(dis)connected
part 1
"You're really worried about him," Carter said, keeping pace with John only because she was in good shape. Christ, what was Rodney thinking, anyway? Sometimes, John just wanted to shake him, and couldn't she just go away? "Come on, McKay's just sleep deprived."
That hadn't just been sleep deprivation. That had been...he didn't know. Something hurting. Did Rodney really think he'd make a move on Carter and flaunt it in front of him? If he did, he needed to have his head straightened out. John was more than happy to do that, but not in front of Carter.
John quelled his irritation. Just because she knew McKay didn't mean she knew Rodney. He didn't know when that distinction had become clear to him, but ithad. He picked up his pace, trying not to curse when the elevator doors closed in his face. Damn it, McKay. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, "Look, I can't just let him go."
"Okay," Carter said slowly, dragging the syllables out. She dug a badge out of skirt pocket. "Come on. I know faster elevators. There's a ton of paperwork he'll have to do to get out of the base without regular ID and that'll slow him down. We can catch up at the security desk."
He followed her into an express elevator and watched her key in a code. He couldn't help memorizing it. Numbers just did that with him. The doors shut with a pneumatic whoosh and he was boxed in with her.
"Did he really imply you and I are - " Carter said, turning back to John.
He shrugged. He supposed Rodney had. It probably made sense in Rodney's brain, if nowhere else in the universe. He didn't know whether to be insulted Rodney thought he do that to him or bizarrely complimented that he thought John could pull Rodney's dream girl.
"Look, you're - " John stopped. "I don't want him driving, as out of it as he is. He'll go over a mountain side or something or get back to his place and mainline caffeine until he collapses.
Carter frowned. "Oh." She folded her arms in a pose eerily similar to Rodney's favorite lecturing posture. "I'm surprised, I guess."
The elevator doors opened and John stepped out. "By what?"
Her shoulder moved in a half shrug. "I don't know. The way he's acting toward you. I thought you were friends."
John squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "We are. You just don't...You don't know him the way I do. So, could we just find him before he ends up in a ditch somewhere?"
"Of course," she said and led the way to the security check-out, using a short-cut John hadn't had a clue about. He took the opportunity to pull himself together. The last thing he wanted was for anyone at the SGC to see how freaked out and worried and lonely he was here. He didn't even want Rodney to see that.
***
"Destroying government property again?" The familiar drawl was marred by breathing that was a little heavier than usual, indicating that John had indeed been running. It gave Rodney a perverse kind of satisfaction even as it made his face flush with anger over the fact that John really couldn't leave it alone.
He didn't answer. Didn't even look up. Just kept on filling out the forms, slow and methodical, even though John was so close Rodney could smell his damn aftershave.
More quick boot-steps echoed along the corridor. Sam. Of course.
"Nice dodging there, McKay," Sam said, and her voice was so full of forced cheer it surprised Rodney she didn't choke on it. "But did you really think you'd escape us?"
Rodney's head snapped up before he could stop himself. John and Sam were standing next to each other, shoulders almost touching, presenting a unified front in a way John only ever did with the his team, with - He clenched his teeth until his head hurt. An exit. A clean, clear exit that would let him save face and allow them to be as disgustingly happy and pretty together as they damn well wanted. That was all he'd been asking for. Why the hell couldn't they let him have that? Did they have some perverse need to prove they were better than him? They weren't, for fuck's sake.
"I was going to escape to my bed, if you don't mind." He put on his most derisive face and turned a cold smile at John. "Not everything I do revolves around you."
Rodney shoved the papers at the guard. He didn't want to see if his words has prompted a reaction from John. He didn't want a reaction from John.
"Since when do you sleep?"
"Since I noticed that while I was saving the planet," he encompassed the mountain and everything beyond it with a sweeping gesture, "you two were too busy pairing off to even check if I could have used some help."
Two stunned faces looked back at him. They didn't answer, just stared.
Rodney turned on his heel. "If you say one word," he told the silently watching guards, "I will make sure you never work in the military again."
"Have you lost your mind?" Sheppard yelled. "We've been off-world. Not together."
Rodney swept a derisive look at the two of them. "That's why you're together - " Even thinking the word made his tongue twist, tasting something sour and old.
"We're not together," Sheppard snapped. He glanced at Carter and winced. "Sorry, not that you - "
She waved a hand at him. "Don't bother. I get it. McKay, did you fry your brain while you were saving the planet?"
Rodney swallowed it down over the lump in his throat. Damn it all to hell. He was going to turn now, turn and leave, and be noble even if it killed him.
Too bad they were still following him.
"McKay," John called, "have you lost your mind? I only just found out you were even here - "
The night air was cool, insects singing an accompaniment as Rodney almost ran to his car. John and Sam kept pace with him. He wanted them to let him go, so he walked faster, kicking gravel out of his way. His throat was still too tight, each breath an effort to pull in and push out, cold against his insides.
"You know, I don't remember him being able to hustle this well, before." Sam's voice was light and teasing and Rodney wanted to hate her so much he was sick with it. She wasn't trying to be mean, he knew. She was honestly trying to make the situation easier for all of them and that was even more impossible to bear than malice would have been.
"C'mon, McKay, please. Just stop and we'll figure this out, okay?" John sounded so plaintive Rodney almost did stop. Except he knew what an act John could put on when he wanted to.
Figure this out? Rodney wanted to punch John, hard. It wasn't as if Rodney had hurt him. He had even backed down, let John have his perfect happy end. What the hell did Rodney need to figure out? John always got everything he fucking wanted. Wrapped Jeannie around his little finger. Hell, he had even gotten Rodney. Why, when he could have all the space bimbos and every other woman he wanted, did it have to be Sam? Sam, who had been the one person Rodney had always wanted for himself? And if he had her, if she had him, why couldn't they give Rodney the chance to act like a mature adult, to do what no one expected of him but which he was damn well capable of?
Rodney didn't stop. He even contemplated running the remaining distance between him and his car, but a hand on his shoulder prevented that.
"Rodney." Sam looked washed out under the dim halogen lighting of the car park. Did the military not pay to have its lots lit? You'd think with security being such a big concern for the SGC it would be lit up like an airport runway. Instead there were only a few lamps studded here and there, that didn't provide nearly enough light. "Rodney, hang on. It's not what you think."
"I think it's exactly what I think, Colonel. And I think both of you would have a great deal more, more whatever if I wasn't involved, not that it is any of my business, you're both adults, so if you would just - "
"Sure about that?" John had found a car to slouch against, because god forbid that man actually have to stand up straight for any length of time. "Are you sure it's what you think?"
"McKay," Sam said again.
Sam looked ethereal in the moonlight but tired; John just looked overworked and hollow. Rodney swallowed. They were beautiful, he thought: the length of John's body silver-touched and almost diffused around the edges, Sam's hair limned in light, shadows defining her cheekbones, both of them thrown into sharp chiaroscuro. But it was John's expression that kept him frozen and mute.
He looked...blank, eyes narrowed slightly: an expression Rodney had learned meant John's sharp mind was calculating how to get them out of some situation that had him scared spitless. Rodney just didn't know what could be scaring John now. Unless he really thought Rodney would destroy his career out of spite...
"What the hell?" Rodney heard himself asking. "What are you - you can't - look, I get it, okay? Go forth, make perfect babies, and stop - "
"Babies?" Sam asked, a faint smile twitching around her mouth.
John pushed off the car. He just looked pissed off now and Rodney wondered if he'd read the expression on his face right before. "And here I thought I was asking you a serious question."
"I don't need your pity," Rodney spat. He turned away and walked around the car. Started fiddling with the keys. "Don't you dare patronize me."
"McKay, will you stop?" Sam had slipped next to him while he was too busy glaring at John over the hood of the silver Toyota the SGC had provided him with. She put a hand on his, stopping him from activating the remote and opening the doors. Her fingertips were cold. "Just, stop."
Rodney took her hand between thumb and index finger and removed at as though it were unclean. He smiled a nasty smile at her. "Why should I stop? It's just about to be fun, isn't it?" He noticed John slowly rounding the car and began to feel trapped, even though John hadn't reached him yet. Trying to ignore him, Rodney concentrated on Sam again, sneering at her. "What do you want, absolution?"
In his rage, he had forgotten somehow that Sam was military. He was reminded of that fact when she grasped his upper arms, fingers digging into his muscles hard enough to cause pain, turning him and pushing him against the driver's side. Her voice was silky, too calm for the situation. "You know, McKay, it would help if you just said what kind of bug crawled up your ass."
He closed his eyes and swallowed, hard. His thoughts derailed at her proximity, anger drifting away like pale smoke.
When he opened his eyes and sneaked a look as discreetly as he could, John was standing next to him and had lifted his hand. He was easing the grip of Sam's hand - that would no doubt leave bruises that would show tomorrow - off Rodney's arm, lifting it away, his expression gone thoughtful. The touch burned through Rodney's jacket. He remembered when it had been John's hands locked onto his arms. The memory left his throat too dry to swallow.
"For a scientist, Rodney," John told him, "you jump to a lot of conclusions." He was standing closer than Sam was, body heat bleeding through their clothes. "Although Sam's right about one thing. Seems all I need to do to make you move is make you - "
John stopped, voice catching. Jealous, Rodney knew he was going to say, just as he knew that John was remembering why he didn't have to make Rodney move, anymore. Probably wouldn't ever again, since it was doubtful Rodney was needed on off-world missions in the Milky Way.
The shutters went up, Rodney could see John close himself off. It stung, but maybe it was for the better.
Neither of them knew how Sam thought about two guys together. Rodney couldn't imagine her reporting John, but he couldn't be sure, either. He'd never grasped the whole military thing, how much they adhered to regulations they didn't necessarily believe in. He didn't even know if she would pick up on the implication of what John had almost said.
John stepped back, making Rodney aware of the cold night air. Sam touched his arm, lightly this time, and squeezed once before letting go.
"Okay?" she mouthed. The place where her hand had been cooled down rapidly.
Rodney shrugged. He had no idea.
***
"Give me the keys." Sheppard's voice cut through the lengthening silence. He held out his hand.
McKay's "Why?" was a little breathless, but no less demanding.
"Because we could all use a drink."
Do we ever, Sam agreed, if only to herself.
Sheppard snatched the keys from McKay's fingers and opened the car.
Sam saw McKay open his mouth to protest, but Sheppard beat him to it. "I'm driving."
"Fine," McKay grumbled and walked around to the passenger's side. His shoulders were hunched and tense. He didn't look back at her before he opened the door and sat down.
No extension of the invitation. She told herself not to be disappointed. Sam had already resigned herself to going over to her own vehicle and home to a microwave dinner, when a brief touch on her elbow stopped her. Sheppard looked pale in the lamplight, his eyes shadowed.
