TEAM PLAY: forbidden fruit, "Play(er)"
Title: Play(er)
Author: scarlettandblue
Team: Play
Prompt: forbidden fruit
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Warnings: Sort of pre slash, mention of Shep + Female persons in general terms.
Notes: It is a pre-Canon AU. I’ll admit to zero chess knowledge or skills.
But I was intensely inspired by the very sexy chess scene from The Thomas Crown Affair, and thank goodness for Google who found me a fab chess site that had the chess game that scene was based laid out step by step, and the dialogue, such as it is I pretty much stole as well. Thank you to Sarah for the emergency beta.
Summary: "It was every bit as awful as he imagined it would be, talking about stuff, feelings. And yet now he’d said what he needed to, strangely he did feel better. Maybe that was the good part of this new thing he was trying. The more honest with himself thing."
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**
When it first happened John thought the posting to Antarctica was going to be the last one of his career. He figured once he did his time there he’d be offered a discharge, and provided he didn’t screw up too fast he’d have twenty years on the clock by then and it would be time to go.
On another level, John had come to feel like maybe it was a chance too, to try and be a different guy. That the isolation might be good for his soul, or some other fucked-up reason. Like maybe he deserved it, like a penance. After all, everyone had the pay the price eventually, even John Sheppard the guy who had made a career out of making sure nothing ever stuck,
He knew he had coasted through using his looks and charm and his laid-back attitude as much as his abilities. He probably still would have made his rank if he had been a mediocre pilot And even the COs, who actually understood that he was the real deal in the air, still somehow treated him like he didn’t have anything especially useful to offer on the ground. So that when it really mattered, like that last time, when he had suggested flying in solo to try and rescue the crew from the downed chopper instead of waiting for Intel from aerial reconnaissance, he had been turned down.
The vicious argument he had with his CO right out in the open, in the middle of the ops room, was likely the main reason he was in deep trouble after he got back from the partially successful rescue he’d flown, despite his orders.
In some ways John was surprised they didn‘t give him a court martial and a dishonourable discharge, maybe even some hard time in Leavenworth. But the fact he managed to bring the co-pilot and two marines back alive might have been the reason.
His CO made it clear he wanted John off his base and out of his command the moment he’d stepped into his office. He didn’t even bother to close the door as he read out the words of the reprimand he was placing on John’s record. It was abundantly clear to all the people who were pretending not to listen in, just like it would be to anyone reading his file in the future, that John had only escaped a court martial because of political interference.
No CO was ever going to consider him for promotion. No one was basically ever going to trust him again. Wherever he got posted next they’d take one look at that reprimand then try to figure out how to move him on to some other command as quickly as possible.
After standing there listening to his military career being flushed down the toilet John was surprised not to be told he was being transferred to Special Ops or some extra hazardous duty that he was unlikely to survive. He suspected there were some things on his file that his CO hadn’t read out, pigeon-holing him as some kind of fucked up psycho or adrenaline junkie, and it would make sense for them to give him the chance to make use of whatever tendencies they had assigned to his actions.
Instead he was offered a choice, although from the sour look on his COs face a choice was clearly the last thing he thought John deserved. But it seemed he could either take a desk job as liaison for some General at Homeland Security, or he could be a glorified gofer at McMurdo Airbase ferrying personnel and supplies between the base and a multi-national scientific research facility in Antarctica.
It didn’t take much thinking about. John chose the option that still gave him wing time.
And just like that he had his gear packed up and he was in transit.
John should have been used to Military transport by now, the noise and the sheer discomfort was always gruelling. But with the memory of his COs words still making him feel kind of hollowed out, and the knowledge of that huge black mark forever hanging over him, this particular journey felt like medieval punishment and John was reeling in a kind of shocked state as he travelled south.
Then before he knew it he found himself standing in the middle of the CDC in Christchurch staring forlornly at the thick fleece sweaters and having no clue what he was doing. Fortunately one of the women working there took pity on him and asked to see his transfer papers to help him with his kit. She suggested some extra gear he might buy for himself as well, to make his off-duty time a little more comfortable.
Finally she directed him to the stores with a list of essential he needed to buy. Stuff like sun-block and super strength lip balm and chocolate, plus a couple of books to read as well as lots of condoms and some special kind of lube that didn’t freeze in the cold or something. John didn’t really pay that much attention to the technical details because he was too busy blushing bright red and backing away saying, “Uh… No, don’t think I’ll be…Yeah, thanks.”
It wasn’t that John didn’t like fucking as much as the next guy, because he did, probably more than the next guy if he was honest. And it wasn’t like he didn’t get plenty of action, because actually that was one the one area of his military career that he never had a problem with. He wondered briefly if he should have mentioned that when he was getting reamed by his CO, that he definitely was a Hot Shot when it came to fucking.
Like most guys he might well enjoy chasing tail, could almost have been said to have made something of a secondary career out of it, but that didn‘t mean he wanted to be the kind of guy who received unsolicited advice on his sex life from random grandmotherly types.
Plus when he thought about the uncomfortable truth he’d recently been forced to listen to regarding how much of a screw up he was, both as a soldier and as a man, maybe his CO had known about his status as The Player on base after all.
John wandered down to the stores and handed his list over to the guy. He told him not to bother with the condoms and the lube, then went to stand in front of a rack of books trying to figure out which ones were going to get him through this.
He picked up War and Peace, but put it back because it just didn’t feel quite right. In the end he settled on a couple of books he’d read years earlier, figuring it might be interesting to read them again, now he was older. He grabbed two books of black belt Sudoku puzzles and a biography of Johnny Cash that he’d missed when it first came out. The guy at the checkout already had the rest of his stuff boxed up so he just dropped the books in the top of the box and paid.
It wasn’t until he was finally in his incredibly depressing little room unpacking his care package that he realised the guy at the store had taken no notice of what he said and had sold him the lube and the condoms anyway. John was pissed because he’d made some decisions about what his life was going to be like on that final leg of the journey from New Zealand to McMurdo.
He’d made up his mind this was a chance for some real changes in his life, and maybe they were overdue. And the most important one was no more fucking around like he was the base bike. So he shut the lid of the box on all that stuff he wasn’t going to need any more and shoved it under his bed.
The next morning he met with General Fraser to go over his duties. The man had obviously read John’s file and he looked like whatever he’d seen had disagreed with him, but he kept it almost civil while he told John what he expected from him then handed him off to his XO. The XO was a Major Ferretti, and the guy was clearly on top of everything that went down on the base.
He was friendly enough so John guessed Ferretti hadn’t managed to read his personnel file yet. He had no illusions that he wouldn’t get to see it sooner rather than later because on a base like this, the XO was the one who really ran things. But John was still in that golden window at the moment so he got the low down on the really important stuff: who ran the poker game, who could get you booze or wake up pills or porn, and the best places to go for sex.
Ferretti was extra informative about that last part, because apparently there wasn’t anything else to do around the place. Also, because it was an international community of scientists and technical specialists, that apparently equated to a whole bunch of sex-crazed European women who didn’t shave, like anywhere but did apparently know more dirty sex tricks than a brothel full of Amsterdam whores.
John tried to shut the sex talk down, because he’d made up his mind. He‘d admitted to himself that he was kind of a jerk, when it came to women and he was trying really had to be a different person. Ferretti was in the middle of a run down of the social scene when John shook his head and said, “No, man it’s fine, I don’t.”
Ferretti looked a little startled.
John hurried on, “I mean I did, obviously. I have, you know, in the past… A lot. But..uhh… I’m not really…. Once you see my file maybe you’ll get why it’s … So I want to try not dating the women so much… I know it’s not stuff you talk about, but I just want to do the best job I can… and I don’t know… Be more honest?”
It was every bit as awful as he imagined it would be, talking about stuff, feelings. And yet now he’d said what he needed to, strangely he did feel better. Maybe that was the good part of this new thing he was trying. The more honest with himself thing.
But maybe he’d confused the guy because Ferretti stopped and gave John a really weird look. Then he smirked and started to tell him how the international scientist guys were all British and German and Canadian, and maybe a couple were Dutch as well, and everyone knew that those guys were up for anything and totally not required to follow the uniform code. John had the urge to ask Ferretti why he had such an obsession with the Netherlands but he couldn’t make his mouth work.
Instead he listened with a growing sense of shock as Ferretti explained that the Tuesday Night Chess Club and the Thursday Night Sci-Fi Marathon were the places to go to find a date. And the internet café in the main science building was gossip central and the bathroom near the small auditorium was the place to go if you were looking for something a little more casual, because no one asked and no one had to tell what went on there.
And John wanted to say, “Hey! You got that completely wrong, buddy.”
But his mouth still wasn’t working right and he didn’t know why.
He might have made this deal in his head, that this was going to be the time when he got a little more honest with himself and with everyone else, but he hadn’t meant that. No way had he ever meant that.
Ferretti didn’t seem to be bothered that he had just given John the low-down on where he could cruise for just about any kind of sex there was. Instead he slapped John on the shoulder and started telling him about the flight schedule out to the Research site.
*********
It took a few weeks for John to really begin to get a feel for the place and settle in. There were days when he might have to do five or six runs out to the research station, taking boxes of supplies, half-awake scientists and odd-shaped packages out, bringing excitable lab techs and sealed crates back. There were other days when he only made one run out and back.
