unadrift | SGA fic: "Par for the Course" by deltacephei

Title: Par for the Course
Author:

deltacephei

Rating: mild NC-17
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard first time
Words: ~1000
Spoilers: one for Outcast
Notes: I entirely blame this on season four canon, and on

sheafrotherdon's Kissing Meme a while back, which resulted in the utterly enjoyable podfic anthology 38 Kisses read by

the_oscar_cat.

Very helpful beta advice given by

tacit_uk. Thank you so much!

Later, John isn't sure how it happened, or even why exactly.

They finish their third game on the virtual golf course, John letting Rodney win that last one, so that Rodney finally agrees to call it a night. He bitches about the Galaxy Quest dvd John's been hogging for himself, going on about it all the way to John's quarters. John doesn't think twice about Rodney following him in, still talking constantly. The string of words dies away when John bends and stretches over the bed to retrieve the dvd from the night stand. He turns and freezes, dvd in his outstretched hand.

He's never seen the expression on Rodney's face, doesn't recognize it. He's surprised to find it aimed towards him, anyway. Rodney's eyes are cast downward, staring at John's belly. John can't help but check his shirt for stains self-consciously. "What?" he asks irritably.

Rodney breathes out. "You," he says, not lifting his eyes. "When you-- Your shirt--" He makes vague upward gestures. "Just now-- Skin," Rodney says finally, as if it explains everything. There's a confused frown on his face now, like he's trying to figure out a particularly difficult piece of tech. "Touch," he adds matter-of-factly, mouth twisting into a small triumphant smile. Then Rodney meets his eyes, expression faltering towards uncertainty.

"Rodney," John says reasonably. "You're not making sense."

Rodney doesn't answer. He takes a few steps towards John instead, and that action seems to soak up all of Rodney's concentration, with no capacities left to coordinate verbal responses. It's creepy, because no matter how dire the situation, Rodney always manages to at least grate out a sarcastic comment.

"Rodney," John repeats, taking a step back. He's backing down from Rodney; there's something seriously wrong with that picture. The hand holding the dvd drops to his side, the wall comes up behind his back, and Rodney is right in front of him, getting closer still, lifting his hands to rest them warmly on John's cheeks.

"What are you doing?" John hisses.

"I don't know," Rodney replies calmly, his voice low, his thumbs stroking the stubbled skin on John's cheeks.

It's been far too long since John's been touched like this. Of course he shivers.

"Seriously," Rodney whispers, leaning in. "I have no fucking clue."

John can feel Rodney's lips shape the last word against his own, can feel the breath on which it is uttered brush his skin.

The dvd slips from his hand; he doesn't even hear it clatter to the floor over the roaring in his ears.

John's hands come up to grip Rodney's arms tightly. To shove him away. Shove him away, yes. That's the plan.

What is Rodney thinking? How did he ever get the idea--? Just because John spends time with Rodney and, yes, enjoys it, just because they laugh, they bicker and argue, just because they have this silent communication thing down pat, just because-- Rodney thinks he's allowed to--?

Rodney's lips are soft and unmoving, a warm pressure against his own.

He isn't allowed, John thinks, frozen in place. Just because Rodney would die to save John's life, just because there's no one else John would rather have taken home with him to bury his father, just because Rodney is the closest thing to a best friend he's ever had-- Rodney isn't allowed to-- Except--

When Rodney moves back, sighing defeatedly, John finds himself licking his lips, missing the contact instantly. He follows Rodney despite himself, seeking the connection, touching his lips to Rodney's in turn, satisfied with the surprised sound Rodney makes.

Two can play the game, John thinks, kind of wildly, and lets go of Rodney's arms in favor of his neck, feels the soft hair there brush his fingertips. He tilts his head and opens up, pulls Rodney in. Rodney responds with a desperate sound, or maybe that was John's desperate sound? He really doesn't care, because their tongues are meeting, tentatively at first, so girlishly careful and slow it's almost ridiculous. But then Rodney's hands are in John's hair, combing through it, gripping and tousling alternately, like he's been dreaming about doing this for a long time. That thought doesn't have any right to be as hot as it is.

More, John thinks dizzily, and Rodney seems to agree. The kiss turns messy and urgent, with nipping teeth, pushing tongues; a fight for dominance, like John would have imagined it to be, if he'd ever wondered what it would be like to kiss Rodney. And Jesus, this is good. Intense, more intense than John can remember kissing ever being, and so scorchingly hot that he's hard in no time flat. They're both hard, John realizes when Rodney grinds against him, gasping. It should freak him out, big time, but he's astonishingly fine with it.

"Skin," Rodney breathes into his ear and slides a hand to John's lower back, under his shirt, running the palm over that patch of skin, the one that is exposed whenever John stretches or bends and his shirt rides up.

"Touch," John answers; he's getting it now. He's getting how Rodney's been caught by surprise by this, too. John arches his neck when Rodney starts kissing and licking a path down his neck.

"This-- this is crazy."

"So?" Rodney asks against his collarbone in the brief space between one nip and the next.

Right. Their lives are crazy on a daily basis. What's a little more craziness, especially when it feels so stunningly sane? He pulls Rodney's face level to his again and kisses him with everything he's got.

"Really, I have no idea why I did that," Rodney sighs breathlessly against John's shoulder, afterwards.

"You'll work it out," John says confidently, because Rodney will.

- end -