"You should - " He cleared his throat and fixed his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder for a long moment before looking straight at her. "You should come with us." The words were amiable, it would have seemed as though he didn't really care if she came along or not. His eyes, however, were pleading. Asking her to come along.
She said yes without thinking twice. Said yes because she didn't want to be alone this evening, whether she was reading more into Sheppard's words than was really there. Maybe he was just being polite. She didn't care.
It was only when Sheppard was driving the car through the second town after Cheyenne Mountain, the car's interior filled with a deafening silence, that she asked herself what the hell she was getting herself into here.
Because there was something between these two that she wasn't getting. Maybe it was just the out of balance effect of only having half their team present throwing their interactions off, but it felt like something else, something more.
***
Sheppard didn't drive them to a bar. Nor a hotel. Nor a diner. She'd seen all of those along the way and he had passed by every single one of them. Sam fidgeted on the velour seat. The palms of her hands tingled. The seatbelt cut into her chest. To have at least something to do, she wound down the window a bit. Fresh, cool night air washed inside, carrying the scent of fall - dry leaves, pine, and ripe fruits. In the dark, she saw pumpkins lined up on a field, incongruous and almost clichéd for Colorado. Their bright orange was an eerie dot of color in the inky night when the car's light touched them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw McKay fidgeting as well. She could tell that he was trying to start a conversation, but for the first time since she had known him, he failed. Instead, he reached out toward the glove compartment and pulled out several CDs. The jewel cases slipped and ended up clattering into his lap. He cursed under his breath, and that alone jarred Sam. McKay had never cursed before, at least never around her. It showed her just how frayed he was when he slipped at something so simple.
It took him a while to pick a CD, but finally, the uncomfortable silence was broken by melodious electronic sounds. Was that...? "Tangerine Dream, McKay?" She was surprised for a moment, but then wondered why. She guessed she just hadn't expected their musical tastes to be compatible.
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
It was back to silence after that exchange, the hiss of tires on tarmac, but Sam was glad to see Sheppard's long, blunt-tipped fingers thrumming on the stirring wheel to the rhythm of the music.
About three long pieces of music after that, Sheppard pulled over to the left and drove into the car park of a dark apartment complex. He turned the key and the car grew quiet. Only their breathing was audible.
"Welcome to our final destination," Sheppard finally said, with a pretense of humor that seemed to come only with effort. "If this is not your final destination, please make further accommodations on your own, because this is my stop."
"Where the hell are we?" McKay demanded as he got out the car.
Sam opened the back door and looked around the neutral houses, duplexes and apartment buildings, the cars in the parking lot. The entire feel of it was familiar, and the reason she had gotten out of here with the first bit of money she'd made. "Your apartment," she stated, looking at Sheppard, who had rounded the car and was standing next to McKay.
Sheppard shrugged. "Good a place as any."
"After that drive, you'd better have some damn good whiskey," McKay grumbled.
Sheppard was a dark shadow as he ghosted across the cement walk-way. Of course it was cement - cheap, sturdy, and reassuringly bland. She'd known good soldiers who'd gone insane, stuck in military housing for too long. That Sheppard stayed here bothered her. He had the money, she knew he did. His pay-grade wasn't that much lower than her own, and the USAF had been keeping it nice and warm in his three-year absence. It wasn't lack of options, either, since Landry didn't want his best people beating their heads against the walls just so the dents and smears of blood added a few unique touches; options for apartments vetted but not built by the military had been offered immediately. In fact, Sam was pretty sure Carson Beckett had taken that offer. So had Elizabeth Weir.
The door squeaked slightly as it opened. "You know, some WD-40 would - " McKay's tremulous suggestion cut off as Sheppard went still after flipping on the overhead light. His shoulder's were too straight and rigid to hunch, but Sam still got the impression that they wanted to. "Ah, right. Um. Very, ah. Very, um. Spartan, Colonel."
Sam grimaced, hoping neither man noticed. This was irrefutable proof of something she hadn't really wanted to confirm. 'Spartan' was a charitable way of describing it. The living room contained a ratty brown easy-chair, no doubt rescued from someone's dump, a TV with long, trailing silver ears as testament to its success in receiving over-the-air channels, and an overturned box that acted as a footrest. That was it. Plain white walls with nothing adorning them, a wide expanse of threadbare taupe carpeting of the sort that even she had covered as completely as possible when she'd lived in similar accommodations.
There wasn't even a DVD player.
She knew the rest of this place - never his home - would be exactly the same. Enough for bare essentials and not one drop of interest more. Neat in the way of military men, who never quite get over boot camp, either carrying the habit with them or rebelling utterly and becoming complete slobs.
"Yeah, yeah," Sheppard said. "Hang on, I think I left the bottle in the kitchen."
"Bottle?" Rodney asked. His face was pale and haggard in the dim lighting, staring at Sheppard's retreating back. "What, you're too good for glasses now?"
The words weren't meant to be heard. She knew that, because the tone wasn't biting or sarcastic, instead forlorn.
Sam closed her eyes. It was an intrusion to be here. She wasn't supposed to witness Rodney at his most open and being here in Sheppard's apartment felt like stepping inside the man's skin.
"Colonel?" It was what Rodney always called Sheppard, but habit was habit and Sam still opened her eyes. Rodney was looking at her, almost ethereal without any direct lighting. "Are you all right?"
She made herself smile. It probably wasn't a good one, but she meant it. This wasn't the same snappy, abrasive man who'd met her with accusations and condescension, four years ago. This was the man Sam had wanted him to be, no matter how often she still thought about strangling him. "You should call me Sam."
His mouth opened, absently licking his lip as he tried to come up with a response. He wasn't as easy to surprise as he had been, Sam knew, and was perversely pleased she'd done so now.
"Uhm, yes. Sam. Of course."
Sheppard found them like that, Rodney hastily clearing his throat, backing towards the lonely recliner sitting in the middle of the room. Sam grinned at his retreat. He may not have been the McKay she remembered, but it was still fun to make him give way. A lot of fun, as a matter of fact, and a pleasure she shared. Sheppard's expression was a knowing smirk, darker with curiosity. "I miss something?"
Turning her same amusement on him, Sam took the opened bottle of whiskey from his hand and chugged it. Straight. Managing not to shudder - it'd been a while since she'd had more than a beer or a glass of wine before bed - she handed the bottle back to Sheppard. "Thanks. And nope, you didn't miss anything at all. Now, I think it's McKay's turn?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sheppard quipped, irreverently saluting her with the whiskey bottle, the gesture lazy enough to make her grin. "Of course, ma'am."
He handed to bottle to McKay with a waggle of his brows. McKay frowned at it. "Come on, Rodney," Sheppard taunted, "You'd kiss her, but you won't drink after her? It's alcohol. Any germs are history anyway."
"You don't know, there may be any number of off-world bacteria that are immune to alcohol as a sterilizing agent," McKay snapped back, but he lifted the bottle and took a deep drink. Sam found herself watching the motion of his Adam's apple under the skin of his throat. He handed it back to Sheppard, who grinned at him then licked the mouth of the bottle, before fitting his lips around it tightly and tipping his head back.
Sam swallowed hard and glanced away. McKay didn't.
"What now?" she heard herself say.
"Have another drink," Sheppard said. The cool glass of the bottle was pressed into her fingers. "I find it does wonders for my mood."
She took it and walked over to the large window that looked out from the living room onto the street. An occasional car went by and she noticed the walls were so thin she could hear the buzz of the motors dopplering up and then down as they approached, then passed. She could hear a couple of cats fighting somewhere outside. It was so damn depressing she had to take that second drink and a third.
Then McKay was at her shoulder, pale face reflecting in the glass, taking the bottle back. "Give me that."
They seemed to have run out of anything to say to one another. Sheppard was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, watching Sam and Rodney at the window. His reflection looked like a ghost, the lights of the apartment building across the street shining through it.
"Well, this is just the most fun I've had since my last root-canal," McKay remarked, before stalking over to the TV and switching it on. The soft buzz of sound filled the room before the picture coalesced: talking heads, a football field behind them. "I should have known."
Sheppard unfolded his arms, relaxing a little, as though McKay's scorn pleased him. "Hey, if you can find something better..."
"What, better than standing around your unfurnished apartment watching broadcast American football and drinking on an empty stomach? What could possibly compare?"
"You want to leave?" Sheppard said quietly. "There's the door. No, wait, I'll call a cab for you."
McKay's mouth opened and closed, while the skin around his eyes tightened. Sam thought he was a breath away from storming out and wouldn't that be awkward, leaving her here with Sheppard, alone.
She grimaced and walked over to the TV, picking up the remote from on, surfing through channels until the unmistakable intro of The A-Team caught her ear. Reruns. Everyone's favorite.
"Sit down, McKay," she told him.
"I can feel my brain trying to kill itself inside my skull," he said. But he dropped down onto the carpet without further protest, taking another swallow from the bottle he still held, removing his shoes and socks.
"Get the light," Sam told Sheppard.
With a shrug, he obeyed, while she perched on the arm of the recliner and unzipped her boots. She had a feeling that she'd be on the floor before they finished the bottle, so they needed to go. She dropped the first one with a light thud and looked up. McKay was watching her. Aside from the glow of fluorescent fixture in the kitchen, the blue flicker of the TV was the only light in the room. It caught in McKay's eyes, giving them an irradiated glow.
Sheppard kicked off his tennis shoes, revealing bare feet, and padded over to McKay. Sam felt his gaze settle on her legs and curled her toes without thinking. His mouth quirked up, but he said nothing, just settled down onto the carpet next to McKay before lifting the bottle out of McKay's slack hand.
Sam unzipped her other boot and kicked it off. On the TV screen, Hannibal Smith declared, 'I love it when a plan comes together.' McKay groaned and Sheppard grinned.
"God, this is bad," Sam said after a half hour of watching improbable explosions and ridiculous actions. "I mean, even drunk, this is bad."
"I'm hungry," McKay declared abruptly.
The alcohol swirling through Sam's system made her stop and try to consider how that applied to The A-Team, before soberer thoughts won out. Drinking. Empty stomach. Never a good idea.
"Me too," she found herself agreeing. McKay grinned at her and she couldn't help but smile back.
Sheppard dialed the number of the pizza-service from memory, without double-checking it, and that told Sam too much of how he usually spent his evenings. The glimpse of the kitchen she'd had didn't look as though anything but the coffee-maker was being used. The counter was polished so clean that Sam had had the urge to sneak in, leave fingerprints and smears everywhere, just to stop it from looking so damn sterile.
