Jul. 31st, 2008
Fandom: SG: Atlantis
Series: Parallels 'Verse
Disclaimer: Not mine!
"You know, they say the only things that come from Texas are steers and queers."
Rodney looks up tiredly, wondering briefly how Sheppard even found him. The balcony Rodney had chosen was as out of the way as they got, and with the rain still falling down over the city Rodney had been counting on being left alone. He's not ready to deal with people yet. Much less people as prickly as Sheppard.
That's not stopping Sheppard from stepping out into the rain, crossing his arms and staring expectantly down at Rodney. After a moment he nudges Rodney with his boot, "Well? Which is it?" and his voice is laced with those razor edges that he carries around, sharp and taunting, pushing when he knows damn well how far Rodney's already been pushed.
Rodney closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, tilting his face up towards the rain and forcing his fists to unclench. When he opens them, Sheppard is still standing over him, smirking, ignoring the bandage around his arm and the way his glasses are getting covered with rain.
And Rodney just doesn't feel like dealing with Sheppard's petty shit, his need to make sure everyone knows what a cold son of a bitch he is. Rodney jerks to his feet, Sheppard's eyes going wide, his arms uncrossing awkwardly, like he might be intending to fend Rodney off.
Rodney already has him backed against the railing, his hands on either side of Sheppard's hips. It's easy to get into the man's face, his dark hair plastered all around his face in the rain. Rodney opens his mouth, ready to unload, and then remembers who he is, and draws back.
The excess adrenaline, the anger, the fear are all making him stupid. Rodney rubs a hand up over his face, shaking off the water and waving a tired hand at Sheppard, "Whichever amuses you, Sheppard. I'm going to bed," and he can hear the drawn out vowels in his own speech, the accent that he hasn't quite got tucked away again yet.
"You killed those men," Sheppard blurts the words right before Rodney steps through the doorway. Rodney tells himself to keep going, but he's all locked up. He raises his fist, rapping it against the smooth Ancient metal and turning to look at Sheppard, standing out in the rain, arms crossed and shoulders hunched in.
Rodney sighs, "Yeah."
Sheppard shifts awkwardly, wipes at his glasses and then seems to realize that he's not going to do any good while standing out in the rain. After a moment he demands, only it's not quite a demand, not really, "Why?"
Rodney stares at him, wondering what the man's angle is, too tired to try to figure out the twisted maze that is Sheppard's psyche. He shrugs, "Because it's my job. Because I'm good at it. Because I was the only one here that could. Because they put a gun to Weir's head." He bites his tongue, but the words come out anyway, "Because I thought they were going to kill you." He waves a hand, "Pick a reason."
He starts to turn and Sheppard jerks a step towards him, "What if I pick the last one?"
For a moment they just stare at each other, and then Rodney shakes his head, "What if you do? I don't know what you want from me here, Sheppard, I don't—"
And then Sheppard is there, gripping the sides of Rodney's head and pulling them together. The kiss is hard and brutal and desperate. For a moment Rodney flounders, but he's used to meeting and matching every one of Sheppard's mood changes. Reacting is automatic, kissing back, giving as good as he gets as Sheppard tries to climb all over him.
They end up stumbling sideways until they find a wall, Sheppard rubbing up against him, biting out beaten kisses, "Impossible, stupid, bastard, I don't know—"
Rodney scowls, turning them, slamming Sheppard's back against the wall, hands going under the man's ass and just lifting. Sheppard gasps against his mouth, legs kicking out for a moment before they wrap around Rodney's waist, heels hooking over his ass.
Rodney growls, "Shut up, just shut up for two seconds," and dropping his mouth to bite at the line of Sheppard's neck, hands scrambling desperately at heavy, wet clothing. He can't keep this up for long, but for now there's enough adrenaline in him to lift a fucking sedan and compared to that Sheppard is easy.
Sheppard groans, grinding and shoving against him, spine arching even as he gasps, "Is that all the longer you're going to need? Because I must say I'm not exactly impressed," as he yanks at Rodney's shirt, desperation dripping off of every movement.
Rodney squeezes Sheppard's ass, biting at his shoulder through his shirt, gritting out, "Do you know how many times I could make you come with my dick up your ass? Fucking you the whole time?" And God, he wishes he had lube. Or fuck, he'd settle for a horizontal surface besides the floor.
Sheppard makes an inarticulate sound, clawing at Rodney's shoulders, his whole body shuddering and still managing to bite out, "Who says I'd ever let you fuck me?"
And Rodney grinds forward against Sheppard's erection, pinning Sheppard to the wall with his hips and working one hand between them, squeezing Sheppard's dick through the layers of wet fabric. He growls into the man's ear, "Oh, I'd say you will. I'd say you'll beg for it," and when he nips at Sheppard's jaw the man babbles something wordless, spine arching as his body jerks.
Rodney holds him up, letting Sheppard's head rest on his shoulder, Sheppard's grip on his back desperate and tight. Sheppard finally manages, his face buried against Rodney's neck, "You idiot, you moron, you could have, you could have—"
Rodney sighs, cupping the back of Sheppard's neck and rocking him just a little back and forth, "I didn't."
And Sheppard makes a scornful sound, without easing his grip at all. And then he says, his voice the most hesitant Rodney has ever heard it go, "My room is...my room is really close to here." And then, a half second later, "I don't beg for anyone."
Rodney smirks, and doesn't say a word.
::back to index::