sga: da capo [sheppard/mckay]

A little something written for coreopsis and nemoinis [I wrote you smut, dude! ;)], because without them I'd probably not be having half as much in this fandom. C also gets a big thank you for the beta.

Set post Siege III.


da capo

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play [>]
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John gasped and arched, his fingers clenching at the bedclothes -- then scrabbling again at the mattress itself as the sheets pulled free.

It was too much.

It wasn't enough.

It was the soundsmelltastefeel that he craved as Rodney moved against him, skin slick with sweat and fingers oddly soft against John's throat as he pulled him in for a kiss.

If you could call it a kiss.

Hunger, that's what it was. Lust. Pure in the need to devour, to want more. It was uncontrolled and John let go of the mattress in order to anchor himself in Rodney -- in his tongue, his breath, in the shift of Rodney's hips as each thrust pinned him to the bed and sent him flying all at once.

It was better than Ferris wheels, better than fast cars, hell, it was better than breathing, and John -- wished that Rodney's hair was longer because he was damn hard to hold onto -- really didn't care when the feel of Rodney's teeth against his Adam's apple made him groan and almost buck Rodney off in reaction.

"Like that?"

The words were muffled against his throat and John shivered with their vibration against his skin. He knew that Rodney was smirking -- McKay was always fucking smirking, it was his natural state -- and normally he would've had something to say about that, but now wasn't normally. Now was so far from normally that it was in another galaxy far, far away, and John didn't have any extra breath for words anyway.

Besides, they always said that actions spoke louder than words.

It didn't take much. Rodney might outweigh him, but he was better trained. The skill was in making sure they didn't tumble off the bed in the process -- fucking narrow cots -- and John had a vested interest in that not happening.

A twist, a flip, a scary second where he thought that it'd all gone to hell -- but Rodney managed to pull him back before he slid too far -- and it was all over, bar the growls of frustration.

The growls were his own, Rodney seemed more intent on voicing every swear word known to a Canadian national -- and some that were decidedly not Canadian in nature. John blinked in surprise. Who the hell knew that Rodney was so well versed? John's own grin was lost as he stifled Rodney's incendiary diatribe with his tongue. He'd have to get Rodney to do that more often. If Rodney's sarcasm was like foreplay, then his swearing was like porn -- but the pressure of his hands on John's hips and the need of his own body quickly reminded John of his priorities.

It was a concerted effort, one that had more to do with expediency than grace, but they got it done, and John's hiss of breath became a low moan with the renewed burn of Rodney's dick sliding inside of him.

"God, John."

Not even sex could get Rodney to shut up, but it definitely got him saying John's name in a way that was probably outlawed in a couple of places here in the Pegasus. It was almost as good as a physical touch -- saturated with lust and just a hint of amazement, as if Rodney couldn't quite believe what was happening -- and it got to John every time because he knew exactly how that felt.

He whimpered when Rodney tried to take advantage of the situation, the friction enough to remind John just how hard he was and just how much Rodney had been teasing him before this. Straightening, he wrapped his fingers around Rodney's wrists and pulled Rodney's hands free of his hips, grinning wickedly at Rodney's wordless protest as he trapped them under his knees.

Two could play at that game.

And Rodney really should know better than to try and catch a tiger -- or an Air Force major -- by the tail. Even though his tail was truly enjoying the attempt, not to mention the rest of him.

John splayed his hands across Rodney's chest and pushed him back against the bed when he tried to struggle free. "Tsk, tsk, McKay."

Leaning close, he tugged Rodney's lip with his teeth and heard the echo of his own moan as the movement caused Rodney to try and thrust upwards in reaction.

Rodney pulled back just enough to shoot him a narrow-eyed glare. "You're being a bastard."

"Yep." John grinned smugly and rocked his hips, biting his own lip at the frisson the movement sent up his spine as he watched Rodney's eyes glaze over.

"Bastard." Same word, totally different meaning, with that fracturing breath in the middle giving it a such a wondering, needy sound.

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rewind [<<]
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John stood in the door and looked around Rodney's lab. They hadn't had a chance to talk since the balcony and John was trying to rectify that. He was pretty sure that the other people in the room that he didn't recognise were transplants from the Daedelus because they looked way too fresh to be any of their people.

"All hail the conquering hero." Rodney's greeting was full of familiar piss and vinegar, but John could see the lines of tiredness etched across his face as Rodney looked up from his laptop.

"I'm no one's hero."

"I wouldn't say that. I'm sure there's probably a pack of people just begging to go on bended knee to thank you for your overwhelmingly stupid attempt at self sacrifice."

"McKay!" John was pretty sure that he was more shocked by the crude inference than the insult. Insults from Rodney were part and parcel, so it wasn't that much of a surprise. He was a little disappointed that Rodney wasn't more happy to see him, given the circumstances.

"What? You expected gratitude?" Rodney looked furious and John backed up a step. "I don't think so, Major. Not for that idiotic gesture."

"This isn't --" John looked around the lab.

"Yes. Not the time and place." Rodney slammed his laptop closed and John winced. For Rodney to be treating his equipment like that, he had to be really pissed. "Come with me. That way I can yell at you in private and you can retain some semblance of competence. You lot, work."

John wanted to admire the way Rodney could get away with something like that, but it was ruined by the fact that he knew he probably looked like a puppy about to be punished for peeing on the carpet. There was nothing for it but to bear with it, because if he tried to avoid it now, well, it never paid to let Rodney actually think about what he wanted to yell at you for. It just lengthened the retribution time and John was just too happy to be back to get angry.

