New fic: A question of perspective Or Reality Doesn't Always Come in Second to Fantasy
Title: A question of perspective Or Reality Doesn't Always Come in Second to Fantasy
Size: 8680 words
Rating: mature
Pairing: McKay/Carter
Spoilers: Pegasus Project
Summary: "You know,” McKay says, eventually, “it’s a good thing I’m an old-school gentleman. Anybody else would have taken advantage of this situation.”
Beta-read and helping hands by and sincere thanks to: enname, auburnnothenna, murron, ladycat777, alyse, munchkinofdoom
Author's notes: This started out as the outtake for a larger post Pegasus Project story, but ended up being the larger part while the rest is still WiP. So, there are some references to the WiP, but they're mild and shouldn't confuse.
***
“This day has been too long,” she says, her voice ending on a little groan as a muscle in the back of her neck seizes up. “Ow.”
McKay’s face falls. “Are you all right?” he asks, and: “Do you need me to call Beckett?” The naked concern is new, nothing she would have expected from him.
She rotates her head carefully, winces when something pops and snaps. “No,” she says, stopping the movement. “I guess I should just sleep in a real bed for one night instead of the Odyssey’sbunks.”
She expects it. Really, she does. The whole time on the Odyssey, he’s been hitting on her, playing their usual game of him being obnoxious and her rolling her eyes. Even down on the planet, working on the interface protocols, he’d been anything but subtle. So, when he doesn’t make the token comment, she finds that she is almost disappointed.
“The Ancient mattresses aren’t the best, but if the Odyssey’sbunks are even remotely like those on the Daedalus, you should be in heaven tonight.” Ahah. The small, smug smile isn’t completely gone. “Now that you’re staying for a few days.”
“Don’t get used to the idea, McKay,” she shoots back, but it’s only half-hearted. She likes this city, likes this new McKay. Yes, he’s still obnoxious a lot of the time, but god help her, he has developed layers.
Pegasus has been good for him. To him. She allows her eyes to roam for a few moments. He’s a little more sturdy than when she met him for the first time, seems to have less of a frenetic edge. He has grown. It worries her a little that she likes it far more than she should.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She stretches her hand to the back of her neck and starts rubbing and kneading the sore muscles in a half-hearted attempt at loosening them. She knows it’s no use, but it feels good for the moment. “It’s just a sore neck, McKay. Not the end of the world.”
“But you’re in pain.”
She rolls her head again, and something pops, on the left side this time. “You could say that. But it’s nothing new.” She shrugs. “You know how it goes.”
“Yes, actually, I do.”
She glances over her shoulder to where he’s standing, back slightly bowed, looking at her with inquisitive eyes.
“But I also know what to do about it.” There’s that smug tone of voice again, the self-satisfied 'I know something you don’t' smile. She decides that for once, she’s going to let him bait her. They have worked well together today, and over the past few days. He deserves to have her play along every once in a while. “Oh?”
“Teyla,” he says, smile broadening.
Sam’s mind goes to dirty, dirty places for a moment, wondering how much of those kisses in the tavern had been an act. Apparently, her expression gives her away, because McKay's face does a funny contortion and then he’s waving his hands in denial. “Backrubs! She gives backrubs. That’s all. Sheppard and Ronon would kill me, if …” He stops and perks up. “You really thought me and Teyla --?”
Sam just rolls her eyes. “Yes, McKay. Of course I did.”
“It’s not impossible.” He sounds defensive.
She puts on her most sincere face. “No, Rodney.”
“I’m a handsome man, and there would be nothing odd about me and Teyla --“ he waves his hands. “You know.”
“Yes, Rodney.” Sam barely resists the urge to pat him on the head, just to see what would happen.
“Are you mocking me?”
“No, Rodney. Never.”
“But you just admitted I was handsome.” His mouth turns up on one side, his eyes are crinkling at the sides.
The laughter bursts forth before she realises that she, actually … damn. “I did no such thing.” Deny, deny, deny.
“Oh, yes, you did.” Damn it, the man bounces.
“Did not.”
The grin almost splits his face. “Did.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “Did not … ow.” Both her hands go back to her neck, holding on tightly. Damn it, she hasn’t been this sore in a while. Must have been the odd positioning of the console, down on the planet, and the bowing over it. Probably the damn bra-strap, too.
She’s still rubbing her neck when she realises that McKay is steering her, carefully, one hand against the small of her back, toward a room at the end of the corridor. Her knees lock out of instinct. She stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of your trapezius.”
“Your euphemisms suck, McKay.” It’s out before she can take it back and she’s slapping herself inwardly for not keeping her mouth shut.
Surprisingly, he only snorts, the minute gust moving her hair. He doesn’t answer directly. Only pushes her again. “Move, Colonel. It’s not going to get any better out here on a corridor.”
Sam heaves a sigh and decides to play along a little longer. She can always kick his ass should he try anything, and a rubdown of her sore shoulders sounds very tempting just about now. And, she remembers from watching them earlier, McKay has good hands. Strong. Agile. Warm. Her feet start moving on their own accord.
***
The Atlantis guest quarters are beautiful and spacious; she has heard several inhabitants of the city mentioning that they’re more roomy than their own. Sam eyes the bed with longing. Queen-sized. Draped with small, but tastefully patterned pillows - probably Athosian - and a soft-looking blanket in taupe. Sam thinks of her tiny bunk on the Odyssey and barely manages to hide the sigh of relief.
McKay - and this comes as a surprise again - doesn’t steer her to the bed, but to a chair and tells her to sit on it backwards. "Fold your arms over the backrest."
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she can’t help but ask, even though her voice is muffled by her forearms.
“Not half as much as you will, trust me.”
“You’re such an overconfident --ungh!” Her words die on her lips when McKay presses his thumbs into her sore muscles. Her back stretches involuntarily, making her tense, head moving up from her arms.
“You need to relax, Colonel.”
“If you’re already torturing me, call me Sam,” she grinds out.
She doesn’t hear it, but she knows he’s grinning, one side of his mouth higher than the other, giving his face this slightly lopsided look that she had hated so much when they first met and which she finds oddly endearing now. It confuses her, but she can’t say when she moved from despising the man to a mild curiosity about what facets of him she doesn’t know yet.
“This will hurt much less if you relax. So, relax, Sam,” he says in a quiet, soothing voice, and damn, having his breath stir the hair just above her ear isn’t helping her sore muscles. Her original thought from earlier in the day comes floating back - she really must be starved for attention if McKay is doing it for her.
McKay’s presence is warm against her back, so close that his belly almost touches her back. His scent envelops her, and she is suddenly, vividly reminded of the tavern. Of the way his back had felt under her hands, strong muscles under warm skin, how he had sounded and tasted --
She bites her lips and forces herself to relax. This is McKay for heaven’s sake. Daniel would laugh himself into a hernia if he knew what she was thinking.
He splays his hands over her shoulders, just resting them there, getting her used to the feel of them, waiting for the tension to drain away. They’re big enough to almost span from her shoulder blade to her neck. Sam breathes out and wills more muscles to relax. She hadn’t expected him to be this patient, yet here he is, waiting, the warmth of his palms seeping into her skin through her shirt. He doesn’t even speak. It’s beginning to freak her out. This is not the man she thought she knew. The only thing she hears is his breathing and hers, and the deep, rumbling hum of Atlantis.
“Anytime soon, McKay?” she asks after a while.
The flinch translates through his hands, and she smiles into her lower arm.
“Right, right. If you’re relaxed enough.”
“This is as good as it’s going to get.”
He flexes his fingers. “Oh, no. You’ll be whimpering in pleasure in no time, trust me.” The smile is audible in his voice.
“You wish.”
Warm breath stirs her hair again and all her muscles are tense all over again in a microsecond. A shiver races down her spine when he murmurs, lips close to her ear: “No. I know.” A low buzz travels through her body, centering in her belly. Her legs flex against the chair. Damn it. She hasn’t felt like this in ages.
Her throat is too dry to answer and she’s glad that he goes on to prove his point by beginning to knead her sore shoulders.
She is not going to get turned on by Rodney McKay. No matter how well he -- oh, god, that’s the spot, right there. She bites back a groan. Those hands really are as good as they look like. Stroking and kneading and pressing and pushing, everything from light as a feather to strong enough to push her against the chair. Big hands, their weight firm and steady. He works slowly, meticulously, every single stiff spot he can find. Sam finds herself sinking against the chair in boneless contentment. The only backrubs she gets these days are from professionals. Them, you pay and they give you your allotted half hour and then it's over before you even knew they've started. She hasn’t checked the time, but McKay is patient and so damn good that she doesn’t even mind his fingers detouring under the hem of her shirt to dig his thumbs into her bare skin. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a whimper, but she does sigh. For all his cockiness, he really is fantastic at this. If a sigh can show her appreciation without making his ego inflate, then a sigh she can give him.
He pushes her head forward some more. New shivers race over her arms when he slides his fingers up over her neck and into her hair, rubbing her scalp. The scritching of her hair against his fingers is absurdly loud in her ears. He’s not being gentle or unnecessarily careful with her. The rubbing is strong, but slow and she just wants to melt right there and forget about anything apart from this unhurried bliss.
When his hands do turn gentle, it’s almost a shock. The pressure eases and his fingers trail carefully over her scalp, fingernails scratching just lightly enough to feel but not enough to cause pain. Goosebumps skitter down her arms. He continues this languid journey on her skin - past her ears to her temples and the end of her eyebrows, lingering there and pressing down lightly, meeting acupressure points, then moving back, outlining the tips of her ears and moving on to rest on her cheek.
She feels too relaxed and content to stop him even when she hears his breath flow faster. After he has worked out every sore spot in her shoulders and has left her limp and with bones that feel like water, she has no urge to fight. What he does feels good, and it’s been a long time since someone paid that much attention to what she wanted.
His fingertips move again when she doesn’t protest, circling on her cheeks, dipping down and outlining the corner of her mouth. She feels a light tremor in his hands and smiles. He traces the smile for a moment, then moves away from her face, leaving her skin tingling and missing his warmth.
One last time, he sets his hands on her shoulders, pushes her shirt out of the way and digs his thumbs into her muscles. His other fingers splay toward her clavicle, under the front of her collar. The pressure eases. His fingertips stay where they are. Circle carefully. This time, Sam does what comes naturally and raises her head.
