kageygirl

Atlantis slash

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Atlantis kageygirl

Damage Control

Title: Damage Control

Author: kageygirl

E-mail: kageygirl@gmail.com

URL: http://www.kageygirl.com

Feedback: LiveJournal

Archive: Ask first.

Fandom: Stargate Atlantis

Pairing: McKay/Sheppard

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: "Siege 2."

Beta: Leah went above and beyond on the beta for this one, because, wow. I was... opaque. Heh.

Summary: "I'm kind of getting the impression that you're not too happy with me, Rodney," Sheppard said.

A/N: Plotbunny thefted from Sinbrat (with permission *g*).

"I'm kind of getting the impression that you're not too happy with me, Rodney," Sheppard said.

"Oh, really?" Rodney turned down another hallway, almost blindly, and damn it, Sheppard might have been Mensa material, but he was still stubbornly refusing to get the point, still keeping pace with Rodney. Rodney had been about to check on the damage control teams, but he'd turned a corner and almost literally run into Sheppard.

There was really no way he could deal with the major right now.

But when he'd headed in the opposite direction, Sheppard had followed him, because god forbid Sheppard not be the most contrary person in Atlantis. Keeping his eyes on the far end of the hallway—wherever the hell they were—Rodney asked, "Whatever gave you that idea, Major?"

"Well, there's the not-looking-at-me thing. Also the not-talking-to-me thing."

Rodney didn't need to look at Sheppard to know that Sheppard had to be shrugging casually, wearing a look of bland concern. He'd been around Sheppard long enough to know exactly which expression went with that tone of voice. "Funny, I would have sworn we were talking right now," Rodney said pointedly.

"I'm talking. You're snapping," Sheppard said. "Now, granted, this is the closest we've come to talking since I got back, but I'm not sure it really qualifies."

"Since I got back," as if flying up into a Wraith hive ship were no different than stopping by the mainland. Rodney felt the tension headache creeping up his neck, tightening across the back of his skull. "So sorry to disappoint you. What is it you want from me, exactly?"

"Right now, I just want to know why you're so pissed at me."

Because, of course, it was all about what Sheppard wanted, the rest of them be damned.

Though Sheppard was right about that much—Rodney was pissed. He was angry—no, he was fucking furious at Sheppard. Sheppard had left him—had left, he meant—with barely three words: "So long, Rodney," almost under his breath, hardly more than an afterthought.

And then he'd come back safe and alive, just as if he'd known he would all along, the cocky bastard, and why had Rodney even bothered worrying about him?

It had been a pointless waste of energy he hadn't had to spare, being concerned about Sheppard. Who always came out on top, unscathed.

Who had met Rodney's eyes as he came back down the stairs from the Jumper bay, tossing Rodney a quick grin like they were sharing some private joke, before being mobbed by his adoring public, all of them wanting to shake his hand and pat him on the back.

And Sheppard had just kept smiling at Rodney over it all, as he ate it up, accepting it as his due, until Rodney felt so ill that he'd had to leave the control room before Sheppard got even remotely close to him.

Rodney glanced over at Sheppard, and Sheppard wasn't smiling right now. Which was fortunate, because if he had been, Rodney might have had to hit him. But the way he was looking at Rodney, head tilted a little, with a thoughtful look in his eyes—that was nearly as bad.

Rodney stopped and slammed his hand against a door control, for once not treating the Ancient crystals with anything like reverence. Grabbing Sheppard by the upper arm, Rodney dragged him through the door and into a deserted lab, shoving him against the wall inside.

Sheppard stayed right where Rodney had put him, watching him without expression. Something about that calm acceptance galled Rodney, as if nothing Rodney could do would rattle him.

And Rodney wanted him rattled.

He grabbed Sheppard's biceps, holding him against the wall, and kissed him, hard. Sheppard's mouth opened as if they'd done this a thousand times before, responsive and willing, and—damn it.

He turned Sheppard's head to the side with a thumb, not letting himself dwell on the tickle of stubble against his palm, decidedly not looking into Sheppard's eyes. He scraped along Sheppard's jaw with his teeth, licked his way down the side of that long, long neck. Sliding a thigh between Sheppard's, Rodney sucked on the junction of neck and shoulder, nosing the collar of Sheppard's t-shirt out of the way, and Sheppard groaned, a good, hoarse sound.

Sheppard was hard against Rodney's thigh. Rodney bared his teeth, pressing them into Sheppard's shoulder to mark the moment.

He slid his hands under the hem of Sheppard's shirt, feeling warm skin and hard muscle, deceptively solid. No match, though, was it, for nuclear explosions, or stun weapons, or clawed, alien hands… Rodney's own hands started to tremble, and he clenched them around Sheppard's hips to quiet them, bruisingly tight, rocking more firmly against Sheppard's erection.

