FIC: In Ways You Can't Possibly Imgaine 1/? (SGA AU, John/Rodney NC-17)
In Ways You Can't Possibly Imagine 1/?
Author: telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: SGA Vegas AU, John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17, sex involving a minor
Word Count: ~3,600
Disclaimer: The SGA characters do not belong to me. Duh.
Summary: Detective John Sheppard, LVPD, is still looking for answers. But the Rodney McKay he finds is very different.
Notes: Okay then. This was supposed to be for mcsmooch but it changed into something very different and then there was a plot and a weird twist and sex but no kissing. And it's also very clear to me that it's the beginning of something larger. Promises about writing are hard for me to make, but I promise that I will do everything I can to finish this. If consensual sex between a 40 year old and a 17 year old is a problem, this might not be the fic for you.
All Rodney ever has to do is lean against the piece of wall that's his, tilt one hip at a certain angle and look bored. Let the other boys actually go to the curb and talk to the guys in cars stopped at the light. Rodney makes more than enough just looking aloof and disinterested.
He's blown two guys tonight and given one guy a handjob for which he got paid extra--the guy, like so many of them, wanted Rodney to call him "Daddy" and Rodney always demands more for that. After all, at some point he'll grow up and not look like he's still twelve, so he might as well take advantage of it now.
"You busy?"
The guy is seriously hot for someone who's probably at least thirty-five--maybe forty?--and something about the way he carries himself makes Rodney just a little suspicious. "Just hanging out," he says, shoulders going a little tense.
"Relax, kid, I'm not a cop."
"Uh-huh," Rodney says, letting his skepticism show. Sure, Stan was supposed pay off the police with some of the money the boys on the street gave him, but it wasn't as if Rodney actually trusted Stan.
"Fine," the guy says with a smirk. "I'm not Vice."
Now that Rodney's a little more inclined to believe. He's seen some of the guys from Vice before and while he doesn't know them all, there's an attitude that he's not seeing on this guy.
"What can I do for you....?"
"Detective," the guy says. "I wanted to talk to you."
"I don't know...." Rodney began, frowning. He doesn't want to have anything to do with a cop of any kind.
"Yeah yeah, you don't know anything," the detective finishes his sentence again. It's getting kind of annoying. "Look," the guy continues, reaching for his wallet. He pulls out a hundred and holds it up. "There's more of that if you just let me ask you a few questions."
Rodney hesitates. He makes good money, but a hundred bucks is still a hundred bucks.
"I just want a little information about someone you may have...had contact with." The cop smiles a little. "I promise not to ask you about what you do for a living, where you live or who you hang out with. And I'll drives us to a hotel so your...so no one thinks this is anything unusual."
"You're pretty tactful for a cop," Rodney says, reaching for the money.
"Not so fast." The guy tugs it back. "After we talk."
Rodney's not the most intuitive person when it comes to people, but a year on the street has taught him that sometimes he just needs to go with his gut instinct. "Yeah, okay." He looks around. "You got a car?"
The cop's car is crap--an old blue Camero that isn't restored enough to be called vintage--and Rodney wonders where the hundred came from, if there really are more of them and if they're actually real money.
"Nice," Rodney says, slumping against the passenger door.
"I bought it for sentimental reasons."
That's all the guy says until they reach a motel. It's one of the junky old ones so far off the strip that you'd think you were in Barstow not Vegas. Rodney stays in the car while the detective gets a room.
"I think your car might actually be nicer than the room," he says as the door closes behind them. "Do you have a name?"
"Sheppard." The cop reaches for his wallet and shows Rodney his ID card. Detective John P. Sheppard, Las Vegas Police Department. Rodney supposes it could be fake, but he'd have no way of knowing and Sheppard acts like a cop even if his ridiculous hair isn't exactly regulation.
"So what can I do for you," Rodney asks. "John?" He can't not say it; the irony is pretty awesome.
"Ha ha." Sheppard pulls a picture out of his wallet. "I'm looking for this guy."
The guy in the picture doesn't look at all familiar although he's the type of guy Rodney sees a lot--middle-aged, balding, grumpy-looking, wearing an expensive suit. Rodney shakes his head. "Sorry, I've never seen him."
"You sure?" Sheppard's looking at him and the intensity of his gaze is creeping Rodney out, just a little.
"I've got a pretty good memory when it comes to people's faces," Rodney says. When Sheppard frowns, Rodney throws up his hands. "Look, I could have just lied and said 'oh yeah him, I blew him for a fifty last Tuesday' and you'd give me the money. Honestly, I don't know him."
"Actually if said you'd blown him...." Sheppard pauses and takes a deep breath, like that's a really weird mental image he's trying to work his mind around.
"His name's Rodney," Sheppard continues, his voice low and serious.