"Fifteen minutes," Sheppard said after he hung up. It occurred to Sam only now that he hadn't even asked her what she wanted on her pizza. Rodney's favorite Sheppard knew; Sam didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew it just as she knew Jack's favorites, and Daniel's and Teal'c's. Cam's and Vala's, too, now. Some things just came naturally with being on a team. Blood-group, allergies, phobias, shoe-size, favorite beer, favorite aftershave ...
"In fifteen minutes, I'm going to be in hypoglycaemic -"
Sheppard fished a piece of hard candy out of his pocket and shoved it at Rodney in silence. The gesture looked often-practiced, routine. Sam smiled and held out her hand. "No playing favorites, Colonel."
Sheppard rolled his eyes and handed her a piece of candy as well. "I can see why McKay thinks you two are meant to be," he answered with a wry grin. "That's it, I'm out."
"Does he now?" Sam turned to Rodney, who was very busy unwrapping his candy. The tips of his ears were turning red.
***
The pizza came twenty minutes later, a fact that caused Rodney to complain loud and often. The whiskey had loosened his tongue and his limbs, just like her own and Sheppard's. They lay sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, mocking the antics of the A-Team unmercifully - B.A.'s jewelry, Face's ridiculous cons, Murdock's piloting - when the doorbell rang.
"He doesn't get a tip, he's late," Rodney declared. "I hate bad service."
Sheppard pushed up. "The five minutes more didn't kill you."
Sam dropped her head to her folded arms. "No, but me...I had to listen to him."
She could all but hear Rodney's sneer.
When she raised her head again, there was an open pizza box standing in front of her and Rodney was already mumbling, "Oh, thank god," around a slice.
She caught Sheppard's glance and grinned with him. In a way, it was reassuring to have Rodney back to normal. Then she looked away because that glisten of grease on Sheppard's lower lip tempted her to do something stupid, like run her fingertip over it. When she did, she realized Rodney was staring at him too, before he sensed her gaze and shoveled another slice of pizza into his mouth.
A look back at Sheppard told her nothing. He'd ducked his head and was teasing a string of drooping cheese back onto his slice with one finger. The only thing he could be watching were Rodney's hands.
A sequence of explosions and heroic music came from the TV. Sam glanced up, groped for a slice of pizza blind and shook her head in amusement.
"I can't believe that at one a.m. on a Thursday night, we're on the floor in your apartment, watching the A-Team."
"What? You never sat down and watched bad TV with the rest of your team?" McKay asked. "No movie nights while majors, who will remain nameless, subject you and your innocent teammates to Marty McFly and his flux capacitors?"
"Hockey," she mumbled around a mouth full of cheese and mushrooms.
"See, that's what we were doing wrong," McKay said to Sheppard.
Sheppard didn't look up from picking bell pepper off his slice, intently flicking each piece back into the greasy box they'd set in the recliner.
Sam grabbed up another piece of the pizza. A hand brushed hers, fingertips skirting the back of her hand before it moved away as Rodney picked up the slice next to hers. Sam swallowed and didn't look away from the TV on purpose. She'd thought that with the whiskey and the pizza and the TV-watching, this odd tension between them would have dissipated. Well, seemed as though her body at least was about to disagree. She snuck a glance at Rodney from the corner of her eye and couldn't help but think that the blue TV-light - highlighting a stubbled chin, long lashes, a straight nose and soft hair - looked good on him. Not that she hadn't always considered him attractive. Oh, she had. But his personality had been the real turn off. Had, though, because Atlantis seemed to have worn off much of his ego leaving the decent man beneath apparent.
Shaking her head, she looked back at the TV and the inane things Murdoch and BA were doing, bickering. She must be more susceptible to strong alcohol than she used to be, because no way would she have thought about Rodney McKay's hair before. Or about wanting to wipe that bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth, finding out how those lips would feel under her fingertips.
A glance to the right revealed Sheppard with the whiskey bottle against his lips again and Sam watched with a dry throat how the TV light did equally good things for him - throwing him into sharp relief against the dark room, lighting his throat as it worked, catching in the stubble and shining on his hair. He sat the bottle down in front of her, caught her glance and gave her a smile that kicked up higher on one side, sardonic. She couldn't tear her gaze away from those moist lips for too long.
Another sequence of explosions and a snort of laughter from Rodney saved her. "Oh, that's just too much. That's not just a insult to physics, it's like an argument for anti-Darwinists."
Sam jerked her head back to the TV, bit down hard on her slice of pizza, chewing slowly and with care, concentrating on swallowing. Sheppard really had picked a good one. That was all that mattered. Not that they were both close enough to touch her with each movement, and that their body-heat was bleeding through her clothes, making her skin itch. Not that she had just ogled them without any kind of subtlety.
She could feel it every time Rodney glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. He'd almost formed a pattern with it: take a bite, half-swallow it before mocking something inane on the television, then sneak a look at her. Did he want some kind of approval? He talked too much, yes, but he was an amusing drunk, and Sam didn't think that had been one of her criticisms. To see if it amused her? It did amuse her, most of the time. She hadn't expected him to have such a good grasp of explosives, although that was probably a little foolish of her. He'd picked up as a necessity the kinds of skills she'd been taught, plus all the other strange things she'd learned along the way. She had no doubt that he knew an array of Pegasus specific tricks as well.
But the way he watched her, assessing and almost suspicious, but eager...His eyes flickered to Sheppard, though, and the expression on his face grew even stranger, flashes of regret and anger mixing with affection.
A string of mozzarella stretched from her piece of pizza, stretched and then snapped, dropping right down her cleavage. "Shit," she said without thinking, but the cheese wasn't hot enough to burn. She dropped the rest of the slice in the box then fished the cheese from between her breasts.
Sheppard sighed beside her and Sam realized she'd dislodged the top button on her blouse, offering them both a generous view of her white satin underwire bra, complete with greasy cheese stain. He offered her a paper napkin along with a lopsided smirk and turned back to the TV. She could see the pulse in his neck, though: fast.
"You're not burned, are you?" McKay asked. He sounded hoarse and was flushed from more than just the alcohol.
Sam rolled her eyes, then shook her head and fumbled the button closed. "It was cheese, not a branding iron. And you're staring."
Sheppard lifted his slice of pizza in a toasting gesture. "Hey, you're worth staring at, Colonel Carter," he said, smiling at her.
"Of course she is," Rodney said.
"Sam," she reminded Sheppard.
Rodney looked back and forth first at her then Sheppard. "I - I, uh, thought maybe you two - "
"Christ, Rodney, we're barely on the same planet at the same time," Sheppard said. "Landry likes to keep me away from the varsity, you know."
Sam winced.
"You just, you both look so good, and came into the lab together - " Rodney replied.
"Looking for you." Sheppard closed his eyes briefly, then cut his gaze toward Sam. She just watched him, trying to figure out the funny vibe between them.
"Hard as it is to believe," she snarked a little.
And Rodney was still watching her.
The tension she'd thought eased was back again. The alcohol was probably making it worse, as Rodney's lip jutted forward. He looked mulish again, licking sauce from the corner of his mouth and missing most of it.
Clearly, these two men could not be left up to their own devices.
"You know," she said. "I think I've had enough of this. Does anyone mind if I change the channel?" Before either could react - probably in agreement, by their baffled expressions - Sam snatched up the remote. She had no idea what was on this late, but given Sam had found the A-Team, there had to be a terrible, melodramatic -
"Oh, Arnold. You can't leave me!"
- perfect. It wasn't the Lifetime channel, but it was certainly that type of movie. On either side of her, both men watched in horror as the lens took on a fuzzy, peach tint, as a woman actually clutched her hands beneath her chin, imploring her man to stay with her. Sam was a little horrified herself. Hadn't they stopped making movies like that?
"Uh." Sheppard cleared his throat. "Are you, uh, sure this is what you want to watch?"
"Why?" she asked as winsomely as possible. "Don't you like it?"
"Is there anyone on Earth or in any galaxy who could honestly like this?" Rodney sounded appalled. Sheppard nodded in agreement.
"Those movies are made for an audience, Rodney."
He snorted. "The retarded, obviously."
Sam narrowed her eyes. "Just for that statement, I'm not changing the channel."
"What?!" both men asked in perfect unison.
She held the remote in both hands, mock-protecting it.
"You're not serious. Please tell me you're not serious."
"Clarissa, you should never have done that to me!" the emotion-laden voice of a man with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair came droning from the TV. Sam wanted to punch him in the face immediately. She clutched the remote tighter when Sheppard groaned, laid back on the floor and thunked his head against the carpet.
"Oh, Arnold, I told you I would love you forever when we first met, how could you - "
Three, two, one ...
Rodney snapped his fingers. "Look, give me that."
So good to know he was still predictable in some ways. Sam couldn't help the grin any longer. "Try and get it."
He reached for the remote. "Give it - "
"No." Sam pulled it back against her.
Rodney grasped her fingers and tried to pry the remote from them. "Will you just - "
"You had your choice." Again, she pulled her hands back, laughing so much on the inside that her fingers almost went weak with the effort of holding it back. Sheppard was still sprawled on his back staring up at the darkened ceiling.
"Hah, if you call that choice - " Back.
Forth. "You just don't appreciate the fine art of - "
Back. Forth. Back, Forth. "Art?! You're calling that art, what mental institution did you -" They were both trying too hard, trying to act like this was all fun, happy-drunk playtime, but they were hitting all the wrong notes.
"Hey, hey, enough!" Sheppard shouted over their raised voices.
Sam used the momentary stalling of the fight for the remote and lunged, ending up on her belly, with it buried under her chest.
"Oh that's mature." Rodney's outraged voice cracked at the top. Sam had to muffle the snicker in the carpet. When she looked up, Sheppard had turned his head to just blink at her. Slowly.
"I win." She knew that she grinned like a maniac and didn't care one bit.
"My TV, my choice," Sheppard stated and held out his hand. "Give it here."
"No."
"What do you mean, no?" Rodney chimed in. "You can't say no. He's right!"
Sam licked her lips and let her grin grow even wider. "Watch me."
She made the critical mistake of taking her eyes off Sheppard to sneer at McKay. He had one hand on the bare back of her knee before she knew he'd even moved, tickling the sensitive skin and making her squirm and try to kick him away. Rodney joined him with a laugh that sounded forced, muttering, "If you'd tried that on Teyla she'd have flipped you into orbit, Sheppard."
Sam twisted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of Sheppard's grin, false as fool's gold, in response.
Rodney went for her ribs while Sheppard moved on to the soles of her feet. That made Sam yelp out loud, the sensation really unbearable. She squirmed and made noises that were far too close to a squeal for her liking. She lost the remote, sending it spinning over the carpet, but none of them paid any attention.
"Give," Rodney said.