One weekend there was a huge fuss because some General was coming in with the flight of an experimental aircraft. John had been eager to see the new bird and was sorely disappointed when Ferretti called him into the office and gave him a written Psych-Eval to complete; apparently Fraser had noticed it was missing from his file. John had to complete it in an hour. He was all set up in one of the smaller offices with a corporal whose job it was to see John completed the whole thing in the allotted time and by the time he got out of there all the fuss was over. The General had flown out to the research site and the experimental fighter had refuelled and taken off again.
Thing was, John kept waiting for the other shoe to drop; For Ferretti to either call him out on what he thought John had been saying, or maybe actually make a pass at him. And while John wouldn’t have been happy with either of those options, at least he would have been off the hook. But Ferretti never made a move and he never said anything that sounded off, and neither did anyone else. In the end John had to let it go. It hadn’t been what he meant anyway, and he had to figure that Ferretti was just a broadminded kind of guy who liked to cover all the bases, information-wise.
As he settled in he began to understand why the condoms and the lube were considered essentials though. And why Ferretti had been so thorough in his base orientation. The place seriously was hook-up central.
Maybe everyone was just slowly losing their minds, because it was hard not to be a little on edge all the time. It could be such a hostile environment and you had to think about safety even if all you wanted to do was slip outside for some fresh air or a smoke. And the goddamned cold was enough to get to anyone. So the thought of being pressed against another body soaking up all that extra heat was just totally fucking overwhelming.
Or maybe it was a kind of sensory deprivation that had everyone freaking out, because outside it was unrelenting, dazzling, white and blue to infinity, and inside it was pretty much just grey. John could see how too much of that would make a person totally bat-shit insane.
It was ironic that just when he’d reached a place in his life where he wanted to quit fucking around and concentrate on being a good soldier, he was permanently distracted by everyone else fucking around instead.
It was even more ironic that suddenly he was completely obsessed with how it was almost impossible to tell what anyone really looked like in all those layers of outer-wear, because they all spent so much time bundled up in their outdoor gear. It was like he was on edge all the time, and he couldn’t stop imagining what was hidden underneath all that padding and fleece. And thinking about the hidden bodies, naked under their unflattering all-weather gear made everyone seem like forbidden fruit. Like the possibility of sex was everywhere, hidden beneath the surface.
And sex thoughts inevitably let to the idea that any sex act would entail a certain amount of delayed gratification. Fumbling through layers of clothing, struggling with fastenings and zippers to get just naked enough to do it. Which turned out to be a kink John had never even realised he had.
Three months in and John knew something was going to blow. Or more precisely he knew that someone was going to have to blow…him.
But he’d managed to brush off every advance that had come his way over the last weeks. At first he had been diffident and just pretended not to notice if someone made a pass at him. But with such a closed society the choices were limited and he was fresh blood to them. So the women who propositioned him were relentless.
In the end he had to pretend anger, or as a last resort, run away, It was uncomfortably close to how he‘d dealt with things when he was seventeen, but it finally seemed to have worked. He figured by now, that everyone knew about the black mark on his record, and the women on the base likely had him pegged as some kind of weirdo loner skirting the edges of PTSD. Or an asshole.
Either way it looked like he was never getting a date again. Which made John super-annoyed at himself for having that stupid being more honest and not fucking around so much idea to begin with.
John probably had a kind of maniacal glint in his eye, and judging by the way the scientists scrambled out at the end of every flight he probably wasn‘t doing much of a job at hiding it. His desperation must really really be showing.
One particular Tuesday John’s only passenger was the jack-ass, which was just his luck. Everyone hated flying him, but it was so much worse when there were no other passengers on board to deflect his focus from the pilot. The man never stopped complaining from the moment he climbed in until the moment he got off. And pretty often after he got off at the research site he would still be complaining and moaning, especially if there was any cargo to unload.
He was wearing a particularly pissy expression as he climbed into the chopper.
His first words to John were, “I’ll thank you not to make the lab monkeys cry, Han Solo, I’m the only one allowed to do that.“
He folded his arms across his chest and his expression added the word asshole! to the end of that sentence.
John ignored him and finished off his pre-flight checks, then waited until the last of the boxes were loaded and the door was shut before turning the switches to on, ready for take-off.
“I mean it’s really not much of an achievement, making a bunch of intellectual lightweights cry like the whiny little babies they actually are. But when it affects the schedule of experimentation, because staff are too busy huddling in corners consoling each other to do their jobs, then it is a problem. And when I have to waste my valuable time passing out Kleenex and asking Mary-Jo and Cindy-Lou to tell me what the problem is, then it becomes a big problem. And when it turns out none of them want to come to work because the mean nasty pilot who flies them won’t go on dates with them or even speak to them and is angry all the time I begin to wonder if I’m the one having some kind of elaborate psychotic break. Because if I wanted to spend my time dealing with that kind of ridiculousness I would have gone directly into a career as a kindergarten teacher, and not wasted my time getting two doctorates!”
Still ignoring him, John cleared his departure with the tower and lifted off. True to form the jack-ass kept right on talking.
“Personally I can’t see what the problem is. You seem such a delightful conversationalist.”
Which was completely untrue because John was pointedly not having a conversation with the jack-ass. But they had cleared the base so John took a moment to turn and glare at his oh so charming passenger.
John could manage a pretty rabid death-glare when he wanted, and the mirrored shades usually made it extra effective, but all he got in return was a smug attitude and a thin-lipped smirk. It was a little disconcerting, not that John would ever say that out loud, but he thought he had garnered a bit of a reputation since he‘d been at McMurdo. Usually borderline PTSD with intimacy issues trumped grumpy annoying geek any day, but apparently not this day.
John turned back to watch where he was going. Hopefully, if nothing else, he’d shut him up.
“I’m Dr McKay, Dr Rodney McKay. I’m sure they told you. You have the privilege of flying the greatest mind of this generation, most likely any generation. Yes, very possibly the smartest man who was ever born, in this galaxy at least.”
John so hated when he was wrong.
In his peripheral vision he could see Dr jack-assMcKay nodding his head eagerly, like he might be getting ready to deliver a full-on lecture about his genius. John wasn’t in the mood, not on that particular day. So he banked sharply to the left then turned to the other man with a savage grin and drawled,
“Sorry, turbulence.”
“Can’t you be more careful?” McKay spluttered. “Are you even qualified to fly this thing?”
John faced forward again. He shouldn’t really be enjoying this, but he couldn’t help it. He could still see McKay from the corner of his eye.
“Well I found this certificate in a Cracker Jack box, does that count?”
McKay faced forward his arms crossed and his pointy chin lifted defiantly, but John was sure a smirk was tugging up one corner of his mouth.
“I suppose that is what passes for wit among the mentally challenged.”
“You tell me, you’re the one having the psychotic breakdown.”
“Ha, yes very amusing. You’re a funny funny man, Captain Chuckles.”
“Major.”
“What? Oh, sorry, Captain Major.”
“Not Captain, it’s Major. Major Chuckles.”
“And people say I’m the one with an inflated sense of self-worth.”
“My rank is Major. Major John Sheppard.”
McKay turned to look at him, and there was an odd kind of searching in his expression. Then he nodded and said, “I know that, of course. I make a point of always knowing who is flying me, Major Sheppard, in case I have to complain formally about levels of competence or safety.”
“That happen often?”
“You’d be surprised just how often. Only two weeks ago I had to remind General O’Neill that while his head is merely a convenient place to wear a baseball cap at a jaunty angle, mine is the resting place for the smartest brain in existence and needs to be kept intact. And while it might be vital in some bizarre alternative universe to know the exact dimensions of the fish he caught behind his cabin that weekend, both his hands would be better occupied in this universe keeping the incredibly expensive, experimental technology flying.”
John couldn’t help the laugh, it kind of burst out of him. Then he snorted and laughed even harder as he saw the looks of sheer disbelief then horror that passed over McKay’s face.
“That is your laugh. Seriously?”
John snorted once more. He knew his laugh was maybe not exactly what people expected.
“Did you break it or something? Because really. That is just.. ”
McKay was smiling when he said it but it was still truer than John had ever wanted to admit. Something was broken, not his laugh exactly but something even harder to mend. John usually tried to avoid startling moments of self-revelation while he was mid-flight, so he drew in on himself. It felt as if the light had drained right out of him, and he said quietly.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes, Dr McKay.”
Then the most amazing thing happened.
McKay was quiet.
He didn’t say a word for the rest of the journey, just sat there looking out at the vast empty white with a soft kind of sad look on his face. As if he understood only too well how easy it was for someone’s laugh to get broken.
When they landed McKay oversaw the unloading of the boxes, but he did it with slightly less viciousness than usual and when he was done he leaned into the cockpit and asked, “What time’s your last flight back here today?”
John checked his schedule.
“Martinez is flying in at seventeen thirty and then I‘m doing the nineteen hundred flight.”
“Is that the last one today?”
“No, Martinez is flying back at twenty one hundred.”
McKay looked thoughtful then nodded.
“Okay, seven o’clock should be fine. We don’t have a tournament or any kind of rankings play tonight, just pick up games for anyone who wants to turn up.”
McKay leaned in further, his eyes intent and alive with curiosity as he asked, “Do you play?”
“Play?”