Rodney, who goes by Greg on the street, looks back as innocently as he can. He can tell it's not working.
"Actually it's not exactly Rodney," Sheppard says, grinning tightly as if knowing he's got a winning hand. "It's Meredith. Meredith Rodney McKay. Canadian. From Ontario. Ottawa to be exact. Double PhD. from Cal Tech. Astrophysics and engineering."
It's that last bit that breaks Rodney. Without thinking about it or even planning it, he reaches out and slugs Sheppard as hard as he can. "You asshole," he says, drawing his fist back again. "What the fuck do you really want?"
Sheppard catches Rodney before he can swing again and the next thing Rodney knows, his face is against the wall and Sheppard's behind him, holding Rodney's wrist to the small of his back. It hurts just as much as it looks like it does when Rodney's seen the move on TV. He doesn't fight.
"That's your name, isn't it? McKay? And you're Canadian, I can hear it when you talk. You sound like him."
"I'll blow you," Rodney says, working past his terror to force his voice down into that low husky range that men like. "I'll let you fuck my mouth, come on my face. Hell, I'll let you fuck my ass, whatever you want."
"Jesus, McKay," Sheppard says. He sounds appalled, but Rodney feels it, a faint stutter of Sheppard's hips.
Oh yeah, Sheppard wants him. Rodney's fear subsides a little.
"Really," he says, and he's squirming now, just enough to press his ass back against Sheppard. "It's been a couple of days...you'll think you're fucking a virgin. I'll let you hurt me, let you do me rough." He pauses and then adds, "I bet you can make me cry."
And yeah, there it is again, that little movement that Sheppard can't help. "Fuck," Sheppard says hoarsely. He lets go of Rodney's wrist and, from the sounds of it, stumbles back to sit on the bed. Rodney knows why; Sheppard's hard and probably a little freaked out.
Well good, because he's got me well and truly freaked too, he thinks as he turns to take stock of the situation. It's still not good. Rodney's quick and nimble, but he doesn't think he can get past the bed and to the door without Sheppard stopping him.
But Sheppard's staring at him almost desperately and Rodney gives him a slow smile. Reaching down, he grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up and then off. Sheppard's still staring when Rodney can see him again and Rodney licks his lip and runs a hand across his chest, pausing to thumb one of his nipples until it's hard and tight.
"Don't," Sheppard says, and Rodney almost laughs. It's the least sincere "don't" he's ever heard and that includes the one Rodney drags out for the customers wealthy enough to pay for a little mock rape.
"It's okay," he says, pinching his nipple again and shivering. That much he isn't making up; he's always been sensitive and anyway, a little honest arousal goes a long way to convincing reluctant men. "I want it."
"No," Sheppard says. "I can't...you can't...."
He wants to be convinced. Rodney can tell that much and so he ignores the protests and walks closer to Sheppard. He's got a plan now and all he needs to do is let Sheppard fuck him. Unlike some of the guys--the johns he thinks and tries not to laugh--he's had to deal with, Sheppard's someone Rodney might want to fuck just for fun.
"You don't understand," Sheppard tries again, and Rodney's so close that he can all but feel Sheppard's breath on his skin.
"Oh, I think I do," Rodney replies, although of course he doesn't. Who the hell is Sheppard and how does he know about the name Rodney left behind and the dreams of the future that have him on the street selling his ass to rich old men?
But none of that matters now and while Rodney's a crappy liar in some ways, he knows all about making this look good. "It's okay," he says, sinking down to his knees. Sheppard makes a clumsy gesture which Rodney ignores in favor of reaching for the fly of Sheppard's worn jeans. The buttons pull out easily and Rodney grins; Sheppard's hard and there's a damp patch on his faded boxers.
Rodney tugs on Sheppard's pants, knowing that this is the point at which Sheppard has to actively cooperate. Leaning forward a little, he breathes over the front of Sheppard's boxers and that does it; Sheppard moans and lifts his hips enough for Rodney to get his pants and boxers down.
Oh yeah, I've got you now.
Sheppard's dick is big but not so big that Rodney can't get his mouth around it. He sucks lightly while fishing a gold coin condom out of his pocket. With a practiced twist, he separates the two foil halves and then, lifting his mouth for a moment, tucks the condom between his lips and rolls it down over Sheppard's cock with one easy movement. He'd worked on this trick for several days last year, using a cheap dildo he picked up and going through about two boxes of condoms before he got to the point where he could do it perfectly every time.
"Oh fuck," Sheppard moans and Rodney wonders if it's his mouth that's getting to Sheppard or the idea that someone who looks so young can do this trick. Not that it matters; Sheppard's getting into it and that's the important thing.
He sucks and licks until Sheppard's moving with him, lifting his hips and digging his hands into the cheap polyester bedspread. "I told you," Rodney finally says, lifting his head and looking up at Sheppard. "I said you could come on my face. You want that? Or do you wanna fuck me?"
