SGAfic: "Not Quite Oroborous" by The Spike
Title: Not Quite Oroborous
Author: The Spike
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rod/Rodney
Length: 5,300 words
Spoilers: big ones for McKay and Mrs. Miller and little ones for everything up to that ep.
Notes: thanks to liviapenn for the prompt. And to liviapenn and kormantic for beta. And to mecurtin for enabling.
Summary: Tomorrow he would cope. Right now what he needed was a distraction.
After Jeannie left, Rod lay on the bed for a while staring at the familiar/unfamiliar ceiling of the guest quarters.
It was weird, but not quite weird enough to feel real. This was more like play-acting in his own home. Like one of Sheppard’s Dungeons and Dragons sessions. Role playing, with him as the “visiting” Rod McKay and Sheppard dressed up in bed-headed off-duty chic and managing a sexy swagger that Rod would have sworn was impossible with the stick he usually kept up his ass.
The only truly weird thing about Atlantis 2.0 was the other version of himself.
Rodney McKay.
Now that was different. Not just in the way McKay was like a him who hadn’t been getting enough fiber in his diet - although that was kind of fascinating in a Godel-Escher-Bach kind of way, trying to figure out what kind of life might have turned out a Rod McKay wound so tight he couldn’t even relax around Jeannie for God’s sake -- but it was more than that.
It was seeing himself in 3D. Watching this very different self, who nonetheless looked like him down to the last hair on the last mole. This proverbial stranger who smelled like him; moved, however inelegantly, just. Like. Him.
His voice sounding just exactly like Rod’s own on his voice mail message. Yeah, that was definitely of the weird. Hearing himself say things he’d never say. In the tone of voice he reserved for addressing, well, nobody outside of his head.
Heh. And... exactly which one of them was the repressed one?
It was just so… odd. For all his outward bullishness there was something, for want of a better word, innocent about Rodney. The same kind of innocence or naivety he sensed in Sheppard, with his exaggerated military posture and his Mensa Trivia League stats charts. The innocence of someone not fully formed as an adult.
Maybe it was even literal. God knows he’d never gotten anything out of Sheppard about his love life except suspiciously vague boasts of various hearts he might have broken at assorted bases to which he’d been assigned. All details were withheld under the aegis of gentlemen not kissing and telling. And with Sheppard so clearly uncomfortable with women his occasional crushes were as painful to witness as a virginal teen’s.
And wow, that stopped him. Was it possible that Rodney’s virtue had survived the hormonal onslaught of puberty? Had there been no physics groupies and eager TAs at his university? Had he never squandered his musical talent to spend his summers tickling the ivories in Muskoka jazz bars and sleeping his way through Who’s Who in Ontario? Did he never get to explore the landscape of his sexual identity in Amsterdam and Thailand and Siberia and the Castro?
Was it actually possible that Rodney McKay was, at the tender age of 39, still a virgin?
Rod laughed. Okay, probably not that. But still… His own sexual adventuring had been such a defining force of his life. Rod slid his hand down over his fly, cupped himself meditatively.
And hmm, as Kate would say. Was someone possibly avoiding the real issue here?
Possibly.
The thing was, he wasn’t sure exactly when he was going to be ready to embrace the stark reality of this ultimate exile. It gave him a cold, hollow feeling that had the potential to swallow him up as completely as the tear in his reality was threatening to do to Atlantis right now. Surely even Kate would allow him a night of guilt-free avoidant behaviour.
Tomorrow he would cope. Right now what he needed was a distraction.
Sleep was out of the question. If he were at home, he’d have plenty of projects he could throw himself into. Here he didn’t even have access to a laptop. He supposed he could hit the gym for a couple of hours, but he seriously was not in the mood.
He was in the mood for something though. He gave himself a little exploratory squeeze and yeah, he could go there.
And that would kill a whole ten minutes…
No, what he needed was to get laid.
His first thought was pretty, tousled alt-Sheppard. There was definitely a bent vibe there, but… there was something off too. Might just be the whole military fuckeduppedness when it came to queersex, but Rod didn’t think so. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was actually thinking about having sex with Sheppard and the way it proved he’d clearly gone insane.
But no. If he were forced at say, gunpoint, to admit it, he’d have to say that the thought had occurred to him. To peel stiff, prickly John Sheppard out of that starched white short sleeved service dress shirt with the epaulets and the badges; to get him hot and bothered, black tie askew, rigidly gelled hair hopelessly mussed, cheeks hectic…
Rod’s hand had started without him and okay, okay, he’d thought of Sheppard. But his own Sheppard, not this universe’s Sheppard - the smooth player with the thousand yard stare behind his smile. Not for tonight anyway.
Tonight he wanted, well, not simple but maybe… innocent.
God, that would be so… And Rod could hear Kate again, laughing:
Wrong? Sick? Bad?
Hey! What happened to non-judgmental therapeutic counsel?
Does this look like my office, *Dr.* McKay?
He sighed. A Kate Heightmeyer he would never see again - lounging like a Vargas girl atop his wrinkled sheets, her hair gilding the pillow, his shoulder… Her wit, her laughter, her laser sight through whatever bullshit camouflage he’d erected, straight through to the heart of the matter. All gone, forever on the other side of that twice burned bridge.
And he really needed to stop thinking and get out of here, right the fuck now.
Twenty minutes later found him leaning faux casually in Rodney’s doorway: showered, shaved and jangling with nerves, excitement, the low burn of banked arousal. The old familiar cocktail, so to speak. When the door opened he was still half smiling about it.
His smile was met with a scowl
“What are you doing here?” Rodney asked, peering over Rod’s shoulder. “Did something happen? Where’s Jeannie?”
“Relax,” Rod said, holding up his hands. “It’s just a social call.”
“At 1:27 in the morning?”
“Sorry,” Rod shrugged apologetically. “Guess I’m still on Atlantis time.”
“Ha ha,” said Rodney, not budging from the doorway. He had his arms folded across his chest and he looked tired and a little sweaty and it was the weirdest thing to be looking at Rodney’s biceps and know exactly what they would feel like under his hand. “Look, is there something wrong with you?”
Rod almost laughed.
“Yeah,” he said, almost surprised at how true it was. “I, uh, I think I might be freaking out a little.” Because suddenly he really, really was. Maybe it was some universe jumping jet lag. Maybe it was just the idea that he really was never going home again. His eyes prickled horribly and he covered them with his hand, scrubbing until he could see coloured patterns on his retinas. “Look, can I just…?”
“Oh!” Rodney said, and: “Look, fine, you’d better…” And then there were two warm hands on his biceps pulling him in and the touch was so electric they both just stopped. He opened his eyes to find Rodney gaping at him. The door of the room slid closed behind him and Rod leaned in, only to have Rodney pull his hands away like he’d been burned and back away babbling something about Carson and unpredictable effects of inter-dimensional travel and…
“Don’t!” Rod said as Rodney’s hand went to his earpiece. “Please? The last thing I need is be poked and prodded by a cranky Scot.”