He is all business again in a matter of seconds, kneading her shoulders almost roughly and, more pronounced than before, she feels the bra strap cutting into her skin. Her shoulders stiffen involuntarily.
“Look, Carter, this doesn’t work," McKay says suddenly, his hands going still on her shoulders. "I have been working for the better part of half an hour here, then one false move and you’re stiff as a board again. What’s wrong with you?”
Well, there are things men won’t ever understand, and one of them would be the damn bra straps, pulled too tight, cutting into her shoulders. She’s not aware of saying that until he huffs: “Then get rid of it! It interferes with my massage and the straps are hurting your shoulders and back. So the only logical thing to do is to take it off.”
She tenses and looks over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
His mouth droops to one side in impatient annoyance. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“McKay…”
“You want your back to stop hurting, right? I can do that, if you'll just give me an honest chance."
The man looks sincere. She can’t believe it. With anybody else, she would consider that as the lamest chat up line in the world, but McKay looks so impatient, disgruntled and determined that she can’t help but give a small, lopsided smile.
“You know that I’ll kill you if you try--”
“Oh, please.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s a backrub, Col -- Sam, not some cheesy --" His hand moves in a circle, "Oriental seduction scene.” His mouth quirks up and his eyes twinkle. “Though you’d doubtlessly look good in blue gauze harem pants.”
The bastard. “McKay, I swear I will --“
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Take off the shirt as well and get on the bed.”
She blinks at him for a long moment before her brain kicks in and gets over the fact that he just ordered her to strip and get into bed. In his dreams. “McKay…” she growls, pushing up from the chair.
He rolls his eyes again, absolutely unimpressed by her glare. “It's no worse than tanning on a beach, for heaven's sake."
She looks at her pale skin pointedly. Tanning. Oh, yes. Obviously, she does that twice a day. “Have you honestly just ordered me to --“
"Look, do you want this back rub or not?" He frowns at her. "I have power consumption ratios to analyze, you know. I don't have to do this."
He still looks sincere and the words are without any double entendre. Sam can’t believe she’s even getting up from the chair, much less fingering the hem of her shirt. McKay has never been considerate. He never cared about other people. But now... Why is he being nice? Why is she even noticing it? And why is she appreciating it?
The kiss from the tavern still ghosts in her memory. That had been a truly unexpected rush. She doesn’t think about how she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. Right now, he makes her feel good, his hands are warm and strong, she hasn’t been this relaxed in ages, and she doesn’t want this to stop.
She lets the air whoosh out of her lungs. “Fine. But if you ogle just for one second..." she trails of meaningfully.
That damn eyeroll is back and she almost thinks about reconsidering.
"I know you find it hard to believe, Carter, but I've seen breasts before. I'm not going to ravage you just because I got an eyeful." His gaze detours for a second, resting on her chest. “Though I'm sure they're very fine breasts," he adds, words tumbling out almost too quick to understand.
Sam takes a step forward and balls her hands into fists at her sides. “McKay, for the love of --” He has the good grace to look vaguely contrite. Sam points her index finger toward his face in a circling motion. “Turn. Around.”
She pulls the shirt over her head in one fast move and unhooks her bra, drawing it down her arms. Throws both items on a chair where McKay can see them and grins when she sees his throat work.
Lowering herself on the bed is a welcome relief to her tense muscles. Sam sighs and shifts into a comfortable position, the pillow bunched under her head, her dogtags pressed against her breastbone. The bed - an honest-to-god bed, with a real, firm mattress and not just some rock-hard bunk on the Odyssey that constantly gives her headaches - is wide and comfortable. It smells of fresh laundry and restful sleep. This is heaven, and she thinks that she should thank McKay for the suggestion. She still doesn't like the thought of basically giving him an opportunity to grope her, but decides to give him the benefit of doubt.
Her entire body tenses when she feels the bed move and a warm, heavy weight settling on her legs. "Hey, what are you doing?"
"Getting some leverage that won't throw my back out." He wriggles a bit, then part of the weight is gone.
“And you felt you had to straddle me. Without warning?”
“Have you ever given a real massage?”
What the hell is he thinking? She wants to say yes, of course, but she doesn’t get that far. Her brain takes a vacation when McKay starts working in earnest again, kneading her entire back with a care and devotion that reduces her body to the consistency of melted chocolate.
Time fades away and Sam gets lost in the feel of his hands and the rhythm of their breathing.
“You know,” McKay says, eventually, “it’s a good thing I’m an old-school gentleman. Anybody else would have taken advantage of this situation.”
She grasps a corner of the pillow under her chin and frowns. She thought he would, really, she’s been expecting something the entire time. But he hasn’t. His hands have stayed on course. Why does that disappoint her? Isn’t she worth the effort? Were all the flirting and the suggestive comments he always threw in her direction nothing but show? His courteousness is throwing her off. She wants to know where she’s at. Curiosity makes her reckless. “Why don’t you?” The white cotton bunches in her fist. What the hell, Carter?
His hands stop on her lower back and he shifts. His thighs are warm against hers, even through their BDUs. “Excuse me?”
It’s a reaction, but still not enough. She needs more. She doesn’t quite understand the impish whim to tease a response from him, but she doesn’t stop it, either. “Of course, I do know why you don’t.”
She feels him sinking back on his haunches, his ass barely above her thighs. “Don’t what?”
“Pretty, McKay, but not convincing.” She bunches more of the pillow up and props her chin higher. “From day one, you’ve been hitting on me. I should have known if push came to shove, you'd wimp out.” She throws a look over her shoulder. “Wuss.”
He splutters. Goading him shouldn’t be this easy. She’s getting reckless. “Scared of a woman who’s smarter than you, Rodney?”
“Oh, please. I’m not going to go into that again. We’ve covered this. Several times. You’re not smarter than I am.”
She lets him get away with that statement. After all, this is fun. She wants to find out how much further she can go.
“At least I know what I want.”
“Are you honestly telling me that I don’t?”
Time to go for the big guns. He still hasn’t made any advance and it’s driving her nuts. “McKay, I’m partially naked in a bed under you. You’re behaving better than any choirboy. All that leads me to the conclusion that you’re too chicken to actually try anything because you’re scared I might kill you.” She flexes her biceps and rolls her shoulders. “Which, of course, I could.”
“Chicken?”
She barely resists imitating the noises. “Or, it could be what I said before: All talk.”
“All talk?”
“You are familiar with the idiom, right? Also: partially naked, McKay.” She has no idea why she feels the need to rub this in. Except for the fact that it’s been too long since she has been with a man who has seen this much of her and hasn’t been a physician. It’s been too long since she’s been admired. She wants to feel wanted, damn it. And she wants it now. She doesn't like to be toyed with, wound up with no consequences.
“Oh, thanks for the reminder. I hadn’t noticed that before.”
“Exactly,” she mumbles into her pillow.
“Are you goading me? Or am I hallucinating again?” A light draft moves over her bare skin, indicating that he is waving his hands. “Or, maybe I’m hallucinating you goading me.”
“See? This is exactly what I mean. All talk and no action.”
His thighs tighten around hers. “You’re really annoying, Carter, you know that?”
Sam rolls her eyes. “This from Mister Annoying.”
“You're pushing it.” His voice sounds strained.
"Am I?" she taunts.
“Oh, that is it, Carter.”
He shifts above her until his hands are next to her face. He leans down, lets his body touch hers lightly. This time, his lips do graze her ear. “I'm not a choirboy, Carter. And you're not usually a tease.” His low voice makes her shiver and blink rapidly a few times. Looks like they’re finally getting somewhere.
“I'm not teasing, but you're definitely too chicken, McKay. Bawk, bawk, bawk,” she ribs and shifts her hips so her ass touches his groin briefly, and she knows that this is waving the red flag in front of the bull, but she doesn’t care. Through the fabric of their pants, she can feel his erection and, damn it, it has been almost two years. She misses sex with a man instead of her little battery driven friend. And McKay is far from the worst choice. Plus, here on Atlantis, he’ll be far enough away for the gloating to not matter. “You’ll never dare.”
His snort of indignation moves her hair. “Maybe I'll surprise you.”
Then, before she can even blink, he has pulled her to lie on her back, bare breasts exposed to warm air and McKay … whose face is mere inches from hers, close enough so she can see the absurdly long lashes, the intent blue eyes. The first lines inscribed around his eyes look to be more from smiling than from anything else. The tip of his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.
“Last warning, Sam,” he says. His eyes are dark.
The sudden dominance is a turn on. She didn't expect that. His body presses hers into the mattress, a warm, pleasant weight.
Yes.
“Warning for what?”
“For this.” He leans down, looking in her eyes the entire time. He's going to kiss her. At least, she thinks he will. Only he doesn’t. He stops, mere millimetres from her lips. Breathes on them, so she can all but taste the champagne he had at the party. She feels the warmth radiating from his lips. His eyes are so close now, they take up her whole vision. What she sees swirling there, combined with the press of his body against hers - the memory of the kiss at the Tavern, the signs of his arousal - have her instantly wet.
She shifts, bare breasts touching the soft cotton of his shirt and a shiver runs through his whole body. “Why?” he asks, breath warm on her cheeks. Part of his earlier audaciousness has slipped and his eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Why are you doing this?”
Sam smiles broadly and nips at his lips before dropping her head back on the pillow. She gives him the answer she has given herself a few moments ago, when she had decided to throw caution in the wind and just enjoy herself: “Why the hell not?”
And because he still doesn’t close the gap between them, she grinds against him deliberately, twists her arms free and locks her hands on the back of his head, pulling him down to her and swallowing the groan he breathes into her mouth.
The vibration from his groan travels from his lips to hers, then Rodney shakes the surprised daze. They don’t bother with much care or foreplay, she digs her fingers into his shoulders and shifts against him while he licks his way into her mouth, tongues meeting hot and slick. He breathes in sharply, his hands clamp on the sides her face, weight pressing her deeper into the mattress, fingers splaying into her hair as he pulls her closer. The kiss is long, wet, open-mouthed and sensual, interspersed by noises that reverberate through her body.
She could get high on those noises, the small, choked-off groans, the way he breathes her in and tries to tell her with lips and tongue and teeth that yes, god, finally, do you know how long? Sam’s glad she can’t hear any of that. She doesn’t want to hear, doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to think, just wants to let go and feel. Feel the low buzz of arousal meander through her body, the scrape of his stubble against her skin, the feel of his warm body rubbing against hers, pressing her breasts snug between them, creating perfect friction. He kisses her the entire time, a playback of what happened in the tavern when her knees had gone watery with surprise and sudden, stunned arousal. She can’t help but think that if she had known, she would have kissed him before, jerk or not, because, damn, he is good, and she has trouble keeping up with the way he strips her senses with the small suckles and teasing bites.
