ficpost: "The Gift of Gravity" McKay/Weir
Title: "The Gift of Gravity"
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Weir
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Timeline: Between "Seige III" and "Intruder"
Disclaimer: They are so totally not mine. Not for profit.
Notes: For sage_theory, who demanded Rodney hurt-comfort porn. I aim to please. (Between us, Meg and I might have a thing about killing Rodney's family members.)
Summary: Rodney's sister died this afternoon.
Words: 833
The Gift of Gravity
He'd rather be passed out. He'd rather drink, and he doesn't drink, than feel this. He'd rather let strange alien entities devour his brain from the inside out, rather be dropped repeatedly from the balcony without any sort of Ancient protection, than have to think for another moment. He clings to his cat like it's gravity. They've always had an awkward relationship, valuing their freedom more than company, but today they're getting along just fine. He fed the cat this morning, and now he's holding it, because his sister died this afternoon.
The fact just sits there, existing, too heavy to forget. And he's seen people die. He's probably (certainly) caused people to die, but there's something horrific in knowing it can happen on Earth too, that death isn't something they invented out there in the Pegasus Galaxy, but something homegrown and genuine. His sister died six months ago when he was elsewhere doing more important things, and while he never cared much for family togetherness (too many memories of an awkward, angry adolescence he's not entirely left behind) - his sister died to him this afternoon.
The cat gets bored and scratches his leg, and he doesn't feel it, just unwraps his arms from around the cat and lets it go. Maybe around four o'clock, he thinks to call someone, but the only number he can think of is the cell phone they gave Elizabeth, and he's not going to bother her - not when she has so many more important things to do - he simply can't.
Once he's thought of it, of course, he has to. Whatever he says comes out unclear and garbled, though it's terribly clear in his head (Jeanie is dead. Jeanie. And he's the only McKay left now, and that means - Jeanie is dead.)
"Rodney, are you home?"
"Yes but really, don't -"
"Rodney." He doesn't know how she can still him with a word, but she always can, always could.
"It's more important that you keep negotiating."
"It's more important that I'm with you," she says, and though he didn't ask what happened on her trip up North, he's suddenly acutely aware, a pain in his side, that Simon's no longer in the picture. And that means - that means that for this first time since this morning, he can think of something other than his sister. He hates that he can, but Elizabeth's already hung up the phone. This isn't a negotiation; it's never been, with them. There is no give-and-take. It's all giving.
++
Elizabeth is like the cat in this way - when he clings too hard, she scratches back. But when Elizabeth scratches, it always tastes like a burst of blood in his mouth, overwhelming, intoxicating. He reels back, she rocks forward, and they go down together.
She knows there's nothing to be said, no sorrys that will feel like comfort. She greets him with a kiss too deep to allow for the recollection of anything else, and while sometimes she demands that he be careful, slowly learning each torturous passage by heart, today she's just gift-wrapped ecstasy. He's not used to seeing her in home-clothes, the leather jacket and soft white blouse, and he gets her out of them as quickly as he can, fumbling over buttons and bra-clasps till she's wearing nothing and inviting everything. This feels more like homecoming than unlocking the apartment did, and he's surprised again by how easily quiet nudity became familiar.
Her head tilts to reveal the long patch of neck he loves the most, and he works a kiss into her collarbone, then transplants it to her breast, and with a sigh she edges closer to him, rubbing so that he's hard and wanting in agony all over. He doesn't ignore the chunk of grief nestled in his chest, not exactly, but feels it all as one surge of pain, good and bad and stonewashed, the bristle of pubic hair and the taste of sweat, the sweep of Elizabeth's side and the softness of her cunt, the sounds she makes that aren't like any language he knows but have all the world's meaning - soft moans that mean love and loud groans that mean more.
There are legs around his back and hands on his hips and lips against his mouth and skin, skin everywhere that rubs against his skin, stronger than gravity, prickly and painful but necessary.
When she's around him he can't feel anything but her or imagine wanting anything but this; he's silent and sweating, and she devours him, and he devours her, comfort, love, and all, and Jeanie is dead, but he's not, and neither is Elizabeth, and there's no time in the next six years that he'll remember Jeanie without remembering that he emptied himself - tears, sweat, and semen - into Elizabeth, and that she let him.