“Hunh,” Rodney said. “Your Carson’s a vampire too, eh?”
Rod snorted a little. “I think it’s mostly revenge for dragging him away from all the fun Ancient tech to play doctor.” Rodney frowned, then shook his head, as if to clear it.
“Yes, fine,” he said. “But what are you doing here? As in, my room.”
“It’s my room too,” Rod said, taking a seat on the bed and patting the very familiar scratchy woolen military issue blanket. He looked up to find Rodney looking utterly horrified and amended quickly: “In a… completely abstract way, of course. I was just looking for something that felt a little more like… home.”
“Well, it’s not your home,” Rodney said. And just hearing it, in his own voice. It hit Rod like a sucker punch to the gut. In the heavy silence that followed, the words seemed to echo with finality.
Rod felt the blood drain out of him like someone had pulled a plug and the room took a definite looping swing to the left. Okay, this was really not part of the game plan. He lurched to his feet, trying to ignore the flickering gray static at the edges of his vision.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I probably shouldn’t have…” come here, he wanted to say, but his voice petered out into something voiceless and strange and he just had time to think: Oh, crap… before his knees buckled under him and he went down.
He came to on his own bed, in his own room and the relief was nearly overwhelming until his own scowling face peered down at him and said:
“You’re not dying, are you?”
“I…hmm,” Rod closed his eyes again and took a quick internal inventory: headache; vague nausea; weird shaky, fluttery sensation in his chest. Oh. Right.
“Only of embarrassment,” he said. He opened his eyes again. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat handy, would you? Something sweet would be perfect.”
“Oh, you are kidding me,” Rodney said, rolling his eyes. He turned away, shuffled around in his desk drawers and came back with a power bar, which he dropped on Rod’s chest. Rod picked it up with shaking fingers. Then he grinned.
“Peanut butter!” he said, delightedly. He ripped open the bar and took a bite. Hummed with pleasure at the rich, salty-sweet taste. “We traded all of ours to the Melesians for a tonic that alleviated the pain of enzyme withdrawal. Good trade, but I miss these like crazy.”
“Swell,” Rodney said, flatly. Then he looked away, cleared his throat. “So, uh - Rod -- I’m really not comfortable with this whole…” He waved a hand between them. “So I think you should probably…” He gestured with his eyes toward the door.
“Yeah,” Rod sighed. “I should…” He sat up gingerly, but the power bar was doing its magic and the shakiness was receding. Sure, it left the awful hole behind, but he could deal with that. He really could. Any minute now.
“So…”
“Right,” Rod said. Time to suck it up. He heaved himself to his feet and stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings?”
“Yes, yes. No hard--” Rodney shook his head impatiently from side to side and took the offered hand.
Like touching live current. Moderate voltage, low amp - a hum that shivered him hotly from head to toe. And yeah, bad idea all around. Rod pulled his hand back. At least he tried to. Rodney wasn’t letting go. He looked up to find Rodney staring at their joined hands.
“--feelings,” Rodney said, sounding almost dreamy. “This is weird,”
“Yeah,” said Rod. He felt the quiver of excitement in his belly, his mouth going dry as he raised his other hand to skim Rodney’s cheek with his fingertips. Soft. Silky soft above the stubble and he touched his own cheek. The same. Only he could feel it. And then, like an out of synch mirror image, Rodney’s fingers ghosted over his other cheek. .
Their eyes met. Rodney’s pupils were round black ink drops with bright blue rims. Long eyelashes fluttered as his eyes slid to half mast. As he leaned in… As they both leaned in.
The kiss was gentle and easy and terrifying. Like the first time Rod had jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. Like the first time he’d stepped through the stargate. Rodney’s lips were soft, yielding under his own, opening to a slip of his tongue. He tasted like himself, like the peanut butter and chocolate on his tongue. With his eyes closed he had the strangest sense of dislocation, of sensation echoed with sensation. Rod felt himself falling into it. He made a small, helpless sound and then Rodney was pulling away, pushing him back.
His eyes shot open. Rodney was wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, pointing wildly with the other.
“I knew it!” he said. “I knew that’s why you came here!” It took a second for Rod to shake off the shock of it, but then he had to laugh.
“Of course you did,” he said. “You’re me.”
“I’m not you!” Rodney shouted. “And you’re not me. You’re all… slick and, and metrosexual and possibly dangerous… ”
“Oh, definitely dangerous,” Rod said, his voice as low and dangerous as he could make it. Rodney’s cheeks flushed and his mouth opened so sweetly that Rod leaned in again.
Only to have Rodney practically leap backwards, waving his hands and saying: “No no no no no. We are so not.”
“Why not?” Rod asked. “You’re not telling me you have some moral objection to sex with your alternate self.” He paused, suddenly unsure. “Are you?”
“Yes!” Rodney said. “It’s… it’s incest.”
“Oh, please,” Rod said. “If anything it’s glorified masturbation. Narcissistic, true, but seriously not a capital offense.”
“It’s still…” Rodney made a helpless flailing gesture.
“Why?” Rod asked. “We’re both adults. We both want it. I know I could use the distraction and from the look of you, you haven’t gotten any since the last time Sam dumped you… What?”
“Sam as in… Carter? As in Samantha Carter? Lieutenant Colonel Samantha--” Rodney looked stricken. “How did you…?”
“With our chemistry? Come on, we’re talking about the original Irresistible Force and Immoveable Object here. How could we not?”
“See, this is what I kept telling her,” Rodney said. “And just… just stop it. Don’t try to distract me.”
“Actually, I was trying to get your eyes on the prize here, Rodney,” Rod said. “Are you seriously turning down what could potentially be the best sex of our lives? Sex with someone who knows you, knows your body like the proverbial back of his hand. Who knows exactly how you want to be touched - where, when, how fast, how slow, how hard. How soft…” He gently pinched his own nipple through his t-shirt, giving himself a silvery thrill of sensation. His dick twitched pleasantly.
Rodney stared for a moment, his mouth a soft ‘o’. Then he blushed and his gaze ostentatiously twitched up to Rod’s face, chin coming up in a gesture Rod remembered from his rebellious twenties.
"Trust me,” Rodney said. He was trying for pissed but his voice was a little shaky. “I'm not so hard up that I need to resort to -- " Rod wanted to laugh and he thought maybe he wanted to hit something. How Rodney could bear being so obvious. It gave him a weird frisson. Something sharper than embarrassment. Right to his dick too.
"Are you going to tell me you're not even curious?" he asked.
"Well of course I'm curious. I’m not without… curiosity. I've read 'The Man Who Folded Himself' . . ."
"There you go," Rod said as if he knew what the hell that was. "So what is your objection? Ethical? Religious?"
