Fic: Heaven for Beginners (McKay/Keller, R)
Title: Heaven for Beginners
Author: wojelah
Pairing: McKay/Keller
Spoilers: for Brain Storm (5x16)
Word Count: ~1,200
Rating: R.
Summary: "They've had a lot of "dates" - for Jennifer, the conferences are really pretty much old hat these days, and she considers herself something of an expert in the peculiar sociology of astrophysicists."
Author's Notes: This is so the fault of the caucus, for letting me write it instead of finishing up the other two fics (which are coming, contrary to appearances.
It's the year anniversary of declassification, and the world of science is only beginning to realize what they've been missing.
They're older now ("we were always wise," Rodney says, and Jennifer just laughs and rabbit-punches him on the arm), and this year, the standard two weeks has been stretched to ten. After all, Rodney has a lot of publishing to catch up on ("recluse my ass," Rodney grumbles, and she gooses him - it's a very nice ass), and people have a lot of questions. Rodney is so ready to finally, finally, be the one with the answers that she's pretty sure he's vibrating with the excitement of it all.
They've had a lot of "dates" - for Jennifer, the conferences are really pretty much old hat these days, and she considers herself something of an expert in the peculiar sociology of astrophysicists. Certainly she's the first place Sheppard sends the new Marines before they start on science detail. She still goes, though, when she can ("I, um -" Rodney had fumbled, the second or third time he'd asked - "It's nice - a friendly face, out there" and she knows she'll never be able to say no without good reason).
She's not an idiot, but she's still never going to be into physics (and Rodney just leers, when she says that the first time - she slaps a hand over his mouth before he can insert whatever filthy innuendo he's seized on). Still, six years of Rodney McKay and the occasional conference or two means she's learned a few things, and she's learned the personalities, which might actually be more important.
Rodney doesn't go to listen, not much, not really, not when the stuff that's still classified is so far ahead of what the rest of the world is making out of the basic building blocks. He goes to talk, and to ask obnoxious questions, and they've devised an entire game around how obnoxious he gets to be. The rules are simple: the more ways he finds to turn her on - anywhere, any time - the more points he gets; the more ways she finds, the more points he loses. The more points he gets, the less she'll give him hell for being an asshole during the Q&A and the more she'll just sit there and roll her eyes. The more points she gets, the more time she spends winding Rodney up till he's so turned on he can hardly breathe, which never fails to end well for both of them. (Pretty much, Jennifer figures, everybody wins.)
So they go, and Rodney talks and argues and gesticulates and fidgets through the other presentations like a four year-old on a sugar high, and she goes with him. The thing is, she's gone to a lot of these conferences now, and it's only proved what she's always known: Rodney really may be the smartest guy in the room, especially if Jeannie's not there as well. He's brilliant, and he loves his work like very few things he's ever encountered in his life, and that makes him oddly vulnerable ("I don't - you're - there isn't math for you," he says, late one night, trailing fingers over the lines of her face, and her heart is so full she thinks she might just burst with it). Because he's the one in the room that lives and breathes and eats and sleeps it - he loves it so much that sometimes even she can see the beauty of it, the arcs and curves and planes of the universes, bound up in his equations. He loves it, and he sucks at bluffing, and it makes him an easy target, because he can't not rise to the bait.
And bait they will: Jennifer's learned these personalities - the hypercompetitive, awkwardly social geniuses - and it's a lot like being back in middle school. Everybody's out for the one-up, and it's the ones who are really, honestly, openly invested that are easiest to shoot down. So she goes, because Rodney may be a jerk, but he's an honest, open, decent jerk, and he deserves to have someone in his corner ("Yes," Rodney sputters when she tries to explain it, "because we physicists like to engage in duels to the death," but he looks oddly pleased, and she figures he gets it well enough).
He goes, and she goes, and after the first three or four, they slip into the habit of whispering a running commentary back-and-forth, a smothered, hissing rendition of Mystery Science Theater 3000, the Physics Edition (the first time she mentions that analogy, he grins hugely and then his eyes go very blue and he kisses till her knees go weak - "Do you have any idea," he murmurs, "exactly how hot that was?" and then proves it to her). It's catty and immature and pretty hysterical, because Rodney has known a lot of these people for a very, very long time, which makes for a lot of ammunition.
They go, and she has a surprisingly good time ("You know," she says the next time they're in a private plane flying to who-the-hell knows where, "I promise to kiss you even if there's no universe-shattering crisis," and he rolls his eyes). It's what Rodney does, and she enjoys watching him, and she enjoys the time away from the constant demands on their collective time. It's fun.
It's more fun after - after whatever black tie gala they've decided to throw to end the conference with a bang - after they've danced until the band/dj/karaoke machine is packed up in the wee hours and they've stumbled their way back to whatever five-star hotel they've been booked into for the duration (she's getting kind of spoiled, actually, and when Rodney says "You deserve it," she has no option but to kiss him hard so he can't laugh at her blush). It's more fun when the door snicks closed behind them and they can't peel out of shoes and clothes and underwear nearly fast enough. It's more fun when they finally tumble onto the bed, all heat and weight and hands and skin and breath.
It's more than fun when she arches into his touch, when he groans against her shoulder as her hand slips lower - when they're both so keyed up it's like she needs to be inside his skin and even that wouldn't be good enough.
It isn't - she doesn't have words for what it is when Rodney finally sinks down, when she brings her knees up and welcomes him in, when they both pause and gasp and tremble. She doesn't have the words to explain what it's like to feel the world shatter around them. She knows the word for it when they curl together after, sleepy and sated. (She spoons against him and he wraps his arms around her waist, and she barely hears him whisper, "Thank god you came back to me.") She knows the word, strange as it is to think she found it with Rodney McKay. She knows the word: it's home.