Sam panted for breath and shook her head. She'd scraped her mouth against the scratchy carpet and wanted to spit. Dust tickled in her nose. Rodney flexed his fingers against her ribs.
"Do you give?"
Sam held still for a moment longer, giving the appearance of having given up and then, when Rodney relaxed, she twisted onto her back and lunged up, catching him off guard, pulling him down next to her with a triumphant whoop. Sheppard just ducked fast enough to avoid Rodney's flying foot.
Time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Rodney screeched when she found a particularly sensitive spot at his waist. The sound startled Sheppard as well and gave Sam the opportunity to grab his wrist and pull him down next to Rodney.
Only Sheppard wasn't out of breath, was barely breathing hard; fingers twitching as though he didn't know where to put them, finally coming to rest on Sam's bare thigh where her skirt had ridden up. Sam went still until Rodney grabbed her waist, pulling her on top of him, her back to his chest. Rodney's hands were hot and dug into her waist and hips. Sam blinked down at his feet bracketing hers, her head spinning a little. How had she ended up like this anyway? They'd gone from playful wrestling to something else, something that made her own breath hitch, as though the air in the room had become to thick to breathe. She tried to wriggle away and Rodney pulled her close against him, ass pressed against his hips, then Sheppard rolled onto both of them like a blanket, face to face, so close she could see each tiny line at the corners of his eyes. He caught her shoulders under his hands to balance himself, most of his weight on his knees and not her or Rodney. Whiskey breath gusted into her face.
Under her, Rodney grunted and opened his legs to alleviate the added weight. Her ass slid to the floor while she still tried to break free, wriggling and bucking, pressing back against Rodney's crotch. He groaned, sounding strained. His hands were sliding higher, now brushing her ribs.
Sam bucked again, laughing, high on endorphins. In a move that was obviously quicker than Sheppard had expected, she scissored her legs around his waist and lunged upward, throwing him off balance. Rodney's hands slid from her waist as she flipped Sheppard, straddling him when he pulled her with him. Over her own harsh breathing, she could hear Rodney whimpering and muttering about how next time she might as well castrate him. Sam reached out blindly to pet his head, laughing an apology, out of breath.
She shifted her weight, bent over Sheppard and grinned right in his face. "Now who wins?" His panting breath touched her face. He returned her grin for a moment, sharp and feral, looked ready to toss her off, but tensed when she shifted her weight again. Her skirt pooled over her their thighs and the soft denim of his jeans whispered against her bare legs, body warm. His eyelids fluttered for a second, teeth sinking into his lower lip.
"What?"
Sheppard didn't answer. Only moved his hips against her in the tiniest of movements, eyes never leaving her face. His erection brushed against the crotch of her panties.
Oh.
Her mouth went dry and she suddenly couldn't meet Sheppard's gaze any longer.
Rodney offered the distraction that she didn't need: on his knees beside them, his hands were back on her, fingers stroking soft enough to make her shiver before he flattened his hands against her and pressed her down against Sheppard, making them both groan.
For a breath, she thought Sheppard would kiss her or she would kiss him, but the instant passed even as she reflected on it and left them out of momentum and abruptly aware of each other, of their bodies in contact, and the awkwardness of the situation. Rodney's hands still rested on her, one on her hip, one on the small of her back.
Sheppard let his head thunk back and started laughing, this stupid, braying laugh. Sam realized he really was drunk. She never could have pinned him otherwise. Especially since her own reflexes were whiskey-shot. Rodney's hand flexed against the fabric of her shirt and she could hear his rough breath, see his eyes dilated dark when she turned her head a fraction to look at him.
This was the moment to back off, to laugh too, and back out, pretend she didn't know he wanted her, that they both wanted her.
She didn't laugh.
She didn't move.
***
John stopped laughing and swallowed. God, he was hard. He hadn't had sex since before they left Atlantis, fast handjobs exchanged with Rodney, lying on top one of the too narrow beds after they had got out of a meeting with Elizabeth and Caldwell, before everything went to hell. He hadn't even jerked off in the shower since then. No time and then no interest. Now he had Sam Carter straddling him with Rodney beside him and his body had decided to come back to life.
Except for the yammering TV and the sound of their breathing, the apartment was silent. The wavering light from the screen illuminated Carter and Rodney unevenly. Carter's blouse had come open again, revealing the cool sheen of skin and satin beneath. John wanted to touch. Her hair was a mess from rolling around the floor and he wanted to comb his fingers through it. He wanted to reach up and find Rodney's hand and lace their fingers together. He wanted to touch Rodney the same way he would Carter, slow and teasing, and maybe laugh somewhere along the way, because they'd never once slowed down when they got off together before.
He didn't want that anymore. Maybe...with Carter here, they could do something different. Maybe this was his last chance at anything with Rodney, too. If they were just convenient back on Atlantis, then this would be it. Because they lived in different states now. There was nothing convenient about that, or the sneaking around that would be necessary if John didn't want to get nailed for violating the Uniform Code.
He suppressed the desire to lift his hips again and push up into Carter's sweet warmth. He could get off just doing that, without ever being inside her, at this point, come in his pants like a teenager making out in the backseat of a Mustang.
Carter leaned closer. John raised his head and their mouths just brushed each other. Then she drew back. "Is this going where I think it is?" she asked.
He turned his head to the side and looked at Rodney. "Yes?"
Rodney was on his knees. He ran his hand up Carter's back to the nape of her neck, leaned in and kissed her. His other hand slipped off her hip and found John's shoulder, bracing himself.
John felt himself glazing over, just from being pinned down the way he was, by both of them. He swallowed a moan, then reached up and cupped Carter's breasts, sliding the fabric of her blouse over the slick satin of her bra.
Part of him had been thinking about this since he invited Carter to ride with them, the part that had driven them straight to the apartment. He hadn't quite believed it would happen, though. He circled one nipple with his thumb while Rodney kissed her wet and messy and noisy, the sound going straight to John's cock, constricted inside his jeans and trapped, as she ground down on him in little circles.
Rodney pulled away from Carter with visible reluctance. His hand tightened on John's shoulder briefly.
"Not on the floor," Carter stated. "This carpet makes me want to sneeze."
"Tell me you have a bedroom," Rodney said.
"Back there," John replied. His voice may have slurred a little; his concentration shot to pieces by the sensations pooling at his groin. He was barely holding on against the need to just rub himself up against Carter shamelessly.
She scrambled off him, though, before he could lift his hips in more than a stuttering little motion. Her skirt slid back down her legs once she was on her feet. John stayed on the floor another breath, watching as she swayed, then gave Rodney a hand up. The front of Rodney's trousers tented visibly, making John catch his breath against another wave of arousal.
He started to push himself up and his hand landed on a half-eaten slice of pizza. He grimaced.
"Bedroom," Rodney said. "Now."
John picked up the pizza off the carpet, then shook his head. He could maybe ignore that, but now he needed to wash his hand at least. "In a second," he muttered, getting up. "Let me get rid of this."
Rodney and Carter stared at him and he scooped up the pizza box and the used napkins, heading for the kitchen and the garbage can there. He needed a breath, a break, to get hold of himself anyway. His skin felt fevered and so sensitive that even one touch would set him off.
"I can't believe this," Rodney said from behind him. "He's the most anal retentive camper, too. Everything has to be cleaned up."
They followed him into the kitchen, detouring around the counter that stuck out at a right angle from the wall.
"My dad was like that too," Carter remarked.
John tossed the pizza box, washed his hands, then closed the blinds on the window in front of the sink. Great. That comment had calmed him down a little. Nothing like being compared to someone's father to cool his jets. He braced his hands against the edge of the sink and leaned forward. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. His cock thought so, still hard and pressing against his boxers and the zip of his jeans, but his head was still spinning from too much alcohol, even after eating, and the others were just as drunk.
He was still uncertain when he turned, but that melted away as he looked at Carter and Rodney again, mussed and hot-eyed, watching him impatiently. Need surged through him and he crossed the kitchen and caught Carter's waist in his hands, lifting her up onto the counter.
She immediately looped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close, kissing him, taking over and pushing her tongue into his mouth, then pulling back and licking at his lips, before biting them. The contact sizzled through John, making him gasp back into her mouth. He stepped between her legs, pressing closer until his knees hit the side of the counter and then leaned in, feeling her breasts against his chest.
Rodney's hand, broad and hot, set down on the back of his neck only made it better, made him wilder, trying to get closer to them both and to hell with the bedroom.
***
Rodney watched John's control finally slip away, watched him boost Sam onto that spotless counter and couldn't stay away another second.
John and Sam were kissing intently, so caught in each other that he felt free to move in closer. They were as gorgeous together as his jealous imagination had predicted, but they were obviously new to each other, which eased something inside him. He felt like they wouldn't be together if he wasn't here too, with them, that he was included, instead of excluded. He could trace his fingers over Sam's hands, circle her knuckles, then slide under and cup his palm against the hot skin at the nape of John's neck.
It surprised him when John responded to just that, giving a whole body shiver and groaning into Sam's mouth, a desperate, hungry sound. John had never made a sound in Atlantis, gritting his teeth and breathed out explosively through flared nostrils even when he came - Rodney had watched more than once. There was a moment, afterward, when John's eyes would slit half-closed and his face looked open, before he came back to himself, but it never lasted long. Then his mouth would firm and he'd pull away. He was never really out of control.
Not like he seemed to be now. John wasn't silent, wasn't tensed against every sensation now. He moaned as Sam ran her hands down his back. God, it was hot, hearing John, feeling the heat radiating off him, and seeing how he just twisted into every touch without ever stopping kissing Sam. Rodney couldn't make himself take his hand off John's neck, not for anything, so he had to fumble open his pants and shove them down one handed.
And Sam, Sam was so gorgeous there, perched on the counter, thighs spread wide, blue eyes all black pupil, blind with arousal, her hands roaming over John as he lowered her to lie flat. Their mouths parted, lips wet and swollen, both of them panting for breath.
Rodney leaned in, his side next to John's, reaching for Sam, needing to touch her too. John pushed his hip back against Rodney's, obviously seeking closer contact. He ran his hand down the same path Sam's had taken, then lower and cupped John's ass, then left it there as he bent and licked a wet, urgent kiss against Sam's navel.
Sam and John together had seemed like his loneliest nightmare, but together with him they were better than his sweetest fantasy and he wanted everything: John's sleek muscles flexing under his hands, the taste of Sam's silky skin on his tongue, John's moans and the higher, breathy sounds Sam made, the scorching heat between all three of them. It might be all he'd have of either of them.
***
part 3
"You're really worried about him," Carter said, keeping pace with John only because she was in good shape. Christ, what was Rodney thinking, anyway? Sometimes, John just wanted to shake him, and couldn't she just go away? "Come on, McKay's just sleep deprived."