"Please," Rodney said.
"Then what?"
"I'm thinking!" Rodney said. "It's not like I've had any reason before now to consider the pros and cons of having sex with . . ."
"Yourself?" Rod said, grinning.
"Ha ha, yes, very helpful."
Rod gave a flourish-y little bow. There was something very likable about Rodney despite his obvious faults. Probably that vulnerability he projected. He studied Rodney sitting stiff and upright on the bed, hands awkward on his knees and wondered how he did it. All the things Rod had disliked in himself as a teenager, as a young man. All the sharp, rough edges he’d filed down and squared off. That defensiveness, that naked need for approval…
And that frisson wasn’t embarrassment. It was shame.
He got up and wandered around the room feeling Rodney’s wary gaze on him. One wall was covered in awards and degrees. Of course. He rested his hip on the corner of the desk, studied the framed testaments to Rodney’s life with mild curiosity.
"Northeastern," he said. "Interesting choice."
"They had the best program," Rodney said. "Why? Where did you go?"
"After the Conservatory? Berkeley," Rod said. He flashed back a grin. "They had the prettiest recruiter."
Rodney rolled his eyes, then frowned. "Wait, the Toronto Conservatory? Of Music?"
Rod winced. "You got out of that one?" he said. "Good on you."
"You . . . what? Washed out?"
"If only," Rod said. "I think Dad wouldn't have taken my quitting so hard if they'd laid off the ‘next Evgeny Kissin’ hype."
"Right," Rodney said, blankly. "Look is there anything you're not good at?"
Rod chuckled ruefully. "Plenty, according to Sam. And Svetlana and Jenna and Laura and . . . do I need to go on?"
"Please don't," Rodney said. "So . . . relationships?"
"Just long-term ones.” For smallish values of long term, he did not add. Sam was his longest-running relationship. Between break-ups they'd probably amassed almost a year together. He'd always taken it for granted that they'd get to that paper anniversary.
Right up until she'd actually married O'Neill, and maybe a little after. Funny how much that still managed to hurt, even a universe away. He wondered if she'd regret it more now that he . . .
"Right," he said. "Finished thinking yet?"
"No!" Rodney said.
"Jesus," Rod said. "How do you ever get laid?"
"It's not exactly at the top of my priority list. Maybe tenth, you know, after not getting killed by Wraith, not getting killed by Replicators, not getting killed by nanoviruses . . do I need to go on?"
Rod just shook his head. If anything fired him up it was those near-death experiences. He and Teyla had coupled fiercely and recklessly in the back of the jumper the first time they’d survived a culling together. And then after the next close call and the next until it became almost a ritual with them.
And god, Ronon and his mute dominance. Rod being pushed to his knees on the sticky floor of a Wraith hiveship, or in the ruined city of Ronon’s birth -- his mouth taken with bruising force. Just the memory had him half hard.
Rod bit back a groan; looked up to find Rodney watching him, speculatively. He could imagine what he looked like right now -- flushed and tousled and ready. He slouched a little lower, let his thighs fall a little farther apart.
Rodney was pretty flushed himself. Definitely thinking about it, then. Rod wet his lips, was gratified to see Rodney mirror the gesture, apparently without noticing.
"So if we did this . . .” Rodney said, waving his hand between them.
"Yes?"
"What exactly would be the protocol?"
"How about Rule Number One is not using the word 'protocol' during foreplay."
Rodney folded his arms across his chest and glared.
“All right, all right," Rod said finally. "How about for ‘protocol’ we work within mutually acceptable guidelines toward, say, a common goal of sexual satisfaction for all, in this case with the criterion being a truly spectacular orgasm each.”
Rodney pursed his lips as if considering it.
“Do we need to draw up a written contract,” Rod asked. “Because it'll be hell finding a notary public at this hour. . ."
"No, that's… sufficient," Rodney said finally. Then he unfolded his arms, put his hands on his knees and then thought better of it and folded them again. "So. How do you, uh, want me?
On your knees, Rod thought, a little viciously. Shutting up and taking it. And that probably wouldn't go over all that well as a first move. Christ, if he'd realized his alternate self was going to be such a goddamn girl he would have risked Sheppard.
And yet…
He pushed off the edge of the desk and sat down next to Rodney on the bed.
"What do you like?" he asked. "What have you always wanted to try but never had the opportunity?" Rodney's face went from pink to scarlet and he looked down.
"That good, eh?" Rod said. "Well, if it will help, there is nothing I've ever heard of that I haven't at least considered trying. You're not going to shock me."
Rodney snorted. "I doubt you'd find it shocking. It's just . . . personal." Sitting this close Rod could feel the heat radiating off Rodney. He could smell the tang of fresh sweat.
“You like it soft, don’t you?” he said, half to himself. Or… all to himself, really. Rodney started to object but Rod lay a hand on his shoulder. Rodney went quiet. That same buzz was there. Instant connection. Or something. Rod liked the feel of it, let his hand slide down Rodney’s shoulder blade, across his back.
Leaning in, he nosed against Rodney’s jaw, feeling the end-of-day stubble there, the faded alcohol sweetness of the morning’s aftershave. He slid his nose up to Rodney’s temple, brushing his lips over the rise of Rodney’s heated cheek. Rodney shivered a little under the touch and turned away, exposing more throat.
Rod cupped his cheek with his other hand, and took the offer. He mouthed his way down the firm tendon of Rodney’s neck, lips and a slip of tongue. Rodney stiffened against his hand, his breathing uneven and Rod opened his mouth at the tender join of shoulder and neck and sucked.
The gasp was perfect and he didn’t let up when Rodney started squirming, just bit down tenderly. Softly.
Rodney’s ‘oh’ was high and sweet and just desperate enough. Rod gentled, let the suction break. Soothed the purpling mark with slick lips and tongue. Made small sucking kisses up Rodney’s throat and back to his jaw where he closed his teeth gently, gently while Rodney went still. Licked stubbled, salty flesh along the bone. Licked across the corner of Rodney’s mouth, liking the way it opened for him without hesitation.
Licked his way inside.
Yeah, he thought, as Rodney finally moved. Finally turned into the kiss he’d been building. That’s how he likes it. Soft and sweet and when you bite he lets you because…
He didn’t know why. But he did, too. Rodney’s arms had come up around him, were sliding up and down his back and then slipping under his jacket and Rodney kissing back was not soft at all.
He was hungry and maybe a little frantic, hands fisting in Rod’s t-shirt like Rod might try to get away.
Not a chance. God, it had been so long since he’d been with someone so honestly needy. It made him want to open himself, give Rodney everything he was asking for with his gasps and his whimpers, his easy mouth and greedy hands.
He pushed Rodney back onto the narrow bed, crawling up over him. Never really breaking the kiss, but taking it all the places he liked on himself - jaw, throat, neck.