Her hands move over his back, come to rest on his neck, kneading heavy muscles to hide the fact that her toes are ready to curl. Warm, damp skin over a strong neck, silky, soft hair, the tiny ridges and bumps of a familiar chain over his spine.
Rodney slows the kisses and moves to lightly nuzzle her cheek and jaw - god, the hollow under her ear is too sensitive. She pulls out the chain from under his shirt and pushes him back until he’s propped over her, the movement giving her the chance to breathe and regain her composure. She’s not sure she wants him to know this much about her this early on. Sam pulls the chain to the side and blinks at the dogtags dangling between her fingers.
She frowns, breathes a few times. “I really don’t know you anymore, do I?”
Rodney meets her eyes, and there is little playfulness in his gaze when he answers: “Did you ever?”
It’s a low blow, but one she almost deserves. She really doesn’t know anything beyond the overconfident façade, but what she does know is what those tags mean on a civilian. And what they mean if he’s wearing them continuously even when not offworld. Daniel always takes his off as soon as they’re back. He doesn’t like the reminder they pose as. He has died in the field too many times.
She never would have thought Rodney to be so aware, so ready to accept his new status.
The thin metal shudders in her hands with each breath he takes. This close, she can feel his heart slam against his chest. Rodney’s eyes are trained on her the entire time, watching, waiting. He never used to be patient. At least, she never thought he was. The thought of what else she had wrong makes her uncomfortable.
She doesn’t want this sudden change in the mood, doesn’t feel like over analysing everything for once.
Ranks and positions and had-beens aside, he’s a man and she’s a woman. They don’t need much more than that and a mutual attraction to work with.
Sam lets go of the tags and attempts to meet his eyes…before her gaze is side-tracked by the look of his kiss-swollen, moist lips. Arousal returns at full force at the lingering heat of them against her own. Her mind detours, imagining them in more intimate places and her heart speeds up, tension coiling in her stomach.
“Let’s get to know each other, then,” she says with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.
Like the flip of a switch, Rodney’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins broadly, then he dives back in for another one of those brain-melting kisses.
The dogtags - warm from his body, but cool at the edges from when she looked at them -- fall against her breastbone, clink against her own. She gasps into his mouth, kissing him back slowly, all seductive licks and tiny, teasing nibbles that make him groan again. When they come up for air, he pushes himself up once more and looks at her. The grin on his face is so smug that she gets the sinking feeling that this might be a huge mistake. She wanted to feel good, not like a trophy.
Her scalp prickles uncomfortably. She frowns, tries to push him back a little farther. The only thing she achieves from her position is that he shifts a little, making the cotton of his shirt drag against her nipples. The sensation races through her body. She bites her lower lip, glad he can’t feel how wet she already is.
Rodney lifts a hand and traces his index finger over and around her lips. “I always knew you’d kiss as well as you analyse,” he murmurs, breath warm against her face, still grinning. “Which is almost as well as I do.”
Almost? The smug, self-important son of a - She nips at his finger.
He frowns. So does she. “McKay, not only do I think better than you, I kiss better than you, too,” Sam snaps. His eyes sparkle suddenly, and she realises too late that this was a deliberate trap.
“Prove it.” The grin almost splits his face.
Enough is enough. Sam yanks on the chain, pulls him back down against her so that he has to brace himself. She doesn’t wait for him to anticipate anything, or make another comment; kisses him - hard, deep, forceful, then soft, gentle, tantalising. Sucks on his tongue until he moans deeply, until his hands fist in the pillow under her head. Sam begins to shift in earnest now, rubbing her body against his deliberately, seeking a reaction and needing the friction.
He breaks away from her, panting, and roughly whispers something about calling it a draw. He moves now, slowly dragging his lips over her jaw and neck down to her chest, the dogtags sliding against her skin, meeting her own with a muffled clink. It’s a startling rush when they touch her breasts and she can’t help the choked gasp.
Rodney’s head snaps up and proves that he really is a smart man. A slow smile spreads across his face, strangely seductive. He shifts upwards, waits for a few moments, then lowers his head again and makes the dogtags circle around her nipples. The ridged edges of the silencer bumpers scraping against her nipple, giving way to cool metal is shockingly arousing. Sam remembers someone telling her once that he considered dogtags a huge turn-on, but she never would have expected to understand that sentiment one day. The slick, cool-warm metal slides against her skin, edges and stamped letters all but branding her skin, tickling and raising goosebumps and moving slowly, so very slowly over her nipples … Sam groans. The movement of both the tags and Rodney have her heart slamming against her chest and her breath coming in short pants. She hooks a leg around his and slides her hands down his back, under his shirt and up the warm and damp valley of his spine, clutching, then down, down, under his BDUs, latching onto his ass and grabbing two solid handfuls, kneading, pushing his groin against hers.
Rodney drops his forehead against her chest and grinds against her, creating glorious friction, before cursing their pants and seams in uncomfortable places. Mouthing the swell of her breast for a moment, he moves up again, finding her mouth in a kiss that is neither artful nor skilled, just wet and hot.
Through the cotton of their BDUs, Sam can feel how hard he is and grinds back against him, wanting, needing -
Sam breaks away to draw a huge gulp of air. Clutches at his ass to still his movements. Pants, before she can censor her mouth: "Get naked McKay, unless you've got something you're ashamed of."
Rodney stills, props himself up, looks at her. She almost expects the smug grin to break forth again, but is surprised to see only a small, private one. He rolls to the side and gets up, completely ignores the taunt in favour of shucking out of his shirt and pants, down to a pair of boxers with -- Sam can’t help the chuckle bubbling up -- Einsteinian equations printed on them. A sense of humour. And another layer pops up, she muses. She looks him up and down, appreciatively - broad chest, strong arms, heavily muscled thighs under a comfortable padding.
He catches her looking, folds his arms over his chest. Looks at her, raises his eyebrows, and gestures to her pants.
The next dare, and she’s enjoying every bit of it. She rises slowly, knowing he’s looking at her breasts. She opens her BDUs slowly, button for button, and shimmies out of them in deliberate laziness. His eyes grow wide. Oh, yeah. This is a rush, and it feels so damn good to play out her femininity for a bit.
When her pants have hit the floor, hey both stare at each other, down to panties and boxers.
Finally, Rodney grins lopsidedly. "On three?"
Sam throws her head back and laughs until she feels breathless.
Rodney still grins, broader now. His hands are on the elastic of his boxers. "One."
Feeling careless and in the mood for some more fun, Sam slips her fingers under the hem of her panties and wiggles. Her grin, she knows, mirrors Rodney’s. “Two.”
They both say “Three” in unison and manage to shuck their underwear in a surprisingly synchronised fashion.
It’s back to staring now; silent staring that gets uncomfortable after a while, making Sam wish she’d taken the time to shave her legs this morning. She recovers first and lets out the wolf-whistle that her friends in college had labelled 'as dirty as any construction worker’s'. "Wow, McKay, you really don't have anything to be ashamed of, do you?"
Sam’s amused to see that Rodney manages to turn beet-red and look smug at the same time.
“Yes, well.” He moves his hand in a throw-away gesture that doesn’t hide the preening at all. “I always knew you were a real blonde.”
She crosses her hands over her chest and raises her eyebrows - ridiculous in her naked state, but it has the desired effect. Rodney gets even redder and waves at her head and face and blurts, "I mean with your colouring and the, the, the blue eyes. Some people used to say you dyed you hair, but I never -- uhm. I'll just stop now."
Sam considers saying something, but, really, why waste the energy? She smiles and shakes her head, uncrosses her arms. Kisses him, draws him close. Rodney opens up to her with a sigh of relief and she can’t stop smiling against his lips. His erection nudges her thigh when he moves closer, her breasts against his chest. She runs both her hands over his back, dipping down. Now that she knows what she'd been missing, she cups two handfuls of that gorgeous ass. Moaning, he rubs up against her. Trails his lips along her jaw before latching onto the place just under her ear. His tongue circles over sensitive skin and she squirms against him. Suddenly, he sucks hard and she can’t stop the moan from escaping, her inner muscles clenching as the hot rush of arousal washes through her all over again.
Rodney is murmuring something against her skin but she’s had enough of talking. Sam hooks her ankle around his knee, and gives a sharp tug so that they both tumble, Sam landing on top of Rodney. The mattress dips under their combined weight.
She shifts into a more comfortable position, grinning. “Graceful, McKay.” Kisses him again before he can answer. Moves her hips, rubbing against his erection and is thrilled to see his eyes roll back for a couple of moments. His legs fall open and she settles closer, shifting her hips so that his erection drags against her clit. He joins her movements, strong hands cupping her ass and pushing her tighter against him. Sparks shoot up her spine and she needs to kiss him again, needs to be closer, under his skin. Their mouths meet in wet, sloppy kisses that lack any finesse and yet are hotter than anything Sam remembers ever having. The sounds of wet lips and sharp intakes of breath fill the room, drowning the sound of Atlantis' low, growling hum.
Time fades as the sensations grow overwhelming - the soft linen of the blanket bunching up under her, the smell of fresh laundry and sex, the heat of his body against hers. Both their dogtags pressing into her skin, his hips moving against hers, his cock nudging her clit again and again, slick gliding, faster, his fingers digging into her ass, no doubt leaving bruises. She doesn't care, she's no princess who needs to be worshipped. Tonight, she just wants to feel. If that means it'll be a little rough, all the better. She clamps her hands around his biceps and grinds down against him harder, desperate for more friction until Rodney pulls away, suddenly, chanting, "Fuck, fuck, condom, tell me you have a condom here somewhere?"
Groaning, she pulls away. “You didn’t bring one?”
"I wasn't exactly planning on this!"
She rolls off him, onto her back and throws an arm over her eyes. “I don’t believe this. Some genius you are.”
There are several moments of silence. The arousal loses some of its edge now that he isn't touching her and her body reminds her with blunt force that she had been tired before they had started this. Her clit feels neglected and she is tempted to just reach between her legs and take matters into her own hand if he shouldn’t think of something soon, when she hears a familiar: “Hah!”
She moves her arm and cracks an eye open. “Well, genius?”