That hadn't just been sleep deprivation. That had been...he didn't know. Something hurting. Did Rodney really think he'd make a move on Carter and flaunt it in front of him? If he did, he needed to have his head straightened out. John was more than happy to do that, but not in front of Carter.
John quelled his irritation. Just because she knew McKay didn't mean she knew Rodney. He didn't know when that distinction had become clear to him, but ithad. He picked up his pace, trying not to curse when the elevator doors closed in his face. Damn it, McKay. Rubbing the back of his neck, he said, "Look, I can't just let him go."
"Okay," Carter said slowly, dragging the syllables out. She dug a badge out of skirt pocket. "Come on. I know faster elevators. There's a ton of paperwork he'll have to do to get out of the base without regular ID and that'll slow him down. We can catch up at the security desk."
He followed her into an express elevator and watched her key in a code. He couldn't help memorizing it. Numbers just did that with him. The doors shut with a pneumatic whoosh and he was boxed in with her.
"Did he really imply you and I are - " Carter said, turning back to John.
He shrugged. He supposed Rodney had. It probably made sense in Rodney's brain, if nowhere else in the universe. He didn't know whether to be insulted Rodney thought he do that to him or bizarrely complimented that he thought John could pull Rodney's dream girl.
"Look, you're - " John stopped. "I don't want him driving, as out of it as he is. He'll go over a mountain side or something or get back to his place and mainline caffeine until he collapses.
Carter frowned. "Oh." She folded her arms in a pose eerily similar to Rodney's favorite lecturing posture. "I'm surprised, I guess."
The elevator doors opened and John stepped out. "By what?"
Her shoulder moved in a half shrug. "I don't know. The way he's acting toward you. I thought you were friends."
John squeezed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "We are. You just don't...You don't know him the way I do. So, could we just find him before he ends up in a ditch somewhere?"
"Of course," she said and led the way to the security check-out, using a short-cut John hadn't had a clue about. He took the opportunity to pull himself together. The last thing he wanted was for anyone at the SGC to see how freaked out and worried and lonely he was here. He didn't even want Rodney to see that.
***
"Destroying government property again?" The familiar drawl was marred by breathing that was a little heavier than usual, indicating that John had indeed been running. It gave Rodney a perverse kind of satisfaction even as it made his face flush with anger over the fact that John really couldn't leave it alone.
He didn't answer. Didn't even look up. Just kept on filling out the forms, slow and methodical, even though John was so close Rodney could smell his damn aftershave.
More quick boot-steps echoed along the corridor. Sam. Of course.
"Nice dodging there, McKay," Sam said, and her voice was so full of forced cheer it surprised Rodney she didn't choke on it. "But did you really think you'd escape us?"
Rodney's head snapped up before he could stop himself. John and Sam were standing next to each other, shoulders almost touching, presenting a unified front in a way John only ever did with the his team, with - He clenched his teeth until his head hurt. An exit. A clean, clear exit that would let him save face and allow them to be as disgustingly happy and pretty together as they damn well wanted. That was all he'd been asking for. Why the hell couldn't they let him have that? Did they have some perverse need to prove they were better than him? They weren't, for fuck's sake.
"I was going to escape to my bed, if you don't mind." He put on his most derisive face and turned a cold smile at John. "Not everything I do revolves around you."
Rodney shoved the papers at the guard. He didn't want to see if his words has prompted a reaction from John. He didn't want a reaction from John.
"Since when do you sleep?"
"Since I noticed that while I was saving the planet," he encompassed the mountain and everything beyond it with a sweeping gesture, "you two were too busy pairing off to even check if I could have used some help."
Two stunned faces looked back at him. They didn't answer, just stared.
Rodney turned on his heel. "If you say one word," he told the silently watching guards, "I will make sure you never work in the military again."
"Have you lost your mind?" Sheppard yelled. "We've been off-world. Not together."
Rodney swept a derisive look at the two of them. "That's why you're together - " Even thinking the word made his tongue twist, tasting something sour and old.
"We're not together," Sheppard snapped. He glanced at Carter and winced. "Sorry, not that you - "
She waved a hand at him. "Don't bother. I get it. McKay, did you fry your brain while you were saving the planet?"
Rodney swallowed it down over the lump in his throat. Damn it all to hell. He was going to turn now, turn and leave, and be noble even if it killed him.
Too bad they were still following him.
"McKay," John called, "have you lost your mind? I only just found out you were even here - "
The night air was cool, insects singing an accompaniment as Rodney almost ran to his car. John and Sam kept pace with him. He wanted them to let him go, so he walked faster, kicking gravel out of his way. His throat was still too tight, each breath an effort to pull in and push out, cold against his insides.
"You know, I don't remember him being able to hustle this well, before." Sam's voice was light and teasing and Rodney wanted to hate her so much he was sick with it. She wasn't trying to be mean, he knew. She was honestly trying to make the situation easier for all of them and that was even more impossible to bear than malice would have been.
"C'mon, McKay, please. Just stop and we'll figure this out, okay?" John sounded so plaintive Rodney almost did stop. Except he knew what an act John could put on when he wanted to.
Figure this out? Rodney wanted to punch John, hard. It wasn't as if Rodney had hurt him. He had even backed down, let John have his perfect happy end. What the hell did Rodney need to figure out? John always got everything he fucking wanted. Wrapped Jeannie around his little finger. Hell, he had even gotten Rodney. Why, when he could have all the space bimbos and every other woman he wanted, did it have to be Sam? Sam, who had been the one person Rodney had always wanted for himself? And if he had her, if she had him, why couldn't they give Rodney the chance to act like a mature adult, to do what no one expected of him but which he was damn well capable of?
Rodney didn't stop. He even contemplated running the remaining distance between him and his car, but a hand on his shoulder prevented that.
"Rodney." Sam looked washed out under the dim halogen lighting of the car park. Did the military not pay to have its lots lit? You'd think with security being such a big concern for the SGC it would be lit up like an airport runway. Instead there were only a few lamps studded here and there, that didn't provide nearly enough light. "Rodney, hang on. It's not what you think."
"I think it's exactly what I think, Colonel. And I think both of you would have a great deal more, more whatever if I wasn't involved, not that it is any of my business, you're both adults, so if you would just - "
"Sure about that?" John had found a car to slouch against, because god forbid that man actually have to stand up straight for any length of time. "Are you sure it's what you think?"
"McKay," Sam said again.
Sam looked ethereal in the moonlight but tired; John just looked overworked and hollow. Rodney swallowed. They were beautiful, he thought: the length of John's body silver-touched and almost diffused around the edges, Sam's hair limned in light, shadows defining her cheekbones, both of them thrown into sharp chiaroscuro. But it was John's expression that kept him frozen and mute.
He looked...blank, eyes narrowed slightly: an expression Rodney had learned meant John's sharp mind was calculating how to get them out of some situation that had him scared spitless. Rodney just didn't know what could be scaring John now. Unless he really thought Rodney would destroy his career out of spite...
"What the hell?" Rodney heard himself asking. "What are you - you can't - look, I get it, okay? Go forth, make perfect babies, and stop - "
"Babies?" Sam asked, a faint smile twitching around her mouth.
John pushed off the car. He just looked pissed off now and Rodney wondered if he'd read the expression on his face right before. "And here I thought I was asking you a serious question."
"I don't need your pity," Rodney spat. He turned away and walked around the car. Started fiddling with the keys. "Don't you dare patronize me."
"McKay, will you stop?" Sam had slipped next to him while he was too busy glaring at John over the hood of the silver Toyota the SGC had provided him with. She put a hand on his, stopping him from activating the remote and opening the doors. Her fingertips were cold. "Just, stop."
Rodney took her hand between thumb and index finger and removed at as though it were unclean. He smiled a nasty smile at her. "Why should I stop? It's just about to be fun, isn't it?" He noticed John slowly rounding the car and began to feel trapped, even though John hadn't reached him yet. Trying to ignore him, Rodney concentrated on Sam again, sneering at her. "What do you want, absolution?"
In his rage, he had forgotten somehow that Sam was military. He was reminded of that fact when she grasped his upper arms, fingers digging into his muscles hard enough to cause pain, turning him and pushing him against the driver's side. Her voice was silky, too calm for the situation. "You know, McKay, it would help if you just said what kind of bug crawled up your ass."
He closed his eyes and swallowed, hard. His thoughts derailed at her proximity, anger drifting away like pale smoke.
When he opened his eyes and sneaked a look as discreetly as he could, John was standing next to him and had lifted his hand. He was easing the grip of Sam's hand - that would no doubt leave bruises that would show tomorrow - off Rodney's arm, lifting it away, his expression gone thoughtful. The touch burned through Rodney's jacket. He remembered when it had been John's hands locked onto his arms. The memory left his throat too dry to swallow.
"For a scientist, Rodney," John told him, "you jump to a lot of conclusions." He was standing closer than Sam was, body heat bleeding through their clothes. "Although Sam's right about one thing. Seems all I need to do to make you move is make you - "
John stopped, voice catching. Jealous, Rodney knew he was going to say, just as he knew that John was remembering why he didn't have to make Rodney move, anymore. Probably wouldn't ever again, since it was doubtful Rodney was needed on off-world missions in the Milky Way.
The shutters went up, Rodney could see John close himself off. It stung, but maybe it was for the better.
Neither of them knew how Sam thought about two guys together. Rodney couldn't imagine her reporting John, but he couldn't be sure, either. He'd never grasped the whole military thing, how much they adhered to regulations they didn't necessarily believe in. He didn't even know if she would pick up on the implication of what John had almost said.
John stepped back, making Rodney aware of the cold night air. Sam touched his arm, lightly this time, and squeezed once before letting go.
"Okay?" she mouthed. The place where her hand had been cooled down rapidly.
Rodney shrugged. He had no idea.
***
"Give me the keys." Sheppard's voice cut through the lengthening silence. He held out his hand.
McKay's "Why?" was a little breathless, but no less demanding.
"Because we could all use a drink."
Do we ever, Sam agreed, if only to herself.
Sheppard snatched the keys from McKay's fingers and opened the car.
Sam saw McKay open his mouth to protest, but Sheppard beat him to it. "I'm driving."
"Fine," McKay grumbled and walked around to the passenger's side. His shoulders were hunched and tense. He didn't look back at her before he opened the door and sat down.
No extension of the invitation. She told herself not to be disappointed. Sam had already resigned herself to going over to her own vehicle and home to a microwave dinner, when a brief touch on her elbow stopped her. Sheppard looked pale in the lamplight, his eyes shadowed.