Sheppard groans again, long and low, like he's in pain. And then he's moving, pulling out of Rodney's mouth and bending down to haul Rodney up by his arms. For a moment, Rodney's afraid that Sheppard's had a sudden attack of conscience, but then he's face down on the bed, Sheppard's hands tugging at his jeans. Rodney dips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a single use thing of lube, tossing it onto the bed before he reaches down and unzips his pants.
He's afraid that Sheppard won't notice the lube or won't care to use it, but no, once he's got Rodney's pants down, he grabs it and twists the top off easily. Rodney spreads his legs and tilts his hips up to present his ass and Sheppard mutters, "Jesus fucking Christ," as he pushes two slick fingers into Rodney.
It hurts a little; Sheppard's brusque but not too rough and Rodney forces himself to relax. He has the feeling that Sheppard is one of those guys who will want Rodney to get off too and as Sheppard's fingers twist and move inside him, Rodney's pretty sure he can make it happen. He whimpers a little and squirms.
"Don't," Sheppard growls. "Don't pretend that you're new to this. Don't pretend that you haven't been here before."
Okay, that's easier; Rodney can do that. "Fuck me," he says, abandoning the helpless virgin noises. "C'mon...give it to me." Managing porn dialog without laughing or going overboard hadn't been easy at first, but he's good at it now.
"Gonna do that," Sheppard snarls and there's real anger in his voice. "Gonna fuck you so hard...."
He does, too, slamming in hard. Thanks to the lube and the prep, however minimal, it's not too bad and Rodney's not surprised when he moans for real; Sheppard's pounding into him like a fucking jackhammer and he's hitting Rodney's prostate pretty regularly and all of a sudden it's good the way it sometimes is and Rodney's into it, moaning and gasping out "fuck me...harder...do it....."
He's a little surprised to get a reach around, but Sheppard barely slows down as he starts jacking Rodney's dick. It's hard to remember what he's doing here, hard not to just let go and enjoy the ride, but he manages to shove back against Sheppard's thrusts and then he goes tight around Sheppard's dick. "Yeah," he says. "Give it to me good, John!"
And that does it. Sheppard pushes in one last time and comes, bending his head to bite Rodney's shoulder hard. The pain is sudden and a surprise and, along with Sheppard's hand tight on Rodney's dick, it's enough. Rodney bites down on the bedspread and comes silently, bucking into Sheppard's hand.
When Sheppard collapses next to him, Rodney hopes that he'll drift off the way most guys do. That's the plan, at least, and he's pleased when Sheppard deals with the condom and then lazily drags them both out of the wet spot, slinging an arm over Rodney's back.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Rodney says, unable to keep the scorn out of his tone. "I've been here before, remember."
"Oh yeah, right."
There's a pause and Rodney pretends to relax, leaning against Sheppard and breathing slowly.
"I haven't," Sheppard says. "Or I have a lot, but not here. Not in this universe."
What the fuck? It's a reminder that Sheppard, for all that he's a pretty good fuck, is also batshit crazy.
"What do you know about wormholes?"
Rodney catches his breath, but when he speaks, his voice is remarkably steady. "What, like Wormhole Extreme?"
"Dunno," Sheppard replies. "'m not much of a fan."
"Okay."
"I just wonder," Sheppard continues. "If he, the Rodney McKay I met, started out like you."
Unable to help himself, Rodney speaks. "The guy in the picture? He looked pretty straight."
That gets a laugh out of Sheppard. "Yeah, he did. Suit that cost more than my car, wedding ring, polished shoes...." He pauses. "But he checked me out, you know? The way mostly straight guys do. Just enough for me to pick up on if I wanted to."
"And you did?" Oh this is bad; Rodney doesn't want to get dragged into Sheppard's crazy world. He just wants to get out of here. Humor the nutcase with the badge and probably, somewhere, a gun.
"No, actually, I didn't." Sheppard laughs without any real humor. "I wanted to get out of there. The guy was talking about aliens and space travel and all this weird shit. I really really wanted to get out of there."
"I know the feeling," Rodney mutters and then freezes. Oh fuck, I should not have said that.
"Yeah, I know."
Sheppard sits up and rolls Rodney over onto his back and stares at him and all the power that sex gives Rodney is gone now. He's suddenly aware that he's a skinny seventeen year-old trapped in a hotel room with a man who could easily kill him.
"I...I...." He grits his teeth and brings his chin up and stares at Sheppard.
"God, it's right there if you know what you're looking for." Sheppard takes a shaky breath. "You look nothing like him and yet...."
He takes a deep breath and looks down at Rodney. "You're really really good," he says. "And unlike most people, I know that hookers, good ones, aren't stupid. So just listen to me, okay? And then I'll...just listen."
