Fucking Right

Characters: John Sheppard, Rodney McKay
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None

Summary: Neurotic headspace smut. Closest to a PWP I'll ever get.

Beta(s): None. Not really. Though Juls was a great sounding board and even contributed several lines.


Author's Notes: This is just wrong on so many levels. No really. It is.


Rodney Mckay was intellectually aware of some of the more immutable concepts of physics. In fact it could be said that he had a more intimate understanding than most in all things related to temporal dynamics, time dilation, the theory of relativity, causality and so on. In his own words, it might even be stated that he was the foremost authority on such things. Of course there were some people who would object to such a statement, but those people really just needed to learn their limitations.

What Rodney hated more than anything was to be limited into becoming nothing more than a factor in those complex equations, rather than the one manipulating the little variables into place. Which was why, at the moment, he was waiting, seething with impatience, for one Major John Sheppard to return from his little sojourn to rescue the evil alien priestess from her fate. Which, it should be noted, she didn't need help with in the first place.

As the last of the chevrons on the gate flickered out, Rodney broke one of his own rules and briefly thanked any random deity of choice who was willing to listen, that Major Sheppard had not only returned, but that he had returned alone. Now all that was left was to hope he hadn't picked up some mutated, alien STD. Though with Rodney's luck, as of late, he figured he should just hole up in his room with some ration bars and good book and wait for the latest quarantine to be imposed.

And he had the nerve to *swagger*, that pretentious, smirking, captain Kirk wannabe. Sheppard stepped out of the puddle jumper, beamed at anyone he could see and fucking swaggered out of the room. Might as well just take out a full page add somewhere and put a goddamned neon sign around his neck that flashed 'just got laid, ask me how it was'.

Nauseated beyond belief, and shaking with what could only be described as the beginnings of anaphylaxis shock, he stomped from the room, weaving an unsteady path away from anything Sheppard and his goddamned glowing face. Unfortunately that plan was disastrously run off its track when he found himself alone with the sex machine himself not two minutes later when they both attempted to use the same transport.

As it turned out, somewhere between the control room and that small little closet like environment, his brain had gotten disconnected from his mouth. A plot for which the perpetrators would be dully punished.

"Well, Major. How was it?" He sneered, angrily pushing buttons.

"Excuse me?" Major Sheppard gave him a confused look.

Conniving bastard.

He made a big deal about examining the Major. Looking him up and down, walking around him. "You're glowing."

Major Sheppard at least had the shame to pale slightly "Ack! Literally?"

He sneered again. "No. Figuratively. In that 'I just got laid' way. So how was it?" Only his brain and his mouth were finally connecting up again, and as he quickly did the math, no mean feet as the problem he had landed himself into required fractal equations, he realized he was now quickly swimming upstream with Go'aould motherships firing at his navigational equipment.

"You're really nosy, you know that, right?" Major Sheppard pushed right up into his face.

Rodney took a deep breath to center himself and possibly apologize, or at least, imply that he wasn't in his right mind. After all, it had been thirty-six hours since he'd last slept and worse, six since he'd eaten. But his nostrils got a whiff of something that was pure Sheppard and his brain once again short-circuited.

Except this time, not only was the conduit between his brain and his mouth severed, but his ability to speak was gone as well. "Um..." Was the sum total of knowledge he was able to confer.

"There is something really twisted about you Mckay." Sheppard pushed further into his personal space.

Rodney blinked several times and pinched his thigh to reboot his mouth. "Twisted about ME?" Damnit. Wrong pathways again. "You're the one playing kissy face with the evil alien priestess."

"And you were the one practically stalking me, waiting for me to come out of her room." Sheppard poked him hard in the sternum.

Absently rubbing the shadow of sensation he pressed on, "And not without good reason!"

"And before we get any further into this, let's just set the record straight. One" Sheppard ticked off on his fingers, "she was *not* an evil alien priestess. Two my sex life is SO not your business." Sheppard took one more step closer, practically eliminating any space between them whatsoever. "And three, maybe you should stop with your hysterical screaming and tell me what the bug up your butt is *really* about!"

And that's when it went all down hill. Which, everything considered, was saying a lot.

Somehow, by some cruel twist of fate and his misfiring neurons, his hands landed firmly in the material of Sheppard's jacket, pulling at it roughly until their bodies were flush together and Rodney nearly went cross eyed in sensation.

Idly, he made a mental note to get a checkup at his earliest convenience, that skip in his heart rate could be some sort of arrhythmia.

