Pairing: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Summary: Some post-coital fluff and groping, two full moons, and lunar mythology.
Read on AO3 or below!
There are two moons on this planet, and they both hang full and low, the light streaming in through the wide balcony, flowing into the bed.
Maybe that’s the explanation, John thinks languidly, as he rests his head on Rodney’s bare chest, feels the scratch of chest hair against his cheek, because they never usually do this off-world. They sometimes share a bed, maybe a brief, chaste kiss, but the opportunities to let their guards down, to just be John and Rodney, are few and far between.
Maybe it was the wine they served at the banquet, sweet, spiced, and warmed, that caused Rodney to pull him close, kiss deeply, wetly, hungrily. Maybe it was the music, the soft candlelight, that made John slip his hand in Rodney’s back pocket, cupping, groping, pulling, greedy and grabby.
Maybe it was Rodney’s laugh, maybe it was John’s hitched breath, that led them to their shared bed, led to mouths and hands and gasps and a tightened, grinding grip that left them both spent, sweat-dampened skin rapidly cooling, skin pebbling under the night’s breeze.
Maybe it was just the moons.
Rodney is waxing on about the moons now, explaining something about the probability of them both being full at once. John listens to the vibrations deep in his chest, pets his hand down Rodney’s belly, fingers slipping lower to card through coarse, sweat-matted pubic hair. John combs his fingers through a few times, enjoys the feeling of the rough texture, the way the hair fluffs up, springy and curled, before his hand slips lower, palm cupping Rodney’s softened cock. It’s stubby now, but still a little chubbed up, foreskin puckered loose and soft around the end.
John toys with it a bit, flops it around in his hands, enjoys the weight and shape, before squeezing the soft flesh a few times. Rodney shivers a bit in pleasure, his hips moving up to meet John’s hand. It’s not sexual, but it is intimate, and more than frenzied sex, more than quiet, chest tightening orgasms, this is what John loves about being with Rodney. The way he can touch, comfortable and curious and without the shame of wanting. Rodney’s own fingers trace light circles across John’s own back, soothing and pleasurable.
He’d never understood his own desire for touch, for skin-warmth, for the tactile pleasure of running the pads of his fingers against downy arms, the drag of small hairs against the grain. For so long he’s lived between famine and feast, between the casual clap of a hand against a shoulder, muffled through clothing, and fast raw fucks, between stiff, arm slapping hugs, over in an instant, and the bite of a fist against his jaw. He’s seen it too in Rodney, the tense hunch, the way he holds himself near others, the way he stumbles under a friendly hand.
John gives Rodney’s cock another squeeze, toys with the edge of the foreskin.
“Having fun?” Rodney asks, amusement lacing his words.
“Mmhm,” John hums, hand tracing back up to trace through the fuzz on Rodney’s belly. “It’s nice to play with someone else’s.”
“You’re nuts.” Rodney replies fondly, and he pets John’s hair, blunt fingers scratching against his scalp.
“Maybe it’s the full moons,” John says, just to hear Rodney huff.
“That’s a myth. Obviously.”
“I don’t know,” John drags out, scratching down Rodney’s chest, “double the moons, double the lunacy.”
Rodney fiddles with his earlobe, traces the helix. “Unless having four high tides a day drives you crazy, I highly doubt that.”
They’re quiet for a few moments, John stroking the fine hairs of Rodney’s inner thigh.
“You know, in some Asian cultures, they used to believe that there was a rabbit on the moon. It made rice cakes, or mochi, or something like that. Miko told me that once.”
John squints at the moons outside, sees shapes but no forms. “Wonder what’s on these moons?” he says.
“Who knows,” Rodney shrugs, “maybe a fox making wine.”
“A beaver brewing coffee,” John adds, smiling when Rodney laughs.
“A cat making a ZPM.”
John throws a leg over Rodney’s hip, shuffles in close. He feels the cool sheet Rodney pulls up around them, tucks his face into Rodney’s side and breathes deep. Rodney shivers a bit at the puff of air against his neck, and pulls John closer. John drifts to sleep, covered in a thin sheet, the light of two moons, and the heavy, warm press of Rodney’s arm.
moving on to s3ep9, phantoms! it was super tense even knowing what was coming (i am a lifelong spoiler-reader, and having depression TM has dialled it up to eleven - episode-referential joke, see what i did there - so i can keep my brain on an even keel. am now at the life stage where i figure hey, whatever works ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)
not to be flippant but you can tell people are going to die in an episode when the team goes to a planet accompanied by a random group of marines you’ve never seen before
they did not worry about being affected themselves NEARLY early enough in this episode
i always love rodney but i thought he did particularly well this episode. when he was carrying the wounded marine he managed to be comforting without sounding at all like he was about to break out in hives! he even used the words ‘don’t worry about me’!!! #growth
there was a severe shortage of hugs in the episode, even when multiple people CLEARLY needed them
why isn’t the end of this episode just everyone saying 💕 thank you teyla 😍 you’re the best 💕
i’ve seen gifs of john apologising for shooting everyone and that scene was as fun as anticipated but it did sit kind of weirdly for me, given how close they all came to killing each other by accident. surely that is some lifelong trauma right there.