Sheppard sounds almost desperate again and in spite of himself, Rodney is just a little intrigued. "Like I have a choice?"
"A few months ago, I got assigned to a case," Sheppard begins, ignoring Rodney's question. "A serial killer thing. Bodies were showing up looking like...like they were old. Men who were in their thirties but their remains looked like they were ancient."
Slowly, like Sheppard has never told this story all the way through before and isn't entirely sure he believes it, it comes out. And in a way, the fact that Sheppard sounds so confused and skeptical, draws Rodney in. It's not a slick story and Sheppard is not a slick guy.
And then, revealed piece by piece, there's the aliens and the space travel and the other universes and all the things that drove Rodney to push and push and push until he was there at Cal Tech, fifteen years old and wanting to know it all.
"I think," Sheppard finally says after describing the very one-sided battle he had with the alien...the Wraith. "I think that something happened. McKay talked about other universes and even argued with this Russian guy about rifts...." He looks off into the distance and Rodney waits.
"I think one opened up, because I came to and my car was there, all shot up, but the wreckage from the trailer wasn't there." Sheppard shrugs, as if this next bit is no big deal. "I made it back into town...got myself stitched back up. But...." He takes a deep breath. "I don't exist here."
"Seem pretty real to me," Rodney says when Sheppard falls silent. He's hooked now and part of him wishes he'd never seen Sheppard, never let greed lead him here.
"Major John Patrick Sheppard died in Afghanistan." Sheppard shrugs. "That's me; I was Air Force until I fucked it up. I got out, but I guess the one here...he didn't."
"How do you explain that fact that I'm a seventeen year old hooker and not, you know, some kind of middle-aged genius scientist working for the US government in another galaxy?"
"Things are different," Sheppard said. "I...sorry, but I kinda hoped you'd be...."
"A genius scientist? I will be someday. I'm already a genius. I just...lost my grants."
"Yeah, I know." Sheppard says. "For a dead guy, I have some pretty good resources. I know...everything about you."
Rodney thought about what he'd left behind, back in Canada, and wondered if Sheppard really did know everything, but it didn't matter.
"What do you want from me? Now that you're sure I'm not who you hoped I'd be."
"Not sure. I'm not even sure what I'm doing. For all I know we could be perfectly safe. The Wraith might not even know we're here."
"Do you really think that?'
"I don't know what to think!" Sheppard finally moves off the bed. Blinking a little, almost as if he's forgotten they just fucked, he zips up his jeans before pacing almost violently across the small room. "I'm stumbling around blind and this is where it brought me."
He looks down at Rodney, his face twisting. "Some big damn hero I am."
"I pushed," Rodney says, but he's busy turning everything Sheppard told him over in his head.
"Assuming that what you've said is true...."
Sheppard snorts but Rodney shakes his head. "I don't know why but I believe you. If you were bullshitting, you'd have showed yourself in a better light. Me, or that other me, too, for that matter."
"Thanks," Sheppard says. He sounds sarcastic, but something in his posture changes, relaxes a little.
"I know you said that you can't find the FBI guy or the facility out in the desert. And you didn't find the McKay you were looking for but...." He paused. "You mentioned him arguing with a Russian guy. You sure he was Russian?"
"Eastern European accents aren't my speciality. He could have been...I dunno, Polish?"
"Or Czech? Describe him."
John does and Rodney nods. "Dr. Radek Zelenka. He's at MIT and he's kind of crazy. Has a lot of really way out there ideas. I went to a guest lecture he did about the mathematics involved in...." Rodney pauses to grin at Sheppard. "Wormholes."
"Oh really?"
Rodney nods. "It's a start."
Sheppard nods and then looks down at Rodney again. "Look, this could get...what do I owe you?"
"Oh hell no," Rodney says. "You don't tell me this kind of story, get me to buy it, and then pat me on the head and send me back...where? To the streets?" He grins up at Sheppard. "You'd be contributing to the delinquency of a minor."
"Those things, the Wraith?" Sheppard shudders a little. "It's not an easy death."
"I sell myself on the streets of Las Vegas," Rodney says. He sits up and pulls up his jeans. "And I'm an alarmist too, did I mention that? I've thought out all the really ugly ways I could die out here."
Sheppard looks at him and then shakes his head. "He said....he said that it was amazing how one incident could alter the course of a lifetime. He said that in other universes, you and I play out events in ways I couldn't imagine."
"That other me likes dramatic statements," Rodney says, but the words tug at him in ways they shouldn't.
"Yeah," Sheppard says. "And yet...here we are."
"Yeah, here we are." Rodney looks at Sheppard for a long moment. "So, Detective," he finally says, "fancy heading to Boston?"
