SGA Drabbles

[moonlettuce]

All from the mckay_sheppard drabble tree. Various ratings, various genres, pretty much all McShep.

Ronon was watching them curiously. The way McKay's hands didn't stay still as he explained the importance of the hidden chamber they'd found on the last planet. The way Sheppard watched every movement, eyes never leaving those expressive fingers.

Ronon snorted to himself, wondering if Sheppard thought himself discreet. The claim he had on McKay was obvious to anyone with eyes. All Sheppard had to do was step forward and take, and McKay would be his, without hesitation, without question.

McKay shifted in his seat slightly, the movement causing his collar to slip down a little and Ronon's eyes widened. Glancing between Sheppard and the nearly faded bite mark on McKay's neck, Ronon quickly reassessed the situation. Looked like Sheppard had taken after all.

*

"Let us help you," Teyla says, as the fire works its way through John's body.

It wasn't meant to be this way. It should have been simple. A ritual of purity, of cleansing, before the trade negotiations could start. They didn't realise that the whatever was added to the wine would interact with the ATA gene, making John's body light up, neurons firing as each touch became almost unbearable.

He thinks it's not as bad for Rodney, standing and shaking, supported by Ronon.

"John--" Rodney's looking at him, even if it's Ronon's hands on his body.

Teyla's touch is dampening the need somewhat, but it's still not enough. "I need--"

"Tell us, John," Teyla's voice is soft, wanting to help.

"Oh god, everything--" And then he's moving, closing the distance between him and Rodney, dragging Teyla in his wake.

His lips meet Rodney's as they sink to the ground, hands on his skin. And he doesn't know who is touching him, who is holding him; doesn't know whose fingers are dancing on his skin, but it doesn't matter as the universe explodes above him.

*

"How about this one?" the sales assistant - Marge, as declared by the large badge she was wearing - asked, pointing to what seemed like the hundredth bed they looked at since they'd walked into the shop.

Rodney walked over and lay on the bed, moving into several different positions before standing back up. "Nope, too soft," he declared.

Marge looked at John, the look in her eyes warring between desperation and begging.

John looked over to where Rodney was poking a mattress and sighing. Walking over to his lover, John took him by the arm and led him to the first bed they'd looked at. "We'll take this one," he told Marge.

Marge smiled a smile of profound relief, and walked away to start on the paperwork.

Rodney spluttered. "We can't! The mattress is--"

"We'll get a new mattress made. Orthopaedic. Charged to the USAF."

Rodney quietened down, mollified somewhat.

"And besides," John lay down on the bed, spreading his arms across the king-size width, "this has the only thing we need in a bed."

"And what would that be?" Rodney asked.

"Lots of room," John said, grinning. "Lots of room."

*

A year ago, John was sitting on a patch of grass watching as a coin that would decide the course of his life span through the air. He watched as it tumbled to the ground, eagle glinting up at him in the sunlight, as he remembered his grandfather saying that a coin never chose for you, it simply reinforced what you'd wanted in the first place. A year ago, John found out that there really was a place further than Antarctica that he could run to.

A month ago, John was told that he shouldn't even be alive. That he, and everyone else in the city, was only alive because one woman was too damn stubborn to let a little thing like being thrown back in time stop her from doing what needed to be done. A month ago, John found out that he no longer had any doubts about Elizabeth Weir's ability to lead the Atlantis expedition.

A week ago, John looked into a camera and told the truth wrapped in a package of pretty lies. 'Your son died bravely.' 'Your daughter fought proudly for her country.' And you will never find out the truth of what really happened. A week ago, John found out that the story never changes, even if the location does.

A day ago, John watched as Rodney and Radek worked themselves to exhaustion, kept awake only by the strength of both Beckett's drugs and their own wills. He watched as Rodney's hands flew over consoles, connecting wires and triggers and containing destruction into a metal container. A day ago, John found out that the hands that had saved them several times over also held the largest capability for destruction out of the entire expedition.

An hour ago, John listened as men under his command died defending a city their families didn't even know about. He listened as they were taken by a race that wouldn't have been awake if it wasn't for him, in a galaxy that wasn't even their own. An hour ago, John found out nothing would stop him from making sure their sacrifice wasn't in vain.