Between them, it's all giving, and that is a gift.
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Weir
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers/Timeline: Between "Seige III" and "Intruder"
Disclaimer: They are so totally not mine. Not for profit.
Notes: For sage_theory, who demanded Rodney hurt-comfort porn. I aim to please. (Between us, Meg and I might have a thing about killing Rodney's family members.)
Summary: Rodney's sister died this afternoon.
Words: 833
The Gift of Gravity
He'd rather be passed out. He'd rather drink, and he doesn't drink, than feel this. He'd rather let strange alien entities devour his brain from the inside out, rather be dropped repeatedly from the balcony without any sort of Ancient protection, than have to think for another moment. He clings to his cat like it's gravity. They've always had an awkward relationship, valuing their freedom more than company, but today they're getting along just fine. He fed the cat this morning, and now he's holding it, because his sister died this afternoon.
The fact just sits there, existing, too heavy to forget. And he's seen people die. He's probably (certainly) caused people to die, but there's something horrific in knowing it can happen on Earth too, that death isn't something they invented out there in the Pegasus Galaxy, but something homegrown and genuine. His sister died six months ago when he was elsewhere doing more important things, and while he never cared much for family togetherness (too many memories of an awkward, angry adolescence he's not entirely left behind) - his sister died to him this afternoon.
The cat gets bored and scratches his leg, and he doesn't feel it, just unwraps his arms from around the cat and lets it go. Maybe around four o'clock, he thinks to call someone, but the only number he can think of is the cell phone they gave Elizabeth, and he's not going to bother her - not when she has so many more important things to do - he simply can't.
Once he's thought of it, of course, he has to. Whatever he says comes out unclear and garbled, though it's terribly clear in his head (Jeanie is dead. Jeanie. And he's the only McKay left now, and that means - Jeanie is dead.)
"Rodney, are you home?"
"Yes but really, don't -"
"Rodney." He doesn't know how she can still him with a word, but she always can, always could.
"It's more important that you keep negotiating."
"It's more important that I'm with you," she says, and though he didn't ask what happened on her trip up North, he's suddenly acutely aware, a pain in his side, that Simon's no longer in the picture. And that means - that means that for this first time since this morning, he can think of something other than his sister. He hates that he can, but Elizabeth's already hung up the phone. This isn't a negotiation; it's never been, with them. There is no give-and-take. It's all giving.
++
Elizabeth is like the cat in this way - when he clings too hard, she scratches back. But when Elizabeth scratches, it always tastes like a burst of blood in his mouth, overwhelming, intoxicating. He reels back, she rocks forward, and they go down together.
She knows there's nothing to be said, no sorrys that will feel like comfort. She greets him with a kiss too deep to allow for the recollection of anything else, and while sometimes she demands that he be careful, slowly learning each torturous passage by heart, today she's just gift-wrapped ecstasy. He's not used to seeing her in home-clothes, the leather jacket and soft white blouse, and he gets her out of them as quickly as he can, fumbling over buttons and bra-clasps till she's wearing nothing and inviting everything. This feels more like homecoming than unlocking the apartment did, and he's surprised again by how easily quiet nudity became familiar.
Her head tilts to reveal the long patch of neck he loves the most, and he works a kiss into her collarbone, then transplants it to her breast, and with a sigh she edges closer to him, rubbing so that he's hard and wanting in agony all over. He doesn't ignore the chunk of grief nestled in his chest, not exactly, but feels it all as one surge of pain, good and bad and stonewashed, the bristle of pubic hair and the taste of sweat, the sweep of Elizabeth's side and the softness of her cunt, the sounds she makes that aren't like any language he knows but have all the world's meaning - soft moans that mean love and loud groans that mean more.
There are legs around his back and hands on his hips and lips against his mouth and skin, skin everywhere that rubs against his skin, stronger than gravity, prickly and painful but necessary.
When she's around him he can't feel anything but her or imagine wanting anything but this; he's silent and sweating, and she devours him, and he devours her, comfort, love, and all, and Jeanie is dead, but he's not, and neither is Elizabeth, and there's no time in the next six years that he'll remember Jeanie without remembering that he emptied himself - tears, sweat, and semen - into Elizabeth, and that she let him.
Between them, it's all giving, and that is a gift.