"Guest quarters, Sam," he says, crawling over the bed and dragging open a drawer in the nightstand. "These rooms are stocked with every--yes!” he crows triumphantly and scrabbles for something in the drawer, “Everything a guest might need. Including," he waves a packet at her, grinning, "condoms!"
Rodney's waving the condom packet with his hand. His cock is hard, red, bobbing and silly-looking as men’s genitals always have been to her, no matter how much she likes them, and yet all she can think of is Elizabeth Weir insisting every guest room needed prophylactics. A decidedly un-officer-like snigger escapes her.
"What, what?" Rodney asks. He's tearing open the wrapper, grinning at her amusement.
Atlantis's odd light columns give him a pale halo that makes her grin grow even wider. Definitely no saint there. Sam waves at the nightstand. "Weir's orders?"
Rodney looks a little thoughtful then guffaws. His face doing a funny little contortion that has her sniggering again. "Carson's probably," she relents, derailing his thoughts.
He grimaces. "Eww. Don't mention him. I don't want to talk about the guy who gives me prostate exams right now."
“Are you trying to tell me some preferences in bed, here, Rodney?”
“What? I, no, I didn’t, I wouldn’t--” He flails, the condom wrapped glistening in his fingers before it slips and lands on the bed. "You wouldn't --"
Sam reaches for it and knee-walks over to Rodney, setting her hands on his thighs. The muscles she saw earlier are really rather impressive now that she can touch. She runs both hands over them, admiring warm skin and sparse hair, heavy muscles and reassuring weight. She is surprised again how much she likes the solid set of his body. "Do a lot of running, Rodney?"
"More than I ever wanted to," he huffs out.
She plucks the condom from his hands.
He looks a little wide eyed. His gaze flickers between her face and the condom in her hand. "Are you -- ? You are -- wow."
Sam smiles and bends forward. Scrapes her fingernails over Rodney's cock in a light caress, pinches the tip of the condom and delicately rolls it on his erection.
He groans, puts his hand over hers. “Please tell me that I’m not dreaming.”
She gives his cock a firm squeeze that almost has him curling up from the bed. “I thought we agreed that you would never talk about your fantasies, Rodney?”
He chuckles, a little breathless, leans over to touch his lips to her collarbone. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” Rodney pushes her to her back, kisses his way down to her chest and nuzzles her breasts. His stubble scrapes against her skin, slow burning pleasure that sinks into her, heavy as molasses.
Sam hates her body’s reminder, but the day has been long and the slow-down after the heated foreplay allows fatigue to clamber back up. She gives a quiet yawn, hoping he won’t notice.
Rodney stops kissing her all of a sudden and moves so he is braced over her, eyes narrowed. "Did you just yawn?"
"Tired here, McKay."
He looks haughty. "Do I bore you?"
Sam kisses him, slow and sloppy and affectionate. She opens her legs a little, cants her hips, an open invitation. "Come on." Her hands roam over his back, sliding in the sweat-slick hollow between his shoulderblades.
"Hey, I thought women wanted foreplay."
She rolls her eyes at him. "We like the main course too."
"In that case...." Rodney kisses her before he slides down her body a little, his chest hair tickling her breasts, then lifts her hips. Rubs his fingers against her clit in small, teasing strokes before settling between her legs.
Body flushing, Sam opens her legs farther and he slides inside her - slow and easy. The breath leaves her lungs in small stutters as he pushes deeper. He’s not a small man and she has to shift her hips to accommodate his size. They look into each other’s eyes for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other. He gives her time until she nudges his thigh with her heel and he starts to move. No exotic technique, just hard and fast, exactly the way she wants it tonight.
Rodney's fingers find her clit once more, circling and rubbing as he slams faster and faster into her and this is good, this is fucking fantastic, she can’t remember the last time someone actually fucked her, and did it this well. Her face flushes more with each new stroke into her. There are no words between them now, just the slap of slick bodies against each other and the wet noises of sex. She keeps looking at him, never breaks the eye-contact and she sees how it breaks him open. His thrusts stutter for a moment and he breathes: "Fuck, Sam." His fingers on her clit press harder against her pelvic bone and the rush of sensations makes her hips leave the bed, meeting his. She clenches and unclenches around his cock, for him and for her, the friction delicious, sending crackling energy through her body. She breathes in his scent, fills her lungs with the smell of musk and sweat and traces of his aftershave and feels alive in a way she hasn’t in too long.
Her hands grip his shoulders first, then clamp on the sides of his face, sliding against stubble and sweat, and she kisses him, open-mouthed and sloppy, learning his tongue and teeth and mouth like a new language, swallowing his groans and mingling them with hers. Still open-eyed, too. Sam curls her legs around his, nudges her heels against his thighs, meeting him thrust for thrust now. He feels huge inside her, even when she rationally knows that he isn't. Rodney is hitting all the right spots without needing any pointers. She is close, so damn close.
A twist of his hand, a snap of his hips and she is falling into a bone-melting orgasm that blossoms out from her centre, flooding her body with liquid gold, sending sparks against her skin while they kiss and kiss until she can’t breathe and stars are dancing on front her eyes. He swallows her moans, greedy, slamming into her and drawing ever newer ones. She tears her mouth away for just enough time to take a deep breath, then dives straight back in, kissing him through his own shuddering climax.
Only when his hips have stilled does he close his eyes, exhaustion clear on his face. Rodney collapses, his weight pinning her to the bed. He moves his lips away from her mouth, trailing them to her damp temple, placing tiny kisses there.
Sam doesn’t push him off yet. For now, her heart is pounding and she can feel his doing the same. Their chests rise and fall in fast unison. Rodney’s breath stirring her hair again. There is still the occasional aftershock ghosting through her body, making her clench around him. She keeps her legs curled around him, holding him close. Wants this sense of connection and the sated languor to last a bit longer.
She dozes off when Rodney withdraws, spooning around her, the long day and fatigue finally catching up with both of them.
They lie pressed against each other until the sweat on their bodies cools enough to make them both shiver and becomes itchy. Sam stretches and groans, long and languid. The muscles in her thighs are burning pleasantly.
“Rodney.”
He gives a grunt and hides his face in her shoulder.
“Rodney,” she tries again, squirming. He has an arm slung around her waist and stops her from moving out of bed. Great. She should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as it had seemed an hour ago.
Time for the command tone. “McKay!” Sam snaps, and, lo and behold, he moves. Reluctant, sure, but he moves.
“Afterglow is a foreign concept to you, isn’t it?”
“Why, Rodney, I never would have taken you for such a romantic.”
“I’m in my mid-thirties, Sam. Allow a man some rest.”
“Feeling old there?”
“Can you just shut up for a moment? I’m trying to recover.”
“McKay!” Sam can’t help the surprised laugh. “Buck up. You have had sex before, right?”
He raises his head from the pillow and pins her with one of his best glares. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”
“Suit yourself.” She slips out of the bed completely and walks to the bathroom, unconcerned. It’s not weird yet, being naked in front of him. But Sam knows just as well that it wouldn’t take long to get weird, and she’d rather not be naked in bed with him when that happened.
“Are you determined to ruin my Eureka?” Rodney asks, and the look that he throws her would make diamonds melt.
“Your Eureka?”
“You. Me.” He waves a hand between them before letting it sink back to the covers that are still twisted and rumpled from their earlier activities. Sam’s skin tingles, her face feels flushed with good spirits and she realises that she hasn’t felt this content in a long, long time. Ah, the joys of good sex.
“While you’re basking in the afterglow, I’m going to take a shower.” She watches his face fall a fraction, and regrets her harshness. She isn’t sure how she’s going to handle him once they’re out of this room, but for now, she still feels like indulging him. “Unless you want to come?”
“Not for a while.” He smirks when she rolls her eyes and turns. “But you’re right. I should go back to the labs and while I love having your scent all over me, I’d prefer to keep it to myself and not share it with the entire staff.”
Sam rests a hand against the door and looks over her shoulder. “Was that …?” She trails off, breathing against the surprise. “McKay, was that a compliment?”
His expression turns a little sour. “It’s not as though I’m incapable of them.”
A genuine smile steals itself onto her lips. “Come on,” she says and offers her hand.
They step into the big shower cubicle together and just stand under the spray from multiple jets for a while. Atlantis is self-sufficient when it comes to water thanks to its desalinisation system, and it feels good to just let the water run and not think about wasting it.
They take turns washing each other, long, thorough and careful, with smiles and chuckles when one of them hits a ticklish spot. Rodney’s entire face transforms into that of a man incredibly likeable when he smiles for real and shows copious amounts of good humour, and Sam finds that this tugs at her heart when she never would have expected it.
Water clings to his lashes and his eyes are sparkling with something Sam doesn't want to label. She just reaches up, puts her hand against his cheek, watches the water sluice over his hair and brows and lips. Rodney turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand. Sam smiles, curling her hand against his cheek, beckoning, and touches her lips to his. Everything had started out like this, and Sam doesn't regret anything. They kiss for a long while, languid and relaxed, no more urgency.
There are a lot more kisses, a few instances of wandering hands, but it all stays calm, unhurried, even as they step out the shower, dry each other and get dressed.
For a moment, before they step out the door, there is an awkward silence. "Well," Rodney says.
"Yeah," Sam answers.
His gaze moves from her to the door. "I'll be ... going to the labs." He halts, looks as though he's preparing some long-winded speech.
Sam realises that she really, really isn't in the mood for that now. "I'll join you," she offers instead.
"Really?" A delighted smile breaks out over Rodney's face.
She shrugs. "Four eyes see more than two, right?"
The smile is replaced by a frown within microseconds. "Are you saying that I can't do this without you?"
And that easy, they're back to square one. Sam laughs, loud and carefree. "Yes, Rodney. That's exactly what I'm saying."
They leave the guest quarters and walk to the labs, bickering and insulting each other as though it's a sport.
No one bats an eye.
When she wakes up with her face on a lab-bench, a blanket around her shoulders and a mug of coffee in front of her, she sees Sheppard standing in the doorway. Sheppard, with Vala behind him, her chin propped on his shoulder and her arm around his waist. He looks to Rodney, then to Sam.
Rodney doesn't notice them, too intent on his project. He has a small smile playing around his lips and is humming.
Sheppard grins.
Sam meets his gaze and grins back.
Finis
Size: 8680 words
Rating: mature
Pairing: McKay/Carter
Spoilers: Pegasus Project
Summary: "You know,” McKay says, eventually, “it’s a good thing I’m an old-school gentleman. Anybody else would have taken advantage of this situation.”
