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sga_flashficTitle: Ergophilia
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tzi & zaganthi
Pairing: McKay. McKay/various random OCs. McKay/Zelenka. McKay/Sheppard. But really, it's all about McKay.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rodney loves his work.
Spoilers: Up through "Trinity" and maybe a bit past.
Length: 1,973 words.
He built his first bomb in grade six.
He'd been eight, because he had started elementary school at four, and had skipped over a couple of grades. His mother had made noises about social interaction until the CIA came home with him, a heavy-handed man curving fingers about his shoulder and making offers, saying a variety of things that Rodney could in no way recall, nor did he care to consider.
His mother had been strangely grateful to get him out of her hair, for the most part.
There had been the vague implication that he was antisocial, threaded through it all. Not, not just 'bad at sharing toys with his baby sister', no, but dangerous if he didn't have the right guidance. Rodney recognized that for the joke it really was now that he had time, distance, and perspective, and not the weak psyche of an eight year old. They'd told his parents to send him to a special school, and to keep him busy. He'd had his piano lessons, and they'd been the best distraction from things like, oh, bombs, that he'd ever had.
And when his piano teacher had told him that he was a fine clinical player, precise and exact, but soulless, he thought about the man with the heavy hand and the TV-show American accent.
After that, he'd bought watches at antique stores and flea markets with his allowance money for months, trying to gather up enough radioactive material to make a real bomb.
That had failed miserably.
On the other hand, he'd learned other, better things. He'd learned how to use an electric alarm clock, to attach the wires from the tiny alarm speaker through a relay to allow a higher voltage to be sent, to amplify the vibration from the noise and hit the relay, and then...
Then things went boom.
Loudly.
He'd never used those bombs to do terrible things; never blown the heads off of kittens, or fed them to dogs, nothing like that. The flash and the sound were always enough for him, enough to make him shudder with an emotion that he didn't clearly understand until he was senior at Northwestern.
That was when he discovered orgasms that came from something other than the ticking of a clock.
It was never somehow quite as... good. There was something lacking in the purity of the sensation when a girl wrapped her lips around his cock, and god, god, that had been a perfect moment, his first blowjob. Who forgot their first blowjob? And she'd been fantastic, the kind of girl who could suck chrome off a trailer hitch. Sure, she'd been twenty-seven and a graduate assistant, but Rodney preferred not to think that she'd been less interested in his dick than the fact that puberty for him wasn't exactly early onset. It made a certain sense that it had lacked the clean shudder that a perfect explosion gave him.
It had still made a hell of a fifteenth birthday gift.
It hadn't been enough to keep him away from his new-old love, though -- bombs, atomic and otherwise, and while his professors might have been surprised to see men in dark glasses and impeccable suits show up during his 12.410J lecture, Rodney wasn't surprised at all. After all, he'd seen them before, and he had always known that he would see them again, and yeah.
He had known it would be just that good.
He'd been waiting. He knew if he did enough, made enough, and was caught with it, he wouldn't go to jail, no, he'd end up right where he wanted to be. Right in the heart of amazing things, and more schooling and opportunities than he knew what to do with.
And he couldn't care less about the sword of Damocles hanging over his head that was the last part of their offer. The part that said, work with us, for us, or face prison time, because it hadn't even been a consideration. He'd just needed to get their attention, and he had it. He was young, and brilliant, and he was willing to learn.
Finding out that Area 51 really did play with space-aliens was almost as good as explosions, at least until he'd learned about the sort of explosions that the aliens could help the humans pull off.
Pull, huh, good choice of words.
The first time he'd let a guy blow him, he'd been seventeen. They'd been working on the same damn bomb for forty-two hours, all steady hands, marines marching in and out to the tune of when the fuck are you gonna be finished so I can drop this goddamned thing the whole while, and the excitement... Well. The challenge alone had been incredible, but the arousal of having a bomb, building something so perfect and pure, and having someone with him who understood it... that had been phenomenal.
Sneaking to the bathroom for a five-minute oral ride to heaven had been a hell of a lot better than the grad assistant had been at fifteen.
It was all tangled up by now, after years of it, and reactors, and their little explosions, sex and bombs. One day, he'd give himself away, getting hard at the sight of one of his creations. One day, but not yet. No one had really figured out where his rush came from, and Rodney was seventy percent sure that their rush wasn't the same rush as he got. It was the hurray, we're done! rush that other people got. It was the hurray, we might live! rush.
Rodney just wanted to see, to feel, the explosion.
He'd never, ever thought he'd make anything bigger than the nuke that had almost sent Colonel Sheppard straight to hell.
