easier not to really think about it, so Rodney just stepped out of his boxers and did as Sheppard asked. Embarrassment warred with arousal and one or the other--or maybe both--was responsible for the heat that flushed his face. Rodney propped himself on his elbows and watched over his shoulder as Sheppard knelt between his thighs, stroking up and over his ass with the same single-minded intensity he had when flying a jumper. Arousal won out, and Rodney moaned and ducked his head, tangling his fingers in the sheets.
"I'm going to make you feel so good," Sheppard said, kissing his way down to the small of Rodney's back, and Rodney had to focus on steadying his own breathing and on keeping his hips still when he ached to thrust against the pillow.
As Sheppard's hands cupped his ass and gently spread him open, he could feel the wet heat of Sheppard's breath, and the slick tease of Sheppard's tongue drew a shuddering gasp from him as Rodney realised--really and truly realised--what Sheppard intended to do. Then Rodney's entire existence contracted down to two square centimetres of tender, sensitised skin. The rest of his body felt like it was melting away into the surface of the bed as Sheppard's tongue unravelled him, slicking circles around and across his opening before abruptly pushing in, the sudden invasion sending liquid heat lapping at Rodney's nerves.
"Oh...fuck...yes...." He was way too sober for this, but he was a single touch away from not caring anymore. Even a Wraith attack couldn't move him right now, because Sheppard was tongue-fucking him with wet, sexy noises that made Rodney's cock twitch and leak, and Rodney couldn't believe how much he needed this thing that he'd never even known he wanted. "Please, John...." He arched against Sheppard's tongue, his cock dragging against the pillowcase--too much sensation and yet not nearly enough.
Sheppard seemed to know exactly what Rodney needed, because his fingertips began to tease alongside his tongue, describing unhurried, sensuous spirals before dipping lightly, quickly inside. And then, when Rodney didn't think he could stand even one more second without touching himself, Sheppard slid a finger--oh, God, maybe two fingers, even--into him, and Rodney pushed back, hard, hearing Sheppard inhale raggedly as he did.
"Christ. I want to fuck you." The words were more breathed than whispered, so softly Rodney wasn't really sure he heard them at all. He wanted to say please and yes and now, but his mouth was dry and he couldn't seem to form the words, and then Sheppard's fingers stroked inside him once, twice, and he was coming.
By the time he caught his breath, he felt emptier than he'd ever been and he knew without looking that Sheppard was gone.
~ * ~ * ~
Rodney slid the headband off and his surroundings shimmered and resolved into the large, white room Sheppard insisted on calling the Construct. He was alone, stretched out on one of a dozen chaise longues arranged in a large circle. He had the sudden urge to search the room for something--residual warmth on the other seats, maybe--to prove that Sheppard had been here, sharing Rodney's reality. Pulling up the evening's computer logs to see whether anyone else had accessed the VR system would be easy enough, but the idea of knowing for certain left his stomach in knots.
Instead, he stood and slipped the headband into its storage slot before heading out the door and down the long corridor toward his lab.
fait accompli
latency n.
1. The state or quality of being latent*.
2. Computers. The time required for a signal to travel from one point on a network to another.
*latent adj.
1. Present or potential but not evident or active: latent talent.
2. Psychology. Present in the unconscious mind but not consciously expressed.
Pairing: Sheppard/McKay
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: through "The Eye"
Challenge: sga_flashfic - City Exploration
Summary: He could make a fortune with this technology back on Earth. Of course, it would probably bring about the fall of western civilization at the same time, but who the hell cared?
A/N: I owe a lot to Century Hotel for the persistent mental image of David Hewlett face-down in bed. Thanks to sarren and cathexys for beta duty. Any remaining bad is my own doing.
Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were...well, let's just say they wouldn't have much time for missions.
Latency
by Zoe Rayne
The knock on his front door was quick and sharp, and Rodney didn't even have a chance to put down his bag of chips or push Cat off his lap before the door opened to reveal the grinning figure of John Sheppard.
"Hey, Rodney," Sheppard said, stepping inside and closing the door behind himself. "So this is your place, huh?" Rodney paused the TiVo out of habit, even though it really didn't matter in a virtual environment; still, the more realistic he kept things, the more comforting the scenario was.
He would be the first to admit that his id was a strange place. He'd been surprised the first time he'd tried on the thin metal headband that turned out to be the Ancient version of a VR interface and found himself standing in the middle of his apartment back on Earth, but that had at least made some kind of sense. It's not like he hadn't been aware of the niggling sense of homesickness that had begun to creep up on him whenever he hadn't been too engrossed in work to think about anything else--he'd just tried to ignore it. He hadn't been aware, though, that apparently his subconscious felt there was a lack of John Sheppard in his day-to-day life. That was a little weird, especially since he spent about half his waking hours with the man already.
"Yes, this is it," he said, gathering Cat into his arms and standing up.