Author: wojelah
Pairing: McKay/Keller
Spoilers: for Brain Storm (5x16)
Word Count: ~1,200
Rating: R.
Summary: "They've had a lot of "dates" - for Jennifer, the conferences are really pretty much old hat these days, and she considers herself something of an expert in the peculiar sociology of astrophysicists."
Author's Notes: This is so the fault of the caucus, for letting me write it instead of finishing up the other two fics (which are coming, contrary to appearances.
It's the year anniversary of declassification, and the world of science is only beginning to realize what they've been missing.
They're older now ("we were always wise," Rodney says, and Jennifer just laughs and rabbit-punches him on the arm), and this year, the standard two weeks has been stretched to ten. After all, Rodney has a lot of publishing to catch up on ("recluse my ass," Rodney grumbles, and she gooses him - it's a very nice ass), and people have a lot of questions. Rodney is so ready to finally, finally, be the one with the answers that she's pretty sure he's vibrating with the excitement of it all.
They've had a lot of "dates" - for Jennifer, the conferences are really pretty much old hat these days, and she considers herself something of an expert in the peculiar sociology of astrophysicists. Certainly she's the first place Sheppard sends the new Marines before they start on science detail. She still goes, though, when she can ("I, um -" Rodney had fumbled, the second or third time he'd asked - "It's nice - a friendly face, out there" and she knows she'll never be able to say no without good reason).
She's not an idiot, but she's still never going to be into physics (and Rodney just leers, when she says that the first time - she slaps a hand over his mouth before he can insert whatever filthy innuendo he's seized on). Still, six years of Rodney McKay and the occasional conference or two means she's learned a few things, and she's learned the personalities, which might actually be more important.
Rodney doesn't go to listen, not much, not really, not when the stuff that's still classified is so far ahead of what the rest of the world is making out of the basic building blocks. He goes to talk, and to ask obnoxious questions, and they've devised an entire game around how obnoxious he gets to be. The rules are simple: the more ways he finds to turn her on - anywhere, any time - the more points he gets; the more ways she finds, the more points he loses. The more points he gets, the less she'll give him hell for being an asshole during the Q&A and the more she'll just sit there and roll her eyes. The more points she gets, the more time she spends winding Rodney up till he's so turned on he can hardly breathe, which never fails to end well for both of them. (Pretty much, Jennifer figures, everybody wins.)
So they go, and Rodney talks and argues and gesticulates and fidgets through the other presentations like a four year-old on a sugar high, and she goes with him. The thing is, she's gone to a lot of these conferences now, and it's only proved what she's always known: Rodney really may be the smartest guy in the room, especially if Jeannie's not there as well. He's brilliant, and he loves his work like very few things he's ever encountered in his life, and that makes him oddly vulnerable ("I don't - you're - there isn't math for you," he says, late one night, trailing fingers over the lines of her face, and her heart is so full she thinks she might just burst with it). Because he's the one in the room that lives and breathes and eats and sleeps it - he loves it so much that sometimes even she can see the beauty of it, the arcs and curves and planes of the universes, bound up in his equations. He loves it, and he sucks at bluffing, and it makes him an easy target, because he can't not rise to the bait.
And bait they will: Jennifer's learned these personalities - the hypercompetitive, awkwardly social geniuses - and it's a lot like being back in middle school. Everybody's out for the one-up, and it's the ones who are really, honestly, openly invested that are easiest to shoot down. So she goes, because Rodney may be a jerk, but he's an honest, open, decent jerk, and he deserves to have someone in his corner ("Yes," Rodney sputters when she tries to explain it, "because we physicists like to engage in duels to the death," but he looks oddly pleased, and she figures he gets it well enough).
He goes, and she goes, and after the first three or four, they slip into the habit of whispering a running commentary back-and-forth, a smothered, hissing rendition of Mystery Science Theater 3000, the Physics Edition (the first time she mentions that analogy, he grins hugely and then his eyes go very blue and he kisses till her knees go weak - "Do you have any idea," he murmurs, "exactly how hot that was?" and then proves it to her). It's catty and immature and pretty hysterical, because Rodney has known a lot of these people for a very, very long time, which makes for a lot of ammunition.
They go, and she has a surprisingly good time ("You know," she says the next time they're in a private plane flying to who-the-hell knows where, "I promise to kiss you even if there's no universe-shattering crisis," and he rolls his eyes). It's what Rodney does, and she enjoys watching him, and she enjoys the time away from the constant demands on their collective time. It's fun.
It's more fun after - after whatever black tie gala they've decided to throw to end the conference with a bang - after they've danced until the band/dj/karaoke machine is packed up in the wee hours and they've stumbled their way back to whatever five-star hotel they've been booked into for the duration (she's getting kind of spoiled, actually, and when Rodney says "You deserve it," she has no option but to kiss him hard so he can't laugh at her blush). It's more fun when the door snicks closed behind them and they can't peel out of shoes and clothes and underwear nearly fast enough. It's more fun when they finally tumble onto the bed, all heat and weight and hands and skin and breath.
It's more than fun when she arches into his touch, when he groans against her shoulder as her hand slips lower - when they're both so keyed up it's like she needs to be inside his skin and even that wouldn't be good enough.
It isn't - she doesn't have words for what it is when Rodney finally sinks down, when she brings her knees up and welcomes him in, when they both pause and gasp and tremble. She doesn't have the words to explain what it's like to feel the world shatter around them. She knows the word for it when they curl together after, sleepy and sated. (She spoons against him and he wraps his arms around her waist, and she barely hears him whisper, "Thank god you came back to me.") She knows the word, strange as it is to think she found it with Rodney McKay. She knows the word: it's home.