sga_flashfic | In the Shadows, by Maisierita

maisierita.livejournal.com posting in

Title: In the Shadows
Fandom: SGA
Pairing: Umm, McShep, sort of, in a way, and yet also not McShep. I don't really know how to describe it.
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1,941, last time I checked
Disclaimer: Not mine, sadly. I'm not making any money off this, don't sue, etc.
Spoilers: None! Holy crud.
Acknowledgments: As always, my brilliant and hard-working beta is sapphiresmuse. I even took her suggestion for a title this time. :)
Summary: The Earthers don't talk about the missions where they end up taking their clothes off, because they have their Milky Way customs and taboos, but they are human too. Life in Pegasus is brutal and short and scary and stressful, and sometimes, anonymous sex with amenable strangers makes it a little more bearable.
Author's note: Okay, I'm having a terrible couple of weeks at work and so I wrote porn to de-stress. But I think a little plot snuck in when I wasn't looking. Go figure. This was not intentionally written for this challenge, but sapphiremuse convinced me it fits. Masks aren't always physical ones, right? It even says so in the challenge post.

There are some things in Pegasus that the people on Atlantis don't talk about. At least, there are things that the Earthers on Atlantis don't talk about, like the fact that the civilizations that arose under the constant threat of culling often developed cultural and social mores that are very literally alien to those born in a safer galaxy. That children are cherished beyond all else, that the siring and bearing of children is inevitably considered one of the highest honors to be aspired to, that sex is always viewed as a necessary duty, but is also a joyful way of celebrating life amidst the risk of death.

The Earthers don't talk about the missions where they end up taking their clothes off, because they have their Milky Way customs and taboos, but they are human too. Life in Pegasus is brutal and short and scary and stressful, and sometimes, anonymous sex with amenable strangers makes it a little more bearable. So long as no one gets hurt, it's hard to see the harm.

M4R-835 – Helisia to the natives, Woodstock to the Earthers – is one of the planets nobody ever really talks about, but everyone vies to go to. Their main trading stock is herbs, useful as medicines, spices, and recreational narcotics; their main claim to fame is the nightly orgy in the largest city.

This is Rodney's fifth time here, and it gets a little easier each time. Ronon and Teyla had melted away into the crowd instantly, with an ease and lack of self-consciousness Rodney envies. To them there is nothing shameful in taking what is freely offered; they cannot understand the Earthers' reluctance to admit to finding enjoyment here.

Sheppard is gone too; off, Rodney supposes, to the southern halls where the men seek women, and vice versa. There's something for everyone here, and shame for none. Rodney has often speculated idly which chambers exactly Sheppard heads for, whether he can relax enough to take advantage of the darkness and silence to venture outside the boundaries of Earth convention. Rodney calls him Kirk, but the reality is that Sheppard is as repressed as anyone Rodney's ever met. Maybe, Rodney thinks, even kind of hopes, maybe here Sheppard has undertaken multiple women at one time. Maybe he's even dared to try one of the heterosexual orgies, men and women touching indiscriminately, gentle and loving and strangely intimate in anonymity.

If it's strange for Rodney to be thinking about Sheppard while in the midst of having sex with someone else, it's only because Rodney had, under cover of dim lighting and the crowd, turned and headed for the eastern chambers, where men seek men and there is no risk of accidental procreation, where the only point is pleasure offered and received. His partner is long and lean like Sheppard, steel muscle under silken skin, and his hair is short in the Helisian style so similar to the Lanteans' own. He's likely blond, Rodney supposes, as most of the Helisians are, but that is something Rodney will never know for sure; Rodney seeks the rooms where anonymity is total, where the darkness is complete and the music pulses too loudly to permit even accidental conversation. Rodney's comfortable with anonymous sex only so long as it truly is.

The other man twists beneath him, arches into his touch, greedy and desperate, mouth searching and seeking his own. Stubble scrapes across his cheek, a fiery burn that leaves Rodney whimpering into the dark, the sound inaudible over the heavy, sensual thrum of the bass.

Rodney reaches down and searches for the other man's cock, heavy and warm, comfortable in his grip. He squeezes once, twice, and is rewarded with an indistinct groan that he can't really hear, but can feel rumbling through the man's body where it touches Rodney's own.

The man twists again, well-versed in the skill Rodney is quickly learning, to speak without words, to convey want and need with nothing but the shift and play of muscles. Rodney reaches a finger around, traces the curve of the other man's ass, dips a finger in between the cheeks, warm and tight. The man stiffens, goes utterly still, and pants harshly in Rodney's ear, breath hot and uneven, unbearably erotic. "Yes," he says, so close Rodney can actually hear it, "yes," and Rodney knows it's not a granting of permission or a sign of acquiescence, but an admission of desire.

The first time Rodney had been to Helisia, he'd had sex with a woman, tall and well-padded, with long hair that cascaded over her breasts. He'd wrapped his hands in her hair as he'd fucked her hard into the mattress, and she'd scraped her nails over his back when she came. The next woman had been short and slender, with even longer hair, and she'd been so tranquil and relaxed he hadn't been able to tell whether she'd come at all, though she'd kissed his cheek fondly as she left. The third time Rodney had gotten bold and had found a room with two women looking for a man. The fourth, he'd gotten even bolder and found a woman and a man.