Their bodies had lined up, Rod with a knee between Rodney’s thighs and he rubbed himself carelessly against heat and hardness in a ragged rhythm as they kissed.
Rodney was doing the same, pushing up to meet him, pulling him close. Good enough to send wicked hot shivers through him, but no way he was giving it up that easily.
“I’m going to suck you,” he said, low and ragged into Rodney’s ear, and when Rodney moaned and bucked up hard under him, he pushed his tongue in after the words. Rodney made a sound almost like a sob, so Rod did it again and again.
It made him want to laugh. Lightning in a bottle. No battle of wills, just the bliss of his own mastery. A puzzle he knew so well he could do it backwards, sideways - looking in a mirror…
And he was sliding downwards, unzipping the rough fabric of Rodney’s uniform jacket, sucking at a nipple through the thin blue nylon underneath. Rodney’s hands went to his shoulders, alternately yanking up on his jacket and pushing him down where he wanted him.
Soft and sweet gone out the window. He’d always been a greedy bastard. Single-minded, goal-oriented juggernaut after what he wanted, even when he wanted everything at once.
He pulled up just enough to tear his jacket off, fling it across the room. Things clattered to the floor and he didn’t care because Rodney switched to yanking at his t-shirt with intent. Rod let him - brought his arms up over his head so that the black cotton slid up, engulfing his head for a second in warm blackness, rich with his own sharp scent.
When he emerged, Rodney was gazing up at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I look… I mean you look…” he shook his head. “You work out.” It sounded accusing. Rod laughed. God yes. Sweet.
“Mmm,” Rod said. He slipped his fingers under the hem of Rodney’s shirt, feeling the softness there. Rodney’s hands came down on his.
“I, uh, don’t,” Rodney said.
“I know,” Rod said. He kept sliding his hands up, pushing Rodney’s with them, revealing a strip of pale, hairy belly. A softness he hadn’t seen on himself since the sexual energy of puberty melted off the puppy fat. Weirdly appealing.
Sheppard would have a belly like that, he thought. He’d seen the barest swell of it under his crisply creased short sleeved dress shirt. A hidden softness that spoke of secret indulgence, helpless greed and the sudden image of Sheppard, mouth slick and sticky with candy, fisting his own cock made him nearly breathless with lust.
Rodney must have seen it because he groaned and pushed his hips up, trying for friction.
Yeah, Rod thought. That we can do. He nuzzled into tender flesh, biting gently. Rodney gasped and squirmed and Rod felt the echo of sensation - somewhere between tickle torture and arousal - in his own gut. He nosed at the waistband of Rodney’s uniform pants, then flicked them open with his thumb.
“Oh God,” Rodney said, as Rod eased the zipper down. Rod had to smile at the white-on-red capsaicin-molecule boxers as he pulled them down over Rodney’s hips.
Rodney’s dick sprang out, hard, red and leaking. And Rod might not know a lot of things, but he knew what his body liked.
He licked his lips and went down slowly. Rodney gasped and groaned, trying to work himself in deeper. Rod pressed his hands down over Rodney’s hips and held him to stillness until Rodney started to shake under his hands and his mouth.
Teal’c had done this to him once - a strange kind of alien payback for pulling him whole from the gate buffer -- and it had led to the most intense orgasm of Rod’s life and in a circuitous way, to the first of many enjoyable evenings of sex and squabbling with Sam Carter. He wanted to give that to Rodney.
He wanted to give all of it, suddenly. All the sucks. All the fucks. Fingers and lips and tongues. Like he could pour it out into Rodney through this single act. The osmotic principle - things moving from high concentration to low until the gradient went flat. Until the playing field was level. He just wanted…
He just wanted…
To drive himself down, steady and relentless onto Rodney. To hold him just there with weight and suction. To pull the orgasm out of him like a single thread unraveling the red silk veil of his fear and those had been Teal’c’s words and they’d shaken him so hard…
And who was moaning now? Both of them, he thought.
He felt Rodney’s hands on his head but it took a minute to register that Rodney was pulling at him, frantic and uneven. He let the suction go, pulled off slowly. Had to blink his eyes back to focus.
Rodney was red-faced, open-mouthed, intent. His shirt still rucked up high. He strained to scowl down at Rod.
“I want--” he gasped, breathless, flailed his hands and pointed impatiently. “You. Turn.”
Oh. Oh. The want rode him with a shudder and all he could do was nod. How did he know…? And scramble awkwardly to get himself turned around, nothing like graceful, but it was okay because Rodney was moving him, pushing at his hips. Fingers clumsy at the button of his pants, but Rod, lying on his side on the edge of the bed could only hold onto Rodney’s thighs, rubbing his face against soft skin and rough hair and wanting…
And then Rodney had his pants open and he wasn’t clumsy at all. Rodney’s hand around his dick and his hand had been there all along and he slid his lips over the head of Rodney’s dick and felt himself engulfed. Sucked and was sucked. Swallowed and was swallowed. That smooth buzz where they touched recognizable now -- ghosts of echoes of sensation doubled.
It was a crazy feeling, to thrust and feel his own dick slide over his tongue; to shudder at the feeling of his own tongue swirling over his dick. Disorienting, like Atlantis was capsizing and everything familiar was sliding sideways one beat out of time. It was all Rod could do to hang on. Thank god Rodney was solid.
Rodney’s hands on the backs of his thighs anchored him and when he came, the feeling was sweet, so sweet that it was the easiest thing in the world to just let go.
He lay there, panting; his head on Rodney’s thigh and the taste of his own come cloying and surprisingly familiar on his tongue. Felt the rhythm of Rodney’s breathing and heartbeat uncouple from his own, moving comfortably out of synch.
He must have dozed off like that. Blinked awake, maybe an hour later, fuzzy headed and full of bleary affection for the warm, heavy body next to him. He yawned, kissed the tender skin under his cheek and disentangled himself. Rodney ‘mmffed’ and transferred his affections to the pillow Rod slid into his arms.
He let himself into the bathroom, took a quick shower and used Rodney’s toothbrush. He felt a little more substantial now - the hum of post-coital satisfaction filling the hollow with something slightly weightier than existential terror.
Rodney was still asleep when he came out, his back turned to the room. Rod was tempted to wake him. Explain to him how much it all meant to have had this, shared this. How the sex had been, as it almost always was, a revelation and how he always loved his teachers a little afterwards. For a while anyway.
And that always worked out so well.
He couldn’t help grinning a little as he retrieved his jacket from the floor.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d learned yet, but it was in there now, swirling around in his brain, painting everything in warmer colours. He wasn’t worried, there was time now. Time for golf with Bizarro Sheppard and breakfast with Jeannie and a whole new life to find a starting place for.
And if he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was still eating at him, that was okay for now too.
He’d figure it all out eventually.