A minute ago, John nearly died as he flew towards a hive ship with a nuclear bomb counting down in the back. He watched as the hive ship got closer and prayed to a god he hadn't believed in since Afghanistan that it would work. A minute ago, John found out that the one regret he had was one he'd never expected.

Right now, John is standing with his fingers curled in a t-shirt and his lips pressed against Rodney's. He's swallowing all the desperation and want to find the hope buried underneath. Right now, John finds out that he has something worth fighting for.

*

"I'm sorry? You want me to do what?" Steven looked at Elizabeth in surprise.

"It's just that we don't have any sort of priest on Atlantis, and, as Captain of a ship, you *are* qualified to marry people legally." Elizabeth smiled at him, the look on her face promising him his just rewards if he only did this one little favour for her.

Steven sighed in acceptance. He could deny this woman nothing.

Elizabeth grinned. "I thought a week tomorrow would be plenty of time to plan for a wedding," she said, eyes sparkling.

"Just tell me this," Steven asked, "are they going with Sheppard-McKay, or McKay-Sheppard?"

*

"You had to give them a pole dance?" Elizabeth repeated, her tone one of not-quite disbelief.

Teyla nodded. "Their entire civilisation is built around dance as a ritual. A tribute must be offered to their god before any stranger can sit down at the table."

Elizabeth was still looking at them in surprise. "But why Rodney?"

"I volunteered," Rodney said.

Elizabeth choked slightly on the coffee she was drinking.

Rodney shrugged. "I didn't just pay my way through university with grants, you know," he commented, standing up. "Now, if we're done, I need to make sure the idiots haven't destroyed anything in the labs."

"Er, yes, we're done." Elizabeth waved them all out.

Jumping out of his seat, John jogged after Rodney, catching up with him in the corridor. "Rodney!"

Rodney sighed as he turned around. "Well, Colonel, say it. Whatever amusing thing is on your mind, just let it out."

John licked his lips as he leaned forward. "Actually, I thought it was sexy, and I just wanted to know if you did private shows."

Rodney looked at him for a brief moment. "I think I can be persuaded."

John grinned and grabbed Rodney's hand. "Good," he said, "then I think the labs can see to themselves for the next few hours, don't you."

*

Rodney gasped, arching up off the bed as John's cock pushed into him. Rodney wanted this, needed this. With the threat of the Wraith bearing down on them this was the only thing that stopped him thinking, the only thing that drove all the numbers out of Rodney's head.

He needed John; needed John to keep him grounded, to keep him sane. He was the one that they all turned to for answers; the one expected to know, to understand, to explain. And when the dead danced in his mind and the answers span just out of reach, he needed John to keep the darkness away.

*

It shouldn't be happening. Not here and not like this. Not with Sheppard kneeling behind him, Genii knife at his throat, and Kolya in front of him, heavy hand on Rodney's shoulder and soft smirk on his lips.

"It's your choice, Doctor McKay."

Only it's not a choice at all. The humiliation of being on his knees in front of Kolya, cock hard and heavy on his tongue, or Sheppard's death in a flash of metal and red.

And Kolya can see it in his eyes, hand squeezing his shoulder, parody of affection. "Good choice, Doctor McKay," he says, fingers moving to unbutton his trousers as Rodney closes his eyes, opens his mouth and focuses on nothing but the sound of John breathing behind him.

*

John's hands moved steadily over Rodney's skin, soft dampness smoothing the way, as Rodney lay on the bench, head pillowed in his arms.

"John," Rodney murmured, the heat from the sauna almost stealing the word away in a cloud of steam.

John didn't answer. Instead, he swung a leg over Rodney's calves, straddling his lover's legs.

His tongue darted out to taste the sweat that had gathered at the base of Rodney's back, sharp and tart, like Rodney *should* taste.

"How long do we have?" Rodney asked. Because private time in the steam room Lorne's team had found in one of the south towers was always at a premium.

"Long enough," John answered. But John had bribed, traded and pulled in every favour he could think of to get them this. Because this was the only time he ever saw Rodney still, relaxed. His fingers continued to move over Rodney's skin lightly, tracing patterns and writing equations. "Long enough."