SGA-fic: TLC (Rodney/Carson, R)
garneteve wanted a bit of medical kink. I must admit I find it hard to see anything sexy about hospitals so I interpreted it my own way - with a little bit of crack on the side! Oh, and I don't usually write McKay/Beckett so I hope I haven't messed them up too much.
Unbeta'd, ~1400 words, R
Rodney McKay is the first one to admit that he's a lousy patient. He's spent far too much time around hospitals and stupid voodoo-practictioners not to be. Anyway, who wouldn't be in a bad mood, waking up with a tube up his dick and another one blowing dry oxygen into his nose and two different IV-needles in his arm. To add to the discomfort, he's hurting all over. His bruises have bruises. The deep, pounding ache in his right wrist penetrates the fog of medication. He's in pain and he deserves a little compassion.
"You were lucky, Rodney," Carson tells him in answer to his complaints. "If you had fallen differently, you could have broken your bloody neck instead of your wrist."
"Explain to me how I'm going to get any work done like this and then you can tell me about being lucky," Rodney says and waves the right hand with the cast in the air.
Moving is more tiresome than he thought. He ends up falling asleep. When he wakes up again, the catheter and the nasal cannula is gone. The IV:s are still there though, and they are really annoying, pinching the skin in the crook of his elbow every time he shifts his arm.
"Can't you remove these?" he asks, trying to sound as miserable as possible so Carson will show him some mercy.
Carson gives him a steady look. "That's the morphine drip," he says.
"Oh." Rodney blinks, looking at the IV and then back at Carson. Morphine is good. He likes morphine. "Never mind then. Can I have some more?"
"I think you've had quite enough," Carson says, gently patting his hand. The touch feels nice. It's been a while since Rodney was touched by someone who likes him. He's pretty sure Carson likes him. He can't see any other reason why the man would call himself his friend.
Rodney falls asleep again. The next time he wakes up he's a little less doped up. It's enough to take the edge off the pain, but he can think again. He's not entirely sure if that's a good thing or not. He rather liked that fuzzy floating feeling. His brain works pretty much non stop and it needs a little vacation now and then.
"That was stupid," Sheppard says. He looks pissed. Rodney wonders where Carson went, and when he was replaced by Rodneys team. "Next time, look where you put your feet."
"For the record, I would like to state that I was viciously attacked by that staircase," Rodney defends himself.
"Bullshit. You were so busy looking at your tablet that you missed the step," Sheppard shoots back." Yep, definitely pissed.
"We have all been very concerned," Teyla says, leaning over to put a warm hand on Rodney's arm. He gives her a woozy smile. At least Teyla doesn't seem to be angry with him.
"I wasn't," Ronon rumbles. He's leaning back in his chair, his legs stretched out and his feet with the clunky boots propped up on Rodney's bed. Rodney comes to the conclusion that he likes Teyla, but that he doesn't like Sheppard and Ronon very much right now.
"I'm bored," he says. "I want my laptop."
"You can't have it," Sheppard says. "Doctor's orders."
Rodney really doesn't like Sheppard. Come to think of it, he's not too happy with Carson either. What is he thinking, keeping Rodney from his work? What are they going to do when disaster strikes and Rodney is laid up here, without his computer?
"I am sure we will manage," Teyla says, smiling warmly. Rodney blinks. Did he say that out loud? Apparently he did.
"Get some rest, Rodney," Sheppard drawls. His face has softened a little. Probably more scared than angry then, just like Teyla said.
"They're serving chocolate pudding for dessert in the mess," Ronon says. "Since you won't be there, I can have yours, right?"
Rodney feels too tired to have visitors right now. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep until they have left. Then he finds that his eyelids are too heavy to lift so he decides to sleep for real.
The next few days, Rodney spends bored out of his mind. Carson has changed the IV to pills. The bruises are darkening into black and blue and painful purple. His wrist has apparently begun to heal because it itches, deep down into the bone, an itch that just can't be scratched. The hospital bed is pure torture to his back. At the end of the first week, Rodney has managed to alienate all Carson's nurses so much that they refuse to have anything to do with him.
It's Carson himself who has to change Rodney's bandages and help him to the bathroom and smear salve on his bruises. The doctor does it with suspiciously little complaint.
"You should get one of those little nurse outfits," Rodney ponders. Then he realises that he actually said that out loud and yeah, it seems like he's still pretty drugged up. The hell with it. "I mean, you're a Scot, you people are used to wearing skirts."
Carson gives him a glare in return and rubs his fingers a little too hard over a bruise. Rodney winces and continues, "You have pretty nice legs for a guy. I think it would be hot."