*
Author: The Spike
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Rod/Rodney
Length: 5,300 words
Spoilers: big ones for McKay and Mrs. Miller and little ones for everything up to that ep.
Notes: thanks to liviapenn for the prompt. And to liviapenn and kormantic for beta. And to mecurtin for enabling.
Summary: Tomorrow he would cope. Right now what he needed was a distraction.
After Jeannie left, Rod lay on the bed for a while staring at the familiar/unfamiliar ceiling of the guest quarters.
It was weird, but not quite weird enough to feel real. This was more like play-acting in his own home. Like one of Sheppard’s Dungeons and Dragons sessions. Role playing, with him as the “visiting” Rod McKay and Sheppard dressed up in bed-headed off-duty chic and managing a sexy swagger that Rod would have sworn was impossible with the stick he usually kept up his ass.
The only truly weird thing about Atlantis 2.0 was the other version of himself.
Rodney McKay.
Now that was different. Not just in the way McKay was like a him who hadn’t been getting enough fiber in his diet - although that was kind of fascinating in a Godel-Escher-Bach kind of way, trying to figure out what kind of life might have turned out a Rod McKay wound so tight he couldn’t even relax around Jeannie for God’s sake -- but it was more than that.
It was seeing himself in 3D. Watching this very different self, who nonetheless looked like him down to the last hair on the last mole. This proverbial stranger who smelled like him; moved, however inelegantly, just. Like. Him.
His voice sounding just exactly like Rod’s own on his voice mail message. Yeah, that was definitely of the weird. Hearing himself say things he’d never say. In the tone of voice he reserved for addressing, well, nobody outside of his head.
Heh. And... exactly which one of them was the repressed one?
It was just so… odd. For all his outward bullishness there was something, for want of a better word, innocent about Rodney. The same kind of innocence or naivety he sensed in Sheppard, with his exaggerated military posture and his Mensa Trivia League stats charts. The innocence of someone not fully formed as an adult.
Maybe it was even literal. God knows he’d never gotten anything out of Sheppard about his love life except suspiciously vague boasts of various hearts he might have broken at assorted bases to which he’d been assigned. All details were withheld under the aegis of gentlemen not kissing and telling. And with Sheppard so clearly uncomfortable with women his occasional crushes were as painful to witness as a virginal teen’s.
And wow, that stopped him. Was it possible that Rodney’s virtue had survived the hormonal onslaught of puberty? Had there been no physics groupies and eager TAs at his university? Had he never squandered his musical talent to spend his summers tickling the ivories in Muskoka jazz bars and sleeping his way through Who’s Who in Ontario? Did he never get to explore the landscape of his sexual identity in Amsterdam and Thailand and Siberia and the Castro?
Was it actually possible that Rodney McKay was, at the tender age of 39, still a virgin?
Rod laughed. Okay, probably not that. But still… His own sexual adventuring had been such a defining force of his life. Rod slid his hand down over his fly, cupped himself meditatively.
And hmm, as Kate would say. Was someone possibly avoiding the real issue here?
Possibly.
The thing was, he wasn’t sure exactly when he was going to be ready to embrace the stark reality of this ultimate exile. It gave him a cold, hollow feeling that had the potential to swallow him up as completely as the tear in his reality was threatening to do to Atlantis right now. Surely even Kate would allow him a night of guilt-free avoidant behaviour.
Tomorrow he would cope. Right now what he needed was a distraction.
Sleep was out of the question. If he were at home, he’d have plenty of projects he could throw himself into. Here he didn’t even have access to a laptop. He supposed he could hit the gym for a couple of hours, but he seriously was not in the mood.
He was in the mood for something though. He gave himself a little exploratory squeeze and yeah, he could go there.
And that would kill a whole ten minutes…
No, what he needed was to get laid.
His first thought was pretty, tousled alt-Sheppard. There was definitely a bent vibe there, but… there was something off too. Might just be the whole military fuckeduppedness when it came to queersex, but Rod didn’t think so. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that he was actually thinking about having sex with Sheppard and the way it proved he’d clearly gone insane.
But no. If he were forced at say, gunpoint, to admit it, he’d have to say that the thought had occurred to him. To peel stiff, prickly John Sheppard out of that starched white short sleeved service dress shirt with the epaulets and the badges; to get him hot and bothered, black tie askew, rigidly gelled hair hopelessly mussed, cheeks hectic…
Rod’s hand had started without him and okay, okay, he’d thought of Sheppard. But his own Sheppard, not this universe’s Sheppard - the smooth player with the thousand yard stare behind his smile. Not for tonight anyway.
Tonight he wanted, well, not simple but maybe… innocent.
God, that would be so… And Rod could hear Kate again, laughing:
Wrong? Sick? Bad?
Hey! What happened to non-judgmental therapeutic counsel?
Does this look like my office, *Dr.* McKay?
He sighed. A Kate Heightmeyer he would never see again - lounging like a Vargas girl atop his wrinkled sheets, her hair gilding the pillow, his shoulder… Her wit, her laughter, her laser sight through whatever bullshit camouflage he’d erected, straight through to the heart of the matter. All gone, forever on the other side of that twice burned bridge.
And he really needed to stop thinking and get out of here, right the fuck now.
Twenty minutes later found him leaning faux casually in Rodney’s doorway: showered, shaved and jangling with nerves, excitement, the low burn of banked arousal. The old familiar cocktail, so to speak. When the door opened he was still half smiling about it.
His smile was met with a scowl
“What are you doing here?” Rodney asked, peering over Rod’s shoulder. “Did something happen? Where’s Jeannie?”
“Relax,” Rod said, holding up his hands. “It’s just a social call.”
“At 1:27 in the morning?”
“Sorry,” Rod shrugged apologetically. “Guess I’m still on Atlantis time.”
“Ha ha,” said Rodney, not budging from the doorway. He had his arms folded across his chest and he looked tired and a little sweaty and it was the weirdest thing to be looking at Rodney’s biceps and know exactly what they would feel like under his hand. “Look, is there something wrong with you?”
Rod almost laughed.
“Yeah,” he said, almost surprised at how true it was. “I, uh, I think I might be freaking out a little.” Because suddenly he really, really was. Maybe it was some universe jumping jet lag. Maybe it was just the idea that he really was never going home again. His eyes prickled horribly and he covered them with his hand, scrubbing until he could see coloured patterns on his retinas. “Look, can I just…?”
“Oh!” Rodney said, and: “Look, fine, you’d better…” And then there were two warm hands on his biceps pulling him in and the touch was so electric they both just stopped. He opened his eyes to find Rodney gaping at him. The door of the room slid closed behind him and Rod leaned in, only to have Rodney pull his hands away like he’d been burned and back away babbling something about Carson and unpredictable effects of inter-dimensional travel and…
“Don’t!” Rod said as Rodney’s hand went to his earpiece. “Please? The last thing I need is be poked and prodded by a cranky Scot.”