That bomb was one of the few he couldn't look back and enjoy. They'd been high most of the time, and he'd fucked Radek somewhere around hour fifty-two and seven-eighths of the way finished, and that... that had been good. That had been damn good, even if they'd needed a bath and needed more lube and needed a lot of things. It had been good, and they'd gotten off, and then John had ridden the fucking thing like some giant radioactive dildo, that slut, and Rodney had nearly swallowed his throat, and been denied the beauty of the bomb altogether.
It didn't matter that they'd gotten another one just before the shield came down and the cloak went up.
It wasn't the one he wanted.
John lived, though, and they went on, and there were other opportunities, other weapons, other things that went boom in a damn big way.
Doranda, and what he knew would be the biggest explosion of his life.
It probably wasn't a coincidence that the availability of opportunities that led to Rodney being able to make bombs had plummeted since Doranda, and that was fine. That was fine, because he had the memory of a moment in his head when everything had started to burst outwards and they'd barely made the gate before it went, dazzling white and more powerful than anything he'd ever be able to play with again.
The memory was easy to pull out, shake out, wrap it around his mind while he wrapped his fingers around his cock. The steady thud-thud-thud through the air of the weapon, all energy, winding and twining, and he twisted his hand in imitation of it, palm sliding across the head of his cock as he wound his fingertips down, down, and then up again. His breath shuddered a little as he lifted his ass into it, because God. Oh, God. That felt good.
Sense and memory, all twisted up, and the only thing that would have been better was if he'd had sex with Sheppard just after, because he could have pounded a nail through sheet rock even when Elizabeth had been yelling at him. The almost getting killed part, fine, that was stupid.
But not so stupid that he couldn't fantasize about it. Rodney shifted, pressed his foot down against the mattress for a little leverage, so he could have his shoulders up against his pillow. It was only the play of his fingers, but Rodney knew what he liked. He knew that the pressure of his palm on his cock-head would probably finish him off in under five minutes, knew that the lingering of his pinky just under the flared edge would probably shave another minute off because it was vague and lingering, not an energy pattern, no, even if he wondered what it would have felt like to stand safely on Doranda and watch the beam keep discharging.
Whoom. Whoom. Whoom.
The shuddering sound of it in his memory was deeply erotic, and he shifted his hips restlessly, pushing hard against his hand. God. Just imagining it, somewhere safe and encased, behind crystal clear glass, able to see every discharge, able to feel it, able to watch the world turn shattered white with the force of an explosion the likes of which he had never imagined he'd get to cause. And yes, yes, okay, yes, there were possible downsides to it, things he didn't think about when he wasn't jerking off, much less when he was, so now wasn't the time to consider any of those. Not when he could hear and imagine the heavy, teeth-shaking whoom whoom whoom of bursts better than a beam gun, powered by the biggest bomb he'd ever stood in a room with. It was perfectly phallic, and if he ever had a weapon like that in his hand, he'd probably never have to touch his own weapon again. He'd be able to come without touching himself, without the easy slide of fingers over his cock, tracing over the veins, palming his cock-head again. It ached better when he manhandled himself that way, thighs pressed together slightly, balls shifted up just enough, just enough to make the friction-pressure-roughness almost painful, almost.
It made him gasp every time, and there were only a few things better than this, but they weren't things he could have on Atlantis, things like fingers plucking at his nipples, a thumb sliding hard into his asshole at just the right moment to make him go off, detonation coming immediately if he just had enough force applied, just got in the right stroke on the lower side, and he was so close. So close.
Detonation. Huge mushroom clouds that hovered in the atmosphere, spilling radiation and heat and ash that manipulated the natural weather patterns, destroyed them. Suped up Naqadah generator bombs taken out by Wraith debris field, tangling up with the rest of the space debris from the last time that Ancient Versus Wraith had happened, Ancient 0, Wraith, well, the whole fucking galaxy, and how did anybody score that?
He couldn't. But they would have understood, before they Ascended. He'd seen their research, he'd dabbled in reverse engineering their techniques. They had a beautiful capacity for destruction, for explosions, and he knew that he'd find another Arcturus. Another Doranda, another beautiful project that he could save and make work or blow up.
Rodney grunted, twisting his cock up towards his rough hand. Fuck, fuck. He wasn't sure which was hotter, getting things to work or the part where all of that work went up in chain-reactions between atoms and the occasional exotic particle.
Fire.
Sound.
Heat.
Wind.
Orgasm, accompanied by gasps and choked breaths, and almost, almost, almost perfect, only missing one small touch, and it was worth it. It was worth it, not to have that when he had Doranda.
It was worth it. Rodney settled back on the mattress, breathing hard. In the end, everything he did was just leading to another climax, intellectual, academic, physical.