"I'd appreciate if you could keep your fantasies to yourself," Carson says with a deep sigh. Rodney can't see why he should. Carson already knows everything even vaguely embarrassing there is to know about him. One more thing won't make a difference.
"Well, excuse me for being horny," Rodney huffs. "My hand is in a cast, in case you hadn't noticed. I haven't been able to jerk off for a week." He sighs, staring dreamily up at the ceiling. "I really miss jerking off. It itches, and I can't sleep, and nothing makes me fall asleep better than a good orgasm.
Carson finishes his ministrations, pointedly ignoring Rodney. He puts the salve away, carefully avoiding to meet Rodney's eyes.
"A friend would offer to lend a hand, you know," Rodney wheedles.
Carson gives him a long, hard stare, and for a moment Rodney's afraid that he's gone too far. Then Carson stands up, pulls the privacy curtains shut, and turns back to the bed. Rodney swallows. "I... I didn't really mean," he stutters, mouth suddenly terribly dry. "That is, it would be brilliant if you did, but if you don't want to..."
"Hush," Carson says, pulls down the blanket, reaches under Rodney's hospital gown and wraps his fingers around Rodney's dick.
"Oh," Rodney whimpers in a very small voice. Then he doesn't say anything more for a while. It's a funny angle and Carson is clumsy and a little awkward and it's clear that he's not used to doing this for other people, but Rodney really doesn't need a lot of finesse right now. It's been a week since he last got off, and even longer since he had anyone else's hand on his cock.
Carson won't look at him, the tips of his ears are bright red, and Rodney can't help but find it a little endearing that he's so shy about this.
All in all, it has been a while, and it doesn't take long for Rodney to twist his good hand in the sheet and come all over Carson's finger. He sags against the pillows, catching his breath while Carson cleans him up and adjusts the gown.
"Better?" Carson asks, getting rid of the tissue paper.
"Yes. Thanks. I'd reciprocate," Rodney mumbles, waving his hand in Carson's direction. "But I'm a little..." Tired? he thinks. Post-orgasmic? High on endorphins? ... puddly? Wait, is 'puddly' a word?
"Don't worry about that, now," Carson says. "Just concentrate on getting better."
Carson gently pulls the blanket over him and smoothes out the fabric, and Rodney might be drugged and a little stupid with sex, but he thinks he gets it.
"You were worried," he says triumphantly.
"There are people who care about you, Rodney," Carson says softly. "Rest now."
Rodney, closes his eyes, grinning. "You were worried," he repeats, as he falls asleep.
- fin -
Unbeta'd, ~1400 words, R
Rodney McKay is the first one to admit that he's a lousy patient. He's spent far too much time around hospitals and stupid voodoo-practictioners not to be. Anyway, who wouldn't be in a bad mood, waking up with a tube up his dick and another one blowing dry oxygen into his nose and two different IV-needles in his arm. To add to the discomfort, he's hurting all over. His bruises have bruises. The deep, pounding ache in his right wrist penetrates the fog of medication. He's in pain and he deserves a little compassion.
"You were lucky, Rodney," Carson tells him in answer to his complaints. "If you had fallen differently, you could have broken your bloody neck instead of your wrist."
"Explain to me how I'm going to get any work done like this and then you can tell me about being lucky," Rodney says and waves the right hand with the cast in the air.
Moving is more tiresome than he thought. He ends up falling asleep. When he wakes up again, the catheter and the nasal cannula is gone. The IV:s are still there though, and they are really annoying, pinching the skin in the crook of his elbow every time he shifts his arm.
"Can't you remove these?" he asks, trying to sound as miserable as possible so Carson will show him some mercy.
Carson gives him a steady look. "That's the morphine drip," he says.
"Oh." Rodney blinks, looking at the IV and then back at Carson. Morphine is good. He likes morphine. "Never mind then. Can I have some more?"
"I think you've had quite enough," Carson says, gently patting his hand. The touch feels nice. It's been a while since Rodney was touched by someone who likes him. He's pretty sure Carson likes him. He can't see any other reason why the man would call himself his friend.
Rodney falls asleep again. The next time he wakes up he's a little less doped up. It's enough to take the edge off the pain, but he can think again. He's not entirely sure if that's a good thing or not. He rather liked that fuzzy floating feeling. His brain works pretty much non stop and it needs a little vacation now and then.
"That was stupid," Sheppard says. He looks pissed. Rodney wonders where Carson went, and when he was replaced by Rodneys team. "Next time, look where you put your feet."
"For the record, I would like to state that I was viciously attacked by that staircase," Rodney defends himself.
"Bullshit. You were so busy looking at your tablet that you missed the step," Sheppard shoots back." Yep, definitely pissed.
