Fic: Fractured
Title: Fractured
Author: SGAtlantisLight
Characters: McKay, Sheppard
Relationships: McKay/Sheppard, McKay/Zelenka
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Smut, with deep thought
Spoilers: None
Summary: After he's professed his love isn't the best time to have second thoughts. A Rodney POV follow-up to Broken. Part 2 of the Broken Series
Disclaimer: The characters, the setting, etc. are NOT mine, even if I wish they were.
What had he done to deserve this?
He hadn't meant to cry, but something about the brightness in John's eyes as their bodies moved in rhythm, as John filled him deeper and deeper, had left him defenseless.
"Deeper," Rodney had begged. "I want all of you." The implications of that had shaken him, for he hadn't meant it only in the sexual sense.
And for a moment, he'd seen a flicker of fear on John's face before the sensation had overwhelmed him and he had thrown his head back, arching his body upward, and let his climax blot all thought from his mind.
As he was spiraling back into his body, cock still minutely twitching in pleasure, John had moaned out his name, his voice full of passion, despair, lust, fear, and wonder. John's heat had throbbed into him.
The pain and need in that voice had clenched a hand around his heart and suddenly he was crying. John didn't speak. He merely pulled Rodney into his arms and let him cry, fingers tangling in his hair and tracing down his back.
He shouldn't have done this. John Sheppard was one of his best friends and he hadn't intended to do this.
"Sorry," Rodney murmured once he'd gained control.
John had kissed his wet eyelashes and asked if he wanted to talk about it.
"Yes. But not tonight," he had answered. He was exhausted and breaking down in tears hadn't exactly energised him. He'd laid in John's arms, thankful that the man wasn't pushing, and drifted off to sleep.
John's kiss startled him awake, and the "I love you, Rodney" had been more effective than coffee.
He hadn't known what to say. "I love you too" seemed trite and not quite honest. Instead, he'd shifted their positions and told John to go to sleep.
But even though he'd schooled himself into relaxing, concentrated on breathing softly and slowly, and tried to think of nothing, he hadn't been able to sleep.
The weight of John's body against him should have been comforting, but it wasn't.
"I love you, Rodney," he'd said.
What had he done?
It wasn't like he'd needed the sexual outlet. Admittedly, Radek wouldn't have been his first choice, but he came without strings attached. Radek had intentionally sought out a male lover because he hadn't wanted the emotional commitment. Regardless of what his body was capable of doing, Radek was straight at heart, so such an arrangement was easier. It was all about the physicality, the pleasure, the release and relief.
Rodney could live with that.
He had to admit that it had been strange looking through Radek's family pictures, then setting them aside to go fuck the man's brains out. It was even stranger that Anezka, Radek's wife, reminded Rodney of Sam Carter with a bit more padding. Ex-wife, Rodney corrected himself, though Radek never used the term.
The divorce had been arranged to better insure that Radek was accepted into the Atlantis program. They'd needed the money, Radek had explained, for Miklos and Lida, his two oldest children, who had cystic fibrosis. That the Czech couple had chosen to have two more children after both their oldest were diagnosed was beyond Rodney's comprehension. That Anezka Zelenka hadn't told Radek that she was two months pregnant when he left had baffled him even more. The fact that Radek could proudly show off the pictures of little Jiri, the son he'd never even met, and then desperately drag Rodney off to bed to lose himself in the pleasure disturbed Rodney in ways he couldn't name.
That he considered fucking Radek senseless a couple times a week simpler than seeking a true relationship with John was a sad commentary on Rodney's sensibilities, but there it was. He couldn't hurt Radek because Radek didn't have any deep-seated emotional attachments to him. If he marched up to Radek's apartment right this minute and informed him that he couldn't fuck him anymore, Radek would be mildly annoyed for a couple of days, then would seek out another bedmate while happily carrying on a companionable working relationship with Rodney.
If he walked out on John, it would destroy their friendship. If he didn't, it could destroy John's career.
Or worse.
The image of Alain rose unbidden. Alain making love to him. Alain kissing him goodbye, his uniform pressed and spotless. Alain pretending he didn't know Rodney from Adam. Alain lying in a hospital bed, battered almost beyond recognition, no longer there, kept alive by machine. It had been three god-awful years before Alain's parents had the fortitude to turn off the machines that kept his mindless husk functioning. They'd long before ordered Rodney to never visit again. There were never any formal charges laid.