“Hunh,” Rodney said. “Your Carson’s a vampire too, eh?”
Rod snorted a little. “I think it’s mostly revenge for dragging him away from all the fun Ancient tech to play doctor.” Rodney frowned, then shook his head, as if to clear it.
“Yes, fine,” he said. “But what are you doing here? As in, my room.”
“It’s my room too,” Rod said, taking a seat on the bed and patting the very familiar scratchy woolen military issue blanket. He looked up to find Rodney looking utterly horrified and amended quickly: “In a… completely abstract way, of course. I was just looking for something that felt a little more like… home.”
“Well, it’s not your home,” Rodney said. And just hearing it, in his own voice. It hit Rod like a sucker punch to the gut. In the heavy silence that followed, the words seemed to echo with finality.
Rod felt the blood drain out of him like someone had pulled a plug and the room took a definite looping swing to the left. Okay, this was really not part of the game plan. He lurched to his feet, trying to ignore the flickering gray static at the edges of his vision.
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I probably shouldn’t have…” come here, he wanted to say, but his voice petered out into something voiceless and strange and he just had time to think: Oh, crap… before his knees buckled under him and he went down.
He came to on his own bed, in his own room and the relief was nearly overwhelming until his own scowling face peered down at him and said:
“You’re not dying, are you?”
“I…hmm,” Rod closed his eyes again and took a quick internal inventory: headache; vague nausea; weird shaky, fluttery sensation in his chest. Oh. Right.
“Only of embarrassment,” he said. He opened his eyes again. “You wouldn’t happen to have anything to eat handy, would you? Something sweet would be perfect.”
“Oh, you are kidding me,” Rodney said, rolling his eyes. He turned away, shuffled around in his desk drawers and came back with a power bar, which he dropped on Rod’s chest. Rod picked it up with shaking fingers. Then he grinned.
“Peanut butter!” he said, delightedly. He ripped open the bar and took a bite. Hummed with pleasure at the rich, salty-sweet taste. “We traded all of ours to the Melesians for a tonic that alleviated the pain of enzyme withdrawal. Good trade, but I miss these like crazy.”
“Swell,” Rodney said, flatly. Then he looked away, cleared his throat. “So, uh - Rod -- I’m really not comfortable with this whole…” He waved a hand between them. “So I think you should probably…” He gestured with his eyes toward the door.
“Yeah,” Rod sighed. “I should…” He sat up gingerly, but the power bar was doing its magic and the shakiness was receding. Sure, it left the awful hole behind, but he could deal with that. He really could. Any minute now.
“So…”
“Right,” Rod said. Time to suck it up. He heaved himself to his feet and stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings?”
“Yes, yes. No hard--” Rodney shook his head impatiently from side to side and took the offered hand.
Like touching live current. Moderate voltage, low amp - a hum that shivered him hotly from head to toe. And yeah, bad idea all around. Rod pulled his hand back. At least he tried to. Rodney wasn’t letting go. He looked up to find Rodney staring at their joined hands.
“--feelings,” Rodney said, sounding almost dreamy. “This is weird,”
“Yeah,” said Rod. He felt the quiver of excitement in his belly, his mouth going dry as he raised his other hand to skim Rodney’s cheek with his fingertips. Soft. Silky soft above the stubble and he touched his own cheek. The same. Only he could feel it. And then, like an out of synch mirror image, Rodney’s fingers ghosted over his other cheek. .
Their eyes met. Rodney’s pupils were round black ink drops with bright blue rims. Long eyelashes fluttered as his eyes slid to half mast. As he leaned in… As they both leaned in.
The kiss was gentle and easy and terrifying. Like the first time Rod had jumped out of a perfectly good airplane. Like the first time he’d stepped through the stargate. Rodney’s lips were soft, yielding under his own, opening to a slip of his tongue. He tasted like himself, like the peanut butter and chocolate on his tongue. With his eyes closed he had the strangest sense of dislocation, of sensation echoed with sensation. Rod felt himself falling into it. He made a small, helpless sound and then Rodney was pulling away, pushing him back.
His eyes shot open. Rodney was wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, pointing wildly with the other.
“I knew it!” he said. “I knew that’s why you came here!” It took a second for Rod to shake off the shock of it, but then he had to laugh.
“Of course you did,” he said. “You’re me.”
“I’m not you!” Rodney shouted. “And you’re not me. You’re all… slick and, and metrosexual and possibly dangerous… ”
“Oh, definitely dangerous,” Rod said, his voice as low and dangerous as he could make it. Rodney’s cheeks flushed and his mouth opened so sweetly that Rod leaned in again.
Only to have Rodney practically leap backwards, waving his hands and saying: “No no no no no. We are so not.”
“Why not?” Rod asked. “You’re not telling me you have some moral objection to sex with your alternate self.” He paused, suddenly unsure. “Are you?”
“Yes!” Rodney said. “It’s… it’s incest.”
“Oh, please,” Rod said. “If anything it’s glorified masturbation. Narcissistic, true, but seriously not a capital offense.”
“It’s still…” Rodney made a helpless flailing gesture.
“Why?” Rod asked. “We’re both adults. We both want it. I know I could use the distraction and from the look of you, you haven’t gotten any since the last time Sam dumped you… What?”
“Sam as in… Carter? As in Samantha Carter? Lieutenant Colonel Samantha--” Rodney looked stricken. “How did you…?”
“With our chemistry? Come on, we’re talking about the original Irresistible Force and Immoveable Object here. How could we not?”
“See, this is what I kept telling her,” Rodney said. “And just… just stop it. Don’t try to distract me.”
“Actually, I was trying to get your eyes on the prize here, Rodney,” Rod said. “Are you seriously turning down what could potentially be the best sex of our lives? Sex with someone who knows you, knows your body like the proverbial back of his hand. Who knows exactly how you want to be touched - where, when, how fast, how slow, how hard. How soft…” He gently pinched his own nipple through his t-shirt, giving himself a silvery thrill of sensation. His dick twitched pleasantly.
Rodney stared for a moment, his mouth a soft ‘o’. Then he blushed and his gaze ostentatiously twitched up to Rod’s face, chin coming up in a gesture Rod remembered from his rebellious twenties.
"Trust me,” Rodney said. He was trying for pissed but his voice was a little shaky. “I'm not so hard up that I need to resort to -- " Rod wanted to laugh and he thought maybe he wanted to hit something. How Rodney could bear being so obvious. It gave him a weird frisson. Something sharper than embarrassment. Right to his dick too.
"Are you going to tell me you're not even curious?" he asked.
"Well of course I'm curious. I’m not without… curiosity. I've read 'The Man Who Folded Himself' . . ."
"There you go," Rod said as if he knew what the hell that was. "So what is your objection? Ethical? Religious?"