"We have all been very concerned," Teyla says, leaning over to put a warm hand on Rodney's arm. He gives her a woozy smile. At least Teyla doesn't seem to be angry with him.
"I wasn't," Ronon rumbles. He's leaning back in his chair, his legs stretched out and his feet with the clunky boots propped up on Rodney's bed. Rodney comes to the conclusion that he likes Teyla, but that he doesn't like Sheppard and Ronon very much right now.
"I'm bored," he says. "I want my laptop."
"You can't have it," Sheppard says. "Doctor's orders."
Rodney really doesn't like Sheppard. Come to think of it, he's not too happy with Carson either. What is he thinking, keeping Rodney from his work? What are they going to do when disaster strikes and Rodney is laid up here, without his computer?
"I am sure we will manage," Teyla says, smiling warmly. Rodney blinks. Did he say that out loud? Apparently he did.
"Get some rest, Rodney," Sheppard drawls. His face has softened a little. Probably more scared than angry then, just like Teyla said.
"They're serving chocolate pudding for dessert in the mess," Ronon says. "Since you won't be there, I can have yours, right?"
Rodney feels too tired to have visitors right now. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep until they have left. Then he finds that his eyelids are too heavy to lift so he decides to sleep for real.
The next few days, Rodney spends bored out of his mind. Carson has changed the IV to pills. The bruises are darkening into black and blue and painful purple. His wrist has apparently begun to heal because it itches, deep down into the bone, an itch that just can't be scratched. The hospital bed is pure torture to his back. At the end of the first week, Rodney has managed to alienate all Carson's nurses so much that they refuse to have anything to do with him.
It's Carson himself who has to change Rodney's bandages and help him to the bathroom and smear salve on his bruises. The doctor does it with suspiciously little complaint.
"You should get one of those little nurse outfits," Rodney ponders. Then he realises that he actually said that out loud and yeah, it seems like he's still pretty drugged up. The hell with it. "I mean, you're a Scot, you people are used to wearing skirts."
Carson gives him a glare in return and rubs his fingers a little too hard over a bruise. Rodney winces and continues, "You have pretty nice legs for a guy. I think it would be hot."
"I'd appreciate if you could keep your fantasies to yourself," Carson says with a deep sigh. Rodney can't see why he should. Carson already knows everything even vaguely embarrassing there is to know about him. One more thing won't make a difference.
"Well, excuse me for being horny," Rodney huffs. "My hand is in a cast, in case you hadn't noticed. I haven't been able to jerk off for a week." He sighs, staring dreamily up at the ceiling. "I really miss jerking off. It itches, and I can't sleep, and nothing makes me fall asleep better than a good orgasm.
Carson finishes his ministrations, pointedly ignoring Rodney. He puts the salve away, carefully avoiding to meet Rodney's eyes.
"A friend would offer to lend a hand, you know," Rodney wheedles.
Carson gives him a long, hard stare, and for a moment Rodney's afraid that he's gone too far. Then Carson stands up, pulls the privacy curtains shut, and turns back to the bed. Rodney swallows. "I... I didn't really mean," he stutters, mouth suddenly terribly dry. "That is, it would be brilliant if you did, but if you don't want to..."
"Hush," Carson says, pulls down the blanket, reaches under Rodney's hospital gown and wraps his fingers around Rodney's dick.
"Oh," Rodney whimpers in a very small voice. Then he doesn't say anything more for a while. It's a funny angle and Carson is clumsy and a little awkward and it's clear that he's not used to doing this for other people, but Rodney really doesn't need a lot of finesse right now. It's been a week since he last got off, and even longer since he had anyone else's hand on his cock.
Carson won't look at him, the tips of his ears are bright red, and Rodney can't help but find it a little endearing that he's so shy about this.
All in all, it has been a while, and it doesn't take long for Rodney to twist his good hand in the sheet and come all over Carson's finger. He sags against the pillows, catching his breath while Carson cleans him up and adjusts the gown.
"Better?" Carson asks, getting rid of the tissue paper.
"Yes. Thanks. I'd reciprocate," Rodney mumbles, waving his hand in Carson's direction. "But I'm a little..." Tired? he thinks. Post-orgasmic? High on endorphins? ... puddly? Wait, is 'puddly' a word?
"Don't worry about that, now," Carson says. "Just concentrate on getting better."
Carson gently pulls the blanket over him and smoothes out the fabric, and Rodney might be drugged and a little stupid with sex, but he thinks he gets it.
"You were worried," he says triumphantly.
"There are people who care about you, Rodney," Carson says softly. "Rest now."
Rodney, closes his eyes, grinning. "You were worried," he repeats, as he falls asleep.
- fin -