The fifth visit is the first time he's gone specifically to find a man; it's something he hasn't let himself have since they got to Atlantis, since before Antarctica. It's something he hasn't realized how much he'd missed, the subtle power play, the lack of pretense. In the chambers of Helisia, there is never anything other than honesty: it is and has always been about the sex, whether for purposes of breeding or simply for pleasure.

It makes him lust-addled in a way he hasn't been for a very long time, sex-crazed, unthinking. He fumbles for the lube in the dark, slides slippery, trembling fingers in and up, feels tight muscles tense then relax around him. He pulls the other man to his knees, wraps an arm around him and feels his chest heaving ragged, shattered breaths as he slides in slowly, stopping halfway to catch his own breath because, oh god, it's almost too much.

The man pushes back, eager and impatient, and Rodney starts to fuck him in earnest, though the angle's wrong for speed and force; he's got no leverage. So he pulls the man closer to him, wraps his free hand around his cock, feels the man buck and thrust into his hands.

Rodney feels carnal and a little deviant, fucking a strange man in a dark room, and it makes him harder, hotter. The man's fucking him back, pushing onto him, thrusting hard and desperate into his hand, and his whole body's trembling, quivers running through his back. The ubiquitous Helisian necklace the man is wearing is cool against Rodney's chest, a welcome metal chill against Rodney's fevered skin. He's burning up all over, slick with sweat and on fire, panting toward completion in short, jerky gasps.

When he comes, there are multicolored lights behind his eyes, bass still pounding loudly in his ears, and convulsive shudders as his partner shakes through his own climax, hot cum spurting all over Rodney's hand. It's the best sex Rodney's had in a decade, dirty and thrilling and satisfying in a way sex with women never is for him. Next time, he is definitely coming back to the eastern chambers. Maybe he'll even risk a room with lights, or sound.

The other man's panting raggedly beneath him, and Rodney's fiercely glad, grateful that he's made this stranger feel the way he does, that he can share this gift. He finds the man's face, grips it between his hands, and kisses him slow and sweet and passionate, heart still pounding wildly in his ears. The man kisses him back just as ardently, wrapping a hand around Rodney's neck and pulling him closer still, close enough so their chests touch, close enough that the cool metal Helisian necklace resolves into small steel beads, dog tags dangling at the bottom, damning little rectangles sending shivers up Rodney's spine.

There is only one Lantean team on Helisia right now, and of the four, only one wears dog tags.

Shit, fuck, shit! Rodney thinks, but Sheppard's already pulling away, bestowing one more gentle kiss, running regretful fingers slowly down Rodney's bare chest. There's no metal there to give Rodney away, nothing to reveal to Sheppard that he's just fucked his friend and teammate.

There is no way to tell him. Sheppard's already up, undoubtedly hunting for his clothes in the dark, following the rules of this place which dictate leaving the room so that others can use it, and anything Rodney might say would be swallowed up by the music. Rodney's not sure he wants to tell him, anyway, is utterly unsure that Sheppard would want to know. This is a secret so profound that Rodney's sure Sheppard would be horrified that Rodney knows it; there were decades of denial in the way Sheppard kissed him, years of repression in every strangled, pent up breath. This isn't something Sheppard lets himself have, and Rodney gets that, because it's not something he lets himself have either.

Rodney reaches out, searching blindly, and gets lucky. He brushes Sheppard's arm with his fingertips, feels Sheppard turn back one last time. There's a rough patch underneath his hand, scar tissue on Sheppard's forearm, as if Rodney needed any additional confirmation. Sheppard mingles their fingers together, takes his other hand and traces Rodney's jaw, then leans in for a kiss, soft and silent against Rodney's mouth. It's different this time because Rodney knows it's Sheppard, even if Sheppard doesn't know it's Rodney. Rodney tries to memorize it, the soft press of lips against lips, because he knows it will never happen again. Then Sheppard's gone, a little reluctantly, Rodney thinks, a sliver of a light shining from the hall when the door opens to let him out.

Tomorrow morning when they meet for breakfast, Sheppard will be loose-limbed and languid, grinning indulgently at Ronon and Teyla as they try to top each other's stories, and Rodney will pretend that he's not interested in their sexual exploits because hello! Personal space! Don't you people have any idea of boundaries? And this is hardly appropriate breakfast conversation!

Sheppard will laugh, lazy and amused, and speculate that maybe Rodney didn't have as good a night as the rest of them, which is as far as either of them will go toward admitting why they keep coming back to this particular planet. And Rodney will bluster that he had a great night, as if it's any of Sheppard's business, and Sheppard will smirk and throw a roll at him, saying that there are some things he'd prefer not to know, thanks very much.

But now Rodney will have to do all this knowing exactly what kind of night Sheppard had, knowing how Sheppard feels as he comes, if not how he looks or how he sounds. Now Rodney knows that Sheppard is as hungry for touch as the rest of them, maybe more. He knows too that this is a secret he'll always have to keep to himself, that this is something Sheppard will never want to know, because once they leave Helisia, Sheppard's going to compartmentalize it away, and he won't want to admit, even to himself, that he's not the man he pretends to be.

For now, Rodney will go back to Atlantis, left alone with this one-sided secret. But maybe next time when they come back, Rodney will head straight to the eastern chambers, and maybe Sheppard will too. Then maybe in the dark they'll find each other again.

Current Mood: stressed

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minnow1212.livejournal.com

Oh, very good. I liked where you left it.

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