-tbc-
Author: telesilla
Fandom/Pairing: SGA Vegas AU, John/Rodney
Rating: NC-17, sex involving a minor
Word Count: ~3,600
Disclaimer: The SGA characters do not belong to me. Duh.
Summary: Detective John Sheppard, LVPD, is still looking for answers. But the Rodney McKay he finds is very different.
Notes: Okay then. This was supposed to be for mcsmooch but it changed into something very different and then there was a plot and a weird twist and sex but no kissing. And it's also very clear to me that it's the beginning of something larger. Promises about writing are hard for me to make, but I promise that I will do everything I can to finish this. If consensual sex between a 40 year old and a 17 year old is a problem, this might not be the fic for you.
All Rodney ever has to do is lean against the piece of wall that's his, tilt one hip at a certain angle and look bored. Let the other boys actually go to the curb and talk to the guys in cars stopped at the light. Rodney makes more than enough just looking aloof and disinterested.
He's blown two guys tonight and given one guy a handjob for which he got paid extra--the guy, like so many of them, wanted Rodney to call him "Daddy" and Rodney always demands more for that. After all, at some point he'll grow up and not look like he's still twelve, so he might as well take advantage of it now.
"You busy?"
The guy is seriously hot for someone who's probably at least thirty-five--maybe forty?--and something about the way he carries himself makes Rodney just a little suspicious. "Just hanging out," he says, shoulders going a little tense.
"Relax, kid, I'm not a cop."
"Uh-huh," Rodney says, letting his skepticism show. Sure, Stan was supposed pay off the police with some of the money the boys on the street gave him, but it wasn't as if Rodney actually trusted Stan.
"Fine," the guy says with a smirk. "I'm not Vice."
Now that Rodney's a little more inclined to believe. He's seen some of the guys from Vice before and while he doesn't know them all, there's an attitude that he's not seeing on this guy.
"What can I do for you....?"
"Detective," the guy says. "I wanted to talk to you."
"I don't know...." Rodney began, frowning. He doesn't want to have anything to do with a cop of any kind.
"Yeah yeah, you don't know anything," the detective finishes his sentence again. It's getting kind of annoying. "Look," the guy continues, reaching for his wallet. He pulls out a hundred and holds it up. "There's more of that if you just let me ask you a few questions."
Rodney hesitates. He makes good money, but a hundred bucks is still a hundred bucks.
"I just want a little information about someone you may have...had contact with." The cop smiles a little. "I promise not to ask you about what you do for a living, where you live or who you hang out with. And I'll drives us to a hotel so your...so no one thinks this is anything unusual."
"You're pretty tactful for a cop," Rodney says, reaching for the money.
"Not so fast." The guy tugs it back. "After we talk."
Rodney's not the most intuitive person when it comes to people, but a year on the street has taught him that sometimes he just needs to go with his gut instinct. "Yeah, okay." He looks around. "You got a car?"
The cop's car is crap--an old blue Camero that isn't restored enough to be called vintage--and Rodney wonders where the hundred came from, if there really are more of them and if they're actually real money.
"Nice," Rodney says, slumping against the passenger door.
"I bought it for sentimental reasons."
That's all the guy says until they reach a motel. It's one of the junky old ones so far off the strip that you'd think you were in Barstow not Vegas. Rodney stays in the car while the detective gets a room.
"I think your car might actually be nicer than the room," he says as the door closes behind them. "Do you have a name?"
"Sheppard." The cop reaches for his wallet and shows Rodney his ID card. Detective John P. Sheppard, Las Vegas Police Department. Rodney supposes it could be fake, but he'd have no way of knowing and Sheppard acts like a cop even if his ridiculous hair isn't exactly regulation.
"So what can I do for you," Rodney asks. "John?" He can't not say it; the irony is pretty awesome.
"Ha ha." Sheppard pulls a picture out of his wallet. "I'm looking for this guy."
The guy in the picture doesn't look at all familiar although he's the type of guy Rodney sees a lot--middle-aged, balding, grumpy-looking, wearing an expensive suit. Rodney shakes his head. "Sorry, I've never seen him."
"You sure?" Sheppard's looking at him and the intensity of his gaze is creeping Rodney out, just a little.
"I've got a pretty good memory when it comes to people's faces," Rodney says. When Sheppard frowns, Rodney throws up his hands. "Look, I could have just lied and said 'oh yeah him, I blew him for a fifty last Tuesday' and you'd give me the money. Honestly, I don't know him."
"Actually if said you'd blown him...." Sheppard pauses and takes a deep breath, like that's a really weird mental image he's trying to work his mind around.
"His name's Rodney," Sheppard continues, his voice low and serious.
Rodney, who goes by Greg on the street, looks back as innocently as he can. He can tell it's not working.
