26_drabbles with McKay/Sheppard. Thus, 26 drabbles, rating from G-NC17.Spoilers: Sunday and No Man's Land/Misbegotten
A. Angry.
Rodney's no stranger to anger. He deals with it everyday, the costs of being a genius among the mediocre. And his people know that. His people; his scientists, his friends, they realise that it’s frustration, but this. This is different.
John has never seen Rodney so furious, never seen his eyes darken, his face pale. Never heard him speak so coldly, every word bitten off with as much force as his P-90. And he has never seen Rodney so angry at him, just as he has never screwed up so badly.
Leave. I don’t want to see you anymore.
B. Blue.
Sometimes Rodney wonders what it would have been like if Carson has found a cure for his retrovirus. If John's skin was white and olive and pink, rather than teal-turquoise-indigo. And on those days, maybe, Rodney's a little quiet. A little softer, a little distant. And John becomes clingy, patting and stroking Rodney with clawed fingers, taking Rodney apart, fucking up into him with a ridged dick until Rodney is sobbing in John's lap, writhing up and down and tilting his head back, baring his neck for fangs until he has a mark high on his neck that matches John's.
C. Complete.
John loves Rodney. He does, he loves that smug bastard with all he is, and he knows that Rodney feels the same. And they fit together easily, jagged edges knitting together.
Elizabeth says they complete each other, and yeah, John can-- John can see that. He can see how they compliment each other, verbose and silent, emotional and barren; both strong, both smart.
It’s the first time in John's life that someone has understood him.
John loves Rodney. But it doesn’t stop him from mouthing at Teyla's neck, licking down, down, and sliding in sweetly, wetly.
John loves Rodney. Really.
D. Dark.
As a child, Rodney never feared the night. Never feared the inky blackness, tentacles creeping beneath the door. No, Rodney was always enthralled with the night, with stars splashed through the sky, bright spots in the darkness. He always wanted to reach out and touch them.
And now, Rodney's in Atlantis, which is the most terrifying place he’s ever been. But it’s home, and his team are family, and he’s content to just lie against John, Ronon and Teyla points of heat along his side, and he points up lazily, labelling the stars with the contentment of a small child.
E. Echo.
All the way through John's life the echoes of his past have reverberated through his mind. Resonating, constant, a mindless procession of mistakes and mistakes and mistakes. Nancy, Afghanistan, the Wraith keeper. All of them, more, dozens of faceless corpses littering his path.
Rodney holds his hand by his gurney, seated slumped over, his forehead pressing against John's thigh. John's hand looks small in his, threaded with blue veins, and Rodney just wants his eyes to flicker open, wants the smears under his eyes to be gone, and more than anything, wants the procession of thoughts banished from his mind.
F. Fear.
Carson’s shouting instructions, nurses pushing past and around John, and all he can see is Rodney on that gurney, pale and quiet and still, God, so still. He’s pale, skin drawn tight, and he’s gasping wetly, red smeared over the corner of that crooked mouth.
He’s pale beneath the blood, his dark BDUs an unearthly contrast to flesh white and gleaming. His shirt is torn away, the hole in his belly stuffed haphazardly with tattered material, frantically pushed in with John's shaking fingers while Teyla rubbed at Rodney's forehead and Ronon stood over them.
All John can do is wait.
G. Goodbye.
This time, Rodney didn’t get any warning. Not a careless “So long, Rodney”, not a look, not any danger. Nothing. And it was stupid, so stupid, for John to die like this.
Oh god. Dead.
Rodney can’t quite fathom it. John, with his stupid hair and his stupid smirk and his stupid John-ness. He can’t be dead. He can’t be.
He is.
He fell. Stepped forward and the ground cracked open beneath him, dry earth splitting in two just beneath his feet and he didn’t even cry out as he disappeared.
They don’t even have a body.
Oh god.
John.
H. Hold.
“For God’s sake, Sheppard, do we have to get arrested on every goddamn planet? Can you not keep it in your pants for three hours?”
John thumped his head against the brick wall once, twice, thrice. “For the last time, McKay, it was not my fault. I wasn’t looking at the Sultan’s daughter. Or his son. And my pants were never unzipped. So why don’t you just shut up?”
Rodney was quiet. “I’m hungry,” he said in a small voice.
John sighed and shifted closer to Rodney, draping his arm over his shoulders. “I know, buddy. We’ll get out soon.”
I. Ice.
“I can’t believe you can’t skate. What type of man can’t skate?”
John scowled and slumped into the seat, drawing his leg up to unlace the skates and pull them off. “Alright, fine. Show me how it’s done,” he said bitterly, and slumped down to watch as Rodney tilted his head up defiantly. “Fine, I will.”
He stepped easily onto the ice and pushed off strongly, making smooth one, two movements until he was in the centre of the empty rink.
John's breath caught as he began to skate delicately around the edge, working up some speed. He was beautiful.