He was suddenly aware of how tight McKay’s jacket was pulled across his arms, and how his biceps were bunched up as he supported his weight. John’s mouth was inexplicably dry, and he licked his lips to ease it.
“Chess. Do you play… Chess?”
John was a little mesmerised by how blue and searching McKay’s eyes were and it took a moment to make the connection. It was Tuesday. It was the Chess Club. The Tuesday night Chess Club Ferretti had told him about. McKay was asking him if he played Chess. Or maybe he was asking something else entirely. John found himself answering before he had a chance to think about it.
“Try me.”
McKay nodded and then headed towards the entrance, and John found himself riveted as he watched the guy walk away. The feeling, that tense curious feeling low in his belly filled him up until it caught in his throat. John had been watching people since he arrived at McMurdo, wondering what was going on under those layers of fleece and padding. One of the other pilots had pointed McKay out to him some time ago, saying you had to watch out for him because he was a menace. So McKay had been one of the people John watched.
After a while he had come to appreciate that McKay had very broad shoulders, and that he had a surprisingly narrow waist when viewed from the rear. And while scientists weren’t usually the kind of guys you looked at and admired, in an abstract kind of way, like you’d notice the guys that really went for it in the gym, McKay was. John just hadn’t realised how much he had been noticing the way McKay looked, or appreciating the way he was put together, and admiring the truly spectacular way his ass filled out his pants, even allowing for the loose fit and unflattering cut. John had been watching McKay, but until that moment he hadn’t allowed himself to understand why.
John was less focussed than he should have been as he flew back to McMurdo. He didn’t have any passengers, just six large sealed drums of waste, so he cut himself some slack if his mind was less than half on the job of flying.
He was hot and distracted by the time he landed and headed directly to his quarters. All the while turning over the idea in his head that he liked McKay, that he more than liked him. That he had a thing for him. John had a thing for the Jack-ass, the guy every pilot bitched and moaned about. But that was the weird thing about McKay, he was noticeable. Everywhere he went people noticed him, not always in a good way, okay mostly not in a good way but he drew attention, and that drew John.
Back before he’d made up his mind to change his ways and be a good soldier for however much longer they’d keep him, back in the days when he had still been a player, the number one reason that John was attracted to any particular woman was that she’d be someone who got noticed.
Didn’t have to be because she was amazing to look at, or that she was the girl everyone was fantasizing over, or the one that put out for anyone who asked, although those had all been reasons why he’d chased more than a few women over the years. But he was just as interested in the ones the soldiers bitched about; the ball-breakers, the women who were too high maintenance to be worth the trouble, the ones that were said to be a cock-tease.
But in all that time John had never felt that kind of interest in another guy.
Of course he’d done it with other guys. But in his mind it wasn’t even really sex. It was mostly just another bodily function. Sometimes it was stress relief. Or the natural reaction to having lived through something dangerous, having survived. It was pretty awesome for short term pain relief. Getting semi-hard was often the inevitable consequence of a fight, and getting off was always an antidote to the habitual boredom that was part of being a soldier.
So John had lent a buddy a hand, had done more than his fair share of fast and dirty blow-jobs and had received the same in return more times than he could remember. But he had never seriously considered the possibility of actually pursuing a guy for sex. Of being pursued by a guy for sex. Of getting into bed with another guy, of having a relationship with another guy.
By the time he was back in his room John was so worked up his hands were trembling and he had trouble turning the lock on his door. Fear and excitement, horror and fascination were churning in his guts all at once. It was the perfect storm of emotions to get him worked up. He was fumbling with the straps and the zipper on his flight suit, he struggled to get his wrists free so he could yank his arms out and let it slip down his body so he could get at his underwear and shove a hand inside.
John was so hard he was half afraid he would come in his pants, but he managed to get his hand on is dick and set up a furious rhythm. He was sweating and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop it stinging. He licked the salty taste off his lips and took a breath, the rough feel of his hand was nearly painful. There was one brief moment when he remembered that intense blue- eyed gaze fixed on him and then pleasure boiled out of him so suddenly it was shocking. He made a harsh sound as he came and felt his legs go to jelly so he had to lean heavily against the door to hold himself up.
Once he had himself a little more under control John stripped off the rest of his clothes and used some Kleenex to clean up. He took a shaky breath and sat on his bed. His first thought was that this was just the kind of thing he had promised himself he’d given up. And wanting a man instead of a woman, that really made it a hundred times worse. If he got caught it would give them the perfect reason to throw him out. And if he had been looking for a better way to sabotage what was left of his military career he couldn’t think what it could possibly be.
But John knew he should to be honest, with himself at least. Once he’d admitted it anyway. Once denial no longer worked.
He’d never looked for a relationship with a woman. Not since Nancy and the whole fiasco of his short-lived marriage. He’d had some fun times since then, and he had enjoyed them. And a reputation of being the guy on base was always good to have. But he’d know since the marriage ended that he really wasn’t looking for another woman to marry. He had just never considered the idea that might be because what he really wanted was another man. Until now.
John laid back and shut his eyes. All he could think about was McKay looking at him with that smug irritating smirk. He sighed when he realised that it made him wonder how much better McKay’s arrogant mouth would look with John’s cock shoved in it. Apparently he had it bad.
John had slept a little and he felt quite calm as he showered and put on fresh clothes. He decided not to think about the fact he’d shaved or that he’d put on his tightest t-shirt and the black briefs that had always made the girls grab his ass whenever he‘d worn them on a date. He slid back into his flight suit and headed off for his last flight of the shift.
By the time he was back out at the research station waiting for whoever wanted to take that flight back John was feeling pretty cool about everything. He was even beginning to allow the possibility that he had imagined the significance of the whole thing with McKay.
But five minutes later McKay was hurrying across to John’s helicopter and as he opened the door and climbed in the look he gave John scorched through his defences.
“So are you going to play hard tonight, Major Sheppard?”
John didn’t answer, he was busy with his final checks and he realised that several other scientists were climbing into the rear seats. But he felt a little heat rise in his cheeks and he glanced across at McKay and met his direct gaze with a little smirk of his own.
“You have chess tonight, yes?” One of the other scientists asked McKay
“Yes Radek, I finally managed to tempt Major Sheppard to play.” McKay answered the wiry guy with the crazy hair who had sat behind him, but his eyes were fixed on John.
“Is good. Maybe entire lab will have peace if you get l…”
“Yes! Thank you, Zelenka. I’m sure we’ll have a great game. I‘ll win of course, in the end, but I‘m hoping the Major has some clever moves he can try on me.”
John shifted and tried to ignore how it made him feel, that McKay had obviously said something about him. It made him a little nervous, because the tables had been turned on him and he was being pursued. But it was exciting too, that feeling, and John wasn’t sure he‘d ever been aware in such an obvious way before that someone liked him.
Women generally let him do all the running. He’d never really thought about it, but maybe it was a military thing, a macho thing, and they assumed he’d want it that way. Maybe they had been able to tell he wasn’t a long haul kind of guy, so it was better not to be too emotionally invested. Or maybe they just liked the warm secret feeling of knowing someone was interested, that someone had noticed you, that they had plans for how to make you notice them.
John was ready for take off. He glanced across at McKay again and met a look of intense heated interest. He had to swallow hard to make his voice work as he called in to control to report he was leaving on schedule, because suddenly his throat was really dry.
McKay didn‘t say much of anything on the way back, but every time John looked across he caught those blue blue eyes watching. It made John wonder what McKay did at the research station; what all that genius and intensity was like when it was unleashed.
Thankfully the flight was soon over, and John touched McKay’s arm briefly to keep him back while the others were getting out, and he asked, “What time does it start?”
Rodney twisted round and leaned forward, and there was a startling second when John thought he might be about to kiss him. But then all he did was speak softly into John’s ear so they couldn’t be overheard.
“Did you eat yet? We could get something in the commissary first, if you like.”
John nodded, he realised he hadn’t eaten all day and he was surprisingly a little hungry.
“Yeah that works, see you there in thirty?”
Rodney smiled and squeezed John’s leg before he got out of the helicopter and headed off.
John sat there for a moment, feeling incredible heat in his face again.
Rodney had touched him and he hadn’t been prepared for how it would make him feel. Maybe he had thought Rodney was going to lean into him and kiss him earlier, just a soft brush of lips against his own. And he‘d imagined they might part with McKay patting his shoulder or giving his arm a squeeze. He had felt the warmth of Rodney‘s breath exhaled against his skin as he spoke softly into his ear. All of it subtle and unthreatening and a little sweet.
It hadn’t prepared him for the way Rodney’s hand wrapped around his thigh, fingers sliding down the inside of his leg. Or the way he had squeezed tight for a second, Rodney’s hand shocking and intimate as it held John’s inner thigh. A touch that couldn’t be confused with anything else.
John changed into the jeans he’d left in his locker earlier and he took some time trying to do something with his hair, but it was kind of pointless, it did what it did whether he fussed with it or not. By the time he realised he didn’t have any shoes with him it was too late to go back to his room and he ended up wearing the leather thong sandals he kept in his locker for emergencies.
When he got to the Commissary it was still busy and he couldn’t see Rodney so he figured he’d get in line and McKay would come over when he arrived.
John had just reached the servery when someone at a table near the entrance dropped a glass. He turned towards the noise instinctively and noticed someone standing in the door way.