"Actually it's not exactly Rodney," Sheppard says, grinning tightly as if knowing he's got a winning hand. "It's Meredith. Meredith Rodney McKay. Canadian. From Ontario. Ottawa to be exact. Double PhD. from Cal Tech. Astrophysics and engineering."
It's that last bit that breaks Rodney. Without thinking about it or even planning it, he reaches out and slugs Sheppard as hard as he can. "You asshole," he says, drawing his fist back again. "What the fuck do you really want?"
Sheppard catches Rodney before he can swing again and the next thing Rodney knows, his face is against the wall and Sheppard's behind him, holding Rodney's wrist to the small of his back. It hurts just as much as it looks like it does when Rodney's seen the move on TV. He doesn't fight.
"That's your name, isn't it? McKay? And you're Canadian, I can hear it when you talk. You sound like him."
"I'll blow you," Rodney says, working past his terror to force his voice down into that low husky range that men like. "I'll let you fuck my mouth, come on my face. Hell, I'll let you fuck my ass, whatever you want."
"Jesus, McKay," Sheppard says. He sounds appalled, but Rodney feels it, a faint stutter of Sheppard's hips.
Oh yeah, Sheppard wants him. Rodney's fear subsides a little.
"Really," he says, and he's squirming now, just enough to press his ass back against Sheppard. "It's been a couple of days...you'll think you're fucking a virgin. I'll let you hurt me, let you do me rough." He pauses and then adds, "I bet you can make me cry."
And yeah, there it is again, that little movement that Sheppard can't help. "Fuck," Sheppard says hoarsely. He lets go of Rodney's wrist and, from the sounds of it, stumbles back to sit on the bed. Rodney knows why; Sheppard's hard and probably a little freaked out.
Well good, because he's got me well and truly freaked too, he thinks as he turns to take stock of the situation. It's still not good. Rodney's quick and nimble, but he doesn't think he can get past the bed and to the door without Sheppard stopping him.
But Sheppard's staring at him almost desperately and Rodney gives him a slow smile. Reaching down, he grabs the hem of his t-shirt and pulls it up and then off. Sheppard's still staring when Rodney can see him again and Rodney licks his lip and runs a hand across his chest, pausing to thumb one of his nipples until it's hard and tight.
"Don't," Sheppard says, and Rodney almost laughs. It's the least sincere "don't" he's ever heard and that includes the one Rodney drags out for the customers wealthy enough to pay for a little mock rape.
"It's okay," he says, pinching his nipple again and shivering. That much he isn't making up; he's always been sensitive and anyway, a little honest arousal goes a long way to convincing reluctant men. "I want it."
"No," Sheppard says. "I can't...you can't...."
He wants to be convinced. Rodney can tell that much and so he ignores the protests and walks closer to Sheppard. He's got a plan now and all he needs to do is let Sheppard fuck him. Unlike some of the guys--the johns he thinks and tries not to laugh--he's had to deal with, Sheppard's someone Rodney might want to fuck just for fun.
"You don't understand," Sheppard tries again, and Rodney's so close that he can all but feel Sheppard's breath on his skin.
"Oh, I think I do," Rodney replies, although of course he doesn't. Who the hell is Sheppard and how does he know about the name Rodney left behind and the dreams of the future that have him on the street selling his ass to rich old men?
But none of that matters now and while Rodney's a crappy liar in some ways, he knows all about making this look good. "It's okay," he says, sinking down to his knees. Sheppard makes a clumsy gesture which Rodney ignores in favor of reaching for the fly of Sheppard's worn jeans. The buttons pull out easily and Rodney grins; Sheppard's hard and there's a damp patch on his faded boxers.
Rodney tugs on Sheppard's pants, knowing that this is the point at which Sheppard has to actively cooperate. Leaning forward a little, he breathes over the front of Sheppard's boxers and that does it; Sheppard moans and lifts his hips enough for Rodney to get his pants and boxers down.
Oh yeah, I've got you now.
Sheppard's dick is big but not so big that Rodney can't get his mouth around it. He sucks lightly while fishing a gold coin condom out of his pocket. With a practiced twist, he separates the two foil halves and then, lifting his mouth for a moment, tucks the condom between his lips and rolls it down over Sheppard's cock with one easy movement. He'd worked on this trick for several days last year, using a cheap dildo he picked up and going through about two boxes of condoms before he got to the point where he could do it perfectly every time.
"Oh fuck," Sheppard moans and Rodney wonders if it's his mouth that's getting to Sheppard or the idea that someone who looks so young can do this trick. Not that it matters; Sheppard's getting into it and that's the important thing.
He sucks and licks until Sheppard's moving with him, lifting his hips and digging his hands into the cheap polyester bedspread. "I told you," Rodney finally says, lifting his head and looking up at Sheppard. "I said you could come on my face. You want that? Or do you wanna fuck me?"