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fast forward [>>]
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Thinking became secondary, speaking non-existent, when Rodney followed John inside his quarters and slammed John up against the wall.

One minute there was the expected continuation of Rodney's jittery rant -- they really needed to make him lay off the coffee -- full of twitching hand gestures and the next, John was trying to stop from swallowing his tongue as Rodney pressed and pulled and manhandled him until he was gasping with the feeling of Rodney's hands sliding across the bare skin under his shirt and dragging down the front of his pants.

It was desperate, it was dirty and Rodney wasn't taking any prisoners. There was no care here. Their lips snagged as their teeth clicked together, Rodney's hand in John's hair was sure to come away with more than a few strands and if Rodney hadn't taken control of his mouth, John was sure that he would have been babbling -- yes, oh God, that, oh, Rodney -- as he yanked and pulled at the back of Rodney's shirt.

Fear made them both rough, but relief made him not care. All that mattered was skin and touch and here and John barely registered the pain when his head thudded against the wall. Rodney's teeth had a way of doing that to him -- fuck, he's going to leave a hickey -- but when faced with pain or pleasure, John was all about the pleasure and, maybe, just a little pain.

Getting Rodney's shirt off meant breaking the contact, so John pulled hard, almost tearing up the seams, in his haste to get it free. Rodney's only contribution was to raise his arms as he muttered, "Bastard. You fucking bastard."

As soon as his arms were free, Rodney was on John again, his hands doing some tugging and tearing of their own. John didn't know where Rodney had picked up that kind of manual dexterity, but as his belt, holster and pants hit the floor, John couldn't be anything but thankful. Especially when Rodney's wet, red mouth was so close to his dick, he could feel Rodney breathing.

He groaned when Rodney sucked up a welt on his hip, twisting in Rodney's hands until Rodney clamped down and pinned him back against the wall. Rodney's mouth wasn't where he wanted it and it was driving John insane. Burying his hands in Rodney's hair, he tugged. "Rodney, c'mon, please!"

When Rodney broke free and stood, John made a wordless complaint which turned into a muffled sound of encouragement under Rodney's lips. The way Rodney's hand ran the length of John's dick brought him up onto his toes in an attempt keep the friction. John fisted his hands into the waistband of Rodney's pants and yanked him closer, trapping Rodney's hand between them as he mounted his own attack on Rodney's control. Sliding his hands around to palm Rodney's ass, John bit at Rodney's lip, smirking into the kiss as Rodney gasped and thrust forward.

He wasn't the only one who liked a little pain.

Another pull on his dick and John could feel his advantage slipping away as Rodney's fingers played him like a violin -- though with Rodney it was more like a piano -- he just knew John too well. But he knew Rodney just as well, John thought, as he wormed a hand between them and popped the button on Rodney's pants. But before he get more than a touch on the tab, Rodney grabbed his wrist and pushed it back against the wall and John's fight was all pulled out of him through his dick, or more precisely, through Rodney's hand on his dick.

The hard, stripping strokes were so knee-buckling good that John was glad for the way that Rodney blanketed him against the wall because he was sure that he'd have ended up on the floor otherwise. And when Rodney dragged him towards the bed, John stumbled after him, clinging so that he wouldn't fall.

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skip [>>|]
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It was like watching the Wraith's bombardment hitting the shield, except these colours flared behind his eyelids. They sucked away his breath and stretched him out until he snapped back like a bungee cord, connected only by the flex of Rodney's fingers digging bruises into his hips. Coming was like dying and living and being reborn and it was shuddering and groaning and sweaty collapse.

His thighs burned and his arms ached, but when Rodney pulled out and pushed him to the side, John whined. It wasn't, he didn't --

And then it was, he did. Rodney's weight pinned him to the bed, his dick slid back in and John muffled his satisfied grunt against the mattress. He was going to be sore tomorrow, but Rodney was panting harshly against his neck, incoherent except for his litany of moans as John was rocked by each thrust and it was sofuckinghotperfectright.

It couldn't last, too close and too long denied, John knew as he pushed back. He was amazed Rodney had held out this long given the way this had all started, but he sure as hell wasn't complaining. Especially not when he was still getting the odd vestigial shock of pleasure when his dick rubbed against the sheets.

Rodney was shivering now, his thrusts erratic, as he groaned long and low in John's ear and John knew it was all over bar the shouting. It was just that, until Rodney bit down on the span between his neck and shoulder, John hadn't realised that he was going to be the one doing the shouting. He arched, his head coming up, as Rodney's shivers wracked into shudders.

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"I hate you."

John could feel the way the words rumbled in Rodney's chest in counterpoint to the way they sounded in the air. A dual reproach. "Yeah, I know. I can feel how much you hate me all the way to my toes."

Rodney's silence was more eloquent than any words and Rodney's hand was a light touch, resting against the small of his back, but John could feel it like a weight. Lifting his head, he met Rodney's eyes. "I'm sorry."

Rodney looked away for a moment before looking back, his eyes narrowing. "So you fucking should be. If you ever do something that stupendously stupid again in your life, I'll kill you myself. I'd be doing the universe a favour by removing you from the gene pool, you know."

John nodded, and bit back on the words he was itching to say: Yes, dear. He wasn't stupid and he liked his life and limbs the way they were.


-fin-