He had his back to the commissary and John caught a glimpse of broad shoulders in a dusty orange t-shirt and a pair of low cut cargo pants, he had enough time to think oh yeah before the guy turned round, it was Rodney.
He caught sight of John waiting in line and headed over. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Rodney looked good. John had noticed him after all, and he understood just how attractive someone that smart was. But tonight Rodney looked altogether different, almost like he could be another person. His hair was probably still a little damp from his shower so it seemed darker, and slicked back a little, and he hadn’t shaved.
John had been wondering exactly what McKay would look like under all his layers, but he’d never imagined he’d look like this. If John had been out in a club or a bar, if he’d seen Rodney looking this way, no matter how deep the closet he’d been living in, he would have understood. A guy who looked like that was trouble. A guy like that would be someone John could ruin his career over. He would have known right away that Rodney Mckay was forbidden fruit and John would have run the other way as fast as he could.
But it was too late now. Rodney had snuck up on him, with his reputation for being a jerk, and his sarcasm that was just plain amusing, and his wide blue eyes, and his amazing brain.
“What looks good?” Rodney was beside him now, totally oblivious to the dark looks he was getting for cutting in, “I have to warn you I‘m deathly allergic to Citrus. I keep asking them not to put Lemon Chicken or Key Lime Pie on the menu, but apparently my untimely demise is an acceptable risk when measured against the discontent of a few pie lovers.”
John stared at the food on offer. To be honest he was never that interested in what he ate. sure he enjoyed a nice turkey sandwich and he’d happily scarf a whole bag of chips or bowl of popcorn, but mostly he wasn’t that bothered. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have to worry all the time that your next meal might kill you. But Rodney had seemed annoyed rather than terrified so John had to wonder if he was exaggerating a little. He shrugged and said, “I think it’s meatloaf, that should be okay”
He had a serving with mashed potato green beans and gravy, then he waited patiently while Rodney quizzed the server about the exact ingredients of the meatloaf before deciding to try it.
John selected a butterscotch dessert and a chocolate brownie. He noticed Rodney took two desserts - chocolate and vanilla - and two chocolate chip cookies.
It was no surprise that Rodney applied himself to his food with a fierce concentration. John pushed his own dinner around on his plate because he wasn’t that hungry, afterall. He realised after a moment that the sounds of Rodney enjoying the hell out of his meatloaf had stopped. He looked across and McKay was watching him.
“You should eat, John. You burn up more calories that you realize in this kind of cold, even with short exposures.”
John nodded and ducked his head. He forced himself to eat a few more mouthfuls but all he really wanted was for dinner to be over and for them to get to where ever it was they were going.
John started on his dessert, and actually it was pretty good, so he let his mind drift while he alternated bites of rich chewy brownie and creamy butterscotch mousse. He had one chuck of brownie left when he realised that Rodney had been watching him again.
He stuffed the last of the brownie into his mouth, looked up with a smirk and said, “Ready for me to kick your ass at chess, McKay?”
McKay smirked right back at him and said, “In you dreams, Sheppard.”
The Tuesday night Chess club was not what John had been imagining.
It sounded like something out of a spy novel, or a Bond movie; even Austin Powers. But it was just a bunch of tables set out in one corner of the small auditorium. Someone had set up a coffee pot and cups and plates of cookies and brownies with a pile of napkins, near the entrance and McKay paused to pour himself a coffee and grab a plate with some cookies on it before he headed towards one of the empty tables. John poured half a cup for himself and joined Rodney.
The chess set was quite an expensive looking one. John touched the black knight which was cool and looked heavy; the pieces were made out of something like onyx,
McKay said, “You can be white.”
John shook his head, “I’m always black.”
They sat down and Rodney smiled like a shark savouring the fine taste of blood in the water. He moved his pawn.
John moved his pawn too.
Rodney moved his knight, but he wasn’t really paying attention.
John moved his knight.
Rodney shoved his bishop up the board with a flourish; it was an aggressive move.
John smiled and moved a second pawn.
A frown briefly settled on McKay’s brow and he peered closely at the board then he moved a second pawn of his own.
John smirked again and took Rodney’s first pawn.
Rodney smirk was even bigger and took John’s pawn with his knight.
John employed his best poker face and took Rodney’s knight.
Mckay rubbed his thumb over and over on the top of his pawn. He looked at John and the heat in his expression was enough to make John drop his eyes, he took John‘s knight with a smug grin.
John raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips a little and moved another pawn.
Rodney’s bishop moved forward another couple of squares.
John let his fingers slide along the edge of the board as if he was unsure what piece to move next, then suddenly he moved his queen across to check Rodney.
McKay glared at John then at the board; he didn’t like what he was seeing. He put his other knight into play to protect the king.
John took a long slow drink of his coffee, licked his lips savouring the dark rich taste then moved his queen back to command the centre of the board.
Rodney stared at his king, at John’s queen, at John. He bit his lip, and frowned. He fiddled with his king and with his castle, jiggling first one then the other against the board. He seemed to be realizing at last that this wasn’t going to be an easy victory. John looked down at the board, giving Rodney a little time to make his next move. Idly he ran the edge of his nail up and down the sinuous curve of the bishop piece.
With a little sigh Rodney castled.
John looked up, their eyes met and it was like a blaze of cold fire, as if Rodney saw John, really saw who he was for the first time. It was all John could do to swallow down the feelings of fear and excitement at the idea of Rodney looking at him with such knowing intent, to make his next move with calm precision. But John had always known what Rodney appeared to only just have realised, that Chess was war. It wasn’t always about elegant moves and pure forms, it was about winning at any cost, and that was what the Air Force had spent many years training John to do. He put another pawn into play.
Rodney moved his bishop back defensively, but there was a little spark of amusement in his expression.
John sat back in his seat. He crossed his legs and wriggled his toes a little as if he was allowing himself a moment of negligent relaxation; he enjoyed the feeling of Rodney’s eyes on him, of being watched. He leaned forward and moved his second knight into play.
Rodney’s second bishop moved up.
John looked at the pieces on the board he knew where he was moving next but he liked the idea of teasing Rodney a little, so he frowned and tapped a finger against his lips, like he was slightly perplexed before he curled his fingers around his bishop and moved it forward.
Rodney took a breath, took a sip of his coffee then grabbed a cookie. John knew he should be appalled at the way McKay stuffed the whole thing into his mouth in one go, accompanied by a look of such undisguised glee that it actually fit in there. But that was part of the strange attraction of Rodney McKay, at least for John; that he was so many things. He undoubtedly had some unattractive qualities and quite honestly the worst table manners that John had ever seen, outside a hyena documentary on The Discovery Channel.
John was honest enough with himself to know that he could occasionally be a little prissy when it came to table manners. It wasn’t a trait he was especially proud of because he knew it came straight from his father, and the Patrick Sheppard Book of Things we don’t do at the Dinner Table.
But when he had watched Rodney eating his meal like maybe it was the last food left on the planet and if he didn’t clear his plate in five seconds flat it would be snatched away by hungry hordes, he hadn’t heard his father‘s voice in his head saying “Don’t gobble your food like a savage, boy. We don’t do that at this dinner table.“ Instead he had wondered if Rodney was that greedy with everything that went into his mouth, and it had make him break out into a light sweat.
And now, instead of thinking, Uuugh… crumbs… wait until you swallow before talking! he was wondering just how much Rodney could fit in his mouth, and whether he had a gag reflex and how it would be pretty awesome if he didn‘t.
Rodney moved another pawn, and sat back, he began fiddling with the neck of his t-shirt and John caught a glimpse of chest hair. Then Rodney ran a hand up and down his arm like he was cold, and John noticed the hair there was golden and very fine, not like the darker looking curls that he seemed to have on his chest. He wondered how Rodney felt about body hair. John was sometimes a little self-conscious of how hairy he was, and couple of girlfriends really hadn’t liked it.
John realised he’d been rubbing his hand up and down his own arm mirroring Rodney’s actions. He made his next move quickly, bishop attacking. Then he reached towards the plate of cookies.
McKay made a small move, his queen forward one space, and he reached for a cookie as well. Their fingers met by the plate; just a brief brush of skin but it seemed to electrify Rodney because he snatched his hand away with a start. John left his hand where it was and used his left hand to move his bishop forward again.
Rodney shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, then moved his bishop forward as well.
John moved his queen one square; he knew just how this would play out now. He was tempted to make an error to let the game go on longer because he was enjoying what they were doing. A slow dance, a tease, right out in the open in front of everyone. Except all they were doing was playing chess, so no one was taking any notice at all.
Rodney pulled his knight back down the board, sat back with his arms folded and raised an eyebrow.
John’s queen moved diagonally. Threatening.
Rodney jumped his knight forward again.
John did the same with his knight.
Rodney moved his castle to the left making a little space for his king, but it was futile really.
John took Rodney’s pawn.
Rodney moved his king one space left; John moved his queen down and said, “Check.” When he spoke his voice was a little rusty.
Rodney stood up in a rush. He stared down at the board for a long moment then walked round to John and said, “Let’s play a different game.”
Rodney trailed one finger up across the back of John’s shoulder as he walked by letting the slightly rough edge of his nail drag across the bare skin of his neck under the edge of John’s t-shirt. John got up silently and followed Rodney out.