Sheppard groans again, long and low, like he's in pain. And then he's moving, pulling out of Rodney's mouth and bending down to haul Rodney up by his arms. For a moment, Rodney's afraid that Sheppard's had a sudden attack of conscience, but then he's face down on the bed, Sheppard's hands tugging at his jeans. Rodney dips a hand into his pocket and pulls out a single use thing of lube, tossing it onto the bed before he reaches down and unzips his pants.
He's afraid that Sheppard won't notice the lube or won't care to use it, but no, once he's got Rodney's pants down, he grabs it and twists the top off easily. Rodney spreads his legs and tilts his hips up to present his ass and Sheppard mutters, "Jesus fucking Christ," as he pushes two slick fingers into Rodney.
It hurts a little; Sheppard's brusque but not too rough and Rodney forces himself to relax. He has the feeling that Sheppard is one of those guys who will want Rodney to get off too and as Sheppard's fingers twist and move inside him, Rodney's pretty sure he can make it happen. He whimpers a little and squirms.
"Don't," Sheppard growls. "Don't pretend that you're new to this. Don't pretend that you haven't been here before."
Okay, that's easier; Rodney can do that. "Fuck me," he says, abandoning the helpless virgin noises. "C'mon...give it to me." Managing porn dialog without laughing or going overboard hadn't been easy at first, but he's good at it now.
"Gonna do that," Sheppard snarls and there's real anger in his voice. "Gonna fuck you so hard...."
He does, too, slamming in hard. Thanks to the lube and the prep, however minimal, it's not too bad and Rodney's not surprised when he moans for real; Sheppard's pounding into him like a fucking jackhammer and he's hitting Rodney's prostate pretty regularly and all of a sudden it's good the way it sometimes is and Rodney's into it, moaning and gasping out "fuck me...harder...do it....."
He's a little surprised to get a reach around, but Sheppard barely slows down as he starts jacking Rodney's dick. It's hard to remember what he's doing here, hard not to just let go and enjoy the ride, but he manages to shove back against Sheppard's thrusts and then he goes tight around Sheppard's dick. "Yeah," he says. "Give it to me good, John!"
And that does it. Sheppard pushes in one last time and comes, bending his head to bite Rodney's shoulder hard. The pain is sudden and a surprise and, along with Sheppard's hand tight on Rodney's dick, it's enough. Rodney bites down on the bedspread and comes silently, bucking into Sheppard's hand.
When Sheppard collapses next to him, Rodney hopes that he'll drift off the way most guys do. That's the plan, at least, and he's pleased when Sheppard deals with the condom and then lazily drags them both out of the wet spot, slinging an arm over Rodney's back.
"You okay?"
"Yeah," Rodney says, unable to keep the scorn out of his tone. "I've been here before, remember."
"Oh yeah, right."
There's a pause and Rodney pretends to relax, leaning against Sheppard and breathing slowly.
"I haven't," Sheppard says. "Or I have a lot, but not here. Not in this universe."
What the fuck? It's a reminder that Sheppard, for all that he's a pretty good fuck, is also batshit crazy.
"What do you know about wormholes?"
Rodney catches his breath, but when he speaks, his voice is remarkably steady. "What, like Wormhole Extreme?"
"Dunno," Sheppard replies. "'m not much of a fan."
"Okay."
"I just wonder," Sheppard continues. "If he, the Rodney McKay I met, started out like you."
Unable to help himself, Rodney speaks. "The guy in the picture? He looked pretty straight."
That gets a laugh out of Sheppard. "Yeah, he did. Suit that cost more than my car, wedding ring, polished shoes...." He pauses. "But he checked me out, you know? The way mostly straight guys do. Just enough for me to pick up on if I wanted to."
"And you did?" Oh this is bad; Rodney doesn't want to get dragged into Sheppard's crazy world. He just wants to get out of here. Humor the nutcase with the badge and probably, somewhere, a gun.
"No, actually, I didn't." Sheppard laughs without any real humor. "I wanted to get out of there. The guy was talking about aliens and space travel and all this weird shit. I really really wanted to get out of there."
"I know the feeling," Rodney mutters and then freezes. Oh fuck, I should not have said that.
"Yeah, I know."
Sheppard sits up and rolls Rodney over onto his back and stares at him and all the power that sex gives Rodney is gone now. He's suddenly aware that he's a skinny seventeen year-old trapped in a hotel room with a man who could easily kill him.
"I...I...." He grits his teeth and brings his chin up and stares at Sheppard.
"God, it's right there if you know what you're looking for." Sheppard takes a shaky breath. "You look nothing like him and yet...."
He takes a deep breath and looks down at Rodney. "You're really really good," he says. "And unlike most people, I know that hookers, good ones, aren't stupid. So just listen to me, okay? And then I'll...just listen."