Paul, who had seemed gentle and caring, turned out to be a mean drunk. Rodney had learned that "I fell down the stairs" or "I walked into a door" weren't really believable excuses. Jeannie had talked sense to him until he had finally fled his lover. Rodney had hated her for being right. So far as Rodney knew, Paul was still in prison for the death of the lover after him.
Then there was Stephen, who'd screwed around on him and finally dropped him for someone more athletic, who had scared the hell out of him two years later when he called up and casually mentioned that Rodney might want to get tested for HIV. He'd heard that a few days later Stephen had blown his brains out.
Those had been the big three, Rodney's unholy trinity of male lovers. Oh, there had been others. Flings. A few women, too, though nothing long-term.
And now here he was again, losing his heart to someone else. He had lost it, really, in bits and pieces over the last year or more. He had lost it to John's smile, John's sarcasm, John's joie de vive, the way he could match Rodney in an argument any day, his complete and absolute disregard for Rodney's personal space. Hell, he had lost it to the fact that John liked him, honestly liked him, hurt for him, celebrated with him, despite what a deplorable ass Rodney was on a regular basis.
What had he done to deserve this?
Not that he thought that John Sheppard was a bad man. But he was military, they were living in a fishbowl, and they were hardly in a safe, stress-free situation. Even if he didn't turn into a Stephen or a Paul, he could still die. Or, worse yet, be horribly injured, mind gone, and not die, like Alain. And, Rodney sensed, John's soul was almost as fractured as his own, though he didn't know why. He'd never heard John talk about his parents, family, past loves, anything. He was a blank wall that others scrawled their impressions on. Perhaps, Rodney considered, he wasn't really broken. Perhaps Rodney just thought so because he was seeing his own reflection in the blankness of John's walls.
He knew what would come the next morning. John would want Rodney to slip out when the hallway was empty. They would go to their mission briefing separately. They would avoid each other's eyes, so no one would suspect anything. John would distance himself. They would avoid touching, surround themselves with others. Laugh around each other. Then, in the evening, if they weren't too tired or hurt, they would meet secretly and fuck desperately. They would assure each other that they cared. And the next morning, the charade would start over.
He had lived it with Alain for six months. Ultimately, it had been futile. Someone had figured it out. Alain had paid for it with his life; Rodney, with his survival.
He had lived it with Paul for eight months. Whenever anyone hinted that there was more than friendship between the two roommates, Paul hit the bottle. And then he hit Rodney as if to prove that he didn't really care.
He had lived it with Stephen for nine months. But the secrecy had ultimately given Stephen the freedom to cheat on him.
In the half-light of John's apartment, Rodney decided he couldn't do this again. And yet, he couldn't not do it. Either way led to destruction.
What had he done to deserve this?
"Rodney?" John's voice was soft. He looked down into John's face. His expression was worried. "Are you okay?"
Rodney closed his eyes. "I don't think I can do this, John. I can't... I just... can't."
"Do what?"
He felt a tentative touch of John's hand on his and took it, interlacing fingers. "I can't... love you in secrecy."
"I know," John said.
Rodney opened his eyes, looking into John's again. "You know?"
"You've got issues, Rodney. If I wasn't sure before, your crying jag after we made love left little doubt."
"And you don't?" Rodney asked.
John's face turned impassive. He was silent, staring at the ceiling.
"John?"
John sighed. "Okay, maybe we both have issues." It was as much of an admission as Rodney had expected.
"So, what do we do?" Rodney asked.
"We fix it. Somehow."
"I don't know that we can."
John turned and looked at him intently. "So you'd just as soon give up?"
"No! Never."
"Well, I'm not giving up, either."
"But how--"
"Rodney!" John interrupted, "Please, not tonight. Tonight, I just want to be with you. Tomorrow, we'll talk about this, maybe find someone who's good at this kind of thing. Right now, I just want you."
John pulled him down and into a kiss.
As John's hands and mouth began exploring his body, as their bodies began moving together, when John whispered, "Rodney, I want you. I want you inside me," the worries slid off Rodney's shoulders.
As their bodies joined, moving in a perfect dance of desire and need, giving and taking, Rodney gazed into John's face and saw the trust there.
And he wondered yet again. What had he done to deserve this?