Beta-read and helping hands by and sincere thanks to: enname, auburnnothenna, murron, ladycat777, alyse, munchkinofdoom
Author's notes: This started out as the outtake for a larger post Pegasus Project story, but ended up being the larger part while the rest is still WiP. So, there are some references to the WiP, but they're mild and shouldn't confuse.
***
“This day has been too long,” she says, her voice ending on a little groan as a muscle in the back of her neck seizes up. “Ow.”
McKay’s face falls. “Are you all right?” he asks, and: “Do you need me to call Beckett?” The naked concern is new, nothing she would have expected from him.
She rotates her head carefully, winces when something pops and snaps. “No,” she says, stopping the movement. “I guess I should just sleep in a real bed for one night instead of the Odyssey’sbunks.”
She expects it. Really, she does. The whole time on the Odyssey, he’s been hitting on her, playing their usual game of him being obnoxious and her rolling her eyes. Even down on the planet, working on the interface protocols, he’d been anything but subtle. So, when he doesn’t make the token comment, she finds that she is almost disappointed.
“The Ancient mattresses aren’t the best, but if the Odyssey’sbunks are even remotely like those on the Daedalus, you should be in heaven tonight.” Ahah. The small, smug smile isn’t completely gone. “Now that you’re staying for a few days.”
“Don’t get used to the idea, McKay,” she shoots back, but it’s only half-hearted. She likes this city, likes this new McKay. Yes, he’s still obnoxious a lot of the time, but god help her, he has developed layers.
Pegasus has been good for him. To him. She allows her eyes to roam for a few moments. He’s a little more sturdy than when she met him for the first time, seems to have less of a frenetic edge. He has grown. It worries her a little that she likes it far more than she should.
“You sure you’re okay?”
She stretches her hand to the back of her neck and starts rubbing and kneading the sore muscles in a half-hearted attempt at loosening them. She knows it’s no use, but it feels good for the moment. “It’s just a sore neck, McKay. Not the end of the world.”
“But you’re in pain.”
She rolls her head again, and something pops, on the left side this time. “You could say that. But it’s nothing new.” She shrugs. “You know how it goes.”
“Yes, actually, I do.”
She glances over her shoulder to where he’s standing, back slightly bowed, looking at her with inquisitive eyes.
“But I also know what to do about it.” There’s that smug tone of voice again, the self-satisfied 'I know something you don’t' smile. She decides that for once, she’s going to let him bait her. They have worked well together today, and over the past few days. He deserves to have her play along every once in a while. “Oh?”
“Teyla,” he says, smile broadening.
Sam’s mind goes to dirty, dirty places for a moment, wondering how much of those kisses in the tavern had been an act. Apparently, her expression gives her away, because McKay's face does a funny contortion and then he’s waving his hands in denial. “Backrubs! She gives backrubs. That’s all. Sheppard and Ronon would kill me, if …” He stops and perks up. “You really thought me and Teyla --?”
Sam just rolls her eyes. “Yes, McKay. Of course I did.”
“It’s not impossible.” He sounds defensive.
She puts on her most sincere face. “No, Rodney.”
“I’m a handsome man, and there would be nothing odd about me and Teyla --“ he waves his hands. “You know.”
“Yes, Rodney.” Sam barely resists the urge to pat him on the head, just to see what would happen.
“Are you mocking me?”
“No, Rodney. Never.”
“But you just admitted I was handsome.” His mouth turns up on one side, his eyes are crinkling at the sides.
The laughter bursts forth before she realises that she, actually … damn. “I did no such thing.” Deny, deny, deny.
“Oh, yes, you did.” Damn it, the man bounces.
“Did not.”
The grin almost splits his face. “Did.”
She shakes her head vehemently. “Did not … ow.” Both her hands go back to her neck, holding on tightly. Damn it, she hasn’t been this sore in a while. Must have been the odd positioning of the console, down on the planet, and the bowing over it. Probably the damn bra-strap, too.
She’s still rubbing her neck when she realises that McKay is steering her, carefully, one hand against the small of her back, toward a room at the end of the corridor. Her knees lock out of instinct. She stiffens. “What are you doing?”
“Taking care of your trapezius.”
“Your euphemisms suck, McKay.” It’s out before she can take it back and she’s slapping herself inwardly for not keeping her mouth shut.
Surprisingly, he only snorts, the minute gust moving her hair. He doesn’t answer directly. Only pushes her again. “Move, Colonel. It’s not going to get any better out here on a corridor.”
Sam heaves a sigh and decides to play along a little longer. She can always kick his ass should he try anything, and a rubdown of her sore shoulders sounds very tempting just about now. And, she remembers from watching them earlier, McKay has good hands. Strong. Agile. Warm. Her feet start moving on their own accord.
***
The Atlantis guest quarters are beautiful and spacious; she has heard several inhabitants of the city mentioning that they’re more roomy than their own. Sam eyes the bed with longing. Queen-sized. Draped with small, but tastefully patterned pillows - probably Athosian - and a soft-looking blanket in taupe. Sam thinks of her tiny bunk on the Odyssey and barely manages to hide the sigh of relief.
McKay - and this comes as a surprise again - doesn’t steer her to the bed, but to a chair and tells her to sit on it backwards. "Fold your arms over the backrest."
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she can’t help but ask, even though her voice is muffled by her forearms.
“Not half as much as you will, trust me.”
“You’re such an overconfident --ungh!” Her words die on her lips when McKay presses his thumbs into her sore muscles. Her back stretches involuntarily, making her tense, head moving up from her arms.
“You need to relax, Colonel.”
“If you’re already torturing me, call me Sam,” she grinds out.
She doesn’t hear it, but she knows he’s grinning, one side of his mouth higher than the other, giving his face this slightly lopsided look that she had hated so much when they first met and which she finds oddly endearing now. It confuses her, but she can’t say when she moved from despising the man to a mild curiosity about what facets of him she doesn’t know yet.
“This will hurt much less if you relax. So, relax, Sam,” he says in a quiet, soothing voice, and damn, having his breath stir the hair just above her ear isn’t helping her sore muscles. Her original thought from earlier in the day comes floating back - she really must be starved for attention if McKay is doing it for her.
McKay’s presence is warm against her back, so close that his belly almost touches her back. His scent envelops her, and she is suddenly, vividly reminded of the tavern. Of the way his back had felt under her hands, strong muscles under warm skin, how he had sounded and tasted --
She bites her lips and forces herself to relax. This is McKay for heaven’s sake. Daniel would laugh himself into a hernia if he knew what she was thinking.
He splays his hands over her shoulders, just resting them there, getting her used to the feel of them, waiting for the tension to drain away. They’re big enough to almost span from her shoulder blade to her neck. Sam breathes out and wills more muscles to relax. She hadn’t expected him to be this patient, yet here he is, waiting, the warmth of his palms seeping into her skin through her shirt. He doesn’t even speak. It’s beginning to freak her out. This is not the man she thought she knew. The only thing she hears is his breathing and hers, and the deep, rumbling hum of Atlantis.
“Anytime soon, McKay?” she asks after a while.
The flinch translates through his hands, and she smiles into her lower arm.
“Right, right. If you’re relaxed enough.”
“This is as good as it’s going to get.”
He flexes his fingers. “Oh, no. You’ll be whimpering in pleasure in no time, trust me.” The smile is audible in his voice.
“You wish.”
Warm breath stirs her hair again and all her muscles are tense all over again in a microsecond. A shiver races down her spine when he murmurs, lips close to her ear: “No. I know.” A low buzz travels through her body, centering in her belly. Her legs flex against the chair. Damn it. She hasn’t felt like this in ages.
Her throat is too dry to answer and she’s glad that he goes on to prove his point by beginning to knead her sore shoulders.
She is not going to get turned on by Rodney McKay. No matter how well he -- oh, god, that’s the spot, right there. She bites back a groan. Those hands really are as good as they look like. Stroking and kneading and pressing and pushing, everything from light as a feather to strong enough to push her against the chair. Big hands, their weight firm and steady. He works slowly, meticulously, every single stiff spot he can find. Sam finds herself sinking against the chair in boneless contentment. The only backrubs she gets these days are from professionals. Them, you pay and they give you your allotted half hour and then it's over before you even knew they've started. She hasn’t checked the time, but McKay is patient and so damn good that she doesn’t even mind his fingers detouring under the hem of her shirt to dig his thumbs into her bare skin. She doesn’t give him the satisfaction of a whimper, but she does sigh. For all his cockiness, he really is fantastic at this. If a sigh can show her appreciation without making his ego inflate, then a sigh she can give him.
He pushes her head forward some more. New shivers race over her arms when he slides his fingers up over her neck and into her hair, rubbing her scalp. The scritching of her hair against his fingers is absurdly loud in her ears. He’s not being gentle or unnecessarily careful with her. The rubbing is strong, but slow and she just wants to melt right there and forget about anything apart from this unhurried bliss.
When his hands do turn gentle, it’s almost a shock. The pressure eases and his fingers trail carefully over her scalp, fingernails scratching just lightly enough to feel but not enough to cause pain. Goosebumps skitter down her arms. He continues this languid journey on her skin - past her ears to her temples and the end of her eyebrows, lingering there and pressing down lightly, meeting acupressure points, then moving back, outlining the tips of her ears and moving on to rest on her cheek.
She feels too relaxed and content to stop him even when she hears his breath flow faster. After he has worked out every sore spot in her shoulders and has left her limp and with bones that feel like water, she has no urge to fight. What he does feels good, and it’s been a long time since someone paid that much attention to what she wanted.
His fingertips move again when she doesn’t protest, circling on her cheeks, dipping down and outlining the corner of her mouth. She feels a light tremor in his hands and smiles. He traces the smile for a moment, then moves away from her face, leaving her skin tingling and missing his warmth.
One last time, he sets his hands on her shoulders, pushes her shirt out of the way and digs his thumbs into her muscles. His other fingers splay toward her clavicle, under the front of her collar. The pressure eases. His fingertips stay where they are. Circle carefully. This time, Sam does what comes naturally and raises her head.
He is all business again in a matter of seconds, kneading her shoulders almost roughly and, more pronounced than before, she feels the bra strap cutting into her skin. Her shoulders stiffen involuntarily.