The end
**
Poll
Author: scarlettandblue
Team: Play
Prompt: forbidden fruit
Pairing(s): McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Warnings: Sort of pre slash, mention of Shep + Female persons in general terms.
Notes: It is a pre-Canon AU. I’ll admit to zero chess knowledge or skills.
But I was intensely inspired by the very sexy chess scene from The Thomas Crown Affair, and thank goodness for Google who found me a fab chess site that had the chess game that scene was based laid out step by step, and the dialogue, such as it is I pretty much stole as well. Thank you to Sarah for the emergency beta.
Summary: "It was every bit as awful as he imagined it would be, talking about stuff, feelings. And yet now he’d said what he needed to, strangely he did feel better. Maybe that was the good part of this new thing he was trying. The more honest with himself thing."
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**
When it first happened John thought the posting to Antarctica was going to be the last one of his career. He figured once he did his time there he’d be offered a discharge, and provided he didn’t screw up too fast he’d have twenty years on the clock by then and it would be time to go.
On another level, John had come to feel like maybe it was a chance too, to try and be a different guy. That the isolation might be good for his soul, or some other fucked-up reason. Like maybe he deserved it, like a penance. After all, everyone had the pay the price eventually, even John Sheppard the guy who had made a career out of making sure nothing ever stuck,
He knew he had coasted through using his looks and charm and his laid-back attitude as much as his abilities. He probably still would have made his rank if he had been a mediocre pilot And even the COs, who actually understood that he was the real deal in the air, still somehow treated him like he didn’t have anything especially useful to offer on the ground. So that when it really mattered, like that last time, when he had suggested flying in solo to try and rescue the crew from the downed chopper instead of waiting for Intel from aerial reconnaissance, he had been turned down.
The vicious argument he had with his CO right out in the open, in the middle of the ops room, was likely the main reason he was in deep trouble after he got back from the partially successful rescue he’d flown, despite his orders.
In some ways John was surprised they didn‘t give him a court martial and a dishonourable discharge, maybe even some hard time in Leavenworth. But the fact he managed to bring the co-pilot and two marines back alive might have been the reason.
His CO made it clear he wanted John off his base and out of his command the moment he’d stepped into his office. He didn’t even bother to close the door as he read out the words of the reprimand he was placing on John’s record. It was abundantly clear to all the people who were pretending not to listen in, just like it would be to anyone reading his file in the future, that John had only escaped a court martial because of political interference.
No CO was ever going to consider him for promotion. No one was basically ever going to trust him again. Wherever he got posted next they’d take one look at that reprimand then try to figure out how to move him on to some other command as quickly as possible.
After standing there listening to his military career being flushed down the toilet John was surprised not to be told he was being transferred to Special Ops or some extra hazardous duty that he was unlikely to survive. He suspected there were some things on his file that his CO hadn’t read out, pigeon-holing him as some kind of fucked up psycho or adrenaline junkie, and it would make sense for them to give him the chance to make use of whatever tendencies they had assigned to his actions.
Instead he was offered a choice, although from the sour look on his COs face a choice was clearly the last thing he thought John deserved. But it seemed he could either take a desk job as liaison for some General at Homeland Security, or he could be a glorified gofer at McMurdo Airbase ferrying personnel and supplies between the base and a multi-national scientific research facility in Antarctica.
It didn’t take much thinking about. John chose the option that still gave him wing time.
And just like that he had his gear packed up and he was in transit.
John should have been used to Military transport by now, the noise and the sheer discomfort was always gruelling. But with the memory of his COs words still making him feel kind of hollowed out, and the knowledge of that huge black mark forever hanging over him, this particular journey felt like medieval punishment and John was reeling in a kind of shocked state as he travelled south.
Then before he knew it he found himself standing in the middle of the CDC in Christchurch staring forlornly at the thick fleece sweaters and having no clue what he was doing. Fortunately one of the women working there took pity on him and asked to see his transfer papers to help him with his kit. She suggested some extra gear he might buy for himself as well, to make his off-duty time a little more comfortable.
Finally she directed him to the stores with a list of essential he needed to buy. Stuff like sun-block and super strength lip balm and chocolate, plus a couple of books to read as well as lots of condoms and some special kind of lube that didn’t freeze in the cold or something. John didn’t really pay that much attention to the technical details because he was too busy blushing bright red and backing away saying, “Uh… No, don’t think I’ll be…Yeah, thanks.”
It wasn’t that John didn’t like fucking as much as the next guy, because he did, probably more than the next guy if he was honest. And it wasn’t like he didn’t get plenty of action, because actually that was one the one area of his military career that he never had a problem with. He wondered briefly if he should have mentioned that when he was getting reamed by his CO, that he definitely was a Hot Shot when it came to fucking.
Like most guys he might well enjoy chasing tail, could almost have been said to have made something of a secondary career out of it, but that didn‘t mean he wanted to be the kind of guy who received unsolicited advice on his sex life from random grandmotherly types.
Plus when he thought about the uncomfortable truth he’d recently been forced to listen to regarding how much of a screw up he was, both as a soldier and as a man, maybe his CO had known about his status as The Player on base after all.
John wandered down to the stores and handed his list over to the guy. He told him not to bother with the condoms and the lube, then went to stand in front of a rack of books trying to figure out which ones were going to get him through this.
He picked up War and Peace, but put it back because it just didn’t feel quite right. In the end he settled on a couple of books he’d read years earlier, figuring it might be interesting to read them again, now he was older. He grabbed two books of black belt Sudoku puzzles and a biography of Johnny Cash that he’d missed when it first came out. The guy at the checkout already had the rest of his stuff boxed up so he just dropped the books in the top of the box and paid.
It wasn’t until he was finally in his incredibly depressing little room unpacking his care package that he realised the guy at the store had taken no notice of what he said and had sold him the lube and the condoms anyway. John was pissed because he’d made some decisions about what his life was going to be like on that final leg of the journey from New Zealand to McMurdo.
He’d made up his mind this was a chance for some real changes in his life, and maybe they were overdue. And the most important one was no more fucking around like he was the base bike. So he shut the lid of the box on all that stuff he wasn’t going to need any more and shoved it under his bed.
The next morning he met with General Fraser to go over his duties. The man had obviously read John’s file and he looked like whatever he’d seen had disagreed with him, but he kept it almost civil while he told John what he expected from him then handed him off to his XO. The XO was a Major Ferretti, and the guy was clearly on top of everything that went down on the base.
He was friendly enough so John guessed Ferretti hadn’t managed to read his personnel file yet. He had no illusions that he wouldn’t get to see it sooner rather than later because on a base like this, the XO was the one who really ran things. But John was still in that golden window at the moment so he got the low down on the really important stuff: who ran the poker game, who could get you booze or wake up pills or porn, and the best places to go for sex.
Ferretti was extra informative about that last part, because apparently there wasn’t anything else to do around the place. Also, because it was an international community of scientists and technical specialists, that apparently equated to a whole bunch of sex-crazed European women who didn’t shave, like anywhere but did apparently know more dirty sex tricks than a brothel full of Amsterdam whores.
John tried to shut the sex talk down, because he’d made up his mind. He‘d admitted to himself that he was kind of a jerk, when it came to women and he was trying really had to be a different person. Ferretti was in the middle of a run down of the social scene when John shook his head and said, “No, man it’s fine, I don’t.”
Ferretti looked a little startled.
John hurried on, “I mean I did, obviously. I have, you know, in the past… A lot. But..uhh… I’m not really…. Once you see my file maybe you’ll get why it’s … So I want to try not dating the women so much… I know it’s not stuff you talk about, but I just want to do the best job I can… and I don’t know… Be more honest?”
It was every bit as awful as he imagined it would be, talking about stuff, feelings. And yet now he’d said what he needed to, strangely he did feel better. Maybe that was the good part of this new thing he was trying. The more honest with himself thing.
But maybe he’d confused the guy because Ferretti stopped and gave John a really weird look. Then he smirked and started to tell him how the international scientist guys were all British and German and Canadian, and maybe a couple were Dutch as well, and everyone knew that those guys were up for anything and totally not required to follow the uniform code. John had the urge to ask Ferretti why he had such an obsession with the Netherlands but he couldn’t make his mouth work.
Instead he listened with a growing sense of shock as Ferretti explained that the Tuesday Night Chess Club and the Thursday Night Sci-Fi Marathon were the places to go to find a date. And the internet café in the main science building was gossip central and the bathroom near the small auditorium was the place to go if you were looking for something a little more casual, because no one asked and no one had to tell what went on there.
And John wanted to say, “Hey! You got that completely wrong, buddy.”
But his mouth still wasn’t working right and he didn’t know why.
He might have made this deal in his head, that this was going to be the time when he got a little more honest with himself and with everyone else, but he hadn’t meant that. No way had he ever meant that.
Ferretti didn’t seem to be bothered that he had just given John the low-down on where he could cruise for just about any kind of sex there was. Instead he slapped John on the shoulder and started telling him about the flight schedule out to the Research site.
*********
It took a few weeks for John to really begin to get a feel for the place and settle in. There were days when he might have to do five or six runs out to the research station, taking boxes of supplies, half-awake scientists and odd-shaped packages out, bringing excitable lab techs and sealed crates back. There were other days when he only made one run out and back.