Sheppard sounds almost desperate again and in spite of himself, Rodney is just a little intrigued. "Like I have a choice?"
"A few months ago, I got assigned to a case," Sheppard begins, ignoring Rodney's question. "A serial killer thing. Bodies were showing up looking like...like they were old. Men who were in their thirties but their remains looked like they were ancient."
Slowly, like Sheppard has never told this story all the way through before and isn't entirely sure he believes it, it comes out. And in a way, the fact that Sheppard sounds so confused and skeptical, draws Rodney in. It's not a slick story and Sheppard is not a slick guy.
And then, revealed piece by piece, there's the aliens and the space travel and the other universes and all the things that drove Rodney to push and push and push until he was there at Cal Tech, fifteen years old and wanting to know it all.
"I think," Sheppard finally says after describing the very one-sided battle he had with the alien...the Wraith. "I think that something happened. McKay talked about other universes and even argued with this Russian guy about rifts...." He looks off into the distance and Rodney waits.
"I think one opened up, because I came to and my car was there, all shot up, but the wreckage from the trailer wasn't there." Sheppard shrugs, as if this next bit is no big deal. "I made it back into town...got myself stitched back up. But...." He takes a deep breath. "I don't exist here."
"Seem pretty real to me," Rodney says when Sheppard falls silent. He's hooked now and part of him wishes he'd never seen Sheppard, never let greed lead him here.
"Major John Patrick Sheppard died in Afghanistan." Sheppard shrugs. "That's me; I was Air Force until I fucked it up. I got out, but I guess the one here...he didn't."
"How do you explain that fact that I'm a seventeen year old hooker and not, you know, some kind of middle-aged genius scientist working for the US government in another galaxy?"
"Things are different," Sheppard said. "I...sorry, but I kinda hoped you'd be...."
"A genius scientist? I will be someday. I'm already a genius. I just...lost my grants."
"Yeah, I know." Sheppard says. "For a dead guy, I have some pretty good resources. I know...everything about you."
Rodney thought about what he'd left behind, back in Canada, and wondered if Sheppard really did know everything, but it didn't matter.
"What do you want from me? Now that you're sure I'm not who you hoped I'd be."
"Not sure. I'm not even sure what I'm doing. For all I know we could be perfectly safe. The Wraith might not even know we're here."
"Do you really think that?'
"I don't know what to think!" Sheppard finally moves off the bed. Blinking a little, almost as if he's forgotten they just fucked, he zips up his jeans before pacing almost violently across the small room. "I'm stumbling around blind and this is where it brought me."
He looks down at Rodney, his face twisting. "Some big damn hero I am."
"I pushed," Rodney says, but he's busy turning everything Sheppard told him over in his head.
"Assuming that what you've said is true...."
Sheppard snorts but Rodney shakes his head. "I don't know why but I believe you. If you were bullshitting, you'd have showed yourself in a better light. Me, or that other me, too, for that matter."
"Thanks," Sheppard says. He sounds sarcastic, but something in his posture changes, relaxes a little.
"I know you said that you can't find the FBI guy or the facility out in the desert. And you didn't find the McKay you were looking for but...." He paused. "You mentioned him arguing with a Russian guy. You sure he was Russian?"
"Eastern European accents aren't my speciality. He could have been...I dunno, Polish?"
"Or Czech? Describe him."
John does and Rodney nods. "Dr. Radek Zelenka. He's at MIT and he's kind of crazy. Has a lot of really way out there ideas. I went to a guest lecture he did about the mathematics involved in...." Rodney pauses to grin at Sheppard. "Wormholes."
"Oh really?"
Rodney nods. "It's a start."
Sheppard nods and then looks down at Rodney again. "Look, this could get...what do I owe you?"
"Oh hell no," Rodney says. "You don't tell me this kind of story, get me to buy it, and then pat me on the head and send me back...where? To the streets?" He grins up at Sheppard. "You'd be contributing to the delinquency of a minor."
"Those things, the Wraith?" Sheppard shudders a little. "It's not an easy death."
"I sell myself on the streets of Las Vegas," Rodney says. He sits up and pulls up his jeans. "And I'm an alarmist too, did I mention that? I've thought out all the really ugly ways I could die out here."
Sheppard looks at him and then shakes his head. "He said....he said that it was amazing how one incident could alter the course of a lifetime. He said that in other universes, you and I play out events in ways I couldn't imagine."
"That other me likes dramatic statements," Rodney says, but the words tug at him in ways they shouldn't.
"Yeah," Sheppard says. "And yet...here we are."
"Yeah, here we are." Rodney looks at Sheppard for a long moment. "So, Detective," he finally says, "fancy heading to Boston?"
-tbc-