“Look, Carter, this doesn’t work," McKay says suddenly, his hands going still on her shoulders. "I have been working for the better part of half an hour here, then one false move and you’re stiff as a board again. What’s wrong with you?”
Well, there are things men won’t ever understand, and one of them would be the damn bra straps, pulled too tight, cutting into her shoulders. She’s not aware of saying that until he huffs: “Then get rid of it! It interferes with my massage and the straps are hurting your shoulders and back. So the only logical thing to do is to take it off.”
She tenses and looks over her shoulder, eyes narrowed. “You’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”
His mouth droops to one side in impatient annoyance. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
“McKay…”
“You want your back to stop hurting, right? I can do that, if you'll just give me an honest chance."
The man looks sincere. She can’t believe it. With anybody else, she would consider that as the lamest chat up line in the world, but McKay looks so impatient, disgruntled and determined that she can’t help but give a small, lopsided smile.
“You know that I’ll kill you if you try--”
“Oh, please.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s a backrub, Col -- Sam, not some cheesy --" His hand moves in a circle, "Oriental seduction scene.” His mouth quirks up and his eyes twinkle. “Though you’d doubtlessly look good in blue gauze harem pants.”
The bastard. “McKay, I swear I will --“
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Take off the shirt as well and get on the bed.”
She blinks at him for a long moment before her brain kicks in and gets over the fact that he just ordered her to strip and get into bed. In his dreams. “McKay…” she growls, pushing up from the chair.
He rolls his eyes again, absolutely unimpressed by her glare. “It's no worse than tanning on a beach, for heaven's sake."
She looks at her pale skin pointedly. Tanning. Oh, yes. Obviously, she does that twice a day. “Have you honestly just ordered me to --“
"Look, do you want this back rub or not?" He frowns at her. "I have power consumption ratios to analyze, you know. I don't have to do this."
He still looks sincere and the words are without any double entendre. Sam can’t believe she’s even getting up from the chair, much less fingering the hem of her shirt. McKay has never been considerate. He never cared about other people. But now... Why is he being nice? Why is she even noticing it? And why is she appreciating it?
The kiss from the tavern still ghosts in her memory. That had been a truly unexpected rush. She doesn’t think about how she wouldn’t mind a repeat performance. Right now, he makes her feel good, his hands are warm and strong, she hasn’t been this relaxed in ages, and she doesn’t want this to stop.
She lets the air whoosh out of her lungs. “Fine. But if you ogle just for one second..." she trails of meaningfully.
That damn eyeroll is back and she almost thinks about reconsidering.
"I know you find it hard to believe, Carter, but I've seen breasts before. I'm not going to ravage you just because I got an eyeful." His gaze detours for a second, resting on her chest. “Though I'm sure they're very fine breasts," he adds, words tumbling out almost too quick to understand.
Sam takes a step forward and balls her hands into fists at her sides. “McKay, for the love of --” He has the good grace to look vaguely contrite. Sam points her index finger toward his face in a circling motion. “Turn. Around.”
She pulls the shirt over her head in one fast move and unhooks her bra, drawing it down her arms. Throws both items on a chair where McKay can see them and grins when she sees his throat work.
Lowering herself on the bed is a welcome relief to her tense muscles. Sam sighs and shifts into a comfortable position, the pillow bunched under her head, her dogtags pressed against her breastbone. The bed - an honest-to-god bed, with a real, firm mattress and not just some rock-hard bunk on the Odyssey that constantly gives her headaches - is wide and comfortable. It smells of fresh laundry and restful sleep. This is heaven, and she thinks that she should thank McKay for the suggestion. She still doesn't like the thought of basically giving him an opportunity to grope her, but decides to give him the benefit of doubt.
Her entire body tenses when she feels the bed move and a warm, heavy weight settling on her legs. "Hey, what are you doing?"
"Getting some leverage that won't throw my back out." He wriggles a bit, then part of the weight is gone.
“And you felt you had to straddle me. Without warning?”
“Have you ever given a real massage?”
What the hell is he thinking? She wants to say yes, of course, but she doesn’t get that far. Her brain takes a vacation when McKay starts working in earnest again, kneading her entire back with a care and devotion that reduces her body to the consistency of melted chocolate.
Time fades away and Sam gets lost in the feel of his hands and the rhythm of their breathing.
“You know,” McKay says, eventually, “it’s a good thing I’m an old-school gentleman. Anybody else would have taken advantage of this situation.”
She grasps a corner of the pillow under her chin and frowns. She thought he would, really, she’s been expecting something the entire time. But he hasn’t. His hands have stayed on course. Why does that disappoint her? Isn’t she worth the effort? Were all the flirting and the suggestive comments he always threw in her direction nothing but show? His courteousness is throwing her off. She wants to know where she’s at. Curiosity makes her reckless. “Why don’t you?” The white cotton bunches in her fist. What the hell, Carter?
His hands stop on her lower back and he shifts. His thighs are warm against hers, even through their BDUs. “Excuse me?”
It’s a reaction, but still not enough. She needs more. She doesn’t quite understand the impish whim to tease a response from him, but she doesn’t stop it, either. “Of course, I do know why you don’t.”
She feels him sinking back on his haunches, his ass barely above her thighs. “Don’t what?”
“Pretty, McKay, but not convincing.” She bunches more of the pillow up and props her chin higher. “From day one, you’ve been hitting on me. I should have known if push came to shove, you'd wimp out.” She throws a look over her shoulder. “Wuss.”
He splutters. Goading him shouldn’t be this easy. She’s getting reckless. “Scared of a woman who’s smarter than you, Rodney?”
“Oh, please. I’m not going to go into that again. We’ve covered this. Several times. You’re not smarter than I am.”
She lets him get away with that statement. After all, this is fun. She wants to find out how much further she can go.
“At least I know what I want.”
“Are you honestly telling me that I don’t?”
Time to go for the big guns. He still hasn’t made any advance and it’s driving her nuts. “McKay, I’m partially naked in a bed under you. You’re behaving better than any choirboy. All that leads me to the conclusion that you’re too chicken to actually try anything because you’re scared I might kill you.” She flexes her biceps and rolls her shoulders. “Which, of course, I could.”
“Chicken?”
She barely resists imitating the noises. “Or, it could be what I said before: All talk.”
“All talk?”
“You are familiar with the idiom, right? Also: partially naked, McKay.” She has no idea why she feels the need to rub this in. Except for the fact that it’s been too long since she has been with a man who has seen this much of her and hasn’t been a physician. It’s been too long since she’s been admired. She wants to feel wanted, damn it. And she wants it now. She doesn't like to be toyed with, wound up with no consequences.
“Oh, thanks for the reminder. I hadn’t noticed that before.”
“Exactly,” she mumbles into her pillow.
“Are you goading me? Or am I hallucinating again?” A light draft moves over her bare skin, indicating that he is waving his hands. “Or, maybe I’m hallucinating you goading me.”
“See? This is exactly what I mean. All talk and no action.”
His thighs tighten around hers. “You’re really annoying, Carter, you know that?”
Sam rolls her eyes. “This from Mister Annoying.”
“You're pushing it.” His voice sounds strained.
"Am I?" she taunts.
“Oh, that is it, Carter.”
He shifts above her until his hands are next to her face. He leans down, lets his body touch hers lightly. This time, his lips do graze her ear. “I'm not a choirboy, Carter. And you're not usually a tease.” His low voice makes her shiver and blink rapidly a few times. Looks like they’re finally getting somewhere.
“I'm not teasing, but you're definitely too chicken, McKay. Bawk, bawk, bawk,” she ribs and shifts her hips so her ass touches his groin briefly, and she knows that this is waving the red flag in front of the bull, but she doesn’t care. Through the fabric of their pants, she can feel his erection and, damn it, it has been almost two years. She misses sex with a man instead of her little battery driven friend. And McKay is far from the worst choice. Plus, here on Atlantis, he’ll be far enough away for the gloating to not matter. “You’ll never dare.”
His snort of indignation moves her hair. “Maybe I'll surprise you.”
Then, before she can even blink, he has pulled her to lie on her back, bare breasts exposed to warm air and McKay … whose face is mere inches from hers, close enough so she can see the absurdly long lashes, the intent blue eyes. The first lines inscribed around his eyes look to be more from smiling than from anything else. The tip of his tongue darts out to moisten his lips.
“Last warning, Sam,” he says. His eyes are dark.
The sudden dominance is a turn on. She didn't expect that. His body presses hers into the mattress, a warm, pleasant weight.
Yes.
“Warning for what?”
“For this.” He leans down, looking in her eyes the entire time. He's going to kiss her. At least, she thinks he will. Only he doesn’t. He stops, mere millimetres from her lips. Breathes on them, so she can all but taste the champagne he had at the party. She feels the warmth radiating from his lips. His eyes are so close now, they take up her whole vision. What she sees swirling there, combined with the press of his body against hers - the memory of the kiss at the Tavern, the signs of his arousal - have her instantly wet.
She shifts, bare breasts touching the soft cotton of his shirt and a shiver runs through his whole body. “Why?” he asks, breath warm on her cheeks. Part of his earlier audaciousness has slipped and his eyebrows draw together in confusion. “Why are you doing this?”
Sam smiles broadly and nips at his lips before dropping her head back on the pillow. She gives him the answer she has given herself a few moments ago, when she had decided to throw caution in the wind and just enjoy herself: “Why the hell not?”
And because he still doesn’t close the gap between them, she grinds against him deliberately, twists her arms free and locks her hands on the back of his head, pulling him down to her and swallowing the groan he breathes into her mouth.
The vibration from his groan travels from his lips to hers, then Rodney shakes the surprised daze. They don’t bother with much care or foreplay, she digs her fingers into his shoulders and shifts against him while he licks his way into her mouth, tongues meeting hot and slick. He breathes in sharply, his hands clamp on the sides her face, weight pressing her deeper into the mattress, fingers splaying into her hair as he pulls her closer. The kiss is long, wet, open-mouthed and sensual, interspersed by noises that reverberate through her body.
She could get high on those noises, the small, choked-off groans, the way he breathes her in and tries to tell her with lips and tongue and teeth that yes, god, finally, do you know how long? Sam’s glad she can’t hear any of that. She doesn’t want to hear, doesn’t want to know, doesn’t want to think, just wants to let go and feel. Feel the low buzz of arousal meander through her body, the scrape of his stubble against her skin, the feel of his warm body rubbing against hers, pressing her breasts snug between them, creating perfect friction. He kisses her the entire time, a playback of what happened in the tavern when her knees had gone watery with surprise and sudden, stunned arousal. She can’t help but think that if she had known, she would have kissed him before, jerk or not, because, damn, he is good, and she has trouble keeping up with the way he strips her senses with the small suckles and teasing bites.
