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Stargate: Atlantis
Pairing: McKay/Sheppard
Rating: R
Hail Mary
by Night Spring
John sighs as he listens to Rodney reel off the list of movies and shows available on Atlantis' shared server. In between running for their lives, foraging for sustenance or scrambling to save themselves from yet another technological disaster, there's precious little to do in the Pegasus galaxy. They've all watched the limited entertainment selection collated from people's personal stashes several times over, and Rodney offering to watch the Hail Mary game again is testament to the depth of their desperation.
That's why John crawls up over Rodney and kisses him.
That's his story, and he's sticking to it.
"Why me?" Rodney asks.
"Why not you?" John throws back.
There are many reasons Rodney can think why not, but they melt unvoiced in the heat of John's kisses, to splash cold and clammy over Rodney as their passion is spent.
"I... I should go," Rodney says.
What's the hurry? John wants to ask. Stay, he wants to say.
"I'll get you a washcloth," he says.
The rasp of warm rough cloth as John wipes him off is tender and more intimate than John's hand jerking him off, careful strokes gentling Rodney like he's never been touched before. Rodney closes his eyes against the intense concentration in John's eyes as the towel enfolds his softened dick, and nods mutely when John leans down and whispers, "Stay."
"Hey," John says.
Rodney's hand stills over the gate diagnostic panel.
"Hey," he responds.
John leans back in his seat as Rodney's hands flash through the air of the conference room, the taste of sweat-slick skin thick in the back of his throat, the press of soft-solid warmth in the dark teasing his mind, and for the first time in forever thinks forever.
Every morning he wakes up to find John beside him is a miracle Rodney dares not question, every night John seeks him out a sliver of hope for something Rodney dares not name. But it's the extra powerbar in John's pocket, the coffee appearing silently at his elbow, the times when John stands close for no reason, or slaps him teasingly just because he can, that make Rodney feel like maybe this thing between them might someday have a name.
A lot of people just don't get Rodney. But hey, that's okay. It's less competition.
Life, Rodney thinks, is really not fair.
Another day, another planet. Another woman throwing herself onto the altar of Sheppard.
Rodney rolls his eyes and sets to work redesigning the settlement's pathetically primitive irrigation system. Untold hours later, he's putting the finishing flourishes onto the blueprints when John appears, trailing a waft of feminine perfume that makes Rodney sneeze. He glares at John, who looks suitably abashed.
Rodney's irrigation system trumps John's indiscretion, and they leave the planet triumphant, a favorable treaty in hand. Rodney pretends he doesn't believe John's protestations that nothing happened, until John says, "She wasn't you. Nobody is you."
Life, Rodney thinks, is really not fair.
Rodney's hands fly over the wires, slotting the last crystal into place, and the control panel hums to life, door controls and life sign indicators coming online, and then it's a matter of trapping the Wraith while freeing their people, and if somehow in the confusion Rodney ends up directing the Marines while John shouts instructions at the technicians, nobody notices and nobody cares.
Much later, lying tangled with Rodney in the dark, John wonders if he hugs Rodney in the gateroom would anyone care.
John leans back in bed watching Rodney scowl through the extensive database of movies and shows available on Atlantis' shared server, in relentless pursuit of the perfect Valentine's night movie. Then Rodney grins and turns the laptop to John, screen keyed to the Hail Mary game.
And John crawls up over Rodney and kisses him.
Because this is love, and they both know it.