J. Jealousy.
“Uh!” Rodney grunted, bracing himself against the wall. He spread his legs further apart, straining himself, and tilted his head back, moaning under his breath. “Jesus, John!”
John grinned fiercely, panting as he slammed in. “Mine, McKay. You’re mine!”
“Yours,” Rodney agreed, and cried out as John bit down hard on his neck, teeth sinking in easily. His spine arched and he clamped down on John as he came and came, and John followed him down happily.
Rodney came down, turning to smile at John as he collapsed to his side. “What brought that on?”
John smiled back. “Nothing much.”
K. Kiss.
“Oh. My. God.” Cadman said, and Rodney jumped away from John quickly, tripping over an empty box until John clutched at his arms.
“Lieutenant,” John said quietly, and Cadman nodded and turned away. “Didn’t see a thing, sir,”
“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry,” Simpson said, and backed out, cheeks flaming as Rodney turned in John's arms.
“Simpson,” He said warningly, and she grinned, and nodded. “Won’t say a thing, McKay. Promise.”
“Oh!” John smiled into the kiss and just dipped Rodney back as all of Atlantis watched, a silver ring glimmering on his finger, clutching a certificate in his hand.
L. Luck.
“Huh,” Radek said, and blinked slowly at Rodney from behind thick spectacles. He tilted his head to the side.
“What?” Rodney snapped irritably, poking his not-chicken moodily. “What is it?”
“You, I think they call it—got lucky? last night.” Radek said airily, then frowned in consternation. “Though you seem very irritable, so perhaps the sex wasn’t good?”
Rodney glared. “The sex, I’ll have you know, was fantastic. And I did not get lucky.”
“Hmmm,” Radek said non-commitally, and Rodney snarled.
“What? What?”
“Sheppard, he does not perform well?”
“It’s possible that he, uh, fell asleep. He’d had a long day!”
M. Marks.
It’s…possible that Rodney was maybe a little too enthusiastic last night. Maybe,
Okay, definitely, and now Rodney can’t stop starting at the hickey gracing John's neck. Oh, it’s not big, in fact it could easily be misconstrued as a smear of dirt or sauce, but it’s there.
Heh.
So Rodney's kinda proud. Especially when John notices his staring and blushes just a little, unconsciously drawing his hand across the mark. John glares at him, the tips of his ears dusted pink, and he pointedly turns his attention to Teyla, pretending to listen carefully.
Oh yeah. Rodney's smug. So sue him.
N. Never.
What John can’t quite believe is that Rodney was straight before him. Not that he was particularly gay, in the stereotypical sense, but because really, there had to have been someone. Rodney's ass, for one thing, someone must have done something.
But Rodney's blush every time John puts his hand there, squeezes, the way he’d tensed when John's slick finger strokes over his hole, there was no doubt that he’d been telling the truth.
It just makes it sweeter when Rodney lets John slide all the way inside him with a moan, arching his hips and begging mutely for more.
O. Over.
Rodney sucked in a large breath, squeezing tightly at John's hand. “Are you sure?” He said nervously, looking at the other man, anxiety weighing his mouth.
John's face was drawn, melancholy, but he nodded and smiled at Rodney in contentment anyway. “Yeah, let’s do this thing. May as well get some worth from all that combat pay.” He paused. “And this isn’t our Atlantis. Not without the scientists. Not without you, buddy. Okay?”
Rodney squeezed his hand again, grateful. And together they stepped through the Gate to meet with General O’Neill, leaving behind their haven overrun by guns and violence.
P. Panic.
“Dude, where’s your car?”
John looked around, swiping his hand in front of his face half-heartedly. He glared around the clearing. “Where’s my car, dude?”
Rodney looked up from his LSD, eyes widening. “No, seriously, where’d you park the Jumper, Sheppard?”
John rolled his eyes and turned in a slow circle. “Chillax, McKay, it’s here. We’ll find it.”
“Did you just say chillax? You aren’t in California anymore. Also, what type of idiot locks the remote in the Jumper? We’re going to be stuck here forever!”
Huffing, John turned around and stalked forward. And found the Jumper. With his face.
Q. Quiet.
Radek’s glasses slipped down his nose, the arms disrupted by careless rubbing. He smiles, leaning in the doorway to Rodney's quarters. It’s an invasion of privacy, yes, but Atlantis had let him in and he had needed Rodney.
Now, he thinks, it may not have been such an urgent matter. Not when Rodney is curled around John, head on his shoulder, while one hand is sprawled over his chest, tangled in his shirt. John, too, is lying in Rodney's arms, his hand curled loosely around him, resting on his ass, his breath shifting Rodney's hair minutely.
Radek slips away silently.
R. Rational.
No one has ever accused Rodney of being irrational. He’s never been calm or serene, not even a little bit. But now, staring down at his daughter looking up at him with John's innocent smile, he takes a deep breath and prays to God for patience before sweeping her up and marching her to her other father.