"You should - " He cleared his throat and fixed his gaze somewhere over her left shoulder for a long moment before looking straight at her. "You should come with us." The words were amiable, it would have seemed as though he didn't really care if she came along or not. His eyes, however, were pleading. Asking her to come along.
She said yes without thinking twice. Said yes because she didn't want to be alone this evening, whether she was reading more into Sheppard's words than was really there. Maybe he was just being polite. She didn't care.
It was only when Sheppard was driving the car through the second town after Cheyenne Mountain, the car's interior filled with a deafening silence, that she asked herself what the hell she was getting herself into here.
Because there was something between these two that she wasn't getting. Maybe it was just the out of balance effect of only having half their team present throwing their interactions off, but it felt like something else, something more.
***
Sheppard didn't drive them to a bar. Nor a hotel. Nor a diner. She'd seen all of those along the way and he had passed by every single one of them. Sam fidgeted on the velour seat. The palms of her hands tingled. The seatbelt cut into her chest. To have at least something to do, she wound down the window a bit. Fresh, cool night air washed inside, carrying the scent of fall - dry leaves, pine, and ripe fruits. In the dark, she saw pumpkins lined up on a field, incongruous and almost clichéd for Colorado. Their bright orange was an eerie dot of color in the inky night when the car's light touched them.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw McKay fidgeting as well. She could tell that he was trying to start a conversation, but for the first time since she had known him, he failed. Instead, he reached out toward the glove compartment and pulled out several CDs. The jewel cases slipped and ended up clattering into his lap. He cursed under his breath, and that alone jarred Sam. McKay had never cursed before, at least never around her. It showed her just how frayed he was when he slipped at something so simple.
It took him a while to pick a CD, but finally, the uncomfortable silence was broken by melodious electronic sounds. Was that...? "Tangerine Dream, McKay?" She was surprised for a moment, but then wondered why. She guessed she just hadn't expected their musical tastes to be compatible.
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
It was back to silence after that exchange, the hiss of tires on tarmac, but Sam was glad to see Sheppard's long, blunt-tipped fingers thrumming on the stirring wheel to the rhythm of the music.
About three long pieces of music after that, Sheppard pulled over to the left and drove into the car park of a dark apartment complex. He turned the key and the car grew quiet. Only their breathing was audible.
"Welcome to our final destination," Sheppard finally said, with a pretense of humor that seemed to come only with effort. "If this is not your final destination, please make further accommodations on your own, because this is my stop."
"Where the hell are we?" McKay demanded as he got out the car.
Sam opened the back door and looked around the neutral houses, duplexes and apartment buildings, the cars in the parking lot. The entire feel of it was familiar, and the reason she had gotten out of here with the first bit of money she'd made. "Your apartment," she stated, looking at Sheppard, who had rounded the car and was standing next to McKay.
Sheppard shrugged. "Good a place as any."
"After that drive, you'd better have some damn good whiskey," McKay grumbled.
Sheppard was a dark shadow as he ghosted across the cement walk-way. Of course it was cement - cheap, sturdy, and reassuringly bland. She'd known good soldiers who'd gone insane, stuck in military housing for too long. That Sheppard stayed here bothered her. He had the money, she knew he did. His pay-grade wasn't that much lower than her own, and the USAF had been keeping it nice and warm in his three-year absence. It wasn't lack of options, either, since Landry didn't want his best people beating their heads against the walls just so the dents and smears of blood added a few unique touches; options for apartments vetted but not built by the military had been offered immediately. In fact, Sam was pretty sure Carson Beckett had taken that offer. So had Elizabeth Weir.
The door squeaked slightly as it opened. "You know, some WD-40 would - " McKay's tremulous suggestion cut off as Sheppard went still after flipping on the overhead light. His shoulder's were too straight and rigid to hunch, but Sam still got the impression that they wanted to. "Ah, right. Um. Very, ah. Very, um. Spartan, Colonel."
Sam grimaced, hoping neither man noticed. This was irrefutable proof of something she hadn't really wanted to confirm. 'Spartan' was a charitable way of describing it. The living room contained a ratty brown easy-chair, no doubt rescued from someone's dump, a TV with long, trailing silver ears as testament to its success in receiving over-the-air channels, and an overturned box that acted as a footrest. That was it. Plain white walls with nothing adorning them, a wide expanse of threadbare taupe carpeting of the sort that even she had covered as completely as possible when she'd lived in similar accommodations.
There wasn't even a DVD player.
She knew the rest of this place - never his home - would be exactly the same. Enough for bare essentials and not one drop of interest more. Neat in the way of military men, who never quite get over boot camp, either carrying the habit with them or rebelling utterly and becoming complete slobs.
"Yeah, yeah," Sheppard said. "Hang on, I think I left the bottle in the kitchen."
"Bottle?" Rodney asked. His face was pale and haggard in the dim lighting, staring at Sheppard's retreating back. "What, you're too good for glasses now?"
The words weren't meant to be heard. She knew that, because the tone wasn't biting or sarcastic, instead forlorn.
Sam closed her eyes. It was an intrusion to be here. She wasn't supposed to witness Rodney at his most open and being here in Sheppard's apartment felt like stepping inside the man's skin.
"Colonel?" It was what Rodney always called Sheppard, but habit was habit and Sam still opened her eyes. Rodney was looking at her, almost ethereal without any direct lighting. "Are you all right?"
She made herself smile. It probably wasn't a good one, but she meant it. This wasn't the same snappy, abrasive man who'd met her with accusations and condescension, four years ago. This was the man Sam had wanted him to be, no matter how often she still thought about strangling him. "You should call me Sam."
His mouth opened, absently licking his lip as he tried to come up with a response. He wasn't as easy to surprise as he had been, Sam knew, and was perversely pleased she'd done so now.
"Uhm, yes. Sam. Of course."
Sheppard found them like that, Rodney hastily clearing his throat, backing towards the lonely recliner sitting in the middle of the room. Sam grinned at his retreat. He may not have been the McKay she remembered, but it was still fun to make him give way. A lot of fun, as a matter of fact, and a pleasure she shared. Sheppard's expression was a knowing smirk, darker with curiosity. "I miss something?"
Turning her same amusement on him, Sam took the opened bottle of whiskey from his hand and chugged it. Straight. Managing not to shudder - it'd been a while since she'd had more than a beer or a glass of wine before bed - she handed the bottle back to Sheppard. "Thanks. And nope, you didn't miss anything at all. Now, I think it's McKay's turn?"
"Yes, ma'am," Sheppard quipped, irreverently saluting her with the whiskey bottle, the gesture lazy enough to make her grin. "Of course, ma'am."
He handed to bottle to McKay with a waggle of his brows. McKay frowned at it. "Come on, Rodney," Sheppard taunted, "You'd kiss her, but you won't drink after her? It's alcohol. Any germs are history anyway."
"You don't know, there may be any number of off-world bacteria that are immune to alcohol as a sterilizing agent," McKay snapped back, but he lifted the bottle and took a deep drink. Sam found herself watching the motion of his Adam's apple under the skin of his throat. He handed it back to Sheppard, who grinned at him then licked the mouth of the bottle, before fitting his lips around it tightly and tipping his head back.
Sam swallowed hard and glanced away. McKay didn't.
"What now?" she heard herself say.
"Have another drink," Sheppard said. The cool glass of the bottle was pressed into her fingers. "I find it does wonders for my mood."
She took it and walked over to the large window that looked out from the living room onto the street. An occasional car went by and she noticed the walls were so thin she could hear the buzz of the motors dopplering up and then down as they approached, then passed. She could hear a couple of cats fighting somewhere outside. It was so damn depressing she had to take that second drink and a third.
Then McKay was at her shoulder, pale face reflecting in the glass, taking the bottle back. "Give me that."
They seemed to have run out of anything to say to one another. Sheppard was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, watching Sam and Rodney at the window. His reflection looked like a ghost, the lights of the apartment building across the street shining through it.
"Well, this is just the most fun I've had since my last root-canal," McKay remarked, before stalking over to the TV and switching it on. The soft buzz of sound filled the room before the picture coalesced: talking heads, a football field behind them. "I should have known."
Sheppard unfolded his arms, relaxing a little, as though McKay's scorn pleased him. "Hey, if you can find something better..."
"What, better than standing around your unfurnished apartment watching broadcast American football and drinking on an empty stomach? What could possibly compare?"
"You want to leave?" Sheppard said quietly. "There's the door. No, wait, I'll call a cab for you."
McKay's mouth opened and closed, while the skin around his eyes tightened. Sam thought he was a breath away from storming out and wouldn't that be awkward, leaving her here with Sheppard, alone.
She grimaced and walked over to the TV, picking up the remote from on, surfing through channels until the unmistakable intro of The A-Team caught her ear. Reruns. Everyone's favorite.
"Sit down, McKay," she told him.
"I can feel my brain trying to kill itself inside my skull," he said. But he dropped down onto the carpet without further protest, taking another swallow from the bottle he still held, removing his shoes and socks.
"Get the light," Sam told Sheppard.
With a shrug, he obeyed, while she perched on the arm of the recliner and unzipped her boots. She had a feeling that she'd be on the floor before they finished the bottle, so they needed to go. She dropped the first one with a light thud and looked up. McKay was watching her. Aside from the glow of fluorescent fixture in the kitchen, the blue flicker of the TV was the only light in the room. It caught in McKay's eyes, giving them an irradiated glow.
Sheppard kicked off his tennis shoes, revealing bare feet, and padded over to McKay. Sam felt his gaze settle on her legs and curled her toes without thinking. His mouth quirked up, but he said nothing, just settled down onto the carpet next to McKay before lifting the bottle out of McKay's slack hand.
Sam unzipped her other boot and kicked it off. On the TV screen, Hannibal Smith declared, 'I love it when a plan comes together.' McKay groaned and Sheppard grinned.
"God, this is bad," Sam said after a half hour of watching improbable explosions and ridiculous actions. "I mean, even drunk, this is bad."
"I'm hungry," McKay declared abruptly.
The alcohol swirling through Sam's system made her stop and try to consider how that applied to The A-Team, before soberer thoughts won out. Drinking. Empty stomach. Never a good idea.
"Me too," she found herself agreeing. McKay grinned at her and she couldn't help but smile back.
Sheppard dialed the number of the pizza-service from memory, without double-checking it, and that told Sam too much of how he usually spent his evenings. The glimpse of the kitchen she'd had didn't look as though anything but the coffee-maker was being used. The counter was polished so clean that Sam had had the urge to sneak in, leave fingerprints and smears everywhere, just to stop it from looking so damn sterile.