One weekend there was a huge fuss because some General was coming in with the flight of an experimental aircraft. John had been eager to see the new bird and was sorely disappointed when Ferretti called him into the office and gave him a written Psych-Eval to complete; apparently Fraser had noticed it was missing from his file. John had to complete it in an hour. He was all set up in one of the smaller offices with a corporal whose job it was to see John completed the whole thing in the allotted time and by the time he got out of there all the fuss was over. The General had flown out to the research site and the experimental fighter had refuelled and taken off again.
Thing was, John kept waiting for the other shoe to drop; For Ferretti to either call him out on what he thought John had been saying, or maybe actually make a pass at him. And while John wouldn’t have been happy with either of those options, at least he would have been off the hook. But Ferretti never made a move and he never said anything that sounded off, and neither did anyone else. In the end John had to let it go. It hadn’t been what he meant anyway, and he had to figure that Ferretti was just a broadminded kind of guy who liked to cover all the bases, information-wise.
As he settled in he began to understand why the condoms and the lube were considered essentials though. And why Ferretti had been so thorough in his base orientation. The place seriously was hook-up central.
Maybe everyone was just slowly losing their minds, because it was hard not to be a little on edge all the time. It could be such a hostile environment and you had to think about safety even if all you wanted to do was slip outside for some fresh air or a smoke. And the goddamned cold was enough to get to anyone. So the thought of being pressed against another body soaking up all that extra heat was just totally fucking overwhelming.
Or maybe it was a kind of sensory deprivation that had everyone freaking out, because outside it was unrelenting, dazzling, white and blue to infinity, and inside it was pretty much just grey. John could see how too much of that would make a person totally bat-shit insane.
It was ironic that just when he’d reached a place in his life where he wanted to quit fucking around and concentrate on being a good soldier, he was permanently distracted by everyone else fucking around instead.
It was even more ironic that suddenly he was completely obsessed with how it was almost impossible to tell what anyone really looked like in all those layers of outer-wear, because they all spent so much time bundled up in their outdoor gear. It was like he was on edge all the time, and he couldn’t stop imagining what was hidden underneath all that padding and fleece. And thinking about the hidden bodies, naked under their unflattering all-weather gear made everyone seem like forbidden fruit. Like the possibility of sex was everywhere, hidden beneath the surface.
And sex thoughts inevitably let to the idea that any sex act would entail a certain amount of delayed gratification. Fumbling through layers of clothing, struggling with fastenings and zippers to get just naked enough to do it. Which turned out to be a kink John had never even realised he had.
Three months in and John knew something was going to blow. Or more precisely he knew that someone was going to have to blow…him.
But he’d managed to brush off every advance that had come his way over the last weeks. At first he had been diffident and just pretended not to notice if someone made a pass at him. But with such a closed society the choices were limited and he was fresh blood to them. So the women who propositioned him were relentless.
In the end he had to pretend anger, or as a last resort, run away, It was uncomfortably close to how he‘d dealt with things when he was seventeen, but it finally seemed to have worked. He figured by now, that everyone knew about the black mark on his record, and the women on the base likely had him pegged as some kind of weirdo loner skirting the edges of PTSD. Or an asshole.
Either way it looked like he was never getting a date again. Which made John super-annoyed at himself for having that stupid being more honest and not fucking around so much idea to begin with.
John probably had a kind of maniacal glint in his eye, and judging by the way the scientists scrambled out at the end of every flight he probably wasn‘t doing much of a job at hiding it. His desperation must really really be showing.
One particular Tuesday John’s only passenger was the jack-ass, which was just his luck. Everyone hated flying him, but it was so much worse when there were no other passengers on board to deflect his focus from the pilot. The man never stopped complaining from the moment he climbed in until the moment he got off. And pretty often after he got off at the research site he would still be complaining and moaning, especially if there was any cargo to unload.
He was wearing a particularly pissy expression as he climbed into the chopper.
His first words to John were, “I’ll thank you not to make the lab monkeys cry, Han Solo, I’m the only one allowed to do that.“
He folded his arms across his chest and his expression added the word asshole! to the end of that sentence.
John ignored him and finished off his pre-flight checks, then waited until the last of the boxes were loaded and the door was shut before turning the switches to on, ready for take-off.
“I mean it’s really not much of an achievement, making a bunch of intellectual lightweights cry like the whiny little babies they actually are. But when it affects the schedule of experimentation, because staff are too busy huddling in corners consoling each other to do their jobs, then it is a problem. And when I have to waste my valuable time passing out Kleenex and asking Mary-Jo and Cindy-Lou to tell me what the problem is, then it becomes a big problem. And when it turns out none of them want to come to work because the mean nasty pilot who flies them won’t go on dates with them or even speak to them and is angry all the time I begin to wonder if I’m the one having some kind of elaborate psychotic break. Because if I wanted to spend my time dealing with that kind of ridiculousness I would have gone directly into a career as a kindergarten teacher, and not wasted my time getting two doctorates!”
Still ignoring him, John cleared his departure with the tower and lifted off. True to form the jack-ass kept right on talking.
“Personally I can’t see what the problem is. You seem such a delightful conversationalist.”
Which was completely untrue because John was pointedly not having a conversation with the jack-ass. But they had cleared the base so John took a moment to turn and glare at his oh so charming passenger.
John could manage a pretty rabid death-glare when he wanted, and the mirrored shades usually made it extra effective, but all he got in return was a smug attitude and a thin-lipped smirk. It was a little disconcerting, not that John would ever say that out loud, but he thought he had garnered a bit of a reputation since he‘d been at McMurdo. Usually borderline PTSD with intimacy issues trumped grumpy annoying geek any day, but apparently not this day.
John turned back to watch where he was going. Hopefully, if nothing else, he’d shut him up.
“I’m Dr McKay, Dr Rodney McKay. I’m sure they told you. You have the privilege of flying the greatest mind of this generation, most likely any generation. Yes, very possibly the smartest man who was ever born, in this galaxy at least.”
John so hated when he was wrong.
In his peripheral vision he could see Dr jack-assMcKay nodding his head eagerly, like he might be getting ready to deliver a full-on lecture about his genius. John wasn’t in the mood, not on that particular day. So he banked sharply to the left then turned to the other man with a savage grin and drawled,
“Sorry, turbulence.”
“Can’t you be more careful?” McKay spluttered. “Are you even qualified to fly this thing?”
John faced forward again. He shouldn’t really be enjoying this, but he couldn’t help it. He could still see McKay from the corner of his eye.
“Well I found this certificate in a Cracker Jack box, does that count?”
McKay faced forward his arms crossed and his pointy chin lifted defiantly, but John was sure a smirk was tugging up one corner of his mouth.
“I suppose that is what passes for wit among the mentally challenged.”
“You tell me, you’re the one having the psychotic breakdown.”
“Ha, yes very amusing. You’re a funny funny man, Captain Chuckles.”
“Major.”
“What? Oh, sorry, Captain Major.”
“Not Captain, it’s Major. Major Chuckles.”
“And people say I’m the one with an inflated sense of self-worth.”
“My rank is Major. Major John Sheppard.”
McKay turned to look at him, and there was an odd kind of searching in his expression. Then he nodded and said, “I know that, of course. I make a point of always knowing who is flying me, Major Sheppard, in case I have to complain formally about levels of competence or safety.”
“That happen often?”
“You’d be surprised just how often. Only two weeks ago I had to remind General O’Neill that while his head is merely a convenient place to wear a baseball cap at a jaunty angle, mine is the resting place for the smartest brain in existence and needs to be kept intact. And while it might be vital in some bizarre alternative universe to know the exact dimensions of the fish he caught behind his cabin that weekend, both his hands would be better occupied in this universe keeping the incredibly expensive, experimental technology flying.”
John couldn’t help the laugh, it kind of burst out of him. Then he snorted and laughed even harder as he saw the looks of sheer disbelief then horror that passed over McKay’s face.
“That is your laugh. Seriously?”
John snorted once more. He knew his laugh was maybe not exactly what people expected.
“Did you break it or something? Because really. That is just.. ”
McKay was smiling when he said it but it was still truer than John had ever wanted to admit. Something was broken, not his laugh exactly but something even harder to mend. John usually tried to avoid startling moments of self-revelation while he was mid-flight, so he drew in on himself. It felt as if the light had drained right out of him, and he said quietly.
“We’ll be there in ten minutes, Dr McKay.”
Then the most amazing thing happened.
McKay was quiet.
He didn’t say a word for the rest of the journey, just sat there looking out at the vast empty white with a soft kind of sad look on his face. As if he understood only too well how easy it was for someone’s laugh to get broken.
When they landed McKay oversaw the unloading of the boxes, but he did it with slightly less viciousness than usual and when he was done he leaned into the cockpit and asked, “What time’s your last flight back here today?”
John checked his schedule.
“Martinez is flying in at seventeen thirty and then I‘m doing the nineteen hundred flight.”
“Is that the last one today?”
“No, Martinez is flying back at twenty one hundred.”
McKay looked thoughtful then nodded.
“Okay, seven o’clock should be fine. We don’t have a tournament or any kind of rankings play tonight, just pick up games for anyone who wants to turn up.”
McKay leaned in further, his eyes intent and alive with curiosity as he asked, “Do you play?”
“Play?”