“Goddamn it, John, this is your fault. Fix it! Tell your daughter that she cannot beat up the other kids at school.”
John raised a cool eyebrow. “Oh, she’s my daughter now?” He said, then, absently: “Dollar in the swear jar.”
“Dang it!”
S. Subtle.
Teyla watches the boys with a smile, eyes sharp as the miniature John and Rodney curl into each other to share milk and cookies, beaming at each other with chocolate-smeared teeth.
There are nuances in their actions that speak of their adult relationship; they don’t know, obviously, as children, but two weeks ago as full-sized adults, Teyla had watched with the same indulgent smile.
John retains his protectiveness of Rodney. Just last week one of the nurses had given Rodney a lemon candy, mistakenly, and John refused to leave Rodney's side for even a second through the anaphylactic shock.
Inseparable.
T. Two.
And then there were two. Ford, long lost to the wraith, to the wraith enzyme, drugs coursing through his bodies. Carson, dead so long ago. Elizabeth, abandoned in enemy territory. Zelenka, back to Earth years back, blindness crippling him permanently. Ronon, who’d left to return to Sateda, illness wracking his body. They’d sat with him until he’d breathed his last breath. Teyla, to the Athosians, raising her children, her family, in peace. The Atlanteans, called back to Earth, forever banned from Atlantis.
Now it’s just John and Rodney in a puddlejumper, floating endlessly through space, locked together even in death.
U. Unbearable.
Oh god it hurts. It hurts so fucking much, like tiny Genii in his brain. It’s worse than when he was 17 and got a tattoo, worse than when he was 18 and got it removed. Worse than when he fell out of the window when he was 5, distracted by the stars; than when he was 3 and discovered his allergy to lemons. Worse than, hmm, not worse than getting kicked in the nuts, but a close second.
A wet cloth hit him in the face. “You shouldn’t have drunk so much on our wedding night,” John said unsympathetically.
V. Vulnerable.
Rodney's pretty invulnerable. His giant brain, for one. His healthy sense of self-preservation. All the Ancient tech he keeps strewn on his person, and he knows how to do all the physical stuff, too, after hours and hours spent training with the team.
But he’s always vulnerable to John. Whenever John looks at him just right, Rodney's eyes widen, his skin flushes and he shifts uncomfortably in his chair until he’s allowed to leave whatever meeting Sam’s running, until he can crawl onto the bed with John balanced over him.
Yeah. He’s Rodney's Kryptonite, and he’s pretty happy with that.
W. Winter.
Rodney's spent so much of his life in cold places: Canada, in winter, with the snow and ice and sleet that made his childhood such an adventure; Russia, Siberia, exiled for his opinion; Antarctica, where in the depths of the ice he found the key to his home.
Anyway. I digress.
Rodney has a pure love for the cold. Oh, sure, he’ll bitch and complain but ultimately he loves it. And it’s something John shares, especially on days like this, curled on Jeannie’s porch with steaming hot chocolate and steaming breath, trading soft kisses in the snow; protected, sheltered, loved.
X. X-Rated.
“Do you watch porn?” Ronon grunted, sitting heavily next to Rodney.
Rodney automatically flinched away and boggled at the question. “WHAT?! No! Well, I mean, well, yes. It’s a perfectly healthy, normal thing to do!”
“Kay.” Ronon shovelled food into his mouth. “Can I borrow it? Lorne said I should watch it.”
“Um. I. What?”
John started laughing, and Rodney directed his glare to him. “Look, Conan, why don’t you ask your buddy Sheppard, huh?”
Ronon shrugged. “Wanted porn with girls in it, not just guys.” He paused. “No offence.”
Rodney grinned. “None taken, my friend. None taken at all.”
Y. Yes.
The thing is, Rodney can’t quite say no to John, and the bastard knows it. It’s how he ended up with a new surfboard, calibrated to specifications, sleeker and faster than any board John's had before.
It’s also how he ends up here, face in the pillows with his ass in the air, moaning as John slides a dildo slowly, slickly, in and out. His breathing, their breathing, is wet and shallow, and Rodney can hear the slick sounds of John jacking himself off, his other hand never faltering. Rodney grunts, hitching his hips back awkwardly, and whimpers desperately.
God.
Z. Zero.
ten
nine
eight
The wraith are coming, all of Atlantis is in chaos, blood already splashed over the walls. Rodney has seven minutes before they’re here, and he has got to get this right, he can’t fail, and-
seven
six
five
-this is important, he needs to set it to self-destruct so carefully, can’t let there be anything left, nothing at all, oh god-
four
three
two
-and then John is there, John, and he’s steadying Rodney's hand, offering one last smile and one last kiss, and then Teyla and Ronon are there, three tangible handprints on Rodney's back-
one