And that was worth it.
Authors:
tzi & zaganthiPairing: McKay. McKay/various random OCs. McKay/Zelenka. McKay/Sheppard. But really, it's all about McKay.
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Rodney loves his work.
Spoilers: Up through "Trinity" and maybe a bit past.
Length: 1,973 words.
He built his first bomb in grade six.
He'd been eight, because he had started elementary school at four, and had skipped over a couple of grades. His mother had made noises about social interaction until the CIA came home with him, a heavy-handed man curving fingers about his shoulder and making offers, saying a variety of things that Rodney could in no way recall, nor did he care to consider.
His mother had been strangely grateful to get him out of her hair, for the most part.
There had been the vague implication that he was antisocial, threaded through it all. Not, not just 'bad at sharing toys with his baby sister', no, but dangerous if he didn't have the right guidance. Rodney recognized that for the joke it really was now that he had time, distance, and perspective, and not the weak psyche of an eight year old. They'd told his parents to send him to a special school, and to keep him busy. He'd had his piano lessons, and they'd been the best distraction from things like, oh, bombs, that he'd ever had.
And when his piano teacher had told him that he was a fine clinical player, precise and exact, but soulless, he thought about the man with the heavy hand and the TV-show American accent.
After that, he'd bought watches at antique stores and flea markets with his allowance money for months, trying to gather up enough radioactive material to make a real bomb.
That had failed miserably.
On the other hand, he'd learned other, better things. He'd learned how to use an electric alarm clock, to attach the wires from the tiny alarm speaker through a relay to allow a higher voltage to be sent, to amplify the vibration from the noise and hit the relay, and then...
Then things went boom.
Loudly.
He'd never used those bombs to do terrible things; never blown the heads off of kittens, or fed them to dogs, nothing like that. The flash and the sound were always enough for him, enough to make him shudder with an emotion that he didn't clearly understand until he was senior at Northwestern.
That was when he discovered orgasms that came from something other than the ticking of a clock.
It was never somehow quite as... good. There was something lacking in the purity of the sensation when a girl wrapped her lips around his cock, and god, god, that had been a perfect moment, his first blowjob. Who forgot their first blowjob? And she'd been fantastic, the kind of girl who could suck chrome off a trailer hitch. Sure, she'd been twenty-seven and a graduate assistant, but Rodney preferred not to think that she'd been less interested in his dick than the fact that puberty for him wasn't exactly early onset. It made a certain sense that it had lacked the clean shudder that a perfect explosion gave him.
It had still made a hell of a fifteenth birthday gift.
It hadn't been enough to keep him away from his new-old love, though -- bombs, atomic and otherwise, and while his professors might have been surprised to see men in dark glasses and impeccable suits show up during his 12.410J lecture, Rodney wasn't surprised at all. After all, he'd seen them before, and he had always known that he would see them again, and yeah.
He had known it would be just that good.
He'd been waiting. He knew if he did enough, made enough, and was caught with it, he wouldn't go to jail, no, he'd end up right where he wanted to be. Right in the heart of amazing things, and more schooling and opportunities than he knew what to do with.
And he couldn't care less about the sword of Damocles hanging over his head that was the last part of their offer. The part that said, work with us, for us, or face prison time, because it hadn't even been a consideration. He'd just needed to get their attention, and he had it. He was young, and brilliant, and he was willing to learn.
Finding out that Area 51 really did play with space-aliens was almost as good as explosions, at least until he'd learned about the sort of explosions that the aliens could help the humans pull off.
Pull, huh, good choice of words.
The first time he'd let a guy blow him, he'd been seventeen. They'd been working on the same damn bomb for forty-two hours, all steady hands, marines marching in and out to the tune of when the fuck are you gonna be finished so I can drop this goddamned thing the whole while, and the excitement... Well. The challenge alone had been incredible, but the arousal of having a bomb, building something so perfect and pure, and having someone with him who understood it... that had been phenomenal.
Sneaking to the bathroom for a five-minute oral ride to heaven had been a hell of a lot better than the grad assistant had been at fifteen.
It was all tangled up by now, after years of it, and reactors, and their little explosions, sex and bombs. One day, he'd give himself away, getting hard at the sight of one of his creations. One day, but not yet. No one had really figured out where his rush came from, and Rodney was seventy percent sure that their rush wasn't the same rush as he got. It was the hurray, we're done! rush that other people got. It was the hurray, we might live! rush.
Rodney just wanted to see, to feel, the explosion.
He'd never, ever thought he'd make anything bigger than the nuke that had almost sent Colonel Sheppard straight to hell.
