SGA Fic: Parry and Thrust (McKay/Sheppard, NC-17)

shetiger asked a few weeks ago for a story where Sheppard and McKay are sparring and then it turns into sex. I proved to be completely unable to resist the cliche, and used the opportunity to break through my recent porn block. I thought everybody could use some porn right about now.





Parry and Thrust



Despite the crisis-of-the-week view Atlantis probably gave to outsiders, there were still lots of times where things could get almost frighteningly boring. Living in a small, insulated community under constant threat of messy death, everybody quickly learned to make their own fun.

Jameson and Beckett played Whist of all things, while Elizabeth wrote letter after letter before ripping them up and throwing them in the ocean, never to be sent. Teyla visited with her people, and often brought Heightmeyer along. Lorne and the other soldiers worked out and practiced their shooting. Simpson painted, Zelenka tinkered, Kavanagh plotted, and Rodney worked until he fell asleep on his desk.

John liked to pretend that he enjoyed relaxing by reading a good book (his only book, in fact, possibly *the* only book, because everybody else had just saved things to their hard drives), but the truth was, reading wasn’t really high on his list of entertainment, a list that was currently topped by two things: stick-fighting, and baiting Rodney. Luckily, stick-fighting *with* Rodney did an excellent job of combining both of his favorite pastimes.

“I fail to see the point in this, Colonel,” Rodney panted out as he dodged John’s latest parry.

“C’mon, McKay.” John grinned at the sight of Rodney, flushed and agitated. It was such a kick getting Rodney all worked up. “You can do better than that.”

Rodney jumped backwards, just out of range. “We’ve been over this, Colonel. Do you really think I’m ever going to need to fight with a stick?”

Probably not, no, but John wasn’t in the mood to let anything spoil his fun. “Never hurts to be prepared.” He spun around and twisted his stick up against Rodney’s, applying pressure until Rodney hissed and dropped it. “Pick it up and let’s go again.”

Rodney gave him a narrow-eyed glare, looking suspiciously like the picture of the cat he kept in the inside pocket of his jacket (the existence of which he’d deny loudly if John ever mentioned it, but John had seen it once when Rodney was rooting around for a Power Bar). It was unexpectedly adorable – somewhat like Rodney himself, and it always left John torn between a desire to pet Rodney behind his ears, or try to rumple him further, just to see the response he’d get.

Rodney was looking pretty rumpled already. John had been working him hard, and not just for his own entertainment. “I could be in my lab,” he grumbled as he leaned over to pick up his stick. “I could be achieving heights of brilliance that your puny mind can’t even begin to comprehend.”

“It’s true,” John said with a straight face. “I am but a pale shadow in the burning sun of your genius.”

Rodney looked like he was giving serious thought to launching the stick at John’s head. “I don’t even know why I do this.”

John couldn’t help himself – he smirked. “I do.”

“Please. Illuminate me.”

Well, Rodney had asked him for it. “You like it,” John said, deliberately grinning his most obnoxious grin – the kind that had gotten him assigned to KP more times than he could count. “You like the way I can take you right down.”

Rodney snorted, and circled John, watching him with wary eyes. “You have a pretty high opinion of yourself there, Colonel.”

John could feel his grin getting wider. “You do. You really do. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Oh, please, like you gave me a choice.”

John stayed where he was, tracking Rodney’s movements. “Yeah, because you’re so easy to order around. Why do you do it if you don’t want to?”

Rodney stopped still, and shook his head. “Same reasons you do. Preparation, exercise, foreplay, the usual.”

That hadn’t been what John had been expecting Rodney to say. More bitching, yes. Excessive whining, check. Outright admission, not at all.

“What?” Rodney asked. “Are you going to deny it?”

What would be the fun in that? They’d been working toward this for months, if not years, and if Rodney was ready to go for it in the middle of a sparring session? That was just fine with John.

“Nope.” He bent into a crouch.

Rodney frowned. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Ah, there was the Rodney John loved to see the most – pissy and thinking at the same time. “Waiting for you to prove you can handle it.”

Something about the way Rodney’s mouth twisted always made John twist inside as well. “Waiting for me to prove I can handle it? I don’t think there’s room for me, you, and your ego on this mat, Colonel.”

John leaned in – just within striking distance – and waited for Rodney to take the bait. He watched the muscles in Rodney’s legs tense in preparation for a jump. “So take me down.”