"Please," Rodney said.
"Then what?"
"I'm thinking!" Rodney said. "It's not like I've had any reason before now to consider the pros and cons of having sex with . . ."
"Yourself?" Rod said, grinning.
"Ha ha, yes, very helpful."
Rod gave a flourish-y little bow. There was something very likable about Rodney despite his obvious faults. Probably that vulnerability he projected. He studied Rodney sitting stiff and upright on the bed, hands awkward on his knees and wondered how he did it. All the things Rod had disliked in himself as a teenager, as a young man. All the sharp, rough edges he’d filed down and squared off. That defensiveness, that naked need for approval…
And that frisson wasn’t embarrassment. It was shame.
He got up and wandered around the room feeling Rodney’s wary gaze on him. One wall was covered in awards and degrees. Of course. He rested his hip on the corner of the desk, studied the framed testaments to Rodney’s life with mild curiosity.
"Northeastern," he said. "Interesting choice."
"They had the best program," Rodney said. "Why? Where did you go?"
"After the Conservatory? Berkeley," Rod said. He flashed back a grin. "They had the prettiest recruiter."
Rodney rolled his eyes, then frowned. "Wait, the Toronto Conservatory? Of Music?"
Rod winced. "You got out of that one?" he said. "Good on you."
"You . . . what? Washed out?"
"If only," Rod said. "I think Dad wouldn't have taken my quitting so hard if they'd laid off the ‘next Evgeny Kissin’ hype."
"Right," Rodney said, blankly. "Look is there anything you're not good at?"
Rod chuckled ruefully. "Plenty, according to Sam. And Svetlana and Jenna and Laura and . . . do I need to go on?"
"Please don't," Rodney said. "So . . . relationships?"
"Just long-term ones.” For smallish values of long term, he did not add. Sam was his longest-running relationship. Between break-ups they'd probably amassed almost a year together. He'd always taken it for granted that they'd get to that paper anniversary.
Right up until she'd actually married O'Neill, and maybe a little after. Funny how much that still managed to hurt, even a universe away. He wondered if she'd regret it more now that he . . .
"Right," he said. "Finished thinking yet?"
"No!" Rodney said.
"Jesus," Rod said. "How do you ever get laid?"
"It's not exactly at the top of my priority list. Maybe tenth, you know, after not getting killed by Wraith, not getting killed by Replicators, not getting killed by nanoviruses . . do I need to go on?"
Rod just shook his head. If anything fired him up it was those near-death experiences. He and Teyla had coupled fiercely and recklessly in the back of the jumper the first time they’d survived a culling together. And then after the next close call and the next until it became almost a ritual with them.
And god, Ronon and his mute dominance. Rod being pushed to his knees on the sticky floor of a Wraith hiveship, or in the ruined city of Ronon’s birth -- his mouth taken with bruising force. Just the memory had him half hard.
Rod bit back a groan; looked up to find Rodney watching him, speculatively. He could imagine what he looked like right now -- flushed and tousled and ready. He slouched a little lower, let his thighs fall a little farther apart.
Rodney was pretty flushed himself. Definitely thinking about it, then. Rod wet his lips, was gratified to see Rodney mirror the gesture, apparently without noticing.
"So if we did this . . .” Rodney said, waving his hand between them.
"Yes?"
"What exactly would be the protocol?"
"How about Rule Number One is not using the word 'protocol' during foreplay."
Rodney folded his arms across his chest and glared.
“All right, all right," Rod said finally. "How about for ‘protocol’ we work within mutually acceptable guidelines toward, say, a common goal of sexual satisfaction for all, in this case with the criterion being a truly spectacular orgasm each.”
Rodney pursed his lips as if considering it.
“Do we need to draw up a written contract,” Rod asked. “Because it'll be hell finding a notary public at this hour. . ."
"No, that's… sufficient," Rodney said finally. Then he unfolded his arms, put his hands on his knees and then thought better of it and folded them again. "So. How do you, uh, want me?
On your knees, Rod thought, a little viciously. Shutting up and taking it. And that probably wouldn't go over all that well as a first move. Christ, if he'd realized his alternate self was going to be such a goddamn girl he would have risked Sheppard.
And yet…
He pushed off the edge of the desk and sat down next to Rodney on the bed.
"What do you like?" he asked. "What have you always wanted to try but never had the opportunity?" Rodney's face went from pink to scarlet and he looked down.
"That good, eh?" Rod said. "Well, if it will help, there is nothing I've ever heard of that I haven't at least considered trying. You're not going to shock me."
Rodney snorted. "I doubt you'd find it shocking. It's just . . . personal." Sitting this close Rod could feel the heat radiating off Rodney. He could smell the tang of fresh sweat.
“You like it soft, don’t you?” he said, half to himself. Or… all to himself, really. Rodney started to object but Rod lay a hand on his shoulder. Rodney went quiet. That same buzz was there. Instant connection. Or something. Rod liked the feel of it, let his hand slide down Rodney’s shoulder blade, across his back.
Leaning in, he nosed against Rodney’s jaw, feeling the end-of-day stubble there, the faded alcohol sweetness of the morning’s aftershave. He slid his nose up to Rodney’s temple, brushing his lips over the rise of Rodney’s heated cheek. Rodney shivered a little under the touch and turned away, exposing more throat.
Rod cupped his cheek with his other hand, and took the offer. He mouthed his way down the firm tendon of Rodney’s neck, lips and a slip of tongue. Rodney stiffened against his hand, his breathing uneven and Rod opened his mouth at the tender join of shoulder and neck and sucked.
The gasp was perfect and he didn’t let up when Rodney started squirming, just bit down tenderly. Softly.
Rodney’s ‘oh’ was high and sweet and just desperate enough. Rod gentled, let the suction break. Soothed the purpling mark with slick lips and tongue. Made small sucking kisses up Rodney’s throat and back to his jaw where he closed his teeth gently, gently while Rodney went still. Licked stubbled, salty flesh along the bone. Licked across the corner of Rodney’s mouth, liking the way it opened for him without hesitation.
Licked his way inside.
Yeah, he thought, as Rodney finally moved. Finally turned into the kiss he’d been building. That’s how he likes it. Soft and sweet and when you bite he lets you because…
He didn’t know why. But he did, too. Rodney’s arms had come up around him, were sliding up and down his back and then slipping under his jacket and Rodney kissing back was not soft at all.
He was hungry and maybe a little frantic, hands fisting in Rod’s t-shirt like Rod might try to get away.
Not a chance. God, it had been so long since he’d been with someone so honestly needy. It made him want to open himself, give Rodney everything he was asking for with his gasps and his whimpers, his easy mouth and greedy hands.
He pushed Rodney back onto the narrow bed, crawling up over him. Never really breaking the kiss, but taking it all the places he liked on himself - jaw, throat, neck.