That bomb was one of the few he couldn't look back and enjoy. They'd been high most of the time, and he'd fucked Radek somewhere around hour fifty-two and seven-eighths of the way finished, and that... that had been good. That had been damn good, even if they'd needed a bath and needed more lube and needed a lot of things. It had been good, and they'd gotten off, and then John had ridden the fucking thing like some giant radioactive dildo, that slut, and Rodney had nearly swallowed his throat, and been denied the beauty of the bomb altogether.
It didn't matter that they'd gotten another one just before the shield came down and the cloak went up.
It wasn't the one he wanted.
John lived, though, and they went on, and there were other opportunities, other weapons, other things that went boom in a damn big way.
Doranda, and what he knew would be the biggest explosion of his life.
It probably wasn't a coincidence that the availability of opportunities that led to Rodney being able to make bombs had plummeted since Doranda, and that was fine. That was fine, because he had the memory of a moment in his head when everything had started to burst outwards and they'd barely made the gate before it went, dazzling white and more powerful than anything he'd ever be able to play with again.
The memory was easy to pull out, shake out, wrap it around his mind while he wrapped his fingers around his cock. The steady thud-thud-thud through the air of the weapon, all energy, winding and twining, and he twisted his hand in imitation of it, palm sliding across the head of his cock as he wound his fingertips down, down, and then up again. His breath shuddered a little as he lifted his ass into it, because God. Oh, God. That felt good.
Sense and memory, all twisted up, and the only thing that would have been better was if he'd had sex with Sheppard just after, because he could have pounded a nail through sheet rock even when Elizabeth had been yelling at him. The almost getting killed part, fine, that was stupid.
But not so stupid that he couldn't fantasize about it. Rodney shifted, pressed his foot down against the mattress for a little leverage, so he could have his shoulders up against his pillow. It was only the play of his fingers, but Rodney knew what he liked. He knew that the pressure of his palm on his cock-head would probably finish him off in under five minutes, knew that the lingering of his pinky just under the flared edge would probably shave another minute off because it was vague and lingering, not an energy pattern, no, even if he wondered what it would have felt like to stand safely on Doranda and watch the beam keep discharging.
Whoom. Whoom. Whoom.
The shuddering sound of it in his memory was deeply erotic, and he shifted his hips restlessly, pushing hard against his hand. God. Just imagining it, somewhere safe and encased, behind crystal clear glass, able to see every discharge, able to feel it, able to watch the world turn shattered white with the force of an explosion the likes of which he had never imagined he'd get to cause. And yes, yes, okay, yes, there were possible downsides to it, things he didn't think about when he wasn't jerking off, much less when he was, so now wasn't the time to consider any of those. Not when he could hear and imagine the heavy, teeth-shaking whoom whoom whoom of bursts better than a beam gun, powered by the biggest bomb he'd ever stood in a room with. It was perfectly phallic, and if he ever had a weapon like that in his hand, he'd probably never have to touch his own weapon again. He'd be able to come without touching himself, without the easy slide of fingers over his cock, tracing over the veins, palming his cock-head again. It ached better when he manhandled himself that way, thighs pressed together slightly, balls shifted up just enough, just enough to make the friction-pressure-roughness almost painful, almost.
It made him gasp every time, and there were only a few things better than this, but they weren't things he could have on Atlantis, things like fingers plucking at his nipples, a thumb sliding hard into his asshole at just the right moment to make him go off, detonation coming immediately if he just had enough force applied, just got in the right stroke on the lower side, and he was so close. So close.
Detonation. Huge mushroom clouds that hovered in the atmosphere, spilling radiation and heat and ash that manipulated the natural weather patterns, destroyed them. Suped up Naqadah generator bombs taken out by Wraith debris field, tangling up with the rest of the space debris from the last time that Ancient Versus Wraith had happened, Ancient 0, Wraith, well, the whole fucking galaxy, and how did anybody score that?
He couldn't. But they would have understood, before they Ascended. He'd seen their research, he'd dabbled in reverse engineering their techniques. They had a beautiful capacity for destruction, for explosions, and he knew that he'd find another Arcturus. Another Doranda, another beautiful project that he could save and make work or blow up.
Rodney grunted, twisting his cock up towards his rough hand. Fuck, fuck. He wasn't sure which was hotter, getting things to work or the part where all of that work went up in chain-reactions between atoms and the occasional exotic particle.
Fire.
Sound.
Heat.
Wind.
Orgasm, accompanied by gasps and choked breaths, and almost, almost, almost perfect, only missing one small touch, and it was worth it. It was worth it, not to have that when he had Doranda.
It was worth it. Rodney settled back on the mattress, breathing hard. In the end, everything he did was just leading to another climax, intellectual, academic, physical.
And that was worth it.