(still gonna put the gif here though)
When the scan is done everyone stands around a small box looking at it then Lorne walks over he looks me in the eyes and I can tell somethings wrong his blue eyes are dark with sadness unsureness ‘what’s wrong’ I ask “there’s some sort of metal rod in your neck” he says as he talks with his hands slowly then he asks “do you know how it got there” his hands sometimes not going as fast as his words ‘no’ I say he sighs and I put my googles back on then my head band on a little while later shepherd aprotuas me and hands my a tablet then says “since Lorne won’t be able to translate all the time just draw words you want to say and show them to the person” I nod my head ok then I ask (how long do I keep these people) and hand it to him “I don’t know we will see” he says I sigh then the people walk me to my room I sit down in a chair of sorts and look out the window watching the water move when I hear something go off I panic I jump up and run to the door when I open it I see Lorne I must be giving him a panic look because he pulls me in close and then says “it was just the door chime” then he slowly backs away and asks with both his words and his hands “so how’s it going” ‘I feel like a prisoner I asked shepherd how long I need people following me he said as long as it takes’ I tell him “well it’s protocol once he can see he can trust you I’m sure that he’ll get rid of the guards” he says and signs with his hands as well so I do something dumb I mean it’s not like he knows so I put my hands under my hair and untie the headband revealing my red ears then I put it on the table he looks shocked like he did earlier “I don’t want to tell you what to do but maybe you should tell weir about your ears” he says unsure ‘why’ I sign “well she’s the boss and probably something she’ll want to know why I have know idea” he say and I smile accidentally showing my thangs he looks at me again this time afraid and my smile quickly fades ‘sorry sometimes I forget’ I sign to him he takes a deep breath and says “it alright” but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s afraid of me ‘I guess we can go to weir now’ I sign to him then I put my headband back on he gives me that half smile he does sometimes and my heart sinks he’s so cute but I don’t know If he even likes me “ready” he says I nod my head yes we walk into a large glass room then he leads me to a room with a woman in it working Lorne knocks gently on the door frame and she looks up and says “Lorne vylot come in” so we do and I untie my headband revealing my ears she looks at me in amazement “how” she asks ‘I don’t know’ I sign she looks over at Lorne then he translates “she said she doesn’t know” she nods her head and sits back down then she puts her hands together then says “we’ll figure it out adventuraly” I nod my head then I turn around getting ready to leave to my room I feel a hand on my shoulder and I know it’s Lorne’s he smiles at me then we begin to walk when out of nowhere someone starts shooting at us I see a small cubby and I grab Lorne and put him in there with me when we both are in I notice that he’s holding his side he looks at me and say I’m shook “I’ve been shot” I put my hand on his forehead to let him know I’m here then he says “if I don’t make i-“ I interpret him and put a finger on his lips he takes a hand and brushes it away and says “just kn..ow I…love..you” then he passes out I take his com from his ear and find something that makes noise I turn it on and a few minutes later help arrives
Stargate Atlantis | 4x15 Outcast
@perfica asked for the gif where David Hewlett spoke about "a smutty sga fanfic" and @logicgunn added the gif in question. This is the short video clip with original audio to this gif.
DIAL THE GATE.
Pairing: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Summary: Rodney just wants to be cozy, and accidentally shows a little college pride.
Read on AO3 or below!
Rodney plops down on the couch, leans in close to grab a handful of popcorn, before continuing to clatter away on his laptop.
It’s Sunday, and Rodney is mostly good about his promise not to work on the weekends, so John assumes he’s either tinkering with one of his pet projects or arguing with people on Twitter again.
It takes him a while to notice. John’s attention is glued to the tv, eyes tracking the movement of red and white jerseys. He’d forgotten how exciting it is to actually watch a game live; the full sports package is well worth the exorbitant cable bill. What else are pensions for, he tells himself, echoing a familiar refrain, one he hears from Rodney every time they enter Costco and leave with enough bulk pretzels and chocolate covered raisins to feed an entire football team.
He sits on the edge of his seat, nearly topples the bowl of popcorn over when the tight end completes a pass, and turns to Rodney to drag him away from the computer, make sure he catches the replay. Rodney doesn’t like football, pointedly refuses to learn the rules, but he indulges John every so often, like an adult watching a child’s magic trick.
Only then he sees-
He stares for a moment, although the sight isn’t an unfamiliar one. Rodney, slumped down on the comfortable couch next to him, in cozy flannel pajama pants and an old, worn out grey sweater, Marmite curled up next to him, purring softly.