Their bodies had lined up, Rod with a knee between Rodney’s thighs and he rubbed himself carelessly against heat and hardness in a ragged rhythm as they kissed.
Rodney was doing the same, pushing up to meet him, pulling him close. Good enough to send wicked hot shivers through him, but no way he was giving it up that easily.
“I’m going to suck you,” he said, low and ragged into Rodney’s ear, and when Rodney moaned and bucked up hard under him, he pushed his tongue in after the words. Rodney made a sound almost like a sob, so Rod did it again and again.
It made him want to laugh. Lightning in a bottle. No battle of wills, just the bliss of his own mastery. A puzzle he knew so well he could do it backwards, sideways - looking in a mirror…
And he was sliding downwards, unzipping the rough fabric of Rodney’s uniform jacket, sucking at a nipple through the thin blue nylon underneath. Rodney’s hands went to his shoulders, alternately yanking up on his jacket and pushing him down where he wanted him.
Soft and sweet gone out the window. He’d always been a greedy bastard. Single-minded, goal-oriented juggernaut after what he wanted, even when he wanted everything at once.
He pulled up just enough to tear his jacket off, fling it across the room. Things clattered to the floor and he didn’t care because Rodney switched to yanking at his t-shirt with intent. Rod let him - brought his arms up over his head so that the black cotton slid up, engulfing his head for a second in warm blackness, rich with his own sharp scent.
When he emerged, Rodney was gazing up at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I look… I mean you look…” he shook his head. “You work out.” It sounded accusing. Rod laughed. God yes. Sweet.
“Mmm,” Rod said. He slipped his fingers under the hem of Rodney’s shirt, feeling the softness there. Rodney’s hands came down on his.
“I, uh, don’t,” Rodney said.
“I know,” Rod said. He kept sliding his hands up, pushing Rodney’s with them, revealing a strip of pale, hairy belly. A softness he hadn’t seen on himself since the sexual energy of puberty melted off the puppy fat. Weirdly appealing.
Sheppard would have a belly like that, he thought. He’d seen the barest swell of it under his crisply creased short sleeved dress shirt. A hidden softness that spoke of secret indulgence, helpless greed and the sudden image of Sheppard, mouth slick and sticky with candy, fisting his own cock made him nearly breathless with lust.
Rodney must have seen it because he groaned and pushed his hips up, trying for friction.
Yeah, Rod thought. That we can do. He nuzzled into tender flesh, biting gently. Rodney gasped and squirmed and Rod felt the echo of sensation - somewhere between tickle torture and arousal - in his own gut. He nosed at the waistband of Rodney’s uniform pants, then flicked them open with his thumb.
“Oh God,” Rodney said, as Rod eased the zipper down. Rod had to smile at the white-on-red capsaicin-molecule boxers as he pulled them down over Rodney’s hips.
Rodney’s dick sprang out, hard, red and leaking. And Rod might not know a lot of things, but he knew what his body liked.
He licked his lips and went down slowly. Rodney gasped and groaned, trying to work himself in deeper. Rod pressed his hands down over Rodney’s hips and held him to stillness until Rodney started to shake under his hands and his mouth.
Teal’c had done this to him once - a strange kind of alien payback for pulling him whole from the gate buffer -- and it had led to the most intense orgasm of Rod’s life and in a circuitous way, to the first of many enjoyable evenings of sex and squabbling with Sam Carter. He wanted to give that to Rodney.
He wanted to give all of it, suddenly. All the sucks. All the fucks. Fingers and lips and tongues. Like he could pour it out into Rodney through this single act. The osmotic principle - things moving from high concentration to low until the gradient went flat. Until the playing field was level. He just wanted…
He just wanted…
To drive himself down, steady and relentless onto Rodney. To hold him just there with weight and suction. To pull the orgasm out of him like a single thread unraveling the red silk veil of his fear and those had been Teal’c’s words and they’d shaken him so hard…
And who was moaning now? Both of them, he thought.
He felt Rodney’s hands on his head but it took a minute to register that Rodney was pulling at him, frantic and uneven. He let the suction go, pulled off slowly. Had to blink his eyes back to focus.
Rodney was red-faced, open-mouthed, intent. His shirt still rucked up high. He strained to scowl down at Rod.
“I want--” he gasped, breathless, flailed his hands and pointed impatiently. “You. Turn.”
Oh. Oh. The want rode him with a shudder and all he could do was nod. How did he know…? And scramble awkwardly to get himself turned around, nothing like graceful, but it was okay because Rodney was moving him, pushing at his hips. Fingers clumsy at the button of his pants, but Rod, lying on his side on the edge of the bed could only hold onto Rodney’s thighs, rubbing his face against soft skin and rough hair and wanting…
And then Rodney had his pants open and he wasn’t clumsy at all. Rodney’s hand around his dick and his hand had been there all along and he slid his lips over the head of Rodney’s dick and felt himself engulfed. Sucked and was sucked. Swallowed and was swallowed. That smooth buzz where they touched recognizable now -- ghosts of echoes of sensation doubled.
It was a crazy feeling, to thrust and feel his own dick slide over his tongue; to shudder at the feeling of his own tongue swirling over his dick. Disorienting, like Atlantis was capsizing and everything familiar was sliding sideways one beat out of time. It was all Rod could do to hang on. Thank god Rodney was solid.
Rodney’s hands on the backs of his thighs anchored him and when he came, the feeling was sweet, so sweet that it was the easiest thing in the world to just let go.
He lay there, panting; his head on Rodney’s thigh and the taste of his own come cloying and surprisingly familiar on his tongue. Felt the rhythm of Rodney’s breathing and heartbeat uncouple from his own, moving comfortably out of synch.
He must have dozed off like that. Blinked awake, maybe an hour later, fuzzy headed and full of bleary affection for the warm, heavy body next to him. He yawned, kissed the tender skin under his cheek and disentangled himself. Rodney ‘mmffed’ and transferred his affections to the pillow Rod slid into his arms.
He let himself into the bathroom, took a quick shower and used Rodney’s toothbrush. He felt a little more substantial now - the hum of post-coital satisfaction filling the hollow with something slightly weightier than existential terror.
Rodney was still asleep when he came out, his back turned to the room. Rod was tempted to wake him. Explain to him how much it all meant to have had this, shared this. How the sex had been, as it almost always was, a revelation and how he always loved his teachers a little afterwards. For a while anyway.
And that always worked out so well.
He couldn’t help grinning a little as he retrieved his jacket from the floor.
He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d learned yet, but it was in there now, swirling around in his brain, painting everything in warmer colours. He wasn’t worried, there was time now. Time for golf with Bizarro Sheppard and breakfast with Jeannie and a whole new life to find a starting place for.
And if he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was still eating at him, that was okay for now too.
He’d figure it all out eventually.
*