He was suddenly aware of how tight McKay’s jacket was pulled across his arms, and how his biceps were bunched up as he supported his weight. John’s mouth was inexplicably dry, and he licked his lips to ease it.
“Chess. Do you play… Chess?”
John was a little mesmerised by how blue and searching McKay’s eyes were and it took a moment to make the connection. It was Tuesday. It was the Chess Club. The Tuesday night Chess Club Ferretti had told him about. McKay was asking him if he played Chess. Or maybe he was asking something else entirely. John found himself answering before he had a chance to think about it.
“Try me.”
McKay nodded and then headed towards the entrance, and John found himself riveted as he watched the guy walk away. The feeling, that tense curious feeling low in his belly filled him up until it caught in his throat. John had been watching people since he arrived at McMurdo, wondering what was going on under those layers of fleece and padding. One of the other pilots had pointed McKay out to him some time ago, saying you had to watch out for him because he was a menace. So McKay had been one of the people John watched.
After a while he had come to appreciate that McKay had very broad shoulders, and that he had a surprisingly narrow waist when viewed from the rear. And while scientists weren’t usually the kind of guys you looked at and admired, in an abstract kind of way, like you’d notice the guys that really went for it in the gym, McKay was. John just hadn’t realised how much he had been noticing the way McKay looked, or appreciating the way he was put together, and admiring the truly spectacular way his ass filled out his pants, even allowing for the loose fit and unflattering cut. John had been watching McKay, but until that moment he hadn’t allowed himself to understand why.
John was less focussed than he should have been as he flew back to McMurdo. He didn’t have any passengers, just six large sealed drums of waste, so he cut himself some slack if his mind was less than half on the job of flying.
He was hot and distracted by the time he landed and headed directly to his quarters. All the while turning over the idea in his head that he liked McKay, that he more than liked him. That he had a thing for him. John had a thing for the Jack-ass, the guy every pilot bitched and moaned about. But that was the weird thing about McKay, he was noticeable. Everywhere he went people noticed him, not always in a good way, okay mostly not in a good way but he drew attention, and that drew John.
Back before he’d made up his mind to change his ways and be a good soldier for however much longer they’d keep him, back in the days when he had still been a player, the number one reason that John was attracted to any particular woman was that she’d be someone who got noticed.
Didn’t have to be because she was amazing to look at, or that she was the girl everyone was fantasizing over, or the one that put out for anyone who asked, although those had all been reasons why he’d chased more than a few women over the years. But he was just as interested in the ones the soldiers bitched about; the ball-breakers, the women who were too high maintenance to be worth the trouble, the ones that were said to be a cock-tease.
But in all that time John had never felt that kind of interest in another guy.
Of course he’d done it with other guys. But in his mind it wasn’t even really sex. It was mostly just another bodily function. Sometimes it was stress relief. Or the natural reaction to having lived through something dangerous, having survived. It was pretty awesome for short term pain relief. Getting semi-hard was often the inevitable consequence of a fight, and getting off was always an antidote to the habitual boredom that was part of being a soldier.
So John had lent a buddy a hand, had done more than his fair share of fast and dirty blow-jobs and had received the same in return more times than he could remember. But he had never seriously considered the possibility of actually pursuing a guy for sex. Of being pursued by a guy for sex. Of getting into bed with another guy, of having a relationship with another guy.
By the time he was back in his room John was so worked up his hands were trembling and he had trouble turning the lock on his door. Fear and excitement, horror and fascination were churning in his guts all at once. It was the perfect storm of emotions to get him worked up. He was fumbling with the straps and the zipper on his flight suit, he struggled to get his wrists free so he could yank his arms out and let it slip down his body so he could get at his underwear and shove a hand inside.
John was so hard he was half afraid he would come in his pants, but he managed to get his hand on is dick and set up a furious rhythm. He was sweating and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to stop it stinging. He licked the salty taste off his lips and took a breath, the rough feel of his hand was nearly painful. There was one brief moment when he remembered that intense blue- eyed gaze fixed on him and then pleasure boiled out of him so suddenly it was shocking. He made a harsh sound as he came and felt his legs go to jelly so he had to lean heavily against the door to hold himself up.
Once he had himself a little more under control John stripped off the rest of his clothes and used some Kleenex to clean up. He took a shaky breath and sat on his bed. His first thought was that this was just the kind of thing he had promised himself he’d given up. And wanting a man instead of a woman, that really made it a hundred times worse. If he got caught it would give them the perfect reason to throw him out. And if he had been looking for a better way to sabotage what was left of his military career he couldn’t think what it could possibly be.
But John knew he should to be honest, with himself at least. Once he’d admitted it anyway. Once denial no longer worked.
He’d never looked for a relationship with a woman. Not since Nancy and the whole fiasco of his short-lived marriage. He’d had some fun times since then, and he had enjoyed them. And a reputation of being the guy on base was always good to have. But he’d know since the marriage ended that he really wasn’t looking for another woman to marry. He had just never considered the idea that might be because what he really wanted was another man. Until now.
John laid back and shut his eyes. All he could think about was McKay looking at him with that smug irritating smirk. He sighed when he realised that it made him wonder how much better McKay’s arrogant mouth would look with John’s cock shoved in it. Apparently he had it bad.
John had slept a little and he felt quite calm as he showered and put on fresh clothes. He decided not to think about the fact he’d shaved or that he’d put on his tightest t-shirt and the black briefs that had always made the girls grab his ass whenever he‘d worn them on a date. He slid back into his flight suit and headed off for his last flight of the shift.
By the time he was back out at the research station waiting for whoever wanted to take that flight back John was feeling pretty cool about everything. He was even beginning to allow the possibility that he had imagined the significance of the whole thing with McKay.
But five minutes later McKay was hurrying across to John’s helicopter and as he opened the door and climbed in the look he gave John scorched through his defences.
“So are you going to play hard tonight, Major Sheppard?”
John didn’t answer, he was busy with his final checks and he realised that several other scientists were climbing into the rear seats. But he felt a little heat rise in his cheeks and he glanced across at McKay and met his direct gaze with a little smirk of his own.
“You have chess tonight, yes?” One of the other scientists asked McKay
“Yes Radek, I finally managed to tempt Major Sheppard to play.” McKay answered the wiry guy with the crazy hair who had sat behind him, but his eyes were fixed on John.
“Is good. Maybe entire lab will have peace if you get l…”
“Yes! Thank you, Zelenka. I’m sure we’ll have a great game. I‘ll win of course, in the end, but I‘m hoping the Major has some clever moves he can try on me.”
John shifted and tried to ignore how it made him feel, that McKay had obviously said something about him. It made him a little nervous, because the tables had been turned on him and he was being pursued. But it was exciting too, that feeling, and John wasn’t sure he‘d ever been aware in such an obvious way before that someone liked him.
Women generally let him do all the running. He’d never really thought about it, but maybe it was a military thing, a macho thing, and they assumed he’d want it that way. Maybe they had been able to tell he wasn’t a long haul kind of guy, so it was better not to be too emotionally invested. Or maybe they just liked the warm secret feeling of knowing someone was interested, that someone had noticed you, that they had plans for how to make you notice them.
John was ready for take off. He glanced across at McKay again and met a look of intense heated interest. He had to swallow hard to make his voice work as he called in to control to report he was leaving on schedule, because suddenly his throat was really dry.
McKay didn‘t say much of anything on the way back, but every time John looked across he caught those blue blue eyes watching. It made John wonder what McKay did at the research station; what all that genius and intensity was like when it was unleashed.
Thankfully the flight was soon over, and John touched McKay’s arm briefly to keep him back while the others were getting out, and he asked, “What time does it start?”
Rodney twisted round and leaned forward, and there was a startling second when John thought he might be about to kiss him. But then all he did was speak softly into John’s ear so they couldn’t be overheard.
“Did you eat yet? We could get something in the commissary first, if you like.”
John nodded, he realised he hadn’t eaten all day and he was surprisingly a little hungry.
“Yeah that works, see you there in thirty?”
Rodney smiled and squeezed John’s leg before he got out of the helicopter and headed off.
John sat there for a moment, feeling incredible heat in his face again.
Rodney had touched him and he hadn’t been prepared for how it would make him feel. Maybe he had thought Rodney was going to lean into him and kiss him earlier, just a soft brush of lips against his own. And he‘d imagined they might part with McKay patting his shoulder or giving his arm a squeeze. He had felt the warmth of Rodney‘s breath exhaled against his skin as he spoke softly into his ear. All of it subtle and unthreatening and a little sweet.
It hadn’t prepared him for the way Rodney’s hand wrapped around his thigh, fingers sliding down the inside of his leg. Or the way he had squeezed tight for a second, Rodney’s hand shocking and intimate as it held John’s inner thigh. A touch that couldn’t be confused with anything else.
John changed into the jeans he’d left in his locker earlier and he took some time trying to do something with his hair, but it was kind of pointless, it did what it did whether he fussed with it or not. By the time he realised he didn’t have any shoes with him it was too late to go back to his room and he ended up wearing the leather thong sandals he kept in his locker for emergencies.
When he got to the Commissary it was still busy and he couldn’t see Rodney so he figured he’d get in line and McKay would come over when he arrived.
John had just reached the servery when someone at a table near the entrance dropped a glass. He turned towards the noise instinctively and noticed someone standing in the door way.