Before Rodney had the chance to say anything, John leapt forward himself, figuring he’d get the drop on Rodney, which always lead to extremely amusing amounts of bitching and cursing. Except somehow he’d misjudged, because Rodney was waiting for him to make his move, and slid out of the way as soon as John was in the air. The second John hit the empty space where Rodney had been just moments before, Rodney was on top of him, pinning him onto the mat with one hand wedged behind his back, and Rodney’s stick against his throat.

“You always forget one thing, Colonel,” Rodney whispered in his ear, sounding insufferably smug. “I know you better than you think I do, and I don’t need to improve my prowess with a stick in order to take you down.”

He grazed the skin behind John’s ear with his teeth, and John shivered, but he wasn’t willing to let Rodney take the upper hand just quite yet. He rolled them over, and tangled his legs with Rodney’s making it impossible for Rodney to reverse their positions again.

“Of course,” Rodney said with a suspicious catch in his voice. “This is quite nice as well.”

“Thought you’d like it,” John said, and leaned in to claim his prize.

If somebody had asked him before that moment, he would’ve said that Rodney was completely incapable of shutting up, no matter what the situation. Kissing Rodney only proved John’s theory. Despite having his tongue otherwise occupied, Rodney still managed to make an incredible amount of noise, moaning low in his throat, and whining softly when John pulled back in order to lick his neck. It was annoying and arousing at the same time, kind of like Rodney himself.

“Colonel!” Rodney gasped, and then made a strangled noise when John bit his throat.

“You can call me John,” he said helpfully. “I promise I’ll still respect you in the morning.”

Rodney growled, and retaliated with some biting of his own, finding a spot along John’s collarbone that made it almost tempting to be back on the bottom. “Not too hard,” he said – moaned really, and yelped when Rodney sucked the mark he’d just made.

It was time to reap the benefits of his hard-won effort. He laced his fingers through Rodney’s and stretched their arms over their heads. Drawing Rodney into another kiss took care of his mouth, and John was still on top, which meant that he had free use of his hips, while Rodney had almost none at all.

It was going to be quick this time, because he’d been wanting this forever, wanting it before he even knew what it was that he wanted so badly, wanting nothing more than to see Rodney – brilliant, sarcastic, foul-tempered, insulting, genius Rodney – stripped of all of his control, and now that he had it, it was even better than he’d imagined. Rodney was gasping beneath him, making noises that sounded vaguely like John’s name, lifting his hips up towards John’s thrusts, flexing his fingers helplessly in John’s grasp.

It was building up inside of him fast and hard, and then Rodney sucked on John’s tongue, wet and nasty, and so wonderfully lewd and dirty, more than John had ever expected, and he couldn’t keep from imagining what it was going to be like to have that clever tongue working on his cock. He choked, and came in grinding bursts of pleasure, Rodney kissing him through it the entire way.

“God, god, John,” Rodney panted, hands straining against John’s, and John redoubled his hold, because there was no way he was letting Rodney get away, not when he was so close.

“Let go, McKay,” he murmured in Rodney’s ear.

“But-” Rodney twisted and shook beneath him. “My pants –”

John grinned ferally. “You’re just going to have to come in them, cause I’m not stopping.” He circled his hips and rubbed his thumb over the pulse pounding in Rodney’s wrist. “Not at all.”

“Jesus, fuck!” Rodney groaned, and came just as loudly as John had been picturing all of those nights in his bed. John held him tight, and let Rodney shudder it out, until he gasped for air, and relaxed under John, lying quiescent and still.

John let him go, and rolled off to lie next to Rodney, enjoying the pressure of their legs up against each other.

“So,” Rodney eventually said into the silence. “Somehow I’m guessing this isn’t how your sparring sessions end with Teyla.”

John bumped Rodney with his hip. “Not hardly.”

He was too tired to turn his head, but he could hear the smile in Rodney’s voice. “Good, cause if you ever do, no stick in the world will be large enough to save you.”

“McKay, what am I going to do with you?” John said, barely keeping a straight face. “I would’ve thought you’d learned by now, it’s not the size of your stick, it’s what you can do with it.”

Rodney sighed next to him, and somehow managed to raise himself up far enough to brush John’s lips with his own. “I don’t know why I ever thought you’d be less annoying after I had sex with you.”

“Disappointed?” John asked.

Rodney’s fingers twining through his was all the answer he needed.