"Rodney...." Sheppard frowned, like he wasn't quite sure how--or maybe even if--he should say what he was thinking. "You realize you're not wearing any pants, right?"
"Of course I am. They're just made of a special Ancient fabric that you can't see if your IQ is below 180," Rodney said smugly.
Sheppard seemed to think for a moment and then he nodded, seriously. "My mistake. The light's bad in here, but I see them now. Very nice."
Rodney almost laughed. This was what he enjoyed most about time spent with Sheppard--they could...play, for lack of a better word. Like when they'd been testing the personal shield and Sheppard had shot him and then tossed him off a balcony; there wasn't even a hint of malice in Sheppard's enjoyment of it all--which was more than Rodney could say for Peter, who'd seemed entirely too happy to throw a serious punch at his face.
Sheppard was still standing there, looking at him, and Rodney had the feeling he should be a better host, regardless of the fact that his guest didn't really exist, so he asked, "Can I, uh, can I get you something to drink?"
"I wouldn't say no to a beer, thanks."
When Rodney returned, beer in hand, Sheppard was browsing the titles on his bookcase, his head tilted to the side and one finger trailing along the spines as he moved from shelf to shelf. He looked up when Rodney held the bottle out to him. "Sorry," he said, flashing the conspiratorial grin that always made Rodney feel like he was back in grade nine, only as one of the cool kids this time, "I'm incurably nosy."
"Mi casa es su casa, Major." Rodney shifted Cat higher on his shoulder and was rewarded with an affectionate head-butt to the cheek.
"John," Sheppard corrected, reaching out and scratching Cat behind one ear. He grinned at the resulting purr. "Friendly," he said. "What's his name?"
"Cat." Rodney could feel the tips of his ears turning pink as Sheppard's eyebrows rose.
"Very...creative," Sheppard said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.
"Yes, well, it's not quite as ridiculous as it seems." Rodney wasn't sure why he was defending himself to what was essentially a figment of his imagination. Still, he continued, "He was named after a character on a television show--"
Sheppard laughed, and okay, so maybe the truth wasn't any less ridiculous than the common assumption, but then Sheppard nodded and said, "Red Dwarf," and Rodney felt himself starting to grin. Of course a sci-fi geek like Sheppard would get it.
"So, what're we watching?" Sheppard nodded at the television, where an image of starry space was frozen, waiting for Rodney to turn his attention back to it.
"Classic Trek. 'The Trouble with Tribbles,' actually." This time Sheppard raised a single eyebrow, more questioning than mocking, and Rodney said, "I'm counting my blessings. We may have to deal with an insane faux-Amish culture with cold-war-era weapons capabilities, but at least we don't have tribbles."
"True," Sheppard agreed, taking a drink of his beer, "but I think I'd rather fight Klingons than the Wraith. Especially the pre-prosthetic-forehead version of Klingons; they were wimps."
Sheppard had a point. Of course, television villains--no matter how horrific their creators tried to make them--were never as frightening as the real thing, even if the real thing was only a madman with a God complex and knife-wielding henchmen. Rodney shivered and dragged his attention back to Sheppard; if he wasn't careful he'd end up in a replay of his time with Kolya, and he'd really had enough of that in his nightmares to last him the rest of his life.
"Hey," Sheppard's voice was softer than Rodney remembered ever hearing it before, and then Cat was being lifted out of his arms and set gently down on the floor and Sheppard was hugging him. Which was really, really weird. Pleasant, yeah, in a way that Rodney hadn't thought being pressed up against another guy could be, but still weird. His id was a really strange place.
He cleared his throat. "Um...." he started, and Sheppard let go and stepped back half a pace--just enough to remain in Rodney's space without actually touching him. Rodney looked up at him, their height difference exaggerated by the fact that he was barefoot while Sheppard was wearing thick-soled boots.
"You know what my favourite Star Trek episode is?" Sheppard asked, as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. When Rodney shook his head, Sheppard continued, "'The Naked Time.' I've always thought it would be nice to have an excuse to do something you really want to--something a little outrageous-- without worrying about the consequences."
Rodney had just enough time to open his mouth, enough time to think about telling Sheppard what a bad idea that was, because consequences happened whether or not you worried about them, before Sheppard leaned in and kissed him. It wasn't a friendly kiss, or a brotherly kiss, or even a tentative first-date kiss; it was a take-no-prisoners, where's-the-bed, spontaneous-orgasm-inducing kiss, and it left Rodney breathless and confused and with his cock twitching its way toward a full-on erection.
"Oh, God," he breathed, looking into Sheppard's dark, dark eyes and wanting more kisses like that and more touching and just more.
Wow. He could make a fortune with this technology back on Earth. Of course, it would probably bring about the fall of western civilization at the same time, but who the hell cared? So a dozen science-fiction authors would be proven right and the population would be turned into couch potatoes the likes of which had never been seen before; it would wipe out internet porn in one fell swoop.