"Fifteen minutes," Sheppard said after he hung up. It occurred to Sam only now that he hadn't even asked her what she wanted on her pizza. Rodney's favorite Sheppard knew; Sam didn't doubt that for a moment. He knew it just as she knew Jack's favorites, and Daniel's and Teal'c's. Cam's and Vala's, too, now. Some things just came naturally with being on a team. Blood-group, allergies, phobias, shoe-size, favorite beer, favorite aftershave ...
"In fifteen minutes, I'm going to be in hypoglycaemic -"
Sheppard fished a piece of hard candy out of his pocket and shoved it at Rodney in silence. The gesture looked often-practiced, routine. Sam smiled and held out her hand. "No playing favorites, Colonel."
Sheppard rolled his eyes and handed her a piece of candy as well. "I can see why McKay thinks you two are meant to be," he answered with a wry grin. "That's it, I'm out."
"Does he now?" Sam turned to Rodney, who was very busy unwrapping his candy. The tips of his ears were turning red.
***
The pizza came twenty minutes later, a fact that caused Rodney to complain loud and often. The whiskey had loosened his tongue and his limbs, just like her own and Sheppard's. They lay sprawled on the floor in front of the TV, mocking the antics of the A-Team unmercifully - B.A.'s jewelry, Face's ridiculous cons, Murdock's piloting - when the doorbell rang.
"He doesn't get a tip, he's late," Rodney declared. "I hate bad service."
Sheppard pushed up. "The five minutes more didn't kill you."
Sam dropped her head to her folded arms. "No, but me...I had to listen to him."
She could all but hear Rodney's sneer.
When she raised her head again, there was an open pizza box standing in front of her and Rodney was already mumbling, "Oh, thank god," around a slice.
She caught Sheppard's glance and grinned with him. In a way, it was reassuring to have Rodney back to normal. Then she looked away because that glisten of grease on Sheppard's lower lip tempted her to do something stupid, like run her fingertip over it. When she did, she realized Rodney was staring at him too, before he sensed her gaze and shoveled another slice of pizza into his mouth.
A look back at Sheppard told her nothing. He'd ducked his head and was teasing a string of drooping cheese back onto his slice with one finger. The only thing he could be watching were Rodney's hands.
A sequence of explosions and heroic music came from the TV. Sam glanced up, groped for a slice of pizza blind and shook her head in amusement.
"I can't believe that at one a.m. on a Thursday night, we're on the floor in your apartment, watching the A-Team."
"What? You never sat down and watched bad TV with the rest of your team?" McKay asked. "No movie nights while majors, who will remain nameless, subject you and your innocent teammates to Marty McFly and his flux capacitors?"
"Hockey," she mumbled around a mouth full of cheese and mushrooms.
"See, that's what we were doing wrong," McKay said to Sheppard.
Sheppard didn't look up from picking bell pepper off his slice, intently flicking each piece back into the greasy box they'd set in the recliner.
Sam grabbed up another piece of the pizza. A hand brushed hers, fingertips skirting the back of her hand before it moved away as Rodney picked up the slice next to hers. Sam swallowed and didn't look away from the TV on purpose. She'd thought that with the whiskey and the pizza and the TV-watching, this odd tension between them would have dissipated. Well, seemed as though her body at least was about to disagree. She snuck a glance at Rodney from the corner of her eye and couldn't help but think that the blue TV-light - highlighting a stubbled chin, long lashes, a straight nose and soft hair - looked good on him. Not that she hadn't always considered him attractive. Oh, she had. But his personality had been the real turn off. Had, though, because Atlantis seemed to have worn off much of his ego leaving the decent man beneath apparent.
Shaking her head, she looked back at the TV and the inane things Murdoch and BA were doing, bickering. She must be more susceptible to strong alcohol than she used to be, because no way would she have thought about Rodney McKay's hair before. Or about wanting to wipe that bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth, finding out how those lips would feel under her fingertips.
A glance to the right revealed Sheppard with the whiskey bottle against his lips again and Sam watched with a dry throat how the TV light did equally good things for him - throwing him into sharp relief against the dark room, lighting his throat as it worked, catching in the stubble and shining on his hair. He sat the bottle down in front of her, caught her glance and gave her a smile that kicked up higher on one side, sardonic. She couldn't tear her gaze away from those moist lips for too long.
Another sequence of explosions and a snort of laughter from Rodney saved her. "Oh, that's just too much. That's not just a insult to physics, it's like an argument for anti-Darwinists."
Sam jerked her head back to the TV, bit down hard on her slice of pizza, chewing slowly and with care, concentrating on swallowing. Sheppard really had picked a good one. That was all that mattered. Not that they were both close enough to touch her with each movement, and that their body-heat was bleeding through her clothes, making her skin itch. Not that she had just ogled them without any kind of subtlety.
She could feel it every time Rodney glanced at her from the corner of his eyes. He'd almost formed a pattern with it: take a bite, half-swallow it before mocking something inane on the television, then sneak a look at her. Did he want some kind of approval? He talked too much, yes, but he was an amusing drunk, and Sam didn't think that had been one of her criticisms. To see if it amused her? It did amuse her, most of the time. She hadn't expected him to have such a good grasp of explosives, although that was probably a little foolish of her. He'd picked up as a necessity the kinds of skills she'd been taught, plus all the other strange things she'd learned along the way. She had no doubt that he knew an array of Pegasus specific tricks as well.
But the way he watched her, assessing and almost suspicious, but eager...His eyes flickered to Sheppard, though, and the expression on his face grew even stranger, flashes of regret and anger mixing with affection.
A string of mozzarella stretched from her piece of pizza, stretched and then snapped, dropping right down her cleavage. "Shit," she said without thinking, but the cheese wasn't hot enough to burn. She dropped the rest of the slice in the box then fished the cheese from between her breasts.
Sheppard sighed beside her and Sam realized she'd dislodged the top button on her blouse, offering them both a generous view of her white satin underwire bra, complete with greasy cheese stain. He offered her a paper napkin along with a lopsided smirk and turned back to the TV. She could see the pulse in his neck, though: fast.
"You're not burned, are you?" McKay asked. He sounded hoarse and was flushed from more than just the alcohol.
Sam rolled her eyes, then shook her head and fumbled the button closed. "It was cheese, not a branding iron. And you're staring."
Sheppard lifted his slice of pizza in a toasting gesture. "Hey, you're worth staring at, Colonel Carter," he said, smiling at her.
"Of course she is," Rodney said.
"Sam," she reminded Sheppard.
Rodney looked back and forth first at her then Sheppard. "I - I, uh, thought maybe you two - "
"Christ, Rodney, we're barely on the same planet at the same time," Sheppard said. "Landry likes to keep me away from the varsity, you know."
Sam winced.
"You just, you both look so good, and came into the lab together - " Rodney replied.
"Looking for you." Sheppard closed his eyes briefly, then cut his gaze toward Sam. She just watched him, trying to figure out the funny vibe between them.
"Hard as it is to believe," she snarked a little.
And Rodney was still watching her.
The tension she'd thought eased was back again. The alcohol was probably making it worse, as Rodney's lip jutted forward. He looked mulish again, licking sauce from the corner of his mouth and missing most of it.
Clearly, these two men could not be left up to their own devices.
"You know," she said. "I think I've had enough of this. Does anyone mind if I change the channel?" Before either could react - probably in agreement, by their baffled expressions - Sam snatched up the remote. She had no idea what was on this late, but given Sam had found the A-Team, there had to be a terrible, melodramatic -
"Oh, Arnold. You can't leave me!"
- perfect. It wasn't the Lifetime channel, but it was certainly that type of movie. On either side of her, both men watched in horror as the lens took on a fuzzy, peach tint, as a woman actually clutched her hands beneath her chin, imploring her man to stay with her. Sam was a little horrified herself. Hadn't they stopped making movies like that?
"Uh." Sheppard cleared his throat. "Are you, uh, sure this is what you want to watch?"
"Why?" she asked as winsomely as possible. "Don't you like it?"
"Is there anyone on Earth or in any galaxy who could honestly like this?" Rodney sounded appalled. Sheppard nodded in agreement.
"Those movies are made for an audience, Rodney."
He snorted. "The retarded, obviously."
Sam narrowed her eyes. "Just for that statement, I'm not changing the channel."
"What?!" both men asked in perfect unison.
She held the remote in both hands, mock-protecting it.
"You're not serious. Please tell me you're not serious."
"Clarissa, you should never have done that to me!" the emotion-laden voice of a man with wavy, shoulder-length brown hair came droning from the TV. Sam wanted to punch him in the face immediately. She clutched the remote tighter when Sheppard groaned, laid back on the floor and thunked his head against the carpet.
"Oh, Arnold, I told you I would love you forever when we first met, how could you - "
Three, two, one ...
Rodney snapped his fingers. "Look, give me that."
So good to know he was still predictable in some ways. Sam couldn't help the grin any longer. "Try and get it."
He reached for the remote. "Give it - "
"No." Sam pulled it back against her.
Rodney grasped her fingers and tried to pry the remote from them. "Will you just - "
"You had your choice." Again, she pulled her hands back, laughing so much on the inside that her fingers almost went weak with the effort of holding it back. Sheppard was still sprawled on his back staring up at the darkened ceiling.
"Hah, if you call that choice - " Back.
Forth. "You just don't appreciate the fine art of - "
Back. Forth. Back, Forth. "Art?! You're calling that art, what mental institution did you -" They were both trying too hard, trying to act like this was all fun, happy-drunk playtime, but they were hitting all the wrong notes.
"Hey, hey, enough!" Sheppard shouted over their raised voices.
Sam used the momentary stalling of the fight for the remote and lunged, ending up on her belly, with it buried under her chest.
"Oh that's mature." Rodney's outraged voice cracked at the top. Sam had to muffle the snicker in the carpet. When she looked up, Sheppard had turned his head to just blink at her. Slowly.
"I win." She knew that she grinned like a maniac and didn't care one bit.
"My TV, my choice," Sheppard stated and held out his hand. "Give it here."
"No."
"What do you mean, no?" Rodney chimed in. "You can't say no. He's right!"
Sam licked her lips and let her grin grow even wider. "Watch me."
She made the critical mistake of taking her eyes off Sheppard to sneer at McKay. He had one hand on the bare back of her knee before she knew he'd even moved, tickling the sensitive skin and making her squirm and try to kick him away. Rodney joined him with a laugh that sounded forced, muttering, "If you'd tried that on Teyla she'd have flipped you into orbit, Sheppard."
Sam twisted her head to the side and caught a glimpse of Sheppard's grin, false as fool's gold, in response.
Rodney went for her ribs while Sheppard moved on to the soles of her feet. That made Sam yelp out loud, the sensation really unbearable. She squirmed and made noises that were far too close to a squeal for her liking. She lost the remote, sending it spinning over the carpet, but none of them paid any attention.