Her hands move over his back, come to rest on his neck, kneading heavy muscles to hide the fact that her toes are ready to curl. Warm, damp skin over a strong neck, silky, soft hair, the tiny ridges and bumps of a familiar chain over his spine.
Rodney slows the kisses and moves to lightly nuzzle her cheek and jaw - god, the hollow under her ear is too sensitive. She pulls out the chain from under his shirt and pushes him back until he’s propped over her, the movement giving her the chance to breathe and regain her composure. She’s not sure she wants him to know this much about her this early on. Sam pulls the chain to the side and blinks at the dogtags dangling between her fingers.
She frowns, breathes a few times. “I really don’t know you anymore, do I?”
Rodney meets her eyes, and there is little playfulness in his gaze when he answers: “Did you ever?”
It’s a low blow, but one she almost deserves. She really doesn’t know anything beyond the overconfident façade, but what she does know is what those tags mean on a civilian. And what they mean if he’s wearing them continuously even when not offworld. Daniel always takes his off as soon as they’re back. He doesn’t like the reminder they pose as. He has died in the field too many times.
She never would have thought Rodney to be so aware, so ready to accept his new status.
The thin metal shudders in her hands with each breath he takes. This close, she can feel his heart slam against his chest. Rodney’s eyes are trained on her the entire time, watching, waiting. He never used to be patient. At least, she never thought he was. The thought of what else she had wrong makes her uncomfortable.
She doesn’t want this sudden change in the mood, doesn’t feel like over analysing everything for once.
Ranks and positions and had-beens aside, he’s a man and she’s a woman. They don’t need much more than that and a mutual attraction to work with.
Sam lets go of the tags and attempts to meet his eyes…before her gaze is side-tracked by the look of his kiss-swollen, moist lips. Arousal returns at full force at the lingering heat of them against her own. Her mind detours, imagining them in more intimate places and her heart speeds up, tension coiling in her stomach.
“Let’s get to know each other, then,” she says with a suggestive waggle of her eyebrows.
Like the flip of a switch, Rodney’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he grins broadly, then he dives back in for another one of those brain-melting kisses.
The dogtags - warm from his body, but cool at the edges from when she looked at them -- fall against her breastbone, clink against her own. She gasps into his mouth, kissing him back slowly, all seductive licks and tiny, teasing nibbles that make him groan again. When they come up for air, he pushes himself up once more and looks at her. The grin on his face is so smug that she gets the sinking feeling that this might be a huge mistake. She wanted to feel good, not like a trophy.
Her scalp prickles uncomfortably. She frowns, tries to push him back a little farther. The only thing she achieves from her position is that he shifts a little, making the cotton of his shirt drag against her nipples. The sensation races through her body. She bites her lower lip, glad he can’t feel how wet she already is.
Rodney lifts a hand and traces his index finger over and around her lips. “I always knew you’d kiss as well as you analyse,” he murmurs, breath warm against her face, still grinning. “Which is almost as well as I do.”
Almost? The smug, self-important son of a - She nips at his finger.
He frowns. So does she. “McKay, not only do I think better than you, I kiss better than you, too,” Sam snaps. His eyes sparkle suddenly, and she realises too late that this was a deliberate trap.
“Prove it.” The grin almost splits his face.
Enough is enough. Sam yanks on the chain, pulls him back down against her so that he has to brace himself. She doesn’t wait for him to anticipate anything, or make another comment; kisses him - hard, deep, forceful, then soft, gentle, tantalising. Sucks on his tongue until he moans deeply, until his hands fist in the pillow under her head. Sam begins to shift in earnest now, rubbing her body against his deliberately, seeking a reaction and needing the friction.
He breaks away from her, panting, and roughly whispers something about calling it a draw. He moves now, slowly dragging his lips over her jaw and neck down to her chest, the dogtags sliding against her skin, meeting her own with a muffled clink. It’s a startling rush when they touch her breasts and she can’t help the choked gasp.
Rodney’s head snaps up and proves that he really is a smart man. A slow smile spreads across his face, strangely seductive. He shifts upwards, waits for a few moments, then lowers his head again and makes the dogtags circle around her nipples. The ridged edges of the silencer bumpers scraping against her nipple, giving way to cool metal is shockingly arousing. Sam remembers someone telling her once that he considered dogtags a huge turn-on, but she never would have expected to understand that sentiment one day. The slick, cool-warm metal slides against her skin, edges and stamped letters all but branding her skin, tickling and raising goosebumps and moving slowly, so very slowly over her nipples … Sam groans. The movement of both the tags and Rodney have her heart slamming against her chest and her breath coming in short pants. She hooks a leg around his and slides her hands down his back, under his shirt and up the warm and damp valley of his spine, clutching, then down, down, under his BDUs, latching onto his ass and grabbing two solid handfuls, kneading, pushing his groin against hers.
Rodney drops his forehead against her chest and grinds against her, creating glorious friction, before cursing their pants and seams in uncomfortable places. Mouthing the swell of her breast for a moment, he moves up again, finding her mouth in a kiss that is neither artful nor skilled, just wet and hot.
Through the cotton of their BDUs, Sam can feel how hard he is and grinds back against him, wanting, needing -
Sam breaks away to draw a huge gulp of air. Clutches at his ass to still his movements. Pants, before she can censor her mouth: "Get naked McKay, unless you've got something you're ashamed of."
Rodney stills, props himself up, looks at her. She almost expects the smug grin to break forth again, but is surprised to see only a small, private one. He rolls to the side and gets up, completely ignores the taunt in favour of shucking out of his shirt and pants, down to a pair of boxers with -- Sam can’t help the chuckle bubbling up -- Einsteinian equations printed on them. A sense of humour. And another layer pops up, she muses. She looks him up and down, appreciatively - broad chest, strong arms, heavily muscled thighs under a comfortable padding.
He catches her looking, folds his arms over his chest. Looks at her, raises his eyebrows, and gestures to her pants.
The next dare, and she’s enjoying every bit of it. She rises slowly, knowing he’s looking at her breasts. She opens her BDUs slowly, button for button, and shimmies out of them in deliberate laziness. His eyes grow wide. Oh, yeah. This is a rush, and it feels so damn good to play out her femininity for a bit.
When her pants have hit the floor, hey both stare at each other, down to panties and boxers.
Finally, Rodney grins lopsidedly. "On three?"
Sam throws her head back and laughs until she feels breathless.
Rodney still grins, broader now. His hands are on the elastic of his boxers. "One."
Feeling careless and in the mood for some more fun, Sam slips her fingers under the hem of her panties and wiggles. Her grin, she knows, mirrors Rodney’s. “Two.”
They both say “Three” in unison and manage to shuck their underwear in a surprisingly synchronised fashion.
It’s back to staring now; silent staring that gets uncomfortable after a while, making Sam wish she’d taken the time to shave her legs this morning. She recovers first and lets out the wolf-whistle that her friends in college had labelled 'as dirty as any construction worker’s'. "Wow, McKay, you really don't have anything to be ashamed of, do you?"
Sam’s amused to see that Rodney manages to turn beet-red and look smug at the same time.
“Yes, well.” He moves his hand in a throw-away gesture that doesn’t hide the preening at all. “I always knew you were a real blonde.”
She crosses her hands over her chest and raises her eyebrows - ridiculous in her naked state, but it has the desired effect. Rodney gets even redder and waves at her head and face and blurts, "I mean with your colouring and the, the, the blue eyes. Some people used to say you dyed you hair, but I never -- uhm. I'll just stop now."
Sam considers saying something, but, really, why waste the energy? She smiles and shakes her head, uncrosses her arms. Kisses him, draws him close. Rodney opens up to her with a sigh of relief and she can’t stop smiling against his lips. His erection nudges her thigh when he moves closer, her breasts against his chest. She runs both her hands over his back, dipping down. Now that she knows what she'd been missing, she cups two handfuls of that gorgeous ass. Moaning, he rubs up against her. Trails his lips along her jaw before latching onto the place just under her ear. His tongue circles over sensitive skin and she squirms against him. Suddenly, he sucks hard and she can’t stop the moan from escaping, her inner muscles clenching as the hot rush of arousal washes through her all over again.
Rodney is murmuring something against her skin but she’s had enough of talking. Sam hooks her ankle around his knee, and gives a sharp tug so that they both tumble, Sam landing on top of Rodney. The mattress dips under their combined weight.
She shifts into a more comfortable position, grinning. “Graceful, McKay.” Kisses him again before he can answer. Moves her hips, rubbing against his erection and is thrilled to see his eyes roll back for a couple of moments. His legs fall open and she settles closer, shifting her hips so that his erection drags against her clit. He joins her movements, strong hands cupping her ass and pushing her tighter against him. Sparks shoot up her spine and she needs to kiss him again, needs to be closer, under his skin. Their mouths meet in wet, sloppy kisses that lack any finesse and yet are hotter than anything Sam remembers ever having. The sounds of wet lips and sharp intakes of breath fill the room, drowning the sound of Atlantis' low, growling hum.
Time fades as the sensations grow overwhelming - the soft linen of the blanket bunching up under her, the smell of fresh laundry and sex, the heat of his body against hers. Both their dogtags pressing into her skin, his hips moving against hers, his cock nudging her clit again and again, slick gliding, faster, his fingers digging into her ass, no doubt leaving bruises. She doesn't care, she's no princess who needs to be worshipped. Tonight, she just wants to feel. If that means it'll be a little rough, all the better. She clamps her hands around his biceps and grinds down against him harder, desperate for more friction until Rodney pulls away, suddenly, chanting, "Fuck, fuck, condom, tell me you have a condom here somewhere?"
Groaning, she pulls away. “You didn’t bring one?”
"I wasn't exactly planning on this!"
She rolls off him, onto her back and throws an arm over her eyes. “I don’t believe this. Some genius you are.”
There are several moments of silence. The arousal loses some of its edge now that he isn't touching her and her body reminds her with blunt force that she had been tired before they had started this. Her clit feels neglected and she is tempted to just reach between her legs and take matters into her own hand if he shouldn’t think of something soon, when she hears a familiar: “Hah!”
She moves her arm and cracks an eye open. “Well, genius?”