Author: SGAtlantisLight
Characters: McKay, Sheppard
Relationships: McKay/Sheppard, McKay/Zelenka
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Smut, with deep thought
Spoilers: None
Summary: After he's professed his love isn't the best time to have second thoughts. A Rodney POV follow-up to Broken. Part 2 of the Broken Series
Disclaimer: The characters, the setting, etc. are NOT mine, even if I wish they were.
What had he done to deserve this?
He hadn't meant to cry, but something about the brightness in John's eyes as their bodies moved in rhythm, as John filled him deeper and deeper, had left him defenseless.
"Deeper," Rodney had begged. "I want all of you." The implications of that had shaken him, for he hadn't meant it only in the sexual sense.
And for a moment, he'd seen a flicker of fear on John's face before the sensation had overwhelmed him and he had thrown his head back, arching his body upward, and let his climax blot all thought from his mind.
As he was spiraling back into his body, cock still minutely twitching in pleasure, John had moaned out his name, his voice full of passion, despair, lust, fear, and wonder. John's heat had throbbed into him.
The pain and need in that voice had clenched a hand around his heart and suddenly he was crying. John didn't speak. He merely pulled Rodney into his arms and let him cry, fingers tangling in his hair and tracing down his back.
He shouldn't have done this. John Sheppard was one of his best friends and he hadn't intended to do this.
"Sorry," Rodney murmured once he'd gained control.
John had kissed his wet eyelashes and asked if he wanted to talk about it.
"Yes. But not tonight," he had answered. He was exhausted and breaking down in tears hadn't exactly energised him. He'd laid in John's arms, thankful that the man wasn't pushing, and drifted off to sleep.
John's kiss startled him awake, and the "I love you, Rodney" had been more effective than coffee.
He hadn't known what to say. "I love you too" seemed trite and not quite honest. Instead, he'd shifted their positions and told John to go to sleep.
But even though he'd schooled himself into relaxing, concentrated on breathing softly and slowly, and tried to think of nothing, he hadn't been able to sleep.
The weight of John's body against him should have been comforting, but it wasn't.
"I love you, Rodney," he'd said.
What had he done?
It wasn't like he'd needed the sexual outlet. Admittedly, Radek wouldn't have been his first choice, but he came without strings attached. Radek had intentionally sought out a male lover because he hadn't wanted the emotional commitment. Regardless of what his body was capable of doing, Radek was straight at heart, so such an arrangement was easier. It was all about the physicality, the pleasure, the release and relief.
Rodney could live with that.
He had to admit that it had been strange looking through Radek's family pictures, then setting them aside to go fuck the man's brains out. It was even stranger that Anezka, Radek's wife, reminded Rodney of Sam Carter with a bit more padding. Ex-wife, Rodney corrected himself, though Radek never used the term.
The divorce had been arranged to better insure that Radek was accepted into the Atlantis program. They'd needed the money, Radek had explained, for Miklos and Lida, his two oldest children, who had cystic fibrosis. That the Czech couple had chosen to have two more children after both their oldest were diagnosed was beyond Rodney's comprehension. That Anezka Zelenka hadn't told Radek that she was two months pregnant when he left had baffled him even more. The fact that Radek could proudly show off the pictures of little Jiri, the son he'd never even met, and then desperately drag Rodney off to bed to lose himself in the pleasure disturbed Rodney in ways he couldn't name.
That he considered fucking Radek senseless a couple times a week simpler than seeking a true relationship with John was a sad commentary on Rodney's sensibilities, but there it was. He couldn't hurt Radek because Radek didn't have any deep-seated emotional attachments to him. If he marched up to Radek's apartment right this minute and informed him that he couldn't fuck him anymore, Radek would be mildly annoyed for a couple of days, then would seek out another bedmate while happily carrying on a companionable working relationship with Rodney.
If he walked out on John, it would destroy their friendship. If he didn't, it could destroy John's career.
Or worse.
The image of Alain rose unbidden. Alain making love to him. Alain kissing him goodbye, his uniform pressed and spotless. Alain pretending he didn't know Rodney from Adam. Alain lying in a hospital bed, battered almost beyond recognition, no longer there, kept alive by machine. It had been three god-awful years before Alain's parents had the fortitude to turn off the machines that kept his mindless husk functioning. They'd long before ordered Rodney to never visit again. There were never any formal charges laid.