"Bed. Now," Sheppard said, and Rodney's subconscious was apparently completely on board, because the apartment shimmered around them for a second and then they were standing in the middle of Rodney's bedroom, the bed rumpled and inviting. Sheppard blinked, but recovered quickly and reached out to tug Rodney's shirt off, pushing Rodney's hands away when he tried to return the favour, and then dropped to his knees in front of Rodney, pulling Rodney's boxers down as he went and oh, God....
Rodney was absolutely, positively certain he had never, ever thought about Major Sheppard's mouth wrapped around his cock, not even in the deepest, darkest parts of his subconscious.
It had to be something he'd thought about, though, something he'd wanted on some level, or imaginary Sheppard wouldn't be here. Unless Sheppard wasn't imaginary.... He reached up to pull the headband off and shut down the simulation, but Sheppard's hand caught his and stopped him, and then Sheppard sat back onto his heels. "Rodney, please," he said, his voice a rough almost-whisper that went straight to Rodney's cock. "Give me until the end of the episode? Or if you really don't want this, I'll go."
The need in Sheppard's eyes made Rodney's breath hitch, and he suddenly couldn't think of a single reason why sex with John Sheppard would be a bad thing. He dropped his arm back down to his side and was rewarded with one of Sheppard's crooked, flirtatious smiles.
Then Sheppard licked his lips. "Oh, yeah. The things I'm going to do to you...." And Rodney had to close his eyes for a second, because it was all too much, too real. When he opened them again, Sheppard had shifted a pillow from the head of the bed to the middle. "Lie down," Sheppard said, "on your stomach."
Now that he'd committed himself, it was easier not to really think about it, so Rodney just stepped out of his boxers and did as Sheppard asked. Embarrassment warred with arousal and one or the other--or maybe both--was responsible for the heat that flushed his face. Rodney propped himself on his elbows and watched over his shoulder as Sheppard knelt between his thighs, stroking up and over his ass with the same single-minded intensity he had when flying a jumper. Arousal won out, and Rodney moaned and ducked his head, tangling his fingers in the sheets.
"I'm going to make you feel so good," Sheppard said, kissing his way down to the small of Rodney's back, and Rodney had to focus on steadying his own breathing and on keeping his hips still when he ached to thrust against the pillow.
As Sheppard's hands cupped his ass and gently spread him open, he could feel the wet heat of Sheppard's breath, and the slick tease of Sheppard's tongue drew a shuddering gasp from him as Rodney realised--really and truly realised--what Sheppard intended to do. Then Rodney's entire existence contracted down to two square centimetres of tender, sensitised skin. The rest of his body felt like it was melting away into the surface of the bed as Sheppard's tongue unravelled him, slicking circles around and across his opening before abruptly pushing in, the sudden invasion sending liquid heat lapping at Rodney's nerves.
"Oh...fuck...yes...." He was way too sober for this, but he was a single touch away from not caring anymore. Even a Wraith attack couldn't move him right now, because Sheppard was tongue-fucking him with wet, sexy noises that made Rodney's cock twitch and leak, and Rodney couldn't believe how much he needed this thing that he'd never even known he wanted. "Please, John...." He arched against Sheppard's tongue, his cock dragging against the pillowcase--too much sensation and yet not nearly enough.
Sheppard seemed to know exactly what Rodney needed, because his fingertips began to tease alongside his tongue, describing unhurried, sensuous spirals before dipping lightly, quickly inside. And then, when Rodney didn't think he could stand even one more second without touching himself, Sheppard slid a finger--oh, God, maybe two fingers, even--into him, and Rodney pushed back, hard, hearing Sheppard inhale raggedly as he did.
"Christ. I want to fuck you." The words were more breathed than whispered, so softly Rodney wasn't really sure he heard them at all. He wanted to say please and yes and now, but his mouth was dry and he couldn't seem to form the words, and then Sheppard's fingers stroked inside him once, twice, and he was coming.
By the time he caught his breath, he felt emptier than he'd ever been and he knew without looking that Sheppard was gone.
~ * ~ * ~
Rodney slid the headband off and his surroundings shimmered and resolved into the large, white room Sheppard insisted on calling the Construct. He was alone, stretched out on one of a dozen chaise longues arranged in a large circle. He had the sudden urge to search the room for something--residual warmth on the other seats, maybe--to prove that Sheppard had been here, sharing Rodney's reality. Pulling up the evening's computer logs to see whether anyone else had accessed the VR system would be easy enough, but the idea of knowing for certain left his stomach in knots.
Instead, he stood and slipped the headband into its storage slot before heading out the door and down the long corridor toward his lab.
fait accompli
latency n.
1. The state or quality of being latent*.
2. Computers. The time required for a signal to travel from one point on a network to another.
*latent adj.
1. Present or potential but not evident or active: latent talent.
2. Psychology. Present in the unconscious mind but not consciously expressed.