The thought however was lost, along with the last of his sanity, as he shoved his tongue down Sheppard's throat.

They slammed into a wall and as Rodney counted down to the five second mark, the time index he'd carefully, though subconsciously, calculated he'd have before his nose became intimately acquainted with Sheppard's fist, came and went, Rodney was left week kneed and crushed against the most annoying object on Atlantis.

The axis tilted again and Rodney found his back squished between the wall and Sheppard and not really caring one lick that his third and fourth vertebrae were seriously misaligned due to impact, or that Sheppard's belt buckled was seriously digging into his hip. Or EVEN that the Major's hands were going to leave bruises where they clutched at his arms.

Because Sheppard's thigh had slipped into that perfect spot and that wise ass mouth had moved to nipping behind his ear and Rodney vaguely heard his grandmother call him a slut from 6 feet down and several million some odd kilometers away.

He rerouted his command pathways and told his hands to unclench from Sheppard's jacket and move to a more fertile ground, the annoyingly arrogant hair, and if that weren't a completely separate entity that broke no less than 3 quarantine codes on a regular basis, Rodney would eat his laptop.

And who was making those whiny, pathetic, /needy/ sounds anyway?


Rodney blamed the lack of blood sugar.

"So," Sheppard murmured smugly into his ear, "you were *jealous.*"

"I was not!" Rodney protested automatically. Sheppard's hand stilled on his ass. "Did I say you could stop that?" Wait, was he not supposed to be acting like he didn't want it? Or just that he didn't want it so desperately? He couldn't remember what he'd been trying for, if he'd ever decided in the first place.

Sheppard snickered and resumed groping, grinding, and humping. "Thought so. Bet you wish I'd take *you* on a moonlit picnic..."

"A picnic?" Somewhere, neurons fired in his brain. Something connected. He shoved Sheppard back enough to see his face. "What did you feed her, on this picnic?"

And Sheppard actually blushed. Which really did nothing to smother the burning hot anger he felt rising again. Even if the subtle flush did something to his stomach. Maybe he was catching a virus. It seemed far more likely than what appeared to actually be going on.

"Food." Sheppard said distinctly and made an effort to change the subject. With his lips. On his mouth. And oh god, why was he mad again?

His hips had apparently hit a subroutine that didn't require conscious monitoring because somewhere in there his leg had wrapped itself firmly around Sheppard, sitting happily just under one of those smirking ass cheeks that Rodney hated.

Goddamnit he was going to come in his pants at this rate and then there'd be another reason he'd want to consistently smack the smug look off Sheppard's face. But he was stuck with a tough decision, let it continue as it was, come in his pants and live with the smug. Or retaliate two fold, reduce to the bastard to a lime flavored, quivering puddle of jello with come stains on his pants. Or three, and the worst option of the bunch, stop the insanity all together and move on, hopefully repressing all reminders of the incident.

Hands worked their way inside his pants, stroking with an alarming efficiency and fuck that really felt good. Bastard.

Retaliation really did seem to be the best option, his great grandmother, no relation to the grandmother still calling him a slut in his head, had an affair with a Hungarian stable boy. Revenge was practically in his blood. Also, he should probably talk to someone about that voice in his head thing.

Sheppard kissed him again reminding him that he probably shouldn't talk to anyone about it, because then he'd probably have to go into *this* little bit of insanity, the one licking his lips and making him pant like a dog. And no force in this galaxy would make him do that. Not to another living being, maybe not even to a dead one.

Jesus Christ, if he didn't get with the program he was going to think himself into missing the orgasm, and if was reading the data correctly, it was probably going to be one of the better ones in his life.

Finally his pleasure deadened hands made it to the zipper on Mr. Smug face's pants and was more than satisfied, wringing out small gasps as he struggled with he infernal mechanism. Better though, was the shallow panting achieved when he finally got his hands onto hard, velvet soft flesh.

Sheppard's lips released him and whispered hotly in his ear. "Fuck. Don't stop."

The warm breath made him shiver. "Don't speak, you keep shattering that hazy layer of denial." Rodney sucked on a convenient piece of skin and was rewarded with a sharp gasp.


Sheppard's right hand never stopped moving, using long, sweeping strokes to send maddeningly pleasurably signals to his brain. Most of them telling Rodney to, 'shut the fuck up before the sweet deal gets soured.' Though once the left hand got into the mix, doing more than just holding him up, even those voices were strangled into a haze of pleasure as Sheppard found a nipple. Rodney, to his disgust, grunted and arched into the touch.