“What?” Rodney asks, blinking away from the screen. “John? You’re staring...”
“It’s just- the sweater-”
It’s John’s old sweater, the one he first pulled from a bargain bin in the university bookstore back in 1986. Grey with red lettering, the tree in the S right in the middle. It was the first bit of Stanford pride he ever showed, a small reaffirmation of the first decision he’d ever really made just for himself. They’d only had the large sizes left, and even in his broader, younger years, the sweater had hung loose and comfortable.
That sweater had seen John through college and the academy, through his marriage and Afghanistan, and when he’d unearthed it from storage last summer, through his first year back on Earth in nearly a decade.
There’s the small hole in the sleeve, from the time John had snuck out of his girlfriend’s sorority house, scaling the fence and catching the sweater on a pointed post. The light blue paint stain on the front, leftover from Nancy’s attempt to paint their old kitchen. A small singe at the bottom from last fall, when John had tried to burn their yard waste and the fire had gotten a little out of hand. A stain near the collar, from just last week, when Rodney spent the whole Sunday in the kitchen cooking chilli.
Rodney wears the sweater often - the stretched and stained grey fabric sitting a bit tight, but warm and comfortable. For all intents and purposes, the sweater is Rodney’s now - it smells of coffee and menthol and is covered in black cat hair, but John still sometimes steals it back, just to work in the yard, or for an occasional cool, afternoon nap on the couch.
John smiles. Rodney looks warm; rumpled and soft.
“The sweater…” Rodney looks down, and rolls his eyes. “Yes, well, don’t get too excited, just because I’m wearing your university’s gear, or whatever, there’s a chill in this house and my fleece is still damp from the rain this morning.”
“Whatever you say, it’s just nice to see a little team pride,” John says, gesturing to the screen. “Especially since you’re technically a Golden Bear,” he smirks.
Rodney huffs, but smiles, fond and indulgent, and John turns his attention back to the tv, just in time to catch a disappointing fumble.
“Well, don’t get used to it,” Rodney grouses, and resumes hammering away at his keyboard.
“I already have,” John replies, and he leans in close and inhales, smells popcorn, coffee, menthol, and home.
Emergency Gun Training Feat. Rodney McKay and John Sheppard
so glad David Hewlett got to change Brother to Sister bc his real life sister was also an actress, just on the off chance that....
Dead man walking
Of course McKay would treat his radio like a combadge.
My favorite thing about the discourse about Rodney (besides everyone's thoughtful responses) is seeing Rodney referred to as a smol bean and a perfect cinnamon roll. Delicious.
So we’re gonna be stuck here all night.
In the back of a warm, cosy Jumper, all right? All you need to do is hold on for, I don’t know, thirty minutes or so.
Read the full story here, because I threw away my posting schedule and put the whole thing up!
He didn’t need to ask. His eyes and his reaching hand told me what he wanted. I leant over him and lowered my face to his, holding his gaze until his eyes were a blur of hazel. I kissed him. And because earlier I’d fucked him hard it seemed right now to kiss him softly, so featherlight softly, just the barest touch of my lips to his. And again, as he had done when I’d kissed his forehead, as soon as I pulled back he turned away, his eyes closing tightly, the inner corners of his brows pressing together into a peak, his mouth flattening into a tight, hard line.
“Did he kiss you like that - Lyle?”
A sharp nod.
“And no one since?”
An equally sharp shake.
He’d been career military - in for the long haul. Had there been others, apart from Lyle? Or just hurried, furtive exchanges of hand jobs in the very few shady corners of military bases, always on the brink of being caught? But then, for meaningful, caring relationships, you had to search with a fine-toothed comb through my own chequered history. Perhaps we could rescue each other.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, but his face remained in shadow, turned away from the light.
“John, look at me.” I hesitated. “Please.”
He turned back and blinked blurry eyes. “Sorry. I’m fucking stupid. I’ll go.”
“You’re not stupid.” I murmured the words, my face still close to his. “But if you want to go, then go. You can choose.” He was a man with no choices left, trapped here by those who would manipulate him, take what they could of him for their own ends. I lay down next to him, not touching - just waiting, giving him space.
“Could you, uh, could you turn out the light?”
I stretched and flicked the switch. And then his body pressed up against mine, his breath making warm, quick puffs against my shoulder, the hair on his chest tickling my arm.
I rolled and squirmed. “Can I?”
The awkwardness was laughable, after what we’d done, vigorously and without hesitation or embarrassment earlier. I chuckled softly, and so did he, his head on my chest, my arm around his shoulders, his arms spread around me. In fact, ‘spread’ was a good word for John Sheppard - once he was on you, you felt like a big slab of white bread that’s been slathered in a thick layer of butter. Or one of those carrot and walnut cakes, where there’s more frosting than sponge.