"Give," Rodney said.
Sam panted for breath and shook her head. She'd scraped her mouth against the scratchy carpet and wanted to spit. Dust tickled in her nose. Rodney flexed his fingers against her ribs.
"Do you give?"
Sam held still for a moment longer, giving the appearance of having given up and then, when Rodney relaxed, she twisted onto her back and lunged up, catching him off guard, pulling him down next to her with a triumphant whoop. Sheppard just ducked fast enough to avoid Rodney's flying foot.
Time to give him a taste of his own medicine. Rodney screeched when she found a particularly sensitive spot at his waist. The sound startled Sheppard as well and gave Sam the opportunity to grab his wrist and pull him down next to Rodney.
Only Sheppard wasn't out of breath, was barely breathing hard; fingers twitching as though he didn't know where to put them, finally coming to rest on Sam's bare thigh where her skirt had ridden up. Sam went still until Rodney grabbed her waist, pulling her on top of him, her back to his chest. Rodney's hands were hot and dug into her waist and hips. Sam blinked down at his feet bracketing hers, her head spinning a little. How had she ended up like this anyway? They'd gone from playful wrestling to something else, something that made her own breath hitch, as though the air in the room had become to thick to breathe. She tried to wriggle away and Rodney pulled her close against him, ass pressed against his hips, then Sheppard rolled onto both of them like a blanket, face to face, so close she could see each tiny line at the corners of his eyes. He caught her shoulders under his hands to balance himself, most of his weight on his knees and not her or Rodney. Whiskey breath gusted into her face.
Under her, Rodney grunted and opened his legs to alleviate the added weight. Her ass slid to the floor while she still tried to break free, wriggling and bucking, pressing back against Rodney's crotch. He groaned, sounding strained. His hands were sliding higher, now brushing her ribs.
Sam bucked again, laughing, high on endorphins. In a move that was obviously quicker than Sheppard had expected, she scissored her legs around his waist and lunged upward, throwing him off balance. Rodney's hands slid from her waist as she flipped Sheppard, straddling him when he pulled her with him. Over her own harsh breathing, she could hear Rodney whimpering and muttering about how next time she might as well castrate him. Sam reached out blindly to pet his head, laughing an apology, out of breath.
She shifted her weight, bent over Sheppard and grinned right in his face. "Now who wins?" His panting breath touched her face. He returned her grin for a moment, sharp and feral, looked ready to toss her off, but tensed when she shifted her weight again. Her skirt pooled over her their thighs and the soft denim of his jeans whispered against her bare legs, body warm. His eyelids fluttered for a second, teeth sinking into his lower lip.
"What?"
Sheppard didn't answer. Only moved his hips against her in the tiniest of movements, eyes never leaving her face. His erection brushed against the crotch of her panties.
Oh.
Her mouth went dry and she suddenly couldn't meet Sheppard's gaze any longer.
Rodney offered the distraction that she didn't need: on his knees beside them, his hands were back on her, fingers stroking soft enough to make her shiver before he flattened his hands against her and pressed her down against Sheppard, making them both groan.
For a breath, she thought Sheppard would kiss her or she would kiss him, but the instant passed even as she reflected on it and left them out of momentum and abruptly aware of each other, of their bodies in contact, and the awkwardness of the situation. Rodney's hands still rested on her, one on her hip, one on the small of her back.
Sheppard let his head thunk back and started laughing, this stupid, braying laugh. Sam realized he really was drunk. She never could have pinned him otherwise. Especially since her own reflexes were whiskey-shot. Rodney's hand flexed against the fabric of her shirt and she could hear his rough breath, see his eyes dilated dark when she turned her head a fraction to look at him.
This was the moment to back off, to laugh too, and back out, pretend she didn't know he wanted her, that they both wanted her.
She didn't laugh.
She didn't move.
***
John stopped laughing and swallowed. God, he was hard. He hadn't had sex since before they left Atlantis, fast handjobs exchanged with Rodney, lying on top one of the too narrow beds after they had got out of a meeting with Elizabeth and Caldwell, before everything went to hell. He hadn't even jerked off in the shower since then. No time and then no interest. Now he had Sam Carter straddling him with Rodney beside him and his body had decided to come back to life.
Except for the yammering TV and the sound of their breathing, the apartment was silent. The wavering light from the screen illuminated Carter and Rodney unevenly. Carter's blouse had come open again, revealing the cool sheen of skin and satin beneath. John wanted to touch. Her hair was a mess from rolling around the floor and he wanted to comb his fingers through it. He wanted to reach up and find Rodney's hand and lace their fingers together. He wanted to touch Rodney the same way he would Carter, slow and teasing, and maybe laugh somewhere along the way, because they'd never once slowed down when they got off together before.
He didn't want that anymore. Maybe...with Carter here, they could do something different. Maybe this was his last chance at anything with Rodney, too. If they were just convenient back on Atlantis, then this would be it. Because they lived in different states now. There was nothing convenient about that, or the sneaking around that would be necessary if John didn't want to get nailed for violating the Uniform Code.
He suppressed the desire to lift his hips again and push up into Carter's sweet warmth. He could get off just doing that, without ever being inside her, at this point, come in his pants like a teenager making out in the backseat of a Mustang.
Carter leaned closer. John raised his head and their mouths just brushed each other. Then she drew back. "Is this going where I think it is?" she asked.
He turned his head to the side and looked at Rodney. "Yes?"
Rodney was on his knees. He ran his hand up Carter's back to the nape of her neck, leaned in and kissed her. His other hand slipped off her hip and found John's shoulder, bracing himself.
John felt himself glazing over, just from being pinned down the way he was, by both of them. He swallowed a moan, then reached up and cupped Carter's breasts, sliding the fabric of her blouse over the slick satin of her bra.
Part of him had been thinking about this since he invited Carter to ride with them, the part that had driven them straight to the apartment. He hadn't quite believed it would happen, though. He circled one nipple with his thumb while Rodney kissed her wet and messy and noisy, the sound going straight to John's cock, constricted inside his jeans and trapped, as she ground down on him in little circles.
Rodney pulled away from Carter with visible reluctance. His hand tightened on John's shoulder briefly.
"Not on the floor," Carter stated. "This carpet makes me want to sneeze."
"Tell me you have a bedroom," Rodney said.
"Back there," John replied. His voice may have slurred a little; his concentration shot to pieces by the sensations pooling at his groin. He was barely holding on against the need to just rub himself up against Carter shamelessly.
She scrambled off him, though, before he could lift his hips in more than a stuttering little motion. Her skirt slid back down her legs once she was on her feet. John stayed on the floor another breath, watching as she swayed, then gave Rodney a hand up. The front of Rodney's trousers tented visibly, making John catch his breath against another wave of arousal.
He started to push himself up and his hand landed on a half-eaten slice of pizza. He grimaced.
"Bedroom," Rodney said. "Now."
John picked up the pizza off the carpet, then shook his head. He could maybe ignore that, but now he needed to wash his hand at least. "In a second," he muttered, getting up. "Let me get rid of this."
Rodney and Carter stared at him and he scooped up the pizza box and the used napkins, heading for the kitchen and the garbage can there. He needed a breath, a break, to get hold of himself anyway. His skin felt fevered and so sensitive that even one touch would set him off.
"I can't believe this," Rodney said from behind him. "He's the most anal retentive camper, too. Everything has to be cleaned up."
They followed him into the kitchen, detouring around the counter that stuck out at a right angle from the wall.
"My dad was like that too," Carter remarked.
John tossed the pizza box, washed his hands, then closed the blinds on the window in front of the sink. Great. That comment had calmed him down a little. Nothing like being compared to someone's father to cool his jets. He braced his hands against the edge of the sink and leaned forward. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. His cock thought so, still hard and pressing against his boxers and the zip of his jeans, but his head was still spinning from too much alcohol, even after eating, and the others were just as drunk.
He was still uncertain when he turned, but that melted away as he looked at Carter and Rodney again, mussed and hot-eyed, watching him impatiently. Need surged through him and he crossed the kitchen and caught Carter's waist in his hands, lifting her up onto the counter.
She immediately looped her arms around his neck and pulled him in close, kissing him, taking over and pushing her tongue into his mouth, then pulling back and licking at his lips, before biting them. The contact sizzled through John, making him gasp back into her mouth. He stepped between her legs, pressing closer until his knees hit the side of the counter and then leaned in, feeling her breasts against his chest.
Rodney's hand, broad and hot, set down on the back of his neck only made it better, made him wilder, trying to get closer to them both and to hell with the bedroom.
***
Rodney watched John's control finally slip away, watched him boost Sam onto that spotless counter and couldn't stay away another second.
John and Sam were kissing intently, so caught in each other that he felt free to move in closer. They were as gorgeous together as his jealous imagination had predicted, but they were obviously new to each other, which eased something inside him. He felt like they wouldn't be together if he wasn't here too, with them, that he was included, instead of excluded. He could trace his fingers over Sam's hands, circle her knuckles, then slide under and cup his palm against the hot skin at the nape of John's neck.
It surprised him when John responded to just that, giving a whole body shiver and groaning into Sam's mouth, a desperate, hungry sound. John had never made a sound in Atlantis, gritting his teeth and breathed out explosively through flared nostrils even when he came - Rodney had watched more than once. There was a moment, afterward, when John's eyes would slit half-closed and his face looked open, before he came back to himself, but it never lasted long. Then his mouth would firm and he'd pull away. He was never really out of control.
Not like he seemed to be now. John wasn't silent, wasn't tensed against every sensation now. He moaned as Sam ran her hands down his back. God, it was hot, hearing John, feeling the heat radiating off him, and seeing how he just twisted into every touch without ever stopping kissing Sam. Rodney couldn't make himself take his hand off John's neck, not for anything, so he had to fumble open his pants and shove them down one handed.
And Sam, Sam was so gorgeous there, perched on the counter, thighs spread wide, blue eyes all black pupil, blind with arousal, her hands roaming over John as he lowered her to lie flat. Their mouths parted, lips wet and swollen, both of them panting for breath.
Rodney leaned in, his side next to John's, reaching for Sam, needing to touch her too. John pushed his hip back against Rodney's, obviously seeking closer contact. He ran his hand down the same path Sam's had taken, then lower and cupped John's ass, then left it there as he bent and licked a wet, urgent kiss against Sam's navel.
Sam and John together had seemed like his loneliest nightmare, but together with him they were better than his sweetest fantasy and he wanted everything: John's sleek muscles flexing under his hands, the taste of Sam's silky skin on his tongue, John's moans and the higher, breathy sounds Sam made, the scorching heat between all three of them. It might be all he'd have of either of them.
***
part 3