He had his back to the commissary and John caught a glimpse of broad shoulders in a dusty orange t-shirt and a pair of low cut cargo pants, he had enough time to think oh yeah before the guy turned round, it was Rodney.
He caught sight of John waiting in line and headed over. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Rodney looked good. John had noticed him after all, and he understood just how attractive someone that smart was. But tonight Rodney looked altogether different, almost like he could be another person. His hair was probably still a little damp from his shower so it seemed darker, and slicked back a little, and he hadn’t shaved.
John had been wondering exactly what McKay would look like under all his layers, but he’d never imagined he’d look like this. If John had been out in a club or a bar, if he’d seen Rodney looking this way, no matter how deep the closet he’d been living in, he would have understood. A guy who looked like that was trouble. A guy like that would be someone John could ruin his career over. He would have known right away that Rodney Mckay was forbidden fruit and John would have run the other way as fast as he could.
But it was too late now. Rodney had snuck up on him, with his reputation for being a jerk, and his sarcasm that was just plain amusing, and his wide blue eyes, and his amazing brain.
“What looks good?” Rodney was beside him now, totally oblivious to the dark looks he was getting for cutting in, “I have to warn you I‘m deathly allergic to Citrus. I keep asking them not to put Lemon Chicken or Key Lime Pie on the menu, but apparently my untimely demise is an acceptable risk when measured against the discontent of a few pie lovers.”
John stared at the food on offer. To be honest he was never that interested in what he ate. sure he enjoyed a nice turkey sandwich and he’d happily scarf a whole bag of chips or bowl of popcorn, but mostly he wasn’t that bothered. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to have to worry all the time that your next meal might kill you. But Rodney had seemed annoyed rather than terrified so John had to wonder if he was exaggerating a little. He shrugged and said, “I think it’s meatloaf, that should be okay”
He had a serving with mashed potato green beans and gravy, then he waited patiently while Rodney quizzed the server about the exact ingredients of the meatloaf before deciding to try it.
John selected a butterscotch dessert and a chocolate brownie. He noticed Rodney took two desserts - chocolate and vanilla - and two chocolate chip cookies.
It was no surprise that Rodney applied himself to his food with a fierce concentration. John pushed his own dinner around on his plate because he wasn’t that hungry, afterall. He realised after a moment that the sounds of Rodney enjoying the hell out of his meatloaf had stopped. He looked across and McKay was watching him.
“You should eat, John. You burn up more calories that you realize in this kind of cold, even with short exposures.”
John nodded and ducked his head. He forced himself to eat a few more mouthfuls but all he really wanted was for dinner to be over and for them to get to where ever it was they were going.
John started on his dessert, and actually it was pretty good, so he let his mind drift while he alternated bites of rich chewy brownie and creamy butterscotch mousse. He had one chuck of brownie left when he realised that Rodney had been watching him again.
He stuffed the last of the brownie into his mouth, looked up with a smirk and said, “Ready for me to kick your ass at chess, McKay?”
McKay smirked right back at him and said, “In you dreams, Sheppard.”
The Tuesday night Chess club was not what John had been imagining.
It sounded like something out of a spy novel, or a Bond movie; even Austin Powers. But it was just a bunch of tables set out in one corner of the small auditorium. Someone had set up a coffee pot and cups and plates of cookies and brownies with a pile of napkins, near the entrance and McKay paused to pour himself a coffee and grab a plate with some cookies on it before he headed towards one of the empty tables. John poured half a cup for himself and joined Rodney.
The chess set was quite an expensive looking one. John touched the black knight which was cool and looked heavy; the pieces were made out of something like onyx,
McKay said, “You can be white.”
John shook his head, “I’m always black.”
They sat down and Rodney smiled like a shark savouring the fine taste of blood in the water. He moved his pawn.
John moved his pawn too.
Rodney moved his knight, but he wasn’t really paying attention.
John moved his knight.
Rodney shoved his bishop up the board with a flourish; it was an aggressive move.
John smiled and moved a second pawn.
A frown briefly settled on McKay’s brow and he peered closely at the board then he moved a second pawn of his own.
John smirked again and took Rodney’s first pawn.
Rodney smirk was even bigger and took John’s pawn with his knight.
John employed his best poker face and took Rodney’s knight.
Mckay rubbed his thumb over and over on the top of his pawn. He looked at John and the heat in his expression was enough to make John drop his eyes, he took John‘s knight with a smug grin.
John raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips a little and moved another pawn.
Rodney’s bishop moved forward another couple of squares.
John let his fingers slide along the edge of the board as if he was unsure what piece to move next, then suddenly he moved his queen across to check Rodney.
McKay glared at John then at the board; he didn’t like what he was seeing. He put his other knight into play to protect the king.
John took a long slow drink of his coffee, licked his lips savouring the dark rich taste then moved his queen back to command the centre of the board.
Rodney stared at his king, at John’s queen, at John. He bit his lip, and frowned. He fiddled with his king and with his castle, jiggling first one then the other against the board. He seemed to be realizing at last that this wasn’t going to be an easy victory. John looked down at the board, giving Rodney a little time to make his next move. Idly he ran the edge of his nail up and down the sinuous curve of the bishop piece.
With a little sigh Rodney castled.
John looked up, their eyes met and it was like a blaze of cold fire, as if Rodney saw John, really saw who he was for the first time. It was all John could do to swallow down the feelings of fear and excitement at the idea of Rodney looking at him with such knowing intent, to make his next move with calm precision. But John had always known what Rodney appeared to only just have realised, that Chess was war. It wasn’t always about elegant moves and pure forms, it was about winning at any cost, and that was what the Air Force had spent many years training John to do. He put another pawn into play.
Rodney moved his bishop back defensively, but there was a little spark of amusement in his expression.
John sat back in his seat. He crossed his legs and wriggled his toes a little as if he was allowing himself a moment of negligent relaxation; he enjoyed the feeling of Rodney’s eyes on him, of being watched. He leaned forward and moved his second knight into play.
Rodney’s second bishop moved up.
John looked at the pieces on the board he knew where he was moving next but he liked the idea of teasing Rodney a little, so he frowned and tapped a finger against his lips, like he was slightly perplexed before he curled his fingers around his bishop and moved it forward.
Rodney took a breath, took a sip of his coffee then grabbed a cookie. John knew he should be appalled at the way McKay stuffed the whole thing into his mouth in one go, accompanied by a look of such undisguised glee that it actually fit in there. But that was part of the strange attraction of Rodney McKay, at least for John; that he was so many things. He undoubtedly had some unattractive qualities and quite honestly the worst table manners that John had ever seen, outside a hyena documentary on The Discovery Channel.
John was honest enough with himself to know that he could occasionally be a little prissy when it came to table manners. It wasn’t a trait he was especially proud of because he knew it came straight from his father, and the Patrick Sheppard Book of Things we don’t do at the Dinner Table.
But when he had watched Rodney eating his meal like maybe it was the last food left on the planet and if he didn’t clear his plate in five seconds flat it would be snatched away by hungry hordes, he hadn’t heard his father‘s voice in his head saying “Don’t gobble your food like a savage, boy. We don’t do that at this dinner table.“ Instead he had wondered if Rodney was that greedy with everything that went into his mouth, and it had make him break out into a light sweat.
And now, instead of thinking, Uuugh… crumbs… wait until you swallow before talking! he was wondering just how much Rodney could fit in his mouth, and whether he had a gag reflex and how it would be pretty awesome if he didn‘t.
Rodney moved another pawn, and sat back, he began fiddling with the neck of his t-shirt and John caught a glimpse of chest hair. Then Rodney ran a hand up and down his arm like he was cold, and John noticed the hair there was golden and very fine, not like the darker looking curls that he seemed to have on his chest. He wondered how Rodney felt about body hair. John was sometimes a little self-conscious of how hairy he was, and couple of girlfriends really hadn’t liked it.
John realised he’d been rubbing his hand up and down his own arm mirroring Rodney’s actions. He made his next move quickly, bishop attacking. Then he reached towards the plate of cookies.
McKay made a small move, his queen forward one space, and he reached for a cookie as well. Their fingers met by the plate; just a brief brush of skin but it seemed to electrify Rodney because he snatched his hand away with a start. John left his hand where it was and used his left hand to move his bishop forward again.
Rodney shifted in his seat a little uncomfortably, then moved his bishop forward as well.
John moved his queen one square; he knew just how this would play out now. He was tempted to make an error to let the game go on longer because he was enjoying what they were doing. A slow dance, a tease, right out in the open in front of everyone. Except all they were doing was playing chess, so no one was taking any notice at all.
Rodney pulled his knight back down the board, sat back with his arms folded and raised an eyebrow.
John’s queen moved diagonally. Threatening.
Rodney jumped his knight forward again.
John did the same with his knight.
Rodney moved his castle to the left making a little space for his king, but it was futile really.
John took Rodney’s pawn.
Rodney moved his king one space left; John moved his queen down and said, “Check.” When he spoke his voice was a little rusty.
Rodney stood up in a rush. He stared down at the board for a long moment then walked round to John and said, “Let’s play a different game.”
Rodney trailed one finger up across the back of John’s shoulder as he walked by letting the slightly rough edge of his nail drag across the bare skin of his neck under the edge of John’s t-shirt. John got up silently and followed Rodney out.
The end
**
Poll