Sheppard was panting now, next to his ear, and Rodney squeezed his eyes shut. Rodney couldn't risk looking at him now. No matter how much he wanted to see what Sheppard would look like, desperate and hungry, he knew that giving in would be treacherous.

Sheppard moved his hands away from the wall, and damn it, Rodney was going to have to pin them down, and he wasn't sure his own wouldn't still be shaking. But Sheppard just fumbled his own pants open, then Rodney's, and pressed his hands against the small of Rodney's back. He might have been shaking, too, but Rodney couldn't think about that now. He focused on freeing one hand and sliding it between them, lining them up, and, god, that was so good, it was too good, he couldn't stay on top of this, couldn't stay detached—

John gave a broken, ragged moan, and buried his face in Rodney's neck. His breath hitched as he came, warm and wet over Rodney's hand and across his own stomach. Rodney let go, then, too, muffling his own voice against John's shoulder, breathing harshly past the hard lump in his throat, trying to ignore the way his eyes burned behind his closed eyelids.

They stayed like that, leaning on one another, until John started stroking Rodney's back, slowly, gently. "Rodney," he murmured—and no, John couldn't do that, Rodney couldn't let him…

Rodney raised his head and opened his eyes, something sharp and biting on the tip of his tongue—

—but he looked into John's face, and it was gone.

John wasn't smiling, wasn't smirking, wasn't dipping his head in ironic self-deprecation, wasn't blithely teasing Rodney. John wasn't doing anything he was supposed to do, wasn't doing any of the things that Rodney could brush off and push past and use to fuel his anger.

John was looking at him with an expression dangerously close to an apology, with something like the echo of remembered fear. It was what Rodney often caught a glimpse of right after a crisis had passed, when John would breathe out that one sigh of relief, and flick his eyes over Rodney, just before getting back to business.

But John wasn't moving on this time. He wasn't gearing up for the next thing. Damn him, John was taking him apart with a look, was seeing right through him, was…

… was raising a shaking hand to Rodney's cheek—yes, shaking, John really had been and still was—his other arm tight around Rodney's waist. John slid his hand behind Rodney's neck, pulling him close, heedless of the mess spreading across their stomachs.

He held Rodney tight, so close that Rodney could feel John's chest moving as he breathed. "Jesus, Rodney," John said, with an unsteady chuckle. He pressed a kiss to the side of Rodney's neck, and gave Rodney a quick squeeze, almost convulsively. "I—you had me thinking I'd lost you."

Rodney pulled back and frowned at John. "I'm not the one who went anywhere."

John's fingers moved restlessly on Rodney's neck, and he glanced away from Rodney for a second. "That's not what I meant."

Narrowing his eyes, Rodney said softly, "You never had me, Major."

John shook his head. "I don't think that's true, Rodney," he said. "I think we had each other. Have, I mean. I hope. Even if we never—" He dropped his eyes, taking a deep breath, then looked back up at Rodney, his gaze moving over Rodney's face. "We're not just friends."

And there it was—Rodney had been doing everything he could to avoid even thinking it, because thinking it was bad, very bad. And John had to go and say it, because John always had to take action, didn't he?

"No," Rodney said, and was that his voice? It sounded so… hollow. "No, we're not."

He couldn't lie, because lying wouldn't change anything.

"And the way I left you was kind of shitty."

Rodney blinked. He hadn't actually expected John to say so. "Thank you for noticing," Rodney said, nowhere near as bitterly as he should have. He wanted to be angry again—he thought he probably should be, because John deserved it, didn't he? But John looked guilty and unhappy, and Rodney was suddenly very, very tired of being angry at him.

John looked at him seriously. "I didn't want to go. And I…" He shook his head again, sighing. "I couldn't let you keep me from going."

Rodney straightened against the memory of the Wraith attack. He'd been almost numb from exhaustion—not to mention, of course, the constant terror—but he could remember clearly the sacrifices they'd made. That they'd all been willing to make. "We were in fairly dire straits, as I recall." He'd hated John for taking the Jumper up himself, but he'd hated more that he'd understood why John had done it. "I don't know what I could have done to stop you."

"Rodney—you wouldn't have had do anything." John smiled softly. "All you would've had to do was look at me."

"Oh. I…" He had absolutely no idea what to say to that. "Oh."

"Yeah." John ducked his head, then looked up at Rodney with a wry expression. "So… what do we do now?"

"Now?" Rodney glanced down. "Now, I need a change of clothing."

"All right." John chuckled. "Then what?"

"Then… we'll see."

"Okay," John said, and he grinned at Rodney, like he'd grinned at him in the control room, before he'd even looked at anyone else. Like they were sharing something private. Which, Rodney supposed, they were, though he'd done everything he could to fight it.

"Damn you," Rodney said quietly, but he kissed John, softly, and John kissed him back, warm, real, right there with Rodney, his arms tightening with something like palpable relief, keeping Rodney close.