"Fuck. You. Mckay." Sheppard rasped in time with Rodney's own perfectly timed twists of the wrist. And holy god what the fuck was he-- Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Speaking of don't stop.

Hot, wet and rough had descended on his nipple. When had his shirt gotten pulled up so high? More hot and wet rasping against him, electric currents curling his toes. Why did he care?

He hissed through his teeth. "Maybe later-- oh god-- after we---oh. Oh. /gasp/ rediscover alcohol." He dragged that hot, fucking seventh wonder of the world, mouth back up and nipped and sucked and kissed at it till he was dizzy.

Then he took his turn to slam Sheppard back into the wall. Because the whole revenge plan had been sidetracked. Of course Rodney should have taken that into consideration. It would be just like Major John Fucking Sheppard to attempt to thwart him at every turn.

Bastard son of an unequal fractal equation.

Wow. He really was a geek.

Ignoring that new and shiny revelation he focused back on the kissing. The really, really good kissing. Mostly because it kept Sheppard from talking. And that it was really good.

But energy was wasting and there was only so long Rodney could keep this up. He angrily told the sniggering voice in his head, the one that sounded suspiciously like Beavis of all things, to shut the fuck up, he was busy.

Dragging their hands out of their respective pants was a harder task than he'd imagined. Not that he'd ever imagined it before. Eventually Rodney pinned Sheppard's hands on either side of his head against the wall. "Godamnit, stay still!" He grunted after thwarting the third attempt to get back into his pants.

Glazed and panting Sheppard finally nodded.

Thank god for small fucking miracles. He pulled both of their shirts up, both of their pants down. Punched a number of buttons on the far wall that would lock the damn closet-elevator doors. Them he grabbed Sheppard's ass, one hand bracing on the wall for leverage, and grinded.

"…genius…" Sheppard panted.

Yes. About fucking time he realized it too.

And despite the small, insignificant parts of his brain complaining about the utter crassness of it all, the inevitable avalanche of a conclusion was now within visual range and fuck if he was going to give that up now.

Sheppard wrapped around him like a cheap suit. A cheap suit with really good hands. Well oiled hinges had nothing on them.

Finally. Finally Rodney's brain had shut up and it was all heat and wetness and push and pull and sweat, hot mind numbing pleasure.

Small, thin raspy whines, that *weren't* coming from him. Well. Mostly. Filled the air and incited Rodney to go even faster. They held onto each other with a startling ferocity and as that avalanche loomed overhead they kissed furiously, hands clutching, hips grinding and humping.

Then white.

Pure white shuddering and gasping and tensing and fucking vision impairing pleasure ripped through him and ohgodohgodohgodohgod that was fucking great.

They were both sagging, leaning heavily against the wall, taking in great shuddering breaths. Well, Sheppard was against the wall, Rodney was mostly leaning on Sheppard. Probably because he'd lost most of the feeling in his legs and his arms felt like they had their own gravitational pull. Mostly around Sheppard's ass.

"Shit Mckay." Sheppard breathed into his ear. "Who knew you had that in you?"

For good measure, Rodney bit into Sheppard's neck. "If that's what it takes to keep you from whoring around with evil alien priestess, I guess I'll have to martyr myself for the cause."

Sheppard turned them around. Which was really annoying because Rodney still hadn't regained that sort of motor control.

"How about a compromise?" Sheppard offered just before kissing him again. Which really wasn't fair. "You stop bringing her up every other sentence," he kissed him again, "and I'll let you pretend that this is whatever you think it is until you have a nervous breakdown in the middle of your lab."

What an annoyingly fair compromise. God he wasn't going to win at all today, was he? "Admit I was right." He was going to get *something* out of this aside from really great sex. And despite the shrill screeching of the idiot voices in his head telling to stop talking for fear of loosing any more dignity, he really wanted to hear it.

Sheppard sighed and ducked his head. "Fine. You were right."

Rodney shuddered a bit. Wow. Orgasm without the work.

"What was I right about?" His grandmother's voice, who, incidentally had not stopped calling him a slut, he'd simply tuned it out, now started screeching about ungrateful arrogant tramps. He decided that granny had enough of her own issues that she shouldn't be commenting on his.

"She was hiding something." Sheppard hedged. "And I should have been more cautious."

Good enough. Rodney kissed him.

He could fuck a better confession out of John later.