"Guest quarters, Sam," he says, crawling over the bed and dragging open a drawer in the nightstand. "These rooms are stocked with every--yes!” he crows triumphantly and scrabbles for something in the drawer, “Everything a guest might need. Including," he waves a packet at her, grinning, "condoms!"
Rodney's waving the condom packet with his hand. His cock is hard, red, bobbing and silly-looking as men’s genitals always have been to her, no matter how much she likes them, and yet all she can think of is Elizabeth Weir insisting every guest room needed prophylactics. A decidedly un-officer-like snigger escapes her.
"What, what?" Rodney asks. He's tearing open the wrapper, grinning at her amusement.
Atlantis's odd light columns give him a pale halo that makes her grin grow even wider. Definitely no saint there. Sam waves at the nightstand. "Weir's orders?"
Rodney looks a little thoughtful then guffaws. His face doing a funny little contortion that has her sniggering again. "Carson's probably," she relents, derailing his thoughts.
He grimaces. "Eww. Don't mention him. I don't want to talk about the guy who gives me prostate exams right now."
“Are you trying to tell me some preferences in bed, here, Rodney?”
“What? I, no, I didn’t, I wouldn’t--” He flails, the condom wrapped glistening in his fingers before it slips and lands on the bed. "You wouldn't --"
Sam reaches for it and knee-walks over to Rodney, setting her hands on his thighs. The muscles she saw earlier are really rather impressive now that she can touch. She runs both hands over them, admiring warm skin and sparse hair, heavy muscles and reassuring weight. She is surprised again how much she likes the solid set of his body. "Do a lot of running, Rodney?"
"More than I ever wanted to," he huffs out.
She plucks the condom from his hands.
He looks a little wide eyed. His gaze flickers between her face and the condom in her hand. "Are you -- ? You are -- wow."
Sam smiles and bends forward. Scrapes her fingernails over Rodney's cock in a light caress, pinches the tip of the condom and delicately rolls it on his erection.
He groans, puts his hand over hers. “Please tell me that I’m not dreaming.”
She gives his cock a firm squeeze that almost has him curling up from the bed. “I thought we agreed that you would never talk about your fantasies, Rodney?”
He chuckles, a little breathless, leans over to touch his lips to her collarbone. “You don’t know what you’re missing.” Rodney pushes her to her back, kisses his way down to her chest and nuzzles her breasts. His stubble scrapes against her skin, slow burning pleasure that sinks into her, heavy as molasses.
Sam hates her body’s reminder, but the day has been long and the slow-down after the heated foreplay allows fatigue to clamber back up. She gives a quiet yawn, hoping he won’t notice.
Rodney stops kissing her all of a sudden and moves so he is braced over her, eyes narrowed. "Did you just yawn?"
"Tired here, McKay."
He looks haughty. "Do I bore you?"
Sam kisses him, slow and sloppy and affectionate. She opens her legs a little, cants her hips, an open invitation. "Come on." Her hands roam over his back, sliding in the sweat-slick hollow between his shoulderblades.
"Hey, I thought women wanted foreplay."
She rolls her eyes at him. "We like the main course too."
"In that case...." Rodney kisses her before he slides down her body a little, his chest hair tickling her breasts, then lifts her hips. Rubs his fingers against her clit in small, teasing strokes before settling between her legs.
Body flushing, Sam opens her legs farther and he slides inside her - slow and easy. The breath leaves her lungs in small stutters as he pushes deeper. He’s not a small man and she has to shift her hips to accommodate his size. They look into each other’s eyes for a moment, getting used to the feel of each other. He gives her time until she nudges his thigh with her heel and he starts to move. No exotic technique, just hard and fast, exactly the way she wants it tonight.
Rodney's fingers find her clit once more, circling and rubbing as he slams faster and faster into her and this is good, this is fucking fantastic, she can’t remember the last time someone actually fucked her, and did it this well. Her face flushes more with each new stroke into her. There are no words between them now, just the slap of slick bodies against each other and the wet noises of sex. She keeps looking at him, never breaks the eye-contact and she sees how it breaks him open. His thrusts stutter for a moment and he breathes: "Fuck, Sam." His fingers on her clit press harder against her pelvic bone and the rush of sensations makes her hips leave the bed, meeting his. She clenches and unclenches around his cock, for him and for her, the friction delicious, sending crackling energy through her body. She breathes in his scent, fills her lungs with the smell of musk and sweat and traces of his aftershave and feels alive in a way she hasn’t in too long.
Her hands grip his shoulders first, then clamp on the sides of his face, sliding against stubble and sweat, and she kisses him, open-mouthed and sloppy, learning his tongue and teeth and mouth like a new language, swallowing his groans and mingling them with hers. Still open-eyed, too. Sam curls her legs around his, nudges her heels against his thighs, meeting him thrust for thrust now. He feels huge inside her, even when she rationally knows that he isn't. Rodney is hitting all the right spots without needing any pointers. She is close, so damn close.
A twist of his hand, a snap of his hips and she is falling into a bone-melting orgasm that blossoms out from her centre, flooding her body with liquid gold, sending sparks against her skin while they kiss and kiss until she can’t breathe and stars are dancing on front her eyes. He swallows her moans, greedy, slamming into her and drawing ever newer ones. She tears her mouth away for just enough time to take a deep breath, then dives straight back in, kissing him through his own shuddering climax.
Only when his hips have stilled does he close his eyes, exhaustion clear on his face. Rodney collapses, his weight pinning her to the bed. He moves his lips away from her mouth, trailing them to her damp temple, placing tiny kisses there.
Sam doesn’t push him off yet. For now, her heart is pounding and she can feel his doing the same. Their chests rise and fall in fast unison. Rodney’s breath stirring her hair again. There is still the occasional aftershock ghosting through her body, making her clench around him. She keeps her legs curled around him, holding him close. Wants this sense of connection and the sated languor to last a bit longer.
She dozes off when Rodney withdraws, spooning around her, the long day and fatigue finally catching up with both of them.
They lie pressed against each other until the sweat on their bodies cools enough to make them both shiver and becomes itchy. Sam stretches and groans, long and languid. The muscles in her thighs are burning pleasantly.
“Rodney.”
He gives a grunt and hides his face in her shoulder.
“Rodney,” she tries again, squirming. He has an arm slung around her waist and stops her from moving out of bed. Great. She should have known it wouldn’t be as easy as it had seemed an hour ago.
Time for the command tone. “McKay!” Sam snaps, and, lo and behold, he moves. Reluctant, sure, but he moves.
“Afterglow is a foreign concept to you, isn’t it?”
“Why, Rodney, I never would have taken you for such a romantic.”
“I’m in my mid-thirties, Sam. Allow a man some rest.”
“Feeling old there?”
“Can you just shut up for a moment? I’m trying to recover.”
“McKay!” Sam can’t help the surprised laugh. “Buck up. You have had sex before, right?”
He raises his head from the pillow and pins her with one of his best glares. “I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.”
“Suit yourself.” She slips out of the bed completely and walks to the bathroom, unconcerned. It’s not weird yet, being naked in front of him. But Sam knows just as well that it wouldn’t take long to get weird, and she’d rather not be naked in bed with him when that happened.
“Are you determined to ruin my Eureka?” Rodney asks, and the look that he throws her would make diamonds melt.
“Your Eureka?”
“You. Me.” He waves a hand between them before letting it sink back to the covers that are still twisted and rumpled from their earlier activities. Sam’s skin tingles, her face feels flushed with good spirits and she realises that she hasn’t felt this content in a long, long time. Ah, the joys of good sex.
“While you’re basking in the afterglow, I’m going to take a shower.” She watches his face fall a fraction, and regrets her harshness. She isn’t sure how she’s going to handle him once they’re out of this room, but for now, she still feels like indulging him. “Unless you want to come?”
“Not for a while.” He smirks when she rolls her eyes and turns. “But you’re right. I should go back to the labs and while I love having your scent all over me, I’d prefer to keep it to myself and not share it with the entire staff.”
Sam rests a hand against the door and looks over her shoulder. “Was that …?” She trails off, breathing against the surprise. “McKay, was that a compliment?”
His expression turns a little sour. “It’s not as though I’m incapable of them.”
A genuine smile steals itself onto her lips. “Come on,” she says and offers her hand.
They step into the big shower cubicle together and just stand under the spray from multiple jets for a while. Atlantis is self-sufficient when it comes to water thanks to its desalinisation system, and it feels good to just let the water run and not think about wasting it.
They take turns washing each other, long, thorough and careful, with smiles and chuckles when one of them hits a ticklish spot. Rodney’s entire face transforms into that of a man incredibly likeable when he smiles for real and shows copious amounts of good humour, and Sam finds that this tugs at her heart when she never would have expected it.
Water clings to his lashes and his eyes are sparkling with something Sam doesn't want to label. She just reaches up, puts her hand against his cheek, watches the water sluice over his hair and brows and lips. Rodney turns his head and kisses the palm of her hand. Sam smiles, curling her hand against his cheek, beckoning, and touches her lips to his. Everything had started out like this, and Sam doesn't regret anything. They kiss for a long while, languid and relaxed, no more urgency.
There are a lot more kisses, a few instances of wandering hands, but it all stays calm, unhurried, even as they step out the shower, dry each other and get dressed.
For a moment, before they step out the door, there is an awkward silence. "Well," Rodney says.
"Yeah," Sam answers.
His gaze moves from her to the door. "I'll be ... going to the labs." He halts, looks as though he's preparing some long-winded speech.
Sam realises that she really, really isn't in the mood for that now. "I'll join you," she offers instead.
"Really?" A delighted smile breaks out over Rodney's face.
She shrugs. "Four eyes see more than two, right?"
The smile is replaced by a frown within microseconds. "Are you saying that I can't do this without you?"
And that easy, they're back to square one. Sam laughs, loud and carefree. "Yes, Rodney. That's exactly what I'm saying."
They leave the guest quarters and walk to the labs, bickering and insulting each other as though it's a sport.
No one bats an eye.
When she wakes up with her face on a lab-bench, a blanket around her shoulders and a mug of coffee in front of her, she sees Sheppard standing in the doorway. Sheppard, with Vala behind him, her chin propped on his shoulder and her arm around his waist. He looks to Rodney, then to Sam.
Rodney doesn't notice them, too intent on his project. He has a small smile playing around his lips and is humming.
Sheppard grins.
Sam meets his gaze and grins back.
Finis