Paul, who had seemed gentle and caring, turned out to be a mean drunk. Rodney had learned that "I fell down the stairs" or "I walked into a door" weren't really believable excuses. Jeannie had talked sense to him until he had finally fled his lover. Rodney had hated her for being right. So far as Rodney knew, Paul was still in prison for the death of the lover after him.
Then there was Stephen, who'd screwed around on him and finally dropped him for someone more athletic, who had scared the hell out of him two years later when he called up and casually mentioned that Rodney might want to get tested for HIV. He'd heard that a few days later Stephen had blown his brains out.
Those had been the big three, Rodney's unholy trinity of male lovers. Oh, there had been others. Flings. A few women, too, though nothing long-term.
And now here he was again, losing his heart to someone else. He had lost it, really, in bits and pieces over the last year or more. He had lost it to John's smile, John's sarcasm, John's joie de vive, the way he could match Rodney in an argument any day, his complete and absolute disregard for Rodney's personal space. Hell, he had lost it to the fact that John liked him, honestly liked him, hurt for him, celebrated with him, despite what a deplorable ass Rodney was on a regular basis.
What had he done to deserve this?
Not that he thought that John Sheppard was a bad man. But he was military, they were living in a fishbowl, and they were hardly in a safe, stress-free situation. Even if he didn't turn into a Stephen or a Paul, he could still die. Or, worse yet, be horribly injured, mind gone, and not die, like Alain. And, Rodney sensed, John's soul was almost as fractured as his own, though he didn't know why. He'd never heard John talk about his parents, family, past loves, anything. He was a blank wall that others scrawled their impressions on. Perhaps, Rodney considered, he wasn't really broken. Perhaps Rodney just thought so because he was seeing his own reflection in the blankness of John's walls.
He knew what would come the next morning. John would want Rodney to slip out when the hallway was empty. They would go to their mission briefing separately. They would avoid each other's eyes, so no one would suspect anything. John would distance himself. They would avoid touching, surround themselves with others. Laugh around each other. Then, in the evening, if they weren't too tired or hurt, they would meet secretly and fuck desperately. They would assure each other that they cared. And the next morning, the charade would start over.
He had lived it with Alain for six months. Ultimately, it had been futile. Someone had figured it out. Alain had paid for it with his life; Rodney, with his survival.
He had lived it with Paul for eight months. Whenever anyone hinted that there was more than friendship between the two roommates, Paul hit the bottle. And then he hit Rodney as if to prove that he didn't really care.
He had lived it with Stephen for nine months. But the secrecy had ultimately given Stephen the freedom to cheat on him.
In the half-light of John's apartment, Rodney decided he couldn't do this again. And yet, he couldn't not do it. Either way led to destruction.
What had he done to deserve this?
"Rodney?" John's voice was soft. He looked down into John's face. His expression was worried. "Are you okay?"
Rodney closed his eyes. "I don't think I can do this, John. I can't... I just... can't."
"Do what?"
He felt a tentative touch of John's hand on his and took it, interlacing fingers. "I can't... love you in secrecy."
"I know," John said.
Rodney opened his eyes, looking into John's again. "You know?"
"You've got issues, Rodney. If I wasn't sure before, your crying jag after we made love left little doubt."
"And you don't?" Rodney asked.
John's face turned impassive. He was silent, staring at the ceiling.
"John?"
John sighed. "Okay, maybe we both have issues." It was as much of an admission as Rodney had expected.
"So, what do we do?" Rodney asked.
"We fix it. Somehow."
"I don't know that we can."
John turned and looked at him intently. "So you'd just as soon give up?"
"No! Never."
"Well, I'm not giving up, either."
"But how--"
"Rodney!" John interrupted, "Please, not tonight. Tonight, I just want to be with you. Tomorrow, we'll talk about this, maybe find someone who's good at this kind of thing. Right now, I just want you."
John pulled him down and into a kiss.
As John's hands and mouth began exploring his body, as their bodies began moving together, when John whispered, "Rodney, I want you. I want you inside me," the worries slid off Rodney's shoulders.
As their bodies joined, moving in a perfect dance of desire and need, giving and taking, Rodney gazed into John's face and saw the trust there.
And he wondered yet again. What had he done to deserve this?